It is in long periods of peace that victories and defeats are prepared. Peace is the period for men of government, just as war is for men of action. Without the calm preparation carried out by the former, the courage and energy of the latter are of no use.
— Captain First Class Ramón Auñón y Villalón, 1885.
The Spanish-American War is widely remembered as a moment of triumph for the United States and a disaster for Spain. The war began in 1898 after Spain. The war began in 1898 after Spain’s brutal effort to suppress Cuba’s independence revolt, American outrage over conditions on the island and the explosion of the USS Maine pushed Washington into war, which then proceeded through a U.S. naval blockade of Cuba, support for Cuban insurgents, and American landings near Santiago that broke Spanish power in Cuba while U.S. forces also seized Spain’s other imperial possessions in the Caribbean and Pacific. While there are extensive U.S.-oriented perspectives, few English-language sources examine the Spanish perspective. Fewer still explore the Reserve Squadron of la Armada Española (hereafter, the Spanish navy). Hastily formed at the onset of war, the Reserve Squadron — including the battleship Pelayo and armored cruiser Emperador Carlos V — almost executed a daring mission against the American East Coast in mid-1898 to sow chaos in coastal cities and divide American naval forces. However, the Reserve Squadron never executed the Atlantic raid. Instead, following the destruction of Adm. Pascual Cervera’s fleet at the Battle of Santiago on July 3, 1898, the Spanish government recalled the Reserve Squadron to protect the Spanish coast from feared American attacks.
The Reserve Squadron merits attention not only because it might have played spoiler to American designs, but also because its predicament resonates now. Alfred Thayer Mahan hypothesized that had the Reserve Squadron joined forces with Cervera’s squadron in the Antilles, the combined force would have required the American fleet to give chase, thereby relieving pressure on Spanish naval forces in Cuba. Why did Spain not follow through?
The Reserve Squadron did not and could not execute the Atlantic raid because of cascading three-tiered failures of policy, service stagnation, and readiness challenges. First, Spanish politics in the years preceding the Spanish-American War prioritized stability, balanced budgets, and short-term political gain. As a result, by 1898, the Spanish navy was both chronically underfunded and without a clear strategy. Second, the Spanish navy struggled to build up maritime combat power at the outbreak of the war due to its reliance on foreign shipyards for major construction and maintenance. Finally, foreign dependency, lack of vision, and threadbare budgets meant that the Reserve Squadron lacked sufficient working armaments and trained crews and relied on an incomplete intelligence process. Once war with America broke out, the combination of political sclerosis, institutional brittleness, and poor readiness left Spain unable to adapt.
Tier One: Political Shortcomings
By the late 19th century, Imperial Spanish politics revolved around a constitutional monarch and two dominant political parties which alternated power in congress at intervals. Dubbed the turno pacífico (peaceful turn), the system’s goal was to ensure political stability by treating the institutions of the monarchy as sacrosanct. Political power brokers preferred the turno pacífico given Spain’s experience with the frequent military rebellions of the pre-Restoration era. To that end, politicians often resorted to a coup-proofing strategy by increasing payments to military officers even while overall military expenditures stagnated. Though predictably stable, the turno pacífico also resulted in political theatrics and inter-party squabbles. Citing constitutional prerogative, politicians clamored for change, the media analyzed why change was needed, while the public watched the perpetual “crisology” unfold. Occasionally, the out-party blocked the in-party’s will, leading to political paralysis.
Meanwhile, ever fearful of a falling peseta, the government ruthlessly prioritized balanced budgets and a regressive taxation scheme. However, fiscal austerity and low taxes ran counter to the financial necessities of maintaining a global empire. Moreover, few could ignore that Spain was, by this era, a poor country without the means to invest in the maritime power it required.
Spain’s penchant for prioritizing domestic policy also led the government to neglect foreign policy. Successive governments assumed that fellow Catholic monarchies would provide support in times of need. However, without tangible hard-power investments, Spain offered little value to any wartime coalition. By 1898, Austria-Hungary offered only encouragement. England remained officially neutral, though it leaned toward the United States. And Germany eyed Spain’s possessions in the Pacific. Thus, the Spanish navy had few viable pre-war options for forward basing and resupply aside from the Portuguese territory of Cabo Verde.
