it, is beginning again in the north. I don’t know why we say “beginning
again”--it never stops. He told me about the three hundred Morelos
peasant women taken from their families and sent to Quintana Roo, the
most unhealthful of the Mexican states, lying south of Yucatan, where
it is customary to send men only. The women had been convoyed there
with some idea of forming a colony with the unfortunate men deported
to that region for army service. On their arrival there was a mutiny
and a scramble for the women by the soldiers. Such disorder prevailed
that the officials shipped the women back to Vera Cruz and dumped them
on the beach. Almost every woman had a baby, but there was no food, no
clothing, no one responsible for them in any way. They were merely
thrown there, separated from their families by hundreds of miles. It
was one of those tragedies that countless Indian generations have
enacted.
_January 4th._
Last night N. went to a big dinner at the Jockey Club. It was given by
Corona, the _chic_ governor of the Federal District, for the President,
who made speeches at intervals. Several times Huerta seemed to be
on the verge of mentioning the United States, but N. said he kept a
restraining eye fastened on him. After dinner N. was called to the
telephone. When he came back there was a subtle something in the air
which made him feel that in his absence the President had drifted near
the Washington rocks, for Huerta took pains to go over and embrace
him. Later the President quoted the saying that “all thieves are not
_gachupines_,” but that “all _gachupines_ are thieves,” whereupon,
catching the Spanish minister’s eye, he felt obliged to go over
and embrace him, too! However, drifting a bit nearer to Scylla and
Charybdis matters little to him.
He was not responsible for the much-talked-of New-Year’s greeting to
President Wilson. It was sent out from the Foreign Office with the
other usual annual messages to the heads of Powers, and in the Foreign
Office they explained that they _did not like to pass over_ the United
States.
The admonition given out by the State Department yesterday, the third
to Americans, warning them not to return to Mexico, was printed in
small type in a corner of the _Mexican Herald_. Formerly it would
have occupied a whole page, but the people are getting _blasé_ about
warnings. Each man looks to himself for protection--on the even chance.
I don’t know whether this admonition was in any way an outcome of Mr.
Lind’s conference; it might easily be, as one of his strong beliefs is
that foreigners would better get out. This is also Carranza’s idea.
_January 5th._
Von Hintze has returned. The excuse given for the murder of a German
subject who was quietly asleep in the railroad station at Leon was
that the guards, who also robbed him, thought he was an American!
Well, there are some things one can’t talk about, but I seemed to be
conscious, hotly, of each individual hair on my head.
No news from the _Chester_ conference, but, of course, we are all on
the _qui vive_ for possible results. Things get more chaotic all the
time, and whatever is to be done should be done quickly. There is some
regard for life and property under the near gaze of the Dictator in the
provinces he controls, but in the north reigns complete lawlessness.
Everywhere brother is killing brother, and as for the _sisters_, they
are often lassoed and captured as if they were stampeding cattle.
Educated people, who have been prosperous all their lives, are now
without food or shelter, knowing that strangers eat at their tables,
sleep in their beds, and scatter their treasures. If only poor old
Huerta could have begun in some other way than by riding into the
capital in a path of blood spilled by himself and others, he would
probably have been able, with recognition, to do as well as any one,
and better than most. As it is, he is like a woman who has begun wrong.
The neighbors won’t let her start again, no matter how virtuously she
lives.
The “bull-fight charity,” organized to raise funds for the Red Cross,
is considered the hit of the season. It had been advertised as a
“humane” fight, as the bull’s horns were capped. However, the toreador
was killed--amid immense excitement, pleasurable rather than otherwise.
As I was coming home, about five this afternoon, from a peaceful day
at Xochimilco, I saw in every direction immense clouds of dust. For
a moment I thought that a storm was rising, but it was only the dust
raised by the vehicles bringing spectators back from the bull-ring,
half a kilometer beyond the Embassy. Having tried, on two awful and
useless occasions, to “get the spirit of the game,” I have put the
whole question of bull-fights out of my consciousness.
