Tempest Over Mexico A Personal Chronicle

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Tempest over

MEXICO

/ersonal LsA

IBYI

ROSA E. KING

frustrated 6y CARROLL BILL

Boston
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

1940

Copyright, 1931,
BY ROSA E, KING

All rights reserved

Published July, 1935
Reprinted July, 1935
Reprinted October, 1935
Reprinted March, 1936
Reprinted October, 1936
Reprinted March, 1938
Reprinted August, 1940

TUB ATLANTIC MONTHLY I'KEftR NOO

ABK PniUfiHlCD BY
LITTLB, ttltCHVN, AXI> fOMPAST

Itf AHKOriATIOJT WJTH
TUB ATI.Wlf MONTHLY roUPAKY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OT AMTKICA

To the
WHICH Is MY

and to the
PEOPLE WHO ARE MY NEIGHBORS

this bopk is lovingly dedicated in the hope that
this experience of a foreigner may lead other for-
eigners to look with deeper insight on Mexico

The author is particularly indebted to Miss Dorothy
Conzelman, whose zeal and understanding were of
such marked assistance in the preparation of this
manuscript.

R. E. K.

ILLUSTRATIONS

BELLA VISTA NIGHTS . . . Frontispiece

THE POOL AT BORDA U

PEONS IN THE FIELD 27

HACIENDA 49

BURNING HACIENDAS 71

HANGED MEN 91

THE VALLEY 133

PULQUERIA 159

MARCHING WOMEN 185

MOUNT THAT SMOKES 189

ROAD TO CHALMA 227

GRINDING CORN 243

ENTERING ORIZABA 263

TORTILLERAS 289

TIERRA Y LIBERTAD 303

SLEEPING WOMAN . . , . . . 31 J

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te . . . They had lost their homes. I had lost mine.
. . . We were all in the way of losing our lives be-
cause we had loved this town and lived there. * . .
As I moved about, trying to help, a kind of peace
came over me. I was like a skater who has been
struggling to stand and suddenly finds his balance.
I no longer felt alone, apart. Distinctions of nation-
ality, race, class, meant nothing now. I was with
these people. I was one of them."

PROLOGUE

I

T was the ninth of June, 1910. There was a stir
in the ancient town of Cuernavaca, the capital of
the State of Morelos, which lies in a sheltered valley
some hundred kilometres from Mexico City. This
was the Saturday evening set for the formal opening
of my hotel, the Bella Vista. For months I had had
men at work remodeling the lovely 400-year-old
structure, once the manor house of a great hacienda.
Now all was ready, and my servants were straighten-
ing for the hundredth time the chairs that stood in
the porfal y the arcaded verandah opening on the
street, and sweeping nonexistent particles of dust
from the stones of the patio in the midst of the house,
where the old Colonial fountain bubbled and roses
and tropical vines climbed to the second-floor gal-
lery.

In my great drawing-room upstairs, Don Pablo
Escandon, the governor of the state, cocked his head
to one side and sighted down his aristocratic nose at
one of the potted palms. "Move it three inches to

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the left, Carlos," he said finally, to the Indian boy
at his elbow.

I was standing beside them in what is known as a
state of mind, clutching a sheaf *of telegrams and
letters. The matter of the palm settled, Don Pablo
turned to me placatingly. "Now, what if they are
all reserving rooms, Sefiora King! Isn't that what
you want?" He turned his attention once more to
the room. "Yes, it is all very fine," he said to him-
self, with a sort of personal pride; for it was he who
had urged me on to this enterprise. "The mosaic
floor and the stately doorways and the flowers in
their great urns ... it is like the fine hotels at the
watering places in Europe." He snapped the
switches so that all the lights went on, the three
great clusters over the grand piano and the reading
and writing tables, and the hundred tiny lights set
round the ceiling.

"Remember, senora, you are to wear your best
dress, and the earrings; and, if you like, I will receive
with you. Everyone of importance in our little
provincial city and its environs will come to-night,
and many from Mexico City, since the papers have
written so much about the new Bella Vista. . . .
The English colony will come because you are an
Englishwoman, and the Americans because they like
what is new, and the Mexicans because it is the
fashionable thing. . . ."

My memory of that evening is an intoxicating blur
of lights, and music and perfume, the perfume of

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the flowers that were everywhere and the perfume
on the women's hair, and faces floating by in an
endless stream. The place was filled with people.
I had thought a few of my friends might come, but
I had expected nothing like this. All the elite of the
capital seemed to be there. I saw a cabinet minister
talking with an ambassador; caught scraps of con-
versation, comments on my hotel. . . . "Charmant,
n'est-ce pas? Tout a fait mondain . . ." "Das ist
aber scbon . . ." And the warm friendly words of
those I knew better, "Ay, Sefiora King! Que
elegante, que. precioso!" . . . And the outrageous
grin of an old friend, "Not bad, Rosita, not bad."
Outside in the Zocalo, the little green plaza in front
of my house, I saw the shadowy figures of the
humbler people of the town who had gathered there
in the darkness to watch the gayety.

"This is a great day for Cuernavaca," Don Pablo,
the governor, had said. It was a great day for Rosa
King, too. Gradually the crowd thinned out and
only a few of my closest friends were left. I re-
member someone saying, "You had a triumph, Rosa.
And everyone was glad. . * ." That was what made
me happy, the feeling that all these people were glad
for my good fortune and wished me well. It was
by the friendliness and good will of these people that
I, who had come to Cuernavaca a stranger, without
capital and without business experience, had been
able to build up the success represented by the Bella
Vista.

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I have begun with this because it is the heart of
my story. It was the purchase of the Bella Vista
that bound me irrevocably to Cuernavaca. If I
had not bought the hotel, I should have been free to
go at any time, and I should probably have left with
the other foreigners when the Revolutionary troubles
began. As it was, when I invested everything I had
in the Bella Vista, I cast in my fortunes with the
town; and from that time on everything that hap-
pened to Mexico was bound to happen to me also.

CHAPTER I

I

FIRST came to Cuernavaca in 1905, in the days
when only a cobblestone trail and a primitive rail-
way with wood-burning engines led over the range
of mountains that separates the Valley of Morelos,
where Cuernavaca lies, from the Valley of Mexico.
I came with my husband from our home in Mexico
City, eager to see the beauty and richness of this
famous valley which, for a thousand years, had been
deeply loved and fiercely coveted. Our heads were
full of gay plans. My husband vowed we should ride
on burros across the ravines or barrancas to the vil-
lage of San Anton, where we should find the Indian
potters working with the same designs that Hernan
Cortez saw four hundred years ago. "How funny
our long British legs will look, dangling down the
sides of the poor little donkeys!" I thought. Burros,
luckily, are stronger than they look. . . . My hus-
band said, "We will hire the old stagecoach that was
used by the Emperor Maximilian and his lovely con-
sort Carlota"; and we grew romantic over the vision

8 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

of ourselves driving in the track of those royal lovers
through a flowering countryside.

Unhappily for our expectations, we had come at
the end of the dry season. The vegetation was burnt
and the whole valley obscured by clouds of choking
dust. We did not stay long in Cuernavaca.

Two years later, however, I found myself once
more on the train that puffed up the mountains.
This time I was a woman alone, with my way to
make, and two young children waiting in Mexico
City, depending on me. I was coming to Cuernavaca
to start a little business if I could coming there
not from choice, but because Cuernavaca was the
only town accessible from Mexico City, where my
friends and relatives lived.

As I felt the train pull harder up the peak, excite-
ment rose in me in spite of myself. Not expectantly
as before, but intently, I waited for the moment
when we should cross the range. We were ten thou-
sand feet high; clouds were all about us, feathery,
white, isolating us completely from everything past
and to come. Then suddenly we slipped out of the
clouds and I saw below me the Valley of Morelos,
lovelier than I had ever dreamed. The rains had
come and torn away the curtains of dust, and every-
where was living green. There was such life in that
valley that I could almost see the maize and sugar
cane pushing up through the fertile earth. Men were
working in the fields and great herds of cattle were
grazing. The enormous buildings on the great e$~

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tates or haciendas had a kind of feudal air, built not
for the years but for the centuries. In the heart of
the valley, white-walled Cuernavaca glistened like a
jewel beyond the wild barranca that protects it.

The train wound down through the quiet Indian
villages that dot the foothills clusters of thatch-
roofed huts ablaze with bougainvillea, by little
streams where women were washing. Everywhere
the awkward stalks of banana trees swayed lazily in
the breeze. A dark-skinned mother, her baby cra-
dled on her back in the long blue scarf, the rebozo,
that was knotted across her breast, walked close to
the train; and the dignity of her bearing reminded
me that here in these villages were to be found the
true blue bloods of the nation. These Indians, aloof
from the mixed bloods of the cities, were the de-
scendants of the old Tlahuicas, who, masked with the
heads of wolves and jaguars and armed only with
sticks and arrows and slings, had for months de-
fended their capital against Cortez and his swarm-
ing allies. I had heard that the Tlahuicas had never
been dislodged from some of their mountain fast-
nesses, and as I looked back at the rugged range I
could well believe it; and I felt that Cortez was a
man indeed to dare that descent into hostile country.

And then I saw, above the clouds, the snow-
touched peaks of the two volcanoes, the Mount
That Smokes and the Sleeping "Woman, and never
had I seen beauty that moved me as theirs did.
Ixtaccihuatl, the Sleeping Woman, shimmered like

10 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

a woman of marble, or a dead woman in her white
shroud, lying with her head pillowed as on a couch.
Beside and above her rose the spurred cone of Popoca-
tepetl, who, the Indians say, loved her and killed her
in his jealousy, and to this day vomits forth ashes,
stone, and fire as warning not to come too near her.
Looking that morning on those high and tragic
peaks, a feeling of the great spans in which time was
measured here came over me, and my own troubles
seemed like a drop of water falling in the vastness
of space.

I forgot that I was coming to Cuernavaca be-
cause I had to, and the zest for new places stirred in
my blood. I had a fleeting remembrance of another
arrival, in my earliest childhood at Capetown,
after a three months' voyage around South Africa,
when we had been becalmed for weeks: I and my four
brothers and sisters, with our noses pressed to the
rail as the sailing vessel glided to the dock; behind
us, our boy and girl parents, a string of nursemaids,
and a mountain of baggage. We always traveled
in this way, and we traveled all the time.

In those days, the days of Porfirio Diaz, railway sta-
tions were always built well outside the towns to
leave room for the town to grow. As there was
only one train a day to Cuernavaca there was much
rivalry among the eight or ten cab drivers, who
scrambled good-naturedly for fares. I climbed after
my valises into the old-fashioned, high-wheeled vic-
toria the porter selected for me, the driver jumped

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on the box, and we were off at a gallop lickety-
split, downhill, my knees bumping against the valises.
Beside and behind us clattered the other cabs; the
daily race was on. My driver stood up and cracked
his whip; our mules went like mad, the carriage
lurching around the steep curves till I thought we
should lose a wheel. Into town we thundered,
bunched for the finish, scraping through the narrow
streets with such a clatter on the cobblestones that
windows flew open and heads craned out. Ahead
was the little green plaza, the heart of every Mexican
town, but our mules seemed bound for the next val-
ley. Not so, however; they bunched their haunches,
dug their hoofs in the ground, and skidded to a stand-
still; the carriage bumped once, mightily, and
stopped. We had arrived, and on the cool deep
verandah of the old inn Bella Vista the proprietor
was waiting to greet me and show me to my room.
I was charmed with the place, the thick, 400 -year-old
walls and flower-filled patio, the sleepy square out-
side, and the glorious view of the volcanoes from my
windows.

After the long midday meal I set out to reexplore
Cuernavaca, the town that was going to be my home,
and it hardly seemed the same place I had visited be-
fore. That first time, through the dust, I had looked
only at the blind, flat walls of the houses, built flush
with the narrow pavement, offering nothing to the
passer-by but massive wooden portals, barred win-
dows, and the glare of plaster walls, dazzlingly white,

12 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

yellow, or faintly pink and blue in the sun. But
now I peeped through half -open doorways into the
cool green patios and gardens the flat houses enclosed,
and knew that these houses were homes and lovely.

In the Indian market the venders were squatting
beside their rows of red earthenware jars and pyra-
mids of plums and mangoes. ff Que va a llevar,
senoray* (What will you have?) they singsonged as
I passed. Beyond rose the "stately palace" C.rtez
built. This massive structure, strong as a fortress,
still served for the government offices, but four cen-
turies had laid soft colorings of yellow, brown, and
gray on the stone and mellowed its grimness. Cor-
tez set his palace on the high ground, just at the
point where the valley suddenly deepens a hundred
feet or more by a swift descent into a vast barranca,
miles in extent, carved out by the mountain torrents
that rush down in the rainy season. Here the hand-
ful of Spaniards were safe from surprise attack, and
here they might stand on the galleries and gloat
over the wealth of the conquered valley the maize,
the cattle, and the shining sugar cane that, more than
anything else, made Morelos rich.

I climbed to the famous back corridor where,
years later, I was to hear Mr. Elihu Root, speaking at
a banquet given in his honor, say that never in all
his travels had he seen anything more beautiful than
the view across the valley from where he stood, with
the grand old volcanoes looking down on Cuernavaca
and the surrounding villages; and that Cortez must

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have been a man of marvelously good taste to have
chosen such a spot to build his palace. But I thought
that afternoon that it must have been a relief to the
grim conquistador, who held the valley only by unre-
laxing vigilance, to look sometimes past the fat lands
below him, across to the mountains. For I thought
that this man who had no reverence for a civiliza-
tion must have had a love of space and elbowroom.

Across the roofs of the houses I saw the twin
towers of the Cathedral, built as early as the palace,
by the monks and priests who came with the Span-
ish soldiers to convert the people they conquered;
and I laid a course toward them. When I reached
the Cathedral yard I found numbers of people scurry-
ing about in spite of the heat, filled with the rustling,
soft-voiced excitement of the Indian. Some were
trailing streamers of bright-colored paper and others
bent over a pile of fireworks stacked in one corner.
The activity seemed to be centring not about the
Cathedral itself, but about a smaller church within
the enclosure. I approached a serene-faced young
Indian mother who sat in the shade against a wall,
nursing her baby. "Fiesta?" I ventured hopefully.
It was one of the few words of Spanish I knew.

Cf S/, senora" Her face lit up. She broke into a
voluble explanation, of which all I understood was
"a las cinco" (at five o'clock) . "I shall come back,"
I promised myself. Meanwhile, I remembered, the
Borda Gardens were across the way, where I could
rest.

14 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

An Indian boy swung open the heavy portal in
the high wall that shuts the gardens from the outer
world, and I passed inside, into an Old-World park.
The Borda Gardens had been laid out in the eight-
eenth century in the Italian style, with all formal-
ity, but in this semi-tropical climate vine and tree
had budded and spread with a sweet indifference
to artificial restraint, so that the maze of paths
threaded a tangle of greenery through which gleamed
the water of the two lakes and the showering
drops of the fountains that bubbled in unexpected
glades.

I sank down on the steps by the pergola and pushed
off my hat and, leaning my head against a pillar,
watched the play of the light on the water. In
those days I knew little of Borda, the man who built
the gardens. They were to me the place where Maxi-
milian and Carlota had once lived during their brief
reign in Mexico. Being young and unhappy myself,
my thoughts dwelt on that handsome young couple,
in love with each other, rowing over the small lakes,
or bathing by the pergola, or resting perhaps where
I sat. Here in these gardens, I remembered, Maxi-
milian had been ready to sign the papers of abdication
that would have saved his life, when Carlota, too
ambitious for him, intervened. . . *

My watch said a quarter to five. Refreshed by
this pleasant spell of melancholy, I rose and wandered
back to the church. The fiesta was now well under
way, and it was clear that this must be the day ap-

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pointed for the annual blessing of animals and birds,
for great numbers of people were flocking from all
directions, bringing their fowls and livestock with
them.

All the beasts were there, both great and small:
horses decorated with gold and silver stars, gay rib-
bons tied to their manes and tails; cows, donkeys,
goats (of the least bucking variety), gayly dressed
and ready for the blessing each fowl with ribbons
on its poor little legs. All kinds of birds were there,
and parrots painted every color but their own, en-
raged, screeching and screaming at one another, try-
ing to find out what had happened to them, look-
ing more blighted than blest. Funniest of all were
the guinea pigs in cages, giving a touch of composure
and nonresistance to the occasion, although the very
high walls enclosing both church and patio made es-
cape impossible for man or beast.

The old church bell clanged five. The church
door opened, the priest came out. A mad rush was
made for him by men, women, and children, each
dragging some department of the menagerie behind.
But the zoo had been kept tethered too long; the
rush was too impetuous. Whether it was an un-
trained goat that insisted on leading the attack, I do
not know, but over went the priest, holy water and
all. It was safe to say, however, that each animal
was blest by at least a few drops, tHus warding off or
curing, for one year, all animal infirmities.

Laughing with the townspeople, I knew that I

18 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

could be content in Cuernavaca. I said to myself,
"Here I shall bring my children and make my home,
where all is peace and beauty, and nothing has ever
changed or ever will."

CHAPTER II

T

JL HE next afternoon I went over to see the place
that had been suggested for the tearoom I planned
to start. I had put off the moment as long as I
could.

At that time there was no place in Cuernavaca, or
indeed in Mexico City, where one might stop in the
afternoon for a cup of tea and a pleasant chat. It
had seemed to me that since there were thriving
colonies of English and Americans in Cuernavaca,
and a small but steady stream of tourists, there must
be a need for such a place, which I could fill. But
now that I was actually on my way to the proposed
location, I was not so sure. Perhaps the original
taste for tea had been entirely supplanted by the taste
for coffee, chocolate, cognac. Then too, I had never
worked before; and there was no basis for the op-
timistic hope which had sustained me thus far, that
necessity would uncover in me a latent flair for busi-
ness. The knack of getting seemed to have passed
out of our family with my great-grandfather, who

20 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

made a fortune in the tea plantations of Ceylon. The
rest of us had all been rather gifted spenders, and I
myself had been brought up on a continually decreas-
ing scale of luxury which had now reached bottom.

The agent, walking along beside me, explained
the advantages of the house to which he was taking
me; in good condition, on a main street, just off the
Zocalo or plaza, where a sign could be hung in easy
view of all the newcomers who arrived with the
station mules. I put on a knowing, competent
look, but my knees were shaking, and I wondered if
my passion for independence was making a fool of
me again.

We came to the house, and it was all the agent
had said: well situated, in good condition, and so
forth. It was not bad-looking a one-story struc-
ture like most of the houses in Cuernavaca, with iron
grilles outside its long windows. Part of it had
been used as a grocery store and, although the pro-
prietor had left, the groceries had not been moved.

I don't know what I had expected certainly
not the dainty tearoom I planned to open ready-
made and waiting for me; but the sight of shelves of
tinned and bottled foods, sacks of beans, and a few
wilted vegetables knocked the last bit of courage
out of me. I mumbled something to the agent,
who left, and stood staring at the rows of sardines,
prunes, and olives that seemed to grow higher and
higher before my eyes; and finally I sat down on a
soap box and wept.

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I was still weeping on the soap box when an Ameri-
can woman I had known in Mexico City, and who
happened to be in Cuernavaca, came in to look for
me. She took me by the shoulders and shook me
soundly.

"I 'm ashamed of you," she told me. "A grown
woman, with two children to look after, sitting there
and crying like a baby. Afraid to work!"

I braced up then, and the two of us discussed
practical ways of putting the house in order. Once
the groceries were out, I felt much better. Bare walls
were a challenge I understood, and it was a fascinating
game making this place attractive on the slender
means at my disposal. The rooms at the back I kept
for myself and the children, and the two front rooms
and the entrance hall were for my business. The
larger room was the tearoom, and I was proud of it
when I finished: the walls washed cool and white, on
the floor a heavy matting in large squares of green
and white, and on the Japanese tables of bamboo, to
set off the rest, coral-colored gladioli in the pottery
vases of the town. The smaller room was really
my drawing-room, furnished with the things I loved,
above all, my piano, but I used to let my
customers come into it, and sometimes I played for
them.

Because I knew no other way, I had tea served
just as I should have in my own house, and I used
my own good china and silver teaspoons, as I could
not afford to buy new. I never served anything but

22 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

tea the best that could be procured and toasted,
buttered English buns. These buns I was able to
buy in a little bakery in the town, which was great
good luck for me. I could only afford one servant,
but Jovita was a jewel. She had the ability of the
good Mexican servant to understand what is wanted
no matter how badly it is expressed, and this was
fortunate, since I knew hardly any Spanish. She was
cook, dishwasher, and housemaid, but when she
brought in the tea tray she looked like a very smart
waitress indeed, with her immaculate little white
apron and smiling face, and her coronet braids piled
on her head.

How well I remember the day when my door was
pushed open and the shadow of my first customers
fell across the threshold! A prima donna making
her debut could not have been more frightened than
I, or more determined to win her audience.

Perhaps tea was lucky for my family; at any rate,
business was good from the very start. My first
patrons were naturally the Britishers and Americans
who were living in Cuernavaca because of their con-
nection with the several foreign sugar companies
that operated there. They came the first time out of
curiosity, and after that because they liked the place.
I had been right in my belief that there was a need
in Cuernavaca not quite filled by the restaurants,
cantinas (bars), or even the British and American
Clubs. In those days how different from to-day!
we were all very clannish; the British and Ameri-

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 23

cans scarcely mixed with each other, and not at all
with the Mexicans. The foreign colonies were little
worlds to themselves, surrounded by the quietness
of Mexican life in a provincial town, hearing oc-
casional echoes of the gay and magnificent house
parties on the outlying estates when the great land-
owners were in residence, but chiefly concerned with
what was going on "at home/* by which they meant
the places from which they had come. These peo-
ple, living in Cuernavaca purely for business reasons,
were not for the most part too gay or imaginative
socially. All were heartily bored with themselves
and each other and the few, familiar gathering places.
As one woman put it, "Thank God for a new place
to meet the same people!"

There were also living in the town a few upper-
class Mexicans who had traveled extensively and
developed a cosmopolitan taste for tea, and they also
came to my tearoom. Their perfect and beautiful
English used to make me ashamed of my few words
of Spanish, and one day I remarked on how poorly
we foreigners spoke their language. My listener
turned to me and said, with the courtesy of the
Mexican gentleman, "Madam, never mind how you
speak it, but never write it incorrectly" advice
which I have borne in mind to this day, for never
have I attempted a letter in Spanish.

But most interesting of all to me were the tran-
sients. In those days, as now, Cuernavaca was a re-
sort to which the people of Mexico City came down

24 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

for vacations, attracted partly by the quaint charm
of the place and partly by its healthfulness. For
the climate of Cuernavaca is spring the year round,
and the altitude, fifty-three hundred feet, is con-
siderably easier on the heart than the higher altitude
of Mexico. All visitors who came to Cuernavaca
sooner or later found their way to my door, drawn
by the tin teakettle that swung on the wrought-
iron arm above it. I frequently had the pleasure of
seeing friends I had known when I lived in Mexico
City, and met many distinguished strangers.

The prices I charged for my tea and buns were
high, but no one ever disputed them. Under
Porfirio Diaz, foreigners were able to make so much
money in Mexico that prices did not matter to them,
and the reputation of the country for exotic beauty
and perfect safety in traveling brought as tourists-
and winter vacationers people of wealth and im-
portance in their own countries. This type of
traveler was later frightened away by the disorders
of the Revolution and is only now beginning to ''re-
discover" Mexico* These people appreciated the
rather special air my tearoom had, and all seemed to
wish me well in my venture.

I remember one occasion when I knew that the
British Minister was coming in with a party, and
I brought out my very best linens and china to set
a pretty tea table. The others in the party were out-
spoken in their admiration of my things, but the
Minister himself seemed quite distressed and em-

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 25

barrassed. Finally lie beckoned me into the drawing-
room.

"Mrs. King," he said bluntly, "you must not use
such nice things in your tearoom. If you do, you
won't have them long. It may be all right to use
the china, for after all, a cup and saucer are hard to
hide under one's coat; but people are going to take
your teaspoons for souvenirs."

In spite of my inexperienced way of doing things,
my cash reserve mounted rapidly. I felt free to slip
off once in a while for little picnics with my children.
When our quarters seemed small and cramped, and
the effort of talking to strangers too much, we would
hire a carriage and go for a long drive through the
fresh morning countryside. We never failed to re-
turn refreshed.

I grew to love the sleek wide fields where the
peones in their white calzones were always work-
ing, and the deep barrancas that gash the plain. Even
in the dry season, when their torrents tame to tiny
streams not seen, but faintly heard beneath the brush
in their depths, the barrancas seemed to me, by their
wildness, a part of the mountains whose waters
gouge them out. Just as the depth of the bar-
rancas is half concealed by the trees and bushes cling-
ing to their sides, so the ruggedness of the mountains
that ring the valley is softened, to the eye at least,
by the vegetation that creeps to the top of all but
the volcanoes. These mountains of the south look
always as though draped with heavy neutral-toned

26 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

velvet, on which the clouds cast shadows. I used
to think that the Indians of Mexico were like their
mountains, rounded and soft-looking to the eye, but
with tremendous strength and endurance beneath.

In those days the whole valley that surrounds
Cuernavaca was divided into great estates, or ha-
ciendas. The entrances to these haciendas were
guarded by massive iron gates and fortress-like
porter's lodges, which fascinated the children. They
always wanted to drive inside, down the broad shady
roadway, bordered on one side with a wide stream
of mountain water that rippled softly through the
shadows. Perhaps a footpath would lead off across a
little bridge, through dusky depths of close-set trees
a short cut for those who lived there. But we
would drive on a mile or two through park and fields,
past substantial stone stables and servants* quarters.
to the hacienda dwelling itself. The central build-
ings were always the same: a long, one-story residence
with its line of graceful arches, the manor church,
and the sugar mill whose smokestacks towered over
everything. A ten- or fifteen-foot wall would en-
close the group. Sometimes the thatch-roofed huts
where the thousands of laborers lived were huddled
inside the wall; more often they lay just beyond,
where the stream flowed out of the enclosure.

When you were close to the house, the mill did
not seem to loom above it, as it did from a distance,
reminding you that this was a "centre of production."
Close up, you saw only the great verandah that

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 29

shaded the entire front of the house, a verandah
thirty feet wide, with beautiful stone floor and high,
raftered ceiling, and furnished with every kind of
easy chair, couches, rugs, and tables, where great
dogs lay and looked at you. Sometimes the house
threw forward a fifty-foot wing at either end, and
then there would be an immense three-sided court,
filled with broad-leafed palms and banana plants with
lazy, winnowing leaves, where the fountain-cooled
air was sweet with the fragrance of rose trees. The
sight of these ample, patriarchal dwellings, three and
four hundred years old, satisfied a need in me that
was like hunger. I had lived in so many places that
I called home wherever I happened to be, but I felt
there was no place where I quite belonged.

On several occasions tourists had insisted on buying
the little pottery vases I filled with flowers and used
on the tables in the tearoom, and I began to think
of keeping a supply of the vases on hand to sell to
those who admired them. They were inexpensive
vases that I picked up at the market place, but I
selected them with loving care, because I thought
the pottery charming and liked to shop for it.

"If you want to lay in a stock of vases, why don't
you go out to San Anton, where they're made?"
some Canadian friends suggested. "If you like, we '11
come along with you."

The three of us took a carriage and started off.
We found a sorry Indian village one long street
of straggling bamboo huts that ended in a dilapidated

30 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

church. The patient Indian children, never noisy
and never determinedly naughty like ours, were play-
ing quietly with their hungry-looking dogs and with
dolls made of a stick and a bit of cloth. In the door-
ways the women were grinding corn for tortillas, or
slapping the moist paste back and forth between their
palms to shape the thin cake that was their chief
food and kept them eternally busy with its prepara-
tion. Some of the men had gone to work in the
milpas, their patches of corn; some, clad in rags, were
shaping pottery with primitive wheels. A scant stock
of finished pottery, a handful of unweeded vegetables,
and a few scrawny chickens picking among the stones
constituted the wealth of these people. This was
San Anton, famed before the coming of Cortez for
its potters.

I picked the pottery I thought would sell and
counted out the money.

"Good heavens!" said one of my friends. "You
mustn't pay what they ask. They expect you to
beat down the first price. You'll spoil them!"

"Spoil them!" I said indignantly. "I feel I ought
to empty out my purse," for my heart ached for the
way they lived. In earlier years I had taken long
horseback trips with my husband in the barren north,
and pitied the poverty of the Indians there. But
those poor wretches had had to wring their living
from the desert. To find the same misery in fertile,
rich Morelos was too much. Here, in the midst of
plenty, it seemed wicked that anyone should want.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 31

This was the ugly other side of the picture o life in
our state.

The next day I sold that pottery, all of it, to a
party of American tourists. My profit was 100 per
cent and my customers were pleased with their
bargain. From that day on I made it a fixed rule
never to haggle with the Indians. Later on I es-
tablished at San Anton a little pottery factory of my
own. The potters worked as they pleased, following
the designs of their own village or copying rare and
beautiful pieces I had secured from other parts of
the country, and I chose the pieces I wanted for my-
self and payed them whatever price they asked. No
matter what the price was, I doubled it for my
customers; and they were glad enough to buy.

I was scolded time and again for my policy with
the Indians, by acquaintances as well as friends, for
I was going contrary to the established custom of the
country. "The Indians know no better, Mrs. King;
you will make them discontented!" These were not
hard people either; they were people kind and con-
siderate to the house servants under their eye, con-
tributors to charity. But they believed that the
potters, and the peones who toiled all day in the fields
and sugar mills for a few cents, and got drunk on
pulque when they could, lived like beasts because
they had no capacity for anything better; because if
one believed this, it was easy to get rich.

In spite of my own unorthodox methods, my af-
fairs continued to prosper. It seemed that every-

32 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

thing I touched succeeded. One day a friend who
was in need of ready money left some lovely old fans
and laces with me to sell for her if I could, and I dis-
posed of them easily with a nice profit for both of us.
"When the wife of my landlord called on me and of-
fered to build a second story on my house for a slight
increase in rent, I decided to go into the curio busi-
ness on a large scale. When the upper story was
finished I had a completely private apartment up-
stairs, with a glorious view across the low roofs op-
posite straight to the volcanoes; and the whole
downstairs for the display of the fine Spanish combs,
brocades, leather work, and wrought iron that
abounded in the Republic in those days. I also kept
on hand a supply of hand-embroidered linen dresses,
very finely made, but not expensive.

When a party of prominent Chicagoans came down
to Cuernavaca on a private train, I was asked to ar-
range a dinner for them.

"But that is out of my line," I said.

"Even so/* said the railroad official blandly, "you
will know how to please them, Senora King."

"With fear and trembling and the partnership of a
clever Canadian girl, Margaret Kerr, I did contrive
a suitable meal, laid in a bougainvillea-covered arbor
adjoining the Cathedral yard. The trick, of course,
was to select a menu that would seem pleasantly
exotic to the visitors, yet not be too picoso (hot) for
their taste. We finally decided on enchiladas
tortillas rolled up with a filling of meat and sauce

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 33

and mole, the national holiday dish turkey pre-
pared with a sauce in which are blended some thirty-
odd varieties of chiles (peppers) and spices. For
safety's sake we included good substantial roast beef.
The price we charged, seven pesos a head, was the
current scandal in Cuernavaca.

When the evening came, the food, prepared by
the best chef in Cuernavaca, was delectable, the wines
the best, and the service perfect. Our visitors were
delighted with everything, and after dinner they all
came over to the tearoom to see my curios. They
bought everything I had rare curios, pottery,
dresses, and the water-color sketches a German artist
had left with me to tack up on the walls; partly, I
think, because they liked the things I had, all good of
their kind, and partly because they liked my friend
and me and wanted to help us.

When the place was stripped, a Mr. Scott said
plaintively, "Mrs. King, are you sure you have n't
anything else that we can buy?" and we all laughed.
He was the Scott of the great Chicago department
store, Carson, Pirie and Scott, and I carried on a
correspondence with him for quite a while after-
wards.

About this time my landlord, Governor Alarcon,
died, and Don Pablo Escandon was appointed his
successor. Don Pablo, like many of the Mexican
gentlemen of the day, had been educated in the Jesuit
College at Stonyhurst, England, and he often
dropped in in the afternoon for a cup of tea. We

34 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

would talk together of our school days in England
and towns we both knew, and the homeliness of the
English countryside. Like so many of his class,
Don Pablo was more at home in Europe than in Mex-
ico; while he loved his own country he found it a
little barbarous; and the broad new boulevards, fre-
quent parks, and magnificent public buildings that
were being erected in Mexico City were a source of
great satisfaction to him. "It is almost Paris!" he
said. He was pleased when I repeated to him the
admiring comments of the cultured foreign travelers
who visited my tearoom.

"You think it has always been like this, Senora
King," he said to me. "But you are wrong. You
cannot understand what barbarians we used to be, be-
fore Porfirito civilized us. If you had seen Mexico
City in those days, with Lake Texcoco lapping at our
ankles in the rainy season, you would appreciate what
a project that was, the drainage of the Valley of
Mexico. And consider our modern railroads and
telegraphs, ports and industries, financed by the
foreign capital he has cunningly coaxed in. To-day,
we are a nation respected by other nations* We are
cosmopolitan; our young men, educated abroad, are
men of the world, who are a credit to their country
whilst they amuse themselves in London or Paris,
We have our opera here in Mexico, and there will be
brilliant gatherings when the National Theatre is
completed the ladies all in their boxes, the tiaras
sparkling in their hair* That will be something to

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 35

see, will it not, Seiiora King? And all the work of
Porfirio Diaz!"

Dictator Diaz was a personal friend of Don Pablo's,
and he loved to talk about him. I myself knew the
dictator only as a gentleman of marked breeding
and distinction whom I had once met at a garden
party. Don Pablo sketched his friend as a statesman
and a patriot.