Political sclerosis, anemic budgets, and daunting colonial responsibilities overstretched Spanish naval power, leaving it ill-prepared to face potential maritime challengers. Nevertheless, Spanish politicians also believed in fighting over surrender, and that the “country could endure failure, not cowardice.” Even Queen Regent María Cristina preferred to lose Cuba to keep peace and considered abdicating to disentangle Spain from conflict.
Tier Two: Institutional Stagnation
At the institutional level, political short-sightedness resulted in service-level atrophy. By the 1890s, the Spanish navy was a costly and top-heavy bureaucracy, not a credible combat organization. Threadbare annual operational funding covered only 34 tons of coal per day, enough for a large battleship to steam at nine knots for one day. Meanwhile, the naval budget only covered one day of target practice per ship per year.
Some naval officers expressed concern about the inherent dangers of disorganization and stagnation colliding with external threats. Cervera lamented in 1895 that “The naval equipment is irretrievably decaying; and the unrest is increasing at alarming rates.” Cervera further contended that the government, through its representatives, often compounded the problems it sought to solve. The Spanish navy also required “increasing expenditures on coal, gunpowder, ammunition, and other consumable supplies, as well as everything related to maintaining armed ships.” In a letter written three years before Commodore George Dewey’s Asiatic Squadron annihilated Rear Adm. Patricio Montojo’s Pacific Squadron at the Battle of Manila Bay, Cervera argued for a tenfold increase in naval expenditures to account for burgeoning fleet operations and maintenance if the Spanish navy ever hoped to defend the Philippines adequately.
Nevertheless, given political trends and service stagnation, such a budget increase was beyond reality. It would come back to haunt Spain in war. As then-Minister of Marine Ramón Auñón y Villalón testified before the Spanish Congress in May 1898:
If of the 2,000 million [pesetas] [$296 million in 1895 to 1898 dollars, or approximately $12.1 billion today] spent on the Cuban insurrection, 500 million had been opportunely dedicated to the navy, perhaps there would not have been war, and 1,500 million would have been saved.
And as Auñón reminded the deputies, once war occurred, “there was no budget for it … and when it became clear that it was no longer possible to wait, it became necessary to resort to extraordinary resources.”
Nevertheless, even professional warnings of institutional shortcomings from senior officers failed to change the navy’s course. As Auñón had said in 1885 at the Ateneo, navies “cannot be improvised when wars break out. Certainly, naval equipment is expensive, and its upkeep is a heavy burden; but nothing is as costly as being defeated.” Thus, Spain in 1898 found itself with a hollow force: systemically, institutionally, and mentally ill-prepared for the realities of a multi-theater war. As a result, the Reserve Squadron, existing but limited in its ability to maneuver, would be caught in the turbulence to come.
Tier Three: Operational Struggles
By March 1898, most of the Reserve Squadron ships were undergoing work in foreign ports and many arrived incomplete. Both the Pelayo and the Carlos V hastily returned to Spain in April 1898 without operable main battery armaments. Limited shipyard capacity meant that repairs or completions often lagged operational need. Another problem was a shortage of trained personnel. By spring 1898, Pelayo’s crew complement numbered 203, the Carlos V had 282 — each representing approximately one-third of the total designed complement — and the Numancia and Vitoria had only 51 crew apiece —representing only one-tenth of the designed complement.
Upon taking command of the Reserve Squadron, Adm. Manuel de la Cámara y Livermoore informed the minister of marine: “I believe it is my sacred duty to inform your Excellency of the complete truth concerning the condition and military value of the [Pelayo and Carlos V].” Cámara’s concerns highlighted several operational problems. First, though enthusiasm and morale may have been high, crew shortages — including a lack of gunners and machinists — severely limited squadron preparations. Second, Cámara’s concern over the state of works on board both Pelayo and Carlos V, both without their main battery armaments installed, strongly suggested that neither vessel might have been anything more than a visually imposing presence at sea: sharks with few, if any, teeth.
