XIX
Congress meets without the United States representative—Huerta makes his “profession of faith”—Exit Mr. Lind—Ryan leaves for the front—French and German militaryattachés—The Jockey Club.
Yesterday Lieutenant Courts (one of Admiral Fletcher’s flag lieutenants) arrived for an indefinite time. He is a shrewd and capable young officer, ready to study the situation intelligently and dispassionately. The big house is again full.
Yesterday we lunched at the German Legation. The luncheon was given for the French militaryattaché, Count de Bertier de Sauvigny, and the German, Herr von Papen, both from Washington for a few weeks. The Simons were there, the von Hillers, and various others, everybody trying to enlighten the two new arrivals as tola situación. Both find themselves in a position requiring some tact and agility to keep their seats—à chevalas they are between Washington and Mexico City. Von Hintze has never cared for Huerta. Occasionally, very occasionally, he has given him grudging praise; but a man of von Hintze’s fastidiousness would always find himselffluide contraireto a man of just Huerta’s defects—defects which, I have sometimes argued with von Hintze, become qualities in Mexico. All came to tea with me later. De Bertier is a very handsome man, of the tall, distinguished, fine-featured Gallic type; vonPapen, with a pleasant and inquiring smile, is the quintessence of the Teuton, his square head and every face bone in relief against the Mexican amalgam type my eyes are accustomed to.
The story about the loan, Simon says, is true. Huerta remarked to the banking magnates that he had, outside the door, two soldiers apiece for each gentleman; that there were plenty of trees in Chapultepec; that he would give them ten minutes to decide what they would do. He got the loan.
In the evening Hay and Courts and H. Walker and Ryan dined with us, all staying late. Dr. Ryan fears he can’t get up to Torreon. The road between Monterey and Saltillo was blown up the night before last, and it is useless to try to get through that desert afoot or on horseback.
I went out to Chapultepec with N. and Courts. I wanted to show Courts the administrative tableau set in the morning beauty of the park, and N. had urgent business with the President. There was the usual array of autos there, the President in his own, talking with de la Lama, Minister of Finance. Afterward Hohler, Manuel del Campo, and the two García Pimentel men, black-clad, came up, having been to thehonrasof Ignacio Algara, brother of the Mexicanchargéin Washington. They were going to have a sandwich, and asked Courts and me to go into the restaurant, which we did. N. appeared a few minutes later, the President with him. The much-advertisedcopitaswere immediately served, the President scarcely touching his glass. After much badinage between Huerta and N. thejeunesse doréelooking on rather embarrassed, Huerta departed, with an obeisance to me, and a large, circular gesture to the others. He had a telegram from Ciudad PorfirioDiaz, telling of immense losses of the rebels and of the Federals still holding their ground—which may or may not be true. The little story I paste here is indicative of Mexicans in general, and of the situation in particular:
The safest bet regarding the many stories about Torreon yesterday, was the answer of a Mexican mozo to his master’s query as to whether it would rain. After a careful survey of the heavens Juan replied: “Puede que si, o puede que no, pero lo mas probable es, quién sabe?” (Perhaps it will—perhaps it won’t; but the most probable is “who knows?”)
Congress reopened yesterday. Huerta showed some emotion when, in the morning, Nelson informed him that he could not be present. In the same room that saw its dissolution, the same old Indian, in a business-like speech that would do credit to any ruler, briefly outlined to Congress the work of government, pending detailed reports by the departments. There is a tragic note in the fact that this persecuted government, in the midst of all its anxieties, can discuss such matters as the subterranean hydrology of the plateau, and the sending of delegates to the electro-technic congress, in Berlin. Huerta wound up his speech with these solemn and stirring words:
“Before I leave this hall I must engrave upon your hearts this, my purpose, which on another occasion I communicated to the National Assembly in the most explicit manner—the peace of the republic. If, in order to secure it, the sacrifice of you and of me becomes indispensable, know, once for all, that you and I shall know how to sacrifice ourselves. This is my purpose, my profession of political faith.”
There was immense applause. But his task seems superhuman. To fight the rebelsandthe United States is not simply difficult—it is impossible.
Villa talks freely about his plan when he triumphs: first and foremost, it is to execute Huerta and his whole political family, on the principle that the first duty of a “Mexican executive is to execute”; then to set up a dictatorship for a year. The program drips with blood; and these are the people we are bolstering up!
Lind leaves to-night for Washington, so exit from the tragic scene Don Juan Lindo (I sometimes feel like calling him Don Juan Blindo), who commenced life in a Scandinavian town as Jon Lind, and who has ended by dreaming northern dreams in Vera Cruz, in the hour of Mexico’s agony. My heart is unspeakably bewildered at this trick of fate; and, too, he would have long since precipitatedusinto war had it not been for the shrewd common sense and trained knowledge of the gifted man at the head of the fleet in Vera Cruz....
