The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,112

he isn’t content to sit back and watch his correspondents do the frontline reporting for him. His efforts to join the military have been unsuccessful, but shortly after we report on the success of our battle in the Philippines, Hearst calls several of us into his office with news.

“I’ve received permission from Secretary of War Alger to take a steamship I’ve chartered from the Baltimore Fruit Company—the Sylvia—to Cuba as a member of the press corps,” Hearst announces. “The Sylvia’s captain and crew will be coming as well. We’re going to bring a printing press on the boat so we can publish the first American newspaper in Cuba.”

It’s an audacious proposal, one that will likely set Hearst apart from many of his fellow newspaper publishers. While everyone is scrambling to get the scoop on the war, most are happy to delegate the task to their staff rather than take it on themselves.

“We’ll call it the Journal-Examiner, and it’ll be a good way for the soldiers to get their news,” Hearst adds.

I can’t help but wonder—is Rafael among those men?

If Hearst has had news of him, I haven’t heard it, and I can’t bear to ask for fear that he’ll see me as some silly, lovesick girl rather than the respected journalist I hope to be.

“Who is going on this trip with you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, the possibility contained in such an opportunity too great to be ignored. Hearst’s war correspondents are legends.

“Creelman for one. One of my friends—Jack Follansbee. The Wilson sisters are going to be there, too. Several others.”

I blink, convinced I’ve misheard him.

“The Wilson sisters?”

The Wilson sisters are infamous Florodora Girls, their presence more suited to a Broadway stage than the battlefield. They are favorites of Hearst’s, rumors swirling that he is dating one or both of them, given the frequency in which he is seen out and about town with them on his arms and the extravagant gifts he has bestowed upon them.

“Should be a jolly time,” Hearst adds.

It takes a moment for me to realize he is absolutely serious.

It’ll be dangerous. I have no illusions about that.

When Sylvester Scovel was imprisoned over a year ago in Cuba, he was released after a month, but the threat toward journalists is still real.

Many would balk at the idea of taking a woman with them, but then again, Hearst is already taking two, even if their presence is designed to satisfy his needs for companionship and entertainment. And if Pulitzer was ready to send Nellie Bly to Cuba, why should I be different?

I open my mouth to ask him to allow me to accompany the party when he looks at me, a gleam in his eyes, and says—

“Care to join us?”

* * *

—

If someone had told me my journalistic career would lead to me sailing around Cuba dressed in men’s clothing in a convoy of chartered vessels with William Randolph Hearst and a pair of chorus girls who regularly break into song and dance, I wouldn’t have believed them.

But here we are.

We traveled down to the Caribbean on Hearst’s hired ship and started the last leg of our journey in Kingston, Jamaica, in mid-June where we docked and disembarked, the party checking into the luxurious Crystal Spring Hotel. Hearst went to a nearby racecourse where he bought some polo ponies to ride onto the battlefield before we embarked for Santiago, Cuba, the next morning. The American censors in Key West control the information, making it difficult to get stories out, so Jamaica has become our best option, and a convenient place to stock up on supplies.

I can’t fathom the amount of money that is being spent on personnel, dispatch boats, and telegraph companies, but for all of his wealth, at the rate he’s spending it, I have to think even Hearst might run out of money if this conflict continues on. He’s sent an army of thirty-five correspondents to Cuba and has created his own newsroom and printing press aboard the Sylvia.

We sail around Cuba, rendezvousing with the American navy, waiting for the battle to start. Initially, I think Hearst was worried that he’d miss it entirely, but it’s taken the United States some time to marshal our forces and prepare for war. There’s been fighting in Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and Guam, but so far Cuba has been silent.

We make our way to Las Guasimas at the end of June, leaving the Wilson sisters behind on the Sylvia as we take the horses