A diplomat's wife in Mexico

by Edith O'Shaughnessy

8 P.M.

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 for La Patria and 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 provided pulque, tortillas, frijoles, and cigarettes for countless gendarmes. We are ten at dinner, and perhaps twenty have been in for tea. There has been an anti-American demonstration at Porter’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 Mexican chargé, 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 Washington via their 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 that might be 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 Presidente Wilson 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 one camp 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.

Later.

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 the Ypiranga tried to land the seventeen million rounds of ammunition. Admiral Fletcher expostulated. The captain of the Ypiranga insisted 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!

11 P.M.

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 about Vivan los Japoneses, and a few remarks not flattering to los 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 treats her diplomats! 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.