As all the well-to-do families have either fled from that part of
the country or been robbed of all they had, the ransom may not be
paid. There is a threat to crucify him on Good Friday, if it is not
forthcoming, but I hardly think he is in danger, as such an act would
certainly be thought to bring a curse upon the people and the place.
This is the second time he has been made prisoner. He was rescued by
Federal soldiers only a few weeks ago.
_Monday Evening._
We had a pleasant luncheon at Chapultepec restaurant, on the
veranda--von Hintze, Kanya de Kanya, Stalewski, the Bonillas, Courts,
Strawbensie (the young naval officer up from the _Essex_, who is
supposed to be training the British colony volunteers), Lady C., von
Papen, and ourselves; de Bertier, the French military _attaché_,
did not materialize. They think, apropos of Torreon (“the key of the
_south_,” for the rebels; “the key of the _north_,” for the Federals),
that the Federals may have been obliged to evacuate it and are now
fighting to get it back. Any one seems able to take Torreon, and no one
seems able to hold it.
_Tuesday Evening._
At two o’clock Dr. Ryan left for the front, von Papen with him.
Ryan has learned to travel light, but von Papen took a lot of
impedimenta--eating-utensils, uniform, blanket, pungaree hat, etc. He
will drop his possessions, one by one, as--after Saltillo, which they
should reach to-morrow night--they may be on horseback, or afoot. I was
deeply touched to see Dr. Ryan go off. I made the sign of the cross on
his shoulder[13] and commended him to Heaven as we stood at the gate
under the brilliant sky. He is so pleased to be taking all those stores
with him--enough for two hundred and fifty or three hundred dressings,
not including the other materials.
I received calls all afternoon. At four the two handsome Garcia
Pimentel sisters came--Lola Riba and Rafaela Bernal. At five the
Japanese minister brought his wife for her first formal call. They are
cultivated people, with the quality that makes one feel they are used
to the best at home. I _made_ conversation till six, when Clarence Hay
saved my life. At seven, just as I had gone up-stairs, a Frenchman--a
banker--appeared. At eight I was too tired for dinner, which N. and I
ignored. The “doves of peace” are beginning to settle in the Embassy
dove-cote to-night--about a _ton_ of them already here.
_Wednesday Morning. April 8th._
A Federal officer, Colonel Arce, got in from Torreon last night. He
says that on Friday, the third, it was still in the hands of the
Federals. Chieftain Urbina, a notorious rebel, had been captured and
forced, with other Revolutionists, to parade the streets of Torreon,
between a detachment of Federal troops. Then he was summarily executed
in the presence of an immense crowd. The railway lines are open between
San Pedro and Saltillo, and on to Mexico City. Unless they are again
blown up, Dr. Ryan and von Papen will be able to get to San Pedro,
where Generals de Maure, Hidalgo, Corral (the one I saw off), are
stationed, with large reinforcements. We’ll take the report for what it
is worth. One thing we know: the carnage is going on.
The story just now is that General Velasco, the very competent Federal
in command of Torreon, voluntarily evacuated, took his army and his
field-guns to the hills above Torreon, with non-combatants and women
and children, cut the water-supply, and is now waiting orders from
Huerta to bombard the town. He, of course, has plenty of water where he
is; but Torreon dry must be a thing of horror. This story agrees with
a good deal we have been hearing. If true, it will really be a great
_coup_ on the part of the Federals.
_April 9th. Holy Thursday._
The churches are full to overflowing, these holy days. Men, women,
and children, of all strata of society, are faithful in the discharge
of their duties. In this city of peace, how contrasting the tales of
sacrilege in the rebel territory! Five priests were killed and three
held for ransom in Tamaulipas, last month; a convent was sacked and
burned and the nuns were outraged; a cathedral was looted, the rebels
getting off with the old Spanish gold and silver utensils. What kind
of adults will develop out of the children to whom the desecration
of churches and the outraging of women are ordinary sights; who, in
tender years, see the streets red with blood, and property arbitrarily
passing into the hands of those momentarily in power? The children
seem the pity of it, and it is a bitter fruit the next generation will
bear. Let him who can, take; and him who can, hold; is the device the
Constitutionalists really fly.