"Thirty-five years in the saddle; no more squabbles
and revolts; no foreign emperors (like Maximilian) ;
peace and prosperity all around. . . . There is a
man, Senora King!"

It had been purely to please Don Porfirio, and his
wife, that Don Pablo had accepted the governorship
of our state. He himself was a man of amiable,
scholarly tastes, too rich to look on the post as a
juicy plum. "I did n't want to be governor," he 'd
say. "I told Porfirito I did n't want the appoint-
ment. Why do I have to mix in these beastly local
politics?"

For Don Pablo's appointment had not been well
received in Cuernavaca. His predecessor, Alarcon,
had been an Indian of plain beginnings appointed gov-
ernor because he had once saved the life of Porfirio
Diaz. When Alarcon died, the people of Morelos
requested President Diaz to appoint in his place an-
other Indian, a plain man, popular here. But the
request was passed over. Looking back, I can see
that it was because of the increasing land disputes
that the dictator wanted a man of his own class and

36 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

clique. At the time, I was merely sorry that the
people were not pulling with my friend Don Pablo,
who had a sincere, public-spirited interest in beautify-
ing our town.

He and I would discuss this matter with great
animation, for the loveliness of Cuernavaca was close
to my heart. I liked the town as it was, but Don
Pablo had sensible, practical ideas.

"Look down that street to the market," he 'd say.
"Fruit squashed all over the place. Dirt. Smells.
It 's a disgrace to our fair city; and right in the middle
of things, too, by the Zocalo. What would you say,
Senora King, if we took it all away and put a little
garden there with nice neat walks and a fountain?"

"And the market?" I asked.

"Oh, we shall build a big clean building for that.
A stone building, I think. I am going to get the
hacendados together and talk to them about it."

"But what have the grand hacendados to do with
the poor little Indian market, Don Pablo?"

"Ah," said Don Pablo, wagging his head. "A
market building costs money. And the hacendados
have the money."

It was a fact. The hacendados had the money
all of it. I believe that, at this time, practically the
entire state was owned by some thirty-six of these
great landholders.

Don Pablo got up. "And now," he said, "to get
them together if they're not all in Mexico or
Paris."

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 37

For the hacendados of Morelos were notoriously
never at home. And a bad thing that was for them
in the end. They were men of humane instincts,
for the most part, some of them kindness itself, but
negligent and overly indulged. They thought of the
land in terms of the golden stream that flowed from
it into their laps. If they had lived more at home on
their haciendas they would have seen that the golden
stream was tainted with the sweat and the blood of
their laborers, and I think that they would have set
their house in order. They might have come to know
also the smell of wet dark earth in newly turned
furrows and the pride in first fruits, and to under-
stand the passion of the indio for the milpa of his
fathers.

As it was, the hacendados came down once or twice
a year, to an hacienda dressed up to receive them.
They were the most charming people in the world,
highly educated, cultured, traveled, with a delicate
intuitive responsiveness to others that seemed like a
sixth sense, it was so inborn. Their coming was an
event looked forward to with joy by the laborers
and their women. All would be waiting, the chil-
dren freshly scrubbed, their mothers adorned with
pitiful ribbons and ornaments hoarded for the oc-
casion; there would be a fiesta with music and danc-
ing and fireworks. The gracious lady, unbelievably
beautiful and glamorous, would smile on them and
ask the children's names, and distribute a carload of
calicoes, shoes, blankets, toys, and other things use-

38 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

ful or pleasing. Especially she would see that there
were rosaries of glass beads in every color, costing
almost nothing, but important to her and priceless
to the recipients because they were "blessed." After
which the proprietors would leave the workers to
their gala night of drinking and love-making, boast-
ing and fighting, and return to their mansion filled
with guests.

Then, if the family was not too addicted to priestly
direction, would begin a round of gayety balls,
chess and billiard tournaments, tennis, boating, swim-
ming, shooting, and breaking wild horses. The horse-
manship of these Mexican gentlemen was a beautiful
thing to see, and the good looks of the rider and his
fine mount were set off by the dashing rancher's
costume: tight-fitting embroidered jacket and tight-
fitting trousers that tapered to fit like a glove round
the ankle, with a line of gold or silver buttons all
the way up the outer side of the leg. With this was
worn and is still, on occasion the big-brimmed
sombrero, embroidered heavily in gold and silver
thread.

A favorite sport was one called jaripeo; I saw It
later, when I had leisure to visit at the haciendas. A
wild steer, bull, or cow, but usually cow, is driven up
by several cowboys. The cow is thrown down, and
when possible two of the boys jump on her back
one facing the head, the other the taiL The cow is
surprised, to say the least. The one I saw jumped
and bucked all over the corral until she succeeded

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 39

in pitching off one of the riders. The last one thrown
was, of course, the best rider. A cow is always very
much feared. A professional bullfighter will never
fight a cow, for the technique of the bull ring hinges
on the fact that the bull charges straight, with its
head down, unable to defend himself or to look about.
But Sooky! She charges with her head in the air
ready for anything and anybody. I shall never for-
get that one jaripeo I saw. The men in the ring, with
the cow head in air after them, ran in every
direction for safety, thinking of only one thing, and
that was to save their necks. They usually manage
to save them, but by a very narrow margin.

After a few weeks of country life, however, the
hacendados would weary of these simple diversions
and be off with their train of licensed personal servants
to Mexico City or Europe and more extravagant
pleasures. Then, as the bills began to pile up and the
calls for money became urgent, the manager would
tighten up on the overseers, and the overseers would
drive the peones, with whips if necessary. I would
see the poor wretches as I drove about, their feet al-
ways bare and hardened like stones, their backs bent
under burdens too heavy for a horse or mule, treated
as people with hearts would not treat animals. They
could not leave, because they were bound to the land
like serfs, by their debt to the hacienda store.

Occasionally, but very rarely, in my search for
curios, I would come on something that antedated
the Spanish Conquest and harked back to the time

40 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

when these Indians had been a free people and a na-
tion controlling their valley. One of my most valued
treasures was an old bull's horn, and one day a pro-
fessor from one of the colleges in the Eastern United
States, who was a student of the Conquest, spied
this and picked it up with reverence.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

I said that I knew it was a very old ceremonial horn
that had been used, as was also a drum made of a hol-
low log of some precious wood like mahogany, to
call the tribes together in time of war.

"For any important assembly/' corrected the pro-
fessor, and added quietly, "I heard the blast of one
of these not long ago/*

"Good heavens!" I said, thoroughly impressed, for
I had not known any were still in use. An American
youngster who had been examining the inlaid butt
of an antiquated Spanish pistol turned frankly around
to listen.

"I have come down to Mexico," said the professor,
"to study early Spanish documents; and not long ago
I appealed to the patriarch of one of your neighbor-
ing Indian villages, whose name I have promised to
keep secret, to let me look at the sixteenth-century
parchments that prove the title of the village to its
land; a title based, as you know, on the decree of
Charles V, who was ashamed of the greed of his
grandees and returned certain lands to the tribes for
their use and that of their descendants. Only the
patriarch, the cacique, knows where the documents

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 41

are hidden, and he was most reluctant to bring them
out lest some harm come to them. It seems the vil-
lages hereabout have been having trouble defending
their lands from the hacendados, who want them for
sugar cane."

"Yes, that is so," I nodded, "the governor has told
me about it"; for, because I was a foreigner, and did
not even speak the language, Don Pablo sometimes
spoke more frankly to me than he might have other-
wise. "It is a great trial to Don Pablo," I went on.
"The hacendados perpetually want more land for
planting sugar cane, but since practically all the land
in the state is already parceled out among them, there
is nothing left but the scanty patches belonging to
the Indian villages. When the hacendados try to buy
these fields, the Indians refuse to sell. Money means
little to them, but they know that so long as they
have the milpa which fed their father and their
father's father, they can grow what they need to
eat."

"Very sensible of them, too," commented the
professor.

"But the hacendados do not understand, or wish
to understand, that point of view. When the time
comes for planting, they want land in a hurry; so
they seize the Indians* milpas by force and deposit
the purchase money in the banks, to the Indians' ac-
count. They consider this honorably ends the mat-
ter, but the Indians, naturally, do not think so. They
won't touch the money. They want their land."

42 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

"And they should have it," said the professor.
"The patriarch eventually consented to call the peo-
ple of his village together, they were called with
a blast from just such a bull's horn as this, Mrs. King,
and they gave him their permission and authoriza-
tion to show me the documents. I studied them
carefully and the legality of the title is unquestion-
able."

"Perhaps," I said sadly, "but that doesn't seem
to help the Indians. I believe they have even ap-
pealed to Don Porfirio, but they continue to lose
their milpas. It seems a wicked thing to me, this
taking the land by force from those who work it
with their hands and love it. Some day, I think,
there will be an upheaval here."

The younger American had been drinking in our
conversation. Now he struck in earnestly, "It may
come sooner than you think!" He was an eager,
sensitive-looking boy. "Our newspapers have been
carrying rumors of unrest in Mexico for the last
year or two."

"Your newspapers!" I said, smiling a little. "Ours
are written here on the spot, and they talk of nothing
but peace and progress."

"The dictator muzzles them!" came back the boy.
He put down the pistol and came closer. "No, really,
Mrs. King, you have an election coming on, and Don
Porfirio is n't going to have everything his own way
this time. I studied Spanish at school, and as our
train came down from the North I used to get off

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 43

at the stations and try to talk to the people. They 're
tired of Porfirio Diaz!"

His gravity was appealing. I said, to let him down
as gently as possible: "Of course people are tired
of Porfirio Diaz, after thirty years. Many of them
have been tired of him for quite a while. Why,
only the other day, a gentleman for whom I have
the greatest respect and liking put up his hand here
in my tearoom and solemnly swore that he would aid
in his downfall! But such talk has been going on
for years, and nothing ever comes of it."

The professor said kindly to the boy, "Don't take
too seriously the campaign speeches of this Madero,
who has been set up as Diaz* opponent in the coming
election. There has to be an opponent, to make the
thing look right, but Madero is only a straw man for
the dictator to knock down."

"Oh, I don't think so!" said the boy ingenuously.
"This Madero is different. I 've been reading some
pamphlets they gave me, and he tells the people all
about the rights and liberties they ought to have,
and how there should be justice for all and better
living conditions for the working classes!"

The professor and I glanced at each other. Even
the boy, I think, realized how the phrases
sounded. . . .

The professor was smiling. He had been stand-
ing in the doorway all the while, still fingering the
bull's horn, and now he said smoothly, "Conditions
have been much the same here for nearly four hundred

44 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

years. So long as the politicos continue to hurl
abuses at each other in perfect castellano, I think we
may conclude that all is well in your charming coun-
try, and you need have no fear, Mrs. King. But,"
and he paused impressively, "when the blast of the
bull's horn and the drum call of the hollow log sound
again in the soul of the people, as they will one day,
then there will be no peace and no safety. Then
there will be a revolution!"

CHAPTER III

ANI

interest I might have had in the coming
election was quickly driven from my mind.

Don Pablo came in one day looking very mysteri-
ous and excited. "Seiiora King," he said, "the Hotel
Bella Vista is for sale, cheap. Why don't you buy
it?"

"Good heavens!" I said. "Why should I?"

"Because," he said solemnly, "you are the woman
to run it. How often I have sat here and heard
you tell me how it should be run!"

Don Pablo, it developed, was entirely serious in
his proposal. He talked at great length and with
such conviction that the idea began to seem less ri-
diculous to me than when he had first suggested it.
I had always had a fondness for the Bella Vista from
the day, five years before, when the rampant station
mules had deposited me at its door, and I had often
thought I should like to try my hand at bringing
out the full beauty of the old Colonial structure.
I was full of theories, as Don Pablo had intimated,

46 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

about the hotel business, and while I had never ex-
pected to put them to the test, I had a sporting faith
in my own ideas.

"Consider, Senora King," went on Don Pablo,
"how propitious the time is for such a venture. This
year (1910) is the year of the Cenfenario, the hun-
dredth anniversary of Mexican independence from
Spain. Already Porfirito is making plans to show to
the world the glory and prosperity of Mexico. There
will be magnificent feasts and celebrations in the
capital, to which people will flock from all parts of
Mexico; and visitors will come from other countries.
Since our quaint town of Cuernavaca lies close to
Mexico City, what could be more natural than for
these people to make a trip here to see the sights?"

Don Pablo was right. This was the moment to
launch a fine hotel, of the type I had always main-
tained could be made to pay in Cuernavaca. The
climate and altitude here were perfect for a fashion-
able resort, the setting historic and beautiful, but
there were only two "modern" hotels in the town,
the Bella Vista and the Morelos opposite, and their
modernity was more a matter of conveniences added
by recent American management than anything else.
Both buildings dated back almost four hundred
years. . . . Common sense jerked up my fancies.

"It *s out of the question, Don Pablo," I said with
decision. "It 's all very well for a couple of ama-
teurs like you and me to sit and talk, but we 'd bet-
ter stop there. Even if I could afford to buy the

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 47

Bella Vista, which I can't, I should n't know what to
do with it. I Ve never even rented a room."

"You will learn," said Don Pablo blandly.

"Perhaps you could tell me," I suggested, thinking
this would silence him, "perhaps you could tell me
how to treat the guests."

But Don Pablo was not to.be put off. "Treat
them," he said inexorably, "as though you had in-
vited them out for the week-end."

In the end, his air of destiny made its impression
on me. I found, on inquiring, that the price asked
for the hotel was low, so low that if I cared to buy
I could almost swing the deal by myself. For tht
first time I realized fully how successful I had been,
and my self-confidence increased. My little pottery
factory at San Anton was running smoothly under
the supervision of the head man, Guadalupe, and an
American lady agreed to take over the tearoom and
curios for me. I bought the Bella Vista, and centred
my whole attention on the remodeling of it.

The Bella Vista was particularly lovely to work
with, for it had been originally the manor house of
a great hacienda, and a kind of provincial gracious-
ness still clung to it. I tried to keep this atmosphere
while adding the newest comforts, and I spared
neither pains nor expense. When I was through
I had thirty rooms, each with a private bath, grouped
about the three patios gardens set in the midst of
the house, open to the sky and filled with tropical
plants and climbing roses. On the side of the central

48 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

patio the old stone staircase ascended with a sweep
of wrought-iron rails, its shallow steps worn with the
footfalls of centuries, but still solid as rock. In this
patio stood the Spanish fountain that was the centre
of the house for me. This fountain had a kind of
bubbling life of its own, and when I think back now
to my old Bella Vista it is always the fountain that
comes first. I can still see the rainbow flash of the
drops of water, like so many diamonds, and hear the
even, joyous tinkling sound I listened for day and
night.

As often happens in the provinces in Mexico, the
entrance to my hotel was through a portal or verandah
opening on the street. The low arches of the Bella
Vista extended clear across the pavement to the curb,
hinting to the pelado that he had better walk in the
street, and inviting gente decente, "respectable" peo-
ple, to linger in passing for a chat and cool drink,
and, perhaps, a shoeshine while they sat. I filled
this portal with Boston ferns and mission chairs.
("Comfortable chairs, senora, for heaven's sake," Don
Pablo had pleaded. "And plenty of them. So that
the gentlemen of the town may congregate on Sunday
morning and watch the pretty girls parading in the
Zocalo.")

Don Pablo was an interested onlooker* A luxuri-
ous hotel seemed to him a fine thing for Cuernavaca,
quite in line with the ambitions of his friend, Dictator
Porfirio Diaz, to make Mexico a show place for the
rest of the world to marvel at. Then, too, he had

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 51

a sort of godf atherly concern, since the project was
his idea. He was a man with a cosmopolitan experi-
ence of hotels, and the inborn Latin feeling for the
grand manner. It delighted him to hear that my
waiters were going to wear the black jackets of the
city and white gloves. He egged me on to new
extravagances.

"Mire, Senora King," he would say, "this is very
elegant, your drawing-room all green and white with
its mosaic floors and potted palms and its long
windows looking into the tree-tops, but you must
have more lights. Clusters over the grand piano,
the reading and writing tables, and lamps for
bridge that is all well and good, but this is a
large room and the ceiling is high. You must have
little lights in the ceiling, too; all around it, like a
theatre."

And that was how I came to have the hundred
tiny lights set round the ceiling. As a final touch,
I hung red and black zarapes * of Oaxaca, split, their
borders turned to the inside, as portieres in the four
tall, dramatic doorways.

I knew that the renovation of the Bella Vista was
bound to create a stir in Cuernavaca, but in spite
of Don Pablo's predictions I had not expected that
Mexico City would also take an interest. To my
surprise, the Mexican Herald, an English newspaper

1 Zarapes are hand- woven blankets made by the Indians,
woven on simple looms and, in those days, colored with lovely
vegetable dyes made all over the republic.

52 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

subsidized by the government, printed a long story
about the new hotel, and as this paper reached all
the foreigners in Mexico City, reservations began to
pour in on me.

The Saturday evening the hotel was formally re-
opened, I put on evening dress and the earrings, as
Don Pablo had instructed me, and prepared to greet
my guests. As I have already related, the place was
jammed with friends, well-wishers, and curiosity
seekers. Don Pablo, who had promised to help me
receive, as indeed I thought he should, since it was
he who had got me into this! bolted when he saw
the mob, and left me to face the enemy alone. I was
thoroughly rattled. An American gentleman, a Mr.
Harmon, who was a prominent New York lawyer,
came up to me and introduced himself. He had, he
reminded me, reserved two rooms by telegraph. I
was so bewildered that all I could say to him was,
"Oh, yes! Be good for a moment, and I will arrange
with you."

Mr. Harmon was, naturally, taken aback. His
wife told me later that he sought her out and said,
between indignation and surprise, "That '$ the
damnedest Englishwoman I ever saw. She told me
to be good and sit down. What do you think of
that?"

The Harmons had come for the week-end, but
they stayed six weeks and we became fast friends. I
still receive messages from Mrs. Harmon through a
friend, and I have always regretted that I was never

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 53

able to accept her invitation to visit her in New
York.

For me that summer was a whirl of excitement. I
knew that if my hotel was to be a success, I should
have to persuade my guests to remain for extended
visits, and that this could be done only by amusing
them. Cuernavaca, once its beauty and historic
interest were granted, was after all a quiet country
town where there was nothing much to do. I had en-
gaged as manager for my hotel a capable young
Scotsman, Willie Nevin. Willie spoke Spanish like
a native and understood the business end, so that I
was able to leave routine matters to him. My part
was to look after our guests' entertainment as though,
in Don Pablo's phrase, I had invited them out for
the week-end.

I saw to it that it was always possible to make up
a table of bridge if I had to take the fourth hand
myself. I arranged little dances, and an occasional
concert when some musician was in town. This was
not very difficult, because I could read any music
at sight and, if need be, play the accompaniments
myself. There were picnics in carriages and on horse-
back to La Herradura, the horseshoe-shaped hill out-
side the town, or to the falls, and excursions to San
Anton and Chapultepec and the other neighboring
villages on fiesta days, when the fireworks were
popping and the indios dancing.

As the summer went on we heard more and more
about the glorious plans for the sixteenth of Sep-

54 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

tember, which in this year of 1910 would mark the
hundredth anniversary of Mexican independence
from Spain. Porfirio Diaz was bound to celebrate
this occasion with fitting splendor, and every set of
guests who came from the capital would tell us of new
parades, bullfights, or balls that had been added to
the programme. Every civilized country had been
invited to send an official representative, the best it
had, and all these invitations were being accepted.
All of the tourists already in Mexico who could pos-
sibly manage it were planning to come. I was elated
at the prospect, because I knew that most of these
visitors would come sooner or later to Cuernavaca;
only Willie Nevin, my manager, was unimpressed by
the magnificence of the plans. He was a canny Scot,
inclined to look on the dark side.

"Things must be pretty bad," he 'd say, "if Porfi-
rito has to put on a show like that to keep people's
minds off this Madero and the election."

"Nonsense, Willie," I scoffed. "Who cares about
elections? They *re just a formality here."

"Well," said Willie flatly, "you wait and see.
Porfirito's birthday 's on the fifteenth, and there 's
going to be almost as much Porfirio Diaz as inde-
pendence in this celebration."

The Centenario plans very naturally roused a new
interest in the history of Mexico. My guests were
full of questions. They asked about Hidalgo, the
country priest who, with his handful of parishioners,
poor Indians armed with what was at hand, first

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 55

raised the standard of revolt against the Spaniards,
and about Morelos, that other patriot for whom our
state was named. I knew little enough about Mexi-
can history at that time, myself, for I could not read
Spanish. But I had always been intensely inter-
ested in the customs and background of the people
among whom I was living, and simply through con-
versations with people well informed on these matters
I had picked up all sorts of interesting facts and
fascinating stories. I could tell the strangers who
were interested how for seventy-two days and nights
the Spaniards had besieged the town of Cuautla, not
far from where we were, till the food gave out and
the water was cut off. Still the people of Cuautla
would not surrender. Morelos, their leader, kept
them dancing in the plaza so they would not think
of their misery and weaken. And on the seventy-
third day these heroic people cut their way through
the ring of besiegers and saved themselves.

Sometimes they asked about the older heroes of
the valley, the Tlahuicas who fought Cortez, clothed
in masks and a kind of armor made of the heads and
skins of wolves and jaguars we call them tigers
and mountain lions. Then I would tell them how
Cuernavaca had once been called Cuauhnahuac,
"near to the forests," but the fumbling tongues of
the conquerors were not equal to those syllables, and
they called it Cuernavaca, "cow's horn" in their
language, which was how the name sounded to them.
I would get out the field glasses and let them scan the

56 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

dark flashing rocks where the town of Tepoztlan lies
sheer, forbidding volcanic cliffs that stand out
harshly by their nakedness in a valley where all
other hills and mountains are softened with vegeta-
tion. The highest pinnacle of rock, I said, was called
the Diviner's House, and had been fortress, temple,
or, perhaps, place of human sacrifice; it was so old
that its original purpose was blurred with time; for
this eyrie was the cradle of the nation.

Once in a while, adventurous souls, their imagina-
tion fired, would set out on the short but difficult
journey by train, by burro, and then on foot
to scale the heights of remote Tepoztlan and experi-
ence the incomparable view one was said to command
from the Diviner's House. I always longed to go
with them, but that was out of the question. Most of
my guests were not so active. They preferred to
sink deeper in my big green armchairs and listen to
tales of other people's adventures.

"And now about Borda, the man who built the
lovely gardens," they would urge me on. "You
promised to tell us about Borda, Mrs. King!"

Borda's story was indeed a favorite of mine, and
one which was always sympathetic to my listeners,
because it was in the pioneering tradition of our own
people. Borda was a stranger who came to a new
country and fitted in. He was born a Frenchman,
Josephe de la Borde, the son of an officer of Louis XIV*
At the age of sixteen he came to Mexico, and in the
following years amassed an enormous fortune in the

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 57

gold and silver mines. Having made his money
himself, he had a feeling, very rare in that time and
in this country of great inherited estates, for the men
who worked with and for him. He had even a
sense of his responsibility toward the towns, such as
Taxco in Guerrero, which grew up largely as the
result of his enterprises.

He was a very generous man, not in the cold, em-
barrassed Anglo-Saxon fashion of our latter-day
philanthropists who leave their millions as "founda-
tions," but with gusto and enjoyment in giving and
a salt of showmanship. It was he who introduced
into Mexico the custom of the Christmas tree, and
Christmas Eve was a lucky time for his workmen and
the poor, for thousands of pesos were distributed to
them. He was an ardent Catholic and contributed
money, jewels, and churches with the cheerful slogan,
"God gives to Borda, and Borda gives to God." For
the dedication of the church beside the house in
Cuernavaca, the path from door to door where the
prelates were to walk was strewn with gold dust,
which the poor were allowed to gather up later. As
he grew older and it became evident, his children
having gone into the Church, that he would have no
descendants, he indulged to the full his taste for
magnificent show. He had a fancy, perhaps, to
live in his new country as royalty lived in France, for
there are reminiscences of Versailles in the gardens
and mansion he built at Cuernavaca.

One night a famous archbishop, arriving to visit

58 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

him, was chagrined to find gates and gardens quite
dark. But presto! his host beside him lit a cigarette,
and instantly the gardens were illuminated in the
most fantastic and beautiful manner by fireworks
in set pieces, fountains playing in brilliant color,
flowers and forms that hung from trees and bushes
filled with glowing lights. On other occasions, it
is said, lovely ladies were glimpsed in the garden,
diaphanously clad, like houris in a paradise.

He died a poor man, but he had enjoyed his money,
and his name, gratefully remembered, has slipped
softly into the language of his adopted country.

I often thought of Borda as the Centenario ap-
proached. This festival that was supposed to repre-
sent the patriotic feelings of the nation at large was
being celebrated with a magnificence worthy of the
old millionaire, but with a total absence of his spirit
of good will and generosity toward all. When Borda
put on a costly show, he spent his own money; but
the dictator was spending the money of the people,
who could ill afford it. It seemed to me that the
pretentiousness of the plans for this one occasion had
gone beyond the bounds of good taste, considering
the miserable conditions under which the mass of the
people lived. When I saw the Indians in rags, I was
indignant at the prices I heard were being paid for
the horses that were to draw the carriages of the
ambassadors on the sixteenth, a day supposed to com-
memorate the liberation of the people.

Willie Nevin, my manager, did not like this either.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 59

"These indios aren't the fools they take them
for/' he 'd say. "There 's a fellow over near Cuautla
Emiliano Zapata 's his name who 's been stirring
up the people. It seems the hacienda annexed his
father's milpa. Later they sent him to the owner's
Mexico City house on an errand, and when he saw
the horses stabled there in marble stalls, it made him
pretty sore. You can bet that when the people see
this Centenario circus they 're not going to fall down
on their faces and worship; they're going to ask,
'Who paid for this?' "

By the fourteenth of September all of us who could
possibly contrive it were up in Mexico City to see
the pageantry. We saw the plenipotentiaries, repre-
senting the various nations, driving up in their
gorgeous dress uniforms to the National Palace to
pay their respects to Porfirio Diaz, permanent presi-
dent of Mexico. They rode in luxurious carriages
drawn by the most beautiful horses that could be
bought, the horses whose price had shocked Willie
Nevin. Escorting the ambassadors was a squadron
of hussars in gala dress, who galloped ahead of the
coaches to clear the streets of the crowds that
gathered to watch the spectacle.

On the night of the fifteenth, the round of feasts,
dances, sports, receptions, and other entertainments
began by a grand banquet in honor of Porfirio Diaz,
whose birthday it was. The next day, Independence
Day, and for several days afterwards, there were
parades, bullfights, jaripeos, and so on. On the

60 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

night of the sixteenth was given the most brilliant
ball of the epoch; a gathering of the aristocracy of
Mexico, and an exhibition of the gorgeous gowns
and precious jewels for which the women of Mexico
were famous. Such a display had not been seen
since the days of the Emperor Maximilian. All the
diplomatic missions, guests of the Government of
Mexico, were entertained with lavish hospitality in
the palaces of the city, whose owners had refurnished
them to suit the most fastidious foreign taste.

For weeks after, in Cuernavaca, we talked of these
festivities. The newspapers filled out our knowl-
edge of the events we had not attended ourselves.
"Willie Nevin was constantly pointing out that no
nation could afford such spending, but it was Willie's
fate, like Cassandra's, to have his prescience of disaster
ignored. I paid no attention to what he said even
when the dictator put Madero, the candidate who
was opposing him in the coming election, in jail for
using accounts of the extravagance to inflame the
people against the party in power. Later, Mr.
Madero was released.

Then came news that a Madero supporter, Aquiles
Serdan of Puebla, had been killed with his wife, de-
fending their home against government officers de-
termined to enter and search it. I was shocked,
but still I did not realize the seriousness of the rioting
that followed in Puebla.

That afternoon Don Pablo stopped in to see me.
He was clearly upset. "But this is a revolt, Senora

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 61

King! Imagine! And who do you suppose is mixed
up in it? Our friend Senor Luis Cabrera."

I had a sudden remembrance of Senor Luis Cabrera
putting up his hand in my tearoom months before
and swearing to aid in the downfall of Diaz.

"Oh, I knew all about that," I said, unimpressed.

"You did! "What do you mean?" demanded Don
Pablo, bristling, "I have a good mind to put you in
jail for not having told me."

"You don't think it *s really serious, do you?" I
asked, with some surprise, and beginning to be a little
alarmed.

"Oh, certainly not serious," said Don Pablo, laugh-
ing at my fears. "Our Porfirito with his army and
his strength of character will make short work of
this revolt."

A few weeks later Porfirio Diaz was fleeing for his
life on the Ipiranga, the rich families running at his
heels like turkeys; Francisco I. Madero was marching
down from the north on Mexico City, joined by
ragged thousands; and the peones of our own state,
Morelos, were up in arms, led by Emiliano Zapata.

The blast of the bulPs horn and the drum call of
the hollow log had sounded in the soul of the people.

CHAPTER IV

VyuiCKLY close everything, Senora King! The
fierce Zapata is coming, killing and destroying every-
thing in his path!"

It was one of the leading men of the town who
stood panting in my portal. "The rebels met our
garrison at Cuautla, and cut it to pieces* Only a
handful of troops are left to tell the tale; you will
see them limping in/*

Wounded, on foot, tied up in old rags they came
the remnant of Cuernavaca's invincible garrison.
Most of the men would never have made the thirty
miles from Cuautla if it had not been for the help
of their women, who had pushed them and dragged
them along. The doors of the townsfolk were closed
to them. With the fierce Zapata coming, the people
no longer knew the Federals and the ^belligerent
soldaderas who cared for them. In the end we for-
eign women, who had nothing to fear from either side,
sent out coffee and bandages. An American named

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 63

Robinson, a mining engineer, went out to the crest
of a hill at the entrance to the town to await the ap-
proach of Zapata, and to assure him and his ally
Asunsolo, both of whom were known to him per-
sonally, that no further resistance would be made,

I was more interested than alarmed myself, but it
occurred to me that the American lady who was run-
ning my tearoom for me was alone with two pretty
daughters, and might be frightened. I sent word
for her and her daughters to come over to the Bella
Vista, and together we stood at the window to watch
the Revolution enter Cuernavaca.

No Caesar ever rode more triumphantly into a
Roman city than did the chief, Zapata, with Asunsolo
at his side, and after them their troops a wild-
looking body of men, undisciplined, half-clothed,
mounted on half -starved, broken-down horses. Gro-
tesque and obsolete weapons, long hidden away or re-
cently seized in the pawnshops, were clasped in their
hands, thrust through their belts, or slung across the
queer old saddles of shapes never seen before. But
they rode in as heroes and conquerors, and the pretty
Indian girls met them with armfuls of kougaijivillea
and thrust the flaming flowers in their hats and belts.

There was about them the splendor of devotion to
a cause, a loek of all the homespun patriots who, from
time immemorial, have left the plough in the furrow
when there was need to fight. I thrilled with the re-
membrance that Don Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, the

64 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

father of Mexican independence, had led an army
equipped with weapons as crude as bars of iron, shov-
els, and pitchforks.

All afternoon the wild-looking bands rode in. At
six o'clock we heard shots and screams and feared
that fighting had begun among them. Instead we
found that the shots were fired in jubilation: the
prison doors in the old palace had been opened and
all the prisoners set free; political prisoners, mur-
derers all free! I shall never forget those men
and women as they ran like hunted animals past my
house seeking cover. In the old days they would
have been shot as they ran, and they still believed they
must be targets.

The generals had closed all places of drink, so far
as they could, knowing that their men would be un-
manageable if permitted to become intoxicated. A
pathetic band of eight or ten pieces played that night
in the Zocalo to excited throngs strange music on
unheard-of instruments, sometimes wailing, some-
times riotous with a tumultuous sweetness, and again
harsh and discordant. They played the wailing of
four centuries of wrong that had been done them, and
the -awakening of justice. It was music to those
savage men and to those who loved the cause for
which they fought; but as I listened I shivered a
little, and I was glad that I was an Englishwoman
and this was not my Revolution.

Two days later I was forced into contact with the
Revolutionists to protect the little factory I had es-

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 65

tablished at San Anton. Much to my indignation,
I heard that the men were sacking it.

The only way I knew to stop the depredation was
to go to see Zapata the chief, and insist on my rights
as an Englishwoman. I told my manager, Willie
Nevin, what I meant to do, and added, "You must
come with me as interpreter."

Willie Nevin was aghast, and at first refused to
accompany me; but I insisted. I know now that it
was only ignorance that gave me courage.

When we reached the military headquarters, the
troops pointed their rifles directly at me, and at trem-
bling Willie behind me, and while many of the guns
were antiquated there were plenty, taken from the
Federals at Cuautla, that looked as if they would
shoot and straight. I knew so little Spanish that
I could only make them understand I wished to enter
by parting their rifles right and left with my hands
and saying firmly **Jefe" which I knew meant
"Chief." They allowed me to enter, but stared at
a woman who dared to face them in this manner.
Perhaps it was their very amazement that made them
let me pass to Zapata's quarters. But my efforts to
see him were in vain; the beloved general was sleep-
ing, and could not be disturbed.

By this time the succession of guns and savage
looks I had been meeting was having its effect on me,
and my knees were trembling. I knew, however,
that I must hold my own or my prestige was gone,
and without that I could do nothing in Cuernavaca.

66 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

On I marched, with Willie still behind me, to find
the next chief, General Asunsolo. We climbed up-
stairs in the old barracks to the room a young Indian
pointed out with his rifle. To my surprise the room
was perfectly clean, the bed spotless, order and neat-
ness on every hand something I knew to be un-
usual with an army on campaign. The man who re-
ceived me addressed me courteously in English.
It was General Asunsolo himself.

