A diplomat's wife in Mexico

by Edith O'Shaughnessy

Edith Coues O’Shaughnessy.

The Plaza,
New York, April 23, 1916.

A DIPLOMAT’S WIFE IN
MEXICO

A DIPLOMAT’S WIFE IN
MEXICO

I

Arrival at Vera Cruz—Mr. Lind—Visits to the battle-ships—We reach Mexico City—Huerta’s second coup d’état—A six-hour Reception at the Chinese Legation. An all-afternoon hunt for the Dictator.

Mexico City, October 8, 1913.

Precious Mother,—You will have seen by the cable flashes in your Paris Herald that Elim and I arrived at Vera Cruz yesterday, safe and sound, and departed the same evening for the heights in the presidential car, put at N.’s disposal the night before, for the trip from Mexico City and back.

It was a long day. Everybody was up at dawn, walking about the deck or hanging over the sides of the ship, all a bit restless at the thought of the Mexican uncertainties which we were so soon to share. About six o’clock we began to distinguish the spires of Vera Cruz—the peak of Orizaba, rivaling the loveliest pictures of Fujiyama, showing its opal head above a bank of dark, sultry clouds. A hot, gray sea was breaking over the reefs at the mouth of the harbor, and the same lonely palms stood on the Isla de los Sacrificios. As we passed between the two gray battle-ships just outside the harbor, I could not help a little shudder at the note of warning they struck. The dock was crowded with the well-remembered, picturesque, white-clad Indians, with high-peaked hats, who suggested immediately the changeless mystery of Mexico.

Fortunately, the weather being overcast, the intense heat was a little modified, though it was no day to set off looks or clothes; every one’s face and garments were gray and limp. N. arrived just as we were getting up to the docks, his train having been late. His face was the last we discovered among various officials coming and going during the irksome pulling in of the Espagne. As you know, we had been separated for eight months. I was the first passenger to leave the ship, and as we had no customs formalities we passed quickly through the damp, boiler-like shed where the little tricks of the aduana (the customs) were about to be performed on hot and excited voyagers. Then we got into a rickety cab, its back flap flying to the breeze, and drove across the sandy, scrubby stretch to the Hotel Terminus, where the Linds are living. The fascinating little pink houses with their coquettish green balconies were as of yore, but the tropical glint and glitter seemed gone from everything under the hot, gray sky.