We went again on shore, leaving Nelson at the Carlos V., to return the call of the Spanish captain in Mexico City. I was so tired out with the sun and the long day that I stayed in the small boat. I simply had not the nervous energy to climb the gangway and go on board, though I would have liked to see the ship. After the visit we went and sat under the portales of the Diligencias for an hour or so, to watch the busy scene. The ice-plant of the Diligencias was not yet in working order, so the usual dirty, lukewarm drinks were being served to disgusted patrons. In the Palacio Municipal, the Second Infantry regiment was quartered, and under its portales they had put up their cook-stoves and were preparing their early evening meal, before going to their night-work on the outposts. Several dozen fat, sleek, well-dressed Mexicans were being shoved off at the point of three or four bayonets. I asked Ensign McNeir why it was, and he said:
“Oh, that is the bread-line. They can’t be bothered with it now.” The “bread-line,” which at times probably includes one-third of the population of Vera Cruz, had evidently had good success at other points, and had been enjoying a workless, well-fed day; for its members had disposed themselves comfortably on bench or curb of the Plaza, and listened to the strains of the “Star-spangled Banner,” “Dixie,” and “The Dollar Princess”—provided for their entertainment by the thoughtful, lavish invaders. Even the little flower-girls seemed to have on freshly starched petticoats; the bright-eyed newsboys had clean shirts, and the swarming bootblacks looked as spruce as their avocation permitted. A sort of millennium has come to the city; and money, too, will flow like water when pay-day comes for the troops.
Richard Harding Davis came up to our table. His quick eye misses nothing. If there is anything dull to record of Vera Cruz, it won’t be dull when it gets to the world through that vivid, beautiful prose of his. We teased him about his hat, telling him there had been many loud bands in town that day, marine bands, army bands, and navy bands, but nothing quite as loud as his blue-and-white polka-dot hat-band. We said he could be spotted at any distance.
He answered, quite unabashed: “But isn’t recognition what is wanted in Mexico?”
Jack London also came up to speak to us. Burnside, his hair closely cropped and his heart as warm as ever, sat with us during the many comings and goings of others. Captain Lansing, a very smart-looking officer, had recently been transferred from the pomp and circumstance of Madrid, where he had been military attaché, to the jumping-off place of the world, Texas City. He said that after a year in the dust or mud and general flatness and staleness of that place, Vera Cruz seemed a gay paradise. Lieutenant Newbold, from Washington, and many others, were also presented. They all looked so strong, so sound, so eager. I think eagerness is the quality I shall best remember of the men at Vera Cruz. Burnside walked back to the boat with us, the tropical night falling in that five minutes’ walk. General Funston’s first official orders were already up with the formal notification of his authority:
Headquarters United States Expeditionary Forces.
Vera Cruz, April 30th, 1914.
GENERAL ORDER No. 1
The undersigned, pursuant to instructions from the President of the United States, hereby assumes command of all the United States forces in this city.
Frederick Funston,
Brig. Gen. U. S. Army Commanding.