Eventually, Auñón decided that the Reserve Squadron needed to be put into action “to demonstrate the Navy’s goodwill in making the most of its meager resources, and above all … to draw the enemy’s attention elsewhere.” Had the Spanish navy received favorable intelligence reports on American difficulties in deploying ground forces to the Philippines, officials might have felt reassured that an Atlantic raid could succeed as a distraction. Such intelligence existed, for example, in a May 27 telegram from Juan Du Bosc, consul of the Spanish Embassy in Montreal, a copy of which appears in the Spanish National Archives. However, it was not to be. Instead, cascading failures became decisively apparent following an unanticipated crisis in the Philippines.
Crisis Exposes the Cascade’s Effects
On June 8, 1898, Gen. Basilio Augustín, Governor General of the Philippines, sent an urgent telegram to Minister of War Miguel Correa: “Situation most grave. Enemy … already surrounds this capital … To the walled city, the last defense … a desperate situation of impossible resistance.” Augustín’s telegram arrived like a thunderclap in Madrid. La Correspondencia Militar called the telegram a “bombshell,” with the political establishment immediately clamoring for accountability and action.
Meanwhile, “In Congress there was almost terror, panic. Ministers, deputies, and prominent figures of all kinds came and went, shouting like madmen.” Spain had thus far believed that, despite the navy’s disastrous loss at Manila Bay, the Philippines would remain secure. However, the native uprising had changed everything. Now, Spain faced a grievous threat to regime legitimacy requiring strenuous and immediate action “by risking something to secure possession of the distant archipelago.”
Just how severe was this Philippine crisis compared to the loss at Manila Bay? Perhaps the most damning evidence comes from Prime Minister Praxedes Sagasta’s private letter to Auñón dated June 13, 1898, where he conceded: “If we do not make an effort, even a sacrifice, to send reinforcements to the Philippines, even if they prove ineffective, our sovereignty over that archipelago will be lost.” Sagasta’s letter not only articulated the imperative of holding overseas territory, but it also implied the long-held fear that such a loss might inevitably lead to the fall of the Restoration Monarchy. Ahead of Spain’s government now lay the monumental task of organizing an unready fleet in the face of colossal odds. Moreover, if there was ever a moment when Spain needed accurate information to support decision-making, it was now.
Intelligence: Strong Collection, Poor Dissemination
Positively, Spain managed to collect meaningful intelligence via its diplomats and attachés in North America. Nevertheless, good intelligence collection mattered naught without the mechanisms to process and disseminate it. Even though the Ministry of State shared what it could, when it could, the Spanish navy could not operationalize intelligence effectively. Instead, intelligence reports likely languished, or worse, disappeared into the ether of bureaucracies ill-equipped to manage them.
Did any relevant information reach Cámara or Cervera? There are only a few possibilities. One example is a diplomatic telegram from the Spanish National Archives of June 10, warning the minister of state of the departure of a large American expedition from Key West, destined to appear near the east of Cuba. However, complicating matters, the June 10 telegram arrived in Madrid mere days after the Philippines crisis occurred. Whether political urgency overshadowed the telegram’s contents or not, the evidence is clear: there was no communication between Auñón and Cervera regarding the Key West landing force. Instead, Cervera telegrammed Auñón three times between June 14 and June 16 detailing enemy bombardments at Santiago Harbor, the appearance of eight ships, and the possibility of enemy torpedoes planted at the harbor’s entrance. The minister never replied.
For Cámara, especially as he prepared the Reserve Squadron in Cádiz, the answer is more elusive. Perhaps information about Commodore John C. Watson’s squadron proceeding to Spain — whether true or false — was beyond what Auñón felt Cámara needed to know in late June, especially before Cervera’s annihilation. Alternatively, the political urgency of the Philippines may have overpowered Spanish authorities, leaving them with no attention to spare. Thus, good intelligence was useless without the means, the will, or the attention necessary to deliver it to those who needed it most.
