a more than hearty handshake. He kissed my hand, and his eyes filled.
Poor, poor people! As Captain Huse helped me out of the train, to my
joy and surprise I saw Hohler standing by the track. He had taken
down a trainful of agitated Germans, English, and Americans, two days
before, and was to go back to Mexico City with our returning train and
escort. I had a few words with him, amid the dry cactus of the parched
field, and commended to his courage and good sense our poor, distracted
compatriots left in the volcanic city. There may be no concerted
massacre of Americans, but the day will come when there will be other
horrors. Hohler said he had not slept for three nights, and only prayed
for a couple of hours of oblivion before tackling anything else. I
wished him Godspeed, and gave him a handclasp to match the temperature.
Then Captain Huse came up to me, saying: “We must go. Time is passing,
and we are unarmed.”
As I turned to walk down the track with him I saw the pathetic
spectacle of Madame Maass, whom I had parted from on that starry night
of the Fletcher dinner, four months or more ago. She had walked,
bareheaded, up that dusty stretch of track, from one train to the
other, to go to join her husband at Soledad. The step on to the train
by the steep embankment was so high I could not get up, nor could she
descend; so she leaned down to me and I reached up to her. Tears were
streaming down her grimy face; her black skirt was torn and rusty,
her other clothing nondescript, to say the least; a pathetic, stout,
elderly woman caught out in the troubles of war--or of peace, as they
tell me it is called in Washington.
Then Captain Huse and two of his officers, Lieutenant Fletcher, nephew
of Admiral Fletcher, and Ensign Dodd, walked down the track with me
about two kilometers. The rails were torn up, but the road-bed was
undestroyed, and as we walked along in the blazing sun, with scrubby,
dusty palms and cactus in the grayish fields on either side, my back
turned to the Mexican train, I was divided between joy and sorrow--joy
to see and be with my own again and the haunting thought of poor,
distracted Mexico, and of our own people, whom we had been obliged to
leave to Heaven knows what fate. It is easy to be the last out of the
danger zone, but very, very hard to be the first; I hope that another
time, if fate puts us again in such strange places, we will be the last
to go.
We finally got to our own train, which was run by a poor, dilapidated,
leaking, propped-up engine, all that was left. The Mexicans had been
quick about the machines, and every locomotive had been seized by
them and sent away, after which they had destroyed those kilometers
of track. Everybody climbed into the relief-train, and there came the
question of getting our luggage from one train to another. Captain
Huse had been obliged to come without an escort, accompanied only by
Fletcher and Dodd, unarmed. Until they had us they could not make
terms. So, to make a very long story short, several cutthroat-looking
peons, casting deadly glances at _los Gringos_, transferred a lot of
the hand-luggage, aided by the men of the party. All I possess of
value, except that left at the Embassy, is contained in a single, large
trunk, now reposing in the cactus-fields in the enemy’s lines, watched
over by the same shambling, dark-browed, cutthroat Mexicans who helped
to transfer the small baggage.
Captain Huse, finding himself with a broken-down engine and a lot of
unarmed civilians, and with sundown approaching, was too anxious to get
into his own lines to think of such trifles. He said, afterward, “You
didn’t realize what danger we were in.” I remember that I saw his face
suddenly light up, as we slowly moved along. He had caught sight of the
outposts that Admiral Fletcher, with vigilant forethought, had placed
five miles out of town, with guns and telescopes, ready to rush to our
aid, if necessary. Then he knew all was well, and, in spite of the fact
that I had not been able to realize any danger, my eyes filled again
at the sight of our brave men, some looking through their telescopes,
others ready with their guns.
I asked Captain Huse, “Are we at war with Mexico?”
And he answered, “I don’t know.” Adding, “They say not; but when one
armed force opposes another armed force, and many are killed, we are
rather of the opinion that it is war.”
He had just come from the thick of the fray. _We_ had sixty-three
wounded, seventeen killed, and several hundred Mexicans were killed and
wounded. The Cadet Academy made a fine defense. There would have been
more casualties for us, but at the critical moment the _San Francisco_,
the _Chester_, and the _Prairie_ opened fire on the Academy, a few feet
only above the heads of their own men, neatly piercing the windows of
the broad, low façade, as they would bulls’-eyes. All the officers are
agreed that the immense sums spent in target practice by the navy in
the past five years were amply compensated by that moment.