A hot indignation invades me as Mr. Lind drops out of the most disastrous chapter of Mexican history and returns to Minnesota. (Oh, what a far cry!) Upon his hands the blood of those killed with the weapons of the raising of the embargo—those weapons that, in some day and hour unknown to us, must inevitably be turned against their donors. It is all as certain as death, though there are many who refuse to look eventhatfact in the face.
I am not keen about the confidential agent system, anyway. With more standing in the community than spies, and much less information, they are in an unrivaled position to mislead (wittingly or unwittingly is a detail) any one who depends on them for information. Apropos of Mr. Lind, one of the foreigners here said it was as if Washington kept a Frenchman in San Francisco to inform them concerning our Japanese relations. For some strange reason, any information delivered by confidentialagents, is generally swallowed, hook and all, but unfortunately, the mere designating of them does not bestow upon them any sacramental grace.
Domingo de Ramos(Palm Sunday), with soft wind and warm sun. The palms were blessed at the nine-o’clock Mass in the cathedral. The great pillars of the church were hung with purple; thousands of palms were waving from devout hands, the hands of beggars and the rich alike, and there was some good Gregorian music, instead of the generally rather florid compositions. Near where I knelt was a paralyzed Indian girl, crawling along on the most beautiful hands I have ever seen. Her Calvary is constant.
Wonderful palm plaitings, of all shapes and patterns, are offered by the Indians as one enters the church. I bought a beautiful sort of Greek-cross design, with silvery grasses depending from it. It now hangs over my bed.
We hear that the Bishop of Chilapa is held by Zapata for a big ransom. As all the well-to-do families have either fled from that part of the country or been robbed of all they had, the ransom may not be paid. There is a threat to crucify him on Good Friday, if it is not forthcoming, but I hardly think he is in danger, as such an act would certainly be thought to bring a curse upon the people and the place. This is the second time he has been made prisoner. He was rescued by Federal soldiers only a few weeks ago.
We had a pleasant luncheon at Chapultepec restaurant, on the veranda—von Hintze, Kanya de Kanya, Stalewski, the Bonillas, Courts, Strawbensie (the young naval officer up from theEssex, who is supposed to be training the British colony volunteers), Lady C., von Papen, andourselves; de Bertier, the French militaryattaché, did not materialize. They think, apropos of Torreon (“the key of thesouth,” for the rebels; “the key of thenorth,” for the Federals), that the Federals may have been obliged to evacuate it and are now fighting to get it back. Any one seems able to take Torreon, and no one seems able to hold it.
At two o’clock Dr. Ryan left for the front, von Papen with him. Ryan has learned to travel light, but von Papen took a lot of impedimenta—eating-utensils, uniform, blanket, pungaree hat, etc. He will drop his possessions, one by one, as—after Saltillo, which they should reach to-morrow night—they may be on horseback, or afoot. I was deeply touched to see Dr. Ryan go off. I made the sign of the cross on his shoulder[13]and commended him to Heaven as we stood at the gate under the brilliant sky. He is so pleased to be taking all those stores with him—enough for two hundred and fifty or three hundred dressings, not including the other materials.
I received calls all afternoon. At four the two handsome Garcia Pimentel sisters came—Lola Riba and Rafaela Bernal. At five the Japanese minister brought his wife for her first formal call. They are cultivated people, with the quality that makes one feel they are used to the best at home. Imadeconversation till six, when Clarence Hay saved my life. At seven, just as I had gone up-stairs, a Frenchman—a banker—appeared. At eight I was too tired for dinner, which N. and I ignored. The “doves of peace” are beginning tosettle in the Embassy dove-cote to-night—about atonof them already here.
A Federal officer, Colonel Arce, got in from Torreon last night. He says that on Friday, the third, it was still in the hands of the Federals. Chieftain Urbina, a notorious rebel, had been captured and forced, with other Revolutionists, to parade the streets of Torreon, between a detachment of Federal troops. Then he was summarily executed in the presence of an immense crowd. The railway lines are open between San Pedro and Saltillo, and on to Mexico City. Unless they are again blown up, Dr. Ryan and von Papen will be able to get to San Pedro, where Generals de Maure, Hidalgo, Corral (the one I saw off), are stationed, with large reinforcements. We’ll take the report for what it is worth. One thing we know: the carnage is going on.
The story just now is that General Velasco, the very competent Federal in command of Torreon, voluntarily evacuated, took his army and his field-guns to the hills above Torreon, with non-combatants and women and children, cut the water-supply, and is now waiting orders from Huerta to bombard the town. He, of course, has plenty of water where he is; but Torreon dry must be a thing of horror. This story agrees with a good deal we have been hearing. If true, it will really be a greatcoupon the part of the Federals.