From the time I met General Asunsolo I had no
more fear. Asunsolo was different from the grim,
determined Indians about him, more like the men to
whom I was accustomed. He was, oddly enough,
a young man of aristocratic family, educated in the
United States of America, and full of life and the
love of American "ragtime 5 * "jazz," they call it
now. He had joined the Revolution for the adven-
ture, I think, and because he thought it likely to suc-
ceed.

His mere presence in the Revolutionary army was
reassuring to me. When I told him my trouble he
said courteously, "The raids on your factory shall
end at once, Senora King, 5 * and he kept his promise.
Nor did his kindness end there, for I could not have
wished better care than was taken of me and my
property during the six weeks he was in Cuernavaca
with his troops.

One little incident occurred about this time which,
if I had taken it more seriously, might have suggested
to me that the peace and order we were enjoying

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 67

depended on a very delicate balance between explo-
sive elements.

I was sitting on the verandah one evening after
dinner with the two pretty American girls, the
daughters of the American lady who had taken over
the tearoom for me. We were watching the antics
of the invaders, who were amusing themselves in the
plaza. To our surprise, one of the Indians suddenly
came over and sat down next to the elder of the two
girls. He was a young fellow, hung with pistols,
and with very little clothing on under the three or
four cartridge belts that covered his body.

The girl was too frightened to say anything. My
indignation was tremendous. I went over to the boy
and told him to move at once, thinking my size, as I
am quite tall, would quell him. To my great wonder
he simply turned around and said, "Oh, no, madam,
these are different times. The peon is now the mas-
ter." The girl translated for me.

My English blood was boiling. It was all I could
do to refrain from knocking him off the chair. In-
stead, however, I went to some Mexicans who were
sitting near by and asked their help. One of them,
a young doctor, promptly took the Indian by the
neck and threw him out of his seat. The boy, on
the floor, pulled a pistol.

Luckily for us, at this moment two or three other
soldiers, who had seen the trouble from the plaza
across the street, seized their companion-in-arms and
held him fast. I do not know which of us the boy

6S TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

meant to shoot, and I do not think he much cared,
but it probably would have been me because of my
interference.

When the soldiers had been told what happened
they carried off the boy as a prisoner to General
Asunsolo, the man I had made my friend. The gen-
eral sent word at once to ask if I would like to have
an example made of him; if so, he would have him
shot that night or in the morning. This message
alarmed me more than the boy had. I sent word
please not to do anything quite so desperate, just keep
him locked up for two or three days. I had not been
living among and observing these people without
learning a little about them, and I realized that what
the boy had done had been occasioned simply by his
elation over the glory of his troops. Their victories
had gone to his head. After he was released he came
to me to apologize, and was soon made happy by the
present of a little money. From that time on until
Asunsolo's troops left town, he acted as the personal
guard for all of us at my house; and very good he
was to us.

On the twelfth of June Mr. Madero, the presi-
dential candidate who had led the movement to over-
throw the dictatorship, came to Cuernavaca to confer
with General Zapata, who had been fighting in his
behalf. Zapata arranged a "review" in his honor,
and we all turned out to see the show. We were
not disappointed.

Surely, all the strength of the Zapatistas was kept

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 69

for action, for they wasted none on uniforms or
martial drill. Poor fellows, in their huge straw hats
and white cotton calzones, with cotton socks in
purple, pink, or green pulled outside and over the
trouser legs. They were equipped with rifles of all
sorts, and one poor little cannon. But even the
cannon looked proud of being a follower of the brave
leader, Emiliano Zapata. Among the troops were
women soldiers, some of them officers. One, wearing
a bright pink ribbon around her waist with a nice
big bow tied in back, was especially conspicuous.
She was riding a pony and looked very bright and
pretty.

Treacherous little ribbon! It gave the game away,
for it was soon seen by that vivid bit of color that the
troops were merely marching around a few squares
and appearing and reappearing before Don Francisco
Madero. The pathetic attempt to please Madero by
seeming stronger in numbers than they were was
funny, but it was sad, too. Behind that sham was
indomitable spirit. Mr. Madero's face, far from ex-
pressing any consciousness of the amazing reappear-
ance of the same "battalions" in such quick succession,
was perfectly impassive. He knew that passing be-
fore him was the embryonic power that would win
the Revolution.

Shortly afterward the election took place which
made Madero legally president, and he came a second
time to Cuernavaca. It was rumored that Zapata
would now be appointed governor of Morelos, and

70 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

I for one was quite content with this prospect.
Rough and untaught as his followers were, they had
treated us with true kindness and consideration during
their occupation of the town, and I had come to have
confidence in their natural qualities. Since my
friend Don Pablo Escandon had long ago resigned the
governorship and left the country, the post was be-
ing temporarily filled by Mr. Carreon, the banker.
One morning just before this second visit of Madero's,
Mr. Carreon and a delegation of men appeared at
my door to ask me to go to the railway station to
meet the president-elect, Don Francisco, and his wife
when they arrived. I was surprised and rather
pleased, and consented on condition that one or two
of the American ladies in Cuernavaca go with me.

"When the day came, the governor's carriage was
sent for us, drawn by two most spirited horses. Now
horses are one of the Mexican passions, and at this
time they had a particular fascination for the Revolu-
tionaries, because always before their possession had
been limited to the ruling classes. For fear this fine
pair would be seized by the Zapatistas, they had been
kept upstairs in hiding, in a bedroom, for five or six
weeks, and were so full of life they could hardly
be driven. We passed through streets lined with
Zapata's soldiers, and accustomed as I had become to
these Indians, my heart rather failed me at the sight
of them all together, with their heavy armament and
their look of wild men of the woods.

When we reached the station the horses became very

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 73

restive. General Emiliano Zapata, riding a beautiful
horse, with his brother Euf emio beside him on another
fine animal, gave the order for me to move.

I told him rather frankly that I would not move,
as I had been requested by the governor of the state
to await the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Madero. He
did not insist, but sat silent with his long sensitive
fingers quiet on the reins; a graceful figure of a man,
with a kind of natural elegance. He was swarthy,
as the men of Cuautla are apt to be, with beautiful
white teeth beneath the heavy black moustache, and
he wore the charro suit of the ranchman, always neat
even when made up, as his was, in coarse materials.

As I look back now on that scene, the calm as-
surance with which I stood firm upon a point of
etiquette, and the simple manner in which the com-
manding general accepted my objections, it seems
to mark an epoch in the Revolution. In later years
I should probably have been shot for countermand-
ing the orders of any chieftain. I do not believe that
Zapata understood any more than I did, at this time,
the full splendor of what he was doing, or that the
day would come when, in the social emancipation of
Mexico, he would stand third in rank after Hidalgo
and Juarez.

The little black engine finally puffed its load of
celebrities and soldiers into the station. As Mr. and
Mrs. Madero stepped from their coach, there was a
fusillade of shots from the soldiers on the train and
an answering volley from the Zapatistas who lined

74 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

the street. Both volleys were friendly salutes, but
the horses who had drawn us in such stately fashion
to the station apparently thought otherwise. Less
considerate of our dignity than the general, they
reared, bucked, and finally dashed for home and
safety the driver struggling with the reins and an
Englishwoman and two Americans struggling to catch
their breath.

Shortly after, President Madero and Zapata met
again at Cuautla, and on this occasion the president
gave our general the famous abrazo, perhaps as a seal
of what we had already heard, that he had promised
to make Zapata governor of the state as evidence of
his appreciation of all Zapata had done for the Ma-
dero cause. An abrazo is an embrace between two
men who are considered true friends. The confi-
dence between the leaders which this act implied
promised peace for Cuernavaca, and when I heard
the news, I said to myself, "The Revolution is over."
I was equally pleased with the success of the Revolu-
tionary movement and with the quick, rather orderly
fashion in which the turnover had been accom-
plished.

But I spoke too soon. If the promise was made
to Zapata, it was not kept; for the coveted office of
governor was given to General Ambrosio Figueroa.

From this time on our troubles began in the State
of Morelos. The Zapatistas swooped down on trains
whenever and wherever they could. They galloped
over the rich fields, destroying crops and millions

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 75

of dollars* worth of machinery imported from Eng-
land and the United States; and woe to the admims-
tradores of the haciendas when they tried to resist
the onslaught.

CHAPTER V

I

WAS vexed rather than alarmed by the turn affairs
had taken. We were safe in Cuernavaca, as Zapata
had moved out of the town some time before his
break with Madero, and the new governor, Figueroa,
and his troops were well established among us. Yet
We were inconvenienced by the raids in the outlying
country. Traveling became unsafe and few people
ventured far from home. My hotel business, which
had already declined because of unsettled con-
ditions, suffered still more. At the same time, I
simply did not believe what the newspapers said, that
the Zapatistas, who had lived among us so peaceably
for weeks, had turned overnight into villainous des-
peradoes. Beneath their quite terrifying exteriors,
the Zapatistas had seemed to me more like harmless
and valiant children than anything else, and this sud-
den burst of destructiveness seemed to me a childish
reaction to the slight they had suffered.

I know now that there was something more behind
their defiance.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 77

Victim of the hacendados, Emiliano Zapata had
been constantly exasperated by the landowners, who
reigned with all the despotism of feudal lords over the
peones and working classes of the rural population.
His personal experiences had inspired in him an ideal
"Land and Liberty" for the downtrodden Indian
which was perfectly clear to him, and which his
followers comprehended to an extent that preserved
their faith in their leader through all the strife that
followed. The new governor, Figueroa, was himself
an kacendado, the owner of great tracts of land in the
State of Guerrero; and Zapata doubtless felt that such
a man would not help the people of Morelos to realize
their dream.

Personally, I liked our shy, serious young governor
and believed him sincere. I think that he, like Ma-
dero, was a man of wealth who recognized his obliga-
tion to improve the lot of the masses. Looking back,
it is easy to see that President Madero made a crucial
blunder in passing by Zapata, and that this was the
first of the rifts in the Revolutionary Party which
later brought ruin on Madero and on the rest of us.
But at this time Zapata was an almost unknown
Indian, whose genius for leadership had not yet blazed
forth to its full extent, and it is not surprising that
the president should have believed Figueroa better
suited for authority. We all regretted that the new
governor's first official job was the unpleasant one of
putting down the men of the state.

78 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

For the rest, life in Cuernavaca took on a new in-
terest.

The townspeople sympathized covertly with the
Zapatistas, but were too sensible to say so openly.
Though the disorders in our vicinity were very bad
for my own business, since the hotel depended on
transients, the town had never been so prosperous
before as it was with six thousand Federal soldiers
spending their pay. The newspapers talked con-
stantly about the bravery of these troops and how
the ragged rebels fled when they met them. The
trouble was that the ragged rebels ran only as far as
the nearest shelter, from behind which they sniped
the Federals; and a good deal of fun was made of the
professional soldiers behind their backs because they
could never quite stamp out this guerrilla warfare.
Figueroa was eventually recalled because he could
not catch Zapata, and a succession of military com-
manders followed him.

We were very gay. The commanding general and
his staff always stayed at the Bella Vista, and when
the officers were not out fighting, they were dancing
or drinking or gambling, and our quiet country town
had never seen the like of it. I often wished for the
old peaceful times and quieter civilian guests, but it
was diverting to watch the antics of these reckless
young blades.

They thought it great luck to be on campaign
again, after it had seemed almost sure that the Rev-
olution was over and there was nothing ahead of them

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 79

but a long, dull stretch of peace-time service. They
played harebrained jokes on each other, and quar-
reled endlessly about the superiority of their favorite
horses. They were all inordinately vain of their
horsemanship, which was superb, and how they would
make a horse prance when a pretty girl was looking!
More alarming were the disputes they had about their
marksmanship, for these were apt to end in a hasty,
impromptu shooting match, when the bullets might
take off the neck of the bottle set up at so many
paces, and then again might miss it altogether.

They were always respectful and deferential to me,
and took to calling me "mwmacita" (little mother) .
This flattered and pleased me, in spite of the fact
that I was not old enough to be their mother; for
Mexican boys are devoted sons, and I knew they were
paying me their highest compliment. I let them
pour out their troubles to me, and tried to help them
when I could.

Looking back, it always makes me happy to remem-
ber that even at this time my favorite among them
was Captain Federico Chacon, who later turned out
to be the best friend I had, and to whom I owe my
life many times over. Federico Chacon was an up-
standing, swashbuckling fellow from the north, who
looked just like an American and was always being
taken for one, which half disgusted and half pleased
him. I was always scolding him about his bad habits,
for he had them all! but I think he liked this,
for no one had ever troubled before to tell him why

80 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

things should be done or not done from the stand-
point of ethics. At any rate, he would listen very
attentively. When I tried to explain to him that too
much indulgence in some kinds of enjoyment was to
enjoy life only in a small way, and that there was
much more in life to live for, he said he would try to
be more serious. But this was so hard for him, and
he was such a fine, generous person with it all, that I
really felt better when he slipped now and again into
his old ways, after which he would return to apolo-
gize and ask for forgiveness.

I recall one day when I was sitting in my portal
with a sedate, elderly British couple, who were feel-
ing very adventurous because they had made the trip
to Cuernavaca in spite of the raids of the Zapatistas
in our district. Across the way, in the portal of the
Hotel Morelos, Chacon sat drinking with a group of
other men. Suddenly, as we sat idly watching them,
a fight began. Over went a gentleman I recognized
as a judge of the town. Chacon's driving shoulders
thrust about in the midst of the tangle; a moment
more and he had bowled over all five of them. He
came striding out of the arcade, shaking himself like
a big dog head up, the way he always walked.

"By Jove, I can't help liking that man," said the
mild-mannered gentleman at my side. "Do you
think he 'd come over and talk to us?"

I beckoned to Federico and he sat down with us
and chatted over a capita a small glass of cognac*
Nothing that was said by him or anyone else made

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 81

any particular impression on me. The noteworthy
thing about that conversation was the blank stare
with which Federico greeted me the next morning
when I recalled it. He had been so drunk all the
time that he had no recollection whatever of the fight
or what had followed.

Lively as Cuernavaca was with the militares in
possession, it was hardly the setting I should have
chosen for my young daughter. Both my daughter
and son were now in boarding schools. My son went
to school in Canada, and as the Revolution later de-
stroyed our railroad communication with the coun-
tries to the north of us, it was a long while before he
was able to return, and he does not enter this story
at all. My daughter's school was in Tennessee, and
when she came home for vacation I had kept her with
me, because it was my wish to take her to England
shortly and place her in the school that I had gone to.

It never occurred to me that I should not soon be
able to take a holiday. I had implicit confidence that
at any moment the ragged handful of Zapatistas with
their blundering methods, as the newspapers described
them, would be finally overcome by the brave
Federals. But I did begin to chafe at the way the
fighting dragged on, delaying our departure. My
daughter was hardly more than a child, by English
or American standards, but a very pretty one
la guerrita (the little fair one) , the officers called her;
and I did not want her head turned.

For this reason, I was glad when they told me that

82 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Mexico City had determined to end the struggle.
One of the best generals in the republic had been
ordered to Cuernavaca and Zapata's fate was sealed.

One afternoon I heard a spirited firing of rifles,
and saw from my window that the soldiers already
stationed at Cuernavaca and the troops of the in-
coming general were firing at one another. This
was a habit they had, and there was no reason behind
it, I was sure, except that there was always more or
less jealousy among contending troops, even though
fighting in the same cause, and always bitter rivalry
between their chiefs. The firing continued and,
looking out from a place of safety, I saw a man con-
spicuously apart, sitting on a very fine horse. He sat
as though made of iron, without a motion of his
body, his face without a smile, almost without ex-
pression, as careless of the bullets flying around him
as though they were feathers.

I said to my manager, "Who is that man on the
beautiful horse, who sits there in a shower of bullets
with no more fear than if they were raindrops?"

"That," said Willie respectfully, "is General Vic-
toriano Huerta. There ? s nothing he 's afraid of."

Later, when they had desisted from their little
pastime of fighting and killing each other, for
General Huerta soon mastered the troops already with
us, as he had good fresh horses and better rifles to help
him, he was brought to my house and introduced
to me. I knew so little about the politics of the day
that I did not realize General Huerta was one of the

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 83

most prominent men in the country, but it was plain
to me that I had met a man of strong and decisive
character.

General Huerta remained at the Bella Vista and
it amused me to see the stiffening of the military
morale when this dynamic leader took command.
He allowed no laxness in his troops, but they adored
him because he always led them to victory. He him-
self drank heavily, and nearly every evening had to
be led off to bed; but he was always up in the morning
bright and early, looking as though he were not even
acquainted with the odor of drink.

I often saw him at breakfast and he would try to
talk to me, telling me as much as he could of the state
of affairs whilst we were peacefully eating ciruelas
the plums for which Cuernavaca is noted. The gen-
eral and I were very fond of these plums and ate
them every morning. Looking back, it seems a cu-
rious thing to me that this trivial taste that we shared
should have played a part in the web of intrigue in
which I later became entangled.

My Spanish was still so poor that I could not under-
stand much that the general said, but I did make out
that he always told me that he was going to capture
Zapata.

The day the army was to set off on the crucial
expedition, which required complete concentration
of attention on the delicate manceuvrings that were
planned, an American turned up who attempted to
invite himself along. He said he had come from the

84 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

American Embassy in Mexico City, which was true,
but I hardly think his government can have known
what he was up to.

General Huerta was not at all taken with the
stranger, a foreigner, who came among us, it seemed,
only from motives of inquisitiveness, to gratify a per-
sonal curiosity about how Mexicans conducted their
military campaigns. But the American shall we
call him Mr. Smith? was too self-complacent to
perceive that behind the general's courtesy there was
an astuteness that had penetrated the impertinence
of his request. He was quite insensitive to the gen-
eral's polite rebuff and graceful invitation to take
himself off, and insisted on joining Huerta and his
officers to find out where they were going.

General Huerta came over to me and said, "Oh,
Senora King, I am sure Mr. Smith would like to hear
of your experiences in Mexico. I know you will en-
tertain him for me. Mr. Smith, will you sit here
with Mrs. King? Be kind enough to take this chair."
I naturally wished to help General Huerta. I knew
the nervous tension he must be under because of the
character of his errand, and could understand how
this intrusion was annoying him.

Mr. Smith, however, did not seem to find me very
interesting. He was more intent on finding out what
he was after than on talking to me. In a few minutes
he got up and went back to the general.

General Huerta turned to him with the air of one
who has just seen the light. "Ah, senor" he said,

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 85

"you probably wish to ride out with us; do you not? 5 *
Mr. Smith signified that that was his wish, and
thought he had won his point and was going to be
permitted to accompany the general and his officers
on their campaign. General Huerta then turned to
one of the officers and gave a rapid order for a horse
to be brought. I did not understand what he said,
but my manager, who could speak Spanish like a
native, understood and said to me, "I am afraid they
are going to play some trick on this man." I did not
think it mattered much, as by his persistent intrusion
where he was not welcome he had invited punishment.
A fine-looking horse was brought, with a handsome
saddle. Mr. Smith went delightedly forward to
mount, thinking surely he was to share the honors
of the day. I then saw a spectacle such as I had
never seen in my life. I do not understand how the
man escaped alive. The horse bucked, jumping up
and down, fore and aft, kicked, snorted, pawed the
ground like a mad bull, stood on his hind feet pawing
the air, stood on his tail and then on his head, leaped
back and forth, flung himself right and left made
every frantic movement known to a horse road from
some unknown emotion. At last our man slid off,
and indeed it was a mystery that he stayed on as long
as he did.

Not a line of General Huerta's sphinx-like face
changed. Without a smile he said, "My dear sir, I
fear there is something wrong. I will have the horse
unsaddled that we may see/'

S6 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

The saddle was removed in the presence of us alL
Under the blanket were found three big thorns with
which the horse was well pricked as soon as the man
was in the saddle!

General Huerta's face was something never to be
forgotten. A silent smile came over it a thought-
ful smile even an innocent smile. But he only
turned to me and said, "Senora, I do not think the
gentleman will ride with us to-day."

It was all I could do to keep my laughter back,
but it had to be done, for no one dared to make a
sound or even to smile while the now abashed Mr.
Smith went to his room, packed a valise, and left for
Mexico City at the first opportunity. When will the
foreigner learn that a Mexican's politeness can be as
final as an American's curt "Get out!"

Whether or not this annoying incident had taken
the edge off the general's keenness to start on the ex-
pedition, I do not know; but he took a drink and
another drink. The troops were kept standing all
that day in the pouring rain. When night came on,
I could stand it no longer and sent out great pots of
coffee to warm the poor fellows. Finally, at day-
break, General Huerta got over his intoxication and
was able to mount his horse. The troops moved off
artillery, infantry, and cavalry to comb the
mountains in search of Zapata.

I had got up to see them go, and as General Huerta
said good-bye he assured me that he would be back
in two or three days with the prisoner on exhibition.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 87

He did return in a few days, but not with the pris-
oner as he had expected. I found out that he had
actually succeeded in surrounding Zapata and his
forces and was on the verge of closing in when a sharp
order had come to him from President Madero to re-
turn at once with his troops to Mexico City. Huerta
was very, very angry and like an Indian swore re-
venge on Madero. He felt he had been made a fool
of. We all tread cautiously in the face of his wrath
and hoped that it would blow over. I marveled at
the incredible innocence of Mr. Madero, who seemed
to think he could play fast and loose with men like
this. He had made a foe of Zapata by just such an
about-face, and now, to save Zapata, he had perhaps
made a foe of the more formidable Huerta. But it
never occurred to me that the relations of these two
men would affect me personally.

General Huerta was his usual bland self when he
left for Mexico City. "Never fear, Senora King,"
he said as he shook hands, "that the music will stop
in the Zocalo because I am taking away my fine band
that you like so much. I have given orders, and you
shall have music every night as before." And in-
deed, whether this was the reason or not, from that
time on, even when things were worst, a band played
every night in the plaza.

We hoped that Huerta's serenity was a good omen,
but I can see now that it was more likely the calm of
resolution; and I myself believe that the seed had
then taken root in him which later bore bloody fruit.

8 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

The evidence of a weak hand and a vacillating will
in the capital did not help our situation in Cuer-
navaca. The morale of the soldiers was impaired by
the suspicion that the government was not squarely
behind them in their campaign. Some of them
deserted and went over to the Zapatistas. The Za-
patistas raided with new boldness and confidence,
closer to the town. Our newspapers continued to
print the usual reassuring accounts, but I could not
help noticing that less was coming into the markets;
which meant that surrounding villages were being
cut off.

A charcoal seller who was a Zapatista, and perhaps
a spy, said to me one day, ff Senora, they always say
we are running away and being killed, but they do
not tell how many we catch and kill when we are
hiding in places where we can shoot on them." This
was translated to me in a significant tone by Willie
Nevin, my manager, his eyes frightfully crossed as
they would become when he was upset.

Although the Federal officers who lived at my
hotel continued to be courteous and affable to me,
I could see that the campaign was being pushed
harder. None of the succession of generals who fol-
lowed Huerta seemed able to cope with the wily
Zapata and his constantly growing bands of untrained
Indians. The rebels knew all the mountains and
barrancas and shot from ambush. The skilled tactics
of the Federals were useless against this kind of guer-
rilla warfare, and the ease with which the rebels

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 89

picked off their comrades seemed to madden the Fed-
eral soldiers. They burned the crops that sustained
the rebels and the houses or huts that sheltered them,
and shot in their turn at anyone wearing the white
calzones of the peon. Zapata's men not only fought;
they had, in between, to work to provide for their
families, cultivating their patches of corn and beans.
My friend Federico Chacon told me how many of
these men were surrounded by Federals while thus
working unprotected in the fields. They were made
prisoners and driven to the nearest towns, where they
were forced to dig their own graves before they were
shot if one can call "graves" the holes into which
their bodies were thrown.

Long afterward, in Cuautla, a mason who was
working for me told me how the Federals, in the name
of the Revolutionary government, had come unex-
pectedly upon the little piece of ground his father
owned, and had shot his father dead before his eyes
and his mother's, and then set fire to their poor hut,
all to steal the corn they had planted. He and his
mother fled, hiding in the fields and woods, anywhere
for safety, until they could find Emiliano Zapata, the
protector and avenger. The boy was only fifteen at
the time, but his father lay dead and his home was in
ruins. The Zapatistas gave him a gun. "With my
gun in hand and hatred in my heart, I killed and de-
stroyed wherever I could," he told me.

One day I had occasion to go up to Mexico City
with my daughter Vera. We were going on the

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military train, since regular trains were often attacked
in the mountains. As I stood looking at the sol-
diers who filled the first car and bristled on the roofs
and running boards of all the cars, and on the cow-
catcher, I wondered whether the sight of such an
escort aroused in me a feeling of security or of greater
trepidation. Just then a young colonel I knew came
up and proudly invited me to see some prisoners he
had captured.

Never shall I forget the sight of those poor wretches
standing tied together, not one uttering a word; look-
ing like the farmers they were, caught unprotected
in their milpas*

"The only way we can quiet down Morelos," ex-
plained the colonel, "is to ship out these Zapatistas.
If we break up families doing it well, our families
have lost their husbands and fathers, too. I tell you,
senora, when these warlike rebels find themselves a
thousand miles from home with nothing to eat and
no place to go, among people who speak a different
dialect, they will not be so brave!"

"Oh," I said, trembling with indignation, "how can
you be so cruel? How can you teach them to respect
the government if you are not better than they?"

The soldiers were hustling the poor wretches into
a cattle box car, pushing them in till there was not
even standing room. They boarded up the doors
and nailed them shut. Vera turned away and would
not look, but I had seen in the car an Indian who had

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 93

worked for me for four or five years, faithfully, and
I began to protest very bitterly.

"They will smother, Colonel Lugo, before they
reach their destination!" I cried, with a kind of pre-
sentiment for four or five in that car were later
found dead, among them Pepe, my servant.

The colonel shrugged and turned away. "Orders,"
he said briefly.

Down the way I saw the commander, General
Robles, inspecting the guard on the train. He lived
at my house, and a few days before, on my birthday,
he had commanded the military band to play in the
dawn, beneath my windows, the softly swelling
"Mananitas" the birthday serenade.

I rushed up to him. "Oh, General Robles," I said,
tears streaming down my face, "you don't know
what they're doing. Make them let those poor
people go."

To my horror, he smiled. "Now, now, senora"
he chided indulgently, patting my arm, "you must
not take it so hard. You are only a woman and you
do not understand these things. Why, I am trying
to clean up your beautiful Morelos for you. What
a nice place it will be once we get rid of the More-
lenses! If they resist me, I shall hang them like ear-
rings to the trees."

And being what they are, the people of Morelos
did resist his will to wrench them from their beloved
soil. The women cooled and reloaded the guns and
scoured the country for food for the fighting men,

94 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

and old people and young children endured the hard-
ships of their lot without complaint. The Zapatistas
were not an army; they were a people in arms.

Those of the rebels he caught, General Robles
strung up on the trees, where their companions could
see them, and the passengers on the trains that passed
that way. My daughter and I often saw the sicken-
ing sight of bodies swinging in the air. At that high
altitude they did not decompose, but dried up into
mummies, grotesque things with the toes hanging
straight down in death and hair and beard still grow-
ing, We thought at first we could not live among
such sights; but, as I look back, I realize that the
worst part of all was that in time we grew hardened
to them and they no longer bothered us.

The savage persecution by the Federals, who seemed
to have lost all sight of the fact that they too were
supposed to be Revolutionaries, champions of free-
dom and justice for all, turned the Zapatistas into
fighting demons. Our newspapers lashed on the
Federals with tales of atrocities committed by the
rebels. I think this was largely propaganda, but if
there was some truth in the tales, the acts were
retaliation for the cruelty of the Federals, who should
have known better, and if I had been one of those
ignorant, hounded people, I think I should have acted
as they did.

The rebel forces continued to grow, swelled by
deserters from the government ranks, and Zapata
raided to the very edge of the town. We were safe in

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 95

the Bella Vista only because it was located in the very
heart of the town. Willie Nevin's mother had long
been begging him to leave Cuernavaca, and he now
decided to accede to her wish. I was left without
a manager, which in itself was not so serious, as good-
ness knows I had little enough business in the hotel.
I had shut down the tearoom altogether, the militares
preferring stronger drinks than tea, and the pottery
factory had been abandoned. Nevertheless, there
had been a certain comfort in knowing that a man
of my own people was close at hand.

It was then that I began to appreciate the man that
Chacon was. Hitherto- 1 had regarded him more or
less as a scapegrace one could n't help liking. Now
Federico constituted himself the protector of Vera
and myself because, he said, I reminded him of his
own mother; and I began to understand as never be-
fore that beneath his incorrigible gayety there was a
steady loyalty and devotion that was not common.
Nothing that would reassure us was too much trouble
for him, but he carried off his little acts of kind-
ness with a brusque nonchalance that was in itself
a tonic.

One night when my drawing-room was full of
people, we heard the sound of heavy firing alarmingly
close, on the edge of the town. Chacon received
orders to start out with his men at once, and the
other officers likewise prepared to join their troops.
Before he left, Federico came to me hurriedly and
said, "Mother," he always called me "Mother" in

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English, not Spanish like the others, "Mother, play
the piano and keep the women quiet; and remember,
if we are driven back, wait for me, and I will take
you and Vera to safety."

I sat down at the piano and played then, but I
could see that my audience was only half listening.
Their ears were strained to catch the crack of rifle
fire that sounded when my swelling chords sank to
pianissimo. Nearly all the men had gone to fight,
and what I saw before me was a group of women,
forlorn and frightened-looking. One superb bru-
nette, however, stood at the window and looked down
the street, dramatically fingering the crucifix she
wore about her neck. "Dona Luz is going to be
tragic!" I thought. "She will upset the few who
still are calm, and throw the others into a panic*" I
knew I had to think quickly.

"Heavens, ladies," I rallied them, "how dismal you
look! Your men have only gone to fight; one would
think they were courting other girls! Come, let
us try to be gay by ourselves, or they will find out
how much we miss them. . . . Senora Garcia, Se-
fiorita Mendoza," I was dragooning the timidest,
"come sing for us! Dona Luz, we need your rich
contralto."

As the sound of shooting grew louder, I demanded
more spirit of my chorus. The songs I played grew
"louder and funnier," as the Americans say. Finally
I swung into the joyous "Jarabe Tapatio," and the
rollicking strains of the national dance brought all

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 97

of them out on the floor in an impromptu, helter-
skelter bade (dance).

All the while I was thinking that if Federico lived,
he would come back for Vera and me and take us to
safety, no matter how difficult that might be. But
thanks to God's goodness, it was the enemy that was
driven back after three hours of hard fighting.

Another day, when there was fighting on the out-
skirts of the town, the Zapatistas galloped past my
windows shouting their bloodcurdling cry "Mueran
los gacfoipines!" (Death to the Spaniards) a class
to them, as much as a nationality, whom they held
responsible for their suffering.

Chacon was out with his troops and I did not know
where to turn. I called a servant, Julio, who looked
braver than the rest, and placed him close to my
daughter and me with a pistol in his hand. I told
him to fire if the enemy came, while Vera and I ran
out the back way.

To our great relief, however, the Zapatistas did
not return. When Federico came home I told him
how frightened I had been, but what presence of
mind I had shown. I brought out the pistol I had
found for Julio to use in our defense. Federico pre-
tended to be much impressed and stretched out his
hand for the pistol, which he had seen before. His
laughter was good to hear when he showed me that
it was empty.

But after that, I kept the pistol loaded.

CHAPTER VI

our relief, a new commander, General Angeles,
was sent to us. As I look back, the months of his
command mark an interlude when something of the
old peace returned briefly to Cuernavaca before our
little world crashed about our ears. General Felipe
Angeles was slender and rather tall, not very dark,
more of the paleness of the better class of Mexican,
with delicate features and the kindest eyes I think I
have ever seen in any man. He called himself an
Indian, laughingly, but he was decidedly the type
the Mexicans call indio triste (sad Indian) . Another
great attraction was his charming voice and manners.
From the moment General Angeles was introduced
to me, I felt in him a quality that I had missed in his
predecessors, a quality of mercy and a willingness to
understand. I liked him, even before I heard through
the junior officers that he would not tolerate any
cruelty or injustice on the part of his soldiers* I had
no idea that our casual conversations were the begin-
ning of a friendship for him and his family that

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 99

would draw me into the current of the Revolution.

The Zapatistas, finding they were no longer so
harshly pressed, left off their desperate raiding into
the town. There was still fighting outside, but not
so much of it as before; and, what there was, less bit-
ter and violent.

One day when General Angeles and I were speak-
ing of the suffering of the poor Indians against whom
he was campaigning, he said to me with a very sad
face, "Seiiora King, I am a general, but I am only an
Indian." He was indeed an Indian and looked it
a fine-looking man of his type, educated in France.
"I would give anything," he said earnestly, *'to show
these people the mistake they are making. President
Madero is doing his best for them, but he needs coop-
eration. The conservatives, using all the tricks of
politics, fight him at every step, and how can he force
through his reforms if the people he wants to help
will not back him?"

For Angeles never forgot that Zapata and Madero
had once worked together for the common goal
liberty, justice, and decent living conditions for the
masses; and he saw it for the tragedy it was that their
followers, Revolutionaries all, had turned their guns
on one another. He was criticized in some quarters
for not setting out to annihilate Zapata, as he was
known to be a strong commander, the best artillery-
man in Mexico and the inventor of a powerful can-
non. Such comments always made me angry, for I
felt that his attitude showed a deeper and more dis-

100 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

cerning loyalty to President Madero and what he
stood for.

One morning he came to me, looking very happy,
and said, "Oh, Senora King, my wife and her sister
and two of my sons are coming down to Cuernavaca
for a little visit. They will arrive this afternoon,
but it will be impossible for me to meet the train.
Would you be so kind as to receive them for me?"

