XXII
Vera Cruz taken—Anti-American demonstrations—Refugees at the Embassy—A long line of visitors—A dramatic incident in the cable-office—Huerta makes his first and last call at the Embassy.
Nelson has been informed through Mexican sources—a most embarrassing way to get the news—that Vera Cruz was taken by our ships at eight o’clock this morning. (Cortés landed on April 21st, if I am not mistaken, though, of course, that isn’t much help tousnow!) The line from Mexico City to Vera Cruz has been blown up. I am so worn out that I wouldn’t mind seeing even the Zapatistas climbing in at the windows. Aunt Laura has been sitting by my bed, wearing that pale-blue woolen jacket you sent me. She feels, after all these decades of Tehuantepec, a chill even in these lovely days. The situation she will find herself in after we go appalls me, but she is determined to remain. All these years she has watched the increasing glories and securities of Don Porfirio’s Mexico. One could go unarmed from the Rio Grande to Guatemala. Now, when the years begin to press upon her, she is caught up and ruined by present-day Mexican uncertainties, or rather, certainties. Oneknowsone will lose everything one has here.
N. just looked in at the door to say we may have to leaveviathe Pacific (Manzanillo and San Francisco). Well, it is all in the hands of the Lord. Some time, some way, we are destined to be recalled from Mexico City.I wonder what Huerta is thinking of doing this morning. Will the situation weld together his divided people? I am thankful not to be among the hundreds—no, thousands—without bank accounts in New York, Chicago, Boston, or other places, who are being packed like sardines on transports for “home.” These are the real tragedies of the situation to us, though I can’t help thinking of the Mexican side. Several hundred thousand men, women, and children have been killed in various ways since Madero started for Mexico City—American gunners manning his guns.
No news from Washington to-day. We might all be massacred. It is due to the essential meekness, want of national spirit, want of whatever you will in the Mexicans, that we are not, not because a paternal government is watching over its public servants in foreign parts. I have sent out for a good supply of candles; the lights might be cut to-night by some Zapatista band. We all wonder why Huerta hasn’t cut the railroad to Vera Cruz. Why doesn’t he make things a bit nasty for us?
A word from my sofa, where I am resting in my purple Paris draperies. We have had a long line of visitors. Ayguesparsse was the first, and so nice and sympathetic. With his Mexican wife he does not find himself in an easy position. His family-in-law has made many and real sacrifices forLa Patriaand the Huerta government. Three men, expert machinists, are having their dinners down-stairs, having set up the Gatling-guns under Burnside’s instructions. I have providedpulque,tortillas,frijoles, and cigarettes for countlessgendarmes. We are ten at dinner, and perhaps twenty have been in for tea. There has been an anti-American demonstration atPorter’s Hotel, where the very clever woman journalist I mentioned before is staying. She will sleep here to-night, in Ryan’s room. The landlady of Porter’s is also coming, and they will have to take friendly turns in a single bed. About twenty extra persons are sleeping here. We hear nothing from Washington direct. Algara, the Mexicanchargé, has been recalled. N. saw Huerta this afternoon, who begged him not to go. We can no longer cable, though the other legations can send what they like to Washingtonviatheir various European chanceries. No trains are going out to-night nor this morning. Three of the many Pullmans, loaded with men, women, and children, which started yesterday for Vera Cruz, have not yet arrived there. We understand there was fighting along the road.
Rowan is being more than nice, but I think he is rather longing for the baptism of fire thatmightbe his, were he in Vera Cruz.
After dinner McKenna came to tell us that there were three car-loads of women and children outside the Embassy gate. They had to come in, of course, and be attended to.
Nelson saw Huerta to-day at his house. The President said to him, very brusquely: “You have seized our port. You have the right to take it, if you can, and we have the right to try to prevent you.Su Excelencia el Señor PresidenteWilson has declared war, unnecessarily, on a people that only ask to be left alone, to follow out their own evolution in their own way, though it may not seem to you a good way.” He added that he would have been willing to give the salutes, but that the incident was only a pretext. In three weeks or three months, he said, it would have been something else; that we were “after him,” or the Spanish to that effect.
I think his real idea is to form the Mexicans into onecamp against the foreign foe. He does not want Nelson to go, in spite of the fact that Algara has been recalled. We have no intimation, as yet, of our leaving. Mr. Bryan has stated that he instructed Mr. O’Shaughnessy to see Huerta and ask him to keep the roads open to facilitate the getting out of refugees. We are asking favors to the end. N. had not seen the President for several days and did not know in what disposition he would find him. But Huerta took his hand and greeted him, saying, “Como está, amigo?” (“How are you, friend?”). He might have been going to play some Indian trick on him. I begged Rowan to go with N., and he waited in the automobile while N. had the interview.
