Rear Admiral Robley D. Evans was probably better known throughout the world than any other American naval officer since the days of Farragut. He was one of those men who once met, could never be forgotten; and he possessed many traits of character which set him high in the esteem not only of the public, but of the important men and officers of many nations with whom he came in contact during his forty-eight years of service.
The writer esteemed it both a privilege and an honor to know him as a friend for many years, and also to have the pleasant recollection of meeting him in several parts of the world. His undaunted courage which shone out of his face, his courtesy where courtesy was required, his directness of language where the occasion demanded it, his innate honesty and his outspoken contempt for hollowness and hypocrisy, and his open condemnation of fraud and fake of every kind, appealed strongly to the real men of this nation. For a man who had spent so much of his life at sea, he possessed a broad intelligence and a grasp of the world problems of his time, seldom equaled by one of his profession. The writer is of the opinion that a brief resume of his long career cannot fail to be of interest to the readers of the Proceedings, and an inspiration to the younger officers of the service in these crowded professional days, when there is so little time for reading history.
Robley D. Evans entered Annapolis September 15, 1860, at the age of fourteen, from the then territory of Utah. He was born in Floyd County, Virginia (among its mountains), August 18, 1846, the son of a poor country doctor who practiced over thirty square miles on horseback. He was one of four, children and when but ten years old, his father died of exposure. The next year he went to live with an uncle at Washington where he received two years of such schooling as the city then afforded. Curiously, he spent much of his spare time down by the Potomac watching the vessels moving about and longing for a sight of the sea, on which he was to spend so much of his life.
He had about decided to run away and join some ship when he became acquainted with a Mr. Hooper, then territorial delegate to Congress from Utah, who was a friend of his uncle. This gentleman one day asked him if he would not like to go to Annapolis and become a naval officer? His affirmative reply was so prompt and emphatic that Hooper said, “If you will go out to Utah and acquire a residence, I will appoint you,” which offer was at once accepted. Going to Utah in those days was a great deal easier said than done. It meant going as far as St. Joseph, Missouri, to the railhead and traveling another thousand miles by horseback or prairie schooner, through lands more or less infested by hostile Indians. But this did not daunt the lad of thirteen who saw in it the only means to a desired end. So he set out from St. Joseph with a dozen or two men and some families who were making the trip as settlers in that region. They were well armed and that was all that saved them for they had several fights with redskins on their journey, and our boy shot several of the attacking Indians thus receiving his first baptism of fire. There he also received his first wound by having an arrow pass through the tendon of his left leg.
No one who ever studied the face of Robley D. Evans would have any doubts of either of two traits. One was his indomitable courage, and the other the quickness of his temper when emergency called for it. Someone wrote years ago that, “the boy was father of the man,” and so it proved in this case. He had not been long in Salt Lake City when sitting one day on the veranda of the Hooper house reading, an arrow flew by his ear and stuck in the weather-boarding of the house back of him. Then a second one caught him in the shin bone. Looking out between the shrubbery he discovered a Digger Indian laughing at him. Now no one regards being hit in the shin as a laughing matter, and young Evans didn’t. Rushing into the house he found a loaded double barreled shot gun standing in a corner. Grabbing this, he ran out and emptied both barrels into the back of the fleeing Digger. He says, in A Sailor’s Log, that “The Indian must have laughed out of the other corner of his mouth, while a doctor spent several hours digging shot out of his back.”
His career at Annapolis was short owing to the coming of the Civil War, but he always paid high tribute to the good advice and influence exerted on him by Lieutenants C. R. P. Rodgers and George Rodgers, the former then in command of midshipmen and the latter of the old Constitution, the station ship of the academy. When the crisis came and the cadets were obliged to choose which side they would follow, nearly all of them went with their native states (North or South). Much pressure was brought to bear on this boy of fifteen by both his family and friends, to persuade him to go over to the Southern side with his native Virginia, but of no avail. He decided to stand by the old flag and when the remnant of the Naval Academy was transferred, with the Constitution, to Newport, Rhode Island, he remained with it. His mother even went so far as to send his resignation to the Navy Department at Washington, where it was accepted. When the young man heard of this he became furious and with the help of C. R. P. Rodgers, succeeding in having the resignation cancelled and in being reinstated. So near did a life-long naval career of great brilliancy come to being wrecked.