Several people have just been here on their way home. Mr. Lefaivre
thinks this unfortunate government might possibly get money from abroad
if it could be placed in the hands of a commission for spending and
accounting, and would be willing to urge it on his government under
such conditions. The idea of such a commission, for several reasons,
has not been popular here. It would, of course, be _mixte_ (foreigners
and Mexicans). It would reflect on their _cultura_ (a Spanish word
for personal dignity and urbanity), and on their _bizarría_, meaning
gallantry, mettle, valor, generosity. Last, but not least, what would
be the use of an arrangement where there would be no “pickings” for
anybody?
Well, the sun shines faithfully on what might be an earthly paradise,
and Xochimilco was beautiful beyond words. We motored out, skirting
a bit of the picturesque Viga Canal (fifty years ago the fashionable
drive of Mexico City), to the old water-gates, where we got into
a great flatboat and were poled by a big-hatted, white-trousered
Indian along the watery aisles in between the beautiful floating
islands--Chinampas, the Indians call them--so near that one could
almost reach the flowers and vegetables planted on them. Masses
of lilies, stocks, and pansies are now in bloom and are reflected
everywhere in the smooth water. Silent Indians, in narrow canoes
often simply hollowed out of trunks of trees, passed and repassed us.
Sometimes it was a couple of women in bright garments, poling quietly
along, with heaps of flowers and vegetables between them. Sometimes
there was a family, with a bright-eyed baby lying against the carrots
and cauliflowers, the eternal trio--when it isn’t the national sextette
or octette so familiar here. The picturesque life of a changeless
people little, if at all, modified since the coming of Cortés, unfolded
itself to our gaze. They offered us bouquets as they passed, and
bunches of carrots and radishes and aromatic herbs, until our boat was
a mass of flowers and scent, and a dreamy, hypnotic quiescence took the
place of our strenuousness. Some one said, in a far-away voice, “_La
vida es sueño_” (“Life is a dream”). But, fortunately or unfortunately,
a practical-minded picnicker was able to shake off his share of the
strange magic that was upon us, saying, with an attempt at briskness,
“This isn’t for us!”
[Illustration: THE FLOATING GARDENS OF XOCHIMILCO]
Beautiful willow- and flower-bordered vistas had a way of unexpectedly
leading to a sight of the volcanoes, sometimes Popocatepetl, sometimes
Iztaccihuatl, when one was sure they _must_ be somewhere else. The
brilliant atmosphere of the Mexican plateau lay over the entire
picture, seeming to hold the colors of the spectrum, and yet to remain
white. There, indeed, “life is a dream.”
_January 6th._ (In Memoriam.)
A year ago to-day we laid away our precious Elliott. I feel anew the
sword of grief that pierced me in that gray, foggy dawn at Zürich,
when I realized that I must get up and do something that was undoable.
Countless millions know the complete revolt of humanity against the
laying of one’s own in the earth. The beautiful Mass at the _Liebfrauen
Kirche_ was strength to my soul. Pater Braun’s handsome, earnest face,
as he spoke Elliott’s precious name in prayer and supplication, the
light playing around the pulpit, and the beatitudes in mosaic against
gold--all are graven on my heart. I could only read through tears the
words _Beati qui esuriunt_--Elliott’s life history. And that peaceful
hour with him afterward, in the flower-filled room, when we felt that
it was only his afternoon rest we were watching over! When they came to
cover his face forever I was so uplifted that I could turn those screws
myself, instead of leaving it to hirelings to shut the light away from
those noble features.
Oh, that loving heart, that crystal brain, with its power of original
thought, that gift of industry! How far Elliott might have gone on the
road of science! Others will discover and progress, but he, so fitted
to lift the veil, has slipped behind it. Oh, my brother!
_January 7th._
Sir Lionel is going, having been promoted to Brazil. It is an
indication to all not to “monkey with the buzz-saw”--_i. e._, relations
between the United States and Mexico. The English are always dignified
in the treatment of their representatives. Instead of recalling Sir
L., when faced with the advisability of a change, they send him to
Brazil, a higher-ranking post with a much larger salary. It is said
that the matter was crystallized by his strong and entirely justified
recommendation for the proceeding to his post of the Italian minister.
Italian affairs, since the departure of Aliotti, had been in the hands
of the British; but the Italian colony here began to get restive,
feeling the necessity, in these troublous times, of having their own
representative, who had been “waiting and watching” so long at Havana.
However, nothing can be successful down here that is against the United
States policy--right or wrong. The Carden incident will doubtless put
the other foreign representatives on their guard.
