XVI
Huerta’s impressive review for the special correspondents—TheGrito de Dolores—Tons of “stationery” for the Embassy—Villa and Carranza disagree—The Embassy guard finds itself occupied.
We are just home, after seeing the review (from Chapultepec through town to theZocalo) of all the troops now in the city. They were turned out for the benefit of the special correspondents, invited to the gay scene by Huerta, and the government is paying all the expenses. The regular correspondents in town feel rather peeved about the matter. We sat in the motor in theZocalo, under the cloudless sky and soft, penetrating sun, and watched thedéfilé. The banner of the Twenty-ninth bore the long, red streamer that Huerta had tied on the other day, with trembling fingers. The troops were all well armed. They had new rifles and new, well-filled cartridge-belts, and the effect was most encouraging—forHuerta. The special correspondents, from the windows of the Palace, had their cameras and cine machines in action. Really, Huerta has done wonders to keep the troops together so well and so long, in the face of such overwhelming odds. The bugle-calls and the martial music echoed over the Plaza—the setting for so many centuries of the hopes and fears, the beginnings and the endings, of these Mexican people.
I thought of the 1911 anniversary of theGrito de Dolores—that night of the 16th of September when I stood on the middle balcony of thePalacio, with de laBarra and Madero, when the former was still Presidentad interim, and the latter was hoping all things. There we looked down on fifty or sixty thousand upturned faces, while the celebratedCampana de la Independencia(Independence bell) rang above our heads, followed by the great bells from the illuminated towers of the cathedral. The present is nearer the past in Mexico than anywhere else.[10]As we came home we were snapshotted a dozen times by the disconsolate correspondents who had not been invited to the Palace to “assist” at the parade. Coming up “Plateros,” Nelson saw Huerta’s automobile outside of “El Globo” restaurant, and left me, to go in to speak to him.
This morning the big banana-tree in the front garden was released from its winter wrappings, if one can call these cloudless days winter. The most wonderful banners of purest, palest yellow are gently waving against the perfect sky. I am now waiting for Hohler to come to lunch. Sir Lionel went off (during a tremendousnorte), in the battle-shipEssex, which is taking him to Galveston. His country is treating him almost to the honors we give fleeing Maderistas.
Villa has not yet given up the body of Benton. If there is much more delay it will not be able to bear testimony to the truth. Unfortunately, a Federal officer, it is rumored, has hanged an American citizen, Vergara, at Piedras Negras. His pardon, sent from headquarters, came too late. Huerta will probably make an example of the hasty officer, if the deed has really been committed. We heard this morning that Carranza isgoing to make short work of O’Shaughnessy whenhegets here. When!
I had a very interesting conversation with Hohler, who is thoroughly sincere and trustworthy, and able to look at things as they are. We sat long over our coffee, talking of the international web, of which Mexico is now so uncertain and frail a mesh. He intends to do what he can forhisnationals. He is without fear, in a practical, unnervous way.
The reverse of the medal is that he is a tireless collector and connoisseur of beautiful things, and what he doesn’t get, the Belgian minister does. Between them, there is very little left for anybody else.
Villa is still refusing to deliver up the body of Benton, even at the risk of offending the United States. Huerta expects Villa to hang himself with his own rope. He says he is atonto, violent, undisciplined, andcan’tdo what he ought. The rumors that he is refusing to receive orders from Carranza are taking more explicit shape. He says that Carranza has never once put himself in danger; that he (Villa) has done all; that he receives commands from no one. He has repeatedly and vainly been asked to go to confer with Carranza, and we now hear that the mountain of all constitutional virtues is going to Mohammed. The deadly wine of success is mounting to Villa’s head. He now has wealth to the extent of some millions of pesos. The Torreon and Chihuahua confiscations were enormous, not counting what he and his followers have taken in all the small towns looted. He has not the sense to perceive in what difficulties his killing of Benton has placed the people who are anxious to be his friends. He evidently thinks that a man who cannot write or read must “make his mark” in other ways.
Our Gatling-guns, with ammunition, are arriving to-day in Vera Cruz, by the Ward Line steamer. They are to be got up here under the head of Embassy supplies—stationery, and the like. Huerta knows they are, but wants the thing done in a manner that he can wink at. The “stationery” will weigh tons.
Elim had his curls shockingly cut this morning, but his bang has been left. He is as proud as a puppy with two tails. The “crime” was committed by a soft-speaking Haitian barber, who won’t get another chance at my only child. Elim knows nothing of death and dissolution; has been calling “Mima,” all over the house, and has just dashed into the drawing-room, where I am writing, to ask for a trumpet. He is so clever about music that I am almost tempted to sacrifice every one in the house and get him one. He will soon be playing the national air.
Yesterday I had tea with Madame B. She was looking very handsome, lying among her costly blue-ribboned laces. The baby, born ten days ago, looks like a miniature “conqueror,” with its severe Spanish features and glossy black hair. Madame B.’s father, who is one of the wealthiesthacendados, spoke with Huerta for the first time several weeks ago at the Jockey Club. The President asked him, “How are matters in Morelos?” (The Zapatista country where they have immense sugar haciendas.) Don. L. answered, “You are killing us with your demands for contributions.” Huerta grew rather excited. “You do nothing for the country,” he declared, “neither you nor your sons.” Don L. answered, “I have lost one and a half millions in the past year.” “Lucky man to have it to lose,” commented Huerta, grimly. “Great sugar crops are now ready for harvesting, but I can get no men,”Don L. went on; “they are all in the army. Give me men and I will give you contributions.”
