the Tampico incident, and, doubtless, the beginning of a much greater
one--the raising of our flag over the town of Vera Cruz, which was
to-day put under martial law. At 1.30 I went up on deck. The bay was
like a hot mirror, reflecting everything. Through a glass I watched
the preparations for the raising of the flag on the building by the
railroad station--an English railway. “Who’s whose now,” came into my
mind.
It was a busy scene on shore and land. Admiral Badger passed over
the shining water in his barge, a beautiful little Herreschoff boat,
shortly before two o’clock, wearing side-arms. His staff was with
him. Battalions were landing from various ships and immense crowds
stood near the railroad station. There was an electric something in
the air. Captain Simpson and his officers, of course, were all on
deck, looking through their glasses, and we were all breathing a
little hard, wondering what the foreign war-ships would do. Would they
acknowledge our salute? Exactly at two o’clock the flag was raised,
and immediately afterward the _Minnesota_ gave the famous twenty-one
salutes to our own flag, refused us at Tampico. The bay was ominously
quiet after the thunder of our cannon. I suppose the foreign ships were
all busy cabling home to their governments for instructions. No man
could venture to settle that question on his own initiative. It was
anti-climax with a vengeance!
Is this to be the end of all that triangular work of Nelson’s between
Huerta, the Foreign Office, and Washington during the two weeks
elapsing since Colonel Hinojosa’s taking of our blue-jackets out of
their boat at Tampico and our leaving the Embassy in Mexico City?
...
This morning I went ashore, accompanied by a young officer, McNeir.
We sauntered for an hour or so about the town, which has decidedly
pulled itself together. Shops that were heaped with overturned
furniture, broken glass, and strewn with dirty papers and débris of
every description, visible through shattered windows and broken doors
two days ago, had been swept out and were showing signs of normal
occupation. New doors were being made, and the little green balconies
of peace were being mended. Ensign McNeir suddenly found that he had
been spat upon. His broad chest was lavishly embroidered in a design of
tobacco-juice, doubtless from an innocent-looking green balcony. He had
blood in his eye, and kept glancing about, hoping to find the man that
did it.
The Naval Academy was a horrid sight as we went in from the sea-front.
In the school-rooms books, maps, globes, and desks were overthrown
among masses of mortar. One of the blackboards bore the now familiar
words in chalk, _Mueran los Gringos_. Great holes were in floors,
walls, and ceilings. When we went up-stairs the devastation was even
greater. Our men had fought in the street, and the _Chester_ and
_Prairie_ fired over their heads just into the windows of the second
floor, where were the commandant’s quarters, and the large, airy
dormitories. The dormitories had been rifled before we put a guard over
the building, the lockers emptied of their boyish treasures--knives,
books, photographs; occasionally a yellow or red artificial rose, a
ribbon, or a bit of lace testified to other gods than Mars.
The great floors were ankle-deep in a litter of uniforms, shirts,
collars, gloves, letters, brushes, combs, and the like. They had been
comfortable, airy quarters, and I suppose now will make good barracks,
or headquarters, for _our_ officers. Photographers were busy as we
passed through. In the two dormitories giving on the Plaza at the back,
away from the ships’ fire, the dying and wounded had evidently been
carried. Blood-soaked pillows, mattresses, and sheets bore witness to
their agonies. Our men were busy everywhere in the building, sorting,
packing, and putting things in order. A town under martial law seemed,
this morning, an orderly affair indeed.
I inclose Admiral Fletcher’s “Proclamation to the Public of Vera Cruz,”
also his order for martial law. This proclamation will facilitate
the functions of government. Many difficulties were in the way of
renewing the regular civil and business activities of the town. There
is a clause in the Mexican constitution which makes it high treason
for any Mexican to hold employment under a foreign flag during enemy
occupation, and for once the Mexicans seem to be living up to the
constitution.
It is wonderful how our blue-jackets and marines have been able to go
into Vera Cruz and perform the complicated, skilled labor necessary
to the well-being of a town. Everything, from the ice-plants and
tramways to the harbor lighthouse and post-office, has been put in
working order; they seem to step with equal facility into one and every
position requiring skilled labor. They are a most resourceful set of
men, these hatchet-faced, fair-haired youths, the type standing out
so distinctly in that tropical setting. I was deeply impressed. Six
thousand of them are on land. On the trip down our automobile clutch
was damaged. Two blue-jackets looked at it and, though neither had ever
been in an automobile before, they brought it back to the Terminal
station, several hours later, in perfect order, able and longing to run
it about town.