My carriage was just about to drive off to the sta-
tion when my cantinero rushed out, looking very agi-
tated, and stopped the coachman. I got out quickly,
and he told us that word had just come that the train
with Senora Angeles and her party on it had been
attacked in the mountains. General Angeles left at
once with a body of troops on a special military train,
with the rest of us wondering anxiously whether he
would arrive in time to save his wife and children, or
whether they would be carried off by the enemy.

What a relief and joy it was to us when we saw
the whole party arriving at our door an hour or two
later! The general's usually sober face was beaming.
Poor Senora Angeles and her sister were in rather bat-
tered condition, their long traveling dresses torn and
muddy, but apparently safe and sound, and the two
little fellows, twins they were, were strutting with
importance.

Senora Angeles was a woman who would have at-
tracted attention in any country by her grace and
beauty. Her courage and a sweet gayety of manner

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 101

that had not deserted her even under these circum-
stances drew me to her at once. She spoke English
very well and, tired and shaken as she must have felt,
she would not go upstairs until she had given me a
spirited account of their adventure. The general,
it seemed, had arrived just in time.

"When Senora Angeles and her sister felt the train
suddenly stop and heard the first shots fired in front,
near the engine, they had guessed at once what was
happening. Each had been quick to seize one of the
little boys by the hand and run to the back end of the
train before the enemy could force their way through.
They jumped off and, under cover of the fighting that
was going on up front, made their way to a thicket
and hid there in the brush until they saw a chance to
run with safety in the direction of Cuernavaca.
After running and hiding for some distance in this
manner, they at last saw the relief train nearing,
which frightened the Zapatistas away, and knew they
were saved.

"Never have I played hide and seek in the bushes
that way since I was a little girl," finished Senora
Angeles, looking ruefully at her skirt, torn by bram-
bles. "But I cannot run so fast any more, and sister
is not so quick either!"

She stayed with us for a month, and a deep friend-
ship sprang up between her and myself. Her father
was a German, and the sister took after him, being
fair and calm in manner; but Senora Angeles was all

102 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Mexican, like their mother, with silky, curly black

hair and glorious dark eyes.

Her first greeting to me in the morning would be,
"Oh, Mrs. King, what can we do to-day? I feel we
should be gay and not even think of troubles."

Then we would go for tea in the romantic Borda
Gardens, or for horseback rides and picnics in the
country but only a little way beyond the outskirts
of the town, as General Angeles would on no account
permit us to go far away from him. He was not go-
ing to have his precious wife fall into the hands of the
Zapatistas! Her presence had made a great change
in him, and I was glad to see his serious and thoughtful
expression lightened.

Senora Angeles and I were sitting quietly in a shady
corner of the patio one afternoon, listening to the
dropping of the water in the fountain, and watching
the glistening whir of the humming birds as they
stabbed at the roses with their long slender beaks.
Suddenly the twins came tearing in, very excited,
followed by their smiling nurse.

"Mira, mamacita! Mira!" they shrieked. They
had a brand-new ball covered in leather pied in seg-
ments of red and yellow, which one of the officers
had brought them from Mexico City.

"Que bueno!" (How nice), said their mother,
taking the ball and admiring it. f( Sabeis agarrarla?"
(Do you know how to catch?) and she tossed it
gayly. The boys scrambled for the bright ball and
one of them came rushing back with it.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 103

After a while the nurse broke up the hilarious
three-cornered game and took the boys off for their
walk.

Senora Angeles lay back in her big chair shaking
with laughter, and brushed back a loosened tendril
of hair from her damp forehead. "See, Senora King!
They think they are walking just like their father!
My sweet, funny babies." Then swiftly her mood
changed. She said softly almost to herself, "Oh, I
do love my children, and my family but not like
Felipe. ... If I seem to you a giddy woman, Senora
King, it is because always I am afraid for him. If
anything should happen to Felipe, I think I could not
live." Without moving her quiet body, she sud-
denly turned her head half around so that her cheek
lay against the braided chair back, and looked at me
searchingly out of enormous eyes. "Do you think,
amiguita, that if something should happen to
Felipe, God would make me go on living without
him?"

This eerie question put by my usually merry friend
was too much for me. I told her sternly that she
must not think of such dreadful things or she would
have us all upset; and she never spoke of the matter
again. But her question was often in my mind as I
watched her with her husband, and I had a premoni-
tion that I should live to see it answered.

As the time of her visit drew to a close, we deter-
mined to end it in one last burst of gayety. She felt
and I felt that it was up to us women to make life as

104 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

pleasant and gracious as possible for the poor fellows
who went out to fight, and sometimes to die, that we
might be safe.

I shall never forget the dance we gave in the the-
atre, the biggest place we could find in Cuernavaca.
As the time was just before Christmas, we made it a
Posada party. Originally the Posada parties, given
during the ten days before Christmas, were religious
in character, representing the festivity in the inns of
Bethlehem, filled to the rafters, when Mary and Jo-
seph came to seek lodging for themselves and the
coming Christ child. In the small towns the images
of the holy family were always brought in during the
course of the evening; but in the cities the Posadas
are now merely holiday parties, and a social event
much looked forward to by the young.

Seiiora Angeles was like a child in her enjoyment
of the preparations. She and my schoolgirl daugh-
ter Vera planned all the details, and did not leave the
general and myself much to say about the party. It
is a custom at the Posada feasts to pass trays filled
with presents, which are sometimes very handsome
and costly and at other times quite simple and inex-
pensive. Senora Angeles and Vera made a mysterious
trip to Mexico City, from which they returned laden
with decorations and favors they had bought in a
Japanese shop. When they were through, the floor
of the old theatre, which had been cleared for danc-
ing, was softly lit by Japanese lanterns; and colorful
umbrellas, with lights behind them, flaunted them-

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 105

selves in the nooks and corners. As each girl arrived,
she was given a fan to flirt with. Never shall I for-
get the enjoyment of my friend and my daughter as
they gave away the little gifts they had bought!

They had asked the general and me to decorate the
stage for the buffet supper. This was not very diffi-
cult for us, as the soldiers did the actual work, but
when they had finished the supper tables were lovely,
set in a bower of tropical plants and vivid flowers, the
free gift of our beautiful country, with hundreds
of tiny electric lights twinkling in the foliage. Four
of my waiters, looking very smart in their black
jackets and the famous white gloves, stood behind
them, ready to serve the guests. The military band
played the music for the dancing; a fine band, doing
their best for the general and his lovely, gentle wife,
pouring out the slow rhythm and intricate sweetness
of danzas and two-steps then in vogue as if they had
never played anything harsher.

Such a dance, I think, had never in those days been
given in Cuernavaca, and the girls of the town were
starry-eyed. That happy night, when all thought of
war was pushed outside the circle of light, and sol-
diers and townspeople yielded to joy!

After Senora Angeles left, we grew more sober
again. I was not afraid of the Zapatistas with Gen-
eral Angeles protecting us, but the reports that all was
not well in Mexico City began to grow more insistent.
There had always been a faction openly hostile to Ma-
dero, and he had made the mistake of allowing a num-

106 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

ber of people appointed by Diaz to retain their posts.
The success of his Revolution, moreover, had attracted
the unscrupulous and self -seeking; and many reac-
tionaries hypocritically disguised as liberals had
climbed on the band wagon hoping to get control of
the government. Mr. Madero and his original group
of idealists were having to contend with the duplicity
of people much better versed in politics than them-
selves. As a result Madero was able to make little
progress with his reforms, and the masses, so often
betrayed before, were beginning to doubt his will to
help them. This saddened Angeles, who was devoted
to the president.

"He is such a good man, Mrs. King/* he would tell
me earnestly. "Too good, perhaps, for the rest of
us. He does not understand how evil and deceitful
men can be."

Angeles himself was doing all he could to make
terms with the outlaw Zapata and to induce him to
return to the support of the president. Fantastic
rumors of the disloyalty of prominent men in the gov-
ernment itself began to reach us in Cuernavaca,
Most of these rumors were so far-fetched that we gave
them little credence. "Well, what has come out of
the factory, now?" was our cynical question when a
newcomer arrived from Mexico City.

One Sunday afternoon, as I was coming down my
staircase, I was met by a very smart-looking officer,
a stranger to me, who addressed me in perfect Eng-
lish. He asked if I was Mrs. King, and upon

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 107

learning that I was, told me that President Madero
was coming down to Cuernavaca for a night, and he
wished to make arrangements for him and his party
to stay at the Bella Vista. I was quite surprised.
President Madero had often come down to Cuer-
navaca before, and nearly always when he was in town
he came over with Mrs. Madero to see me. But he
had never stopped at the Bella Vista, always at the
house of his friend, Mr. Carreon.

My surprise must have shown in my face, for the
officer said frankly, "Mrs. King, the president must
not stay in a private house. His life is in danger.
We want you to take him under the protection of
your roof and the British flag while he is in Cuer-

navaca."

I knew then that matters were more serious than
I had believed, if the president of the republic needed
the protection of a foreign flag.

At first I would not consent to take him in. I did
not feel that I, as a private citizen of Great Britain,
could assume such responsibility. I liked Mr. Madero
and simple, unaffected Mrs. Madero, but I was re-
luctant to be drawn into the politics of a country in
which I was a foreigner. Moreover, it seemed very
likely to me that the devotion of this officer to his
friend the president had caused him to exaggerate
the danger to Mr. Madero-

"Oh, Mrs. King," the man said finally, "General
Angeles sent me to you and said he knew you would
do all you could to help us."

108 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

When he said that Angeles had sent him, I knew
the danger to the president must be real. I was now
rather frightened. But I was so fond of Senora
Angeles and had such respect for the general that
I felt I could not let him down. I gave my con-
sent.

The British flag was run up over the Bella Vista
and a strong guard of soldiers surrounded the house
in preparation for our distinguished visitor. More
soldiers were stationed inside and no one was allowed
to pass in or out without permission. None of my
servants was to be permitted to approach the presi-
dent with the exception of my Indian boy and my
Chinese cook, in both of whom I had perfect confi-
dence. I was so nervous that I could hardly keep
out of the kitchen. I had given the cook the most
minute orders about the preparation of the president's
food, that everything must be cooked in oil or he
could not eat it, and I had warned him repeatedly that
he must not under any circumstances permit any of
the servants to go near the cooking utensils. I was
afraid that one of them might take a bribe, and I was
in mortal fear that someone would poison poor Mr.
Madero under my roof.

The president and his party arrived at the Bella
Vista late Tuesday afternoon. As he came in, fol-
lowed by several officers, among them Felipe Angeles,
who all looked very grave, I saw that Mr. Madero
too seemed unhappy and depressed, quite unlike his
usual self. When he saw me, he spoke with something
of his old bright cheerfulness.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 109

"Oh, Mrs. King, I 'm so hungry. Have you some-
thing good for dinner?"

I answered as lightly as I could, but my heart was
heavy. At the first opportunity I drew Angeles
aside and asked him what had happened. Then he
told me about the terrible insurrection that had
broken out in Mexico City early Sunday morning,
February 9. Diaz adherents, leagued with some of
Madero's own officers, had attempted to surprise and
capture the National Palace. Their attempt had
failed, thanks to the presence of mind and courage
of the commander in chief inside; but in the shock
of alarm, not knowing whom they could trust, the
Federals had turned the rapid-firing guns of the
Palace in every direction over the Zocalo, the great
plaza on which the Palace fronts, and hundreds of
innocent people who were just leaving the Cathedral
after early Mass had been mown down by the bullets.
The rebels had succeeded in seizing the armory and
ammunition stores and had turned a merciless fusillade
against the public buildings and private houses of the
city in an effort to force the government to terms.
Sunday night and Monday had passed quietly, but
President Madero realized that he did not have enough
troops to protect him, and that at any moment new
traitors might be uncovered in the ranks still counted
loyal. His brave and devoted commander in chief
had been terribly wounded in the fighting. He had
then determined to come to Cuernavaca to get Gen-
eral Angeles and his troops, on whom he knew he
could rely.

110 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

"And so," finished Angeles, "we go to join Huerta,
the new commander in chief."

"Huerta!" I said, and the sound of the name was
like a bell tolling. I had a remembrance of Huerta's
face when he returned from his ill-fated campaign
without his prisoner Zapata.

Angeles's eyes met mine, and he turned away.
While the president and his party were at dinner,
a servant came and told me that a sullen crowd was
forming outside in the plaza, murmuring against the
president, saying that he had not kept the promises he
had made to the people. The crowd grew larger and
larger and the indistinguishable murmur swelled.
There were hisses and cries of "Death to Madero!"
The president was talking to me in the drawing-
room when he heard these cries. He jumped up im-
mediately, saying, "Mrs. King, I must go out on the
balcony and speak to them,"

I begged him not to go and sent quickly for
General Angeles, who I thought would have more in-
fluence over him than I. Angeles came hurriedly
and would not hear of Madero addressing the crowd.
He finally persuaded the president to let him go and
talk to the people, which he did, and soon quieted
them down. No one knows the relief I felt when he
came in again to us and said that the people had dis-
persed and were going back to their homes. His
manner was very quiet and easy, as though the mat-
ter had been of no consequence, and as though he
had not risked his own life. Seeing the two men to-

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 111

gether there in my drawing-room, the soldier and his
frail-looking chief with the good face, it struck me
that in the love Angeles had for Madero there was
much of the protective feeling of a big boy for a lit-
tle boy who is in for it.

Angeles made one last effort to win back Zapata
to Madero, but without success. Zapata refused to
be drawn into the whirlpool of national affairs. He
said, in effect, "What has your Revolution accom-
plished? Mine gets results." Madero had made the
mistake of trying to fight the conservatives on their
own ground. Zapata, more astute, struck at the
wealth wherein their power lay, and so disarmed the
oppressive classes.

The president and his party left the next evening.
As he shook hands with me to say good-bye, I said,
"God bless you, Mr. Madero, I wish you all good for-
tune," but I was filled with foreboding.

Something of this must have shown in my face, for
Mr. Madero said, "Why, Mrs. King, of course I am
safe. I have all my troops with me." I tried to look
a little more cheerful as I bade farewell to Angeles.
The general asked me to have all his papers and be-
longings packed and taken care of for him. As I
gave him my promise, it occurred to me that this
meant he realized that he, as well as the president,
might never return to Cuernavaca.

And so, on the twelfth of February, the president
of Mexico left our town with about nine thousand
soldiers and we were left in the care of Colonel Garcia

112 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Lugo and some two hundred and fifty men mere
boys. We found out, however, that Angeles had
managed to send word to Zapata and also money,
which the Zapatistas always lacked, and Zapata had
promised that he would attack neither the president
on his return journey to Mexico City nor the men,
women, and little children left unguarded in Cuer-
navaca. This made us feel safe, for the time being at
least, as Zapata was always known to keep a promise.

Disconnected, contrary reports filtered in from
Mexico City. Fighting had begun again. All was
quiet. General Huerta, speaking for the govern-
ment, assured the country that the rebellion was well
in hand. Refugees cried out that the city ran blood.
There was a rumor that the president had resigned.
And then came the news that we had been dreading
but expecting:

"On the evening of February 22, the President and
Vice President of the Republic were accidentally
struck and killed by bullets during a street riot. . . .**

The news was given out by Victoriano Huerta,
presidente interino temporary president.

With a premonition that all would not be well with
us now in Cuernavaca, I went with my daughter to
Mexico City to ascertain the real state of affairs, and
to find out whether it would be safe for us to remain
at the Bella Vista.

CHAPTER VII

'HEN we reached the capital, I signaled a cab
and told the driver to take us at once to my brother-
in-law's house. I remember that he looked at me
rather oddly when I gave the address, but I paid no
attention to him. I was too shocked by the havoc
that had been wrought in the city to think of any-
thing else. Everywhere I saw houses with no glass in
the windows, the plaster pitted with bullets. As we
drove on there was increasing evidence of heavy can-
nonading. My brother-in-law's house had stood in
the direct line of fire, and when I saw what was left
of it I realized how terrible the fighting must have
been.

"Go at once to the suburb of San Angel," I told
the driver ** and hurry!" There to my great re-
lief we found my brother-in-law and his family all
safe and thankful to have escaped with their lives.
They told me about the ten terrible days that have
gone down in Mexican history as the Decena Trdgica
(the tragic ten days) which preceded the assassina-

114 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

tion of President Madero for assassination it was,
and no one had for a moment believed otherwise.

The insurrectionists had trained their guns on the
old Prison of Belen, a fortress built by the Spaniards,
and turned loose on the city its two thousand
prisoners, criminals of every type. The electric
wires were down. The city was in almost complete
darkness. At times this darkness was fearfully light-
ened by the funeral pyres of those who had been
killed in the streets. There was no burying anyone;
petroleum was sprinkled on the bodies and they were
burned where they lay. Armistice was given oc-
casionally for an hour or two a day, when cooks
were to be seen dodging bullets, hiding behind any
available shelter as they scurried about to find some-
thing to eat for their masters. It was during such an
armistice that my brother-in-law and his family had
managed to escape to San Angel.

The real circumstances of poor Mr. Madero's death
were not known, and contradictory stories were
whispered about. All that was sure was that, after
ten days of fighting, President Madero and Vice
President Pino Suarez had been made prisoners, along
with certain cabinet members and loyal military men,
among them Angeles. The luckless president and
vice president had finally been induced to sign their
resignations. The resignations were then hastily
forced through Congress, where only a handful of
Representatives showed the courage to stand up to
the conspirators and demand that the resignations be

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 115

offered properly in person. The same spineless Con-
gress had stood by while Victoriano Huerta was named
presidente interino until a new election could be
held.

As temporary president, it was Huerta's obligation
to see that Madero and Suarez, a man who had never
meddled in politics and who had accepted the vice
presidency only because of his loyalty to Madero, were
conducted safely out of the country. In spite of the
pressure of Madero's friends and relatives, Huerta
delayed the preparations for the departure. A kind
of reign of terror set in meanwhile, and summary un-
explained executions of Madero's brother and other
prominent members of his government prepared the
people of the city for the violent death of the presi-
dent.

Everyone about me was asking: "What will happen
now?"

"And Angeles," I said to my brother-in-law.
"What of him?"

"No one knows," he answered gravely. "He was
released from prison and disappeared. Perhaps he
is in hiding, and perhaps he is dead the victim
of another 'unofficial* execution."

I at once set about trying to find my friend. I was
anxious to assure myself of his safety and also to ask
his advice about staying in Cuernavaca.

The task I had set myself proved very difficult.
Angeles was in hiding for his life. With the city
full of Huerta's spies and snipers, who dropped un-

116 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

erring "stray" bullets from the house tops on his
enemies, Angeles was actually less safe at liberty
than he had been in prison, where there could be no
secret as to who ordered the executions. For this rea-
son, those of Angeles's friends who knew where he
was hidden pretended ignorance. Finally, by dint of
much patience and finesse, I found out what I needed
to know. I was brought to Angeles's hiding place
by a long, roundabout route to throw off anyone
who might have followed us, and to this day I can-
not say in what section of the city we were only
that I found the general and Mrs. Angeles in a small
house on a quiet street, somewhere near the outskirts
of the city. Never shall I forget the suffering on
Angeles's face when he peeped out at me from a
small barred window and made a sign that he wished
to speak to me. He looked years older than on the
day I had said good-bye to him in Cuernavaca several
weeks before,

He told me that he himself had been a prisoner with
the president and vice president in a small room over
one of the entrances to the National Palace. Here,
with inconceivable duplicity, Huerta had come to
visit President Madero, who at last called him by his
true name "traitor/* On the fatal evening of the
twenty-second, General Huerta's representatives had
come to "transfer Madero and Suarez to the peniten-
tiary, where they would be safer."

As they were leaving the room, the president
turned to Angeles and said, "Adids, my general, I shall

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 117

never see you again." They knew they were going
to their death.

Angeles listened to the sound of their footsteps
dying away, and waited. He tried to trace their
journey, step by step. From time to time he took
out his watch and looked at it. He was tormented,
he told me, by the thought, "I will not even know
when it happens or can it have happened al-
ready?"

Later, the jailers came and released him, without
explanation. He was not surprised to learn, in the
streets, that what he dreaded had come to pass. His
beloved chief was dead.

It was not until years afterward that I heard the
details of the shameful murder, from the lips of a
man I knew who was in the business of renting out
automobiles. Two of his cars had been hired that
evening, and one of the chauffeurs told him after-
ward how the president was put in one car and the
vice president in the other. Just as they reached a
lonely spot behind the penitentiary wall, an armed
group police, they were, as a matter of fact, in
disguise pretended to attack the party, firing into
the air. Madero was told by his guards to alight
quickly so as not to be injured. As soon as he stepped
out of the automobile, they shot him in the back of
the head and he fell mortally wounded. Pino Suarez,
understanding what had occurred, refused to alight,
but was forced out and likewise shot down.

"The treachery," said Angeles "that was what

118 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

took the heart out of a man. It is one thing, Senora
King, to face an enemy; but to look into the guns
of friends!" He got up and began to pace rest-
lessly up and down the room; and I saw in his strides
how confinement in that narrow house was wearing on
him, accustomed as he was to action. "Imagine if
you can, senora, the moment when I opened fire on
the Ciudadela and discovered that the focus of my
cannon had been secretly destroyed! And poor
Castillo and his men ordered by Huerta to the
corner of Balderas and Morelos, where he knew they
would be blown to pieces/*

Hoping to divert his bitter train of thought, I
turned the conversation to the seriousness of present
conditions in the city, homeless persons and shortage
of food. I was immediately sorry. He stopped in
his tracks, and I read in his lined face that I had con-
jured up memories of the misery and suffering, the
injury and death, of innocent persons caught in the
way of the fighting.

"God forgive us for what we have done to this
city, all of us!" said Angeles. "You, at least, senora >
know that I did my share only to save my beloved
chief. And now he lies dead, and Huerta Huerta!
sits in his place." He was striding again, faster
and faster, back and forth, shaken to the core.

"Oh," said Angeles, "if I had ten thousand men
and a few big guns! . . ."

Poor Senora Angeles had been watching his every
change of expression. Now she burst out, "If you

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 119

were only out of it all! Safe in Cuba or New York."
She was a ghost of herself, all eyes.

The general laid his hand on her arm very gently,
and looked at her. She faced him for a moment in
a kind of desperation, then turned away.

"The snipers will not get me this time," said the
general calmly. "I shall live to come back!"

I had been warned not to stay long at the house lest
I draw suspicion upon it, and I prepared to leave.
As we shook hands the general looked at me very
seriously and said earnestly:

"Seiiora King, please do not stay in the city. Take
Vera and go back to Cuernavaca. If it is known
you are in the city you are probably being watched,
for Huerta knows of your friendship for us and that
you gave protection to Don Francisco Madero."

"But I am a foreigner," I said, startled.

"Even so . . ." said my friend.

Senora Angeles followed me to the door, so white
and woebegone that my heart ached for her. She
did not say a word, just put her arms around me and
wept the tears she would not shed before her husband.

Angeles's advice that Vera and I return to Cuer-
navaca disturbed me considerably, for I knew it was
only given for our good. We left the city at the
first opportunity.

On reaching home, I found a kind of uneasiness
pervading Cuernavaca. As yet there was nothing
on which one could put a finger. The change of
government had meant a new commander, that was

120 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

all. The loyalty of the soldiers was always only to
their immediate chief, and they were little concerned
with anyone so remote as a president. The common
people of the town called soldiers of all factions, even
the Zapatistas, tf el gobierno" and their attitude
toward them was one of resignation mingled with
contempt.

The substantial people of the town, intelligent and
informed, were deeply shocked by Madero's assassina-
tion, and talking hopefully to keep up their courage.
Huerta, perhaps, would be able to maintain a stable
government where the idealistic but impractical
Madero had failed. Now that he was firmly en-
trenched as president, Huerta could afford to leave
off the bloody practices which had brought him into
power. We quoted to one another the remark Por-
firio Diaz was said to have made when Huerta was
escorting the fugitive dictator and his wife aboard
the Ipiranga: "There is the man who will be able to
control my people."

All who could were leaving Cuernavaca. For-
eigners with sufficient income to live elsewhere moved
on. The British and American companies began to
recall their people. I could not leave because every-
thing I had was tied up in the Bella Vista.

It was a strange campaign. Anyone coming into
town would have thought we were enjoying the most
peaceful days Mexico had ever known. There was
music in the plaza, feasting in the palace of the
governor, plays and dancing in the theatres.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 121

One evening Federico Chacon invited Vera and
me to go to the movies. We accepted gladly, being
very fond of the movies. But, "Heavens," I thought,
"since when has Federico developed a taste for such
tame diversions! 5 '

The picture was a noted one, Sangre de Hermanos
(Blood of Brothers), and had a great vogue. Far
from surfeiting us all with bloodshed, the excite-
ment of the times seemed to rouse a craving for still
stronger stimuli. What was our surprise, in the
midst of the picture, to see suddenly flashed upon the
screen Federico himself at the head of his troops,
swinging his sword around his head as he led a charge!

In the outlying country there were fierce en-
counters between the Federal forces and the Zapatis-
tas. The constant change of commanders in Cuer-
navaca suggested that the Zapatistas were gaining
ground and that the perpetually encouraging stories
printed in the newspapers were not true. Since
Huerta had usurped the presidency by foul means,
people flocked to Zapata. He was gaining not only
fighting men, but also keen and well-informed ad-
visers; for I know now that from this time on promi-
nent men in Mexico City secretly gave him informa-
tion, because they hated Huerta.

Those like myself who dared not desert their in-
terests began to think of ways to escape if the worst
came to the worst. Not only valuable thoroughbred
horses, like those of Mr. Carreon which had run
away with me so ingloriously, were kept hidden up-

122 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

stairs in bedrooms, but nags and mules as well. To-
day I often laugh when I pass these large old two-
story houses and think how the animals looked nod-
ding and wagging their heads from the upper windows
at the passers-by, no doubt wondering what it all
meant and having a much better time than their
masters living downstairs in continual fear of having
to bolt at any moment on their backs.

Personally, I could not feel that my life was in
danger or that anyone would do me deliberate harm.
The Zapatistas had treated me very well when they
occupied the town four years before. I had always
dealt fairly with the Indians and felt that I had their
respect the affection, even, of those of them who
had worked for me. And of course the thought
that underlay all my confidence was: I am an English-
woman; I am outside this Revolution. My worry
was that in the course of the fighting accidental
damage might be done to my property. It was
hardly likely that my daughter and I would ex-
perience any unpleasantness, no matter what hap-
pened. At the same time, I realized that times were
not normal and it was well to avoid unnecessary risk.

The gayety in Cuernavaca was rapidly rising to
the pitch of hysteria. It hinted, too clearly for com-
fort, "To-morrow we die." I felt I must know the
real situation, and there was no one in our town who
could or would tell me how matters stood. There
was only one person I knew who could speak with
authority on these things.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 123

Friend of Angeles or not, and hostess to Madero,
I determined to stand on my rights as an English-
woman: I would go to President Huerta himself,
the man who had eaten ciruelas with me, and ask
if I and my property were safe in Cuernavaca.

CHAPTER VIII

I reached Mexico City I cast about for
the best approach to Huerta, who had once been my
friend, but who might now be my enemy. This
was not easy, for the murder of Madero had aroused
the whole country to tremendous indignation, and all
decent people repudiated Huerta. From day to day
his reputation grew worse. He drank incessantly.
Senators, deputies, anyone in office who dared to say
a word against him was doomed to death. All who
were not bound to Huerta by fear or by hope of gain
avoided him.

One afternoon I went downtown with two or three
of my friends to a very fashionable tearoom called
"El Globo." There I was taken aback to see Presi-
dent Huerta himself, sitting with a group of gold-
braided officers, taking his "tea" which was, as
everyone knew, brandy in a cup.

He saw me standing in the doorway, and instantly
got up and started toward me. In a moment he had
given me so quickly there was no possibility of

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 125

warding it off the famous abrazo (embrace) com-
mon in Mexico among those who esteem each other
highly. It was rather awful for me and quite aston-
ishing to my friends and to the staff officers of the
president, who could not understand this demonstra-
tion on the part of their chief executive.

If I was startled, however, I was also relieved.
This excessively cordial greeting certainly paved the
way for my question, and I asked President Huerta
whether it would be safe for me to remain in Cuer-
navaca and look after my financial interests, or
whether I had better try to leave. He assured me
in a quiet and courteous manner that I could return
to Cuernavaca without the least fear; that every-
where in Mexico there would soon be peace and
prosperity.

I believed him when he spoke, ^for he had always a
kind of authority that had nothing to do with his
position, but was an attribute of the man himself.
In spite of his drinking he was looking very well.
Power and dignity became him, and he seemed to
thrive on the strife that had been his portion since
he took office. I felt I had been foolish to think
even for a moment that Huerta might misconstrue
my personal friendship for Madero and Angeles as
meddling in the politics of the country. Whatever
else he was, Huerta was not petty.

As we chatted, I had a feeling that I was two-
faced to be bantering with the man who had brought
horror and misery to my friends and to the whole

126 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

nation. And yet, met this way in the tearoom,
Huerta simply did not seem to me the bloody presi-
dent I despised for his treachery, but just the general
who had lived in my house.

After I left him, I no longer felt as secure in his
assurances of peace and prosperity for Mexico. Away
from his dominating presence I realized fully the
gravity of the obstacles which confronted him.
Even if he were able to control his enemies inside
the country, Huerta had made powerful enemies out-
side; notably, the President of the United States of
America, Woodrow Wilson, and President Wilson
refused to recognize the administration of a man
who had risen to the highest position in Mexico by
a crime.

Trusting to Providence rather than to any re-
assurance I had received in Mexico City, I returned to
Cuernavaca. How sad my Bella Vista looked to me
with its air of Colonial dignity and its bright, smart
furnishings, and no guests to enjoy it but military
men on campaign! I wondered how long it would
be before it was again full of care- free vacationers.

Off and on I puzzled a good deal over the em-
brace Huerta had given me. There was no doubt
that he had been genuinely glad to see me, and yet
his extreme cordiality seemed out of all proportion
to the casual friendliness he had shown in Cuernavaca.
This was the more strange because, in the interval,
he had risen to the highest place in the land. And
then I realized quite suddenly that, whether he knew

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 127

it or not, and I think at that time he would have
scoffed at the idea, the man was lonely. He was
beginning to experience the isolation of the tyrant,
who dares not trust anyone.

We in Cuernavaca found ourselves more and more
shut off from the outside world. The telegraph
wires were down and the continual destruction of
sections of the railroad track interrupted the running
of the trains while the track was being mended.
Newspapers and magazines seldom reached us. We
were astonished to hear that on the twenty-first of
April, 1914, a United States warship had entered
the port of Vera Cruz. The news of this "interven-
tion by the United States'* was given out officially
from the governor's palace.

Cuernavaca seethed with excitement. "Interven-
tion by the United States" was a favorite terror held
up before the untaught classes by certain elements
in Mexico who sought to incite the people to hate
the United States. At the same time these elements
were working in the United States to arouse animosity
against Mexico. Their hope was to precipitate an
armed conflict between the two republics which
would serve their own selfish purposes. The clamor
of these interested groups, added to the evil reputation
of President Huerta, had succeeded to the extent
of bringing the warship into the port of Vera Cruz.
The poorer classes in Mexico, not knowing they were
being used as tools, were filled with anger. They
were quick to believe that the great republic to the

128 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

north was going to swallow them up and take every-
thing they had. Resentment had been smoldering
in Cuernavaca against Huerta's government because
it had not brought peace. The landing of the
United States marines turned the people's wrath
away from their own officials, and it flared out full
force against the United States. "Abajo los gringos!' 9
was the cry "Down with the gringos (Ameri-
cans)!"

In one part of Cuernavaca there were many beauti-
ful chalets, or bungalows, as the Americans called
them, and a large hotel in mission style, all built by
an American company. Word came to me that the
townspeople had set fire to the hotel, which burned
to the ground, and were doing as much damage as
they could to the other buildings in this quarter.
The rioting spread through the town, and the crowd
vented its indignation on everything it could lay
hold of which pertained to the United States.

I was sitting on the verandah of the Bella Vista
with my daughter when the rabble came storming
into the plaza with a big American flag that had
been taken from one of the buildings of the colony.
They threw the flag to the ground directly in front
of my house and trampled on it and insulted it be-
fore our eyes. I understood their feeling and knew
I should have acted just as they did if I had been as
ignorant of the causes behind the happenings. But
I was not ignorant. And even though I was not an
American, I could not bear to see a nation's standard

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 129

so dishonored. I started to run to the rescue o the
American flag.

A colonel who had been sitting near us jumped up
and put his hand on my arm. "Do not take one step
forward, Seiiora King!" he said with authority. "It
is a mob. They might do anything. You and your
daughter must go into the house at once!"

But the crowd had already seen my movement and,
before we could enter, began to throw stones. The
colonel pushed Vera and me behind a pillar and
jumped on a chair. From this rostrum he addressed
the people, telling them that such violent action
against two harmless women would do their cause
no good, and also telling them that I was an English-
woman, not an American.

They at once ceased their hostilities toward us.
"Viva Mexico!" they shouted, and before they
streamed on they added, with Mexican courtesy,
ff Viva la inglesa (Englishwoman) !"

Although foreigners in many parts of the country
suffered because of the landing of the United States
marines, it should be said on behalf of the Mexicans
that, considering the provocation they were endur-
ing, they treated all foreigners very well at this
critical time. If a few foreigners were killed in
isolated places, it was usually because they had ex-
asperated the Mexicans by unjust words or foolish
actions.