On October 1, 1863, at the age of seventeen, he was commissioned as acting ensign and ordered to the Powhatan, then part of a flying squadron hunting blockade runners in the West Indies. He was evidently unfortunate in his first naval captain for he says of him in A Sailor’s Log, “He could be disagreeable in more different ways than any man who ever wore a naval uniform.”
His ship was ordered to join the fleet assembling off Fort Fisher, North Carolina, in December, 1863, and he witnessed the first futile attack on that stronghold. This was chiefly bombardment from the ships and, owing to the sandy nature of the walls of the fort, did but little damage.
The second attack, with the army under General Terry cooperating, took place on January 15, 1864, and this young ensign of only eighteen years was ordered to lead a company of marines forming part of a frontal attack on the sea walls of the fort. The men landed from the fleet and reached the outworks before the Army was quite near enough to engage the garrison on the land side. The result was that all of its defenders came to oppose them for a time with rather dreadful results. In consequence the sailors were shot down by the hundreds and young Evans was first slightly wounded in the breast but this did not stop him. Next he received a bullet in his .left leg and soon after another through his right knee. Then he had a toe shot off, making four wounds in all. Of course he could not keep on so he dug himself a hole in the sand. He had not been long there when he discovered that someone was making a target of him, as bullets kept coming close enough to throw sand on him. He dug a little deeper and then began to watch carefully for this new enemy who seemed bent on his destruction. He soon located him in another hole under the parapet of the fort and by a lucky shot from his revolver, put him out of existence. How many boys of his age, wounded in four places, would have had the nerve to accomplish this?
He was finally rescued and got on board ship, being taken to a naval hospital at Norfolk, Virginia. During this time the overworked surgeons could give him but little attention. As he was put into a bed at the hospital he slipped his revolver under his pillow, with what motive will presently appear. Two doctors came to his room and the chief said to his assistant, “You come in the morning and take off both his legs.” Evans heard this and reflected during the night that he owned the legs and that they were of more use to him than to anyone else.
In the morning the assistant surgeon entered his room, saying: “Now, my poor young man, I shall have to take off both your legs,” undoing a case of instruments as he spoke. Whereat this young and grievously wounded ensign, pulling his revolver from under his pillow, said; “If you come one step nearer this bed I will kill you.” The result was that no doctor entered his room for several days. Then he was sent to a hospital at Philadelphia together with the only other six surviving members of the gallant company he had led at Fort Fisher. At Philadelphia he received more, intelligent treatment and his legs were saved. When his wounds healed he was unable to get his right foot to the ground but had to go about on crutches. This did not suit him so he had that knee broken again and reset, so that his right leg was of some use to him. But he was left with a limp which went with him through life.
He was then invalided out of the service on account of his wounds, the only naval officer so treated, but his fighting propensity got into action again and by an appeal to Congress he was reinstated. Thus the Navy came again within a hair’s breadth of losing one of its most efficient officers. Of course a naval hero cannot be developed without a war. But how many of our young officers have ever had so much experience by the time they were nineteen? I have given this much space to his Fort Fisher experience, because it developed so much real grit inherent in this very young ensign that for the rest of his life he never feared anything on earth. He knew that nothing which might come later could possibly be worse than what he had already gone through. Here we have a young naval officer who was wounded six times before he reached nineteen years of age, twice with arrows and four times with bullets, who still loved the service and insisted on remaining in it for life.
