Part 19
N. came out of _Guerra_, having met in the corridor the immensely tall Colonel Cardenas, the best shot in Mexico. He is supposed to know just how Madero’s mortal coil was hustled off. He was in command of the squad transporting him and Pino Suarez from the Palacio to the _Penitenciaría_ when they were shot. We then went to the third side of the Palacio Nacional, where the zapadores barracks is, to see how the officer of the Twenty-ninth, who went down with us to Vera Cruz, is getting on. It was very interesting, at twelve o’clock, to watch the various persons who bring food into the barracks. The guards search them all--men, women, and children--by passing their hands down their sides. The prettier young women get pinches or pokes anywhere the guard happens to fancy bestowing them, and they all give little squeals and jumps, sometimes annoyed, sometimes pleased. They bring in great baskets of _tortillas_, _enchiladas_, _frijoles_, fruits, etc. The men in the barracks are absolutely dependent on them for food, as there is no other army supply. Another guard kept off troublesome, too solicitous small boys with a bit of twisted twine, flicking them, with a stinging sound, about the legs. I found it most amusing. Finally the young captain himself came out to thank us and to tell us he was almost well--with an expectant look on his pale face. He wants N. to have him made a major. Why not, when every officer seems to have been promoted--a clever trick of Huerta’s. He has made several extra grades at the top to give himself room. He will need space for manœuvers of an army largely composed of higher officers. He is going to get the interior loan of fifty millions, with the guarantee of the Paris loan.... The Austro-Hungarian minister has just come to ask me to go out to San Angel with him, so adieu.
_March 25th._
We have just had a beautiful motor-drive out to San Angel Inn, talking politics and scenery. The volcanoes had great lengths of clouds, thrown like twisted scarfs, about their dazzling heads.
Kanya de Kanya was with Count Aerenthal during his four years in Vienna, as Minister for Foreign Affairs, and during that time made copious notes relating to the burning questions of the Near East, which will, of course, throw light on the big international issues of that period. He is hoping for a quiet time out here, to get them in order, though he can’t publish them until a lot more water has flowed under the Austro-Hungarian mill.
I got home in time to sit with Aunt Laura awhile before dressing for dinner, for which I was expecting Hohler. The meal was somewhat unquiet. One of the newspaper men called up to say that Torreon had fallen, and gave a few convincing details, such as that of Velasco’s life being spared. The fifty-million-dollar loan receded into the dim distance. We immediately pictured to ourselves the pillaging, ravishing hordes of Villa--the “human tiger,” as some of our newspapers mildly put it--falling down upon Mexico City, the peaceful. Nelson ordered the motor, and he and Hohler went out, as soon as dinner was over, to get some news at the War Department. A big fight, we know, is going on. As I write, brother is killing and mutilating brother, in the fertile _laguna_ district, and horrors unspeakable are taking place. Velasco is said to be honest and capable, and he has money and ammunition.
General Maure, who left for the front a few days ago, wouldn’t start until he had money enough for two months for his men. He also is supposed to be honest, and if he _does_ feed his men, instead of putting the money in some bank in the States (if they would _all_ feed their men, instead of asking worn, empty-stomached men to do the work), he may, perhaps, proceed toward victory. The corruption of the officers is what nullifies the work of the army, and Huerta says he is powerless against it. Any man he might court-martial is sure of the support of the United States. In order to remain faithful the troops only ask enough food to keep life in their bodies during the campaign. The picture of starving troops, locked in box-cars during the night, to prevent their deserting, and then being called on to fight when they are let out in the morning, makes one fairly sick. A free hand at loot and a full stomach on food belonging to somebody else are naturally irresistible when the chance comes.
Such an appreciative letter has come from Archbishop Riordan, thanking Nelson for his Pius Fund achievement.
Mexico has declined, upon good international law, to take upon herself the board bill (now amounting to hundreds of thousands in gold) for the interned refugees at Fort Bliss. We wonder how long Uncle Sam will feel like playing host? This situation, among many tragic ones growing out of our policy, is the only thing that calls an unrestrained grin to the face--a grin at Uncle Sam’s expense.