As we neared Vera Cruz our men in khaki (or white clothes dyed in
coffee, according to the hurry order) were seen in big detachments in
classic poses--standing, leaning on their guns, or sitting in groups
on the ground, drinking coffee and smoking. I must say it looked very
cozy and safe. Admiral Fletcher met us at the station, and I was glad
indeed to clasp that brave, friendly hand again. He has done splendid
work along all lines, passive or active, ever since he came to Mexican
waters. Shortly afterward I said good-by to him and to Captain Huse,
who is his chief of staff, and we went out in the admiral’s barge over
the glistening harbor, a thousand lights still lighting it, as when I
last saw it, but all else changed. Captain Simpson, of the _Minnesota_,
is on land duty, but the second in command, Commander Moody, met us at
the gangway and we were shown into these most comfortable quarters. I
have heard so much of the discomfort and heat of the men-of-war that I
am most agreeably surprised. The electric fan is working ten thousand
revolutions a moment; some one has called the new fan _la Mexicana_,
for obvious reasons. Admiral Badger came to welcome us last night, a
great, powerful, steam-engine of a man--a “dictator” (pardon the awful
word)! It is a big thing to have complete charge of so powerful a
combination as the North Atlantic fleet. He also said he didn’t know
whether we were at war or not, but that armed, opposing forces with
heavy casualties on both sides was generally considered to be war; that
we now “enjoyed all the _dis_advantages of both peace and war.” He had
heard we were arriving with eight hundred refugees, and had chartered
the _Mexico_, of the Ward Line, to take them away.
He asked, “Where are all the others?”
We said, “We are all that were allowed to come.” Apropos of that, if it
isn’t war, it is, as some one remarked, “sufficiently Shermanically
synonymous” for those left in the interior!
_11 o’clock._
Captain O’Keefe, of the _Mexico_, came to my state-room a while ago.
I had not seen him since before the “peace at any price” régime was
inaugurated. He is waiting for a full complement of refugees; they are
expecting a boatful from Coatzacoalcos, this afternoon. Am sitting in
the drawing-room of the admiral, cannon trained from the windows. The
_Condé_ got in early this morning. Lying in my berth I could see her
manœuvering into hers. It is intensely hot in the harbor. Two hours
ago Nelson went to the Consulate with his clerks. There is a mass of
work to be done, besides negotiations for getting all Americans out
of Mexico City. I wonder if that big, pleasant Embassy is now a mass
of charred ruins? A heavenly breeze is blowing through the room as I
write. I would be very interested in what is going on about us were
it not for the preoccupation about those left behind. Elim has a toy
pistol which he has been showing to the blue-jackets. He says it is
strange how frightened they all are, and told me, with shining eyes, he
already had four friends on the ship and would soon have six. It is a
blessed age--where one can so definitely count one’s friends.
_4_ P.M.
I have been sitting on deck, watching this busy port. Innumerable small
boats, flying our flag are rapidly passing to and fro over the burning
waters. Behind the _Condé_, which has effectually blocked the view of
the outer harbor, is the _Solace_. She contains the wounded, the dead,
and, mayhap, the dying ones. The _Minnesota_ is so near the Sanidad
pier that one can almost recognize individuals. Squads of our men are
constantly marching along with prisoners between double files, men who
have been caught sniping, bearing arms, or doing some overt act or
deed of violence. Last night, while dining, the echo of shots came from
the shore, and during the night, from time to time, desultory ghostly
sounds of sniping were heard.
I have just looked through the glass to distinguish about a dozen of
our men standing at the head of a street with fixed bayonets, facing a
pink house, evidently ready to protect some one coming out of it, or to
do justice. The lone torpedo-tube from San Juan Ulua is trained toward
the _Minnesota_, but it is believed to be inoffensive. I am sure I
hope it is, cuddled under our bows, so to speak. Yesterday two Mexican
officers came out of that historic fortress, begging to be allowed to
get food. They said they and all the inmates were starving. I saw the
conditions in days of relative plenty. What must they be _now_ in those
damp, deep, vermin-infested holes? Pale specters of men, too weak to
move, or wild with hunger and all the ensuing horrors--and all this so
near that I could almost hit it with a stone.