We are at war. American and Mexican blood flowed in the streets of Vera Cruz to-day. The tale that reaches us is that the captain of theYpirangatried to land the seventeen million rounds of ammunition. Admiral Fletcher expostulated. The captain of theYpirangainsisted on doing it, and, as we were not at war, he was within his international rights. The admiral prevented him by force, and, they say, in order to justify the action imposed on him by Washington, took the town—thus putting us on a war basis. Whether this is a true version of what has happened I don’t know. It does not sound like Admiral Fletcher, but he may have had definite orders from Washington. Von Hintze came in this afternoon. He minimized the incident, or rather, seemed to minimize it, but I could see that he was very much preoccupied. It may be a source of other and graver complications than those of Mexico. It has been many a year since American blood flowed in the streets of Vera Cruz. General Scott took it in 1847. The endless repetitions of history!
As I write, a mob, rather inoffensive, is howling outside, waving Mexican flags and exhorting in loud voices. I can’t hear anything from the window except something aboutVivan los Japoneses, and a few remarks not flattering tolos Gringos. There are many good and capable Americans, willing, ready, and able to second any use of the guns. N. and Rowan have gone down to the cable-office to try and send off something to Washington. The silence of our government remains unbroken. Sir Lionel came back this morning. He is soon to go to Rio. How beautifully England treatsherdiplomats! Instead of removing him, last autumn, when the row was on, our press campaign against him caused his superiors to bide their time, but it must be a great trial to Sir L. to be removed at so critical a moment to another post which, though bigger and better paid, is not of the imminent importance of this.
The wedding morn of thirteen years ago! And we are in Mexico, in full intervention! The troops can’t get up from Vera Cruz by rail, as the Mexicans got away with all the locomotives when the town was taken. That beautiful plan of Butler’s ... I understand that he is in Tampico, with his marines, and the other marines are only due to-day in Vera Cruz. It will take three weeks, even without resistance, for them to march up with their heavy equipment.
At 12.30 last night N., who had gone to bed and to sleep, after a more than strenuous day, was called to the telephone by the excited consul-general, who had had the United States shield torn off the Consulate, and other indignities offered the sacred building, including window-breaking by the mob. N. wonders if Huerta will try to keep him here as a hostage. Huerta told N. that heintends to take our arms away, and, of course, there is no way of keeping them if he decides to do so. We have certainly trampled on the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo after 1848, providing that all disputes should be submitted first for arbitration. So sing me no songs of treaty rights!
We heard last night that the Zapatistas were to unite with Huerta. It would be interesting and curious to see a “Mexico united” on any point. If those bandits come out of theirbarrancasand mountains and do to the Americans half the evil they work on one another, there will be many a desolate mother, wife, sister, and sweetheart north of the Rio Grande. N. says we may get off to-morrow morning. No night trips. Yesterday Carden and von Hintze tried to get Huerta to arrange for the despatching of a refugee train to leave not later than seven this morning, but why he should do that, or anything for any one, unless it falls in with his own plans, I don’t see. It is curious that the Americans did not get hold of a few locomotives. The railroad is indeed sounding brass and tinkling cymbals without them.
Every arm-chair, sofa, and bed in the house was occupied last night, and many of the inmates lay on the floor. Constantly, in the distance, sounds the beautiful Mexican bugle-call. The brass summons is clear and noble, and the drums beat to the nation’s pulse—a poor thing, according to us, but Mexico’s own. Where will it all end? With the taking of Vera Cruz, through whose customs a full fourth of the total imports come, Huerta is out a million pesos a month, more or less. We are certainly isolating and weakening him at a great rate. “Might is right.” We can begin to teach it in the schools.
We have heard nothing from Washington, and nothing from Vera Cruz. Alone on our plateau! Up to now, there are no great anti-American demonstrations. I putmy faith in Huerta, in spite of the feeling which Burnside expressed, that he might show Nelson an Indian’s treachery. Aunt Laura is game. It is good fortune for her to have that comfortable home just across the way to go to.
Something is being prepared in town. To-morrow we may get away. N. begins to feel that he ought to be out of here, the Mexicanchargéat Washington having left yesterday, with the entire Embassy staff. This we learn from the Foreign Office here,notfrom Washington.
