words to-night, which will bring forth dismay and horror in the
morning. I can’t feel the personal danger of the situation. I am sorry
dear Dr. Ryan is away. I sent him yesterday, in care of the consul at
Saltillo, the prearranged word, “101,” which meant that, whenever,
wherever, he got it, he was to return immediately. At last hearing, the
more prudent von Papen, who decided to return to Mexico City, saw him
start from Saltillo with his medical supplies and four mules, to try to
get to Torreon over a desert stretch.
Von Papen, who had a most uncertain trip, says the only way to prevent
the continual destruction of the railways is the establishment of the
blockhouse system now planned by the Federal government.
_2.30_ A.M.
I can’t sleep. National and personal potentialities are surging
through my brain. Three stalwart railroad men came to the Embassy this
evening. They brought reports of a plan for the massacre of Americans
in the street to-night, but, strange and wonderful thing, a heavy rain
is falling. It is my only experience of a midnight rain in Mexico,
except that which fell upon the mobs crying “Death to Diaz,” nearly
three years ago. As all Mexicans hate to get wet, rain is as potent as
shell-fire in clearing the streets, and I don’t think there will be any
trouble. Providence seems to keep an occasional unnatural shower on
hand for Mexican crises.
N.’s secret-service man reappeared upon the scene yesterday, probably
by the President’s orders. This works two ways. It protects N., and
incidentally proves to Huerta that N. is not intriguing against _him_.
Had this war been induced by a great incident or for a great principle,
I could bear it. But because the details of a salute could not be
decided upon we give ourselves, and inflict on others, the horrors
of war. Mr. Bryan, so the _Herald_ playfully remarks to-day, must
have been surprised and disappointed. The “salutes were always so
cheerfully returned at Chautauqua.” It is no situation for amateurs.
The longer I live the more respect I have for technical training. Every
Foreign Office in Europe or any other continent keeps experts for just
such cases. I may become an interventionist, but _after_ Huerta. He
has proved himself vastly superior, in executive ability, to any man
Mexico has produced since Diaz, in spite of his lack of balance and
his surprising childishness, following upon strange subtleties, and
he would have sold his soul to please the United States to the point
of recognition. In that small, soft hand (doubtless bloody, too) were
possibilities of a renewal of prosperity, after the dreams of Madero
that he himself could never have clothed in reality. The reassociation
of the government with the conservative elements might have given some
guarantee of peace, at least during Huerta’s life, and any man’s life
is a long time in an Indian or Latin republic.
_April 20th. 10_ A.M.
We have awakened to a busy morning. At seven o’clock I began to
telephone all those women. If anything happens, American women here
will be thankful to be out of the way, and if the clouds blow over,
they will only have done what they have done before, on several
occasions--taken an unnecessary trip to Vera Cruz. Every American in
town has either appeared at the Embassy or telephoned. Rowan remains
with us, I hope. N. has telegraphed Admiral Fletcher that in view of
the fact that he is alone with me at the Embassy, he begs not to have
Rowan recalled. He is a dear fellow, and a great comfort and support.
Anything his courage and good sense can keep from happening to us will
not happen. A cable saying the matter will be laid before Congress this
afternoon, instead of this morning, is just received. It gives us a
breathing-space. But the telephone! The newspaper men! The frightened
Americans! If we are obliged to go, Aunt Laura will stay with Mrs.
Melick, that friend of hers who has a handsome house just across the
way. This relieves both her and me from anxiety. Americans are leaving
in hosts--about five hundred persons, of all nationalities, leave
to-day.
I have just found on my table an envelope, “From Elim to Mamma.” A
drawing inside represents a tombstone, and a star shines above it. It
has a little bunch of fresh heliotrope fastened to it with a clipper,
and the back is decorated with three crosses--a bit startling in these
potential days! My heart is sick. Wednesday that great fleet arrives.
What is it going to fight? It can’t bombard Vera Cruz. The streets are
full and the houses overflowing with fleeing non-combatants. It can’t
climb the mountains and protect the countless Americans getting their
living in the fastnesses or in the valleys. Huerta’s army is engaged in
the death-struggle, in the north, against enemies of the government,
armed with our munitions. Oh, the pity of it!
