11 | O’Clock
Captain O’Keefe, of the Mexico, came to my state-room a while ago. I had not seen him since before the “peace at any price” régime was inaugurated. He is waiting for a full complement of refugees; they are expecting a boatful from Coatzacoalcos, this afternoon. Am sitting in the drawing-room of the admiral, cannon trained from the windows. The Condé got in early this morning. Lying in my berth I could see her manœuvering into hers. It is intensely hot in the harbor. Two hours ago Nelson went to the Consulate with his clerks. There is a mass of work to be done, besides negotiations for getting all Americans out of Mexico City. I wonder if that big, pleasant Embassy is now a mass of charred ruins? A heavenly breeze is blowing through the room as I write. I would be very interested in what is going on about us were it not for the preoccupation about those left behind. Elim has a toy pistol which he has been showing to the blue-jackets. He says it is strange how frightened they all are, and told me, with shining eyes, he already had four friends on the ship and would soon have six. It is a blessed age—where one can so definitely count one’s friends.