The newspapers are rather fierce this morning. One head-line in theIndependienteis to the effect that “the Federal bullets will no longer spill brothers’ blood, but will perforate blond heads and white breasts swollen with vanity and cowardice.” “Like a horde of bandits the invaders assaulted the three-times heroic Vera Cruz. The bravecosteñosmade the foreign thieves bite the dust they had stained with their impure blood,” etc. The newspapers add that the Americans landed “without a declaration of war, feloniously and advantageously.” “Anathema to the cowardly mercantile projects of the President of the United States!” they shriek. They had a picture of Mr. Wilson sitting on heaped-up money-bags, Huerta standing before him, a basket of eggs on each arm. “The true forces of the opponents,” this was labeled. It is impossible to expect the Mexicans to seize the idea that the landing of our troops was a simple police measure. In face of the facts, such subtle distinctions will, I am sure, be overlooked. “El suelo de la patria está conculcado por el invasor extranjero,” is thefactto them! I inclose here what the papers call “el manifiesto laconico y elocuente del Señor Presidente de la Republica.”
“A LA REPUBLICA“En el Puerto de Veracruz, estamos sosteniendo con las armas el honor Nacional.“El atentado que el Gobierno Yanqui comete contra un pueblo libre, como es, ha sido y será el de la Republica, pasará a la Historia, que pondrá a México y al Gobierno de los Estados Unidos, en el lugar que a cada cual corresponda.“V. Huerta.”
“A LA REPUBLICA
“En el Puerto de Veracruz, estamos sosteniendo con las armas el honor Nacional.
“El atentado que el Gobierno Yanqui comete contra un pueblo libre, como es, ha sido y será el de la Republica, pasará a la Historia, que pondrá a México y al Gobierno de los Estados Unidos, en el lugar que a cada cual corresponda.
“V. Huerta.”
“TO THE REPUBLIC“In the port of Vera Cruz we are sustaining with arms the national honor.“The offense the Yankee government is committing against a free people, such as this Republic is, has always been, and will ever be, will pass into history—which will give to Mexico and to the government of the United States the place each merits.“V. Huerta.”
“TO THE REPUBLIC
“In the port of Vera Cruz we are sustaining with arms the national honor.
“The offense the Yankee government is committing against a free people, such as this Republic is, has always been, and will ever be, will pass into history—which will give to Mexico and to the government of the United States the place each merits.
“V. Huerta.”
N. has just come in to say that perhaps we leave to-morrow for Guadalajara and Manzanillo. I am not crazy to see the Pacific coast under these conditions. How many uncertain hours, wild mountains, and deepbarrancasare between us and the United States men-of-war.
Mr. Cummings, chief of the cable-office, and all his men were dismissed this morning, to be replaced by Federals. A dramatic incident occurred when he went into the office to collect his money and private papers. Finding himself for a moment alone, he quickly went to the telegraph key and called up Vera Cruz. The operator there answered, “They are fighting at the roundhouse.” There was a snap, and he heard no more. Some one was listening and shut him off. That is the only authentic news we have heard from Vera Cruz, or anywhere, for two days. But the wild rumors around town are numberless and disquieting. Nothing is touched down-stairs. I don’t want to alarm people needlesslyby stripping my rooms; and who knows if we can take out, if and when we go, more than the strict necessities. There will always be a fair amount of Embassy papers, codes, etc., that must go, whatever else is left.
At five o’clock I went down-stairs to my drawing-room—the matchless Mexican sun streaming in at the windows—and poured tea. It was the last time, though I didn’t know it. Many people came in: Kanya, Stalewski, von Papen, Marie Simon, Cambiaggio, Rowan, de Soto, and others; de Bertier had gone to Tampico. No one knew what was to happen to us. Had we received our passports? Were we to stay on? Could negotiations be reopened? Each came with another rumor, another question. The Cardens came in late, Sir Lionel very agitated over the rumors of the Zapatistas coming to town to-night. They are supposed to have joined with the Federals. It was the first time I have seen Sir L. since his return. He seemed whiter, paler, and older than when he went away. Then von Hintze came. We talked of the hazy Vera Cruz incident and its international bearing,ifthe captain of theYpirangahad been stopped on the high seas, before the blockading of the port, etc.
There was a gleam in von Hintze’s eye during the conversation, answered by one in mine. We were both thinking that history has a way of repeating itself. He was von Dietrich’s flag-lieutenant at Manila, Rowan’s position with Fletcher at Vera Cruz. It was he who took the famous message to Dewey and received the equally famous and emphatic answer—so emphatic, history has it, that he almost backed down the hatchway in his surprise. Thirteen years afterward he finds himself in an American Embassy, discussing another marineincident concerning Germany and the United States, another flag-lieutenant sitting by![15]
During all this time, the Embassy was closely surrounded by troops. Hearing more than the usual noise, I asked Rowan to see what was going on. It proved to be a large squad of soldiers come to take our arms and ammunition away—our sacred doves of peace. All was done with the greatest politeness—but it was done! Two hundred and fifty rifles, two machine-guns, seventy-six thousand of one kind of ammunition, nine thousand of another. It was a tea-party, indeed. At half after seven an officer appeared in the drawing-room, as von Hintze and I were sitting there alone, saying that the President was outside. Von Hintze departed through the dining-room, after hastily helping me and McKenna to remove the tea-table. There was no time to ring for servants. I went to the door and waited on the honeysuckle and geranium-scented veranda while the tearless old Indian, not in his top-hat (“que da mas dignidad”), but in his gray sweater and soft hat, more suitable to events, came quickly up the steps. It was his first and last visit to the Embassy during our incumbency.