And this city, this beautiful city, placed so wonderfully, so
symmetrically, on the globe, in the very center of the Western
Hemisphere, a great continent to north and south, half-way between
immense oceans, and lifted nearly eight thousand feet up to the
heavens! Strange, symbolic correspondences between the seen and the
unseen constantly make themselves sensible, in some unexplainable,
magic way, while to the eye there are the manifold abundancies of
mother earth, and this queer, dark, unchanging, and unchangeable race,
whose psychological formula is unknown to us, inhabiting and using it
all.
_April 20th. 7.30._
This afternoon a whirlwind of rumors. First, that Congress had voted
full power to Mr. Wilson, and one hundred and fifty million dollars;
that Vera Cruz was being bombarded; that an attack is being planned
against the Embassy to-night. There is, doubtless, nothing in this
last, but N. telephoned to Eduardo Iturbide, always to be counted on,
who is sending us one hundred mounted _gendarmes_. Captain Burnside is
coming over here to sleep, and Rowan is with us, besides secret-service
men and our own _gendarmes_. We have machine-guns, rifles, and
quantities of ammunition. Many people were in for tea, when I am always
to be seen. Madame Simon expects to leave to-night for Vera Cruz, with
her little boy and two maids. Clarence Hay and the Tozzers are going,
too, and about one hundred Germans. Von Hintze has sent away as many
men, women, and children as he could induce to go.
I had a curious experience with Adatchi. Suddenly, as he was sitting
on the sofa, drinking his tea, von Papen and Ayguesparsse also in the
room, I had a queer psychic impression that he was not speaking of what
he was thinking. I thought no more of it until he came over to a chair
near me and said, with a curious, Oriental smile:
“I had a talk with Portillo y Rojas, this afternoon. All is not yet
lost. I have left my secretaries working on a long telegram to Tokio.”
I asked: “You mean there may be a possible arrangement?”
And he said, “Yes,” without enlarging on it. N. is out, calling
on Iturbide to thank him for the guard, and Adatchi returns at
nine-thirty. After he left, I told Ayguesparsse and von Papen what
Adatchi had said.
Ayguesparsse said, “His government would naturally favor the
Mexicans.” And we all wondered if the Japs _could_ have worked out an
_arreglamiento_. The Japanese _mentalité_ is, of course, absolutely
foreign and irreconcilable to ours, but it is _not_ a negligible
quantity. Ayguesparsse has been very, very nice all these days, and I
realize that behind that elegant silhouette there is a man of poise
and kindness. Scarcely had he and von Papen departed when Hohler came
in, hoping still for some arrangement. In this dark hour every one
of the colleagues has shown himself sincerely desirous of some issue
being found. So you have a little of my day, full of a thousand other
things. Many people have urged me to depart with them, but I am not
nervous, not afraid. I am no trouble to N., perhaps even some help;
and certainly dignity and all manner of fitness demand that I remain
here with him till he gets his papers, _if_ he gets them, and go off
suitably at the time appointed by our country, or the country to which
we are accredited. My leaving now would mean to the Americans here
that all was lost--even honor, _I_ should add. Elim has not been far
out of sight to-day. He was warned, and the _gendarmes_ and everybody
in the house warned, that he was not even to look out of the gate;
and, scenting possible danger, he has not wandered far afield. He
climbs into my chair, trots after me, looks in at the door--he has no
intention of being out of call if suddenly wanted. His little senses
are alert, and he knows that all is not quiet on the plateau.
_April 21st._
Instead of an attack, last night, everything was very peaceful. The
automobile squad, composed of willing and capable Americans, circled
continually about the Embassy, as well as the guard of one hundred
mounted _gendarmes_ Eduardo Iturbide sent us. A bare message came from
Washington, very late, saying that Congress had voted the President
full powers. The details we will doubtless get this morning. The
_Ypiranga_, of the Hamburg-American Line, arrives at Vera Cruz to-day,
with seventeen million rounds of ammunition for Huerta, which will
greatly complicate matters. I do not know if we are going to seize it
or not. If we do, it is an _acte de guerre_, and we will be out of here
on short notice. If one were convinced of the good-will of Washington,
this whole incident could be arranged in five minutes. The Mexican
Foreign Office published this morning the full text of the documents on
the Tampico incident. The officials feel there is nothing to conceal,
and the diplomats and every American in town have by now lapped up with
their coffee all the secrets of the situation.