In the old days, before the Laws of Reform, there used to be the
most gorgeous religious processions; but even now, with all that
splendor in abeyance, there remains something that is unsuppressed and
unsuppressable. To-day the population has streamed in and out of the
churches and visited the repositories (with their blaze of light and
bankings of orange-trees, roses, and lilies, and countless varieties of
beautiful palms), with all the ardor of the old days. No restrictions
can prevent the Indian from being supremely picturesque at the
slightest opportunity.
I went, as usual, to San Felipe, named after the Mexican saint who, in
the sixteenth century, found martyrdom in Japan. It is just opposite
the Jockey Club. Outside the _zaguan_, on the chairs generally placed
on the pavement for the members, were sitting various males of the
smart set. All, without exception (I _think_ I could put my hand in
the fire for them), had been to Mass; which, however, didn’t prevent
their usual close scrutiny of the small, beautiful feet of the passing
Mexican women; two and one-half C is the usual size of a Mexicana’s
shoes.
This Casa de los Azujelos, where the Jockey Club has had its being for
generations, is a most lovely old house. It is covered with beautiful
blue-and-white Puebla tiles, appliquéd by an extravagant and æsthetic
Mexican in the seventeenth century, and is perfectly preserved, in
spite of the many kinds of _revolucionarios_ who have surged up the
Avenida San Francisco, which, with the _Paseo_, forms the thoroughfare
between the _Palacio_ and Chapultepec. The men of the club play high
and there are stories of fabulous losses, as well as of occasional
shootings to death. It is the _chic_, aristocratic club of Mexico,
the last and inviolable retreat of husbands. Anybody who _is_ any one
belongs to it.[14]
A telegram from Dr. Ryan this morning reports: “The Federals have lost
Torreon. Velasco, retreating, met Maure, Maass, and Hidalgo, at San
Pedro; army reorganized, and it is now attacking Torreon, and will
surely take it back.” He and von Papen got as far as Saltillo by rail.
There, communications had been cut. There had been a big encounter at
San Pedro de las Colonias, and I hope that even as I write faithful
Ryan is proceeding with his work of mercy among the wounded.
There was a meeting at the Embassy to-day, to discuss ways and means of
defense among the Americans if anything happens in the city. Von Hintze
and von Papen have tried to do some organizing among their colony. The
Japanese have long since had _carte blanche_ from the government in
the way of ammunition and marines from their ships at Manzanillo. Sir
Christopher, some time ago, sent Lieutenant Strawbensie up from Vera
Cruz, to teach the English colony a few rudiments--and the French have
also had a naval officer here for several weeks.
Last night, it appears, the boat taking 480,000 pesos to the north
coast to pay the troops was captured by rebels. “Juan and José” always
come out at the little end of the horn. There are immense geographical
difficulties in the way of transporting money to the army in the north,
over mountain chains and deserts, besides the strategic difficulty of
getting it to the proper place without the rebels or bandits seizing
it. After that, there is the further possibility of the officers
putting it in their own pockets. What wonder that “Juan and José” sell
their rifles and ammunition or go over to the rebels, where looting is
permitted and encouraged? _They_ are always hungry, no matter what are
the intentions and desires of the central government.
Telegrams from the north are very contradictory, and generally
unfavorable to the government. The foreign correspondents were warned
this morning, by a note from the Foreign Office (and it was to be the
last warning), that they were not to send out false reports favorable
to the rebels and redounding to the injury of both foreigners and
Federals. They will get the famous “33” applied to them, if they don’t
“walk Spanish.” No joking here now; much depends, psychologically, if
not actually, on the issues at Torreon.
The clever editor of the _Mexican Herald_ remarks, apropos of the
Presidential message of last week: “Our idea of a smart thing for
Carranza to do would be to read President Huerta’s message to Villa.
The array of things a President has to worry about, besides war and
confiscation, are enough to remove the glamour.”
All Villa knows about revenue is embodied in the word loot. Even in
this fertile land, where every mountain is oozing with gold, silver,
and copper, and every seed committed to the earth is ready to spring up
a hundredfold, he who neglects to plant and dig can’t reap or garner.