At noon yesterday thousands of arms were delivered to the
authorities--a hybrid collection of Mauser guns, old duelling and
muzzle-loading pistols. Relics of 1847 were also numerous. For several
days there has been little or no “sniping.” One man remarked, “Take it
from me, it’s a quiet old town. I walked ten blocks at midnight, last
night, without seeing a human being.” I might also add that _I_ know
two methods of clearing streets at night rivaling the curfew--snipers,
_and_ the press-gang.
“PROCLAMATION TO THE PEOPLE OF VERA CRUZ
“As the aggressions against the soldiers under my command have
continued, isolated shots being made from various edifices, and
desiring that order and tranquillity be absolutely re-established,
I demand that all who have in their possession arms and ammunition
give them up at the Police inspection in the Municipal Palace within
the shortest time possible. Those who have not done so before twelve
o’clock of the 26th of this month will be punished with all severity,
as also those continuing hostilities against the forces under my
command. On the surrender of arms the corresponding receipt will be
given.
“(Rear Admiral) F. F. FLETCHER.
“VERA CRUZ, _April 25, 1914_.”
Yesterday at five o’clock we sent one thousand rations into the
starving fort of San Juan Ulua, and to-day our flag flies high above
it. All the political prisoners were released. We could see from
the deck of the _Minnesota_ two boat-loads of them coming across the
shining water and being landed at the Sanidad pier. After that, I
suppose, they swelled the ranks of the undesirable without money,
occupation, homes, or hopes.
I saw Mr. Hudson, yesterday, looking rather worn. With groanings and
travail unspeakable the _Mexican Herald_ is being published in Vera
Cruz. He says they have the greenest of green hands to set the type,
and the oftener it is corrected the worse the spelling gets, the nights
being one long hell. But as most of his readers have a smattering of
Spanish and English, with more than a smattering of personal knowledge
of the situation, the _Herald_ still is most acceptable as a “breakfast
food.”
The Inter-oceanic, the route to Mexico City over Puebla, is being fast
destroyed. Mustin in his hydroplane can be seen flying over the bay,
reconnoitering in that direction. Puebla is the key to the taking of
Mexico City from Vera Cruz. It is always capitulating to somebody. It
will doubtless do so to us. In 1821 Iturbide took it. In 1847 it was
taken by Scott; in 1863 by the French soldiers of Napoleon. In the
battle of Puebla, 1867, there was a furious engagement between Don
Porfirio and the French. It is a beautiful old city--sometimes called
the “Rome” of Mexico, founded by Padre Motolinía, situated about midway
between the coast and the Aztec city. It is crowded with churches and
convents, though many of these latter have been put to other uses;
however, the point now is when and how our men will reach it. The blue
skies and the deep _barrancas_ tell no tales.
_April 28th. Tuesday._
Yesterday afternoon Major Butler came to see us. He is in command
at the “roundhouse” of Mr. Cummings’s telegraphic episode, and is
decidedly downcast at the idea that some peaceful agreement of a
makeshift order will be reached. He is like a hungry man who has been
given thin bread and butter when he wants beefsteak and potatoes. He
seemed, also, rather embarrassed to be calling on us peacefully, on the
_Minnesota’s_ deck, instead of rescuing us after a successful storming
of Chapultepec, or a siege at the Embassy.
Yesterday a notice was sent to hundreds of newspapers at home (without
my knowledge, of course) that I was getting up a Red Cross nurse
corps; but there is no need for it. The _Solace_ is not half full, the
hospitals on shore have plenty of room, and the ships’ doctors are not
too busy. I had said that if fighting continued I would return from New
York with the first corps of nurses that came out. I have a feeling
that instead of pushing on to Panama _via_ Mexico and Guatemala we are
going to make some patchwork with the A. B. C. combination. It can be
only a makeshift, at the best, and in any event will be a reprieve for
Huerta, though that is the last thing our government intends. Its heart
is given elsewhere.
