before one o’clock, when Commander Tweedie arrived for lunch. He had
a most interesting tale to tell of his journey down from Mexico City,
and told it in the characteristic, deprecating way of an Englishman
who has done something, but who neither wants credit nor feels that he
has done anything to deserve it. He came back as far as Soledad in a
special train, with a guard of twenty-five of the famous Twenty-ninth.
At Soledad he saw a miserable, hungry, thirsty, worn-out party of
Americans, men, women, and children, from Cordoba. Most of them had
been in jail for eight days, and then found themselves stranded at
Soledad for twenty-four hours, without food or drink, huddled up by the
railroad station. Tweedie is a man of resource. Instead of getting back
to Vera Cruz and reporting on the condition, he made up his mind that
he would take the party on with him, or stay behind himself. After some
telegraphing to Maass, with whom he had, fortunately, drunk a _copita_
(oh, the power of the wicked _copita_!) as he passed his garrison, he
finally got permission to start for Vera Cruz with the derelicts, under
the fiction of their being English.
They had to walk the twenty blazing kilometers from Tejería, a sort
of burning plowshare ordeal, one old lady and various children being
carried in blankets. He gave them every available drop of liquid he had
in his car, and he said the way the children lapped up the ginger-ale
and lemonade was very amusing. Still under the auspices of Carden, a
train-load of five or six hundred started, last night or this morning,
for Coatzacoalcos. Sir Lionel, fearing a panic, decided not to say,
till he gets off this last train-load, that our affairs are no longer
in his hands. I think magnanimity can scarcely go further; my heart
is full of gratitude for the inestimable services the English have
rendered my countrypeople.
At four o’clock I went on shore to see Admiral Fletcher. Ensign Crisp
(wearing side-arms) accompanied me. Captain Simpson thinks it more
suitable to send some one with me, but never, in all her four hundred
years or so of existence, has Vera Cruz been safer, more cheerful,
more prosperous, more hygienic. The _zopilotes_ circling the town must
think mournfully of the days when everything was thrown into the street
for all that flies or crawls to get fat and multiply on.
I found Admiral Fletcher in his headquarters at the Terminal, serene
and powerful. He said, “I go out to the _Florida_ to-morrow. I have
finished my work here. Things are ready to be turned over to General
Funston.” I told him not only of my admiration for his work during
these last days, and what it entailed, but that more than all I admired
his work of keeping peace in Mexican waters for fourteen months. A
dozen incidents could have made for disturbance but for his calm
judgment, his shrewd head, and the big, very human heart beating in his
breast; and I said to him what I have repeated on many occasions, that
it is due to Huerta, to Admiral Fletcher, and to Nelson that peace has
been maintained during these long, difficult months. It was destined
for an incident outside the radius of the power of these three to bring
about the military occupation.
We spoke a few words of the old Indian, still wrestling on the heights.
Admiral Fletcher ended by saying, in his quiet, convincing manner,
“Doubtless when I get to Washington I will understand that point of
view. Up to now I know it only from this end.”
I told him how I hated half-measures; how they were disastrous in
every relation of life--family, civil, public, and international--and
never had that been proven more clearly than here. Even he does not
seem to know whether we have brought all this tremendous machinery to
the shores of Mexico simply to retreat again, or whether we are to go
on. As I went away, I could but tell him once more of my respect and
affection for himself and my admiration for his achievements. I passed
out of the room, with tears in my eyes. I had seen a great and good man
at the end of a long and successful task. Later, other honors will come
to him. Probably he will get the fleet. But never again will he, for
fourteen long months, keep peace, with his battle-ships filling a rich
and coveted harbor. When all is said and done, that is his greatest
work.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] I think of a few--a very few--out of the number that were
recounted to me: McDonnell commanding the machine-guns, trained from
the Hotel Terminal, while the blue-jackets were landing under fire. In
that exposed position his men (mere boys) were falling all about him;
the dash of Wainright and Castle and Wilkinson for the Customs-House;
Badger and Townsend pushing up the steel belfry stairs of the cathedral
in the hunt for snipers; Courts taking messages to the _Chester_
through the zone of fire. The enlisted men were magnificent. Chief
Boatswain McCloy, with a few men in small launches, steamed across the
bay to attract the fire of the sharpshooters so the _Prairie_ could
get the range. The days of danger were all too short for those gallant
hearts.
