April 18th. 10 P.M.
Things do move. I came down from Aunt Laura’s room to find Lieutenant Rowan in the hall, just off the train from Vera Cruz, after a delayed, dusty trip. You can imagine he got a warm welcome. Nelson came in just then, and a few minutes later, as we were still standing in the front hall, Portillo y Rojas appeared at the door, looking, we instantly thought, much happier. He was wearing his green, gold-embroidered sash, the insignia of military rank that Huerta has imposed rather than bestowed on all Cabinet officers, who are thus under military discipline and obedience to him as generalissimo. They objected to wearing full military uniform, compromising on the sash. Rojas also wore a smile—I don’t know whether it was for me or for the situation. He had come to tell Nelson that the salutes would be given on his, N.’s, written word of honor that they would be returned. He has been an hour and a half in Nelson’s private room drawing up a document—a protocol (il y va de sa propre tête)—and he is doing it with the painstaking care of a man who has everything at stake. Nelson himself is pretty foxy, and has to look out for his skin. Well, “all’s well that ends well.” If we get through this the next incident will mean war. I hope at Washington they will appreciate some of the difficulties N. has to meet, and act accordingly. However, “call no man happy until his death.” I hear the click of the big iron gate swinging to after the exit of Lopez Portillo y Rojas.
I am fairly tired out and shall now proceed to draw the drapery of my couch about me and lie down—I hope to pleasanter dreams than those of last night. How glad I am that I haven’t confided my son or my jewels to various terror-stricken acquaintances who have levanted two hundred and fifty miles east and eight thousand feet down. It hasn’t come yet; all, after everything is said and done, hangs on the life of that astute and patient old Cori Indian, whose years of our Lord are fifty-nine, and who, whatever his sins, were they blacker than night, is legally President of Mexico. Chase legality out of Latin America and where are you? After him anarchy, chaos, and finally intervention—the biggest police job ever undertaken in the Western Hemisphere, however one may feel like belittling it from a military standpoint. I have thought all these days of the probable head-lines of the newspapers and hoped my precious mother was not worrying about her distant ones. Good night, and then again good night. “God’s in His heaven; all’s well with us.”