XXII
Vera Cruz taken--Anti-American demonstrations--Refugees at the
Embassy--A long line of visitors--A dramatic incident in the
cable-office--Huerta makes his first and last call at the Embassy.
_April 21st. 12.30._
Nelson has been informed through Mexican sources--a most embarrassing
way to get the news--that Vera Cruz was taken by our ships at eight
o’clock this morning. (Cortés landed on April 21st, if I am not
mistaken, though, of course, that isn’t much help to _us_ now!) The
line from Mexico City to Vera Cruz has been blown up. I am so worn
out that I wouldn’t mind seeing even the Zapatistas climbing in at
the windows. Aunt Laura has been sitting by my bed, wearing that
pale-blue woolen jacket you sent me. She feels, after all these decades
of Tehuantepec, a chill even in these lovely days. The situation she
will find herself in after we go appalls me, but she is determined to
remain. All these years she has watched the increasing glories and
securities of Don Porfirio’s Mexico. One could go unarmed from the
Rio Grande to Guatemala. Now, when the years begin to press upon her,
she is caught up and ruined by present-day Mexican uncertainties, or
rather, certainties. One _knows_ one will lose everything one has here.
N. just looked in at the door to say we may have to leave _via_ the
Pacific (Manzanillo and San Francisco). Well, it is all in the hands
of the Lord. Some time, some way, we are destined to be recalled from
Mexico City. I wonder what Huerta is thinking of doing this morning.
Will the situation weld together his divided people? I am thankful
not to be among the hundreds--no, thousands--without bank accounts in
New York, Chicago, Boston, or other places, who are being packed like
sardines on transports for “home.” These are the real tragedies of the
situation to us, though I can’t help thinking of the Mexican side.
Several hundred thousand men, women, and children have been killed in
various ways since Madero started for Mexico City--American gunners
manning his guns.
_April 21st. 5 o’clock._
No news from Washington to-day. We might all be massacred. It is due
to the essential meekness, want of national spirit, want of whatever
you will in the Mexicans, that we are not, not because a paternal
government is watching over its public servants in foreign parts. I
have sent out for a good supply of candles; the lights might be cut
to-night by some Zapatista band. We all wonder why Huerta hasn’t cut
the railroad to Vera Cruz. Why doesn’t he make things a bit nasty for
us?
_8_ P.M.
A word from my sofa, where I am resting in my purple Paris draperies.
We have had a long line of visitors. Ayguesparsse was the first,
and so nice and sympathetic. With his Mexican wife he does not find
himself in an easy position. His family-in-law has made many and real
sacrifices for _La Patria_ and the Huerta government. Three men, expert
machinists, are having their dinners down-stairs, having set up the
Gatling-guns under Burnside’s instructions. I have provided _pulque_,
_tortillas_, _frijoles_, and cigarettes for countless _gendarmes_. We
are ten at dinner, and perhaps twenty have been in for tea. There has
been an anti-American demonstration at Porter’s Hotel, where the very
clever woman journalist I mentioned before is staying. She will sleep
here to-night, in Ryan’s room. The landlady of Porter’s is also coming,
and they will have to take friendly turns in a single bed. About twenty
extra persons are sleeping here. We hear nothing from Washington
direct. Algara, the Mexican _chargé_, has been recalled. N. saw Huerta
this afternoon, who begged him not to go. We can no longer cable,
though the other legations can send what they like to Washington _via_
their various European chanceries. No trains are going out to-night nor
this morning. Three of the many Pullmans, loaded with men, women, and
children, which started yesterday for Vera Cruz, have not yet arrived
there. We understand there was fighting along the road.
Rowan is being more than nice, but I think he is rather longing for the
baptism of fire that _might_ be his, were he in Vera Cruz.
After dinner McKenna came to tell us that there were three car-loads of
women and children outside the Embassy gate. They had to come in, of
course, and be attended to.