Huerta immediately sent the men needed, the sugar is being harvested, and Don L. feels convinced that Huerta is doing what he can; but his daughter, who told me all this, added, with a smile and flash of white teeth, “Pardon me; but whatcanwe do with your Mr. Wilson on our backs?”
We have had such a day of agitation. Telegrams from New York tell us that Nelson’s father has received the last sacraments. We have telegraphed to Vera Cruz to know if one of the smaller fast ships is in the harbor. I might go in it to New Orleans and thence by rail to New York—in all seventy-eight or eighty hours from Vera Cruz. Berthe has been packing my things. I know lives must end, but my heart is very sad.
I kept my engagement to take the Russian and Austrian ministers out to Tozzer’s Aztec diggings. Their governments have subscribed money for archæological work in Mexico (I have neverquiteunderstood why), and Tozzer was most anxious to have them see what he had done. We had tea, andregalitosof heads of idols, dug up on the spot—spontaneously offered, this time. There was a dust-storm blowing—the volcanoes were invisible—and things were generally gritty. All the time my thoughts were turning toward the life-and-death issue, and I was so anxious to get home.
The Lefaivres leave definitely on the 12th. The Legation is dismantled, and Madame Lefaivre is still lying with her knee in plaster. Their secretary and his wife naturally see them leave with mixed feelings. We all know howthatis, for what greater benefit can a chief bestow than absence? Madame Lefaivre said to the secretary: “What if the ship doesn’t sail on the 12th?”He made the most polite of disclaimers, but she answered, smilingly, “Oh, I know the hearts of secretaries!”
I have just come from Mass, wondering how it is with the soul and body of Nelson’s father....
This morning Washington must be thinking “how sharper than a serpent’s tooth”! Carranza and Villa are defying the supreme powers. They even deny our rights to ask information regarding Benton, who, they say, is a British subject—adding that they will listen to only such representations as are made to them by Great Britain herself “through the proper diplomatic channels.” No one knew any such channels existed. They add, further, that this ruling applies to other nations desiring redress for their people. The Frankenstein monster is certainly growing. Carranza also says that he has already investigated the Benton affair, but only for use in case Great Britain desires to take up the matter with him as head of the revolution. The matter of Gustav Bauch, American citizen, he will be kind enough to discuss with Mr. Bryan, stating that he “greatly laments his death.” This turn is most unexpected, though Villa and Carranza were very uppish several months ago when William Bayard Hale was sent to treat with them. Now that the embargo is lifted, their arrogance knows no bounds.
Vergara, thesupposedAmerican citizen,supposedto have been put to death at Piedras Negras by a Federal officer, and whose death so greatly outraged Washington, has simply escaped and rejoined the rebel forces. It appears, on investigation, that he was the chief of a gang of eighteen bandits, and his occupation was the getting in of arms and ammunition across the border for the rebels, or the driving of large herds of stolen cattle over to theAmerican side. The Federals would have had a perfect right to shoot him.
Yours of January 31st, understanding all so deeply, says nothing of my typewritten letter about the Vera Cruz trip. It must be a relief to you to get a legible letter. McKenna, N.’s new young secretary, discreet and competent, copied it for me.
Your report of having seen a statement in the newspapers about “rushing the troops up to Mexico” reminds me of a correspondent of one of the big New York newspapers. He appeared here the other day, saying he had been sent hurriedly to Vera Cruz on inside information from Washington to be ready to go up to Mexico City with the troops.
Last night Huerta, in view of the safety of his crown jewel—i. e., Nelson—said he was going to send a guard to the Embassy. There was anequivocación(there alwaysissome mistake in Mexico) and an armed guard of eight was sent to the American Club, a place Nelson rarely goes to. About half past nine we had excited telephone calls that the Club was guarded by these soldiers, as riots were evidently feared by the authorities. The newspaper men sent telegrams about it to New York, but it was simply a case of going to the wrong place. This morning four soldiers with rifles appeared as permanent “guests,” but we don’t need them. We have nice old Francisco and the new younggendarme, Manuel, who was added some months ago. Each legation here has one guard. I am glad to have Francisco and Manuel, on Elim’s account. They always seem to know just what he is doing in the garden.
We were so thankful to see, in one of the newspapers, the head-line, “Huerta snubs O’Shaughnessy.” Of course it isn’t true, but it will make an excellent impression at home; and it may even give N.’s first-hand, accurate informationabout matters some weight. The same newspaper also shows a picture of Huerta at some charity performance with his wife and daughters and Naranjo, Minister of Public Instruction. He looks (and doubtless felt) the personification of boredom. The head-lines are, “Huerta enjoying social life while riots rage in capital.”
Your letter of the 5th, sent after the raising of the embargo, is received. I can well understand your worrying about our remaining in Mexico. We worried for a few minutes, but by now you will have received my letter telling all about it. It will take something gigantic, something outside of Huerta, to cause him to give Nelson his passports, no matter how often fiery, enraged Cabinet Ministers may urge it.
Last night, on returning home, we found that Huerta had sent us six more soldiers with a sergeant. It made me feel as if the house were the setting for an act from someopéra bouffe. We gave the soldiers packages of cigarettes and a drink apiece, and I suppose they rested on the sofas or floors of the parterre. N. never leaves the house without his secret-service man, a decent fellow, but dressed to the rôle in a loud, tight, bright-blue suit with white stripes, and pistols—the last articles outlined against his person every time he makes a motion. We have a beautiful new motor—low, smooth-running, painted black, with a smart dark-gray band about it. He occupies the seat beside Jesus, gets out when N. gets out, and waits around ostentatiously while N. attends to whatever he has on hand. He is an awful bore, and quite unnecessary, but Huerta answered, when N. protested, “Es mejor” (“It is better so”).