Yesterday, which began so threateningly, ended without catastrophe. On opening the morning newspaper, I saw that Garza Aldape had resigned. He finally presented the American note to Huerta, with the result that he also presented his own demission and leaves almost immediately for Vera Cruz, to sail on the Espagne for Paris, where, it is rumored, he will be minister in place of de la Barra. Anyway, it is his exit from Huertista politics. He is a gentleman and a man of understanding. The way Huerta has of dispersing his Cabinet is most unfortunate.
Yesterday there was another little luncheon at Tlalpam. We sat in the beautiful, half-neglected garden till half past four among a riot of flowers in full bloom, callas, violets, roses, geraniums, and heliotrope on every side. The two white, distant volcanoes crowned as ever the matchless beauty of the scene about us.
What the diplomats are fearing in the event of N.’s withdrawal is the interregnum after our departure and before the American troops could get here. They foresee pillaging of the city and massacre of the inhabitants; as their natural protectors, the Federal troops, would be otherwise occupied, fighting “the enemy”—i. e., us! They always say Washington would be held responsible in such an event, by the whole world, but this thought does not seem to comfort them much. The ineradicable idea among all foreigners is that we are playing a policy of exhaustion and ruin in Mexico by non-recognition, so that we will have little or no difficulty when we are ready to grab. One can talk oneself hoarse, explain, embellish, uphold the President’s policy—it makes no difference: “It is like that.”
We came home after I had shown myself with Elim at the Country Club on our way in. People are in a panic here, but no one has heard anything from me except that I expect to receive on Thanksgiving Day from four to eight. The telephones are being rung all day by distracted fathers and husbands, not knowing what to do. They cannot leave their daily bread. They are not men who have bank accounts in New York or in any other town, and to them leaving means ruin. They come with white, harassed faces. “Is it true that the Embassy is to be closed to-night?” “What do you advise?” “It is ruin if I leave.” “Can’t we count on any protection?” are a few of the questions asked.
Dr. Ryan, the young physician who did such good work during the Decena Tragica last February, is here again. He has been in the north these last months, where he saw horrid things and witnessed many executions. He says the victims don’t seem to care for their own lives or for any one’s else. They will stand up and look at the guns of the firing-squad, with big round eyes, like those of deer, and then fall over.
As I write I hear the sad cry of the tamale-women, two high notes, and a minor drop. All Mexican street cries are sad. The scissors-grinder’s cry is beautiful—and melancholy to tears.
I was startled as I watched the faces of some conscripts marching to the station to-day. On so many was impressed something desperate and despairing. They have a fear of displacement, which generally means catastrophe and eternal separation from their loved ones. They often have to be tied in the transport wagons. There is no system about conscription here—the press-gang takes any likely-looking person. Fathers of families, only sons of widows, as well as the unattached, are enrolled, besides women to cook and grind in the powder-mills. Sometimes a few dozen school-children parade the streets with guns, escorted by their teachers. Unripe food for cannon, these infants—but looking so proud. These are all details, but indicative of the situation.
November 18th.
To-morrow Huerta and his señora are to receive at Chapultepec, the first time they will have made use of the official presidential dwelling. They are moving from the rented house in the Calle Liverpool to one of their own, a simple enough affair in the Mexican style, one story with a patio, in an unfashionable quarter.
As we are still “accredited,” I think we ought to go, there being no reason why we should offer to Señora Huerta the disrespect of staying away.