Ships of refugees are passing in and out. A Dutch ship, _Andrijk_, has
just left, and a French one, the _Texas_, passed by us, leaving for
Tampico to gather up refugees. Think of all the comfortable homes, with
the precious accumulations of lifetimes of thrift and work, that are
deserted in the disorder of flight, to be left later to the complete
devastation of looters. All over the country this is taking place. An
officer who saw a group of thirty or forty refugees at Tampico told me
he thought at first it was a band of gypsies; it proved, however, to be
half-clad, starving women and children who but a few days before had
been prosperous American citizens.
The sun is under a cloud, but a hot, damp atmosphere has enveloped the
port, and an opalescent light plays over the town. From where I sit I
can see the old white fortress of Sant’ Iago which we shelled, and
the yellow Naval Academy where the Mexican youths made their gallant
stand. The chartered boats of the Ward Line, _Mexico_, _Monterey_, and
_Esperanza_, also the now historic _Ypiranga_, are lying close to the
various piers, ready to receive refugees and take them to New Orleans
or Galveston. There they will be, in many cases, a three days’ source
of interest--and then they can starve!
Helen, the deer, a great pet of the sailors, and got in Tampico, keeps
trying to nibble my long, white veil; the spotless decks are rather
poor for browsing, and she looks a bit disconsolate at times. A snappy
green parrot is being taught to say, “Look out for the snipers.”
_April 25th. 10.30._
I spent yesterday quietly on board, getting my breath. N. was at the
Consulate all day, where he had been sending off his mail. About
five o’clock, when he went to return Admiral Badger’s call, I went
into town, first to the headquarters of Admiral Fletcher, at the
fly-infested Hotel Terminal. In the past the proprietor has encouraged
in many ingenious ways the propagation of the fly. He owns the other
hotel, the Diligencias, where he has his cuisine. In order to save
himself the expense and bother of keeping two cooking-places going,
he allowed the Terminal to become so disgustingly infested with flies
that the “guests” are obliged to tramp through the hot streets to the
Diligencias whenever the pangs of hunger or thirst assail them. We have
cleaned out more things than flies in the tropics, however.
I saw at the headquarters, for a moment, Captain Huse, Sir Christopher,
and _le capitaine de vaisseau_ Graux, commanding the _Condé_, and many
others. Afterward Admiral Fletcher sent Rowan with me to see the town.
Everything is closely watched and controlled by our five thousand or
more blue-jackets and marines. Everywhere are the marks of bullets
along the once-peaceful streets--the clean perforations of the
steel-jacketed bullets of the American rifles; quaint cornices chipped;
electric street globes destroyed; pink façades looking as if there was
a design in white where the shots had taken off the color. We walked
over to the Plaza, meeting acquaintances at every step, harassed and
discomfited refugees. Several hundreds had just got into the city of
the “Truly” Cross from Mexico City in the last train, having been
nearly twenty hours _en route_ and having left most of what they
possessed for the mobs of Mexico City. It is difficult to get any exact
information from them. According to their stories, many of the bankers
were in jail; American shops were looted; some Americans were killed;
and all Mexican servants had been warned to leave American homes. As
they left only seven hours later than we did, I don’t know that their
information is worth much. The telegraph lines are down. What we do
know is that dreadful things can happen in that beautiful city at any
moment. When the Embassy was closed, the whole thing collapsed, from
the point of view of Americans.
When Rowan and I got to the Plaza we found the band of the _Florida_
playing in the band-stand--nothing like so well as the Mexican Policia
Band, by the way--and hundreds of people, foreigners, Americans,
Mexicans, sitting about, taking their lukewarm drinks under the
_portales_ of the Hotel Diligencias, whose ice-plant had been destroyed
by a shell from the _Chester_. The place swarms with our men, and the
buildings looking on the Plaza are all occupied as quarters for our
officers. From the bullet-defaced belfry of the newly painted cathedral
blue-jackets looked down upon us, and from every roof and every window
faces of our own soldiers and officers were to be seen. We walked
across to the Municipal Palace, which is also used by us as a barracks.
The men of the _Utah_ were answering the bugle-call to muster for
night duty. They were of the battalion landing in small boats under
heavy fire that first day; they were saved by the cannon-fire from
the ships. There were many casualties among their ranks. The men look
happy, proud, and pleased, and in all the novel excitement and pride
of conquest. I went into the church, where I also found some of our
men stationed. Some one had been shot and killed from behind the high
altar, two days ago. I fell on my knees, in the dimness, and besought
the God of armies.