[19] The dungeons of San Juan are again full--E. O’S.
XXV
Our recall from Mexican soil--A historic dinner with General
Funston--The navy turns over the town of Vera Cruz to the army--The
march of the six thousand blue-jackets--Evening on the _Minnesota_.
_May 1st._
Yesterday, April 30th, Admiral Fletcher turned “La Villa Rica de la
Vera Cruz” over to the army. It was perfectly quiet, continuing to
enjoy unknown prosperity. But of that later. At eleven o’clock, as we
were about to go on shore, an envelope was brought to N. On opening it
he found it was his recall from Mexican soil, and we forthwith departed
for the shore to see Admiral Fletcher. He was receiving visitors, for
the last time, at his headquarters, and N. was immediately admitted.
Admiral Badger passed through the antechamber, in his strong, dynamic
way, as I waited with Captain Huse, whose face and personality are
graven on my memory as he appeared in my compartment that afternoon at
Tejería.
Soon I went into Admiral Fletcher’s room, a great, square,
high-ceilinged room, where he and Captain Huse had slept and worked
during all those strange days, with another almost equally large, a
sort of Neronian bathroom, opening out of it. A breeze nearly always
blows in from the sea. N. was turning over the motor to the navy, where
it will be of great service. It was a feat to get it down here with no
further injury than a damaged clutch, which the clever seamen put in
order. There was a good deal of coming and going at headquarters, so
we soon left and went to call on General Funston at General Maass’s
old headquarters. It ended by our remaining to dinner with General
Funston--his first dinner in General Maass’s home.
I suppose I am not only the only woman who has had a meal there under
two flags, but the only person. I went up the broad stairs with Colonel
Alvord, the stairs I had last descended on General Maass’s arm. When I
got there General Funston was in the large front room where the Maass
family had lived and breathed and had its being. After greeting him, my
eye roved over the room. On the table, with its white drawn-work cloth,
was the same centerpiece of white coral (from which hung bits of bright
green artificial moss) and the large silver cup; there was the silent
piano, with its piles of worn music; the porcelain ship (sad augury),
filled with faded artificial roses; the bead curtains dividing the big
room in half; the rocking-chair of which the family had been so proud;
even the doily that came off on my back! We went in almost immediately
to the large, bountifully spread table, where the food was served in
the Maass china. I, of course, sat on General Funston’s right, and N.
on his left. His fine, alert staff, ready and anxious to take over the
town and the country, the hemisphere, or anything else, made up the
party. They were all very nice about my being there “to grace their
first meal.”
General Funston is small, quick, and vigorous. There is a great
atmosphere of competency about him, and he is, they tell me, a
magnificent field officer. He had been to Mexico nineteen years before,
thinking to invest money in coffee; now in the turning wheel of life
his reputation is being invested in the situation which he is more
than equal to. They are all afraid that some hybrid breed of “dove of
peace”--“peace at any price” (or “preparedness for more kicks”--as
some one gloomily observed) will flap his wings over the land. The army
is ready, willing, and able to bring to a successful issue, in the
face of any difficulty, any task set it. I am sure that the officers
feel the cruelty of half-measures, cruelty both to our own people and
to Mexico; they know war can’t be more disastrous than what we are
doing. The dinner of ham, with cream sauce, potatoes, macaroni, beans,
and pickles, came to an end all too soon. Coffee and cigarettes were
served as we still sat around the big table. My eyes rested admiringly
on those half-dozen strong, competent men in their khaki suits. It
is the most becoming of all manly apparel--flannel shirt, with low,
pointed collar, trousers like riding-breeches, leather leggings,
cartridge-belts, and side-arms all in one tone. They are going to pack
the Maass relics and turn them over to their owners. Admiral Fletcher
had sent a message to General Maass, promising to forward all their
effects. I must say I had a real conception of “fortunes of war” when
they hunted for butter-dishes and coffee-cups in the Maasses’ gaudy
china-closet. They had only got into the house in the morning, and had
had no time for anything except the arrangements for taking over the
town.