After the close of that conflict young Evans went on a long cruise to China in the Piscataqua and was promoted to lieutenant commander in 1868. Then he was ordered to the Mediterranean and later in 1872 sailed for the west coast of Africa in the Shenandoah, still seeing the world at early age.
In 1871 he had married Charlotte Taylor, daughter of Mr. Franck Taylor and sister of a classmate, Henry C. Taylor, who later became an admiral in our Navy. Taylor commanded the Indiana while Evans was in command of the Iowa, at the naval battle off Santiago.
In 1876 Evans perfected a long-distance signal lamp which was much used in our service. Later he was four years in the old training sloop Saratoga and took a great interest in making men out of an incongruous lot of city school boys, “suffering and useless from mental overtraining.” During this period he was several times in Gibraltar, meeting many distinguished British officers and members of the nobility on whom he always made a most favorable impression. Among these were Lord and Lady Napier with whom he became firm friends.
In 1882 he was equipment officer at Washington and had a decided influence on the advisory board under Secretary Hunt, which determined that all future vessels for our Navy must be constructed of steel.
Admiral Evans even then was a man of wide information and he became an expert on steel making, especially plates. He could talk locomotives and many mechanical subjects as well as he could ships. I discussed many such subjects with him and never found him at a loss for intelligent comment. In 1884 he became lighthouse inspector, fifth district, with headquarters at Baltimore and during two years on that duty, he greatly increased the efficiency of the service in that district. He found many political appointees, more or less incompetent, in charge of lighthouses and caused their removal; thereby creating some enemies who caused his being put on waiting orders. In 1886 the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad borrowed him from the Navy Department to act as chief inspector of steel for a new bridge of that material, the first of its kind on their line. Soon afterward he cooperated with William C. Whitney who became Secretary of the Navy and together they divorced the operation of the lighthouses from political influence. Mr. Whitney appointed Evans chief steel inspector of his department and he was the means of changing the steel specifications for the new Navy, so that the plates produced were harder than any ever before known.
After a time Secretary Fairchild of the Treasury had him made secretary to the lighthouse board. In this position he improved the quality of the lighthouse keepers, and carried out a long- cherished plan of getting them all into uniform which increased their self-respect and efficiency. He caused many improvements, established electric lighted buoys along the channel into New York harbor so that ships making Sandy Hook in the night, could come up and anchor in safety at quarantine. This was the first port in the world to be so lighted. During this period he also acted as superintendent of construction of the first Maine, then just started at the Cramp’s Ship Yard at Philadelphia and making very slow progress. He succeeded in speeding things up at Cramp’s and worked so hard at both jobs that he told a friend, “He had heard that it was better to wear out than to rust out, and he saw no danger whatever of his accumulating any rust, as he had to divide his time between Washington and Philadelphia which meant many hours of extra work.” Admiral Evans, in spite of his early wounds, was a man of fine physique and excellent health, or he never would have been able to survive the strains he had to endure in his long and arduous service in the Navy.
The intelligence and diversified ability of this unusual man and his value to the department are shown by the fact that the government sent him to Appleton, Wisconsin, to erect a sulphite-fiber mill through a winter when the thermometer often went to thirty degrees or more below zero. He said of this undertaking: “The air was dry and I enjoyed every hour of the time. My water power was at last harnessed, and when all the water wheels were running and the vast mass of machinery doing its work, I felt repaid for my labor. The knowledge I gained was of great benefit to me afterward when I found myself in command of a ship with her seventy-odd engines of various kinds.”
In August, 1891, Commander Evans was placed in command of the steel gunboat Yorktown which in September of that year was ordered to Chile, where under the most trying circumstances he was called upon to display all of the tact, patience, and diplomacy there was in him, as we were soon to be on the ragged edge of war with that country. Here, as will be seen later, he acquired the sobriquet of “Fighting Bob” which went with him through life and which would seem properly to have belonged to this pugnacious individual from early boyhood. The Yorktown was only 1,710 tons, armed with six 6-inch B. L. R. two 6-pounders, four 1-pounders and a couple of machine guns. Her complement was only 195 men. With this little force he was called upon, as will be seen later, to defy practically the entire Chilean Navy for a period of nearly seven weeks. All who knew him expected the courage which he displayed through those exasperating weeks when a single false step on his part would have precipitated us into war; but they marveled at the patience and diplomacy shown by him when his temper must have been on edge, and he must have been boiling with indignation inside.