Last night Admiral Cradock and Captain Watson came to dinner. No
mention was made by them of the raising of the flag over Vera Cruz
and of the salutes that had so thrilled _us_. I imagine each admiral
and captain in port confined his activities during the afternoon to
cabling to his home government. The only thing Sir Christopher said on
the situation was to mildly inquire, “Do you know yet whether you are
at war or not?” Captain Simpson had an excellent dinner, and we played
bridge afterward, the starry night concealing the fateful flag above
the English railroad terminal.
A belated _norte_ is predicted, but my land eyes see no sign of it.
General Funston, of Aguinaldo and San Francisco earthquake fame,
arrives this morning. The army, I understand, has more suitable
equipment and paraphernalia for the work of occupation, or whatever
they call it; but I am unforgettably thrilled by the majesty and might
of our great navy.
_April 29th. Morning._
The _norte_ still threatens, but up to now, with falling glass, there
has been only a slight stirring of heavy, lifeless air.
Yesterday morning we went on shore at ten, and found the auto before
the door of the Terminal station (otherwise Admiral Fletcher’s
headquarters). A French chauffeur, risen up from somewhere, was sitting
in it. No use inquiring into the genesis of things these days. We
took Captain Simpson down to his old headquarters on the _Paseo de
los Cocos_. He wanted to see Captain Niblack, who had replaced him
in command. Then we drove down through the town to the “roundhouse,”
bowing to friends and acquaintances on every side, and feeling
unwontedly comfortable and cool.
The roundhouse makes ideal quarters--a huge coolness, with plenty
of room for all the avocations of camp life. After wading through a
stretch of sand under a blazing sky, we found Major Butler in his
“headquarters”--a freight-car--but with both opposite doors rolled
back, making the car cool and airy. Two of his officers were with
him. He is himself a man of exhaustless nervous energy, and the A. B.
C. combination hangs like a sword over his head. He could go forward
and wipe up the coast to Panama, if he had the chance, he and his set
of dauntless men. A few disconsolate-looking mules and horses were
browsing in the dry, sandy grass near by; they had been taken against
payment.
“In the good old days in Nicaragua it was otherwise. You _took_ what
you _needed_. This government running things is too pious and honest to
suit me,” was his disgruntled observation when I asked if the steeds
belonged to him.
The order and tranquillity of this town is maintained by force of arms
and is complete. Since the desultory shots heard Friday night, sniping
being then in full force, there has been silence along the dark waters;
silence in every _cul-de-sac_, and silence on every roof.
At twelve we went back for Captain Simpson. We had a glimpse of Captain
Niblack and Captain Gibbons, looking very big and effective in their
khaki clothes. We left N. at the Diligencias, under the arcades, where
people still drink lukewarm liquids, though Captain Simpson said he had
told them where they could get cart-loads of ammonia for the repairing
of the ice-plant. At one o’clock I had a very pleasant _tête-à-tête_
lunch with Captain Simpson. He was naval _attaché_ in London before
getting the _Minnesota_, and we found ourselves, for once, talking of
people and things far removed from Vera Cruz. A note came for Nelson
from Captain Huse, saying the admiral wanted to confer with him, and
Captain Simpson sent a man to find Nelson and deliver it. Afterward,
Captain Moffett of the _Chester_ came on board. He has been a friend
of ours from the first, a very agreeable man, always _au courant_ with
events as they really are. We are all hoping that the matter of the
affairs of Americans being taken out of the hands of Sir Lionel and
given to the Brazilians would not get into the newspapers. It might
lead to hard feeling between the nations and individuals concerned.
Captain Watson of the _Essex_ then appeared on board, with the Baron
and Baroness von Hiller, and we all went in his launch to the outer
harbor, which I had not yet seen--the view being completely blocked
by the _Condé_, which also hid the handsome _Essex_, really very
near us. Oh, the glory and majesty and potency of the United States
as there depicted! Great dreadnoughts, destroyers, torpedo-boats,
every imaginable craft, nearly eighty of them--and for what? To pry a
sagacious and strong old Indian out of a place and position that he
has proved himself eminently well fitted to fill. Captain Ballinger’s
hydroplane, operated by Mustin, was circling above the harbor, coming
from time to time to rest upon the water like some creature equally at
home in sky or sea.
