150,000; the work of conscription has been going on at a great rate.
After the bull-fight on Sunday seven hundred unfortunates were seized,
doubtless never to see their families again. Once far from Mexico
City, they are not bright about getting back. At a big fire a few days
ago nearly a thousand were taken, many women among them, who are put
to work in the powder-mills. A friend told me this morning that the
father, mother, two brothers, and the sister of one of her servants
were taken last week. They scarcely dare, any of them, to go out after
dark. Posting a letter may mean, literally, going to the cannon’s mouth.
In “junking” the other day I found an interesting old print of the
taking of Chapultepec by the Americans, September, 1847, which I have
fitted into a nice old frame. I am keeping it up-stairs. I went to
the Red Cross this morning for the first time since my return. They
all greeted me most cordially and said N. was “_muy amigo de Mexico_”
(“very much a friend of Mexico”). I shall take Wednesdays and Saturdays
for my service.
To-morrow is Thanksgiving. I am receiving for the Colony and such of
the _chers collègues_ as care to help wave the Stars and Stripes. It
will be a sort of census of how many Americans are really left in town.
Their number is fast dwindling.
* * * * *
Yesterday was a busy day. I went to mass at San Lorenzo, where the
nice American rector gave a very good Thanksgiving sermon. I rarely go
there, except on some such occasion. It is far from the Embassy, and,
though once in the best residential part of the city, it is now invaded
by a squalid Indian and _mestizo_ class. With the exception of San
Lorenzo, which is very clean (the American church, as it is called),
the churches in that quarter strike a most forlorn note, with their
silent belfries and dirt and general shabbiness.
About two hundred came to the reception yesterday, and I only wish
_all_ had come. I really enjoyed shaking those friendly hands. The
times are uncertain, and ruin for many is probable at any moment. The
rooms were filled with flowers; I had a nice buffet and a good, _heady_
punch. Elim was dressed in immaculate white. He made one shining
appearance, and then reappeared ten minutes later, his radiance dimmed,
having been sprinkled accidentally by the nice Indian gardener. He
was reclad, but some over-enthusiastic compatriot gave him a glass of
punch, and the rest of the afternoon I seemed to see little legs and
feet in the air. The _chefs de mission_ all came also, but of course
it was an American day, the beloved flag flying high and catching the
brilliant light in a most inspiring way.
Clarence Hay (John Hay’s son) is down here with Professor Tozzer and
his bride, for archæological work. They first appeared on the horizon
yesterday, the atmosphere of a less harassed world still hanging
around them, and were most welcome. Tozzer is professor of archæology
at Harvard and has mapped out work here until May, in connection with
the Museo Nacional. The Toltec and Aztec treasures still hidden in the
earth would repay any labor.
We fly up and down the _Paseo_ constantly. I think there is the
fastest and most reckless motor-driving in the world in Mexico, but
some divinity is sleepless and there are few accidents. Jesus, our
chauffeur, is a gem of good looks, neatness, willingness, competency,
and skill. When he is told to come back for us at half past eleven,
when we are dining out, and he has been on the go all day, he not only
says “good,” but “_very_ good,” with a flash of white teeth and dark
eyes. The rest of the servants are so-so. If I thought we were going
to stay I should change the first man. He ought to be the last, as he
is not only a fool, but an unwilling one. As it is he who is supposed
to stand between me and the world, I am often maddened by him. He is
Indian, with a dash of Japanese, not a successful mixture in his case,
though he is _supposed_ to be honest.
_November 29th._
I haven’t taken a census of the inhabitants of the house. Several of
the women, I know, have children living with them, but a little unknown
face appeared at a door yesterday, and was snatched back by some
unidentified hand. They don’t produce them all at once, but gradually.
We had a white bull-terrier given us seven weeks old, Juanita by name.
It has threatened to rain dogs here since it became known that we
wanted _one_, but I have avoided all but two since returning. Elim
looks sweet playing with her, two little milk-white young things.
But Juanita’s stock is low. She tries her teeth on anything that is
light-colored and soft, especially hats, and faces now stiffen at her
approach.
A bit of a domestic upheaval this morning. The Indian butler with the
dash of Japanese has been dismissed, or, rather, has dismissed himself.