_March 27th. Morning._
I am sitting in the motor in Chapultepec Park, under the shade of a great cypress, while N. converses with the Dictator in his motor down the avenue. All sorts of birds are singing, and a wonderful little humming-bird (_chupamirtos_, the Indians call them) is so near I can hear it “hum.” Elim is running over the green grass with his butterfly-net. I am thinking, “Sweet day, so soft, so cool, so bright.” This seems the city of peace. In the north the great combat continues. The rebels use almost exclusively expansive bullets, which give no chance to the wounded. Huerta, whom Nelson saw last night, is calm and imperturbable. His loan of 50,000,000 pesos is an accomplished fact. This won’t suit Washington.
Nelson was speaking this morning of the famous interview between Lind, Gamboa (then Minister for Foreign Affairs), and himself--that interview which has now become part of history. Lind has a characteristic gesture--that of tapping with his right hand on his left wrist. With this gesture to emphasize his words he said to Gamboa, “Three things we can do if Huerta does not resign: First, use the financial boycott.” (This has been done.) “Second, recognize the rebels.” (This has been done to the fullest extent by raising the embargo, giving them full moral support and being ready to give them financial aid with the slightest co-operation and decency on their part). “Third, intervene.”
These propositions were set forth nearly eight months ago, and to-day Huerta’s position is better, by far, than at that time. He has kept law and order in his provinces. The big third thing--intervention--yet remains, but on what decent grounds can we intervene?
If, by any remote chance, the rebels should get here, what desecrations, what violations of Mexico City--the peaceful, the beautiful!
_At Home. Afternoon._
I waited a long time for Nelson this morning. Gen. Rincon Gaillardo came up to speak to me, looking very smart in his khaki riding-clothes with a touch of gold braid. He is an erect, light-haired, straight-featured Anglo-Saxon-looking man. He had just returned from a tour of inspection in Hidalgo; had ridden through the state with a couple of aides, and had found everything most peaceful. I asked, of course, if there was any news from the north; but everywhere wire and communication of any kind is cut, and no one knows. Eduardo Iturbide (he is spoken of as governor of the Federal district to succeed Corona), also came up to speak to me. A lot of people were waiting to see Huerta, but he never hurries. After he had seen Rincon Gaillardo and Nelson, he went away, ignoring discomfited occupants of half a dozen motors.
Iturbide always says he has no political talents, but it was inevitable that he be drawn into events here. He would give prestige and dignity to any office. There is a description of the Emperor Augustin Iturbide, “brave, active, handsome, in the prime of life,” that entirely applies to him. I wonder, sometimes, if Don Eduardo’s fate may not be as tragic as that of the man whose name he bears. The ingredients of tragedy are never missing from any Mexican political situation. The only variation lies in the way they are mixed. What I call Mexican magic has a way of arresting judgment. One never thinks a thing will happen here until it has happened--not though a thousand analogous situations have worked themselves out to their inevitable, tragic end. It was Don Eduardo who made to me the profound and tragedy-pointing remark, “We understand you better than you understand us.”[12]
Huerta keeps very calm, these days, Nelson says; no nerves _there_ while waiting for news. I suppose he knows just how bad his men are, and also the very indefinite quality of the rebels. He talked of two years’ work being necessary for pacification, and then of going to live in Washington, to prove that he is neither a wild Indian nor a brigand. He is very pleased to get his loan; the money is here, and he has known how to get hold of it.
At the outset Huerta was surrounded by experienced and responsible men, but when it became generally understood that the United States would not recognize his government, intrigues were started against him, and he was forced to make changes in his Cabinet. Later on, when a friend reproached him with this, he answered, quite frankly, “No one regrets it more than I; for now, unfortunately, all my friends are thieves!”
Yesterday’s copy of _Mister Lind_ has, as a frontispiece, Mr. Wilson and Villa, standing in a red pool, drinking each other’s health from cups dripping with blood. It is awful to think such things can exist, even in imagination. N. has protested to the Federal authorities.