Von Hintze made a most enlightened speech at the German Club, not long
ago--in which he said that, by reason of our unalterable geographical
relations to Mexico, the United States would always have paramount
interests here. He recommended his colony not to make criticisms of our
policy--but to accept it as inevitable and natural.
I am wondering if I can go to Vera Cruz with N. to-night without
causing a panic here. He is going to confer with Mr. Lind, from whom we
had a wire this morning, saying that he hoped N. would find it possible
to come, and that President Wilson sent his best wishes. There is a
norther blowing at Vera Cruz, and we have the resultant penetrating
cold up here. When once the heat gets out of the body at this altitude
it is difficult to make it up. I am leaving Elim, as a sort of hostage
and an assurance to the Colony that I am not fleeing. Dr. Ryan is
living in the house, also the Parkers, and they will all watch over him.
As soon as Huerta heard that N. was going to Vera Cruz he sent one
of his colonels to ask if we wanted a special train, or a private
car attached to the night express. We take the private car, only, of
course; everybody in these days prefers traveling in numbers. The
President is always most courteous about everything. If he cannot
please Washington he does what seems to him the next best thing--he
shows courtesy to its representative. He said to d’Antin, who went to
thank him, in N.’s name, for the car: “_Mexico es como una serpiente;
toda la vida está en la cabeza_” (“Mexico is like a snake; all its
life is in its head.”) Then he banged his head with his small fist and
said, “_Yo soy la cabeza de Mexico!_” (“I am the head of Mexico!”)
“And until I am crushed,” he added, “she will survive!” D’Antin, who
is a Frenchman with a Latin-American past, probably gave him words
of consolation that would fit neither the letter nor the spirit of
watchful waiting. Huerta is magnetic. There is no disputing that fact.
VERA CRUZ, _January 8th_.
I am writing this hasty line in Mr. Lind’s dim room at the Consulate,
to let you know that we slipped quietly down those wondrous slopes last
night without hindrance.
I am decked out in a white skirt, purple hat and veil, and purple
jersey. We have struck the tail end of the norther and the temperature
is delightful. The moving-picture man, who followed us down last
night, is now trying to persuade Mr. Lind and N. to let him “get
them” in conversation, but Mr. Lind refuses on the plea that he is
not in politics. I asked him how about his noble Lincoln head, and
he answered, “Nothing doing; that unrepeatable head is long in its
grave.”... The admiral is announced.
XI
Dramatic values at Vera Cruz--Visits to the battle-ships--Our superb
hospital-ship, the _Solace_--Admiral Cradock’s flag-ship--An American
sailor’s menu--Three “square meals” a day--Travel in revolutionary
Mexico.
“LA SIEMPRE HEROICA,” VERA CRUZ, _January 9th_.
I am writing in my state-room before getting up. Yesterday I sent off
the merest scrap by the _Monterey_. We had a long and interesting day.
We went with Admiral Fletcher and Commander Stirling to the _Dolphin_
for lunch. Fortunately the admiral’s flag is flying from her instead of
from the _Rhode Island_, which is anchored, while waiting for a good
berth inside the breakwater, in the rough sea beyond the Isla de los
Sacrificios.
Captain Earl is in command of the _Dolphin_, the despatch-boat that
successive Secretaries of the Navy have used for their journeyings and
which has just come from “watching” the elections in Santo Domingo.
The admiral offered to put us up, but I thought it was unnecessary to
trouble him, as we were already unpacked on the car. Admiral Fletcher,
besides being an agreeable man of the world, is an open-minded, shrewd,
experienced seaman, versed in international usage, knowing just what
the law allows in difficult decisions, where to curtail his own
initiative and fall in with established codes, or where to go ahead.
The splendid order and efficiency of the men and matters under his
command are apparent even to my lay eyes.
We sat on deck for an hour or so after lunch. The harbor is like a busy
town--a sort of new Venice. Launches and barges are constantly going
from one war-ship to another. It is a very different scene from the
one my eyes first rested on nearly three years ago, when the Ward Line
boat bringing us, and the _Kronprinzessin Cecilie_ bringing von Hintze,
were the only boats in the harbor. I sent a wireless to Admiral Cradock
to let him know that we are in town, or rather in harbor, and he wired
back an invitation for lunch to-day.