The whole north is one vast devastation and invitation to the specters
of famine.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] When we saw Dr. Ryan off to Serbia he suggested laughingly that I
omit the cross, as he was in jail twice, and once led out to be shot,
between that Mexican parting and our meeting in Washington six weeks
later!--E. O’S.
[14] Now the club is stripped of its sumptuous fittings and historic
pictures and library, and is a working-man’s home (_casa de obreros_)
under the philanthropic and broad-minded _Constitucionalistas_. The
beautiful old _patio_ is used for stabling horses.
XX
Good Friday--Mexican toys with symbolic sounds--“The Tampico
incident”--Sabado de Gloria and Easter--An international
photograph--The last reception at Chapultepec.
_Viernes Santo Afternoon._
As I came home from church this morning the sacred day seemed to be a
day of noise. The Indians were busy in their booths along the Alameda.
Thousands of small, wooden carts are bought by thousands of small boys
and girls; _metracas_, they are called, and so constructed that, in
addition to the usual noise, every revolution of the wheels makes a
sound like the breaking of wood. This noise is supposed to typify the
breaking of the bones of Judas. There are also appalling tin objects,
like nutmeg-graters, that revolve on sticks, with the same symbolic
sound. Little boys and girls outside the churches sell pious leaflets,
crying in their shrill voices, “_Las siete palabras de nuestro Señor
Jesus Christo_,” or “_El pesame de nuestra Señora Madre de Dios_.”
Something is brewing here, and it was with a heart somewhat perturbed
by earthly happenings that I again went to the cathedral, at three
o’clock. At the doors the little venders of the holy words were as
insistent as ever. Thousands were filing in and out, going up with
whatever burden of babe or bundle they happened to be carrying, to kiss
the great cross laid on the steps of the high altar. I bethought me
of last Good Friday in Rome, and of hearing Father Benson preach the
“Three Hours” at San Sylvestro.
_April 10th. Good Friday Night._
Events succeed each other in kaleidoscopic fashion in Latin America,
but I have, at last, a moment in which to tell you of the especial turn
to-day.
This morning N. was informed, through the Foreign Office, of something
referred to as “the Tampico incident.” The Foreign Office was decidedly
in the air about it. On returning home, at one o’clock, however, N.
found a very definite telegram from Admiral Fletcher, and there is sure
to be trouble....
N. took the penciled reading and dashed off to find Huerta. Potential
war lies in any incident here. He was away all the afternoon, hunting
Huerta, but only found him at six o’clock. Huerta’s written answer was
in the usual clever, Latin-American manner; his verbal remarks on the
subject to a foreigner were beyond editing. The newspaper men were
coming in, all the afternoon, and were disappointed not to find the
“source of light and heat.”
...
The final touch was put on the nerves of everybody by Elim’s dragging
his _metraca_ about the halls. With howls of protestation he was
separated from it.
...
N. said he might possibly have arranged the matter except for the
little Sub-Secretary, who had never met the President before, and who
wanted, all during the interview, to prove he was very much of a man.
Portillo y Rojas is away for the Easter holidays. At the President’s
door a big, sullen Indian told N. he could not see the President, who
was taking a _siesta_. As N. could not entirely follow the injunction
about sleeping dogs, he compromised on a little tour, returning to
find the President about to get into his motor. He asked N. to come
with him, which N. did, sitting by his side, the secretary facing
them on the _strapontin_. N. told the President he had something
“very delicate” (“_un asunto muy delicado_”) to speak to him about.
The President made one of his waving gestures, and the ball opened.
Huerta said he would apologize for “the Tampico incident.” N. indicated
that his government would not consider that sufficient. Huerta asked,
squarely: “What do you want?” N. answered, “The salutes,” saying he
might arrange the matter quietly, giving the salutes some morning
at sunrise, for instance. The President began to ponder the matter;
whereupon the secretary, thinking his chance had come, broke in upon
the silence with the remark that it would be derogatory to the national
honor to salute, and that there was no guarantee that the salutes
would be returned, that Mexico’s sovereignty was in question, and the
like. The President immediately stiffened up.--So can a nobody turn a
nation’s destinies!
...
