All Villa knows about revenue is embodied in the word loot. Even in this fertile land, where every mountain is oozing with gold, silver, and copper, and every seed committed to the earth is ready to spring up a hundredfold, he who neglects to plant and dig can’t reap or garner. The whole north is one vast devastation and invitation to the specters of famine.
XX
Good Friday—Mexican toys with symbolic sounds—“The Tampico incident”—Sabado de Gloria and Easter—An international photograph—The last reception at Chapultepec.
Viernes Santo Afternoon.
As I came home from church this morning the sacred day seemed to be a day of noise. The Indians were busy in their booths along the Alameda. Thousands of small, wooden carts are bought by thousands of small boys and girls; metracas, they are called, and so constructed that, in addition to the usual noise, every revolution of the wheels makes a sound like the breaking of wood. This noise is supposed to typify the breaking of the bones of Judas. There are also appalling tin objects, like nutmeg-graters, that revolve on sticks, with the same symbolic sound. Little boys and girls outside the churches sell pious leaflets, crying in their shrill voices, “Las siete palabras de nuestro Señor Jesus Christo,” or “El pesame de nuestra Señora Madre de Dios.”
Something is brewing here, and it was with a heart somewhat perturbed by earthly happenings that I again went to the cathedral, at three o’clock. At the doors the little venders of the holy words were as insistent as ever. Thousands were filing in and out, going up with whatever burden of babe or bundle they happened to be carrying, to kiss the great cross laid on the steps of the high altar. I bethought me of last Good Friday in Rome, and of hearing Father Benson preach the “Three Hours” at San Sylvestro.
April 10th. Good Friday Night.
Events succeed each other in kaleidoscopic fashion in Latin America, but I have, at last, a moment in which to tell you of the especial turn to-day.
This morning N. was informed, through the Foreign Office, of something referred to as “the Tampico incident.” The Foreign Office was decidedly in the air about it. On returning home, at one o’clock, however, N. found a very definite telegram from Admiral Fletcher, and there is sure to be trouble....
N. took the penciled reading and dashed off to find Huerta. Potential war lies in any incident here. He was away all the afternoon, hunting Huerta, but only found him at six o’clock. Huerta’s written answer was in the usual clever, Latin-American manner; his verbal remarks on the subject to a foreigner were beyond editing. The newspaper men were coming in, all the afternoon, and were disappointed not to find the “source of light and heat.”