General Funston said he had a little daughter, Elizabeth, born to him
the day he arrived in Vera Cruz. He also told us he had been routed
out of bed, one night, by extras, saying “O’Shaughnessy Assassinated!
_Prairie_ Sunk!” and he felt that the moment of departure might,
indeed, be near. He gave N. an historic pass to go between the lines
at any time, and we left soon afterward, as it was nearing the hour
for the officers to go to the function on the Sanidad pier--“a little
Funston,” as Captain Huse called it. I shook hands with them all and
wished the general “Godspeed to the heights.” Whatever is necessary,
he and his strong, faithful men will do. We walked through the hot,
white streets to the Plaza, and were soon overtaken by General Funston
and his chief of staff, riding in a disreputable _coche_ drawn by a
pair of meager gray nags. I believe the navy arrived on the scene in
our smart auto. A few minutes later I saw the general, in his khaki,
standing by Admiral Fletcher, who was in immaculate white on the
Sanidad pier.
Then began the wonderful march of six thousand blue-jackets and
marines back to their ships. The men had had their precious baptism
of fire. As ship’s battalion after battalion passed, there was
cheering, lifting of hats to the colors, and many eyes were wet. The
men marched magnificently, with a great, ringing tread, and made
a splendid showing. If the old Indian on the hill could have seen
them he would have recognized all the might and majesty of our land
and the bootlessness of any struggle. The passing of the troops and
their embarkment took exactly thirty-seven minutes. They seemed to
vanish away, to be dissolved into the sea, their natural element.
For a moment only the harbor looked like some old print of Nelsonian
embarkings--Trafalgar, the Nile, Copenhagen, I know not what! The navy
flowed out and the army flowed in. There were untold cinematograph and
photograph men, and the world will know the gallant sight. N. stood
with Admiral Fletcher and General Funston.
Sometimes, alone in Mexico City, with the whole responsibility of the
Embassy on his Shoulders, N. would be discouraged, and I, too, fearful
of the ultimate end. Had I realized the might and magnificence of the
navy represented in the nearest harbor, ready and able to back up our
international undertakings and our national dignity, I think I would
never have had a moment’s despondency. I said something of this to
Captain Simpson, and he answered, “Yes, but remember you were in the
woods.”
Admiral Busch took us back to the _Minnesota_, where we arrived in
time to see the returned men drawn up on the decks to be inspected
by Captain Simpson, who gave them a few warm, understanding words of
commendation. Some were missing. Peace to them!
_Later._
We went again on shore, leaving Nelson at the _Carlos V._, to return
the call of the Spanish captain in Mexico City. I was so tired out with
the sun and the long day that I stayed in the small boat. I simply had
not the nervous energy to climb the gangway and go on board, though I
would have liked to see the ship. After the visit we went and sat under
the _portales_ of the Diligencias for an hour or so, to watch the busy
scene. The ice-plant of the Diligencias was not yet in working order,
so the usual dirty, lukewarm drinks were being served to disgusted
patrons. In the Palacio Municipal, the Second Infantry regiment was
quartered, and under its _portales_ they had put up their cook-stoves
and were preparing their early evening meal, before going to their
night-work on the outposts. Several dozen fat, sleek, well-dressed
Mexicans were being shoved off at the point of three or four bayonets.
I asked Ensign McNeir why it was, and he said:
“Oh, that is the bread-line. They can’t be bothered with it now.”