There is talk of providing a neutral zone in Tampico during the
fighting. Every time an oil-tank is damaged, not only are several
hundred thousand dollars gone, but there is immense danger of the oil
flowing down the river and being set fire to. You can imagine the
result to the shipping in the harbor, as well as to the town.
[Illustration: THE SIESTA]
It is now ten o’clock; the answer of Huerta has been sent off to the
State Department and to Admiral Fletcher. Many newspaper men have
interviewed Nelson, and he has gone up-stairs. These days of delicate
negotiations--when a word too much or a word too little would make
trouble--are wearying, to say the least. But so is fame made....
It seemed to me the only thing I _didn’t_ do to-day was to buy an
imitation devil, also representing Judas, of which thousands in clay,
in cardboard, in every conceivable form, are offered on every street
corner.
_Sabado de Gloria._
To-day the _papier-maché_ “Judases” were burned, on the street corners,
to the great joy of children and adults, while cannon and torpedoes and
firecrackers of all kinds made things rather noisy. I remembered again
the old Roman days, and the quiet of Holy Saturday, “hidden in the tomb
with Christ.”
There is going to be a lot of trouble about the Tampico incident. The
“Old Man” is recalcitrant and feels that the public apology by General
Zaragoza should be sufficient. What we will do can only be surmised.
Recently, one of the newspapers had a cartoon of Mr. Bryan speaking to
“Mexico.” Under the picture was this pleasing caption, “I may say, I am
most annoyed; and if you do not immediately reform, I hesitate to say
what I may not be inclined to decide, perhaps!”
_Easter Sunday Morning._
A heavenly sky looks down on the Resurrection morn, and it is,
indeed, the resurrection of a good many Mexicans who, these last
days, have spilled their life’s blood for reasons unknown to them.
The Sub-Secretary for Foreign Affairs spent the night hour from two
to three with Nelson. The Mexican government does not want to salute
the flag, though, of course, it will have to yield to our demand.
Fighting continues at Tampico. The American war-ships are crowded
with unfortunate refugees, and there is increasing animosity against
the Americans. General Zaragoza has expressed official regret at the
arrest, but the salute to the flag has been postponed.
Nelson has already been twice to the Foreign Office. He told the
sub-secretary to tell the President the salute must be given. He has
looked up precedents in the international-law books at the Embassy,
to soothe their feelings, their _cultura_ and _bizarría_. If the
sub-secretary says that Huerta still persists in refusing, N. is going
to try a personal appeal. It is a salute or intervention, I suppose.
It appears that Mr. Bryan has said he can see no reason why the Mexican
government should not “cheerfully salute,” and “that doubtless the
church holidays have interfered with the transaction of business.” Is
it the end, or not? _Quién sabe?_
_April 12th. 5_ P.M.
A written reply, very clever indeed, was received at one o’clock,
refusing categorically to give the desired, or rather, _demanded_,
salute of twenty-one guns, at Tampico. The Mexicans say that the
whaleboat landed at a part of the town then in the military zone, and
without permission; that fighting was going on at the time; that the
city was under martial law. The men had been sent in to get gasoline
for the ship with the paymaster (usually it is only a petty officer
who accompanies the men on such errands). The reply ends with an
_acuerdo especial_ (especial message) from Huerta to the effect that
he could not comply with the United States’ demands without wounding
Mexico’s national honor and dignity and infringing on her sovereignty,
which he is ready to defend at all times and in all ways. Now what are
we going to do? The clerks have been working like mad all day, and
endless cables have gone out of the Embassy. Nelson says he will not
go to Huerta, though when we passed Chapultepec restaurant, coming
from the Reforma Club near by, where we had been lunching, he saw the
President’s motor, and got out of our car and strolled through the
restaurant, to give Huerta a chance to speak, if he was so minded,
without seeking him out. However, Huerta was dining with the officers
of the _rural_ guard, and Nelson left immediately. Huerta had been
at the automobile races all the morning, we, in our Anglo-Saxon
preoccupation, having, of course, forgotten about them. The situation
is again very tense; again war and destruction loom up--a specter to
us, as well as to this strange Indian republic that we are trying to
mold to our image and likeness.