In the evening we went to dine with the von Hillers, aboard the
_Ypiranga_. Admiral Cradock and Captain Watson were also there. Captain
Watson told me of the return of Commander Tweedie, who had brought
down from Soledad in his private car two hundred and six American men,
women, and children, whom he had found dumped on sand-dunes, and who
had been without food and without drink for twenty-four hours. I don’t
know the details, but I will ask Tweedie to lunch to-morrow. This much
I do know--that the English, whose help we have refused, continue to
display their strong arms and kind hearts and have been angels of mercy
to our ruined and distracted countrymen.
After dinner we went up on deck, where Captain Bonath of the _Ypiranga_
joined the party. He was more than polite to N. and myself, in a frozen
way, but the air was charged and tense, and the look of surprise,
indignation, and resentment not yet gone from his face. In the course
of the conversation it came out that the Brazilian consul in Vera Cruz
is a Mexican! There was a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulders
on the part of the captain, and Captain Watson caught and then avoided
his eye. To all inquiries and innuendoes we have only answered that,
as Washington seemed to put some hope in the A. B. C. mediation
affair, it was thought best, at home, to pay Brazil the compliment of
putting our affairs in her hands. The fact is that all that has been
done at this special moment for our needy and suffering ones has been
accomplished by the long, strong arm of England. Rowan, who was also
at dinner, came away with us and we walked along the pier through our
lines of sentinels pacing everywhere in the heavy darkness. Away back
in the country, on the dim distant sand-dunes they are pacing too,
alert, prepared for any surprise.
When we came out to the _Minnesota_ not a breath was stirring over the
glassy water. Captain Simpson met us at the gangway. I told him the air
was a little tense on shore, and added that I wanted to have Tweedie
come to see us to-morrow. So we arranged luncheon for to-day. Captain
Simpson remarked, with his usual broad outlook, “The nations will have
to work out things in their own way; but we, the individuals, can
always show appreciation and courtesy.”
_“Minnesota,” April 30th. 8_ A.M.
Yesterday, at 9.30, Captain Watson came to fetch me to go to San Juan,
dashing up to the ship in great style in his motor-launch. Captain
Simpson sent Lieutenant Smyth, who was eager to see it, with us. We
descended the gangway in the blazing sun and got into the launch,
which, however, refused to move further. Finally, after some time
of hot rolling on the glassy water, we transferred to one of the
_Minnesota’s_ boats, and in a few minutes I found myself landing,
after two months, at the dreadful and picturesque fortress, under its
new flag. The old one, let us hope, will never again fly over hunger,
insanity, despair, and disease.[19]
We found Captain Chamberlain in his office. He is a strong,
fine-looking young man. Indeed, our marines and blue-jackets are a
magnificent-looking set, hard as nails, and endlessly eager. Captain
Chamberlain was surrounded by all the signs of “occupation,” in more
senses than one. Records, arms, ammunition, uniforms of the “old
régime” were piled about, waiting till the more vital issues of flesh
and blood, life and death, have been disposed of. Captain Chamberlain
was in New York only a week ago, and now finds himself set to clean
up, in all ways, this human dumping-ground of centuries. He detailed
an orderly to accompany us, and we went through a door on which the
Spanish orders of the day were still to be seen written in chalk.
We started through the big machine-house, which was in excellent
up-keep, so the officers said, full of all sorts of valuable material,
especially electrical. This brought us out on the big central _patio_,
where three groups of fifty-one prisoners each sat blinking in the
unaccustomed light, and waiting to have straw hats portioned out to
them, temporarily shielding their heads from the sun with rags, dishes,
pans, baskets, and the like. An extraordinary coughing, sneezing,
spitting, and wheezing was going on. Even in the hot sunshine these
men were pursued by the specters of bronchitis, pneumonia, asthma, and
kindred ills. We went into a dim dungeon, just cleared of these one
hundred and fifty-three men. It seemed as if we must cut the air to
get in, it was so thick with human miasmas; and for hours afterward an
acrid, stifling something remained in my lungs, though I kept inhaling
deeply the sun-baked air. As my eyes became accustomed to the darkness,
I looked about; the dripping walls were oozing with filth; there were
wet floors, and no furniture or sanitary fittings of any kind. A few
shallow saucepans, such as I had seen rations poured into at my former
visit, were lying about. The rest was empty, dark, reeking horror. But
God knows the place was abundantly hung and carpeted and furnished with
human misery, from the dull, physical ache of the half-witted _peon_,
to the exquisite torture of the man of mind habituated to cleanliness
and comfort. What appalling dramas have there been enacted I dare not
think.