The churches are full to overflowing, these holy days. Men, women, and children, of all strata of society, are faithful in the discharge of their duties. In this city of peace, how contrasting the tales of sacrilege in the rebel territory! Five priests were killed and three held for ransom in Tamaulipas, last month; a convent was sacked and burned and the nuns were outraged; acathedral was looted, the rebels getting off with the old Spanish gold and silver utensils. What kind of adults will develop out of the children to whom the desecration of churches and the outraging of women are ordinary sights; who, in tender years, see the streets red with blood, and property arbitrarily passing into the hands of those momentarily in power? The children seem the pity of it, and it is a bitter fruit the next generation will bear. Let him who can, take; and him who can, hold; is the device the Constitutionalists really fly.
In the old days, before the Laws of Reform, there used to be the most gorgeous religious processions; but even now, with all that splendor in abeyance, there remains something that is unsuppressed and unsuppressable. To-day the population has streamed in and out of the churches and visited the repositories (with their blaze of light and bankings of orange-trees, roses, and lilies, and countless varieties of beautiful palms), with all the ardor of the old days. No restrictions can prevent the Indian from being supremely picturesque at the slightest opportunity.
I went, as usual, to San Felipe, named after the Mexican saint who, in the sixteenth century, found martyrdom in Japan. It is just opposite the Jockey Club. Outside thezaguan, on the chairs generally placed on the pavement for the members, were sitting various males of the smart set. All, without exception (IthinkI could put my hand in the fire for them), had been to Mass; which, however, didn’t prevent their usual close scrutiny of the small, beautiful feet of the passing Mexican women; two and one-half C is the usual size of a Mexicana’s shoes.
This Casa de los Azujelos, where the Jockey Club has had its being for generations, is a most lovely old house. It is covered with beautiful blue-and-white Puebla tiles,appliquéd by an extravagant and æsthetic Mexican in the seventeenth century, and is perfectly preserved, in spite of the many kinds ofrevolucionarioswho have surged up the Avenida San Francisco, which, with thePaseo, forms the thoroughfare between thePalacioand Chapultepec. The men of the club play high and there are stories of fabulous losses, as well as of occasional shootings to death. It is thechic, aristocratic club of Mexico, the last and inviolable retreat of husbands. Anybody whoisany one belongs to it.[14]
A telegram from Dr. Ryan this morning reports: “The Federals have lost Torreon. Velasco, retreating, met Maure, Maass, and Hidalgo, at San Pedro; army reorganized, and it is now attacking Torreon, and will surely take it back.” He and von Papen got as far as Saltillo by rail. There, communications had been cut. There had been a big encounter at San Pedro de las Colonias, and I hope that even as I write faithful Ryan is proceeding with his work of mercy among the wounded.
There was a meeting at the Embassy to-day, to discuss ways and means of defense among the Americans if anything happens in the city. Von Hintze and von Papen have tried to do some organizing among their colony. The Japanese have long since hadcarte blanchefrom the government in the way of ammunition and marines from their ships at Manzanillo. Sir Christopher, some time ago, sent Lieutenant Strawbensie up from Vera Cruz, to teach the English colony a few rudiments—and the French have also had a naval officer here for several weeks.
Last night, it appears, the boat taking 480,000 pesos to the north coast to pay the troops was captured byrebels. “Juan and José” always come out at the little end of the horn. There are immense geographical difficulties in the way of transporting money to the army in the north, over mountain chains and deserts, besides the strategic difficulty of getting it to the proper place without the rebels or bandits seizing it. After that, there is the further possibility of the officers putting it in their own pockets. What wonder that “Juan and José” sell their rifles and ammunition or go over to the rebels, where looting is permitted and encouraged?Theyare always hungry, no matter what are the intentions and desires of the central government.
Telegrams from the north are very contradictory, and generally unfavorable to the government. The foreign correspondents were warned this morning, by a note from the Foreign Office (and it was to be the last warning), that they were not to send out false reports favorable to the rebels and redounding to the injury of both foreigners and Federals. They will get the famous “33” applied to them, if they don’t “walk Spanish.” No joking here now; much depends, psychologically, if not actually, on the issues at Torreon.
The clever editor of theMexican Heraldremarks, apropos of the Presidential message of last week: “Our idea of a smart thing for Carranza to do would be to read President Huerta’s message to Villa. The array of things a President has to worry about, besides war and confiscation, are enough to remove the glamour.”
All Villa knows about revenue is embodied in the word loot. Even in this fertile land, where every mountain is oozing with gold, silver, and copper, and every seed committed to the earth is ready to spring up a hundredfold, he who neglects to plant and dig can’t reap or garner. The whole north is one vast devastation and invitation to the specters of famine.