I wonder if you ever got the book and letter I sent you from the boat from Santander. I gave them, with ample postage and a fat tip, to an attractive, barefooted, proud-looking Spaniard, who had brought a letter on board for some one. I told him they were for mi madre. With a most courtly bow, hat in one hand, the other on his heart, he assured me that he would attend to the matter as if it were for his own mother! Pues quién sabe?
October 24th.
Yesterday at noon, Huerta, surrounded by his entire Cabinet, received the Diplomatic Corps, and, though there was much excitement beforehand, when his remarks were boiled down, nothing was changed. The Mexican is a past master at presenting the same condition under some other expedient and disarmingly transparent disguise. The way out of what we all considered a great difficulty is amazingly simple. There will be no President elected! Huerta declares he will not be a candidate, and no one else will have the necessary majority.
The plain English of it all is—Huerta at the head of the government as full-fledged military dictator. After the formal statement of affairs he turned to N. and begged him to assure Washington of his good faith; and he reiterated that his sole aim was the pacification of Mexico. He then became overpoweringly, embarrassingly polite—even tender. He took N.’s arm and led him out to have a copita[3] in the face of the assembled corps, having previously embraced him, saying, with playful reminiscence, “I arrest you.” Such are the vicissitudes of representing the Stars and Stripes in Mexico! People tell me Huerta’s speeches are generally masterpieces of brevity, with something magnetic and human about them. The English support has strengthened him, within and without.
Sir L. and N. were snap-shotted together by indiscreet newspaper men as they were leaving the Palacio. A pièce à conviction, if ever there was one. Sir L. was laughingly apologetic for N.’s being “found so near the body.”
Mrs. Lind left yesterday for the United States, and I have written to the Governor, who may be lonely, to tell him how welcome he would be if he likes to return to Mexico City. I can make him comfortable—in a bedroom and study adjoining—and we would really like to see him. However, he may not care to come up for another fausse couche, as one of the colleagues called his first visit.
Everybody is expecting disorders on Sunday—Election Day. There is very little difference between lawmakers and lawbreakers in Mexico. We foreign devils can scarcely keep our faces straight when we hear the word “elections.” Sunday is sure to find Huerta still in the saddle.
October 25th.
Yesterday L——, confidential agent of Felix Diaz, appeared at luncheon-time. He is a clever and plausible individual, angling for the United States recognition for Diaz’s candidacy. A special train has been offered Felix Diaz, but he is afraid, and not without reason, to venture up into the unknown, so he will wait presidential results at Vera Cruz, with its attractive harbor full of fast ships.