It was soon understood throughout Mexico that
the American marines had no intention of taking their

130 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

country or anything else that belonged to the Mexi-
cans. Later on, when I went to Vera Cruz, I saw
how the marines had worked to make a healthful sea-
port of the place where before it had been difficult
to live because of fevers, mosquitoes, and general
unsanitary conditions. I found that the poor among
the Mexicans who had actually worked with them had
learned to love the American boys, muchachos, as
they call them, and this pleased me. I am always
glad to note how much better informed the people
of both republics are nowadays about each other,
and to see the friendly flow of visitors back and forth;
for it seems to me that these intimate contacts be-
tween private citizens are the safeguard of both
nations against the intrigue of those selfish elements
who, even to-day, are desirous of creating friction.
Foreigners in Cuernavaca had no further trouble
because of the occupation of Vera Cruz. But we
did suffer more and more from the bad ruling of
the military governors sent to us, and from the raids
of the Zapatistas all about the town. Commander
followed commander in rapid succession, but none
was able to put down Zapata and his untrained
followers. The campaign was pushed with a cruelty
as stupid as it was heartless. The cruelties of military
officers sent out as representatives of a Revolutionary
government which claimed to be of, by, and for the
people drove the Indians by thousands to Zapata,
and drove the Zapatistas to retaliate with barbarities
of their own. The government made every effort to

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 131

paint the Zapatistas as monsters and so whip up feel-
ing against them; but even at that time, when we
lived in constant danger from them, we realized
that these wild men had a spirit our men lacked. For
good or evil, they were united by a passionate faith
in their leader Zapata, and Zapata followed a vision
land and liberty for his people and let nothing
stand in his way. There was no treachery among
the Zapatistas, no money or the love of it, and no
self-seeking. Call them fanatics, if you will but
they made our Federals look shabby. There were
certainly many men among the Federals who sincerely
desired peace and better conditions. But the promi-
nence in Huerta's government of unscrupulous men,
with the president heading the list, brought their
efforts to nothing. We were all disheartened.

Many a night Vera and I were wakened by the
roar of the cannon that had been mounted on a
little hill just outside the town. That was the signal
to rise and dress quickly. The handful of foreigners
who still remained in Cuernavaca prepared to leave,
and I began to feel very much alone. Before, when
times were bad, we had had Captain Chacon to pro-
tect us and jolly us out of our fears. But Chacon and
his company were no longer in Cuernavaca; he and
his men had been ordered to Tres Marias, high in the
mountains.

Each of my friends who left urged me to leave too.
I should have dearly liked to go, but could not afford
to. I felt that my presence gave a kind of protection

132 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

to the Bella Vista a constant reminder that the
property was owned by a British citizen. In a way,
too, it seemed easier to me to know what was hap-
pening than to be worrying blindly.

Strange as it seems now, even at this time I still
looked on the Revolution as a temporary interruption
of our normal life. I was constantly looking forward
to the day when order would be restored and the
travelers who had been frightened away from our
troubled valley would return to the Bella Vista. One
of my principal concerns was lest the spurred boots of
the militares mar the mosaic floor of my drawing-
room! These four years of Revolution had been
years of excitement for me, but they had not been
good for my business ambitions.

I used to turn over the leaves of the guest book,
scarcely used any more, recalling the pleasant people
whose names were written there. The book is gone
now, destroyed in the fury of the Revolution, but
a few of the names come back to me: my first friends,
the Harmons of New York; Mr. and Mrs. Ogden
Mills, who had not been married very long; the
Guggenheims; General Miles; Jenny Lind's son,
Major Goldschmidt, and his wife, and the Major's
sister, Mrs. Maude, the mother of Cyril Maude the
actor; Ravel and Mary Knight Wood, the composers.

I remember particularly the Chinese Minister and
his wife, and their two doll-like little girls, whose
costumes and tiny bandaged feet were a great wonder
to the people of Cuernavaca. Almost all of the

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 13f

Mexican gentlemen who were prominent in the
Revolution had stayed at the Bella Vista at one time
or another, as well as the distinguished foreigners
who visited the country. As I look back, it seems
to me that all the important and talented and charm-
ing figures of the epoch that was just closing had
lingered under my roof.

When I had been poring over the guest-book, I
would go off to the privacy of my own sitting room
and strum on my piano. While the officers down-
stairs quarreled over their card game, I would lose
myself in dreams.

My illusion was rudely shattered when the military
governor presented himself one evening and told my
daughter and me to protect ourselves. We had never
before feared insult or injury. We had always had,
and for that matter were still receiving, kindness
and consideration from everyone about us. This
was the first hint the authorities had ever given that
they themselves doubted their ability to protect us.
On the twenty-eighth of April the governor informed
us that he could no longer be responsible for our
safety, and urged us to leave the town. The few
Americans who remained were positively ordered out
not permitted to stay on any pretext. I was now
entirely without support and felt I had no choice
but to leave.

The news of the official warning to foreigners
spread alarm through the whole town. The people
of Cuernavaca recognized it as a confession that the

136 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Federals were not so sure of their ability to keep
the Zapatistas out of Cuernavaca as they had led us
to believe. I was planning to leave my business af-
fairs in the hands of my cantinero (barkeeper) and his
assistant, who had helped with the management of the
hotel since Willie Nevin left me two years before.
At the last minute, however, both men became
frightened and left. I was obliged to put my affairs
in the hands of a young man about whom I knew
nothing, while my daughter and I left hurriedly on
the military train for Mexico City.

What a trip that was! Vera and I were put in
the caboose, along with Mrs. Hall, the American who
owned the Morelos Hotel, and some of the towns-
people, who were carrying away their belongings as
best they could, in baskets and bundles. One poor
woman clutched a hen. There we all sat on our
valises, for there was nowhere else to sit, a doleful lot,
but thankful to have got on the crowded train at
all. A host of soldiers was aboard. Quick-firing
guns were mounted on the roofs of the cars and near
the engines. We had three engines, two in front and
one in the middle, for our train was very long and
heavy and must pull us to an altitude of 10,000 feet
before we could begin to descend into the Valley of
Mexico on the other side of the mountain ridge.

Our nerves were strained and tense as the train
wound slowly up the steep curves. Just when we
were beginning to relax and to feel that we were
safe from attack, the shots started. Bang . . v bang

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 137

. . . bullets flew . . . down went the soldiers to
fight. The little quick-firing guns on top of the
cars began to crack away merrily. It was all over in
a short time, for our well-armed train and the prompt
action of our soldiery were too much for the enemy.
The train creaked on again, but always cautiously.
Our legs grew stiff from sitting, cramped, on the
valises. The trip seemed interminable.

I talked fitfully with Mrs. Hall. She was sunk
in despair. "Wiped out/* she said, "after the years
I worked to build it up! I can't begin again, Mrs.
King, at my age. What will become of me?"

I told her there was no use worrying over what
had not yet happened. There was certainly a chance
that our hotels would weather the storm if order
were restored soon enough.

"Oh, no, Mrs. King," she said. "This is the begin-
ning of the end. You will see."

As if to underscore her words, there was a loud
crash. The train stopped with a great jerk, and
we were all thrown heavily to the floor. A man
near me groaned and cursed under his breath. His
leg had been broken. A kind of panic surged through
the car. All of us were worn-out with long hours
of fear and suspense, and now dazed from the fall.
There was a moment when we were on the verge of
chaos; then a woman's voice quavered absurdly,
tf Ob! Mire lo que la gallina ha puesto!" (Oh, see
what this dear little hen has put!) The hen she was
clutching on her lap had laid an egg.

CHAPTER IX

E

BLESSED hen! Our morale was restored by the
time word came to us that this was no terrible trap
laid by the enemy, as we had feared. Our train had
simply smashed into a train in front of us. There
was no danger, just the prospect of more wearisome
delay, while in the distance the lights of Mexico City
winked tantalizingly through the dusk. Fortunately
for Mrs. Hall and Vera and me, the general com-
manding the train came to us, helped us out of the
car, and put us in an automobile he had secured.
We shortly arrived in the city, where we had a
good bath and a comfortable bed in the home of
friends.

All my friends in the capital were very good to me
at this time, planning luncheons and dinners and
bridges to keep my mind and theirs off our
troubles. But it was no use. "We all had too much
at stake financially to take the political situation
lightly. Everyone I met seemed, if possible, more
pessimistic than before, and lurid bits of political

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 139

hearsay were passed about between the endless rubbers
of bridge.

Felipe Angeles, I was relieved to hear, had got
safely out of the country. I hoped for his wife's
sake that he would stay out, but I realized that it
was hardly in his character to do so.

"Your friend Huerta," I was told with some
asperity, for everyone had heard about the abrazo
the president had given me, "your friend Huerta is
going to pieces, and bringing the country to ruin!"

Far from settling down to steady sober leadership,
as we had hoped he would once he had attained the
presidency, Huerta, it seemed, was dissipating his
tremendous energies in vicious living. His governing
was erratic, and he himself was moody and given to
sudden murderous rages. All over Mexico strong
leaders were known to be rising against him, and we
foresaw new strife that would further cripple business.

Public sentiment is a strange and primitive thing.
Every day the newspapers of the world expose mon-
strous frauds and great wrongs, and such is the inertia
of public sentiment that those who engineered them
are scarcely prosecuted. But there are certain taboos
whose transgression inflames mankind and cold-
blooded, calculated murder is one of them. Whether
from arrogance or carelessness, Huerta had collided
with this taboo. If Huerta had seen that Madero
was conducted safely out of the country, as he was
in honor bound to do, the history of these times
might have been entirely different. Madero's popu-

140 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

larity was at a low ebb. I know now that when
Madero waited in prison, only one military man in
Mexico was preparing to lead his troops to the rescue
and that was, of all men, Zapata, whom he had
treated badly. But the murder of Madero aroused
the whole country. Men who had not seen eye to
eye with President Madero when he was alive united
to avenge his death. The sincerity and selflessness
of Madero, which Zapata respected, suddenly blazed
brighter in the eyes of everyone than the blunders
Madero had made.

We heard that the men of the north were march-
ing down against Madero's murderer Carranza,
Obregon, Calles, and the terrible Pancho Villa. But,
what was more alarming to me, word leaked into
Mexico City, in spite of the official censorship, that
the Zapatistas were gaining ground in the neighbor-
hood of Cuernavaca.

I waited anxiously for some message about my un-
lucky hotel, wondering how my affairs were pros-
pering in the hands of the stranger I had left in
charge. Finally, at the end of a month, a letter
came which confirmed my fears. My affairs were
in bad shape. tf Mejor que venga, senora * . ." I
had better come judge for myself.

The danger to Cuernavaca from the Zapatistas was
now very great. I found myself between the devil
and the deep sea, faced with the choice of losing all
I had or of protecting my property at the risk of my
life.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 141

In this dilemma, chance offered what looked like
a way out for me. An American woman, a Mrs.
Mestrezat, who had lived in Mexico many years and
did not fear anything, offered to take charge of my
interests in Cuernavaca. She was an energetic, ca-
pable woman, on whom I knew I could rely. She
had been in Cuautla during the fighting there and
knew what to expect in Cuernavaca. It was agreed
that I should accompany Mrs. Mestrezat to Cuer-
navaca, remain a day or two to go over the neces-
sary details of my business with her, and then return
to the capital.

The only way to reach Cuernavaca was on the
military train, and it was necessary to secure special
passes to travel on it. I decided to go straight to
President Huerta for the passes, as I was anxious
to ask his opinion of the safety of the journey; but
finding President Huerta proved a real task. He
was becoming so capricious in his habits that even
his cabinet ministers found it difficult to find him.
The people of the city hated and feared the president.
They feared not only the guns he commanded, but
the man himself, for he had a quality of courage they
could not match. My daughter Vera was taking
tea downtown one afternoon when half-a-dozen
fellows in an ugly mood passed in the street, shouting,
"Death to Huerta!" It happened that Huerta was
inside at the time. He heard the cry, got up, and
walked to the door alone. "Here is Huerta," he
said. "Who wants him?"

142 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Before I could arrange to see the president, a young
girl whom I had been meeting in the houses of my
friends came to call on me. She was a strikingly
beautiful girl, a Rumanian of good family, who had
not been long in Mexico City. Her name was Helene
Pontipirani. She was having quite a vogue with
hostesses, because she was not only young and lovely,
but tremendously chic. Everything about her was
exquisite, from the set of her head on her slender
shoulders to the tiny slippers subtly matched to the
tones of her costume. She was the kind of person
who always wears her gloves; I cannot imagine her
carrying them. Her beauty was the nervous, highly
bred type overbred, perhaps that calls up a
fleeting impression of a high-strung race horse.

She sat down on the sofa and in her pretty English,
with just a hint of accent, sketched for me a spirited
picture of a strange-looking dog she had met on the
way "such a dog, Mrs. King, so many heredities!
And all showing here and there in him/* Watching
her erect, graceful carriage and the play of her ex-
pressive features, I reflected that she herself was
very beautifully the product of heredity. Everything
about her suggested not merely twenty years, but
centuries of sensitive, civilized living.

We chatted of this and that and then, the ameni-
ties having been observed, my visitor came straight
to the point.

"Mrs. King," she said, with directness, "Mrs. Harri-
son told me that you are planning to go to see

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 143

President Huerta, who is your friend. May I go
with you?"

Her request was not wholly unexpected* I hesi-
tated a moment, not quite knowing how to phrase my
reply. Then I answered with equal directness.

"I am sorry, but I am afraid I must say no." I
knew that she was a correspondent for two or three
French newspapers, and I was afraid that if I in-
troduced her to President Huerta she would write
something disparaging about him. Goodness knows
there was plenty to be said against him, but I did not
wish to repay him for any favor he might grant me
by presenting someone who would say these un-
pleasant truths in print. I told her frankly, "If I
introduced you to President Huerta he would be nice
to you because you are my friend and a charming
young girl. But I am very much afraid that you
would go off, then, and write something dreadful
about him."

"Why, Mrs. King," said the girl, her eyes dancing,
"how uncharitable of you to think I will not be
able to find even one tiny thing that is nice to say
about your friend who is so good to you! Truly,
I promise not to say anything bad of him. Think
how original it will be to write only good things of
M. Huerta!"

"If I could only be sure I could trust you ..." I
said, beginning to waver, I was speaking lightly, but
the words come back to me now; for that was the
moment when my fate hung in the balance.

144 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

The girl leaned forward.

"If you wish, Mrs. King/* she said seriously, "I
will not write up the interview with President Huerta
at all. But I must meet him. You see, I want to ask
his permission to go with you to Cuernavaca!"
The long lashes swept up and her dark eyes met mine
audacious* willful eyes, accustomed to getting their
way.

"You want to go to Cuernavaca!" I said.

"But yes, of course! There where things are
happening. To see for myself the fear and the
fighting and these terrible Zapatistas!"

I was so astounded that I could not say a word.
Helene Pontipirani laughed gayly at my discom-
fiture.

"Because I am so what do you call it? lady-
like, you are surprised. Never fear! I am not one
to faint at the smell of blood. Have you not heard
that before I came here to Mexico City I was in the
north, where Pancho Villa and his men are laying
waste the country?"

I had heard that story about her. Until this
moment it had seemed incredible.

"To be in Cuernavaca, now, with the Zapatistas
closing in. Oh, Mrs. King, what a thrill, what a
story!"

"But the danger . . ." I said.

She laughed again. She said, "Danger would never
stop me or you, Mrs. King," and there was enough
truth in that to silence me.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 145

All her will and vitality seemed to be beating
against me; stirring me in spite of my better judg-
ment. Suddenly she clasped my hands. "Dear
Mrs. King!" she said exultantly. "You are going
to take me."

The next afternoon we set out to find President
Huerta. My daughter Vera insisted on coming
along. Luck was with us, and we glimpsed the
president and some of his cabinet ministers driving
through the lovely park or wood of Chapultepec
which surrounds the presidential residence. Our
chauffeur followed quickly along the winding avenues
shaded with trees so old that Montezuma knew them,
past the sentries and up the steep hill where the castle
stands. We caught up with Huerta's car just as it
stopped, and the president saw us as he alighted.

"Why, it is the Senora Kong," he said, coming over
to us, pleasure in his face. "And the little fair one"
he always called Vera that, la guerrita "and such
a beautiful stranger. Come in, Senora King. Let
us have a capita and speak of old times."

He waved away his cabinet ministers, who were
none too pleased at the interruption and at his
cavalier dismissal, and led us into the castle.

I have thought back so often to that afternoon that
what followed seems to me like a scene from a play.
I can see the gilt and brocade of the small formal
reception room, and the view through the long
window across the soft, grayed tops of the ancient
trees in the park to the roofs of the city beyond; the

146 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

thimble-like glasses o cognac; the loveliness of the
two young girls my daughter, blonde and ingenu-
ous, and Helene Pontipirani, a little older, dark and
fascinating; and the president himself, an erect and
soldierly figure moving about, playing the attentive
host.

There was no doubt that he was pleased to have us
there. He had laid aside his usual austerity of manner
and was making himself agreeable and amusing, as he
could when he wanted to* It was he who carried the
conversation that afternoon, talking easily and well.
I have forgotten now what he said, but I remember it
struck me that he avoided the subject nearest to the
thoughts of all of us the Revolution. He was talk-
ing of inconsequential things, the conventional sort
of drawing-room conversation one might have ex-
pected to hear in such a room, with its elegance and
air of tradition harking back to the stateliness of
Emperor Maximilian's court. I remember Helene
Pontipirani, looking very lovely and patrician, listen-
ing with rapt attention to everything he said. She
was all in gray that day, from head to foot; an ab-
surd, smart little hat showed off her curling, lustrous
black hair and fine-drawn profile. From time to
time she interjected the right word, the right question,
to draw him out.

As I look back, I can see that she was like a lead-
ing lady giving the star his cues. For Huerta was
acting, in a way. Even at the time I realized that.
He was deliberately creating an illusion of other times

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 147

in that little room, making it an island of tranquillity
and form, completely apart from the chaos of Revolu-
tion outside. I thought it nice of Helene Pontipirani
to fall in with his mood. It was not often, I guessed,
that he had the company of ladies, and our friend-
ship satisfied some hungry pride in him; for, like all
Mexicans, he had great natural dignity.

His appearance had subtly altered since I had seen
him last. I do not know whether or not he had
begun to take dope at that time, but the afternoon
sunlight falling on his face showed new lines, and
the mark of the dissipation and vices that eventually
destroyed his health. He was a strong, forceful
character, and I realized that his situation must be
very trying if he were driven to such respite. It
would be romantic to say that all this was the effect
of remorse gnawing at his conscience, but I do not
think that was so. I doubt if he had the kind of
conscience that gnaws, or much moral sense of any
kind. And that, I suppose, was his weakness as a
leader. He was as able, as gifted, as any; but free
men will not follow a man who has revealed himself as
without integrity.

Personally, I doubt whether Huerta ever regretted
the bloody manner in which he had paid his score
against President Madero, or was ashamed of his
treachery. I doubt if he wholly understood the moral
indignation his act had roused in other people. I
think it was a wonder to him that his countrymen
turned against him so completely and that foreign

148 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

nations refused to recognize his government. But
he did see that everything was against him. I think
myself that was what got even his iron nerve in the
end his aloneness, the knowledge that every man's
hand was against him. Huerta was a man who, as a
soldier, had enjoyed the respect of everyone; he was
used to having behind him the unswerving loyalty
troops give a fine commander. As president, he
found himself alone, amid pitfalls. None knew
better than he how a man can smile and smile and
be a villain, for he was one. I think he accepted
treachery as part of the game he was playing, and
expected it from those about him. If he despised
them, it was for cowards, because they were afraid
to stand up to him. And yet, I can see how the petty
vigilance must have worn on him. I think that
was why he was so glad to see me and the two girls
that afternoon. We were women, foreigners, out-
side it all. With us he could relax. He trusted us.

We were at ease together from the first en-
joying ourselves.

"Ah, those cimelas, the plums of Cuernavaca,"
Huerta said; "they do not taste the same after they
have been shipped to the city, Senora King. How we
used to enjoy them! And would you believe it,
Senorita Pontipirani," he turned to the Rumanian
girl, "would you believe it, la guerrita here" mean-
ing Vera "used to stand and count the pits on
my plate with her eyes growing rounder every

minute."

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 149

"Oh, I didn't!" protested Vera in such a shocked
tone that the rest of us laughed. Vera blushed
deeply. She was all schoolgirl that afternoon, speak-
ing when she was spoken to and listening with wide-
eyed delight.

A kind of warmth came into the room with her
confusion, something innocent and generous.

"Ah, that fabulous Cuernavaca, where such funny
things happen!" said Helene Pontipirani mischie-
vously. "Where thorns come miraculously under
the saddles of people who do not know how to take a
hint, no?" She glanced impishly at the president
under her long lashes.

He liked her audacity. She spoke to him as if he
were a young man, a handsome young officer. He
settled back in his chair and smiled at her. "Very
strange things happen, senorita" he said solemnly.

"I find," said Helene Pontipirani, a deep note in her
voice, "I find that when things happen, it is generally
because someone has made them to happen!" She
was very erect, now; there was color in her cheeks and
her eyes fairly darted sparks. "That is what I like
in people," she said, "the power, the force, that makes
things to happen!"

Their eyes met and held. I know she fascinated
him. Looking back, I can see that though he was
definitely old, and besmirched, at that moment he
must have fascinated her, too.

"So you want to go to Cuernavaca with the
Senora King," he said judicially. "Into the midst

150 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

of things," He twirled his glass and looked down his
nose at her.

"Yes," said Helene Pontipirani, smiling deeply.
Everything about her said, "You are n't fooling me
with your stern look. I know you like me. We
are wild ones, you and I! Not afraid of things like
bullets."

"Well, well/* said Huerta. "What do you think
of such a foolish girl, Senora King? If she must go,
I suppose she must go." His wicked old eyes
twinkled. "I shall put a double guard on the train,
Senora King, to see that no harm comes to you and
your charming companion."

Something of the excitement had communicated it-
self to Vera.

"And I shall go, too?" she asked eagerly.
Huerta looked suddenly grave. "No," he said with
decision, "you must not go." And as her face fell
he added, with surprising gentleness, "Cuernavaca just
now is no place for la guerrita. Even your mother
and this so-brave young lady must not linger, but
must come straight back. Do not worry about
your hotel, Senora King, I shall put down these
Zapatistas. Only, for the present, I like better to
have my friends outside the range of their bullets."
We rose to go. Huerta was reluctant to see us
leave and escorted us to the door. As I shook hands
with him he said earnestly, "Remember, Senora King,
You are not to worry, but come straight back."

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 151

I was touched by his genuine concern. Just then,
I think he would have done anything for us.

He turned to Helene Pontipirani, standing beside
me, radiant with triumph and more beautiful than
ever. And as he bent low over her hand I little
realized what I had done to him and to myself in
introducing her.

CHAPTER X

T

.JL'WO

days later we left for Cuernavaca, Helene
Pontipirani and I, and Mrs. Mestrezat, the Ameri-
can woman who had agreed to take over the manage-
ment of my property in Cuernavaca. Until twelve
o'clock the night before we left, Vera begged and
implored me, in spite of Huerta's injunction, to take
her along. I still shiver when I think how close I
came to giving in to her.

The military train that was to carry us back into
the danger zone was almost empty, unlike the crowded
train that had brought us away. I was relieved,
however, to see boarding the train a man named
German Canas, whom I had known slightly in Cuer-
navaca. He was a substantial man of the town who
had brought his wife and little daughter to Mexico
City and was now making a flying trip to Cuernavaca,
as I was, to look out for his business interests there.
His presence reassured me. I felt that here was some-
one on the train to whom I could appeal in an
emergency.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 153

Mrs. Mestrezat had quite made up her mind to re-
main in Cuernavaca, in spite of the danger, and was
bringing her son and daughter to live with her at the
Bella Vista. I scarcely remember the boy, for I saw
him only that one day; but he was about twenty years
of age. The daughter, Catherine, was a self-possessed
little girl of nine, who looked us all over with a level
gray gaze and turned her back on us. She spent the
whole trip looking intently out the window look-
ing for Zapatistas, she told us later.

I was trying to marshal my thoughts and give
Mrs. Mestrezat as much information as possible about
my affairs in Cuernavaca before we arrived. She
helped me out with calm, sensible questions, and again
I thanked my stars that fate had sent such a woman to
my door.

"Do you think we '11 have trouble with that foreign
girl getting hysterics?" she said suddenly, in a low
tone. "For all she was so anxious to come, she's
looking pretty washed-out."

I glanced at Helene Pontipirani in surprise. She
had pulled off her hat, and was leaning her head
against the back of the seat. She was pale and her
eyes were closed. Her utter passivity was unlike her
and disturbed me. As if she felt us looking at her,
she opened her eyes and smiled.

"It is nothing," she said. "I am just a little tired.
I did not sleep well last night. Perhaps you would
sing to me a song, Mrs. King. Something low and

sweet."

154 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

I sang her an old French lullaby, wondering a little
what might be passing through the thoughts of this
strange girl who sat so quietly, looking past us. The
song seemed to please her, and I sang her another,
"Mighty Lak a Rose," which was very new then.

"There," she said; "I feel better now. Thank you,
Mrs. King."

To our relief, the train got through the mountains
without being attacked and we piled gratefully into
a station cab. The town looked forlorn as we drove
in all the large houses closed up and few people in
the streets. There was an air of apathy about the
place, even about the officers who were sitting in the
portal of the Bella Vista when we arrived. I could
not help laughing at their stupefaction and delight,
however, when they caught sight of Helene Ponti-
pirani. It was a long time since they had seen a girl
like that.

The girl herself ignored them. Only her height-
ened color and a subtle accentuation of her grace re-
vealed that she was aware of the frank Latin stares.
She went upstairs to her room immediately, carrying
the small bag she had brought. I recall now that she
would let no one else touch it. Mrs. Mestrezat and
I had a light meal and plunged at once into business
matters. On taking an inventory, we found that the
pantry was almost empty. This was serious, since
there was a possibility of the enemy cutting off food
supplies from the town. We went at once to the
commander, General Romero, to secure a pass for

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 155

Mrs. Mestrezat's son to go to Mexico City, purchase
provisions there, and bring them back to Cuernavaca.
No one was allowed to leave the town without a pass
from the commander. General Romero told us that
the military train was returning to Mexico at once,
that evening, and the Mestrezat boy left with it. I
never saw him again.

Mrs. Mestrezat and I pored over the tangled ac-
counts in the ledger. About nine o'clock I happened
to glance out of the window and was astonished to see
Helene Pontipirani outside, in the company of several
young officers. She was looking very smart and
lovely in a riding habit and was tightening up the
stirrups of a beautiful saddle horse. All of her weari-
ness seemed to have left her; there were life and grace
in her every movement. As I watched, she rode away
with the officers. It was almost eleven when I
emerged from my conference with Mrs. Mestrezat,
but I was told that Miss Pontipirani and her com-
panions had not yet returned. This bothered me, for
she was a young girl and a stranger, and evidently
not so sophisticated as I had imagined, since she did
not seem to understand the customs of the country.

When I came down the next morning I saw horses
waiting and the two young officers who had been with
her the night before standing in the doorway talking
to some of their fellow officers. I guessed that an-
other jaunt was planned, and I went hastily upstairs
again to Helene Pontipirani's room. The girl was
standing before the mirror pulling little curling

156 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

tendrils of hair out under the stiff brim of her riding
hat. I explained to her that in Mexico a young lady
could not indulge in unchaperoned rides with the
militares without injury to her reputation. I did not
want the officers to think lightly of her because she
was a stranger and unacquainted with their conven-
tions.

I was afraid she would be offended. But my re-
marks seemed rather to amuse her.

She laughed and tilted her hat to a more rakish
angle.

"I know what I am doing/* she said confidently,
and it was suddenly apparent to me that she did. Her
tone implied, "Dear Mrs. King, how can you be so
naive?"

I felt like a fool. I said, "Very well. Then I shall
have nothing more to do with you." Looking back, I
suppose that was just what she wanted. ... I
was very angry when I left her. "A newspaper
story!" I thought. "She has come down here for
a spree!" It was not the first case of war-time
hysteria I had seen, but I was furious that I had been
made a party to Helene Pontipirani's indiscretions.

She must have anticipated my sudden coolness, for
it did not perturb her. A few minutes later I saw
her descending the great stone staircase to the knot
of officers waiting below. She descended lightly and
with an air, swinging her crop a little, and the ardent
eyes of all the men were centred on her. It was for

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 157

all the world like the entrance of the prima donna in
a comic opera.

We had expected to return to Mexico City that day
on the military train, but the time of its departure
had been changed and it was impossible to leave, I
kept away from Miss Pontipirani, which was not at all
difficult, as she continued to move about attended by
the male chorus. She spent that entire night up in
the mountains at the soldiers* camp at El Parque,
about three hours* ride from Cuernavaca. The next
afternoon I saw her hanging on the arm of the com-
manding general. She looked very fascinating and
must have been so, for she had secured a permit to
leave on the military train the following day.

I should have liked to return on this train, too, but
such a course was out of the question for me. Mrs.
Mestrezat's son had not yet returned from Mexico
City with the provisions for his mother and sister,
and this worried me. I felt responsible for the
Mestrezats, and I did not want to leave until I saw
the boy arrive and knew that Mrs. Mestrezat and little
Catherine were taken care of. Mrs. Mestrezat had
been most forbearing through all my chagrin at hav-
ing brought to Cuernavaca a girl who behaved as
Helene Pontipirani was behaving. She never said a
word to me about the matter, though her eyebrows
spoke volumes.

I was awakened at daybreak by a knock on my
door. I opened it and found Helene Pontipirani

158 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

standing outside, fully dressed, with a pistol in her

hand.

"So you are not coming to Mexico this morning!' 5
she said.

"Of course not. How can I?" I retorted, ir-
ritated at having been wakened for such a silly ques-
tion.

She studied me with her unquiet eyes.

"Well, then, I shall leave you my pistol," she said
with decision.

I would not take the pistol she tried to force on me.
"I don't want your pistol," I said. "What I would
like is an explanation of your strange conduct. Don't
you think you have treated me pretty shabbily con-
sidering that I took you to President Huerta and made
it possible for you to come to Cuernavaca? What
does all this mean?"

Her head went up at my tone. She hesitated, and
I thought for a moment she was going to speak; but
she thought better of it and, with an impatient shrug,
threw down the pistol on the table and left me.
Shortly after I heard her galloping off to the station.

"My boy will surely arrive to-night with the sup-
plies," said Mrs. Mestrezat later. "Why don't you
plan to return to Mexico to-morrow, Mrs. King? I
know your daughter will be wondering what is keep-
ing you."

It happened that the commanding general came
down the street while I was sitting in the portal. He
was followed by several soldiers guarding a prisoner.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

"Oh, good day, General Romero," I said. "You
are just the person I want to see. I shall probably be
free to go back to Mexico to-morrow. Could you
give me a pass on the military train?"

I can still remember his face as he stood looking
down at me. He looked very, very tired as he said
quietly. "Not to-morrow, senora."

"The next day?" I asked.

"Nor the next day," he said, in a flat courteous tone.

"What is wrong?" I asked, in sudden alarm. "What
is the matter?"

"The railroad track has been blown up, beyond
El Parque, senora. The morning train, with your
friend on it, passed through safely. Immediately
afterward came the explosion."

"Thank goodness the train got through," I said.
"The track will be mended soon, of course?" I was
surprised at the sharp note of anxiety in my voice.
After all, sections of the railroad track had been blown
up before. But something in the general's manner
disquieted me.

"No, this time it will not be mended soon. The
destruction is on the mountain side, and they made a
thorough job of it. Never before was the enemy so
well informed, senora, of the moment when to strike."
He spoke with an odd sort of emphasis, as though he
meant to convey more than he said. He said, "It is
possible, senora, that we will not be able to repair the
tracks this time."

"Why, with such a general as you, and our brave

162 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

troops " My attempt at lightness died away.
"But then, we are "

"Cut off, senora completely cut off. No one
can leave Cuernavaca. No food, no reenforcements
can reach us here."

I stared at him with my blood running cold. He
seemed to find a kind of satisfaction in my silent
horror.

"Ah, Senora King/* he said, "did you not know that
the girl you brought among us was a spy sent by the
terrible Pancho Villa? It was she who passed the
information to the enemy."

CHAPTER XI

T

JLHROUGH the pounding of the blood in my ears
I heard the general's voice, it seemed, a long way
off. "Some of my officers have asked that I arrest
you, Senora lung. But I told them I have known
you a long time and that I am sure you would not
knowingly have brought a spy to Cuernavaca. Be-
sides, you are caught with the rest of us. . . ."

I tried incoherently to tell him how I felt. I have
no idea what I said, but it must have been clear to him
that I was terribly shaken both by the revelation of
Helene Pontipirani's perfidy and ingratitude and by
the part I had unwittingly played in helping her be-
tray the people who had befriended me the gen-
eral and his officers, President Huerta, and the in-
nocent people of the town.

General Romero was saying, "We captured this
unfortunate fellow," meaning the prisoner, "with a
note for the enemy in his possession, which she had
given him in the market place. Apparently there
were other notes that we did not intercept. . . .

164 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Orders are to shoot him in front of your house."
I was only half listening. My mind was in a whirl.
"Oh, how can I have been so taken in!" I cried. And
yet, remembering the girl, her exquisite smartness and
fastidiousness, I could hardly believe she was a com-
mon adventuress, a spy. "Who would ever have sus-
pected her?"

The general shrugged. I noticed again how weary
he looked. I had a curious impression that he was
not too surprised that the fascinating Helene Ponti-
pirani had turned out to be a spy as if this were of
a piece with everything else that was happening.
After the general left me and I had recovered some-
what from the shock his news had given me, that
was the impression that remained: the fatalism of our
commanding general in this crisis. And it was this
which really frightened me.

My sanguine Anglo-Saxon temperament demanded
action. Everyone realized that the Zapatistas, hav-
ing cut us off from Mexico City, would waste no time
in pressing their advantage. My immediate thought
was to get word to my daughter Vera that I was, so
far, safe. How thankful I felt that I had held out
against her wish to come with me to Cuernavaca!
I was not only anxious to spare her worry. It was
important that she explain my plight to the British
Minister, Sir Thomas Hohler, who was our friend, and
enlist his aid in urging the government to send help
quickly to Cuernavaca. Whenever I thought of
President Huerta and the trouble I had unwittingly

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 165

made for him, I suffered an actual physical pang of
remorse and humiliation. I was sure, however, that
he must be doing everything in his power to rush
reinforcements to Cuernavaca. He was too seasoned
a campaigner to leave his troops in a trap. He knew,
what Helene Pontipirani had found out, that our
general was short both of food and of men. It was
all a question of time the speed with which help
could come.

