On leaving, Lieutenant Courts took me for a little turn about the harbor, as it was too early for the Suffolk lunch. We went around the ill-famed prison of San Juan Ulua. Its six desolate palms are almost the first thing one sees on entering the harbor. I regret that I did not get a pass from General Maass to visit it. I saw a few pale, hopeless-looking prisoners in dull blue and white stripes, standing on the parapets or working in the dry dock, the guns of soldiers always poking in their faces. These are the “better class” of criminals; there are those in dark, oozing, terrible holes who are never allowed outside of them, and it is said that those who survive lose in a few years all human semblance. The foundations of the fortress were laid in early Cortés days and the fortunes and misfortunes of the town have always centered round it. It was from its tower that the last Spanish flag was lowered at the time of the Mexican independence, 1821. When first in Mexico I used to hear that Madero was to close the prison; but, like many of his intentions, this never became a fact. Peace to his soul!
We got back to the Sanidad landing at half past twelve. Admiral Cradock’s flag-lieutenant was waiting with the barge and I was delivered into his hands. N. came up at the same time and we put out for the Suffolk, which has a berth inside the breakwater. The admiral, very handsome and agreeable, not only immaculate, but effulgent, received us on deck and we went down to his delightful room. It contains really good things from all parts of the world—old silver from Malta, a beautiful twelfth-century carving (suitable for a museum) from Greece, fine enamels from Pekin, where Sir Christopher distinguished himself during the siege, and many other lovely things, besides books and easy-chairs. He is really a connoisseur, but he said that the ladies, God bless them, had robbed him of most of his possessions. After an excellent lunch Captain Niblack came in to say good-by, the Michigan having received sailing orders for New York. We had such a friendly talk with Sir Christopher, who said—and we quite concurred—that he didn’t see any cause for feeling about British action in Mexico, adding that he had no politics, no idea in the world except to save British lives and property, and that he and Admiral Fletcher were working together, he hoped, in all sympathy and harmony. He wants to come up to Mexico again and jokingly lays it at Nelson’s door that he can’t. There is something so gallant about him, but with a note of sadness; and I am always conscious of a certain detachment in him from the personal aims of life. We left about three o’clock. The English use black powder for their salutes and the thirteen guns made a very imposing effect. The ship was enveloped in smoke, a sort of Turneresque effect, making one think of “Trafalgar,” while the shots reverberated through the harbor.
ADMIRAL SIR CHRISTOPHER CRADOCK
ADMIRAL F. F. FLETCHER
I went back to the Consulate to have a little talk with Mr. Lind, then got into the Maass auto, which was waiting at the Consulate door, and proceeded to pay my respects to Señora Maass. General Maass has a breezy house at the barracks at the other end of the town, in front of the rather dreary Alameda, with its dusty palms and dry fountain and general wind-swept appearance. An endless time of parleying followed. My Spanish, after a long day, gets tired like myself. However, I saw them all—daughters, and nieces, and friends, and the parrot and the dog; the beasts were most useful conversationally. Then the family sang and played, and one of the daughters, pretty, with a clear soprano, gave me a good deal of Tosti. Then more talk. I was getting desperate, no move being made to a large, well-spread, absolutely unavoidable, preordained table in the corner. I finally said that Captain Niblack, who was leaving for the United States in the morning, was waiting for me to go to the Michigan. That broke through the tea impasse, and, after partaking of the collation, I finally got away, escorted on General Maass’s arm to “my” automobile.
I arrived at the Consulate, hot and tired, and without the sustaining feeling that “duty is a well-spring in the soul.” I was thankful to find myself at last in the Michigan’s boat with Captain Niblack and Nelson, going out across a bay of wondrous sunset effects—“twilight and evening hour and one last call for me.” It was a marvelous “crossing the bar.” Looking back, the outline of the Pico de Orizaba made a soft violet mass against the deepening sky, with a strange, red lighting up of the top. The bay was filled with ships of destruction from all over the world, but everything in nature for once was soft and merciful and seemed to dissolve and harmonize discordant and destructive meanings.
The Michigan is a huge ship, one of the first dreadnaughts, and Captain Niblack is both enthusiastic and earnest about his work. After a glass of something—for a lady inclined to temperance I have drained many pleasant cups to their cheerful lees these days—we all went over to the Chester, a ship of the scout type, that had just returned with Mr. Lind from the Pass Christian trip. There we picked up Captain Moffett—who also insisted on decocting something sustaining—and then turned shoreward, where Mr. Lind was giving another dinner for us, under the portales of the Diligencias. It was quite dark, but a thousand lights from a hundred boats made the harbor one vast jewel—not in the “Ethiop’s ear,” but in Mexico’s poor, battered, torn ear. At half after nine, after another pleasant dinner, I began to feel that my bed would be my best friend, and we went back to the car, through the quiet, well-lighted streets. Women were leaning over the little green balconies of the little pink houses in the classic Spanish style, with here and there a note of guitar or mandolin. I thought of the “Goyas” in the Louvre.