Nicaragua was annoyed with the United States, but instead of showing it in action appealed ingratiatingly for some advice and money help. Next year the United States yielded a loan secured on her customs dues. It is like the story of a fallen woman—a little indignant at being ravished, she looks to the ravisher for advice and a little money. He says, "You can earn a good deal under my protection. I will advance you a small sum and take it back in dues upon your custom."
In 1914 Nicaragua was fourteen million dollars in debt and much embarrassed. It was, therefore, not difficult for the United States to drive a new bargain. In exchange for three million dollars, the expenditure of which the United States would supervise, Nicaragua was to grant to the said United States the exclusive right to construct an inter-oceanic canal. This canal the United States naturally had no intention of constructing. The significance of the deal is that no other Power should be granted powers to construct a canal—no competitor against the new Panama Canal. Besides this concession, by the same treaty two small off-coast islands were leased to the United States.
Nicaragua's debts to-day, internal and external, are greater than ever. She buys all she needs in American markets. A controller sits at the receipt of custom. She is indeed still a little annoyed, and corresponds with the patriots of Domingo and Cuba. The Central American nations, including Nicaragua, have however, concluded a new pact which brings them nearer to unity than they have ever been hitherto. This is based on the common ground of Latin sentiment, but its binding power is that of the dollar and a mutual economic interest. The relationship of these republics with the United States is friendly enough to be called domination with consent of those dominated. It is a remarkable contrast to the belligerency of Mexico. The Central American pact in 1923 came with a fanfare of drums heralding the Pan-American Conference at Santiago de Chile.
CHAPTER XIV THE CANAL
They tease the American children born in the Canal Zone and call them "speakity babies," but the same children, when they grow up a little, are proud of their birthplace and say—
"I'm a Calzone boy!"
"I'm a Calzone girl!"
And there's a crowd of them, a real new generation of imperial Americans rising in health and pride from what was once jungle and pestilence—the "white man's grave."