The Yorktown left New York on October 8, 1891, proceeding, after stopping at various ports for coal, through the Straits of Magellan to Valparaiso, Chile. It took fifty-one days to make the passage, much of it in villainous weather. He arrived about December 1, to find the Baltimore there, and that two of her men had been murdered and eighteen wounded in a drunken brawl ashore. It was apparent to anyone who studied the affair, that our unarmed men had been attacked most unjustly by an infuriated Chilean mob, assisted by the Valparaiso police and some soldiers. The country at the time was between two revolutions with little civil authority and greatly unsettled. This, however, was no excuse for an unprovoked attack on the naval men of a friendly nation. The Baltimore, in command of Captain W. S. Schley, was leaving for the north in a few days and the little Yorktown would have to face the hatred of all North Americans which had developed out of the rumpus, also to handle the open hostility and insults to which all of his officers and men (including himself) were subjected whenever his boats had to take anyone ashore. It was easy to keep his men on board, but our minister (Mr. Egan) was at Santiago, the capital, some twenty or more miles inland, and frequent conferences between the commander and Mr. Egan were absolutely necessary. This meant that a boat had to bring Evans ashore, and wait around to take him back to his ship. The whole Chilean Navy was anchored around the Yorktown, and three German warships with three Frenchmen were also in the harbor. It should be borne in mind that practically all the dispatches for Commander Evans had to come through our legation at Santiago. This meant that he had to go there every few days. From the minute he landed, all the way to the railway station in Valparaiso, he was followed by spies, by uniformed police thoroughly hostile, and by more or less of a mob with no good-will. On arrival at Santiago it was the same, with the legation surrounded while he was there. The return to the Yorktown was made under similar conditions. Nothing but scowls and muttered threats met him all along the line. It is easy to imagine how this kind of a man had to figuratively sit on his own safety valve, to prevent its popping under such circumstances. A threatening wave of his walking stick would have precipitated an assault on him.
The commander scrupulously made all the usual formal calls on the Chilean port and naval officials, and punctiliously observed all the official etiquette. He felt deeply the need of another United States warship in the port for his moral support at least. But his handling of this most difficult situation makes it seem wise that he was the senior American naval officer present. The size of the ship did not matter, it was the size of her commander that counted most. And he might have been under some senior of much worse judgment, and less courage. The full details of this affair are published and well-known to all readers of history; but I will mention certain Evans characteristics, which show forth most delightfully through the whole business.
In December he began to hear rumors that the Yorktown was to be destroyed by some form of night attack. Therefore from the thirtieth of that month, her guns were kept loaded and the crew slept at their battle stations. Notice was given to the Chilean admiral that any vessel approaching the gunboat after dark would be fired on without notice. On January 8, 1892, one of his boat crews, awaiting his return from Santiago, was stoned and hit. Evans at once notified the Chilean admiral that thereafter all his boat crews would be armed with loaded rifles and any man seen throwing stones at them would be shot dead. From then on stone throwing became very unpopular and his waiting crews were not again molested. Soon after this the captains of several torpedo boats started the pleasant habit of rushing full speed at the York- town, then jamming their helms hard over and going by her with but few feet of clearance, sometimes less than six.
The Chilean admiral was thereupon favored with another note to the effect that from then on, if any more of their torpedo boats headed for her they would be fired on with 6-inch guns as soon as they passed a certain radius. Curiously, this amusement also ceased at once.