His was a case of total inefficiency and bad temper. I gave him a
recommendation, for, poor fellow, he had seen his best days under the
Stars and Stripes. The press-gang will get him, and he will doubtless
soon be on the way to the north. I am to have a new butler on Monday.
_Later._
I have just been going over the map with Captain Burnside, and we have
been tracing the slow and sure advance of the rebels. They are down as
far as San Luis Potosí, not more than fourteen hours from here. They
manage to isolate the Federal detachments, one after the other, cutting
the railroad lines in front and in the rear. There is a good deal of
that northern march where one can go a hundred kilometers without
finding a drop of water.
I was reading Mme. Calderon de la Barca’s letters--1840-1842--last
night. She was the Scotch wife of the first Spanish minister after the
Mexican independence, and her descriptions of political conditions
would fit to-day exactly, even the names of some of the generals
repeating themselves. She speaks of “the plan of the Federals,” “the
political regeneration of the Republic,” “evils now arrived at such
a height that the endeavors of a few men no longer suffice,” “a long
discussion in Congress to-day on the granting of extraordinary powers
to the President,” “a possible sacking of the city.”... Our history
here. She goes on to say that they (the brigands) are the growth of
civil war. Sometimes in the guise of insurgents taking an active part
in the independence, they have independently laid waste the country.
As expellers of the Spaniards these armed bands infested the roads
between Vera Cruz and the capital, ruined all commerce, and without
any particular inquiry into political opinions robbed and murdered
in all directions. And she tells the _bon mot_ of a certain Mexican:
“Some years ago we gave forth cries--_gritos_ (referring to the Grito
de Dolores of Hidalgo). That was in the infancy of our independence.
Now we begin to pronounce, _pronunciamos_ (a _pronunciamiento_ is a
revolution). Heaven only knows when we shall be old enough to speak
plainly, so that people may know what we mean.”
_December 2d._
I go in the afternoon to a charity sale at Mrs. Adams’s, for the
“Lady Cowdray Nursery Home.” Mr. A. is the Cowdray representative
of the huge oil interests in Mexico. It sometimes looks as if this
whole situation could be summed up in the one word, “oil.” Mexico is
so endlessly, so tragically rich in the things that the world covets.
Certainly oil is the crux of the Anglo-American situation. All the
modern battle-ships will be burning oil instead of coal--clean,
smokeless, no more of the horrors of stoking--and for England to have
practically an unlimited oil-fount in Mexico means much to her.
We had a pleasant dinner last night here--Clarence Hay, Mr. and Mrs.
Tozzer, and Mr. Seeger; the dinner itself only so-so. Mr. Seeger’s
suggestion that the _guajolote_ had been plied with grape-juice
rather than with something more inspiring was borne out by the bird’s
toughness, and there were strange, unexplained intervals. However I
impressed upon C. H. that I was giving him this splendid _fiesta_
because his father had signed N.’s first commission (to Copenhagen),
and the time passed merrily. There are other things you can do at
dinner besides eating, if you are put to it.
I inclose a long clipping, most interesting, from Mr. Foster’s
_Diplomatic Memoirs_. He was minister here for some years--1873-1880,
I think. His relations, too, of conditions at that time seem a replica
of these in our time: “The railroad trains always contained one or more
cars loaded with armed soldiers. The Hacendados did not venture off
their estates without an armed guard and the richest of them lived in
the cities for safety. Everybody armed to the teeth when traveling and
the bullion-trains coming from the mines were always heavily protected
by guards.” Mr. Foster sets forth the actions of the United States
in delaying recognition of Diaz when he assumed the Presidency, and
tells of the various moments in which we were on the brink of war with
Mexico. In 1875, Congress conferred on Diaz “extraordinary faculties,”
the effect of which was to suspend the legislative power and make him a
dictator.
N. paid over the Pius Fund, yesterday--the indemnity of 45,000
pesos that Mexico is forced to pay yearly to the Catholic Church in
California for confiscation of its property about one hundred years
ago. It was the first decision of the Hague Tribunal. Archbishop
Riordan, when consulted about the manner of paying it, telegraphed
to Mr. Bryan that he left it in N.’s hands to be disposed of as if
it were his own. N.’s policy has been to get the various foreign
powers to appeal to us for protection of their citizens, thus tacitly
acknowledging our “Monroe” right to handle questions that came up. So
far France, Germany, Spain, and Japan have done so.
