Never was there a more genuine and typical American gentleman in a difficult position where a genuine and typical American gentleman was needed, than Fitzhugh Lee, the American consul-general at Havana during the most critical time prior to the outbreak of our war with Spain.  The Cuban consul generalship is an office of much greater importance than others of the same name in other countries where diplomatic representatives are maintained.  It includes the obligations of diplomacy as well as those of commerce, and Lee was the man for both.

His predecessor in the office, Ramon Williams, had held the position for many years and it was recognized by him as well as by the authorities at Washington that a change should be made because of the unusual demands upon the office.  His long and faithful service in the tropical country had undermined his health so that his energies were lessened thereby, at a time when they were most needed for the safety of American interests.

It was in the spring of 1896 that President Cleveland, believing that a man of unusual ability should represent the United States at Havana, chose Fitzhugh Lee for the post.  The selection was approved from the first by everyone who knew him, and not many months had passed until General Lee became an idol and a hero of the whole American people.

His Havana record has been no surprise to those who knew of his exploits during the war, or of his family.  Blood will tell, and it has told in the case of General Lee.  His family has always been famous in American history.  How could the grandson of “Lighthorse Harry, the Revolutionary hero,” or the nephew of Robert E. Lee, be anything else but courageous and possessed of tact and common sense?

The son of a naval officer, he preferred the army as a career.  Graduating from West Point, he fought on the frontier for six years before the opening of the Rebellion, and was engaged in several desperate encounters with the Comanche Indians in Texas.  On one of these occasions he was pierced through the lungs by an arrow, but he lived to tell the story.  On another occasion he grappled with a big Indian in a hand-to-hand encounter, threw his antagonist on the ground and killed him.

Though only twenty-seven years of age, Lee was an instructor in cavalry tactics at West Point when the war broke out.  He “followed his State” into the secession movement.  His war record is a matter of pride to every Virginian.  The dashing young officer was an ideal trooper, fearing nothing and loved by his men.  He was modest, too.  After some brilliant movement of personal valor his brigade formed in a body and determined to serenade him at his headquarters, expecting, of course, a speech.  But Lee got an inkling of the matter, and when he saw them coming he slipped out of his tent and hid in the bushes.  After the disappointed troopers had called for him in vain and dispersed he peeped furtively from his hiding place, and in a subdued tone asked, “Have they gone?”