I finally succeeded in finding a man who was willing
t? try to slip through the circle of Zapatistas and carry
my letter to Mexico. The bargain was that my
daughter would give him seventy-five pesos if and
when he managed to deliver the letter, and that I
would pay him seventy-five more when he brought
me back the answer.

The letter dispatched, I felt much better. "There,
Mrs. Mestrezat," I said. "We have done all we can,
and it is up to Mexico City to do the rest."

"Well, I just hope they hurry/* said Mrs. Mestrezat.
"My boy will never get through with the food, now,
and even if the Zapatistas don't get into the town, in
a day or two we are going to be hungry."

The unfortunate man who carried the note for
Miss Pontipirani was shot at dawn the following
morning, in front of my house as the general had
warned us. Mrs. Mestrezat and I took good care not
to be up to witness the execution, but the thought of
the poor fellow's fate distressed us for days. It
brought home to us the risk that Helene Pontipirani

166 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

herself had taken in meddling in the affairs of these
grim and determined men; and to add to our unhap-
piness we heard whispers among the servants thai
the dead body of a foreign girl had been seen some
said, in the depths of a barranca; others, lying at the
foot of a ceiba tree. I wondered what strange quirk
in that incomprehensible girl had made her forsake
the sheltered, fastidious life she could have led to risk
death in the cause of illiterate, half-clothed Indians.

"But what of us?" said Mrs. Mestrezat.

We were contemplating the meagre breakfast
which was all we dared permit ourselves. The con-
trary sort of hunger that comes over one at the mere
suggestion that there is not enough to eat tormented
us. We tried to make the rolls last as long as possible,
and were just finishing the last crumb when two
urchins were ushered into the dining room, the older
bearing a note which he had refused to give anyone
but me. I took the scrap of paper, torn from a note-
book, on which had been hastily penciled:

Don't worry, Mother. I 'm here. See you

soon.
CHACON

"Chacon!" I said, astounded. I knew very well
that Chacon was stationed now at Tres Marias up in
the mountains, fifteen kilometres from Cuernavaca on
the way to Mexico City. This town had been cut
off from us by the destruction of the railroad.

W S/, Si I El capitdn!" chorused the little boys with
a flash of white teeth. They were fairly dancing up

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 167

and down with excitement. Both at once, they began
to tell me how Captain Chacon had arrived in Cuer-
navaca that morning after having come alone and on
foot across the mountains from Tres Marias. He
had walked all night, and under cover of darkness
had slipped through the ring the enemy had drawn
about us. "Solito, senora, solito! With a great sack
over his shoulder."

We had scarcely digested the wonder of this when
Federico himself appeared, nonchalant as ever and
looking vastly pleased with himself* No one, to see
him, would ever have guessed that he had just come
fifteen kilometres over a mountain trail, hampered
by darkness and heavily laden, in danger every
moment of losing his footing or of running into out-
posts of the Zapatistas. He had washed and shaved
and had even, I think, managed a nap while his
uniform was being brushed. A mozo followed at his
heels, bearing the famous sack. When we had em-
braced and exchanged delighted greetings, Federico
turned to the mozo with a commanding gesture.

"Open, Juanito!"

The mozo tipped up the sack. Out plopped a
smaller sack of flour, followed by a perfect avalanche
of tins of canned meats and vegetables that rattled
over the floor the supplies we had ordered through
Mrs. Mestrezat's son. We laughed till we were almost
hysterical. I have never since seen a picture of the
Goddess of Plenty and her cornucopia without a
flash-back to that Indian boy shaking out the sack.

168 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

We put Chacon in the most comfortable chair out
in the portal, with a bottle of my very best cognac
before him, and demanded an account of his exploit.
He was constantly interrupted by his fellow officers,
who came rushing up to embrace him. His best
friends abused him roundly and cheerfully assured
him that no one but he would have been such a fool
as to come charging through the enemy's country in
uniform. "What a man!" said everyone.

Federico enjoyed himself hugely.

"Would you believe it, Mother, they told me at
Tres Marias I couldn't make it! I bet Enrique a
pint of cognac against his horse that I 'd get through,
and here I am but the horse is still at Tres Marias."
He roared with laughter.

"You should have been there, Mother. You should
have seen the look on that little gringo 9 * Mrs.
Mestrezat's son "when he found out that the rail-
road track was blown up and the train was not going
any farther than Tres Marias. He fiddled around a-
while and then he said to me," Chacon made his
voice high and effeminate, " 'Well, I guess I shall
have to take the things back to Mexico.' I said to
him, 'What! You son of who knows whom, do you
really mean to say that you 're not going on to Cuer-
navaca with that food when you know your mother
and the Senora King will starve without it? You so-
and-so and so-and-so, you call yourself a man and
you have not the guts to walk over a couple of moun-
tains to save your mother and sister?' "

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 169

This was not wholly just to the Mestrezat boy;
he was after all a foreigner and a stranger who did
not know that rough, mountainous country. But
Chacon swept on indignantly, "The little whipper-
snapper said, 'I cannot take so difficult and dangerous
a journey on foot and heavily laden/ ... I said,
'Then, I will go to them!' "

He tossed off his glass of cognac and sniffed ap-
preciatively. "Ah, but the company gave me a
send-off, Mother! . . . You know, I think they
thought they were rid of me for keeps and were
beginning to remember my good points."

As he started down the mountain side to come to
us his brother officers had stood behind him holding
their swords at the point, the handles aloft, each
sword a cross, the Crusaders' benediction, and
prayed for him, that he might reach us safely! I do
not think there was one among them who would have
taken such a desperate risk to save the lives of two
women and a little child.

Chacon's presence put new heart in me. His gal-
lantry wiped out the dark taste that Helene Ponti-
pirani's betrayal had left in my mouth. Then, too,
he was full of optimistic assurances, and I was only
too glad to believe them all. Already Huerta had
ordered troops to relieve us; it was only a question of
how long it would take them to make their way over
the mountains. I can see now that Chacon himself
did not believe all he said. It was not so much our
immediate lack of food that had brought him to us

170 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

as his realization of the more terrible dangers that lay
ahead.

He had come just in time. It was Sunday morning
when the railroad was blown up, and Sunday night
when Chacon crossed the mountains. He had reached
us on Monday morning. Early Tuesday morning the
Zapatistas began the concerted drive we were ex-
pecting.

Mrs. Mestrezat and I were awakened by the loud
roar of cannon. Listening closely, we could tell that
both the cannon inside the town and those placed out-
side at La Herradura, the horseshoe-shaped hill where
I had always picnicked, were in action. The light
crack of rifle fire was all about us. The Zapatistas
were attacking Cuernavaca from all sides at once
a fierce attack, without quarter.

This was real warfare and we were in the midst of
it. Before, we had been on the outskirts. For four
days and nights the fighting never ceased. At night
Cuernavaca was an inferno. The Zapatistas had
bombarded and destroyed the electric light plant out-
side the town, the officer stationed there to protect
it having been too frightened to resist; and complete
darkness was added to the other horrors. Hundreds
of poor people had taken refuge in the Spanish
Monastery, and we would have gone there too, but the
bishop sadly informed us that it was already over-
crowded and there was no more room. The Zapatistas
were winning on all sides. By Friday the government
troops were very tired. Until then we had been

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 171

comparatively safe, because the Bella Vista was located
in the centre of the town. But now flying bullets
were falling in many parts of the hotel and we dared
not cross the courtyard for fear of them.

As far as possible, Mrs. Mestrezat and I clung to
routine habits, and that Friday night, although we
hardly felt like sleeping, we forced ourselves to go
to bed at the usual time. I dozed off into a light
sleep, from which I was aroused by a knock at my
door. I opened quickly, fearing greater trouble
than we had yet had, and found the commanding
general standing outside.

"You had better get up, senora, and secure mules
and horses," he said. "I am evacuating the town to-
night with all my troops, and you will be safest if you
come with us/*

"To-night!" I echoed, stunned, and hardly be-
lieving him, so sudden was the news. "But it is im-
possible! How can I secure animals at a moment's
notice? Why, this is preposterous, general; you can't
mean what you are saying!"

"We are leaving to-night," he said calmly, ignoring
my outburst, "and I shall feel very pained if the
Senora King, her companion, and the little girl do
not accompany us."

Incredible as it seemed, he meant what he was
saying. Although, as I know now, he had received
specific orders from President Huerta not to leave,
he meant to evacuate and take from Cuernavaca its
last protection. Indignation surged over me.

172 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

"You, a soldier! " I said. "You would run and leave
the men, women, and children of this town to the
mercy of an enemy already drunk with victory! Oh,
how can you be such a coward!"

I think he could have slapped me. He said stiffly,
"You must do what you think best," and turned on
his heel. If a look of scorn could prove fatal, he
would have dropped in his tracks.

A little later, however, he came back to tell Mrs.
Mestrezat and me to be ready to start at six in the
morning. He was concerned for our safety because
we were foreigners, and he knew he would be called
to account for us.

I was trembling with nervousness and anger. There
was no room in me for fright. Evacuation under
the circumstances was a monstrous thing. No one
was prepared. How could we all or indeed any of
us secure saddle horses and mules at this late hour?
"We could not. And how could we follow the troops
on foot! We were deserted, left to our fates. Why
pretend otherwise?

In a mood of defiant contempt, I went back to bed.

Outside in the corridor and on the stone staircase
I heard the quick tramp of the officers' boots coming
and going, and low curt questions and answers.

"They are getting ready to leave," I thought.

Suddenly there was the sound of half-a-dozen pairs
of boots all together on the staircase, the clink of
spurs, and voices raised above the normal pitch
angry, authoritative voices, clashing like swords.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 173

"They are going," I thought in a panic. I rushed
to the door just as I was, barefoot, in my nightgown.
There on the staircase backed against the rail stood
General Romero, and facing him were the officers
of his staff.

"You are going!" I cried.

A colonel, Montes de Oca, looked up. "Calm
yourself, senora" he said. "No one is leaving Cuer-
navaca. We are not going, nor the troops, and our
general is not going either. We will not permit him
to go!" And I understood that they meant to shoot
him if he tried.

"Go back to bed, senora" said Montes de Oca.
"So long as we live, we will protect Cuernavaca!"

CHAPTER XII

T

J_ HE courageous, decisive stand of the staff officers
was like a rallying cry. Our weary, disheartened
troops responded to this new leadership with a great
burst of effort. By the sixth day it was evident that
our men were not only holding their own, but were
actually beginning to press back the Zapatistas! We
knew this could not last; our men were exhausted,
fighting on nerve. But if only they could hold out a
little longer! On the seventh day the long-looked-
f or relief arrived.

What a sight it was to see Colonel Hernandez and
two thousand Federal troops come tramping into
town! They were weary and battered enough, but
fresh and strong-looking beside our poor garrison; and
the sight of them filled us with joyous confidence.
They had come on foot from Tres Marias, high in
the mountains, which was as far as the trains could
go. The Zapatistas had made them fight every inch
of the way, and it had taken them a day and a night
to cover distance which in peace time is a three-hour

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 175

walk. They were ravenously hungry, as it had been
impossible to stop on the way for food; but the
women of Cuernavaca were only too glad to scurry
about and prepare hot food such as still remained
for our deliverers, happy that our own brave
garrison could seize a breathing spell.

The fighting continued after the reinforcements
arrived, but with less violence. It dwindled until,
about the twelfth day, we began to feel comparatively
safe. The shops, closed since the first day of attack,
opened again and business was resumed. How good
it looked to see the main street alive with people
and the merchants' stocks spread out! In Mexico,
when shops are closed, blinds are drawn down over
the show windows, and the effect of a business street
with everything shuttered is indescribably bleak and
dead.

The military band played spirited marches in the
plaza in front of my house. On Sunday morning the
girls paraded around and around the plaza in their
finery, and the men watched them as if nothing else
were on their mind. The hospitals were filled with
wounded and the number killed in the fighting was
not known, nor did we wish to know it. We were
gay in Cuernavaca because the enemy had been driven
from our doorstep and a thin line was opened up to
the railroad. That was all we had gained, really.
We deluded ourselves with the thought that our men
had decisively driven back the enemy, but I can see
now that that was not so. The Zapatistas had simply

176 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

retired in the face of our suddenly increased strength;
and though they had withdrawn, they kept their ring
about us like wolves waiting for their prey to weaken.

Our commanding general who had wished to evacu-
ate the town was ordered back to Mexico City with
his staff, much to his delight, and a new general was
sent to replace him. Colonel Hernandez, who had
led the troops to our relief, was promoted and sent
back to Tres Marias with a thousand men to repair
the railroad track. With Hernandez and his strong
detachment at work on the railroad and a new com-
mander in Cuernavaca, General Pedro Ojeda, who
had a long and distinguished record behind him, I
began to think my troubles were over, and that it
would not be long before I should be back in Mexico
City again with Vera. I think my confidence was
pretty generally shared in Cuernavaca, except by the
few who best understood our situation.

Mrs. Mestrezat and I treated ourselves to a full
meal again. We had been able to buy some additional
supplies after General Ojeda arrived, and with these
added to the provisions Chacon had brought we felt
well provided for. The officers too were living well;
and at this time the camp followers had no difficulty
in securing food for the soldiers. In those days the
Mexican army had no regular commissary department
and the soldiers brought their "women" with them to
cook and care for them women worn gaunt with
hardship who could fight like she-devils if need be,
and who were yet wonderfully gentle and compassion-

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 177

ate to their men. While the men were fighting their
way ahead, these women would slip through the lines
and go on to the place where the army was to stop,
and it was seldom that the soldiers failed to find some-
thing savory stewing or broiling over the charcoal
when they arrived. On long marches the women
carried the soldiers* money in order to buy the food;
but the food was not always bought and paid for.

I remember an officer telling me with great gusto
how on one occasion, when our army was coming
through the little village of Chapultepec, not far from
Cuernavaca, the soldaderas "caught" their dinner, as
they say. The improvised commissary squad of
female foragers had arrived, as usual, ahead of the
tired, hungry troops, and had spied at once flocks of
fine fat turkeys, hens, and chickens. They had
money, for the Federals were still being paid, and they
offered to buy what they needed of this tempting
poultry display. But the owners of the poultry were
Zapatistas. They refused to sell to the Federals*
women at any price. "Que bueno!" (How nice),
said the soldaderas. "Then we shall take them! We
must have food.*' And with that, they chased the
fowls and took the plumpest, while the owners stood
by not daring to oppose them. Everybody knew the
soldaderas!

As time passed, and just when all seemed to be
going well, the Zapatista ring closed tighter. The
Zapatistas seized El Parque and the village of Cua-
jumulco, which we had thought well guarded, and so

178 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

closed the road which our generals had opened up
between Cuernavaca and the end of the railroad at
Tres Marias. The Zapatistas were never again dis-
lodged from this strategic position. Once more we
were cut off from Mexico City, our source of sup-
plies, and from this June day until mid-August
suffered, as the Zapatistas wished, from starvation.

There is such a horror over my whole memory of
this period that it is hard to remember that our
desperate plight became apparent to me only gradu-
ally. I simply could not understand what lay ahead.
If anyone had told me, I would have said, Such things
do not happen; or at least, Such things do not happen
to me. I was living from day to day, a tedious rather
than a frightened life. I played my piano; there were
games of bridge very bad games, as all the good
players had long since left; conversations with Mrs.
Mestrezat; and, in between, the nonsense of Chacon
and his friends. They had great sport with little
nine-year-old Catherine. She would follow with
wide, solemn eyes and bated breath their yarns of im-
possible adventures, until suddenly she would catch
on that she was being taken in. "I know! You *re
fooling." And she would add, with great dignity,
"I knew it all the time!" "A real American keed"
Lieutenant Colonel Zaldo used to say, delightedly.

I did not know very much about what was going on
in a military way in the outlying country, for my
Spanish was still very poor and I could not follow
closely what was said. Sometimes as I look back I

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 179

am tantalized by the thought that so often I was close
to the main pulse and yet could not grasp what was
going on, because of my unfortunate handicap. I
was like a person hard of hearing who must always
strain to understand and then wonder what he has
missed. At other times, I think perhaps it was just
as well for me that I did not understand any better;
if I had understood the Revolution then as I do now I
might have been tempted to stick my finger in the pie.
As far as I could tell, there seemed to be a kind of
lull; no active attack on the town at least. Only,
when General Ojeda sent out a column to bring back
the supplies of flour, corn, and lard which we needed
and which President Huerta had sent to Tres Marias
for us, the Zapatistas attacked the column and seized
the food. This happened again and again; and Mrs.
Mestrezat and I began to ration out our own pro-
visions. I had never again seen the man who left to
take my letter to Vera, and I wondered often whether
he had reached Mexico safely or if he had been cap-
tured or shot on the way. I know now that he got
through safely with the letter and that Vera paid
him the seventy-five pesos as agreed, and gave him an
answer which he was to bring back to me for seventy-
five more. But the messenger evidently felt that with
seventy-five pesos a small fortune to him in his
pocket he would be a great fool to risk his neck re-
turning to Cuernavaca. "While he was enjoying the
cantinas and .pretty girls of the capital, my daughter
Vera was busy enlisting the aid of our friends. I

180 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

know that Sir Thomas Hohler, the British Minister^
and General Blanquet, the Minister of War, and
President Huerta himself were moving heaven and
earth to get help to Cuernavaca; but the Zapatistas
were too strong in our state.

Early in July, General Ojeda sent the last column
up to Tres Marias to bring back food. I stood at
my window to watch the troops go, praying that they
would return safely with the supplies, for the symp-
toms of slow starvation were beginning to appear in
the poorer people of the town.

Only a remnant of the column ever returned to
Cuernavaca.

"Sixty mules laden with flour, corn, and lard
carried over to the Zapatistas by our own men!"
The bitter word flew round the town. The troops
on whom we depended had deserted and joined the
enemy. How well I remember the fury of Chacon
when he brought the news to Mrs. Mestrezat and
me. . .

"Traitors! Cowards!" we called these men, and
many other things beside; but now that it is all over,
I am not sure we were just. The times were upside
down. At the head of the Revolutionary govern-
ment which Madero had fought to establish now
stood his murderer, President Huerta; and from day
to day it grew clearer that he was as black a traitor
to the ideals of the Revolution as he had been to its
leader. Though he called himself "Revolutionary,"
he stood for the privileges of the few as surely as

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 181

Dictator Diaz had. Knowledge and understanding
of these things were sweeping through the awakened
masses; fragmentary knowledge, but enough to give
eyes to the blind faith with which the soldiers had
formerly followed their immediate jefe. Now they
looked beyond their general's bravery to the man and
the cause he served; and when they found him, shall
we say unwittingly, serving the insidious conservative
cause, who shall blame them for deserting to the ranks
of Zapata, true as steel to the Revolution?

But after this disaster General Ojeda dared not
send out any more of his troops, and every day the
suffering increased in Cuernavaca. Much to our
relief the poorer people began to leave by hundreds,
going to the smaller towns which the enemy held, but
which they were permitted to enter so long as they
were known not to be in sympathy with the Federals.
They continually sent word to their friends to join
them, saying that they were well treated by the
Zapatistas and that there was plenty of food for all.
This, we found out later, was not entirely true. Both
sides had laid waste the countryside, and there was
hunger outside as well as inside of Cuernavaca.

Animals which could not be used for food them-
selves were left to starve and die. One day a man
brought me two bull-terrier pups whose eyes were
barely open. He was running for his life from the
hacienda where he had been living, but had not the
heart to leave these pups, whose mother had died
from lack of food. He brought them to me on the

182 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

chance I might have enough for them to eat. They
were little beauties, and when we saw how they won
Catherine's heart it was clear that we should have to
find something for them to eat. The love of animals
was in this child, and she cared for the sleek, whimper-
ing little creatures as seriously as a young mother,
Mrs. Mestrezat and I even let her take them to bed
with her. "We had no such luxuries as milk and bread
for the little dogs, so they had to try to eat rice and
beans. There was nothing else. This was not puppy
food, and for want of nourishment they soon died.

Poor Catherine! What wails and tears, the heart-
rending grief of a little child. Nothing would do
but the pups must be properly buried. I had my
house boy dig a grave and found a nice soft towel
to wrap the puppies in, and a little box for a coffin.
I thought when the puppies were in the ground and
covered with earth, that would end the ceremony.
But no. Catherine cut flowers in my patio to cover
the grave and burned candles on it. She got my boy
to make her a cross and place it at the head of the
grave, and there that little one cried and prayed till
the candles burned out.

It was not only pups, alas, who died of starvation.
What food was available was naturally given first to
the fighting men on whom the town depended for its
protection. Mules and horses were killed for the
troops. Mrs. Mestrezat and I tried to eat the horse
and mule meat, but it was disgusting to us as we had
nothing to cook it with to make it palatable.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 183

were helping daily as much as we dared by giving
small amounts of beans, rice, and sugar from our own
scant stores to starving women and children. The
poor folk searched the streets for edible refuse.
Bishop Fulcheri killed his prize cow, the pride of his
life, for them to eat. But there was not enough for
everyone. I inquired twice and was told that twenty-
seven had died one day and fifteen the next; after that
I took care never to ask again, as I was powerless to
give relief.

The wonderful soldiers' women none like them
in the world for patience and bravery at such times

combed the town for food, and when they could
not get it any other way they stole, whatever and
wherever they could, to nourish their men. These
were the type of women who one day, in the north,
when their men ran short of ammunition, tied their
rebozos to the ammunition cart and hauled it to them.
I bow in respect to the Mexican woman of this class

the class despised by the women of indolent wealth,
ignorantly proud of their uselessness. The Mexican
women who marched with the Mexican soldier, who
went before him to the camping place to have refresh-
ment ready, who nursed him when sick and comforted
him when dying, were helpers and constructionists,
doing their part in laying the foundation of this
liberal government of to-day. Mexican women of
education, just emerging from your shells of blind-
ness, remember this and honor, wherever she may be
found, the Mexican soldier's woman!

184 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

The time came, however, when even the soldaderas
could not find food. I was told one day that four
soldiers had died of hunger. I asked the provost-
marshal if this were true. He said, "Yes, to my
sorrow, it is. 3 *

Poor fellows! Victims of the cruel leva, the en-
forced military service, caught coming out of their
homes or the shops or the bull ring and thrown into
the army, there to be left without food or money.
Their last pay was long since spent. This was the
Federal army! A fierce rebelliousness swept over
me for the fate of these poor wretches, and for my
own. Without will to harm anyone, we had been
swept, helpless and protesting, into this tragic game;
used, like pawns, to further the cruel bloodshed and
left to perish in it. While I was outwardly calm the
cry was always in my ear, "I am a foreigner! Why
should I suffer in this Revolution?"

Mrs. Mestrezat and I could no longer bear to sit
out in the portal on account of seeing the suffering
men, women, and children who passed, many barely
able to walk, they were so weak. Their only food
at this time was quelites, a weed, and guayabas, a hard
sour fruit used normally only for jellies, and sugar,
which they dissolved in water and drank. At last
not even quelites and guayabas could be found, and
there was only sugar the sugar which had made
the hacendados rich and wiped out the homes of the
poor with its planting.

And still help did not come. The people of the

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 187

town settled into a kind of stoical Indian lethargy; I
think most of them realized that help would never
come now. Only Mrs. Mestrezat and I, with the
Nordic instinct to battle fate, clung desperately to the
belief that something must happen to save us.

The rainy season had come, and every night there
was a heavy downpour. At first I loved the crash of
the tropical torrents and the gurgle and rush of the
water along the gutters and spouts; the free gusty
sound of the storms eased my spirit. But after a time
the monotonous regularity of the rains began to
wear on my nerves; the more so because they never
seemed to leave any trace. We wakened in the morn-
ing to a sun-dried world in which the streets were
scarcely damp, so quickly did the water run off in
Cuernavaca. I could not sit in my portal because of
the misery in the street; I would not sit in my patio.
The four walls oppressed me and the prettiness of the
garden seemed a mockery. I took to sitting in the
upper rooms of the hotel, where I could look beyond
the town and the barranca to the sweep of the plain
and the mountains that rimmed it. When the clouds
lifted I could see the three stony peaks called the
Three Marys that marked Tres Marias, where the
railroad ended. I wondered if the work on the rail-
road was going forward, and strained my eyes to scan
the mountains through field glasses not equal to the
distance.

The column of troops I watched for never came
marching across the plain. There was no life or

188 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

movement at all Most of the time the whole valley
seemed to swim in an opalescent haze, indescribably
soft. There were encounters of our men with the
Zapatistas, I know, but they were hid from me by
the smoky veil that clothed the scene with a lying
peace. It was like a mirage. But sometimes I saw
the slow wheel of a zopilote (buzzard) before it
dived. Early in the morning and at sunset the awe-
some, snow-cooled peaks of the volcanoes, Popocate-
petl and Ixtaccihuatl, would float above it all in a
kind of climax of remoteness. I looked for them day
after day. The Mount That Smokes and the Sleep-
ing Woman had always had a fascination for me.
Now they roused in me a fear that grew and filled
me and stretched me apart. "What are you, they
seemed to say, that the wheels should turn aside lest
you be crushed? A firefly flickering in the night of
time!

"I am I," I cried. "I live! I mil not be snuffed
out. This is not my Revolution! I am a stranger
here! This is not my country! These are not my
people! I hate it hate it!"

But my cry was lost on a breath of air. Ixtac-
cihuatl was a dead woman, quiescent and untouch-
able; and the Mount That Smokes was still. Yet as
I looked the afterglow fell fleetingly on the Sleeping
"Woman and touched her with life, and she was not a
dead woman at all, but a woman asleep and waiting.
And then the warmth faded from her bosom and she
was cold as ice beside the lover who killed her in his

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 191

frenzy, and would not awaken for him. And I saw
on the side of the cone of Popocatepetl the mutilated
stump of the spur where he had blown off his own
shoulder in his passion; and I perceived that there were
resistances against which the will shattered like glass.
Some things could not be forced. A sense of the
futility of fury and my own frantic railing engulfed
me.

"What if it is not your Revolution?" the mountains
seemed to say. "When the plough is in the furrow,
the farmer does not turn Back for a worm."

CHAPTER XIII

grew accustomed to hunger. There was no
longer the sharp, craving pain always with us, but a
weakness that mercifully dulled all feeling. There
was no panic, no hysteria. Indian fatalism, Latin
grace, and Nordic pride saw us through. We starved
with dignity in Cuernavaca. Mrs. Mestrezat never
complained of the bad bargain she had made in com-
ing to Cuernavaca for me. I had long since closed
the kitchen and dining room of the Bella Vista,
as there was nothing to cook, and let most of my
servants go. The three boys and girls who remained
grew so weak they could hardly work, and were very
quiet. The officers tightened their belts and, with
a dash of their old impudence, said it was too bad the
girls were losing their figures.

Chacon's friend, Lieutenant Colonel Zaldo, was in
charge of what food supplies there were in Cuer-
navaca; a nice-looking fellow of Cuban descent, I
think, who had taken a great fancy to little Catherine.
He hardly ever came to the house without a biscuit or

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 193

some tidbit tucked away in his pocket for her. They
had a kind of game: he would say, with a long face,
that there was nothing for her to-day, and then she
would pounce on him and go through his pockets till
she found the precious morsel he had saved for her.
Thanks to Chacon, we had rice and beans to the end:
a cupful of beans in the middle of the day between the
four of us the captain, Mrs. Mestrezat, Catherine,
and me and a cupful of rice in the evening, again
for all four of us. Where or how he got the beans
and rice we never knew nor asked.

Occasionally we saw German Cafias, the man I had
recognized on the train that had brought the Mestre-
zats and me and treacherous Helene Pontipirani to
the town. He, like myself, had intended to return at
once to the capital, where his wife and child were
waiting, and had been trapped in Cuernavaca by the
destruction of the railroad. He must have thought it
hard luck to have met me on the train, but he was too
nice to say so. Toward the end we shared our food
with a German, a master brewer, whom we felt con-
strained to take in because he was a foreigner like our-
selves. He was a coarse, surly fellow who sometimes
annoyed me by his crudity, but Chacon would laugh
me out of my vexation.

"Oh, Mother/' he would say, ''don't be like that!
Everyone can't be nice like you and me."

The rumors that General Ojeda would not attempt
to hold Cuernavaca much longer became persistent.
Evacuation was in the air. That fiery old warrior

194 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Ojeda did not himself want to evacuate. He had no
liking for deserting his post against orders and ex-
posing his troops and their charges, the people of
Cuernavaca, to running the terrible gauntlet of the
Zapatistas. But his officers swore they would not
starve like animals forgotten in a pen, and that rather
than this they would make a dash for safety, taking
with them the civilians.

To my horror, just at this time Mrs. Mestrezat fell
ill. A fever came on and she was obliged to stay in
bed. I was obsessed with the fear that Mrs. Mestrezat
would not be able to leave when the troops started.
I felt responsible, for I had brought her to Cuer-
navaca. The doctor said, what I knew only too well,
that she must have nourishment. I found that a
neighbor of mine, a very nice little Mexican woman,
had four chickens hidden away for her son and her-
self. I begged her to sell them to me, offering five
times the normal price.

"But what is money now, seiiora?" she said reason-
ably. "One cannot eat gold and paper."

"My friend is sick," I said, at the end of my tether.

"Ah," said my neighbor simply, "a sick woman.
That is different."

I got the chickens. With them I made a strong
broth which helped Mrs. Mestrezat greatly. In a
few days she was able to walk about, much to my
relief.

I began to look for animals that we could use for
flight. There were few to be had, as so many had

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 195

been killed for food. I was able, however, to secure
five mules from the manager of the hacienda of
Temixco, who was only too glad to let me have them
instead of leaving them for the Zapatistas to steal or
the Federals to "use." When the mules were brought
for my inspection, little Catherine was much excited
at the idea of a long ride, and wondered with great
curiosity whom the animals were for. I guessed what
was going through her mind and explained carefully
to her that one was for her mother, one for me, one
for Carmen, the manservant I was taking with me*
and one for his wife, with Catherine on the saddle be-
hind her; the last mule being for valises, medicines,
brandy, a demijohn of water, and so forth. Catherine
was highly indignant that there was not a mule for
her. We could not make her understand why she
could not have one, although I did my best to explain
to her that there was not another mule to be had in
Cuernavaca.

Amid floods of tears and stamping of feet because
she could not have a mule, Catherine at last went to
her room to forget, as we thought, about the matter.
About eight o'clock that evening, while we were sit-
ting dismally in the dark, as we had ever since the
destruction of the light plant, we heard a flop-
flop, flop-Hop, floppity-fLop. What in the world was
coming? We looked out with some curiosity and
there was a soldier leading a very old, experienced-
looking, big-footed, lanky white horse. Catherine
walked by the side of the animal, her face beam-

196 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

ing as she exclaimed, "Now, I am going on my own
horse!"

She was delighted with what she had done. It
seemed that instead of crying herself to sleep in her
room as we had thought, she had slipped out and gone
to one of the barracks to beg for an animal. The old
white horse had been given to her gladly, as he was
of no use.

A white horse! Fine signal corps for the enemy!
Captain Chacon jumped up and told Catherine the
horse would not be permitted to go along on any ac-
count, as he would make a wonderful target of all of
us as we went along the road. He ordered the soldier
to take the horse back to the barracks at once.

Catherine's anger was beyond bounds. She
stormed, "I am an American and can do as I like!"
Poor little girl, nine years old, thinking this meant
anything. With her heart almost broken and an-
other flood of tears, she saw the tail of her horse dis-
appear around the corner. It was almost too much
for the rest of us. In our weakened condition we
could hardly keep from crying with the child as her
mother took her off to bed. The great white horse
was the picture I had always had in my mind of
Rosinante, the horse Don Quixote rode in his famous
adventures, fighting for right against wrong.

We soon saw signs that General Ojeda would
evacuate quickly, driven to the decision by his officers,
who threatened to shoot him if he refused. Per-
mission was given the troops to rob the houses of

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 197

anything they could find to eat a sensible order,
as the townsfolk would go with the troops and there
was no point in leaving anything for the enemy that
we could use in our flight. What a feast we had
when a soldier sold us two pigeons he had stolen! We
paid four times what they were normally worth, and
were happy to get them at the price.

I bought bandages and medical supplies from the
Red Cross doctor, to load on the pack mule in case
any of us were wounded on the way. Mrs. Mestrezat
and I began to sew the eight thousand pesos I had into
our clothes. The money was in paper bills. She put
three thousand pesos in a little suede bag that she was
to wear around her waist, under her clothes. The
five thousand we sewed into my riding skirt. We
were working at this one morning when we were
startled by a great shout, "Look! Look! Up at Tres
Marias!" We dropped the skirt and the money and
ran outside. "Help is coming," I thought. "We
are saved."

High on the crest of the mountains a great beacon
blazed. Flame and smoke rolled across the sky.

"It is the lumber yard burning," said an officer
softly. "The Zapatistas have taken Tres Marias!"

We knew we should have to run then; and not
merely to the railroad. We should have to head across
the mountains to distant Toluca, in the State of
Mexico.

Our five mules, like ourselves, were suffering from
lack of food, and it was hard work for my mozo to

198 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

find even grass for them during the days we were

awaiting orders to start.

