A diplomat's wife in Mexico

by Edith O'Shaughnessy

XXIII

The wedding of President Huerta’s son—Departure from the Embassy—Huerta’s royal accommodations—The journey down to Vera Cruz—The white flag of truce—We reach the American lines.

April 24th. 9 A.M. (In the train, after our sudden departure last night.)

We have just passed the famous Metlac Bridge. Far down these enchanting curves I see the military train which precedes us, with troops to test the line, and a flatcar for our three automobiles, to get us through the Federal lines at Tejería. We passed slowly over the Metlac Bridge. There, in the middle, was flying the great, white flag of peace! We could proceed. It made our hearts beat fast. The splendors of this land under this cloudless sky are indescribable; marvelous odors come in at the windows, and great, blazing stars of red and vermilion decorate every bush. The broad banana leaves take every possible glint, and the bayonet palms are swords of light. Everything is gorgeous—everything a splendid blaze.

At Orizaba orderly crowds cried “Viva Mexico!” “Mueran los Gringos!” and bared their heads, as the troop-cars attached to our train rolled out. I cannot keep my eyes from the beauties of this natural world through which we are journeying, conducted so royally by command of the “Grand Old Indian.” Nature is so generous here that she neither needs nor asks the co-operation of man in her giving. Alas for him!

At six o’clock this morning they awakened us at Esperanza, the highest point, to get out for a good breakfast offered by Corona. The troops accompanying us were also fed, which does not always happen. Rowan jogged the general’s mind by offering them a breakfast from us, but he said, “Oh no; we will provide for them.” He evidently had orders from “on high” to spare no trouble or expense.

10.45.

We have just passed Cordoba, finding the crowds distinctly more uneasy. We bought piles of bananas and oranges that Rowan is taking into the troop-car. He has just come back to say the soldiers are all smiles. The difficulty with the army is that the officers never in any way look after their men—and a soldier with an empty stomach and sore feet is a sad proposition. It is getting very warm. We are in the heart of the coffee zone and have only about eighteen hundred feet to travel before reaching sea-level. Embosomed in trees or pressed against blue-green hills are the pink belfries and domes my heart knows so well and my eyes love, a Spanish heritage of the land. I was thankful to see, higher up, that barley and corn were being planted for the hungry days to come. Morning-glories twist about every stump and branch and the hibiscus has a richer color. Beautiful, beautiful Mexico!...

I wonder if the Embassy was pillaged and burned last night? Oh, the waste there! No time to sort out things. My clothes still hanging in the closets, my bric-à-brac left about, and I dare say a lot of trash was packed that I don’t care for. Dear Mrs. Melick kissed me as I came out on General Corona’s arm, in a dream, it seemed to me, Elim clinging to my hand, to take the auto for the station. I had left Aunt Laura in the salon with various friends whose faces are one great blur in my memory, and Mrs. Melick was going in to get her and take her to her house. Since yesterday afternoon Americans can no longer leave Mexico City. Huerta, having heard that no Mexicans could leave Vera Cruz, posted this order. My heart is sad at leaving our people. Heaven knows what will happen to them. The Mexicans have commandeered all arms except those of foreign legations (and they will probably have to go), all horses, all automobiles, great reserves of gasoline, etc. The Embassy was well provisioned.

Last night our train was supposed to go at nine o’clock, but we did not leave until eleven-thirty. The chers collègues and a very few others who knew of our going were there to see us off, in the dimly lighted, gray station. At ten I begged our friends to go, and said good-by to von Hintze, Hohler, von Papen, les Ayguesparsse, Stalewski, Letellier, Kanya, and the Simons. (Simon has forty-five millions in gold in the Banco Nacional; some day he must give it up at the point of the pistol.) We have masses of letters and telegrams to deliver. The “Pius Fund” (forty-three thousand dollars) and my jewels and money of our own and other people’s I carried in the black hand-bag with the gilt clasps which you gave me in Paris. McKenna guards the codes as if they were infants. No sovereign of Europe could have planned and executed this departure of ours more royally than Huerta did it. You remember Polo de Bernabé’s account of his “escape” from the land of the Stars and Stripes?