As we walked along in the older part of the town, _en route_ to the
Naval Academy, there were piles of once peaceful, love-fostering, green
balconies heaped in the streets. They will be used for camp-fires by
our men. Doors were broken in, houses empty. There was a great deal
of sniping done from the _azoteas_ (roofs) those first days, and it
was necessary, in many cases, to batter down the doors and go up and
arrest the people caught _in flagrante_, in that last retreat of the
Latin-American.
_Pulque_[17]-shops and _cantinas_ of all descriptions were barricaded,
and, looking through the doors, we could see heaps of broken glass,
overturned tables and chairs. A sour, acrid smell of various kinds of
tropical “enliveners” hung in the still, heavy air--mute witnesses of
what had been. We passed through several sinister-looking streets, and
I thought of “Mr. Dooley’s” expression, “The trouble we would have if
we would try to chase the Monroe doctrine up every dark alley of Latin
America.” The big, once-handsome Naval Academy was patrolled by our
men, its façade telling the tale of the taking of the town only too
well; windows destroyed by the _Chester’s_ guns, balconies hanging
limply from their fastenings. We looked through the big door facing the
sea, but the patrol said we could not enter without a permit. Every
conceivable disorder was evident--cadets’ uniforms lay with sheets,
pillows, books, broken furniture, heaps of mortar, plaster. The boys
made a heroic stand, and many of them gave up their lives; but what
could they do when every window was a target for the unerring mark of
the _Chester’s_ guns? Many a mother’s hope and pride died that day for
his country, before he had had a chance to live for it. This is history
at close range.
I had finally to hurry back, stopping, hot and tired, for a few minutes
at the Diligencias, where we had some lukewarm ginger-ale; my sticky
glass had a couple of reminiscent lemon-seeds in it. It was getting
dusk and Rowan was afraid the sniping might begin. I got into the
_Minnesota’s_ waiting boat, feeling unspeakably sad, and was put out
across the jeweled harbor--but what jewels! Every one could deal a
thousand deaths.
Nelson had a long talk with Admiral Fletcher.... On receipt of orders
to prevent the delivery by the _Ypiranga_ of the arms and ammunition
she was carrying to the Mexican government and to seize the customs,
his duty was solely to carry out the commands of the President in a
manner as effective as possible, with as little damage to ourselves as
possible. This he did.
I think we have done a great wrong to these people; instead of cutting
out the sores with a clean, strong knife of war and occupation, we
have only put our fingers in each festering wound and inflamed it
further. In Washington there is a word they don’t like, though it has
been written all over this port by every movement of every war-ship
and been thundered out by every cannon--WAR. What we are doing is war
accompanied by all the iniquitous results of half-measures, and in
Washington they call it “peaceful occupation.”
Now I must sleep. The horrors of San Juan Ulua (on which our
search-lights play continually) will haunt me, I know. The stench of
those manholes is rising to an unanswering, starlit sky. May we soon
deliver it from itself!
_Saturday Morning._
Captain Simpson came back from shore duty late last night. He is so
kind and solicitous for our comfort, that I only hope we are not too
greatly interfering with his. He has had his men lodged in a theater,
commandeered for the purpose. He went to some barracks first, but
fortunately learned in time that there had been meningitis there, and
decamped even quicker than he went in. Captain Niblack has taken his
place.
The _Minnesota_, on which Admiral Fletcher was when he went into Vera
Cruz, is a ship not belonging to any division down here, and is only
temporarily in harbor. So she is used for all sorts of disjointed, but
important work--distributing of supplies, communications of all kinds.
She is more than busy--a sort of clearing-house--during what they call
here “the hesitation war, one step forward, one step back, hesitate,
and then--side-step.”
The rescue-train goes out through our lines every day under Lieutenant
Fletcher, to meet any train possibly arriving from the interior. And,
oh, the odds and ends of exasperated and ruined American humanity it
brings in!
FOOTNOTE:
[17] One of the most amusing things ever stated about Carranza is that
he intends to have the too-popular _pulque_ replaced by light French
wines! One can only hope that, while he is about it, he will arrange to
replace corn by permanent manna!