Finally the order was given. Our feelings were
fearful. Spies and snipers had got into the town at
the last. The men stationed at our outpost, the horse-
shoe-shaped hill, abandoned their post and left cannon
and ammunition for the enemy. They told our com-
mander they had hidden and buried the munitions,
but this was a lie. They were traitors. That night
they were joined by eight or ten other officers and
their men, and all deserted to the Zapatistas, taking
with them quantities of arms, munitions, and rapid-
firing guns. It was to secure these that they had re-
turned to Cuernavaca. "We were almost afraid to
start with the remaining soldiers, not knowing how
they might behave on the perilous journey before us.

All the night before we started was spent in
destroying the army equipment we could not carry
away with us to prevent it from falling into the hands
of the enemy. Hundreds of thousands of pesos'
worth of cartridges, shells, uniforms, blankets, saddles,
and so on, were destroyed, piled up in the courtyard
of an old mansion which had been used as a warehouse,
and ignited with explosives.

It rained all night long. The trees in the plaza
were dripping, and the poor people of the town hud-
dled against the walls of houses or wandered aimlessly
through the streets. Our mules were saddled and
waiting, and I had pinned on me a little British flag
the British Minister had once given me for a talisman

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 199

a pretty gesture, his gift, I had thought, not dream-
ing the time would ever come when I might need the
flag. The rain splashed drearily in the patio of the
Bella Vista, flattening the roses. I listened for the
singing jet of the fountain, but its tinkle was drowned
out by the rain. I took a lighted candle and wandered
curiously through my abandoned hotel. It was as
though I had never seen it before. I noted with a
kind of detached appreciation the noble sweep of the
great stone staircase and the fineness of the wrought-
iron rails; the rightness of the furnishings I had
bought. I went into my cantina. It struck me that
I had never been in it before, not since I furnished it.
A cantina was a part of a hotel, necessary for the con-
venience of guests, but I left my guests to do their
heavy drinking alone. One of my boys was working
behind the bar Pilar, his name was. He had been
fresh and rosy-cheeked, but was now painfully thin.
He was reaching down bottles from the shelves, and
he paused to smile at me.

"It will not take much longer, senora. I have hid-
den the champagnes and Rhine wines already. The
Zapatistas will never find our good sauternes and
Burgundies!"

Still holding the candle aloft, I went up to my own
rooms. They were, I saw, pretty rooms. Homelike
rooms, one might call them, with pleasing pictures and
books and easy chairs and the piano standing open. I
ran my hand over the keys. And then the strange-
ness fell away from me. This was my piano that I

200 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

had always loved. I saw myself playing on it when
I was first married, singing to my dead husband. I
heard the awkward venturesome notes of my little
son and daughter sounding out the keyboard. I re-
membered the piano standing in the little public
drawing-room of the tearoom in those first anxious,
hopeful days, and how I had played for my first
friends in Cuernavaca, eager to please them and make
them like me. All the sentiment of my adult life
centred about that piano. My heart was wrenched.
For the first time I had the feeling that I was leaving
my home.

It seemed that I could not bear to leave these
things so intimately mine to the touch of vandals.
And, sick as I had been of this place where I had
suffered fear and starvation, a great longing to stay
swept over me; a dread that if I left I might never
return to strum on my piano, or hear again the lilt of
the fountain in the morning and lay my hand against
the thick cool walls of my house, four hundred years
old. The years that I had lived there, my mind had
dwelt on other things. Now, in the moment of losing
it, I found my home. ... A draft came in through
one of the long windows that stood slightly ajar. As
I moved to close it, I saw in the dripping street below
the shadowy forms of men huddled in their zarapes,
their wide-brimmed straw hats pulled down to shelter
them, and women wrapped in the thin shawls which
cradled their babies, clutching little bundles all
they could carry with them in their flight.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 201

Downstairs in the cantina Pilar was still at work;
many bottles remained.

"Never mind the rest, Pilar," I said. "Call the poor
people into the portal. The wine will warm them for
the journey."

The poor wretches crowded gratefully into the
portal as we opened the bottles and passed the wine.
There was the smell of wet wool zarapes and wine,
and the flicker and flare of candlelight on my ve-
randah; and outside the chill darkness and the steady
beat of the rain. Now and again there would be a
great rocking explosion and a pillar of flame would
burst against the sky from the courtyard where the
troops were destroying munitions. In their weakened
condition, the wine worked quickly on the people,
fuddling them a little and dulling the consciousness
of their misery, so that one or two forgot themselves
and began to sing a little. I did not have words to
say in Spanish what I felt, but I tried to make clear
to them my pity and good will. We were all in the
same plight, painfully uprooted from Cuernavaca.
They had lost their homes. I had lost mine. Death
stared us in the face. We were all in the way of los-
ing our lives because we had loved this town and
lived there. They must have understood something
of this, for they smiled back at me, with pity and
with friendliness. As I moved about, trying to help,
a kind of peace came over me. I was like a skater
who has been struggling to stand and suddenly finds
his balance. I no longer felt alone, apart. Dis-

202 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

tinctions of nationality, race, class, meant nothing
now. I was with these people. I was one of them.

Shortly before daybreak we started, Thursday
morning, August 13 an unlucky date, as well it
proved for us.

CHAPTER XIV

I

T was a pitiful sight to see the deserted houses and
pass through the silent streets; not a person to be
seen all fled or hidden for fear of the Zapatistas.
Although we did not know it, the greater part of
the troops and townspeople had started long before
daybreak about eight thousand in all. Our little
party was among the last to leave, which proved
nearly fatal for us. Before we were out of sight of
Cuernavaca the Zapatistas closed in behind us and
attacked the rear of our column.

The attack was so sudden and violent that those
marching at the very last of our line were cut off and
captured by the rebels. We would have been caught
with them if Chacon had not rushed us forward. At
the shock of finding the enemy on our heels, an officer
near us lost his head. "Here they are!" he cried and,
striking his horse, started off at a furious gallop. A
captain drew his pistol to shoot him and save the
morale of the troops. But Chacon, who loved the
man 3 was quicker. He stopped him with a ringing

204 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

shout, "Espera, Hermano, quedate con nosotros"
(Stop! Brother, stay with us). ...

Our mules were faithful, but far from fast. The
enemy was pursuing and bullets whizzed and whined
about us. We dismounted and pulled the mules by
their bridles, to encourage them to a quicker gait.
For five hours, exerting our utmost strength, we
tugged them along, and so forced them to a faster
pace than their stubborn little legs would have ac-
corded us had we been on their backs. "Communistic
mules!" said Chacon working only when we
worked with them.

Although we were still on the level plain, the roads
were almost impassable. The torrential rains that
had been falling nightly had washed out great holes,
and the wheels of our heavy artillery had dug deep
ruts. The long procession of people and animals
ahead of us had trodden the mud to a thick clinging
paste that held our feet when, at every step, they sank
into it.

Strain as we would to outdistance our pursuers, the
enemy kept pace. The firing went on. Now and
then our cannon, ten of them, replied with deafening
roar to the crack of the rifles. When I saw our
pursuers firing upon the Red Cross ambulance and
heard the bullets strike, I fainted by a stone wall. A
poor soldier's woman stopped to kneel beside me and
put tequila, a strong native liquor, in my mouth and
nose. This revived me. At that moment Chacon
rode up and dragged me out of the path of those who

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 205

rode after us. My mule, saddle and all, was lost.
But my manservant took his wife on the saddle be-
hind him, and I was able to ride on the mule brought
for the woman and little Catherine. We set the child
on the pack mule. In this way we rode until we
reached the hacienda of Temixco, where we were al-
lowed to rest for ten minutes.

We swarmed into the enclosure and, safe from the
bullets that flew outside, the weary men threw them-
selves down on the grass. Mrs. Mestrezat and I sat
on a stone coping in the blessed shade of a ciruela tree
and leaned against the wall of a house. We pushed
off the big straw hats we had worn for protection
against the rays of the tropic sun. Chacon, with
Catherine trotting at his heels, brought clean, spar-
kling drinking water from the hacienda fountain to
cool our throats. We stretched our arms and legs in
exquisite relaxation. For the moment we were safe,
and by comparison with the hours spent in the saddle
and on foot we felt luxuriously comfortable.

It seemed a moment, no more, when we were
ordered to mount our mules and be on our way.
There was no time to lose. Our general, leading the
long column, was already far ahead, and with him the
artillery that was our best defense. The safety of
Temixco was more an illusion than a reality. The
rebels had already sacked the hacienda and gutted
house, church, and sugar mill. The charred and
blackened walls that had sheltered us temporarily
were weakened by fire and not to be depended on.

206 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

We passed, as we fled, two more haciendas, where
the buildings had been set fire to only recently and
were still burning. The tongues of flame told elo-
quently the hatred of Zapata and his followers for
those who had amassed the wealth represented by these
sixty- and seventy-room mansions. Zapata had seen
whole villages razed in order that the haciendas might
have more land for sugar cane, the Indians who had
lived there scattered to seek new homes or held to
work like serfs for those who had robbed them. Za-
pata was avenging now the villages of Acatlipa, de-
voured by the hacienda of Temixco, San Pedro and
Cuauchichinola, swallowed up by the hacienda of the
hospital, and the rest. The Zapatistas had treated all
alike masonry, dumb animals, and human beings;
there were only desolation, devastation, and we our-
selves, fleeing for our lives.

We were on the wrong side.

Incredible and appalling as it was to me, I compre-
hended that to this just fury that swept the valley
like fire purging pestilence my friends and I were
numbered among the plague spots! Individually
as I knew our people we were good, brave, suffer-
ing, loving justice and freedom in our muddling way.
But together as the rebels saw us we were sol-
diers of the government, people of the towns, owners
of property; cogs in a system that had enslaved free
men.

Let him who runs read well we knew we were
reading history as we ran.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 207

Greater danger lay ahead for us. We were leaving
the plain and entering the mountainous region that
surrounds the Valley of Cuernavaca. We were en-
tering the homeland of Zapata, who knew and loved
every rugged ridge! There were men in our train,
born and reared in the State of Morelos, who could
readily have shown us a shorter and easier route than
the one we were taking; but they knew, and our gen-
eral knew, that the most direct route would lead us
into a trap and probably death for all of us. Zapata
himself had gone ahead and was cutting us off from
the more accessible roads. He was forcing us to make
our way over roundabout trails and wagon tracks not
meant for the passage of an army. We were a long-
drawn-out, straggling column. Those of us in the
rear did not know what was happening up in front.
While we rested at Temixco, a Zapatista chief had
tried to make separate terms with the officers of the
rear guard; but they dared nof "trust his promises,
as Zapata, whose word all men respected, was not
there to guarantee them.

All afternoon we ploughed on, sometimes dragging
our mules through mud and water, sometimes resting
on their backs. The way was all uphill, now ; we were
climbing constantly, ascending the first ridges of the
wide mountain barrier that separated us from Toluca,
in the State of Mexico, the town we were heading for.
The spicy tang of great pine trees was all about us.
My breath came with stitches of pain because of the
exertion in the high altitudes, for our climb had be-

208 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

gun at the mile-high elevation of Cuernavaca. How
we suffered from thirst! There was no clean drink-
ing water on our route, and we dared not turn aside
to look for springs. We did not feel hunger, al-
though we had started without anything to eat. A
woman had brought each of us a cup of weak tea, with
sugar, at the last moment before starting, and that was
all we had had all day.

The time came when the weakest in our procession
could no longer hold up and began to collapse on the
way. Until then there had been a stoical silence in
our ranks, no sound of complaint but the sobbing
breaths of starved creatures whose strength was over-
taxed. Now for the first time we heard cries of
distress the screams of the poor women who could
not keep up with us, as they saw their neighbors
going on without them. They knew that without
the protection of our column they would either be
shot or be carried away by the Zapatistas and never
heard of again.

To cap it all, we were caught in two ambuscades.
We lost two cannon and many men, for we had no
defense against ambush. The mountain country we
were passing through was gashed with gullies and
gorges and walled with rock. It was sublimely beau-
tiful country to look at, even in our flight, I
marked that, but cruel to us. Our troops could
not mass together for strength. As we fled over the
narrow mountain trails we were a long thin file of

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 209

fugitives. Our enemies, concealed in the depths of
green forest, shot at us as we moved past.

When we were ambushed the second time, there was
terrible confusion and our little party became sepa-
rated. Mrs. Mestrezat had a pistol drawn on her by
two of the officers, who refused to let her go forward,
telling her she must dismount and wait with the rest
of the women while the infantry went ahead to safe-
guard the road. This seeming brutality was in reality
a precaution for the safety of the women, but poor
Mrs. Mestrezat was nearly distraught, as she knew the
rest of us had gone on ahead. She hid with the other
women wherever she could, behind rocks or bushes,
until the Zapatistas could be driven back a little.
She ran on until she came to a stream. There she fell
into the water and would have been killed or carried
off by the enemy, who were very close, if our good
friend Zaldo had not seen her and come to the rescue.
He fished her out of the shallow but very swift water
and put her on his orderly's horse, which brought her
to safety.

I, meanwhile, had been pushed on in front of the
artillery. I was in no danger of being seized bodily
by the Zapatistas, but people were dropping dead all
around me, and again I fainted at the sight. Once
more poor Federico Chacon had to drag me and
my mule out of the path of those who were fol-
lowing*

It was a bad half -hour all around. My mozo was

210 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

shot through the hand, and in his pain and fright let
our pack mule go. We lost everything medicines
and bandages, the hoarded bit of water that still re-
mained to us, and even our good brandy intended for
use in extreme emergency. I lost also my personal
treasures. In the valises carried off by the "com-
munistic" pack mule were old Spanish laces, fans,
and shawls, which I prized for their beauty as well
as for their value and rarity. I had brought them
along to save them from the Zapatistas in Cuernavaca.
How many times I have wondered to whom the mule
did present them!

Little Catherine, fortunately, had been lifted off
the valises before the pack mule ran away. When
the heavy firing began she had been put in charge
of the German brewer who had started out with
us.

At last we reached the little town of Xochi, where
we were to spend the night. Our first thought was
to get together again, and Chacon and I were able to
find Mrs. Mestrezat and my servants and hear what
had befallen them. We could not find little Cath-
erine and the German, but our worst fears were re-
lieved when we were given positive assurance that they
had reached the town safely. With that we had to
be content. Mrs. Mestrezat had lost her mule when
she was forced to dismount and take cover among the
bushes during the ambuscade, but by a great stroke of
luck she found the mule, still carrying her saddle, in
Xochi. This was a great relief to all of us. We knew

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 211

our journey would last at least several days, and we
were too weak to march long on foot.

Xochi was the village that served the hacienda of
Puente. We glimpsed through the dusk the old stone
bridge across the stream that gave the estate its name,
and beyond the bridge the shadowy bulk of the house
and the church that I remembered as particularly
lovely. As yet the Zapatistas had not sacked Puente,
and though we knew when next we saw it there would
be only stark ruins remaining, there was a kind of
joy in seeing it this last time as it had always been,
stately and hospitable.

The evening was cool, and Chacon built a little fire
to warm us. We sat there on the ground, the three
of us, Federico, Mrs. Mestrezat, and I, dirty and
disheveled, stiff and sore, and so tired that we wanted
never to get up again. Presently our good friend
Lieutenant Colonel Zaldo joined us, carrying under his
arm a mysterious bundle. How he smiled when he
whipped off the coverings and showed us what he
had. Somewhere he had stolen a chicken. He had
cooked it and was going to share it with us! From
the pockets of his coat he even brought out a few
biscuits to go with it. "Not young biscuit," he
cautioned engagingly as we began to break into piti-
able exclamations of joy, "not young biscuit but
very respectable. Honestly come by!"

He was a little light-headed, like the rest of us, at
the prospect of food and warmth and safety and
friendship after what we had endured all day.

212 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

had had all of horror we could hold. We were like
children on a picnic as we spread out the meal on the
ground between us. Was it good! . . , For weeks
we had eaten nothing but beans and rice, or tea and
coffee with sugar. No milk or bread. No chicken!
We tore every shred of meat from the bones and
sucked them clean. We rolled the stale biscuit over
and over in our mouths till the last crumbs slid down
our throats. Good! . . . There are some things in
life one always remembers with exhilaration. I say
thoughtfully, and with finality, that I shall never for-
get Lieutenant Colonel Zaldo's delicious roast chicken

stolen, it is true, but all the better for that and
those motherly, middle-aged biscuits. Right out of
the oven of a "down-South aunty/' they could not
have tasted better.

Little Xochi had one more joy for us security for
the night. A kindly woman placed a room in her
house at our disposal, and Mrs. Mestrezat and I lay
down on a small straw mat in the middle of the floor

the bare earth was all the floor there was with
eleven men lying around us in a ring, their rifles close
at hand, to defend us in case of danger. They were
desperate-looking fellows soldiers, accustomed to
harsh, rude living; rough men, you would call them if
you did not know them. In the old days I should
have been afraid to be alone with them. But now,
when we had no other protection, Mrs, Mestrezat and
I found them kind and gentle toward us day and
night, although we were foreign women, strangers

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 213

to them. Most touching of all, as I look back, was
their quick perception of our feeling, and their effort
to efface themselves and seem unobtrusive to us.

But even with our guard of riflemen around us,
it was impossible to sleep, for through the patter of
the rain we could hear sounds of fighting all night
long.

CHAPTER XV

T

JL HE quiet stars of early morning saw us again on
our perilous journey.

The way out of Xochi lay through a narrow lane
between thick stone walls, three and a half or four
feet high, and the enemy took advantage of this to
attack us on both sides. Our soldiers lined up to
the right and left of the civilians, returning the fire as
best they could, but there was a terrible loss of lives.

At the end of the walled lane was a swift stream
that had to be forded, and a sharp ascent on the other
side. In this stream and on the hill we lost many
women and children, who, when the firing was
hardest, threw themselves into the water. There
they were either shot or trodden down by our animals
in their wild efforts to get out of this trap. At this
crossing we also lost a number of our officers. The
Zapatistas were good shots, and among them were the
Federals who had been deserting us all along: they
knew at whom to shoot. "When Colonel Pacheco, in
command of the rear guard, was killed, the panic in

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 215

our ranks increased. His poor wife would not leave
him, but remained at the side of her dead husband.
. . . Better had she been shot with him than to have
fallen into the hands of the enemy.

Fighting and pursuit went on all day. We found
little Catherine and the German who had watched
over her. How glad the poor child was to see her
mother and me! The German told us proudly how
brave she had been the night before, alone in a hut
with a lot of strange men, but not crying at all. I
took her on my mule with me. We were riding
south, and in the thin, high air the heat of the sun was
becoming unendurable. Catherine stripped off the
light coat we had thrown across her shoulders to keep
the sun from blistering her tender skin. She could
not understand why, as she was cooler with the coat
off, blisters were not more likely to come if she kept
it on, and she was not one to yield to any argument
she did not understand. Her mother could do
nothing with her, and I was finally obliged to take
her in hand. I said sternly that if she did not
put on her coat we should have to leave her be-
hind for the Zapatistas. This terrible threat was
enough!

Our thirst was intense and grew worse as the day
went on. We drank water from anywhere. The
soldiers and officers were very kind. They would give
me the last drop they had when I asked them for it.
An officer broke off a piece of a lemon from which he
was sucking the juice and handed it to me. I did

216 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

not have this refreshing morsel long, for a wounded
captain on my other side asked me for it as soon as he
saw it. I passed it to him how he did enjoy it!
Poor fellow only a few months before he had lost
his young wife, not more than nineteen years of age.
The Zapatistas had carried her oflf.

All this while the pitiless fire of the Zapatistas kept
on. Our men returned it as best they could, but they
had to shoot as they ran. The Zapatista marksmen,
prone on the hillside, picked them oflf. It was terrible
to see them fall dead, and worse to see them fall
wounded. The tragic soldaderas braced with their
arms the wounded troops who could still stand up,
and dragged them along, trying to keep pace with the
rest of us. There could be no stopping to help the
seriously wounded; the hoofs of the horses and mules
that followed passed over them. We had doctors and
nurses with us, but everything they had to work with
had been lost on the way the first day of our flight.
There were no bandages or medicines, no dulling
narcotics to ease the wounded. I think I shall never
forget the agony of a poor woman who was shot
through the back on this part of the journey, yet
obliged to walk, as our animals had been shot down
on all sides.

I made the officers riding near us promise me that
should Mrs. Mestrezat, her little girl, or I be badly
wounded and unable to go on with the rest, they
would at once put us out of our misery by shooting us,
rather than leave us in the hands of the enemy. I am

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 217

sure any one of those brave men would have kept the
promise. Again and again I thanked God that I had
left my daughter in Mexico City and that she was not
here among these horrors.

At last we saw in the distance the hacienda of
Miacatlan, where we were to spend the night. Its
staunch walls stood unharmed: it looked tremendous,
feudal, safe. It seemed we could not wait for its gates
to close behind us. Our soldiers, worn-out and hun-
gry, shared this feeling. They began to behave worse
and worse, refusing the order to stop and fight. A
young officer with about three hundred men was
either cut off by the enemy or deserted to join them.
No one seemed to know what to do, or who was in
command. General Ojeda, far ahead with the artil-
lery, was completely out of sight. The officers did
as they pleased, and there was general demoralization.
The four of us, Mrs. Mestrezat, the German, Chacon,
and I, with the little girl, managed to keep together.
The captain watched closely, helping us off our mules
to take shelter behind their bodies when the firing was
hardest, helping us on again as quickly as possible. At
one time we women and the child had to sit low be-
hind a stone wall while the captain and the German
did some hand-to-hand fighting for us.

Before reaching the hacienda of Miacatlan, we had
to pass a small village. The village was apparently
Heserted, but Captain Chacon rushed us forward,
and well he did. Those last in our column were
caught. It was terrible to know we could not stop to

218 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

help them. Our own personal danger was increasing;
our animals were giving out.

As if the exhausted mules understood, however, that
rest and shelter were at hand, they made one last
spurt that brought them safely inside the walls of
the hacienda. Here we found General Ojeda and
the rest of the army. After the open road, Miacatlan
seemed strong as a fortress to us, with its foursquare
buildings and solid stone outer wall, towering above
our heads and bristling with armed soldiers. The en-
closure was enormous, for the huts of the thousands
of workers were built inside the wall.

Once we were inside, the Zapatistas ceased their
firing. They knew our troops were ready for them.
We heard we were to rest all the next day at Miacatlan
good news, but untrue.

Chacon was again all kindness and thoughtfulness
for the Mestrezats and me. In spite of all we had
been through, he kept his gay winning smile and his
way of getting what he wanted. Somewhere in the
deserted-looking village he found a woman whom he
coaxed to make us weak chocolate with water. It
was the first thing we had eaten that day. Later he
took us to the hacienda church. He put us upstairs
in the curate, where the priest had stayed, to rest and,
if we could, to sleep. Meanwhile he tethered the
mules that Mrs. Mestrezat and I had ridden, and his
own horse and the German's, in the churchyard.
The. graves were green, and the starved animals got
plenty of grass, which they needed sadly. Chacon

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 219

then went out on a second foraging expedition, from
which he presently returned with joy in his face, and
in his hands a little jug of heaven-sent milk with bits
of bread floating in it. He knew this was the first
milk and the first bread we had tasted in weeks.

"I declare," said Mrs. Mestrezat, with awe, "that
man finds food when even the soldaderas can't!"

Still later we heard him moving about again in the
churchyard below. Grinning up at us, he exhibited
the greatest prize of all a bag of corn he had found
in a deserted house. What a feast the two remaining
mules and the two horses had that night!

Most people have sat upright on church benches
and slept, the sermon perhaps too metaphysical, or
they out late the night before; but there was not a
sermon, not a narcotic, that could bring sleep to us
that night as we stretched out full length on the
bare church benches. A thunderstorm broke over us
and raged till almost daybreak, startling and fearful
as only tropical storms can be. Between the crash-
ing thunderclaps we heard a soothing sound: our ani-
mals munching corn munching very loud, for the
corn was very hard. Happy thought! A corn- fed
gait might lend a faster pace than pulling them along,
when we renewed our journey.

During the night word was brought to us that
plans had been changed. Our spies, or "runners" as
they call them, had learned that the Zapatistas were
ahead of us, lying in wait. To avoid the trap that
was laid for us we should have to double back in the

220 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

direction we had come, to find a safer route across
the mountains! We were to resume our march at
dawn* Mrs. Mestrezat and I were up before daylight,
both feeling very weak and nervous. Whilst we were
getting ready an officer came and begged us not to try
to continue our journey. He said it would be im-
possible for our column to cross the wide mountain
barrier; the Zapatistas were gathering in great num-
bers; they knew every inch of the ground and could
swing their forces to oppose us more quickly than we
could move to evade them. I was almost ready, then,
to break down, for I knew the awful danger of stay-
ing where we were. Without our soldiers to man
them, the stone walls of Miacatlan would not pro-
tect us long. Poor Mrs. Mestrezat almost fainted,
and refused to move. She was not thinking of her-
self, but of the gruesome danger for her little girl.

When Chacon came to see what was keeping us,
heard what the officer had told us, and saw our panic,
he was furious. He took me by the hands and liter-
ally pulled me down the staircase.

"Get on your mules," he ordered grimly. "We will
argue about it next week!"

We started off, and just in time. The Zapatistas
swept down, cutting off our rear guard. Poor
things, those who were left behind the men taken
prisoners, officers shot or hanged. Among them was
our good friend Lieutenant Colonel Zaldo, who had
prepared the feast of chicken and biscuit the first
night out. It was here that Zapata and his chiefs

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 221

had hoped to cut us off. On we rushed, blessing the
hard corn of the night before Captain Chacon,
Mrs. Mestrezat, the German, and I with Catherine.
My servants were lost. It was impossible to pause to
look for them. We knew that to save ourselves we
must get to the front of the line where General Ojeda
was riding with the pick of his soldiers, and the rw-
rales, those native to that part of the country, to right
and to left of him.

Our general was making no attempt to find an
easy path, only a safe one as safe, that is, as might
be. Our column plunged desperately across coun-
try. My mule scrambled along narrow slippery
ledges beside precipices that made one shudder to see
them, scaling almost impossible heights, then lurch-
ing forwards, down into the horrifying depths of
ravines or barrancas that had to be crossed. It
bunched its feet and sat on its haunches, slipping
and sliding amid a clatter of loosened stones, at such
a pace I thought it could never stop. After a while
I stopped feeling at every moment that this time,
surely, we were headed into the abyss. And still we
rushed on, up and down and up again, thank God
at a hard-corn pace, racing with death.

About eleven o'clock that morning a young Za-
patista, who said he wa$ a colonel, was brought to
our general. He looked just like an American and
may have been one a soldier of fortune stirred by
the love of war. He bore a message from Zapata:
if our general would surrender and give up his arms,

222 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

Zapata would permit all women and children to pass.
General Ojeda neither could nor would consent to
this request. He made a counter-proposition: if the
Zapatistas would permit all families to pass in safety,
General Ojeda and his troops would wait and fight it
out with them. He gave the Zapatista colonel a
beautiful horse that belonged to the Spanish Consul
at Cuernavaca so that he could deliver the message
more quickly to his chief. A Federal officer was sent
along with him.

Chacon would not let us loiter in the hope that
the parley would be successful. "The Zapatistas
are not fools, to come to open battle with our gen-
eral and his trained soldiers. Faster I" he urged us
forward.

For we were all aware that, aside from Zapata him-
self and a few of his selected troops, the Zapatistas
knew little about fighting in the open and the tactics
of organized warfare. These Indians were ac-
customed to shoot from the ambush, attacking by
surprise and killing when and where there was no
chance for self-defense. They have been charged
with cowardice because they would not face their
enemies, but peones with their backs bent for genera-
tions in tilling the soil and carrying heavy burdens
had no chance to learn anything but subterfuge,
duplicity, and hatred. These men of Morelos who
harried our column were fighting for their homeland,
to make it and keep it their own. Four centuries of
bondage loomed behind them, and the fear that the

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 223

old order would be reestablished goaded them like a
spur. They had to win, in any way they could.

The women in our column marched silently. We
understood from the beginning that nothing could
be done to help us. Because they were men born
of women, Zapata and our general had made an ef-
fort to save us; but the thing was not possible. There
could be no yielding on either side, for the conflict
was bigger than the fate of anyone caught in it.
The soldierly honor of our officers who could die
fighting for us, but not surrender, faced the im-
placable need of the Zapatistas to establish their land
as their own. In that clash of irreconcilable forces,
we women were as nothing. We accepted that.

Our column pushed on and dared not stop. Za-
pata was pursuing us. ... His chief, Pacheco, had
kept up with us. ... The Federal officer, the young
Zapatista colonel, and the beautiful horse never
returned.

CHAPTER XVI

X

ground underfoot grew rougher and rougher.
We were riding over the pedregal, the lava flow
spewed out by the volcanoes long ago. Our mules
stumbled over rolling boulders and stepped into de-
pressions in the pitted and porous rock.

And then, ahead and high above us in the moun-
tains, we saw the town of Chalma, perched as if for
safety in the rugged arms of a rocky slope. Chalma
a part of ancient Mexico, where in the days of
the Aztecs there was a teocalli, a pyramid where
prisoners of war were sacrificed to Ozteocotl, the
gloomy god of the caves. Then came the crucified
Christ and the legend of mercy to drive Ozteocotl
back into the windy fastnesses of the mountains. On
the inner walls of the houses and in the patios of the
town, the Augustinian monks painted frescoes telling
the history of Chalma, and the triumph of mercy.

We toiled with bursting lungs, not daring to rest,
up the steep and almost impassable road the
penitential road that the pilgrims climb every year

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 225

to reach the shrine of the Crucified Christ of Chalma.
I had seen the pilgrims to this holy place passing
through Cuernavaca in the old days. They traveled
at night in bands or companies and camped three
days in the mountains round about Chalma, sleeping
in the sheltered caves. How the sight of them
running had touched me! Men and women smoothly
trotting, with almost no motion of the body, one
behind the other, singing a native hymn as they went;
dressed in the costume of their birthplace, carrying
little lighted lanterns to guide their way; the men
with stout sticks to ward off the wild animals that
lurk in the hills; the women, almost every one with
a baby on her back, comfortably cradled and sound
asleep in the long scarf knotted across her breast.
. . . One night I had wakened to hear soft music in
the street outside. The pilgrims were coming! I ran
to my window. A man with a beautiful tenor voice
was singing alone. He finished a verse of the sacred
song, and suddenly at least fifty voices, men's and
women's, joined in the refrain. Never shall I for-
get the sweetness of the music, the simplicity and
reverence the figures gliding along in the moon-
light, smoothly, swiftly, as though eager to reach
the feet of the Crucified Christ of Chalma, to pray
and leave with him the burden of their cares and
sorrows.

Little had I imagined that the day would come
when I should be driven cruelly, like a hunted animal,
to the place of the Crucified Christ of Chalma by

226 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

thousands of men who had gone there to pray! . . .
Again I read, as I ran, the history behind the con-
flict. What are peace and plenty if their blessings
are not for all? What is religion if it is not practised
by those who teach it? * . . The Crucified Christ!
As we stumbled up that heart-breaking ascent, it
seemed to me that Ozteocotl himself was behind us,
bent on slaking his bloodthirst of four hundred
years.

The horrors of that afternoon seem impossible to
believe.

On the road from Chalma to Palpam my mule
was shot dead. The German took little Catherine
up behind him. Federico Chacon put me on his
own horse, and walked, leading the animal, a beauti-
ful chestnut stallion that had been the pride of a great
landowner long since fled.

Then came the terrible words, "All women and
children together and the troops to the sides." We
knew what was coming. Not a word was spoken as
the men slipped out of the procession to form a thin
line of defense on either edge of the narrow road,
while the women and children huddled between,
pressing together like frightened sheep. We were
entering the mountain pass near Malinalco, the home
of one of Zapata's chiefs. This chief and his men
had made the boast that no enemy of theirs could
pass through this defile and come out alive.

From a little rise, I saw that the trail ahead lay
along the shoulder of the mountain that formed one

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 229

side of the gorge: a trail so rough and narrow in places
that the vanguard of our column had .to lengthen
to single file, with the rock wall rising sheer on one
side, and on the other the abyss.

I looked at my wrist watch and saw that it was
four o'clock.

Suddenly the fusillade came quietly at first, like
the rising of the wind: a wave of bullets pouring
from the green mountain side across the ravine, pat-
tering against the rock and beating down our people
as hail flattens the stalks of flowers. A kind of shud-
dering groan went through our column; and then
there was the steady staccato of the Rexers and
quick-firing guns our artillery turned on the moun-
tain as they ran. But still death streamed from the
bland hillside. The men around me lifted their
rifles and fired at the puffs of smoke that rose across
the gorge, hurling defiance at the hidden enemy as
they fell. There was something monstrous in our
helplessness, our inability to strike back one effective
blow, that stripped us of human dignity and turned
our men to raging beasts. Their snarls and screams
and the terrible animal sounds they made in their
throats as they fired mingled with the moans of the
wounded and the shrill cries of the soldaderas, like
howling Furies as they snatched the guns from the
falling and passed them to those still on their feet.
The town women fell on their knees and prayed,
pulling their scarves over their heads, making no
effort to flee from the falling bullets. A wounded

230 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

riderless horse got loose and crashed screaming back
through our column. , . . Men and women dropped
all about me, and the sickening stench of fresh blood
welled up through the choking mist of powder. I
thought my last hour had come.

Chacon, leading my horse, turned into the ravine
to find shelter from the terrible fire. Here I had to
dismount. As I reached the ground my footing
gave way and I began to slip into the awful gorge,
sliding between the legs of a horse left standing there
the rider dead below. The weeds and plants I
clutched at bent and came uprooted in my hands,
and I began to slide faster.

"Catch on to the saplings," shouted Chacon. I
saw then some small trees that had taken root in a
crevice of the steep rock. These I managed to clutch
and painfully worked myself into a kind of half-
resting position, which I could hold till Chacon would
be able to come to my rescue.

