By the end of February I felt it was vital to send Dewey (as well as each of our other commanders who were not in home waters) instructions that would enable him to be in readiness for immediate action.  On the afternoon of Saturday, February 25, when I was Acting Secretary, Lodge called on me just as I was preparing the order, which (as it was addressed to a man of the right stamp) was of much importance to the subsequent operations.  Admiral Dewey speaks of the incident as follows, in his autobiography: 

“The first real step [as regards active naval preparations] was taken on February 25, when telegraphic instructions were sent to the Asiatic, European, and South Atlantic squadrons to rendezvous at certain convenient points where, should war break out, they would be most available.

“The message to the Asiatic squadron bore the signature of that Assistant Secretary who had seized the opportunity while Acting Secretary to hasten preparations for a conflict which was inevitable.  As Mr. Roosevelt reasoned, precautions for readiness would cost little in time of peace, and yet would be invaluable in case of war.  His cablegram was as follows: 

“’Washington, February 25, ’98.

“’Dewey, Hong Kong: 

“’Order the squadron, except the Monocacy, to Hong Kong.  Keep full of coal.  In the event of declaration of war Spain, your duty will be to see that the Spanish squadron does not leave the Asiatic coast, and then offensive operations in Philippine Islands.  Keep Olympia until further orders.

“‘ROOSEVELT.’

“(The reference to keeping the Olympia until further orders was due to the fact that I had been notified that she would soon be recalled to the United States.)”

All that was needed with Dewey was to give him the chance to get ready, and then to strike, without being hampered by orders from those not on the ground.  Success in war depends very largely upon choosing a man fit to exercise such powers, and then giving him the powers.

It would be instructive to remember, if only we were willing to do so, the fairly comic panic which swept in waves over our seacoast, first when it became evident that war was about to be declared, and then when it was declared.  The public waked up to the sufficiently obvious fact that the Government was in its usual state—­perennial unreadiness for war.  Thereupon the people of the seaboard district passed at one bound from unreasoning confidence that war never could come to unreasoning fear as to what might happen now that it had come.  That acute philosopher Mr. Dooley proclaimed that in the Spanish War we were in a dream, but that the Spaniards were in a trance.  This just about summed up the facts.  Our people had for decades scoffed at the thought of making ready for possible war.  Now, when it was too late, they not only backed every measure, wise and unwise, that offered a chance of supplying a need that ought to have been met before, but they also fell into a condition of panic apprehension as to what the foe might do.