Nelson saw Huerta to-day at his house. The President said to him, very
brusquely: “You have seized our port. You have the right to take it, if
you can, and we have the right to try to prevent you. _Su Excelencia el
Señor Presidente_ Wilson has declared war, unnecessarily, on a people
that only ask to be left alone, to follow out their own evolution in
their own way, though it may not seem to you a good way.” He added that
he would have been willing to give the salutes, but that the incident
was only a pretext. In three weeks or three months, he said, it would
have been something else; that we were “after him,” or the Spanish to
that effect.
I think his real idea is to form the Mexicans into one camp against
the foreign foe. He does not want Nelson to go, in spite of the fact
that Algara has been recalled. We have no intimation, as yet, of our
leaving. Mr. Bryan has stated that he instructed Mr. O’Shaughnessy to
see Huerta and ask him to keep the roads open to facilitate the getting
out of refugees. We are asking favors to the end. N. had not seen
the President for several days and did not know in what disposition
he would find him. But Huerta took his hand and greeted him, saying,
“_Como está, amigo?_” (“How are you, friend?”). He might have been
going to play some Indian trick on him. I begged Rowan to go with N.,
and he waited in the automobile while N. had the interview.
_Later._
We are at war. American and Mexican blood flowed in the streets of
Vera Cruz to-day. The tale that reaches us is that the captain of the
_Ypiranga_ tried to land the seventeen million rounds of ammunition.
Admiral Fletcher expostulated. The captain of the _Ypiranga_
insisted on doing it, and, as we were not at war, he was within his
international rights. The admiral prevented him by force, and, they
say, in order to justify the action imposed on him by Washington,
took the town--thus putting us on a war basis. Whether this is a true
version of what has happened I don’t know. It does not sound like
Admiral Fletcher, but he may have had definite orders from Washington.
Von Hintze came in this afternoon. He minimized the incident, or
rather, seemed to minimize it, but I could see that he was very much
preoccupied. It may be a source of other and graver complications than
those of Mexico. It has been many a year since American blood flowed in
the streets of Vera Cruz. General Scott took it in 1847. The endless
repetitions of history!
_11_ P.M.
As I write, a mob, rather inoffensive, is howling outside, waving
Mexican flags and exhorting in loud voices. I can’t hear anything
from the window except something about _Vivan los Japoneses_, and a
few remarks not flattering to _los Gringos_. There are many good and
capable Americans, willing, ready, and able to second any use of the
guns. N. and Rowan have gone down to the cable-office to try and send
off something to Washington. The silence of our government remains
unbroken. Sir Lionel came back this morning. He is soon to go to Rio.
How beautifully England treats _her_ diplomats! Instead of removing
him, last autumn, when the row was on, our press campaign against him
caused his superiors to bide their time, but it must be a great trial
to Sir L. to be removed at so critical a moment to another post which,
though bigger and better paid, is not of the imminent importance of
this.
_April 22d._
The wedding morn of thirteen years ago! And we are in Mexico, in full
intervention! The troops can’t get up from Vera Cruz by rail, as the
Mexicans got away with all the locomotives when the town was taken.
That beautiful plan of Butler’s ... I understand that he is in Tampico,
with his marines, and the other marines are only due to-day in Vera
Cruz. It will take three weeks, even without resistance, for them to
march up with their heavy equipment.
At 12.30 last night N., who had gone to bed and to sleep, after a
more than strenuous day, was called to the telephone by the excited
consul-general, who had had the United States shield torn off the
Consulate, and other indignities offered the sacred building, including
window-breaking by the mob. N. wonders if Huerta will try to keep him
here as a hostage. Huerta told N. that he intends to take our arms
away, and, of course, there is no way of keeping them if he decides to
do so. We have certainly trampled on the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo
after 1848, providing that all disputes should be submitted first for
arbitration. So sing me no songs of treaty rights!
We heard last night that the Zapatistas were to unite with Huerta. It
would be interesting and curious to see a “Mexico united” on any point.
If those bandits come out of their _barrancas_ and mountains and do
to the Americans half the evil they work on one another, there will
be many a desolate mother, wife, sister, and sweetheart north of the
Rio Grande. N. says we may get off to-morrow morning. No night trips.
Yesterday Carden and von Hintze tried to get Huerta to arrange for
the despatching of a refugee train to leave not later than seven this
morning, but why he should do that, or anything for any one, unless
it falls in with his own plans, I don’t see. It is curious that the
Americans did not get hold of a few locomotives. The railroad is indeed
sounding brass and tinkling cymbals without them.
