November 29th
Well, the scare of yesterday has passed.... Now the Foreign Office here can do more masterly ignoring!
Last month, on the 25th, Huerta signed a decree increasing the army to 150,000; the work of conscription has been going on at a great rate. After the bull-fight on Sunday seven hundred unfortunates were seized, doubtless never to see their families again. Once far from Mexico City, they are not bright about getting back. At a big fire a few days ago nearly a thousand were taken, many women among them, who are put to work in the powder-mills. A friend told me this morning that the father, mother, two brothers, and the sister of one of her servants were taken last week. They scarcely dare, any of them, to go out after dark. Posting a letter may mean, literally, going to the cannon’s mouth.
In “junking” the other day I found an interesting old print of the taking of Chapultepec by the Americans, September, 1847, which I have fitted into a nice old frame. I am keeping it up-stairs. I went to the Red Cross this morning for the first time since my return. They all greeted me most cordially and said N. was “muy amigo de Mexico” (“very much a friend of Mexico”). I shall take Wednesdays and Saturdays for my service.
To-morrow is Thanksgiving. I am receiving for the Colony and such of the chers collègues as care to help wave the Stars and Stripes. It will be a sort of census of how many Americans are really left in town. Their number is fast dwindling.
Yesterday was a busy day. I went to mass at San Lorenzo, where the nice American rector gave a very good Thanksgiving sermon. I rarely go there, except on some such occasion. It is far from the Embassy, and, though once in the best residential part of the city, it is now invaded by a squalid Indian and mestizo class. With the exception of San Lorenzo, which is very clean (the American church, as it is called), the churches in that quarter strike a most forlorn note, with their silent belfries and dirt and general shabbiness.
About two hundred came to the reception yesterday, and I only wish all had come. I really enjoyed shaking those friendly hands. The times are uncertain, and ruin for many is probable at any moment. The rooms were filled with flowers; I had a nice buffet and a good, heady punch. Elim was dressed in immaculate white. He made one shining appearance, and then reappeared ten minutes later, his radiance dimmed, having been sprinkled accidentally by the nice Indian gardener. He was reclad, but some over-enthusiastic compatriot gave him a glass of punch, and the rest of the afternoon I seemed to see little legs and feet in the air. The chefs de mission all came also, but of course it was an American day, the beloved flag flying high and catching the brilliant light in a most inspiring way.
Clarence Hay (John Hay’s son) is down here with Professor Tozzer and his bride, for archæological work. They first appeared on the horizon yesterday, the atmosphere of a less harassed world still hanging around them, and were most welcome. Tozzer is professor of archæology at Harvard and has mapped out work here until May, in connection with the Museo Nacional. The Toltec and Aztec treasures still hidden in the earth would repay any labor.
We fly up and down the Paseo constantly. I think there is the fastest and most reckless motor-driving in the world in Mexico, but some divinity is sleepless and there are few accidents. Jesus, our chauffeur, is a gem of good looks, neatness, willingness, competency, and skill. When he is told to come back for us at half past eleven, when we are dining out, and he has been on the go all day, he not only says “good,” but “very good,” with a flash of white teeth and dark eyes. The rest of the servants are so-so. If I thought we were going to stay I should change the first man. He ought to be the last, as he is not only a fool, but an unwilling one. As it is he who is supposed to stand between me and the world, I am often maddened by him. He is Indian, with a dash of Japanese, not a successful mixture in his case, though he is supposed to be honest.