About then, Commander Evans heard rumors that the Baltimore matter was to be left to arbitration. That day he wrote in his diary; “When the United States is willing to submit the murder of her sailors in uniform to arbitration, I must seek other employment.” He also naively admits, “that the situation was telling on his temper”; which can easily be believed. Knowing the man, it is a marvel that he kept control of himself and did not blow up and ruin the whole situation. This dreary and tense condition hung on for seven weeks, before our government ordered the Yorktown to carry certain refugees who had sought asylum in our legation at Santiago, to Callao and there await orders. Meantime, this lone little United States naval vessel in charge of a courageous and able commander, far from home and with very uncertain means of communication, with no other United States warship within 1,200 miles (Callao), dominated and held down an intensely critical situation, when a very slight blunder by Commander Evans would have precipitated war. Meanwhile the honor and self-respect of his country was most faithfully guarded. It is easy to imagine with what intense relief and joy the men of this doughty little warship sailed away to the north on January 20. How they must have slept the first nights out!
In June, 1892, Commander Evans was placed in charge of five gunboats and old cruisers, together with several revenue cutters, and ordered to Bering Sea to put an end to pelagic sealing. Here was another job requiring courage, tact, and discretion, for it was known that some no schooners were engaged in this destructive work and that they were under Russian, Japanese, Canadian, British, and even American flags. The work was disagreeable, cold and in rough seas mostly uncharted and unlighted. International complications were more than easy. But this arduous work was well carried through and no less than 107 of these seal pirates were warned to get out and stay out, with no ensuing complications. There is no doubt but what the many “pirate” captains who had a personal interview with the commander of the Yorktown, left his presence with the firm conviction that here was a man who could not safely be fooled with. For his excellent work in Bering Sea he was commended by Secretary Tracy and especially mentioned by the President in a message to Congress. Few officers have had that honor in time of peace.
For a time the commander was again attached to the lighthouse board as naval secretary, where he had many pleasant trips with President Cleveland and members of his cabinet who liked to go about on the lighthouse tenders. Soon after his return from the north he was promoted to the rank of captain and in 1894 was given command of our new (and only) armored cruiser, the New York. As he was a low junior on the list, it was a distinct mark of honor. Any officer might have been justly proud to command this fine ship for, to the writer’s mind, the first New York (now under another name) was and is the prettiest steel ship in the Navy. She was a flagship and here Captain Evans served as chief of staff to Admiral Richard W. Meade until his retirement.
The Kiel Canal celebration was looming up and the New York was one of our ships ordered to attend it. She sailed for that port about May 20, 1895, arriving in due time. As one of the newest ships in the international fleet gathered there she attracted much attention, especially from the ever-vigilant Kaiser. Such a real man as he was then would certainly be attracted by such another real man as Captain Evans. In fact the attraction was mutual. Of course there was much entertaining on this kind of an occasion and one evening1 our Admiral Kirkland gave on the New York a dinner at which were the Emperor, his brother, Prince Henry, and ten admirals. The meal lasted long and late and at 1 A. M. the Emperor expressed a wish to inspect the ship thoroughly.
He was taken everywhere and shown everything. At about 2 a. M. he and Captain Evans were out on the forecastle when the Emperor asked, “How long would it take to close all the water tight doors?” The captain replied, “About thirty seconds in daylight and two minutes at this hour.” The Emperor requested to be shown. Evans tried to blow the siren but there was no steam, at which the Emperor said, “Now you see, captain, you can’t do it.” Captain Evans replied, “You will see in a moment, sir.” Evans pressed one of the general alarm buttons which called all hands to quarters, in a few seconds, the men were swarming all over the ship. The Emperor stood with his watch in his hand while in one minute and a half, the ship was ready for action with all water-tight doors closed. When they went aft where everybody could hear him the Emperor said, “Captain Evans, I cannot imagine that a ship could be in better condition.” Which praise did not displease our captain one mite.