I led him into the drawing-room, where, to the accompaniment of stamping hoofs outside, of changing arms, and footsteps coming and going, we had a strange andmoving conversation. I could not, for my country’s sake, speak the endless regret that was in my heart for the official part we had been obliged to play in the hateful drama enacted by us to his country’s undoing. He greeted me calmly.
“Señora, how do you do? I fear you have had many annoyances.”
Then he sat back, quietly, in a big arm-chair, impersonal and inscrutable. I answered as easily as I could that the times were difficult for all, but that we were most appreciative of what he had done for our personal safety and that of our nationals, and asked him if there was nothing we could do for him. He gave me a long, intraverted, and at the same time piercing look, and, after a pause, answered:
“Nothing, señora. All that is done I must do myself. Here I remain. The moment has not come for me to go. Nothing but death could remove me now.”
I felt the tears come hot to my eyes, as I answered—taking refuge in generalities in that difficult moment—“Death is not so terrible a thing.”
He answered again, very quietly, “It is the natural law, to which we must all submit. We were born into the world according to the natural law, and must depart according to it—that is all.”
He has wavy, interlacing, but not disturbing gestures as he speaks. He went on to say that he had come, in his name and that of his señora, to ask N. and myself to attend the wedding of his son, Victor, the next day. And notwithstanding much advice to the contrary by timid ones, we think it expedient to go. The safety of all hangs on his good-will, and it will be wise, as well as decent, to offer him this last public attention. Just then Nelson came in. After greeting the President, he said, rather hastily, “They have taken the arms away.”
Huerta answered with a gesture of indifference, “It must be,” adding, “no le hace” (“it doesn’t matter”).
I told him with a smile, which he quite understood, that it wasn’t much in the way of an exchange. (As we had taken seventeen million rounds of ammunition, and God knows how many guns and rifles in Vera Cruz, his haul at the Embassy did seem rather small!) He does not want us to go out by Guadalajara and Manzanillo, and, unless compelled to cut the line, he gives us his train to-morrow night to Vera Cruz, with a full escort, including three officers of high rank.
“I would go myself,” he said, “but I cannot leave. I hope to send my son in my place, if he returns from the north, as I expect.”
I was dreadfully keyed up, as you can imagine; I felt the tears gush to my eyes. He seemed to think it was fear that moved me, for he told me not to be anxious.
I said, “I am not weeping for myself, but for the tragedy of life.”
And, indeed, since seeing him I have been in a sea of sadness, personal and impersonal—impersonal because of the crushing destiny that can overtake a strong man and a country, and personal, because this many-colored, vibrant Mexican experience of mine is drawing to a close. Nothing can ever resemble it.
As we three stood there together he uttered, very quietly, his last word:
“I hold no rancor toward the American people, nor towardsu Excelencia el Señor Presidente Wilson.” And, after a slight pause, he added, “He has not understood.”
It was the first and last time I ever heard him speak the President’s name. I gave him my hand as he stood with his other hand on Nelson’s shoulder, and knew that this was indeed the end. I think he realized that my heart was warm and my sympathies outrushing tobeautiful, agonizing Mexico; for, as he stood at the door, he suddenly turned and made me a deep reverence. Then, taking N.’s arm, he went out into the starry, perfumed evening, and I turned back into the dwelling I was so soon to leave, with the sadness of life, like a hot point, deep in my heart. So is history written. So do circumstances and a man’s will seem to raise him up to great ends, and so does destiny crush him.... And we, who arrogated to ourselves vengeance for unproven deeds in a foreign land, was vengeance ours?
I left the Embassy staff alone at dinner and came up-stairs, to Aunt Laura. Again I was sick at the thought of leaving her, old, ill, and in troubles of many kinds. I will do what I can for her before I go; but oh, I am sad, very sad, to-night. Whatever else life may have in reserve for me, this last conversation with a strong man of another psychology than mine will remain engraven on my heart—his calm, his philosophy on the eve of a war he knows can only end in disaster for himself and his people. His many faults, his crimes, even, his desperate expedients to sustain himself, his non-fulfilments—all vanish. I know his spirit possesses something which will see him safely over the dark spaces and hours when they come.[16]