_March 28th._
This morning the newspapers give the “sad” news that Carranza seems to be lost in the desert--the mountain lost on its way to Mohammed! General Aquevedo, who knows that country as he knows his pocket, is supposed to be after him with 1,200 men. I don’t think Villa would weep other than crocodile tears if anything happened to Carranza; but what would Washington do without that noble old man to bear the banner of Constitutionalism? “One year of Bryan makes the whole world grin!” The idealization of a pettifogging old lawyer (_licenciado_), who had already laid his plans to turn against Madero, and the sanctification of a bloodthirsty bandit, might well make the whole world grin, if the agony of a people were not involved.
I went with Dr. Ryan, this morning, to visit the General Hospital. It is a magnificent establishment, modeled on the General Hospital in Paris, with complete electrical, hydro-therapeutic, and mechanical appliances, thirty-two large sun- and air-flooded pavilions, operating-rooms, and special buildings for tuberculosis patients, children, and contagious diseases. The sad part of it is that it is only about a third full. The _leva_ (press-gang) always rakes in a lot of men here. They hang about the handsome doors and grab the dismissed patients, which makes the poor wretches prefer to suffer and die in their nameless holes.
On returning, I went down to the Palacio Nacional with N., who was on a still hunt for the President. The arms are not yet in the Embassy. As I was sitting in the motor with Elim, the French _chargé_ got out of his motor with Captain de Bertier, the French military _attaché_ just arrived from Washington, and looking very smart in his spick-and-span uniform, ready for his official presentation to Huerta. They had their appointment for twelve, which had already struck, but the President was not there, having departed to Popotla. Huerta works along his own lines, and a missed appointment is little to him.
Just home. Mr. de Soto has called me up to tell me there is bad news from the front; but I think even the bad news is a rumor, as every line around Torreon has been cut for days.
_March 28th. 11.30_ P.M.
At last news is in from the north (by the Associated Press), from Gomez Palacio and Ciudad Juarez. Two train-loads of rebel wounded had arrived, and Villa had hastily telegraphed for more hospital supplies, though he had taken with him an enormous quantity. At the end of five days’ continuous fighting the rebels had failed to make any break in the almost impregnable defenses of Torreon and Gomez Palacio. Wounded troopers say that by order of Villa they charged into almost certain death at Gomez Palacio, bringing upon themselves the heavy cannonading from the Federal guns; that they were deliberately sacrificed in order that other forces might be able to attack the town at other points without encountering much resistance. And there are strange rumors of Villa’s succumbing to temptation from the “movie” men, and holding the attack back till daybreak! It is terrible to contemplate the slaughter of unquestioning and innocent Pepes and Juans. I burn to go with the hospital service. There will be terrible need on both sides, and a wounded man is neither rebel nor Federal.
This is largely an agrarian revolution, and Huerta was the first to realize it. He says that everybody has made promises to the people, and nobody has kept them. I wonder, if the people ever get a chance to make promises, will _they_ keep them? _Quién sabe?_ However, all this is not a question of taking sides, but of stating facts.
The invitation of the United States to Huerta to attend the Hague Conference has been solemnly accepted by him; now international jurists are called on to decide if the very sending of the invitation does not imply technical recognition. It is one of those slips which occasionally happen, and Huerta is too astute to let that, or any other opportunity, pass where he can score against the United States. Things being equal, he could _rouler_ Washington as it has never been _rouléd_ before; but things aren’t equal, and he can only show immense courage, sustained indifference, and indomitable will in whatever may come up. Just now more and more troops are being rushed to the north.
We are delighted to hear that Warren Robbins and Jack White are to be sent here as second and third secretaries. There is ample work for all, and it will be pleasant to have friends and co-workers. It has been a wearing time for N., single-handed in all official decisions and representations.
