“Proclamation to the People of Vera Cruz
“As the aggressions against the soldiers under my command have continued, isolated shots being made from various edifices, and desiring that order and tranquillity be absolutely re-established, I demand that all who have in their possession arms and ammunition give them up at the Police inspection in the Municipal Palace within the shortest time possible. Those who have not done so before twelve o’clock of the 26th of this month will be punished with all severity, as also those continuing hostilities against the forces under my command. On the surrender of arms the corresponding receipt will be given.
“(Rear Admiral) F. F. Fletcher.
“Vera Cruz, April 25, 1914.”
Yesterday at five o’clock we sent one thousand rations into the starving fort of San Juan Ulua, and to-day our flag flies high above it. All the political prisoners were released. We could see from the deck of the Minnesota two boat-loads of them coming across the shining water and being landed at the Sanidad pier. After that, I suppose, they swelled the ranks of the undesirable without money, occupation, homes, or hopes.
I saw Mr. Hudson, yesterday, looking rather worn. With groanings and travail unspeakable the Mexican Herald is being published in Vera Cruz. He says they have the greenest of green hands to set the type, and the oftener it is corrected the worse the spelling gets, the nights being one long hell. But as most of his readers have a smattering of Spanish and English, with more than a smattering of personal knowledge of the situation, the Herald still is most acceptable as a “breakfast food.”
The Inter-oceanic, the route to Mexico City over Puebla, is being fast destroyed. Mustin in his hydroplane can be seen flying over the bay, reconnoitering in that direction. Puebla is the key to the taking of Mexico City from Vera Cruz. It is always capitulating to somebody. It will doubtless do so to us. In 1821 Iturbide took it. In 1847 it was taken by Scott; in 1863 by the French soldiers of Napoleon. In the battle of Puebla, 1867, there was a furious engagement between Don Porfirio and the French. It is a beautiful old city—sometimes called the “Rome” of Mexico, founded by Padre Motolinía, situated about midway between the coast and the Aztec city. It is crowded with churches and convents, though many of these latter have been put to other uses; however, the point now is when and how our men will reach it. The blue skies and the deep barrancas tell no tales.
April 28th. Tuesday.
Yesterday afternoon Major Butler came to see us. He is in command at the “roundhouse” of Mr. Cummings’s telegraphic episode, and is decidedly downcast at the idea that some peaceful agreement of a makeshift order will be reached. He is like a hungry man who has been given thin bread and butter when he wants beefsteak and potatoes. He seemed, also, rather embarrassed to be calling on us peacefully, on the Minnesota’s deck, instead of rescuing us after a successful storming of Chapultepec, or a siege at the Embassy.
Yesterday a notice was sent to hundreds of newspapers at home (without my knowledge, of course) that I was getting up a Red Cross nurse corps; but there is no need for it. The Solace is not half full, the hospitals on shore have plenty of room, and the ships’ doctors are not too busy. I had said that if fighting continued I would return from New York with the first corps of nurses that came out. I have a feeling that instead of pushing on to Panama via Mexico and Guatemala we are going to make some patchwork with the A. B. C. combination. It can be only a makeshift, at the best, and in any event will be a reprieve for Huerta, though that is the last thing our government intends. Its heart is given elsewhere.