In the spring of 1898 when the Spanish War broke out Captain Evans was in command of the battleship Iowa. Many terse and unique sayings as to what he would do to the Spaniards if given a chance became current, some true and some untrue. Anyway the public loves a he-man and they served to confirm the name of “Fighting Bob,” which never left him. It is not affirming too much to say, that he became the most popular officer in our Navy. Anyway the Iowa fired the first gun at Cervera’s fleet when it came out of Santiago, as might have been expected. His record during that war is too well known to need comment. He used to tell a delightful story of an experience when off Cienfuegos. The Iowa was lying off that port late one afternoon, when a transport came along and delivered to that ship some forty recruits from the Michigan naval reserve as she was short of her complement. They were a big husky lot, pretty green about warships but evidently excellent material with which to complete a crew. They arrived so late that nothing much could be done with them except to assign their station billets before darkness came on.
About midnight that night, it was reported that one or two Spanish torpedo boats were coming out of Cienfuegos, and the Iowa beat to quarters and the men went to their battle stations. Captain Evans was just coming out of his cabin and hurrying forward, when in the dark he felt someone pull his sleeve. He stopped to see who it was, when a man said to him, “Say Mister, I came down here to fight and I want to fight, but I don’t know where I ought to go to.” The Captain looked at him and saw that he was one of the green Michiganders so lately come aboard and meant nothing by his manner of addressing him, as he knew no better. He replied, saying; “You have a station billet, haven’t you?” “Yes,” said the man, “I have some kind of a card they gave me.” “Let me see it,” said Evans. He went where he could see to read it and then said to the man, “You belong in the starboard after eight-inch turret;” handing it back to him. “Yes, Mister,” said the man, “but how in Hell do I get to it?” The Captain kindly went part way with the man so that he could not go wrong, and then hurried forward to the conning tower. How many battleship commanders at such a time would have taken so much trouble to set a green hand right? It was such incidents that caused his great popularity with all of his crews.
In token of this, in February, 1899, he was presented by the crew of the Iowa with a beautiful sword and a written testimonial reading as follows;
U. S. S. Iowa,
San Francisco, California,
14 February 1899.
Captain Robley D. Evans, U.S.N.
Washington, D. C.
Sir:
The members of this ship’s company, who had the high honor of serving you from San Juan to Santiago, beg leave to present this sword as a token of our affection and reverence.
It had been our intention to make this presentation when you relinquished command, but owing to the disintegration of the crew following our arrival at New York in August last, and our hurried departure, it was not done. Coming at this late day, it will show you, sir, that this action is not from momentary impulse, but that the affection and respect of this crew for you is deep rooted and lasting, and that the men of the battleship Iowa will ever cherish the memory of their beloved commander.
And with this sword we send our wishes for your health and happiness always. It is an assurance from us that you are more than a hero to a nation—you are a hero to your men.
Very respectfully,
[Signed by a committee of five of his crew.]
At a reception at the Chamber of Commerce in Cincinnati a white-haired old gentleman took Captain Evans by the hand saying; “Captain, I want to know how it feels when you are sure that there are seventy millions of people each one of whom would like to look into your eyes and say, ‘God bless you’?” Evans was greatly moved by these incidents and said, “that it was worth all that he had gone through or expected to have to endure, to have such appreciation from his fellow countrymen.” The sword became his most highly prized possession.
While still in command of the Iowa, he was visited by Rudyard Kipling, who expressed much admiration for the captain. Later on he sent him a set of his books and on the fly leaf of the first volume was written a new poem entitled: “Admiral Evans,” with a reference to his illustrator (Zogbaum). I will quote only the first and last verses;
Zogbaum draws with a pencil,
And I do things with a pen.
And you sit up in a conning tower,
Bossing eight hundred men.
To him that hath shall be given,
And that’s why these books are sent.
To the man who has lived more stories,
Than Zogbaum or I could invent.
