SIXTEEN

The Washington Conference,
November 12, 1921, to February 6, 1922

AS ANTOINETTE BEGAN TO PLAN CATHERINE’S WEDDING, HUGHES set about planning what would be one of the most celebrated international peace conferences in the history of the world, the Washington Naval Disarmament Conference (the Washington Conference), over which he would preside. It would be his first major event as secretary of state. Europe was strewn with human wreckage and with Romanoffs, Hapsburgs, and Hohenzollerns dethroned and centuries-old social hierarchies dismantled. It was imperative to broker a new world peace. But how? In pursuit of a strategy to ensure the success of this momentous conference, Hughes maintained a weekday schedule seven days a week.

Occasionally he would emerge from one of his grueling intellectual workouts and announce to Antoinette, “It can’t be done.” And she would remind him that he had said that about many of the projects he had taken on. Then he would say, “This time is different. This time I’ve taken on more than I can handle.” Then Antoinette would smile sweetly and remind him that he often said that, too. Her husband was literally trying to solve the problems of the world, and she was trying to keep him from destroying himself in the process.

In June, Antoinette traveled alone to Silver Bay to attend the ceremony of the laying of the cornerstone of Helen’s chapel. The site selected was one where Helen often sat quietly during her time at Silver Bay. The architect was to be Mr. Collins of the Boston firm Allen and Collins. The structure would be built of locally quarried granite.

Antoinette led a procession of young and healthy YWCA women dressed in ankle-length, white cotton dresses across the wide summer lawn to the construction site. She was three months shy of her fifty- seventh birthday. Compared with the apple-cheeked women who followed her, she looked frail in her black dress and hat, as if her present form had been whittled from a larger, more robust person.

Appropriately, the Washington Conference began on the morning of November 12, one day after Armistice Day and the dedication of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. On November 11, 1921, at 8:30 in the morning, a military escort removed a coffin bearing the remains of an unidentifiable American soldier from the rotunda of the Capitol where it had lain in state under an honor guard for two days, resting upon the same catafalque that had supported the remains of presidents Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley. The coffin was then committed to the sarcophagus, an event punctuated by three salvos of artillery, the sounding of taps and the national salute.

This solemn pageantry was a fitting prelude to the diplomatic salvo fired by the secretary of state on the following morning. The conference took place at Constitution Hall on Seventeenth Street, the home of the Daughters of the American Revolution. Several thousand people gathered in the cold on the streets outside in the hope of catching a glimpse of the notables as they arrived. Several hundred newspaper correspondents were in attendance to cover the event. Shortly after ten o’clock the attendees filed solemnly into the central hall where the tables were arranged in a large rectangle. The delegates settled into their seats in full anticipation of a bland and benign agenda consisting of the requisite welcoming speeches and mutual greetings, opening prayers, and logistical business of the conference. Instead, Hughes rose to the podium with a speech so volatile that it had been stored in a vault. Despite this precaution Hughes was so concerned about possible leaks and rumors that he asked Harding if he could deliver it right away instead of waiting until the second day of the conference. Harding agreed.In a proposal that was bold beyond all expectations Hughes offered to scrap American warships and challenged Great Britain and Japan to do the same with their fleets, according to a 5:5:3 ratio. While those in attendance were turning to each other in disbelief, asking if they had heard Hughes correctly, the secretary of state continued. He next proposed a ten-year moratorium on capital ship construction. After a moment of stunned silence, a commotion swept through the dignitaries.

Tables were prepared and ideas were exchanged about how the ratio could be achieved. Reductions were assessed relative to existing strength, which was calculated to include both built ships and those under construction. It quickly became apparent that in order to achieve this goal all three powers would have to scrap part of their current fleet. Great Britain would have to make the greatest sacrifice in vessels already built. The United States would be called upon to make the greatest sacrifice of vessels both built and under construction. In all, the United States would scrap thirty battleships, or 845,740 tons; Great Britain would scrap nineteen battleships, or 583,375 tons; and Japan would scrap seventeen battleships, or 448,928 tons—all within ninety days of signing an agreement. The Hughes plan was both thrillingly idealistic and thoroughly concrete.

The admirals of the U.S. Navy were outraged. Hughes had violated diplomatic protocol by not consulting them first. They protested that such drastic reductions in naval power would jeopardize national security, particularly in the event of a war in the Pacific, where America would be exposed, especially in the Philippines. In fact, the policymakers of the Navy Department believed the U.S. Navy should be as large as Great Britain’s and Japan’s combined.

Japan preferred a ratio of 10:7 to the 10:6 ratio that Hughes proposed. Moreover, the Hughes plan called for the scrapping of the recently completed Mutsu battleship. The Japanese flatly refused to sacrifice Mutsu under any circumstances, claiming that the huge ship held special sentimental value for Japan because it was wholly the product of Japanese designers and engineers. The deliberations continued week after week through the winter holidays and into January. One New York Times headline blared: “End of Conference Still Not in Sight. Rainbow of Adjournment Again Fades from the View of Wearied Delegates.” Day after day the fate of the world hung in the balance in these fragile deliberations, and the success of the deliberations rested squarely on the shoulders of Charles Evans Hughes. Returning to his office after the conference sessions, he paced the floors and worried about the outcome of his very high-risk, high-reward gamble to achieve world peace.