Wonderful palm plaitings, of all shapes and patterns, are offered by the Indians as one enters the church. I bought a beautiful sort of Greek-cross design, with silvery grasses depending from it. It now hangs over my bed.
We hear that the Bishop of Chilapa is held by Zapata for a big ransom. As all the well-to-do families have either fled from that part of the country or been robbed of all they had, the ransom may not be paid. There is a threat to crucify him on Good Friday, if it is not forthcoming, but I hardly think he is in danger, as such an act would certainly be thought to bring a curse upon the people and the place. This is the second time he has been made prisoner. He was rescued by Federal soldiers only a few weeks ago.
Monday Evening.
We had a pleasant luncheon at Chapultepec restaurant, on the veranda—von Hintze, Kanya de Kanya, Stalewski, the Bonillas, Courts, Strawbensie (the young naval officer up from the Essex, who is supposed to be training the British colony volunteers), Lady C., von Papen, and ourselves; de Bertier, the French military attaché, did not materialize. They think, apropos of Torreon (“the key of the south,” for the rebels; “the key of the north,” for the Federals), that the Federals may have been obliged to evacuate it and are now fighting to get it back. Any one seems able to take Torreon, and no one seems able to hold it.
Tuesday Evening.
At two o’clock Dr. Ryan left for the front, von Papen with him. Ryan has learned to travel light, but von Papen took a lot of impedimenta—eating-utensils, uniform, blanket, pungaree hat, etc. He will drop his possessions, one by one, as—after Saltillo, which they should reach to-morrow night—they may be on horseback, or afoot. I was deeply touched to see Dr. Ryan go off. I made the sign of the cross on his shoulder[13] and commended him to Heaven as we stood at the gate under the brilliant sky. He is so pleased to be taking all those stores with him—enough for two hundred and fifty or three hundred dressings, not including the other materials.
I received calls all afternoon. At four the two handsome Garcia Pimentel sisters came—Lola Riba and Rafaela Bernal. At five the Japanese minister brought his wife for her first formal call. They are cultivated people, with the quality that makes one feel they are used to the best at home. I made conversation till six, when Clarence Hay saved my life. At seven, just as I had gone up-stairs, a Frenchman—a banker—appeared. At eight I was too tired for dinner, which N. and I ignored. The “doves of peace” are beginning to settle in the Embassy dove-cote to-night—about a ton of them already here.
Wednesday Morning. April 8th.
A Federal officer, Colonel Arce, got in from Torreon last night. He says that on Friday, the third, it was still in the hands of the Federals. Chieftain Urbina, a notorious rebel, had been captured and forced, with other Revolutionists, to parade the streets of Torreon, between a detachment of Federal troops. Then he was summarily executed in the presence of an immense crowd. The railway lines are open between San Pedro and Saltillo, and on to Mexico City. Unless they are again blown up, Dr. Ryan and von Papen will be able to get to San Pedro, where Generals de Maure, Hidalgo, Corral (the one I saw off), are stationed, with large reinforcements. We’ll take the report for what it is worth. One thing we know: the carnage is going on.
The story just now is that General Velasco, the very competent Federal in command of Torreon, voluntarily evacuated, took his army and his field-guns to the hills above Torreon, with non-combatants and women and children, cut the water-supply, and is now waiting orders from Huerta to bombard the town. He, of course, has plenty of water where he is; but Torreon dry must be a thing of horror. This story agrees with a good deal we have been hearing. If true, it will really be a great coup on the part of the Federals.