Nelson has told all newspaper men that he gives no information to any
one; that he is a “dry spring,” and that they must cable to their home
offices for news. As, since nine-thirty, there has been the strictest
censorship, they won’t get or give much. Even the Embassy cables were
delayed until Nelson went to the office and made his arrangements.
The white pony and the Mexican saddle that the President has asked to
present to Elim, fortunately, have not appeared. You can imagine the
juicy dish of news that gift would make at home! Refusal or acceptance
would be equally delicate.
_April 13th. Evening._
No news has come. I wonder what they did in Tampico at six o’clock. A
very insistent note has come from the Foreign Office, recounting, I
think for the first time, Mexico’s many grievances against us--troubles
caused by the raising of the embargo and the consequent supplying
of arms to the rebels; claiming the Federals’ right to conduct the
fight at Tampico any way they see fit; saying that they will tolerate
no interference in their national affairs, etc. We, having armed
the rebels, can hardly take exception to the Federals’ defending
themselves. They insist that the whaleboat of the _Dolphin_ _was_ on
forbidden territory when the men were arrested, but the statement is
not official. Washington is to-day either finding a way out of the
affair or looking into the grim, cold eyes of intervention.
I had an Easter-egg hunt in the garden, for Elim, at which nine little
darlings assisted. Then we had tea, with many flashes of Spanish wit.
All the foreign children here prefer to speak Spanish. The mothers and
other ladies left at six, after which the French military _attaché_, de
Bertier, and Letellier, came in, and we talked _Mexicana_ till eight.
De Bertier said this was the second most interesting situation he
had ever watched. The first was the beginning of the French power in
Morocco--that clear flame of French civilization, at first trembling
and uncertain, in the deserts and mountains of North Africa, but ever
increasing, carried to the Arabs, a “race pure,” by a handful of brave
and dashing soldiers, also of a “race pure.” He finds the problem much
more complicated in Mexico, where a _salade_ of races is involved.
_April 14th. 2_ P.M.
This morning, like so many mornings here, had its own special color.
Nelson had not seen Huerta since the interview on Friday night, about
the saluting of the flag. We drove out to Chapultepec, where, before
the restaurant steps, the usual _petit lever_ was being held--generals,
Cabinet Ministers, and other officials. Nelson went over to the
President, while the motor, with Clarence Hay and myself in it,
retreated out of the blazing sun under the shade of some convenient and
beautiful ahuehuetes. From afar we saw the President get out of his
motor and Nelson go up to him; then both walked up the broad stairs
of the restaurant. In a few minutes Ramon Corona, now chief of staff,
walked quickly over to our motor.
“I come from the President to ask you to go to the _fiesta militar_
in the Pereda _cuartel_,” he said. The President took Nelson in his
motor, I following in ours, with Corona. Hay vanished from the somewhat
complicated situation. I got to the barracks to find that we were the
only foreigners, and I the only lady on the raised dais (where generals
and Cabinet Ministers were even thicker than at Chapultepec), to watch
the various exercises the well-trained _gendarme_ corps gave for the
President. They are for the moment without horses, the lack of which
is a great problem here. We watched the various steps, drills, and
exercises for a couple of hours with great interest, I sitting between
Corona and charming young Eduardo Iturbide, the present governor of
the Federal district. It is wonderful what those Indians did, having
been gathered in only during the last month. I told one or two little
stories of things I had seen in Berlin and Rome. You remember how
the raw recruits used to pass Alsenstrasse on the way to those big
barracks, just over the Spree--great, hulking, awkward, ignorant
peasants who after six weeks could stand straight, look an officer in
the eye, and answer “Yes” or “No” to a question. The Italian story was
one once told me by a lieutenant who had been drilling some recruits
back of the Pamfili-Doria Villa. After several weeks’ instruction, he
asked a man, “Who lives over there?” pointing to the Vatican. “I don’t
know,” was the answer. He called another man, who responded, promptly,
“The Pope.” The officer, much encouraged, asked further, “What is his
name?” “Victor Emmanuele,” was the unhappy response. This last story
especially appealed to the officers. They told me their greatest
difficulty is to get any kind of mental concentration from the Indians.