A diplomat's wife in Mexico

by Edith O'Shaughnessy

I witnessed from the deck of our ship, an hour ago, the dramatic end of the Tampico incident, and, doubtless, the beginning of a much greater one—the raising of our flag over the town of Vera Cruz, which was to-day put under martial law. At 1.30 I went up on deck. The bay was like a hot mirror, reflecting everything. Through a glass I watched the preparations for the raising of the flag on the building by the railroad station—an English railway. “Who’s whose now,” came into my mind.

It was a busy scene on shore and land. Admiral Badger passed over the shining water in his barge, a beautiful little Herreschoff boat, shortly before two o’clock, wearing side-arms. His staff was with him. Battalions were landing from various ships and immense crowds stood near the railroad station. There was an electric something in the air. Captain Simpson and his officers, of course, were all on deck, looking through their glasses, and we were all breathing a little hard, wondering what the foreign war-ships would do. Would they acknowledge our salute? Exactly at two o’clock the flag was raised, and immediately afterward the Minnesota gave the famous twenty-one salutes to our own flag, refused us at Tampico. The bay was ominously quiet after the thunder of our cannon. I suppose the foreign ships were all busy cabling home to their governments for instructions. No man could venture to settle that question on his own initiative. It was anti-climax with a vengeance!

Is this to be the end of all that triangular work of Nelson’s between Huerta, the Foreign Office, and Washington during the two weeks elapsing since Colonel Hinojosa’s taking of our blue-jackets out of their boat at Tampico and our leaving the Embassy in Mexico City?

...

This morning I went ashore, accompanied by a young officer, McNeir. We sauntered for an hour or so about the town, which has decidedly pulled itself together. Shops that were heaped with overturned furniture, broken glass, and strewn with dirty papers and débris of every description, visible through shattered windows and broken doors two days ago, had been swept out and were showing signs of normal occupation. New doors were being made, and the little green balconies of peace were being mended. Ensign McNeir suddenly found that he had been spat upon. His broad chest was lavishly embroidered in a design of tobacco-juice, doubtless from an innocent-looking green balcony. He had blood in his eye, and kept glancing about, hoping to find the man that did it.

The Naval Academy was a horrid sight as we went in from the sea-front. In the school-rooms books, maps, globes, and desks were overthrown among masses of mortar. One of the blackboards bore the now familiar words in chalk, Mueran los Gringos. Great holes were in floors, walls, and ceilings. When we went up-stairs the devastation was even greater. Our men had fought in the street, and the Chester and Prairie fired over their heads just into the windows of the second floor, where were the commandant’s quarters, and the large, airy dormitories. The dormitories had been rifled before we put a guard over the building, the lockers emptied of their boyish treasures—knives, books, photographs; occasionally a yellow or red artificial rose, a ribbon, or a bit of lace testified to other gods than Mars.

The great floors were ankle-deep in a litter of uniforms, shirts, collars, gloves, letters, brushes, combs, and the like. They had been comfortable, airy quarters, and I suppose now will make good barracks, or headquarters, for our officers. Photographers were busy as we passed through. In the two dormitories giving on the Plaza at the back, away from the ships’ fire, the dying and wounded had evidently been carried. Blood-soaked pillows, mattresses, and sheets bore witness to their agonies. Our men were busy everywhere in the building, sorting, packing, and putting things in order. A town under martial law seemed, this morning, an orderly affair indeed.

I inclose Admiral Fletcher’s “Proclamation to the Public of Vera Cruz,” also his order for martial law. This proclamation will facilitate the functions of government. Many difficulties were in the way of renewing the regular civil and business activities of the town. There is a clause in the Mexican constitution which makes it high treason for any Mexican to hold employment under a foreign flag during enemy occupation, and for once the Mexicans seem to be living up to the constitution.

It is wonderful how our blue-jackets and marines have been able to go into Vera Cruz and perform the complicated, skilled labor necessary to the well-being of a town. Everything, from the ice-plants and tramways to the harbor lighthouse and post-office, has been put in working order; they seem to step with equal facility into one and every position requiring skilled labor. They are a most resourceful set of men, these hatchet-faced, fair-haired youths, the type standing out so distinctly in that tropical setting. I was deeply impressed. Six thousand of them are on land. On the trip down our automobile clutch was damaged. Two blue-jackets looked at it and, though neither had ever been in an automobile before, they brought it back to the Terminal station, several hours later, in perfect order, able and longing to run it about town.

At noon yesterday thousands of arms were delivered to the authorities—a hybrid collection of Mauser guns, old duelling and muzzle-loading pistols. Relics of 1847 were also numerous. For several days there has been little or no “sniping.” One man remarked, “Take it from me, it’s a quiet old town. I walked ten blocks at midnight, last night, without seeing a human being.” I might also add that I know two methods of clearing streets at night rivaling the curfew—snipers, and the press-gang.