_December 3d._
Yesterday, at four o’clock, Sir Lionel and Sir Christopher Cradock
were announced. When I went down-stairs, a few minutes later, I found
my drawing-room a blaze of afternoon sun, setting off to perfection
twice six feet or more of Royal British navy--Sir Christopher and his
aide, Cavendish, resplendent in full uniform. They had just come from
calling on Huerta in state, at the Palace. I was really dazzled for the
first moment. Sir Christopher is a singularly handsome man, regular
of feature, and of distinguished bearing. His aide, equally tall and
slender, a younger silhouette of himself, was standing by his side.
Britannia _resplendens_! Sir Christopher was evidently very interested
in seeing, at first hand, the situation he is to “observe” from the
vantage of Vera Cruz. After a lively half-hour he was borne off by Sir
L. for visits at the legations, and comparative darkness fell upon the
room. As we are all dining at the German Legation, where there is a
gala dinner for him and the captain of the _Bremen_ and his staff, we
merely said _au revoir_.
_December 4th._
The dinner last night for twenty-four was most brilliant, and perfectly
appointed, from the lavish caviar on beds of ice to the last flaming
_omelette en surprise_. We sat at the small ends of the table, Madame
Lefaivre on von Hintze’s right, and I on his left; Sir Lionel by
me, and Sir Christopher by Madame Lefaivre; Lady Carden, handsomely
gowned and jeweled, at the other extreme end, with the next ranking
men on either side. Sir C., just opposite to me, was glistening with
decorations and shining with the special, well-groomed, English look.
I asked him if he hadn’t been afraid to come over the rebel-infested
mountains with so much temptation on his person. He answered, as a
forceful, sporting look came into his eyes, “They wouldn’t get the
chance to _keep_ anything of mine!”[6]
It is impossible to talk politics; things are too delicate and I
imagine we all have rather a shifty look in the eye at the remotest
mention of _la situación_. I can see, however, that Sir C. has been
impressed by Huerta, and would probably have liked to tell him to “keep
it up.”
I wore my filmy black and my pearls, which combination seemed to give
pleasure. After dinner, and some conversation with the captain of the
_Bremen_, who, however great his merit, didn’t have the clothes nor
the distinction of Sir C., we played bridge--Sir C., Lady Carden,
Hohler, and myself. Sir C. won every rubber in a nice, quiet way. He
lunches with us to-morrow at Chapultepec restaurant; von Hintze and his
officers, unfortunately, are already engaged for a Colony lunch.
_Evening._
A full day. Red Cross work from ten till twelve, then home to
change--not only my dress, but the scent that hung round me--to go to
Chapultepec. Sir C. and Cavendish, somewhat dimmed by being in plain
clothes, drove up to the restaurant just as I was getting out of the
motor, the Belgian minister, Mr. Percival, and the Cardens coming a few
minutes later. We had espied Huerta’s auto in the Park, and I had the
bold idea of getting the President for lunch, knowing it would render
things spicy for Sir C. Heaven was watching over me, however, for
instead of stopping at the restaurant for one of the famous _copitas_,
Huerta passed through the Park, disappearing in the direction of
Popotla.
It was ideal lunching on the veranda, bathed in the warm, scented air,
talking of many things, and climes, with the easy exchange of thoughts
that is the pleasure of people of the world. Sir C. said that he had
spent most of his time changing his clothes, since his arrival, having
come with nothing between full uniform and morning coat. He had been to
the Foreign Office that morning in uniform, into civilian for lunch,
was to dress at three for some sort of function at the Palace, and
then change to visit the castle of Chapultepec and the cadet school
attached. He had accomplished all these labors when at six we met again
at Madame Simon’s for bridge. His roving seaman’s eye lighted up and
seemed very appreciative of the bevy of handsome young women he found
there. Again, with “Cradock’s luck,” he raked the shekels in. He said
the visit to Chapultepec and the cadet school was a most thorough
proceeding, and that he was spared no crack or cranny of the school, of
which, however, the Mexicans are justly proud.
There is a reception at the Legation for the English colony to-night,
and to-morrow early he descends to the sea. Sir C. has distinguished
himself in many climes and will, I imagine, get a bit restless at
Vera Cruz, waiting for something to happen. He directed the British,
American, Japanese, and Italian forces for the relief of Tientsin.