Counterfactual
What if the Reserve Squadron had attempted the Atlantic raid? Perhaps Cámara’s sailing would have delayed Cervera’s demise, postponed the Cuban invasion, and caused greater anxiety on the American coast. It very well might have been a “fleet in being,” a threat to disrupt U.S. Navy plans and require a change in American wartime strategy. Given the lack of immediate fleet reserves, any potential clash that resulted in the sinking of an American battleship may have been anathema to American policymakers.
However, the Americans also knew of the Reserve Squadron’s dismal state. Lt. William Sims’ telegram of March 22, which appears in Record Group 38 of the office of the chief of naval operations in the U.S. National Archives, highlighted how the Pelayo and the Carlos V lacked functioning main weaponry and that both vessels struggled to prepare for action. Moreover, in planning the Atlantic raid, Spanish leadership had implicitly hoped that the Americans might overstretch themselves, thereby making their gamble less risky.
Even after the Reserve Squadron got underway in June 1898 for the Philippines, Spain’s monumental challenge remained: It lacked the navy it needed for sustained multi-theater operations. Moreover, as an exasperated Auñón would later testify:
How were we going to serve everywhere, if even gathering all the ships in Spain would not be enough to satisfy the needs and desires of a single [governor-general], and when those needs were 2,000 or 3,000 leagues from the Mother Country?
Thus, the same tier one and tier two problems left unaddressed pre-war resulted in tier three failures and an untenable strategic position once war occurred. Lacking definitive pre-war changes to political and institutional deficiencies, the Reserve Squadron instead became little more than an emblem of Spanish hope and neglect.
Conclusion
The Reserve Squadron’s saga demonstrates the inherent dangers of a nation focused on short-term political priorities, resulting in a lack of resources and reactive decision-making in crisis. The Reserve Squadron did not affect the outcome of the war because of a political system bent on stability and fearful of any threat to the monarchy, which created little incentive to change.
Institutionally, the Reserve Squadron was emblematic both of a navy built for land and of an institution largely bereft of long-term political foresight. Operationally, the Reserve Squadron’s challenges, including a shortage of trained personnel, a lack of main battery armaments, and unfinished refurbishments, impeded efforts to make the squadron a credible force. When war came, neither the Spanish navy, the Reserve Squadron, nor Auñón could overcome these deficiencies, no matter how hard they tried. Moreover, even if credible intelligence had been correctly disseminated and analyzed, the political and institutional challenges remained. Thus, no amount of intelligence collection or individual agency could have overcome Spain’s maritime predicament in 1898.
The cascading failure framework is evident today in ongoing debates over maritime readiness, shipyard shortfalls, and numerous operational commitments. Unsteady progress with the SHIPS Act and the recent U.S. Navy shipbuilding plan that includes contracting with foreign shipyards align with tiers one and two. Meanwhile, growing concern regarding munitions stockpiles and production and the lurking challenge of intelligence collection overloading dissemination are analogous to tier three. All echo Spain’s dilemma in 1898. The question remains: Will the difficult conversations held in the defense and policy community finally achieve a breakthrough where Spain’s could not?
Ned Breen is a U.S. Navy officer working in International Programs at the U.S. Naval War College. A career F/A-18 pilot with more than 3,000 flight hours and 50 combat missions, he most recently served as the U.S. naval attaché to Honduras and Belize. He conducted original research in the Spanish National Archives for this article.
The opinions and views expressed here are those of the author alone and do not necessarily represent those of the U.S. Naval War College, the U.S. Navy, the Department of Defense, or any part of the U.S. government.
**Please note, as a matter of house style, War on the Rocks will not use a different name for the U.S. Department of Defense until and unless the name is changed by statute by the U.S. Congress.
Image: Internet Archive Book Images via Wikimedia Commons
_(14591440107).jpg){kind=link}