On leaving the _Dolphin_ Nelson received his eleven salutes, standing
up with bared head in the admiral’s barge as they thundered across the
bay. We then went over to the _Monterey_ to say good-by to Armstead,
who made the journey down with us, and to see Captain Smith, who
brought us first to the land of the cactus. The various boats, Spanish,
French, and English, saluted as we passed in the _Dolphin’s_ launch.
In the evening Mr. Lind had a dinner for us under the _portales_ of the
Diligencias. Admiral Fletcher, Consul Canada, Commander Yates Stirling,
Captain Delaney of the commissary-ship, and Lieutenant Courts, one of
the admiral’s aides, were the guests. The Diligencias takes up two
sides of the old Plaza. The Municipal Palace, a good Spanish building,
is on the third side, and the picturesque cathedral with its many domes
and belfries embellishes the last. The band plays every night in the
Plaza and the whole scene is gay and animated. Women in their mantillas
and rebozos, dozens of tiny flower-girls, newspaper _babes_, and
bootblacks of very tender years cluster like flies around soft-hearted
diners.
The _Mexican Herald_ arrived while we were sitting there, and we were
most amused by the head-lines: “Five-Hour Conference This Morning
Between Lind and O’Shaughnessy Resumed in the Afternoon.” “Policy Not
Yet Known.”
At nine-thirty I broke up the festive gathering. The admiral, Mr.
Lind, and N. went off toward the pier, and Commander Stirling and
Lieutenant Courts brought me back to the car in a round-about way
through the quiet streets. As half after four is a favorite breakfast
hour here, they are all “early to bed.” Vera Cruz seems the most
peaceful city in the world at the present moment, though no port in
the world has seen more horrors and heroisms. Cortés landed there, la
Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz, as he called it, and for centuries the
seas around were pirate-infested. She has been sacked by buccaneers
times without number; bombarded by nearly every power that has had
interests here--the Spaniards, ourselves (in 1847), the French, etc.;
and now her port is again black with battle-ships ready to turn their
twentieth-century guns upon _La Siempre Heroica_ (the always heroic).
Two enemies she seems to have done with--yellow fever and cholera. The
_zopilotes_ (buzzards) that sail about in uncountable numbers find it
rather hard to get a living. I see that the cleaning up of Guayaquil
has been given to an English firm, who, however, will use our methods.
Very few Latin-American contracts will be given to Uncle Sam these days.
Admiral Fletcher would like to come up to Mexico City, which he has
never seen, but after all these months of _not_ coming he could only
do so _now_ officially with his staff--uniforms, visits to Huerta and
other authorities--and that is out of the question. I could put him
up at the Embassy, with his two aides, and am quite keen about it,
and so is he; but nothing can be done until what the newspapers call
_Watch_ington has been sounded. Mr. Lind thinks it impossible (he knows
_he_ can’t return), as it would be taken as a sign that the President
might be wishing to change his Mexican policy. On the other hand, if he
_should_ wish to change that policy, such a visit could be the entering
wedge, and lead to big things in the way of peace and prosperity.
Mr. Lind continues to think that the raising of the embargo on arms and
ammunition in the north is the easiest solution of the problem; but I
am terrified at such an issue. The last state of Mexico would be worse
than the first. It might settle the Huerta dictatorship, but, alas! not
the Mexican situation.
We had a most comfortable night. Practically no trains come and go in
the station at night and there is none of the usual dust and dirt of
travel, all the railroads burning oil instead of coal. I go at ten to
visit our hospital-ship, the _Solace_, and I must now arise and buckle
me up for a long day. I have a white silk tailor-made costume and
various fresh blouses to choose from. Nelson is busy with newspaper
men, who have discovered the car.