He has yet to learn that no outside force can hurry events in Latin
America. They happen from their own momentum, in their own way. I have
an idea he is a full-fledged Huertista, but, oh! so nice about it all.
He is ranking officer to Admiral Fletcher, which might, at any moment,
make complications. How can Britannia rule the waves in the sacred
territorial waters of the Monroe doctrine? But it is always the same.
On all international occasions our admirals find themselves outranked,
even by navies of inferior powers. The highest rank our officers on
active duty can attain is rear-admiral. They bring up the rear in more
senses than one, while all other forces have vice-admirals and admirals
available for any little trips that seem expedient.
_December 5th._
I am sending this off by the German boat _Ypiranga_. We have given up
going to Vera Cruz on Saturday. People say that it is impossible for us
to do so without creating a panic. No one would really know that we had
left a hostage in the shape of the blue-eyed boy. I felt rather in the
mood to go, after the visit of Sir Christopher, who painted the harbor
of Vera Cruz in most attractive colors.
Huerta is gradually getting rid of his Cabinet. Garza Aldape,
Gobernación, went, as I wrote you, and now de Lama (Hacienda) is to
go to Paris by the _Ypiranga_. I don’t imagine Huerta has much to do
with his Cabinet. They fill up certain conventional spaces usual in
governments, and that is all--a sort of administrative furniture, along
with the tables and chairs. Burnside said to-day that when Huerta
really has a Cabinet meeting it consists of himself and advisers in
the shape of _copitas_. He has just got full powers from “Congress” to
put into effect any orders he may give in military and naval matters
for the next year. He pays no attention to Washington and it is
rather difficult to do anything with a person who acts as if you were
non-existent. The ultimata continue to go into the waste-paper basket,
and Vera Cruz is so full of war-ships that those yet to come will have
to stay outside the harbor. The _Rhode Island_, the _Suffolk_, and the
_Condé_ have the best places available for the big ships. The rest of
the harbor is taken up with gunboats.
FOOTNOTE:
[6] Admiral Sir Christopher Cradock went down with his flag-ship, the
_Good Hope_, when it was sunk in the naval engagement off Coronel, Nov.
1, 1914. In the gathering darkness of the tropical ocean, the moon just
rising over a heavy sea, a great explosion was observed, according to
Admiral Count Spee’s report, between the funnels of the _Good Hope_, on
which numerous fires had already broken out. Shortly afterward she went
down in a great blaze, with her colors flying. God alone knows the many
acts of heroism there were performed. But I know that Sir Christopher
Cradock, going to his death in flame and water, did so with a calm
spirit and a complete readiness to die--_pro patria_.--E. O’S.
VII
Huerta visits the Jockey Club--Chihuahua falls--“The tragic ten
days”--Exhibition of gunnery in the public streets--Mexico’s
“potential Presidents”--“The Tiger of the North.”
_December 6th._
The position here gets more curious every day. Public opinion, as we
understand it, is non-existent in Mexico. It is always some despot who
brings some sort of order out of chaos by means unknown (though they
may be suspected) to the public, who judge his worth entirely by the
degree of peace and prosperity that follows.
N. was sitting with some of the males of the “First Families” of
Mexico, in the Jockey Club, this morning, when in sailed Huerta. He
knew none of the _jeunesse_ or _viellesse dorée_. He stood looking
around him for a moment, blinking as he suddenly came into the
light. N. espied him, went over to him, and then made the necessary
presentations, Huerta hanging on his arm. After the first shock of his
entrance there was a rallying around him. He doesn’t belong to the
club, but that, of course, doesn’t make any difference to him; he feels
himself President and superior in brain, will, and achievement. N.
ordered _copitas_, and the visit went off with the snap peculiar to all
of Huerta’s sorties. After all, he is their President.
I send you a copy of _Life_, with an editorial on Mexico. It remarks
that, asking the Mexicans (13,000,000 being Indians) to elect a
President by constitutional methods is “like asking the infant class
to select a teacher.” There is no doubt that our ways don’t yet fit
them. It’s like dressing sonny up in father’s clothes!
Another military train blown up. We were all hoping that the rumored
shortage in dynamite among the rebels would make railway travel more
attractive. Also stories of mutilations that cause one to shiver.