The point of this quotation lies in the third line of the last verse, for where could be found another of his age who “had lived more stories” than had Admiral Evans since he was seventeen years old, and more were still to follow. I had the pleasure of sending him many press clippings of stories and sayings attributed to “Fighting Bob,” and the reply to about three- fourths of them was, “These are news to me.”
When Prince Henry of Prussia visited the States, Admiral Evans was appointed his special aide and escort as he had met him at Kiel. He never left him while in this country and the experience added many new stories to his repertoire, together with some caustic comments on the ineptitude of some of our people toward visiting royalty.
In 1902 he was ordered to the Far East where he took command of our Asiatic fleet. Happening to be in Japan at that period I saw considerable of both the Admiral and his family. He there asked me how I liked his first book A Sailor’s Log. My reply was that in reading it I felt as if we were sitting in a room some evening with a couple of good cigars going, and perhaps a little moisture nearby, while with crossed legs he told me the story of his life. “Mr. Tyler,” said the Admiral, “that is the best criticism of my book that I have heard from anyone.” While in command out there he greatly improved the dotter and sub-caliber firing of the fleet and invented a new loading machine long used in the service. In 1907 he much improved our system of fire-control assisted by an able board appointed by himself. During that year it was decided to send our battleship fleet around the world, and Rear Admiral Evans was appointed its commander-in-chief.
This “Armada” assembled at Hampton Roads in December where it made a wonderful spectacle. It consisted of sixteen battleships and a vast number of destroyers, auxiliaries and supply ships. It was ordered to sail December 16, and on that morning President Roosevelt arrived in the Mayflower to review the fleet and wish it God speed on its long voyage. Admiral Evans conducted it through the Straits of Magellan and as far as Magdalena Bay, (13,000 miles), where target practice was had. But here his ancient enemy rheumatism caused by his Civil War wounds, got the better of him and he was compelled to turn the ships over to his second-in-command, Rear Admiral C. M. Thomas, and seek relief at the Paso Robles Hot Springs. There he recovered sufficiently to meet the fleet at San Francisco and take part in the celebration, but he soon commenced to suffer again and the doctors ordered his retirement.
This was confirmed from Washington by the following letter from President Roosevelt;
The White House,
Washington, March 23, 1908.
My Dear Admiral;
It is with very great regret that, at your own request, I relieve you from command. You have now practically finished your active service in the United States Navy, and you have brought your long and honorable career, identified to a peculiar degree with the whole history of the Navy, to a close by an achievement which marks the entrance of the United States into the rank of naval powers of the first class. In your early youth, as a young officer, you won a reputation for signal gallantry in the Civil War. You have closed your career by conducting a - great battle fleet from the North Atlantic to the North Pacific in a manner which has shown you to be a master of your profession. The fleet comes to San Francisco in better shape than when it left Hampton Roads—better fit for service in every way; and the officers and men owe no small part of their improvement in their profession to the mastery of your profession which the handling of the fleet has shown.
With thanks, congratulations, and good wishes, believe me,
Sincerely yours,
THEODORE ROOSEVELT
On his return to Washington, the President told Rear Admiral Evans that he had used all his influence to have Congress make him a vice admiral, but without success. It should be borne in mind, that never before had a modern fighting fleet of this size been conducted such a distance. It should also be recalled that its commander had characteristically announced just before sailing, "that the fleet was equally ready for either a frolic or a fight," which caused uneasiness in certain quarters.
Without doubt, this forced retirement because of ill health at the very apex of his forty-eight years of service was a grievous disappointment to the admiral, who hoped to crown it by taking this great fleet throughout its entire cruise, the first of its kind. He had achieved flag rank in 1901 at the age of fifty-five, which made him near the official retiring age (62), but had he kept his health, he would probably have been retained in the service a few years more.