_January 10th, Morning._
Before I was dressed yesterday morning Mr. Lind appeared with a
steward from Captain Delaney, bringing me some delicious hams and
bacons and other good things from the supply-ship to take to Mexico
City. Then Captain Niblack appeared, looking very smart. He was our
naval _attaché_ in Berlin, relieved only last summer, I think, and
is a charming man of the world. I was out of my state-room by this
time and fresh myself, but the state-room looked like Messina after
the earthquake. General Maass, military governor or Commander of the
Port, and his aide, were next to appear. He shows his German blood
in various ways (_not_ in that of language, however). He has light,
upstanding hair, German eyes, and much manner. There were many bows
and palaverings, _a los pies de Vd._, etc. He put his automobile at
our disposition for the day, and it was _my_ car by the time he had
finished offering it after the courteous Spanish custom. The interview
finally ended by my arranging to call on his señora in the afternoon,
and by N. escorting him from the car and down the platform. Lieutenant
Courts then arrived to take me to the _Solace_. All the officers look
so smart in their fresh linens. The _Solace_ was lying quite inside
the breakwater, looking very cool and inviting. She was painted white,
with a broad, green stripe around her--her official colors. Dr. von
Wedekin was waiting on deck with his staff. I was most interested in
seeing the perfect arrangements for the care of all that is mortal of
man; even eyes, teeth, ears, are looked after in a most efficient and
up-to-date way. The wards are fine, large, and beautifully ventilated,
the air as sweet and as fresh as that on deck; twenty-eight cases of
malaria were being treated after the seven days’ bout at Tampico, and
half a dozen of appendicitis. The ship carries no cargo, having the
medical stores for the whole fleet. The captain told me he had not lost
a case of anything for fourteen months. His operating-room can compare
with that of any hospital I have ever seen and the ship also has a fine
laboratory. She is well-named the _Solace_.
She was leaving that afternoon for Tampico, which is one of the
dreariest spots on the earth, despite the mighty forces at work
there. Mexico’s oil is at once her riches and her ruin. The place
is malaria-ridden, infested with mosquitoes, and the inhabitants,
I am told, have the weary, melancholy expression peculiar to fever
districts. The ships that go there are as well screened as possible,
but men on duty can’t always be protected. I understand the mosquito
that does the damage is a gauzy, diaphanous, rather large kind, and
the “female of the species is deadlier than the male.”
On leaving, Lieutenant Courts took me for a little turn about the
harbor, as it was too early for the _Suffolk_ lunch. We went around
the ill-famed prison of San Juan Ulua. Its six desolate palms are
almost the first thing one sees on entering the harbor. I regret that
I did not get a pass from General Maass to visit it. I saw a few pale,
hopeless-looking prisoners in dull blue and white stripes, standing on
the parapets or working in the dry dock, the guns of soldiers always
poking in their faces. These are the “better class” of criminals; there
are those in dark, oozing, terrible holes who are never allowed outside
of them, and it is said that those who survive lose in a few years all
human semblance. The foundations of the fortress were laid in early
Cortés days and the fortunes and misfortunes of the town have always
centered round it. It was from its tower that the last Spanish flag was
lowered at the time of the Mexican independence, 1821. When first in
Mexico I used to hear that Madero was to close the prison; but, like
many of his intentions, this never became a fact. Peace to his soul!
We got back to the Sanidad landing at half past twelve. Admiral
Cradock’s flag-lieutenant was waiting with the barge and I was
delivered into his hands. N. came up at the same time and we put
out for the _Suffolk_, which has a berth inside the breakwater.
The admiral, very handsome and agreeable, not only immaculate, but
effulgent, received us on deck and we went down to his delightful
room. It contains really good things from all parts of the world--old
silver from Malta, a beautiful twelfth-century carving (suitable for
a museum) from Greece, fine enamels from Pekin, where Sir Christopher
distinguished himself during the siege, and many other lovely things,
besides books and easy-chairs. He is really a connoisseur, but he
said that the ladies, God bless them, had robbed him of most of his
possessions. After an excellent lunch Captain Niblack came in to say
good-by, the _Michigan_ having received sailing orders for New York.
We had such a friendly talk with Sir Christopher, who said--and we
quite concurred--that he didn’t see any cause for feeling about British
action in Mexico, adding that he had no politics, no idea in the world
except to save British lives and property, and that he and Admiral
Fletcher were working together, he hoped, in all sympathy and harmony.
He wants to come up to Mexico again and jokingly lays it at Nelson’s
door that he can’t. There is something so gallant about him, but with
a note of sadness; and I am always conscious of a certain detachment
in him from the personal aims of life. We left about three o’clock.
The English use black powder for their salutes and the thirteen guns
made a very imposing effect. The ship was enveloped in smoke, a sort of
Turneresque effect, making one think of “Trafalgar,” while the shots
reverberated through the harbor.