The reason some of the newspapers give for the almost groveling
attitude of the Powers, and their acquiescence in our exclusive
tutelage in Mexico, is that, according to international law, we will
be responsible for the millions they are losing, and that, at the
appointed hour, they intend to press Uncle Sam with the bill--the
French, the English, the Germans, and the Spaniards.
Lunch to-day at the French Legation. Very pleasant, as always. I sat
next to Corona, governor of the Federal District, a handsome, highly
colored, dark-eyed man in the prime of life. His wife and daughter are
in Paris. There is such a sense of the transitoriness of the officials
in Mexico, here to-day and gone to-morrow, that intercourse seems very
bootless; the sword of Damocles is not only hanging, but falling all
the time. May was also there, as pessimistic and politically wrought up
as usual.
My big _salon_ begins to look very home-like. I have some lovely
lamps made of single, big, brass-and-silver church candlesticks, many
exquisite Ravell photographs of this marvelous land finally fitted
into good old frames. I had the smart young Mexican set in for bridge
to-day. They were asked for five, which is a little early for them,
and they didn’t begin to arrive until six. Lovely young women with
beautiful jewels and dresses to set off their dark beauty; Señora
Bernal, Señora Amor, Señora Corcuera, Duquesa de Huette (her husband is
a handsome, polo-playing Spaniard), Señora Cervantes, Señora Riba--two
or three of them _enceinte_, as is usual. They made the rooms quite
radiant. The Mexican men are often put in the shade by their handsome
wives, who would be lovely anywhere. The difficulties of bringing up
young boys here are, for obvious reasons, so great that both Mexicans
and foreigners send their sons away at an early age. The men we know
have most of them been at school in England (Beaumont, or Stonyhurst);
and their English is as good as ours--sometimes better. There is a
sort of resigned irritation, veiled by perfect courtesy and unfailing
amiability, on the part of these people toward our policy, which seems
to them cruel, stupid, and unwarranted. I can only hope it will soon
bear testimony to itself, for this close watching of the means to an
end--if it be an end--is very wearing.
_December 8th._
A very nice letter came from Mr. Lind this morning. He says that Villa
boasts he will eat his dinner at the Jockey Club, and he thinks there
may be something in it, adding that if it had not been for the progress
of the rebels he would have gone home. Chihuahua is in their hands now,
and their military man is installed in the house formerly occupied by
the Federal governor of the state.
Last night I had a long talk with Burnside and Ryan after dinner. There
is a general expectancy of a _cuartelazo_ (revolution in the barracks)
on the 10th. The troops are paid every ten days, and this will be the
second pay-day to be passed over, unless Huerta can raise the necessary
millions before that time. Many influences besides the United States
are at work to make things uncertain; sedition is rife, and the work
of the press-gang is so constant that the _peons_ do not dare to leave
their homes or their holes to go to work.
Revolutions are not convenient, either for those who watch or for
those who participate. The hegira of natives and foreigners continues.
The Mexicans who can get away are, without doubt, thankful “there _is_
no place like home.”
I can’t agree that the foreign representatives could be, at any time,
in real peril. Huerta, Carranza, Zapata, Villa, _or_ the intervening
United States troops would see to it that not a diplomatic hair was
touched. I can imagine us all tightly housed in the _Palacio_, with our
infants and our jewels, the rest of our belongings gone forever. Dr. R.
is for having every woman and child leave Mexico City, things have come
to such a pass. I know _one_ who won’t go!
N. is thinking of telegraphing to Washington to ask to have a few
marines sent up from one of the war-ships, _en civil_, of course. We
could lodge them easily down-stairs. The losing of material things does
not disturb me. When the bad day comes we will be occupied with life
and honor. “_Todo por la patria_” (“all for one’s country”), which
reminds me of the story of Huerta’s parting with a one-time Minister
of War, and one of the various men supposed to have witnessed Madero’s
death. (Another distinction is, that in six weeks’ office he was able
to amass a fortune of some millions, quite a record.) The President
told him, at a dinner, casually, that it might be better for his health
to leave next day for Paris. He cried, “Impossible!” The upshot, of
course, was that Huerta saw him off at the station at the appointed
hour, saying, as he embraced him: “_Todo por la patria, mi General!_”
whereupon the victim, not to be outdone, repeated in his turn: “_Todo
por la patria, mi General!_”