US Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan was admitted to the Oval Office at 1:45 p.m. The President’s private secretary, Joe Tumulty, nodded the elder statesman through without any small talk. This was in keeping with the brisk, businesslike air of Woodrow Wilson’s Democratic administration, so Bryan took no offense.
Even so, he went in feeling slightly awkward, like a tardy student carrying a note from his mother up to the teacher’s desk. Even after two years in office, he was never quite sure where he stood. Bryan was in the cabinet by agreement, having stepped back from his own presidential candidacy out of respect for Wilson’s talents and similar beliefs. He certainly wasn’t one of the President’s closest friends, the tycoons and Eastern highbrows from Wilson’s days as chief of Princeton University. Bryan sensed that, by many of those and even by his fellow cabinet members, he was regarded as a hayseed with his farm- and Bible-based Populist views.
Still, having just returned from a railroad tour of the Western states, Bryan felt fit and ready for vigorous engagement. His reputation as a stump orator, the true voice of America’s rustic heartland, had never served him better. Rather than being tired from his journey, Bryan the Great Commoner, felt energized by his contact with the throngs who’d applauded his inspirational words across this vast continent, all the way to California and back.
Now the earnest, businesslike atmosphere of the White House steadied him. There was no call for expansive flights of rhetoric here.
President Wilson sat at his writing desk in shirtsleeves. “Good afternoon, Bill,” he said, glancing up without bothering to rise.
“Hello, Mr. President. It’s good to be back.”
“Back? Oh yes, from your speaking tour out West. Please, have a seat.” The President looked distinguished and professorial even without a coat. His handsome face and pleasant, dignified manner gave him the perfect presidential profile. “Your trip went well, I hear.”
Bryan wondered if Wilson had even noticed his absence. “Yes, it was most inspiring. But now I’ve returned to the hornet’s nest, with this European nightmare going on! I’m pleased to say that, among the ordinary rank and file of Americans, the spirit of neutrality remains strong, with plenty of support for your administration and our efforts to secure peace.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. There’s constant pressure to take sides, particularly from our British friends with their claims of German atrocities. These naval incidents don’t make it any easier.”
“I can imagine,” Bryan said. “I heard about this latest Gulflight torpedoing. Two Americans drowned, and one dead of a heart attack…a tragedy. But it’s hardly a casus belli worth taking the whole nation to war over. And here is something even more dangerous.” Relieved to get so soon to the point of his visit, Bryan reached to his vest pocket. “Have you seen this German warning about passenger ships in the war zone? It’s printed right next to this morning’s Lusitania sailing schedule in a dozen of our papers.”
Wilson’s right sleeve was held taut by a ladies’ purple-stitched garter at the elbow, to keep his white cuff clear of the drying ink on his letters. He loosened it as he reached for the clipping. After scanning it he nodded to Bryan.
“Yes, Bill, this was read to me by courier. I’ve been told by the German embassy that it’s official, the wording approved by their High Command.”
“But not necessarily by the Kaiser or their Prime Minister Bethmann-Hollweg? I’ve found that he’s a moderate on this matter of sea warfare.”
The President took a breath and handed back the clipping. “Well, that’s an old story, Bill. We know there are cross-purposes high up in the German government. But Wilhelm might easily have approved this. His speeches are fiery enough.”
Wilson gave the emperor’s name the proper German pronunciation, with a “V” sound for the “W” in Wilhelm.
After a moment’s silence, Bryan pressed him, “Well then, Mr. President, I must ask, how we are going to reply to this new threat?”
“I understand, Bill. It is provocative. How would you suggest that we respond?”
It was just like Wilson the Professor to question his student, rather than rendering an opinion. Bryan seized the opportunity.
“Another warning should be issued, by us—if not to the Central Powers, then to our own citizens who may think they can travel with impunity under a foreign flag in wartime.”
The President laid down his pen beside the inkwell. “I already have issued a stern warning to Berlin, strict accountability for any attacks that harm our ships or citizens. In your absence, it was drafted by your Assistant Secretary, Robert Lansing.”
“Yes, Mr. President. But earlier, before the Gulflight, we did nothing about the Falaba sinking, and the press furor about that was bad enough.”
President Wilson sighed. “One American lost to heart failure, on a British vessel trying to flee at first, and then allowed by the U-boat to lower lifeboats and abandon ship. You see, Bill, if I reacted strongly to the smallest tragedy that can occur in war, I’d be drawn into the fighting in a matter of months. I knew that you as a strict pacifist would agree.”
“Indeed, as a good Christian I do,” Bryan said whole-heartedly. “And I know you are too. But we must do more, in an even-handed way. Warn our citizens as well as the Germans. And warn the Western allies too, or forbid them outright to carry American passengers.”
“Perhaps. But what I say as President is vastly significant, don’t you see? Americans might take it as a sign of weakness. Businessmen will hate any restriction on trade–and our friends across the pond, as they say, could use that to pressure us further.”
“I have to say you’re being too sensitive to Britain, Mr. President,” Bryan said, risking bluntness. “That’s not neutrality. It can only get us in deeper over the long run. And today the Lusitania is setting sail once again with Americans on board.”
“Well, Bill, the British do set an example.” Wilson spoke in a judicious tone. “They abide by a legal standard that I can justify to our voters. King George’s bunch may not always play by the rules, but at least they avoid getting caught.”
“Yes, they’re good at it,” Bryan said. “Meanwhile, they invite neutral trade to Europe, but use the Royal Navy to divert all of it into their own ports. They also carry on arms traffic hiding behind false flags and passenger bookings, possibly with the aim of luring Americans into harm’s way.”
“There’s truth in that,” Wilson agreed. “But how are we to respond to this printed warning, which reads like a challenge? The Lusitania is a British vessel and would never obey an American order to return to port. And the Admiralty, or even King George himself, would ignore such a demand in time of war.” The President shook his head hopelessly and went on, “For this crossing, our American nationals will just have to trust the Royal Navy to protect them from the Prussians with all their new toys, aeroplanes, Zeppelins and U-boats.”
“Never a comfortable prospect,” Bryan agreed. “And the Brits must know that if a big ship gets sunk, with more American losses–pardon my language, Mr. President, but there’ll be Hell to pay.”