The “bread-line,” which at times probably includes one-third of the
population of Vera Cruz, had evidently had good success at other
points, and had been enjoying a workless, well-fed day; for its members
had disposed themselves comfortably on bench or curb of the Plaza,
and listened to the strains of the “Star-spangled Banner,” “Dixie,”
and “The Dollar Princess”--provided for their entertainment by the
thoughtful, lavish invaders. Even the little flower-girls seemed to
have on freshly starched petticoats; the bright-eyed newsboys had clean
shirts, and the swarming bootblacks looked as spruce as their avocation
permitted. A sort of millennium has come to the city; and money, too,
will flow like water when pay-day comes for the troops.
Richard Harding Davis came up to our table. His quick eye misses
nothing. _If_ there is anything dull to record of Vera Cruz, it won’t
be dull when it gets to the world through that vivid, beautiful prose
of his. We teased him about his hat, telling him there had been many
loud bands in town that day, marine bands, army bands, and navy bands,
but nothing quite as loud as his blue-and-white polka-dot hat-band. We
said he could be spotted at any distance.
He answered, quite unabashed: “But isn’t recognition what is wanted in
Mexico?”
Jack London also came up to speak to us. Burnside, his hair closely
cropped and his heart as warm as ever, sat with us during the many
comings and goings of others. Captain Lansing, a very smart-looking
officer, had recently been transferred from the pomp and circumstance
of Madrid, where he had been military _attaché_, to the jumping-off
place of the world, Texas City. He said that after a year in the dust
or mud and general flatness and staleness of that place, Vera Cruz
seemed a gay paradise. Lieutenant Newbold, from Washington, and many
others, were also presented. They all looked so strong, so sound,
so eager. I think eagerness is the quality I shall best remember of
the men at Vera Cruz. Burnside walked back to the boat with us, the
tropical night falling in that five minutes’ walk. General Funston’s
first official orders were already up with the formal notification of
his authority:
Headquarters United States Expeditionary Forces.
VERA CRUZ, _April 30th, 1914_.
GENERAL ORDER No. 1
The undersigned, pursuant to instructions from the President of the
United States, hereby assumes command of all the United States forces
in this city.
FREDERICK FUNSTON,
Brig. Gen. U. S. Army Commanding.
Already in those short hours since the army “flowed” in, the soldiers
had installed themselves as though they had been there forever. In the
dusk we saw their tents stretched, their bake-ovens up, and the smell
of fresh bread was mingled with the warm sea odors. It was “efficiency”
indeed.
_May 3d._
This morning the news that Mr. Bryan will not permit any fighting
during the period of armistice and mediation will dampen much of the
eagerness I mentioned.
The full complement of the blue-jackets being again on board, there is
a lively sound of ship-cleaning going on. Everything seemed immaculate
before. We have been so comfortable, so cool, so well looked after in
every way on this man-of-war. But I shall not soon forget the face of
the young officer just home from outpost duty who discovered that my
French maid was occupying his cabin!
Last night, as we sat talking on the deck, looking out over the jeweled
harbor, the gentle, peaceful bugle-call to “taps” sounded suddenly
from San Juan Ulua. A big light hung over the entrance to Captain
Chamberlain’s quarters. It is balm on my soul that the pest-hole of
centuries is open to the sun and light, the bolts hanging slack, and
comparative peace and plenty everywhere. I say comparative peace,
because those imprisoned for murder and foul crimes are still to be
dealt with. When I first visited the prison under the Mexican flag
Captain McDougall and I asked the sentry who showed us around if there
had been many executions lately.
He answered, “Since _Thursday_” (this was Sunday) “_only_ by order of
the colonel!” Whether this was true or not I don’t know; but the guard
gave it out with the air of one making an ordinary statement. Captain
McDougall asked because, from the _Mayflower_, anchored almost where we
now are, he had heard many a shot at night and in the early morning.