He returned to Washington by rail, receiving ovations at every principal station, so high did he stand in the estimation of the public, who deeply sympathized with him in his having to give up so great a command on account of old wounds received in action. He went on the retired list August 18, 1909, settling in Washington where he died suddenly from acute indigestion on January 3, 1912, at the age of sixty-six. He left a wife, two married daughters and a son, now Captain Franck Taylor Evans, U. S. N. He was deeply mourned both at home and abroad, where he had many friends, for “Fighting Bob” was known and respected wherever warships go and wherever naval officers foregather. Of the many tributes to his courage and great ability, want of space permits the mention of but a few.
President Taft said; “Admiral Evans was one of the most successful squadron commanders we have had in the Navy for a long time; he was a rigid disciplinarian, of quick decision, and admirably advised in the intricacy of the machinery of battleships, and skilled in drilling them.”
Secretary of the Navy Meyer said; “By the sudden death of Admiral Evans the country loses one of its most brilliant and able officers. It was on account of his ability that President Roosevelt selected him as commander-in-chief of the fleet to cruise around the world…”
Former Naval Secretary Metcalf said in part; “He was practically an ill man when selected for this important duty [commanding the world fleet], but his splendid record justified the Navy Department, of which I was then in charge, in giving him this recognition of his long and efficient service. He was one of the most efficient and capable officers the Navy has known, and his name has been a household word for many years.”
Admiral Evans had probably met the rulers of more nations, and more distinguished officers of both their services, than any other naval flag officer in our history; and so favorable was the impression he made, that none of them ever forgot him afterward. A list of these would be too long for this paper, but among his intimate foreign naval friends might be mentioned Admiral Prince Henry of Prussia, Admiral the Duke d’Abruzzi of Italy, and Admiral Prince Louis of Battenberg (British), while Admiral Lord Charles Beresford was a chum of a quarter of a century’s standing. These two fighting “Sea Dogs” had much in common to draw them together, and in both the British and American services they were spoken of respectively as “Fighting Charlie” and “Fighting Bob,” in innumerable stories told aboard warships.
After his retirement, the Admiral enjoyed about two and a half years of Washington life during which he retained an intense interest in the Navy, and his enforced inactivity must have worn on him.
Robley D. Evans was nothing if not honest; whether in praise or in criticism, his speech was most direct and generally hit the bull’s eye. One always knew exactly where to find him. Of course his bluntness made him some enemies, but no man ever rose to the top of his profession without this result. In order to get up in this world, some heads have to be trodden on. It is unavoidable. The soft and easy spoken seldom get anywhere. Mr. Roosevelt’s motto, “to speak softly and carry a big stick,” is excellent advice, but everyone cannot do it. To illustrate Admiral Evans’ directness of speech, I will quote only one instance. In conversing with him in Yokohama, I happened to mention one of our naval officers who had been much in the public eye and who had received a great deal of criticism. “What do you think of him?” said the Admiral. My reply was, “that he seemed to some of us on shore to be a good deal of a d—d fool, but that I did not expect him to say anything about the man.” “Of course he’s a damned fool,” said Evans, “he was one on the day he was born, and he has never missed being one any of the days since then.”
There is a story that Admiral Evans once attended Trinity Church, New York at a Sunday service; an usher showed him into one of the best pews there and the wealthy owner arrived soon after. Not knowing who was in his pew, the man took out a card and wrote on it, “I pay $1,000 a year rent for this pew,” and handed it to his undesired guest. The Admiral looked at it a moment, then took out his own card, wrote on it “You pay too d—d much,” and passed it over to the owner.
After reaching flag rank Admiral Evans published two books, both of surpassing interest even today, especially to any lover of the sea. The first, A Sailor’s Log, appeared in 1901 and the second, An Admiral’s Log, in 1910. They are both books that will bear reading several times, for they are a distinct part of the history of our modern Navy. In writing this “Appreciation” these works have been drawn upon, also Maclay’s History of the Navy, as well as personal recollections of one of the most valued friendships of the writer’s life.