true that William Randolph Hearst used his newspapers to say any number of
unpleasant things about the Spanish government. But Hearst was not the United States
and he had no guns and no ships and no authority. What he did have was a loud voice
and no respect for tyrants. Tyrants bate people like that.
Somehow those masochistic revisionists have turned the War of 1898 into a case of
imperialistic aggression by the United States. How an imperialist war could result
in the freeing of Cuba and the Philippines is never made clear. But revisionism
always starts with the assumption that the United States is the villain. Once the
revisionist historian proves this assumption (usually by circular logic) he is
granted his Ph.D. and is well on his way to a Nobel peace prize.
In April 1898, to us benighted country people certain simple facts were true. Our
battleship Maine had been destroyed, with great loss of life. Spain had declared war
on us. The President had asked for volunteers.
The next day, Monday 25 April, came the President’s call asking the state militias
to furnish one hundred and twenty- five thousand volunteers to augment our
almost-nonexistent army. That morning Tom had ridden over to Butler Academy as
usual. The news reached him there and he came trotting back at noon, his roan
gelding Beau Brummel in a lather. He asked Frank to wipe Beau down for him and
hurried into the house, there to disappear into the clinic with Father.
They came out in about ten minutes. Father told Mother, `Madam, our son Tom is about
to enlist in the service of his country. He and I will be leaving for Springfield at
once. I must go with him in order to swear that he is eighteen years old and has
parental approval.’
‘But he is not eighteen!’
‘That is why I must go with him. Where is Frank? I want him to hitch Loafer.’
‘I’ll hitch him, Father,’ I put in. `Frank just now left for school, in a rush. He
was a bit late.’ (Tending Beau had made Frank late, but it wasn’t necessary to say
so.)
Father looked worried. I insisted, ‘Loafer knows me, sir; he would never hurt me.’
I had just returned to the house when I saw Father standing at the new telephone
instrument, which hung in the hallway we used as a waiting-room for patients. Father
was saying, ‘Yes… yes, I understand… Good luck, sir, and God speed. I will tell
her. Goodbye.’ He took the receiver away from his ear, stared at it, then remembered
to hang it up.
He looked at me. ‘That was for you, Maureen.’
`For me?’ I had never had a telephone call.
`Yes. Your young man, Brian Smith. He asks you to forgive him but he will not be
able to call on you next Sunday. He is catching a train for St Louis at once in
order to return to Cincinnati, where he will be enlisting in the Ohio State Militia.
He asks to be permitted to call on you again as soon as the war is over. Acting for
you, I agreed to that.’
`Oh.’ I felt an aching tight place under my wishbone and I had trouble breathing.
‘Thank you, Father. Uh… could you show me how to call him, call Rolla I suppose I
mean, and speak to Mr Smith myself?’
Mother interrupted. ‘Maureen!’
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Heinlein, Robert A – To Sail Beyond the Sunset.txt
I turned to face her. ‘Mother, I am not being forward, or unladylike. This is a very
special circumstance. Mr Smith is going off to fight for us. I simply wish to tell
him that I will pray for him every night while he is gone.’
Mother looked at me, then said gently, `Yes, Maureen. If you are able to speak to
him, please tell him that I shall pray for him, too. Every night’
Father cleared his throat, loudly. ‘Ladies -‘
‘Yes, Doctor?’ Mother answered.
‘The matter is academic. Mr Smith told me that he could talk only a few moments
because there was a long line of students waiting to use the telephone. Similar
messages, I assume. So there is no use in trying to reach him; the telephone wire