One was told me. A man, not long imprisoned, accidentally found, in the
darkness, a stick and a thick, empty bottle. With the bottle he drove
the stick deep into the brain of a man, unknown to him, who was dozing
near him. When taken out to be shot he was found to be of the educated
class. He said, in unavailing self-defense, that he had been crazed by
the darkness and the suffocating stench.
On coming out into the blessed air again, we examined at rather close
range these lines of men just readmitted to the fellowship of sun
and sky. They presented a varied and disheartening study for the
ethnologist--or conqueror. There was every type, from half-breed to
full Indian; the majority of the faces were pitted by smallpox. A few
of the men had small, treasured bundles, to which they clung, while
others, except for the rags that covered them, were as unfettered by
possessions as when they were born. Thick, matted, black hair and
irregular growths of stubby, Indian beards gave their faces a savage
aspect. At the end of one of the lines were two very young boys, not
more than thirteen or fourteen, their faces still fresh and their
eyes bright. I wanted to ask why they were there, but their line had
received its hats, and they were marched out through the portcullis to
the beach.
Many of the inmates of San Juan were conscripts awaiting the call to
“fight” for their country; others were civil delinquents, murderers,
thieves. Most of the poor brutes had a vacant look on their faces. The
political prisoners had already been freed. Two of the big dungeons
were still full. There were five or six hundred in one space, pending
the cleaning out of the empty ones, when they were to be redistributed.
Captain Chamberlain was in the _patio_, trying to expedite matters,
when we came out of the first dungeon. I think he had some sixty men to
assist him, and was wrestling with book and pencil, trying to make some
sort of classification and record. We walked over to another corner to
inspect a dungeon said to have chains on the walls and other horrors
still in place. Between the thick bars of one where those sentenced to
death for civil crimes were kept peered a sinister face, pockmarked,
loose of mouth, and dull-eyed. I asked the owner of it what he had
done. “_Maté_” (“I killed”), he answered, briefly and hopelessly. He
knew he was to pay the penalty.
There has not yet been time for our men to investigate fully the
meager, inexact records of the prison. We went through the _patio_,
under the big portcullis, along the way leading by the canals or moats
to the graveyard by the beach. This was speakingly empty. There were
only a few graves, and those seemed to be of officers or commanders
of the castle and members of their families long since dead. With
mortality so constantly at work, and with no graves to be found,
testimony, indeed, was given by the sharks swimming in the waters. A
simpler process than burial was in practice: a hunting in the darkness,
a shoveling out of bodies, a throwing to the sea--the ever-ready.
As we passed along one of the ledges we could hear sounds of life,
almost of animation, coming through the loopholes that slanted in
through the masonry--a yard and a half deep by four inches wide. These
four-inch spaces were covered by a thick iron bar. When I had last
passed there, a dead, despairing silence reigned. Now, all knew that
_something_ had happened, that more _was_ to happen, and that good food
was the order of the day. Coming back, we met the second detachment of
fifty-one, being marched out to the sandy strip at the ocean-end of
the fortress. Many of them will be freed to-day to join those other
hundreds that I saw. They will know again the responsibilities, as
well as the joys of freedom, but, alas, they will be of very little
use to the state or to themselves. We walked up the broad stairs
leading to the flat roofs covering the dungeons. A squad of our men had
established themselves on the wide landing, with their folding-cots,
rifles, and all the paraphernalia of their business. Captain Watson
said, as we got upon the _azotea_, “The holes in the floor were ordered
cut by Madero when he came into power.” I told him that I didn’t think
so, they had seemed to me very old; and when we examined them the
raised edges were found to be of an obsolete form and shape of brick,
and the iron barrings seemed to have centuries of rust on them. Nothing
was changed. Nothing had _ever_ been changed. It remained for a foreign
hand to open the doors.
The torpedo-house, which was near our landing, seemed business-like,
clean, and very expensive, even to my inexpert eyes. Stores were being
landed by one of the _Minnesota’s_ boats--great sides of beef, bread,
coffee, vegetables, sugar. I was so thankful to see them, and to know
that hunger no longer stalked right under our bows.