Immediately after dinner we had gone up on deck. A delicious breeze was
turning and twisting through the soft, thick, tropical night. Every
night a large screen is put up on the after part of the ship, and the
officers and crew gather to watch the “movies,” seating themselves
without distinction of rank. The turrets are garlanded with men;
even the tops of the mast had their human decorations. It was most
refreshing, after the hot, historic day, to sit quietly on the cool,
dim deck and watch the old tales of love, burglars, kidnapping, and
kindred recitals unroll themselves from the films. But it was more
beautiful later on, as we sat quietly on the deck in the darkness,
watching the wondrous scene about us. A thousand lights were flashing
across the water, catching each dark ripple. The “city of ships,” as
I call Vera Cruz harbor, is constantly throwing its flash-lights, its
semaphores, its signalings of all kinds, and water and sky reflect them
a hundredfold.
Just after the peaceful sounding of “Taps” from the fortress, Admiral
Fletcher and Captain Huse came on board to pay us a farewell visit.
Admiral Fletcher’s courtesy is always of the most delicate kind, coming
from the depths of his kind heart and his broad understanding of men
and life. He and N. walked up and down the deck for a while, planning
about our getting off. He intends that the _chargé_ shall depart from
Mexican waters with all fitting dignity. After a warm handclasp he
and Captain Huse went off over the summer sea. Standing at the rail,
we watched the barge disappear into a wondrous marquetry design of
darkness and light, and knew that some things would never be again.
Later we got the inclosed radio from the _Arkansas_, Admiral Badger’s
flag-ship, to say the _Yankton_ would be put at our disposal on the
morrow to take us to our native shores, and so will the story end. I
am homesick for my beautiful plateau and the vibrant, multicolored
life I have been leading. _Adelante!_ But I have little taste for
dinners, teas, and the usual _train-train_, though a few expeditions
to dress-makers and milliners will be profitable to me as well as to
them. As you know, I had no time to have my personal things packed at
the Embassy, and what I did bring with me reposed for twenty-four hours
on the sand-dunes at Tejería, between the Mexican lines and ours. My
big yellow trunk is reported at the Terminal station. What is left in
it will be revealed later. They may not call it war in Washington,
but when a woman loses her wardrobe she finds it difficult to call it
peace. N.’s famous collection of boots, forty or fifty pairs, evidently
left those sand-dunes on Aztec or mestizo feet. My silver foxes and
other furs I don’t worry about. Under that blistering sky and on that
hot, cutting sand they could offer no temptations.
Joe Patterson has just been on board. He came down with the army on the
transport _Hancock_, _sui generis_, as usual, his big body dressed in
the loosest of tan coverings. He is always electric and interesting,
running with a practised touch over many subjects. He said he wanted
not an interview with N. for his newspaper (which would finish N.
“dead”), but to make some account that would interest the public and
not get him (N.) into trouble. I shall be interested to see what he
does. The boresome news of the armistice has made him feel that he
wants to get back, and I dare say there will be many a departure.
Nelson will not allow himself to be interviewed by a soul. It is
impossible to please everybody, but, oh, how easy it is to _dis_please
everybody!
XXVI
Homeward bound--Dead to the world in Sarah Bernhardt’s luxurious
cabin--Admiral Badger’s farewell--“The Father of Waters”--Mr. Bryan’s
earnest message--Arrival at Washington--_Adelante!_
_Sunday, May 3d._
I am writing in the depths of my cabin on the yacht _Yankton_, which
is carrying us to New Orleans as the crow flies--a special trip for
the purpose. In another walk of life the _Yankton_ was known as _La
Cléopâtre_, and belonged to Sarah Bernhardt. Now I, much the worse for
wear, occupy her cabin. She has never brought a representative of the
United States from the scene of war before, but she is Admiral Badger’s
special ship, carries mails, special travelers, etc., and went around
the world with the fleet. The fleet met a typhoon, and all were alarmed
for the safety of the _Yankton_, which emerged from the experience the
least damaged of any ship. I can testify that she rides the waves and
that she even jumps them. Admiral B. says that in harbor he uses her
chiefly for court-martials. Now I am here. Life is a jumble, is it not?