News from the north is more encouraging, but a horrible struggle is going on. Elim and I went with Nelson to Chapultepec. Though the park is no longer crowded in the morning, as in the old days, the band having disappeared, with a lot of other things, there is still much strolling about the cypress-shaded alleys. A shining freshness filters through the old trees, the birds sing, the children play. Its beauty makes one’s heart both glad and sick. As we expected, we found the President sitting in his motor, which was surrounded by half a dozen others full of petitioners of all sorts. General Corral, in his khaki, came up to salute me and to say good-by. He had just taken leave of the President and was on his way to the station, whence he was starting to the north with 2,000 men. I pressed his hand and wished him Godspeed; but he may never again stand under those trees with a smile on his face and hope in his heart.
The President got out of his auto and I out of ours, and we had a talk, I presenting Elim. Huerta really is a _charming_ old fellow! I told him I was anxious to go to Saltillo with the _Cruz Roja_. He said, “There will be work to do here in town, and I will make you head of the International League. You are very kind!” (“_Vd. es muy buena, Señora._”) And he pressed my hand with those small, velvety paws of his. He has discarded the slouch-hat and now wears with his long, loose frock-coat a top-hat--(“_que da mas dignidad_”) “for the sake of dignity,” he said, when Nelson told him he was “very stunning.”
Afterward we went down to the Buena Vista station, where General Corral’s troops were being entrained. We found a very busy scene. There were long lines of baggage-cars, with fresh straw covering the floors; other baggage-cars containing army women, with their small children, babes at the breast, and the bigger children, who may be of service. Infants between two and ten are left behind. There is a good deal of heterogeneous impedimenta. Having no homes, these women are wont to take all their possessions with them--bird-cages, goats, old oil-cans, filled with Heaven knows what. The soldiers were laughing and joking, and the venders of fruits, highly colored bonbons, and still more highly colored sweet drinks, were having a busy time. The sun was terribly hot, so we came away, I with a prayer in my heart for the poor devils. _Is_ “God in His heaven”? _Is_ “all well with the world”?
_Monday Morning._
I am advising Dr. Ryan to get off to Torreon. I myself telegraphed to Admiral Fletcher, asking that a box of hospital stores, bandages, cotton, iodine, adhesive tape, and bichloride tablets be sent up by the officer who is coming up to stay with us. Dr. Ryan can get off to-morrow afternoon. There is work, much work, to do, and I am sick that “my position” prevents me from going with him. My hands are trembling for work.
As to news, everybody in town is pleased, Huertistas and Villistas alike. The former have had word of complete victory--and the latter hears that the rebel forces had taken every gate in Torreon and that the Federals were in full retreat!
FOOTNOTE:
[12] Later, under President Gutierrez, Don Eduardo made a most hazardous exit from Mexico. With Zapata and Villa both threatening his life, he lay concealed for some days in one of the foreign legations at Mexico City. A safe-conduct from Gutierrez was finally procured, and he left the city with Mr. Canova, one of our agents. Villa got news of his departure and pursued him to Aguascalientes, Torreon, and Chihuahua, finally coming up with him at Ortiz. Here, in the darkness, Don Eduardo was able to escape from the train, wandering over that northern desert for eight days before reaching the Rio Grande, which he swam, between Mulato and Polvon.--E. O’S.
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 military _attachés_--The Jockey Club.
_April 1st. Morning._
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 military _attaché_, 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 to _la situación_. Both find themselves in a position requiring some tact and agility to keep their seats--_à cheval_ as 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 himself _fluide contraire_ to 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; von Papen, 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.
_Later._
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 the _honras_ of Ignacio Algara, brother of the Mexican _chargé_ in 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-advertised _copitas_ were immediately served, the President scarcely touching his glass. After much badinage between Huerta and N. the _jeunesse dorée_ looking on rather embarrassed, Huerta departed, with an obeisance to me, and a large, circular gesture to the others. He had a telegram from Ciudad Porfirio Diaz, 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_?”)
_April 2d._
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 rebels _and_ the United States is not simply difficult--it is impossible.
_April 2d. Evening._
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!