XXIV
Dinner on the _Essex_--The last fight of Mexico’s naval
cadets--American heroes--End of the Tampico incident--Relief for the
starving at San Juan Ulua--Admiral Fletcher’s greatest work.
_“Minnesota,” April 26th._
When Nelson left, as you know, he turned our affairs over to the
British, an English-speaking, friendly, great Power, which could and
would help our nationals in their desperate plight. Behold the result!
Last night we dined on the _Essex_, in our refugee clothes. Sir
Christopher, looking very handsome in cool, spotless linen, met us at
the gangway with real cordiality and interest.
His first words after his welcome were, “I have good news for you.”
“What is it?” we asked, eagerly. “We have heard nothing.”
“Carden is going to arrange to get out a refugee-train of several
hundred Americans on Monday or Tuesday, and I have this afternoon sent
off Tweedie [commander of the _Essex_] with two seven-foot marines and
a native guide to accompany the convoy down. He is to get up by hook
or crook. He will go by train, if there is a train, by horse if there
isn’t, and on foot, if he can’t get horses.”
You can imagine the love feast that followed as we went down to dinner.
We were proceeding with a very nice piece of mutton (Admiral Badger had
sent a fine, juicy saddle over to Sir Christopher that morning) when a
telegram came--I think from Spring-Rice. Anyway, the four Englishmen
read it and looked rather grave. After a pause Sir Christopher said,
“They might as well learn it from us.” What do you think that telegram
contained? The news that American interests had been transferred from
Sir Lionel’s hands into those of Cardoza, the Brazilian minister! Of
course I said to Sir Christopher, “Our government very naturally wants
to compliment and sustain good relations with South America, and this
is an opportunity to emphasize the fact,” but it was rather a damper to
our love feast.
Well, we have taken our affairs and the lives of many citizens out of
the hands of a willing, powerful, and resourceful nation and put them
into the hands of a man who, whatever Power he represents, has not the
practical means to carry out his kind desires or friendly intentions.
I doubt if Huerta knows him more than by sight. Washington has made up
its mind about Carden and the English rôle in Mexico, and no deeds of
valor on the part of Carden will make any difference. Washington won’t
have him. Sir Christopher Cradock, here in a big battle-ship in the
harbor, is willing and able to co-operate with Sir Lionel, the head of
a powerful legation in Mexico City, for the relief of our nationals in
sore plight and danger of life; but apparently that has nothing to do
with the case. Washington is relentless.
The _Essex_ shows between eighty and ninety “wounds,” the results of
the fire from the Naval Academy on Wednesday. Paymaster Kimber, whom
they took me in to see after dinner, was in bed, shot through both
feet and crippled for life. The ship was an “innocent bystander,” with
a vengeance. In Sir Christopher’s saloon, or rather, Captain Watson’s
saloon, were hung two slippers (one of pink satin and the other of
white) which had been found at the Naval Academy after the fight--dumb
witnesses of other things than war. The officers said the Academy was
a horrid sight. Those boys had taken their mattresses from their beds,
put them up at the windows, and fired over the top; but when the fire
from the ships began these flimsy defenses were as nothing. There were
gallant deaths that day. May their brave young souls rest in peace. I
don’t want to make invidious distinctions, but in Mexico the youngest
are often the brightest and noblest. Later there is apt to be a
discouraging amount of dross in the gold.
I keep thinking of Captain Tweedie, _en route_ to Mexico City to help
bring out American women and children. When he gets there he will find
that rescue isn’t any of his business!
Yesterday afternoon the _North Dakota_ came in. We saw her smoke far
out at sea, and she was a great sight as she dropped anchor outside
the breakwater. I was looking through the powerful glass on Captain
Simpson’s bridge. Her blue-jackets and marines were massed in orderly
lines, doubtless with their hearts beating high at the idea of active
service. Lieutenant Stevens, who was slightly wounded in the chest on
Wednesday, came back to the ship yesterday. He is a young bridegroom of
last autumn and has been here since January. The “cheerful, friendly”
bullet is in his chest in a place where he can always carry it. I
understand that when he was wounded he was on the outskirts of the
town, and that he and another wounded man, themselves on the verge of
collapse, carried an unconscious comrade several kilometers to the
hospital. But who shall record _all_ the gallant deeds of the 21st and
22d of April?[18]
_“Minnesota,” April 26th. 3_ P.M.