Every arm-chair, sofa, and bed in the house was occupied last night,
and many of the inmates lay on the floor. Constantly, in the distance,
sounds the beautiful Mexican bugle-call. The brass summons is clear
and noble, and the drums beat to the nation’s pulse--a poor thing,
according to us, but Mexico’s own. Where will it all end? With the
taking of Vera Cruz, through whose customs a full fourth of the total
imports come, Huerta is out a million pesos a month, more or less. We
are certainly isolating and weakening him at a great rate. “Might is
right.” We can begin to teach it in the schools.
We have heard nothing from Washington, and nothing from Vera Cruz.
Alone on our plateau! Up to now, there are no great anti-American
demonstrations. I put my faith in Huerta, in spite of the feeling
which Burnside expressed, that he might show Nelson an Indian’s
treachery. Aunt Laura is game. It is good fortune for her to have that
comfortable home just across the way to go to.
Something is being prepared in town. To-morrow we may get away. N.
begins to feel that he ought to be out of here, the Mexican _chargé_ at
Washington having left yesterday, with the entire Embassy staff. This
we learn from the Foreign Office here, _not_ from Washington.
The newspapers are rather fierce this morning. One head-line in the
_Independiente_ is to the effect that “the Federal bullets will no
longer spill brothers’ blood, but will perforate blond heads and white
breasts swollen with vanity and cowardice.” “Like a horde of bandits
the invaders assaulted the three-times heroic Vera Cruz. The brave
_costeños_ made the foreign thieves bite the dust they had stained
with their impure blood,” etc. The newspapers add that the Americans
landed “without a declaration of war, feloniously and advantageously.”
“Anathema to the cowardly mercantile projects of the President of the
United States!” they shriek. They had a picture of Mr. Wilson sitting
on heaped-up money-bags, Huerta standing before him, a basket of eggs
on each arm. “The true forces of the opponents,” this was labeled. It
is impossible to expect the Mexicans to seize the idea that the landing
of our troops was a simple police measure. In face of the facts, such
subtle distinctions will, I am sure, be overlooked. “_El suelo de la
patria está conculcado por el invasor extranjero_,” is the _fact_ to
them! I inclose here what the papers call “_el manifiesto laconico y
elocuente del Señor Presidente de la Republica_.”
“_A LA REPUBLICA_
“_En el Puerto de Veracruz, estamos sosteniendo con las armas el
honor Nacional._
“_El atentado que el Gobierno Yanqui comete contra un pueblo libre,
como es, ha sido y será el de la Republica, pasará a la Historia, que
pondrá a México y al Gobierno de los Estados Unidos, en el lugar que
a cada cual corresponda._
“_V. Huerta._”
“TO THE REPUBLIC
“In the port of Vera Cruz we are sustaining with arms the national
honor.
“The offense the Yankee government is committing against a free
people, such as this Republic is, has always been, and will ever
be, will pass into history--which will give to Mexico and to the
government of the United States the place each merits.
“V. HUERTA.”
_12.30._
N. has just come in to say that perhaps we leave to-morrow for
Guadalajara and Manzanillo. I am not crazy to see the Pacific coast
under these conditions. How many uncertain hours, wild mountains, and
deep _barrancas_ are between us and the United States men-of-war.
Mr. Cummings, chief of the cable-office, and all his men were dismissed
this morning, to be replaced by Federals. A dramatic incident occurred
when he went into the office to collect his money and private papers.
Finding himself for a moment alone, he quickly went to the telegraph
key and called up Vera Cruz. The operator there answered, “They are
fighting at the roundhouse.” There was a snap, and he heard no more.
Some one was listening and shut him off. That is the only authentic
news we have heard from Vera Cruz, or anywhere, for two days. But
the wild rumors around town are numberless and disquieting. Nothing
is touched down-stairs. I don’t want to alarm people needlessly by
stripping my rooms; and who knows if we can take out, if and when we
go, more than the strict necessities. There will always be a fair
amount of Embassy papers, codes, etc., that must go, whatever else is
left.
_10.30_ P.M.