The rebels have just destroyed twenty-two huge tanks of oil near Tampico, destined for the running of the railroad between San Luis Potosí and the coast. I think I told you Mr. Brown said that the gross receipts had never been so big on his lines as last month, in spite of the danger in traveling, but that they could not keep pace with the immense damage going on all the time. Mr. Brown is the self-made man of story. He began at the foot of the ladder and is now the president of the “National Railways”; quiet, poised, shrewd, and agreeable. Mexico owes him much.
Evening.
The Mexican papers come out with the statement that President Wilson can’t raise the embargo on arms and ammunition without the consent of Congress, which, if true, removes it as an immediate calamity.
This morning they rang up from the American grocery to say that the stores ordered yesterday had not arrived, as the man who was delivering them was taken by the press-gang, with all the provisions. A nice way to popularize a government!
Nelson has been requested by the powers that be to use his influence about the release of a certain American, the suggestion being added that he should not be too cordial with Huerta in public, as the United States was on official, not friendly terms with Mexico. The old man would shut up like a clam and never raise a finger for N., or any American, or any American interests, if N. did not treat him with both public and private courtesy. In these difficult days the position here is almost entirely a personal equation. N. has danced the tight-rope, up to now, to the satisfaction of almost everybody, in spite of the inevitable jealousies and enmities. It is entirely due to N.’s personal efforts that the Pius Fund of $43,000, has just been paid; due to him that many prisoners have been released, and that many material ends have been gained for the United States.
I think history will testify that Huerta showed much tact in dealing with us. His latest remark is, “If our great and important neighbor to the north chooses to withhold her friendship, we can but deplore it—and try to perform our task without her.”
Elim asked me, yesterday, “Where is our Uncle Sam, that everybody talks about?” He thought he was on the track of a new relative.
Later.
A military revolt is brewing here—Felicista. N. got wind of it. If it comes, they must give us Huerta, and have so promised. We have had comparative, very comparative, quiet for a few weeks, and now things are seething again.
There is a room here always ready, which we call nacht asyl, and various uneasy heads have rested there in the famous “bed of the murderess.” Yesterday I bought a lot of lovely dull blue-and-white serapes for the floor and couch.