At that moment we heard little Catherine scream-
ing screaming for Captain Chacon to come to her.
The German with whom she had been riding had put
her down at the top of the ravine and gone on, leav-
ing the little one standing there perhaps thinking
she might as well, with me, toboggan to its depths.
Chacon, always chivalrous, ran to the frightened
child. Fighting raged about them. He took her
in his arms and, carefully picking his way, brought
her down the slope to me. There was no place else
to go. She slipped into the clump of saplings, and

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 231

clung to me. Meanwhile the fighting went on above
and the horse had wandered off. Chacon went
hurrying to look for it.

The child and I lay there waiting, waiting for we
knew not what fate, when suddenly we heard it
coming, as we thought. There was a tearing, crash-
ing sound above us. A dead mule came hurtling
down the steep side of the ravine, a man, or ammuni-
tion, on its back all bound without stop for the
bottom. We cowered flat against the rock, but as
it passed us in its gravitation rush the mule struck
me a blow near the spine that left my lower limbs
almost paralyzed. When Chacon was finally able
to come for us I had been unconscious for nearly half
an hour, though I was still gripping the child and
the saplings. Federico thought I had been shot,
and Catherine was frantic and could not say just
what had happened. When I revived I told him
of the blow I had received. I was utterly helpless
and in such terrible pain that I begged him to put
me out of my misery and save himself and the
child.

"Go on!" I said, "go on!" I thought of myself as
already dead and out of it, and it exasperated me that
Chacon should not understand this, and should stand
there risking his precious life and the child's by
delaying.

He paid no attention whatever to what I said, but
grabbed my arms and dragged me inch by inch out
of the ravine, Catherine clinging to me as best she

232 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

could. He lifted me on his horse and placed the
little girl in the saddle in front of me.

How we went on from there I hardly know. In
a dazed way I was aware that we were going forward,
always forward. I knew that, though many had
fallen, soldiers still fought all around us; knew that
their courage was protecting us, and knew a kind
Providence was watching over them, over the little
American girl and me. And the torturing will to
live awoke again in me.

Through a haze of pain I understood that we were
approaching the town of Malinalco perhaps an-
other trap. God help those who must enter the
town on foot! Mrs. Mestrezat was by now among
the infantry. Her mule had been shot dead under
her. As for ability to run, or even walk, she might
just as well have been an infant, so tired she was
in body and spirit, her courage almost gone. I asked
a soldier to take her on his mule. He refused, de-
claring his mount a big strong animal was too
tired for a double load. Just then the German came
along. When I asked him to help, he vowed his
horse was as tired as the soldier's big mule. But he
must have been shamed by the nobility of Chacon,
who had given up his horse and rescued the child
when the German abandoned her, and we finally
persuaded him to give Mrs. Mestrezat a lift. I think
he was sorry it had not been a one-way trip to the
bottom of the ravine for the three of us women. Our
general was far ahead and out of sight. No one

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 233

thought of giving orders to the soldiers, nor had they
any thought of obeying them if given. The captain
of artillery, at my request, took the child on his
mule. This relieved my horse, and during the
sharper attacks Chacon was able to vault up behind
me. In this way we could press forward more
quickly.

About nine o'clock, by my little wrist watch, our
fast-dwindling procession marched wearily into
Malinalco. Chacon and I found ourselves in front
of the few remaining soldiers with a lieutenant colonel
and his wife next to us. It was pitch dark in the
town not a sound to be heard. No one was al-
lowed to speak. We were at the head of a narrow
street, not knowing where to go or whether our gen-
eral with the vanguard had stayed or marched on.
The infantry was ordered to advance. Not a man
moved. "We waited. About twenty of our men
finally went ahead for a few yards, but soon returned.
They said they were being fired upon and could not
see where they were going.

Chacon, who was mounted behind me on my
horse, said to the couple beside us, tc Wc four will
lead, the rest follow or we shall all be killed!"
They agreed.

And so we rode in, Captain Chacon and I, the
lieutenant colonel and his wife, leading our column
into the town of Malinalco.

I had never led an army before. I did so with
bowed head and body bent low to my horse's side

234 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

and neck, not so much in modest acceptance of my
promotion as to shy the bullets my high position in-
vited. At my side my first aide, the lieutenant
colonel's wife, did the same,

As I look back on that awful experience, thinking
it over, I know that we escaped with our lives only
by a miracle at the hands of a beneficent Providence.

Every inch of my skin seemed set with tingling
nerves that strained to absorb what my eyes could
not see, as we rode on into what we thought must be
the centre of the town. Someone lit a match and
our suspicions were confirmed; the flare revealed just
in front of us the town pump or its equivalent,
Across the way we saw a door opening. To our
surprise, a light in the room inside silhouetted a re-
spectable-looking woman trying to get rid of some
of our soldiers who were begging for food. None of
us had had a mouthful to eat all day, and the hunger
of these poor fellows must have outstripped their
fear and brought them sneaking ahead of the rest.

Captain Chacon lifted me off the horse and, with
the consent of the woman who stood at the door,
carried me into the house and laid me on what was
at least called a bed a straw mat stretched over two
boards that had been raised above the floor. Federico
then left me, to seek food for the horse, which
was overtired* I knew he feared that without a good
feed and water, as well as rest, the gallant animal
would not be able to carry us the next day.

I was suffering mentally and physically almost

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 235

mad with pain. The woman paid no attention to
me. She had yielded to Chacon's commanding air,
but perhaps she regretted her compliance. The
soldiers were still at her door, their presence an-
noying her very much. She stood in their way so
they could not enter, shaking her head at them im-
patiently. I tried desperately to attract her atten-
tion, for I knew it would be some time before Chacon
would be able to return. But she continued to ig-
nore me, standing there in the doorway with the
impassive dignity some Indian women have, her arms
folded quietly in the long rehozo. I thought of the
little British flag the British Minister had given me
in Mexico City, telling me not to fail to use it in
any time of distress or peril. I held it out to the
woman.

She turned quickly and came to me, her curiosity
stirred. She had never seen a British flag before,
but it was evident that she took the little emblem for
something that indicated rank and importance. She
now gave me her whole attention. I managed to
make her understand that I was in great pain, that
I was an Englishwoman, and that I would try to
persuade the soldiers to leave if she would help me.

My flag had not failed me. The woman did not
comprehend all I said, but she was impressed. To
fulfill my part of the contract, I managed to con-
vince the soldiers that there was no food or drink in
the hut, and they left. I was now alone with the
woman and well locked in a dangerous predica-

236 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

ment, to be sure, but I was suffering too much to
care for that or anything else.

After a time Chacon returned, and when the
woman recognized his voice she let him in.

"Look, Mother. See what I have brought you."
He had a little chicken and broth in a jug stolen
from some people escaping with us. There was no
mine or thine with food in our starved column.
Food was anybody's. He moved a small, makeshift
table to my bedside, and as we ate he told me that
he had not been able to find the rest of our party,
though he had learned that Mrs. Mestrezat and
Catherine and the German and my servants had all
reached town safely. "No hay cafe, senora?" he
asked with a smile, and the silent, sullen Indian
woman reluctantly brought a cup of coffee for me.
Into this Chacon poured some brandy he had with
him, and after taking the combined stimulants I felt
much better and stronger.

The woman began to have confidence in us. We
had some conversation with her, and her respect in-
creased to the extent that she brought her son to
visit us or to look us over.

The son was a big, strapping Indian, clean and un-
usually neat, as well as intelligent. He told us that
both he and his mother had suffered much at the
hands of both Federals and Zapatistas. They did not
care who won so long as peace was restored to the
country. He warned us to be very careful on our
way to the town of Tenango in the State of Mexico,

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 237

telling us that we should encounter great danger on
the way; but that if we succeeded in reaching
Tenango, we should be able to get a train for the
city of Toluca. From Toluca we knew we could
proceed to Mexico City in safety. I do not know
where he had found out these things, but all that
this Indian told us was true.

The woman snuffed out the candle and she and
her son rolled up in their blankets and went to sleep.
Chacon, a seasoned campaigner, dropped off too. I
lay awake on my straw mat, unable to move or turn
because of the pain. I had not slept for three nights
at Xochi, at Miacatlan, or the night before we
started. After a while a kind of numbness crept
over me and I was no longer conscious of my body.
The words of the Indian spun around in my head:
"If you reach Tenango, you can get a train . . ."
but my mind could not lay hold of their meaning.
We had been running so long that life had become
a blur of motion without sense or purpose. Crazy,
unfocused pictures revolved slowly before me
perverse, distorted pictures: the stupid grimace of a
man whose hand was shot off; my daughter, as a child,
"dressing up" in my best high-heeled slippers;
Chacon, very drunk. I fought against them and, as
one struggles out of a nightmare, I was suddenly fully
conscious.

There was no sound in the darkness but the breath-
ing of Chacon and the woman and her son, but the
stillness was vibrant and echoing, like the silence

238 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

that follows a crashing chord of music. My mind
had never been so lucid and sensitized before. I
perceived that the meaningless touch-and-go flight
of the last three days they seemed like centuries
had suddenly reached a climax. In these last days
life had come to mean no more than the instinctive
defiance of death.

But if we lived through to-morrow, we should be
safe. . . .

CHAPTER XVII

BETWEEN two and three o'clock in the morning
there was a knock on the door. Some Spaniards,
friends o ours, stood outside. They had come to
warn us to get up and start off immediately. The
enemy was closing in upon us, they said, and escape
would soon be impossible. The general and the
artillery were already in motion. Chacon hurried
off to get the horse.

This order, or warning, was either not received by
all or, if received, was not understood. Many of our
officers, soldiers, and families, utterly worn-out, slept
on through the night a fatal sleep. Our early
start was our salvation. Just after we left the Za-
patistas entered, capturing such officers as remained
and shooting them, taking the soldiers prisoners, and
allowing families to escape only as they had money
to pay for their lives.

We heard the shooting behind us as we marched
along under cover of darkness. It was still before
daybreak when we found ourselves in one of the

240 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

terrible walled lanes where our people were always
shot down. Fronting us was a dreadful mountain
which we must climb on one side and go down on
the other to get into the valley where Tenango lay.

Federico vaulted on to the horse behind me as the
firing began. ff Ay, Mother, aqui empieza!" (Here
it begins), he said, clinging to me. We pressed on
as fast as the horse would carry us, with the fighting
raging all about. From time to time Chacon got off
the horse and walked, to lighten the load. For hours
we struggled on up the mountain, leaving a line of
dead men, women, and children behind. The horse's
flanks were heaving, his eyes dilated. At last we were
over the crest. Even in my agony, I reined in my
mount and paused, awed by the sweep of the open
country that lay beneath us, drinking in the thin
cold air. Federico was on the ground, stroking the
horse's muzzle, whispering words of affection and
encouragement in his ear.

And then I saw below us the little town of San
Francisco, with its green plaza and white flags flying
everywhere the biggest hanging from the church
tower. I thought our troubles were ended, for we
knew Tenango was not far away, where we should
find those who would help us.

*Ay, Federico, banderas blancas!" (white flags) I
cried, my voice breaking.

"Que importa!" (What of it!) said Federico.
"Vete, vete" (Get on, don't stop a minute) ,

He guessed the truth: this was the last trap laid

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 241

for us. White flags and women standing at their
doors to offer our starving men tortillas and water to
quench their thirst. Treachery, cruelty, and the
meanest cowardice! Our men were caught and
stabbed to death. Our column had to cross the
plaza, and snipers concealed on the roofs and in the
tree-tops fired on us as we scuttled across the open.
"We left our dead on every side. A poor woman try-
ing to hold on to my saddle strap was shot through
the head. The chief nurse of the Red Cross fell
dead behind me and was left in the street.

We fought our way what was left of us out
of the shambles and on down the slope of the moun-
tain, the soldiers firing on either side of us for their
lives and ours. I saw little Catherine in the train
and took her again on my horse. Poor little waif!
She had not found her mother in Malinalco, and had
spent the night with the officers. She never com-
plained, but all the cockiness was out of her; it was
pitiful to see her so meek and still.

I heard my name called weakly. Under a laurel
tree by the side of the road lay German Canas, our
friend who had come to Cuernavaca on the ill-fated
train that brought Helene Pontipirani, the spy, and
me. I dismounted and went to him. His face was
gray.

"Good-bye, Senora King/* he said. "I am finished.
You have always been a friend to me. . . . You will
tell my family, no?"

I thought he had been shot, but he had simply

242 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

collapsed from exhaustion and starvation. A man
had begged the loan of his horse for a little while, so
that he might rest. German Canas had consented,
for he thought the poor devil even weaker than him-
self. The man and the horse had gone off and never
come back. "Adios, Senora King. . . ."

"Don't say that!" I implored him. "Oh, Senor
Canas, we are almost there. Won't you make just
one more try? Think of your wife and your little
girl "

"Pull yourself together, man," said Chacon
brusquely. "You can't die on us now!"

He was tugging at him, an arm around his shoulder,
trying to raise him to a sitting position. Canas
clasped his hand. The sweat stood out on his fore-
head.

ff No puedo . . ." he said. "I cannot."

rf S/ puedes, hermano!" pleaded Chacon fiercely.
He hailed a soldier who rode a horse. "Take care of
this man!" he ordered. Together they placed our
friend in the saddle and steadied him.

Chacon himself was on foot. I had his horse,
and now that Catherine was with me there was no
room for him to jump on behind, as he had done be-
fore to rest. The heavy firing on one side and the
deep ravine on the other prevented us from leaving
the narrow mountain road for safer places. It
seemed we could not live through this.

"Only a little farther, Mother," Chacon encouraged
me.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 245

Suddenly an Indian appeared, a white flag in his
hand. He approached our general, whom we had
overtaken, to say that General Carranza's men were
in Tenango and would help us. There was no
stopping to listen to what the messenger had to say,
for the firing was incessant. He was made to walk
in front of our general as he talked. Our men were
desperate and said that if this was another trap set
for us, we must all die which no one seemed to
dread, as we had already suffered so much that
death instead of more treachery would have been a
happy release.

General Carranza, we knew, was one of the strong
leaders from the north who had come marching
down to avenge the shameful murder of President
Madero. He led a revolution to cast out Huerta for
having usurped the highest post in Mexico by means
of a crime.

The troops in our column were government men,
owing allegiance to President Huerta. It was of a
piece with the rest of their luck that they should
have fled straight into the hands of the Carranzistas!
But the Carranzistas met us with mercy. No buk
lets! They had an eye toward converting our men
to their cause.

The firing behind us ceased. The Zapatistas had
no desire to match their strength against that of the
fresh, well-equipped Carranzistas. Not a word was
spoken. We marched on in deadly silence, all women
and children to the front. Out of the eight thousand

246 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

who had started from Cuernavaca, only two thousand
were left. All our artillery was lost, all provisions
gone; we ourselves were torn, wounded, and hungry,
not caring much what they did to us.

The Carranzistas stationed along the road, leaning
on their rifles, looked at us curiously, I saw in their
looks what a cruel, pitiable sight we were. I knew
then that my hair was matted with dust and my eyes
reddened and swollen from sleeplessness and the fierce
sun. I saw my hand on the reins, dirty, the broken
nails still holding the earth of the barranca, where I
had dug my fingers into the wall of the gorge as I
fell. I saw that we were smeared with mud, our
garments stiff with blood and filth, our faces all set
in the same stark lines. We were more like animals
than people, foul-smelling, indistinguishable, all the
niceties of breeding and sentiment, all the fastidious
habits that made us ourselves, rubbed out. These
things had been the protection of our ego; without
them we were like wounded beasts crawling to cover.
I shrank from the gaze of the men by the roadside
like someone naked in a bad dream. I wanted to
cry, "This is not I!"

About two o'clock we entered the main street of
Tenango. Here everyone was stopped and searched,
and all disarmed except the captain and myself.
Chacon was leading the chestnut by the bridle and
the little girl was clinging on behind me. The
soldiers reached for my pistol and the rifle that lay
across the saddle, but Chacon stopped them with a

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 247

friendly gesture. "Don't take her pistol. She is a
foreigner and suffering." I showed my little Brit-
ish flag to prove what he said was true, and the captain
and I were allowed to pass without having anything
taken from us. The German brewer behind us was
not so lucky. He was worn-out and on edge with
all that we had endured. When a Carranzista de-
manded his rifle he swung it like a club and would
have brought the butt down on the fellow's head,
if Chacon had not curtly recalled him to his senses.
The troopers took all he had.

In the little plaza of the town a band was play-
ing.

I felt I could hold up no longer; the reaction was
setting in, overcoming me. Tears poured down my
face. Three men who were standing on the street
corner came to us and asked if I had been wounded.
When they heard I was hurt and in pain, one of them
said he would take me to his wife. We reached his
home. * . . I was lifted off the horse and put on a
bed of the same kind as before, a mat on boards. The
man sent his little boy to fetch a doctor at once. His
wife began, very gently, to undress me. She was In-
dian, young and pretty and radiant with pity. She
looked to me like the Virgin of Guadalupe herself.
I was weeping uncontrollably.

"It *s all right, Mother," said Chacon. "You are
safe now . * . you can rest. . . ."

CHAPTER XVIII

-L^ o one could have been kinder to Catherine and
me than this man and his wife who had taken us into
their house. They did everything possible to make
us comfortable overnight, with no thought for their
own inconvenience. Poor woebegone little Catherine
curled up without a word and went to sleep, like one
of the thin uncomplaining kittens that live in alleys
and learn to sleep anywhere. I saw the Mexican
woman stoop and lay her hand lightly on the hair
of the little American girl. "Pobrecita!" (Poor little
thing) , she said. She Was herself the mother of eight
children, in spite of her youth. She had been mar-
ried, she told me, at fourteen.

The next morning early, word came to us that
we could get a train for the city of Toluca, the large
town close to Mexico City which had been our goal
when we fled from Cuernavaca. Before I left I made
my host a present of my rifle. He was so overjoyed
by the present that he could scarcely believe that I
really meant to give him the weapon. I never knew

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 249

this man's name, only his title presidente muni-
cipal, mayor of the town. I left in his charge the
chestnut stallion which had brought Chacon and the
child and me through such awful dangers, and wrote
out a paper for him promising that he would be re-
paid for the expense of keeping the animal by the Brit-
ish Minister, Sir Thomas Hohler, at our Legation. I
knew if I invoked the name of England every care
would be taken of the beautiful thoroughbred and
he would not fall into the hands of the troops.

It hardly seemed possible that we were actually on
our way to Toluca in a train no fighting going
on outside! What a relief to ride in a smooth-
running, or comparatively smooth-running, day coach
away from bloody battle scenes, from the sight of the
dead and the cries of the dying; with only the hum
of wheels over steel threads of rails to lullaby a tired
soul to sleep. It was a ride of an hour and a half
from Tenango to Toluca. At first the sight of hun-
dreds of armed Carranzistas at all the stations along
the way filled me with fear; but I understood that it
was their presence which made me safe. Gradually
I relaxed, and the black shadows of past horrors be-
gan to fade.

Toluca was full of soldiers, and there was no room
for us in the inns. The German who had traveled
with us was connected with the brewery in this town,
and in desperation Chacon and I and the child drove
out to the brewery and begged him to find a room
there that we might use, or to tell us of some place

250 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

where we could go. He sent us to the glass factory.
The manager of the glass factory was very kind. He
sent us to his own house, and his wife took charge of
Catherine and me. How strange and blissful it felt
to lie propped in a real bed with a soft mattress and
pillows, and smooth sheets smelling of soap and sun-
light and a hot iron. I ate from a tray with a white
napkin on it, and flowered dishes: strong broth with
tiny dumplings, and fresh white bread. The little
German woman, my hostess, was an angel of mercy,
nursing me and trying to make me forget the awful
dangers we had passed through.

Little Catherine, with the resilience of childhood,
regained her strength quickly. Rest and good food
filled out the painful hollows all over her. With
her strength, her independent spirit returned. One
morning I heard her shouting crescendo, "No, no,
NO! I take my bath in the afternoon!" and her little
feet clattered as she raced down the stairs. It was
rather dreadful of her, considering how good our
hostess had been to us; but it was funny and hearten-
ing, too. It meant that Catherine, at least, was her-
self again!

I was not so lucky. Day after day the doctor told
me that I must stay in bed a little longer, and I was
too weak to wish to disobey him. Finally he said
that at the end of two weeks he would permit me
to make the trip to Mexico City. It was not a long
trip, but with conditions as they were, any trip was
bound to be a strain on me. I counted the days like

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 251

a child before Christmas. Mexico City meant to me
my daughter, news of my son away at school, and
security. I hoped that among the familiar faces of
relatives and old friends I should learn to feel safe
again.

While I was convalescing in this Toluca home, I
learned that Mrs. Mestrezat had been terribly
wounded in the small town of San Francisco, where
the trap of white flags had been set for us. She had
been lifted on, and then tied on, a mule belonging to
a Chinaman, who was ordered to walk by the side
of the animal with the soldiers. Before she was
wounded, she had dropped to the rear and faced the
deadly end of a revolver several times. As soon as
I was able to go out, I went to see her in the hospi-
tal where she had been taken by the Red Cross. She
was being well cared for, but had suffered greatly
and was very weak. She seemed quite without hope,
as though she were painfully struggling back to life
not because she wished to live, but because she felt a
burden of duty still to be discharged toward Cath-
erine and her son. It seemed to me horribly unfair
that the impersonal destruction of war should have
laid low Mrs. Mestrezat, who was a noncombatant
and a stranger, and who had gone to Cuernavaca
only because she had to, to earn a living for herself
and her children. I thought fate could have spared
this brave woman. Her plight troubled me the more
because there was little I could do to help it.

One of the hardest things for me in Toluca was

252 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

the visit of the postmaster's wife. Our postmaster
in Cuernavaca had sent his wife to Mexico City when
the situation in Cuernavaca became dangerous, but
he had remained in the town because of his office.
He had been with us in our pitiable flight across the
mountains. His wife in Mexico City heard that the
remnant of our column of refugees had reached
Toluca, and came to Toluca to find her husband and
care for him. Now her husband had been killed in
the plaza of San Francisco, and the officers told her
so. But the poor woman would not believe that he
was dead, and begged me to give her some shred of
hope. I had to tell her that I had seen her husband
fall

The most tragic thing of all, however, was the
news that while we were isolated from the world in
Cuernavaca, war had broken out in Europe. France,
Belgium, Germany, and my own England were in
arms, and over them was the shadow of the horrors
I had just experienced. A young German, a friend
of my hosts, was in the habit of coming every day
to read the newspapers to me, and one day I said
to him, "Why are you so kind to me? Do you feel
no bitterness because our countries are at war?"
For he was young, and the young are seldom patient
or tolerant.

He said, "Mrs. King, I went to school in England*
My sister married an Englishman. I love England.
And yet, if I could get out of the ports of Mexico, I
would go into the trenches and kill every Englishman

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 253

I could, because the Englishi are fighting my coun-
try."

"And our men would do tttMe same/' I said, knowing
them; and marveled at tic magnificent stupidity of
it all.

Chacon came often to see; Hkow I was getting along.
To my relief, he was getting on very well with the
Carranzistas in power in Ti'oJUuca, though he had be-
longed to an opposing f actiioon. Our recent terrible
experiences had left no nii'ible mark on him, and
he always came radiating Kaejopy smiles and a kind of
natural goodness. With time; rest of us more or less
on edge because of the twffllibles in Mexico and the
troubles in Europe, he secraedlto me the sanest person
I knew. No amount of propaganda or even of
cognac could make a f anatk: of Federico, for he was
at home with his own lini-d He fought because
liberty sounded like a good! thing to him, and be-
cause he was naturally fitted I to defend and protect
those who could not look <wit for themselves.

When I was strong enougH., B he took me for a drive.
I noticed that he was alresi-Qjy bowing to most of
the pretty girls, and he talked unconcernedly about
the merits of the rival c&nfbwes, the winning little boy
who polished his boots, axid Sa row that had broken
out in the barracks when "ttwo men were caught
cheating in the same card g&me.

"Three aces of hearts,, Miwher !" he said, roaring
with laughter. "And all OKI the board at once."

It struck me that the Revolution, with all its

254 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

horrors, was the happiest thing that had ever hap-
pened to him. No one had troubled to teach him
how to use his tremendous vitality and good will in
an orderly society. But war released his energies,
and danger called out the best in him.

As our carriage skirted the central plaza, a man
approached and inquired if I was one of the two
foreign ladies who had been with the refugees from
Cuernavaca. On learning that I was, he told us that
the American dentist had something important to
communicate to me. He pointed out the sign,
Dentista Americano, and Chacon and I went imme-
diately to the office, although we could not imagine
what the American dentist could wish to say to me.

The dentist proved to be a pleasant fellow, and
made interested inquiries about my recent adventures.
Finally he asked a question I thought singularly in-
quisitive. He asked if I had lost anything of value
on the way.

"Anything of value! 5 ' I retorted. "Only my
health and peace of mind and all the personal treasures
I had brought away on the pack mule!"

"But was there nothing else?" he persisted; and
now I perceived that there was some purpose behind
his questions.

"Why, yes," I answered. "Three thousand pesos
in bills almost half of all I have in the world. I
try not to think of that! Before we left Cuernavaca
I placed these bills in a little suede bag, and Mrs.
Mestrezat, my manager, wore this bag tied about her

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 255

waist on our journey. When she was wounded so
terribly in San Francisco, they had to cut off her
blood-soaked clothes and put a soldier's shirt on her,
and in this way the little suede bag was lost."

"If you were to see that bag again," said the dentist,
watching me closely, "would you know it, Mrs.
King?"

"Of course!" I said, startled.

He went to his safe and, opening it, took out a
sorry-looking object. Bloodstained and water-stif-
fened, it was still the little suede bag that Mrs.
Mestrezat had worn.

I took it curiously when he handed it to me, and
more from habit than anything else I loosened the
drawstring. Incredibly, I felt inside the springy bulk
of a roll of currency. I drew out the banknotes with
shaking fingers and counted them. Not a cent was
missing. I could not say a word.

"No one will ever quite believe this when you tell
it, Mrs. King," the dentist was saying, "but once in
a while such things happen."

He told me how, one evening at dusk, as he was
closing and locking his office, a man had stepped
into the doorway beside him. The fellow was wear-
ing the uniform of the Juanes the common soldiers,
"Johns" as they call them. He had appeared so
suddenly and silently and his general aspect was so
rough-looking that for a moment the dentist thought
he meant to rob or attack him. Instead, he had
thrust the bag into the American's hand, saying

256 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

brusquely, ff Es de la extranjera it belongs to the
foreign lady who came with us from Cuernavaca.
Give it to her." With that he had turned and van-
ished down the street, and the dentist had unlocked
the door again and gone inside to see what the ob-
ject was.

I made every effort to find the man who had re-
turned my money and reward him. His splendid
gesture was the more touching because I knew that
the troops to whom he had belonged had not been
paid for months and were in need of everything that
money could buy. Chacon and the American dentist
did all they could to help in the search, but we were
never able to find the man. He seemed to have dis-
appeared, swallowed up in the obscure ranks of the
Juanes. To this day it troubles me that I was not
able to make some tangible recognition of his rare
and unassuming honesty.

I paid a last visit to the dentist, just before I left
Toluca, to urge him to continue his efforts. He said,
to lighten my distress, "Men do not do things like
this for rewards or gratitude, Mrs. King. They do
them to satisfy something in themselves. If it had
been thirty pesos, perhaps he would have used it."

He walked restlessly over to the long window and
stood there, iiands clasped behind his back, looking
out over the plaza where soldiers were lounging in
twos and threes. "These are abnormal times, Mrs.
King," he said, an undercurrent of excitement in
his voice. "It goes deeper than the uniforms. Safety

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 257

and security have been knocked into a cocked hat,
and now that it 's no good anyway we can see what
a flat thing our precious cautiousness was. When you
come right down to it, we Ve given up a lot for the
sake of being civilized!"

"And war/* I said with some bitterness, "is a kind
of a spree. What a relief it is for you men to cast
off responsibilities!"

I remember that he swung around, then, and faced
me; but his eyes were looking past me, to the trenches
of France, I think. He said, "You mean, war is too
high a price to pay. Of course! No one ever starts
a war; it 9 s always the other fellow. But once war 's
begun . . . It 's a fine, heady thing for a man to
taste his own nature. We humans are capable of
more horrible things than we like to believe; you
have seen that, Mrs. King. But we are also capable
of more beautiful actions than one might expect."

I said softly, "I have seen that, too."

The three thousand pesos were a godsend to me.
Added to the five thousand pesos I had sewed into
my riding habit, they made up a sum large enough to
tide me over the immediate future, and the doctor and
my people in Mexico City forbade me to think any
further.

At the outbreak of the Revolution I had been
fairly well-to-do, but all the money I had made in
Cuernavaca I had reinvested in that town. When
the political troubles began and tourists ceased to
visit Cuernavaca, my tearoom business had rapidly

258 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

dwindled to nothing. The pottery factory had not
lasted much longer; although the Zapatistas spared
it when they were in possession of the town in 1911,
the Federals had sacked it a little later. Now I had
been obliged to abandon my largest investment, the
Hotel Bella Vista. No definite word had reached
us in Toluca as to what had happened in Cuernavaca
after we left. No one had been so foolish as to go
back to see, and we could only conjecture what the
Zapatistas had done when they entered the town.
Shortly after I reached Mexico City, a messenger ar-
rived from Cuernavaca who confirmed my worst
fears. He told us that the Zapatistas had completely
sacked the beautiful little place and in three days re-
duced it to ruins.

A bitter chapter in my life was reopened when I
found waiting for me in Mexico City letters from
Helene Pontipirani, the spy who had betrayed me
and the town I loved. She had not been killed as
we thought, but had got off scot-free. She wrote to
beg my pardon for what she had done. I was still
too ill in mind and body from the wounds I had re-
ceived and from remembrance of horrors to feel
any active hatred or even anger; but I shrank from
answering her letters as one might shudder away from
a snake.

In spite of the devotion of my daughter and
the kindness of my relatives and friends, I found
Mexico City in the months that followed hardly
the place for an invalid. Unrest was in the air.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 259

Huerta had been driven out of the capital and the
presidential hat was, as it were, in the ring. For
the time being Don Venustiano Carranza was in pos-
session of the city. He had been declared com-
mander in chief of all the military forces, but how
much this title meant, no one could say. It seemed
unlikely that all the troops by now in arms would
obey him. The Revolution was no longer a con-
certed movement, if it had ever been so. Mexico
was torn by factions, all in name at least "Revolu-
tionary" and all more or less antagonistic to each
other. I thought, Men seeking liberty are like men
seeking God; they are all sure that everyone else's
way is wrong.

Don Venustiano Carranza was a man of command-
ing appearance, well educated and of Spanish descent.
How innately generous or disinterested he was is
perhaps a verdict for future historians to render, but
I can testify that the white flag of the avant-courrier
from the Carranzista forces, as he approached our
battle-worn general and the pitiable remnant of our
army at Tenango, was as a banner from the bulwarks
of Heaven.

At this time Don Venustiano had at his side
Pancho Villa, the picturesque ruffian from the north,
in whose service Helene Pontipirani had betrayed
Cuernavaca and me. Much has been said to white-
wash Villa, but in the part of the country where I
live he is called, by common consent, murderer and
bandit. To the people of Morelos, which he ravaged

260 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

later, Villa personifies the worst side of the Revolu-
tion, as does Zapata the best. Zapata wanted for his
people only the land itself, which was rightfully their
own, so that they might work out their salvation; and
he never swerved from that goal. But Villa lost
himself in the red mists of hatred. At the age of
fourteen he had killed his first man, to avenge a
scoundrel's outrage of his sister's honor. It was as
though all his career were colored by a feeling of
reprisal against the world for the bad start he and
his fellows had got in life. Wherever he marched
he conquered in these days, and wherever he con-
quered followed death and destruction, plunder and
rapine all the crimes and excesses that war makes
palatable to those who commit them.

In after years, when I could think calmly about
her, I often wondered why, of all the Revolutionary
leaders, it had been Pancho Villa who won the al-
legiance of Helene Pontipirani. Stories of her es-
capades in other lands have drifted to my ears, but
I am sure that she was not a spy for merely merce-
nary reasons. I think there must have been some-
thing overbred and decadent in her, that was fasci-
nated by brutal, primitive strength.

One day my brother-in-law said to me, "Well,
Rosa, your old friend General Felipe Angeles has
come back to Mexico, just as you predicted he would;
and is in the thick of things again/*

"Poor Mrs. Angeles!" I thought, for I knew how
she must be suffering, with her husband once more

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 261

in constant danger. I had not seen her since that
day, more than two years before, when I had found
her in hiding with her husband, after the assassina-
tion of Madero.

I tried to find out whether she had returned with
the general, and where I might reach her, but no
one seemed to know. As it turned out, I was not
even able to see the general, for matters were reach-
ing a climax in the capital.

General Carranza found that in Villa he had an
ally not easily managed. There were disagreements
and hostilities between them, and to my surprise my
gentle and noble friend, Felipe Angeles, ranged him-
self on the side of Villa. Why he did this I could
never understand, unless it was that he recognized
in Villa a rare degree of force and leadership, and
hoped to turn the tremendous energies of the man
to more worthy ends. Villa, indeed, must have been
made better by the contact, for once, in speaking of
Angeles, he said, "He taught me there was such a
thing as mercy.**

At last came the open break we had all been ex-
pecting. There was an entire split in the ranks,
Villa and his adherents declaring themselves against
Carranza and his party.

This was ominous news to us foreigners as well
as to the Mexicans, Mexico City, the capital, was
bound to become a bone of contention between the
two leaders. My friends, fortified by their inexperi-
ence of the horrors war could unleash, were able to

262 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

maintain a certain calm. But in my mind there was
too clear a picture of what might follow this break;
and no reasoned arguments could rid me of the fear
that took possession of my weakened spirit.

Just at this time the owner of the Hotel France
in Orizaba, a gentleman I had known for years,
asked me if I would take charge of his hotel for him.
I was charmed with the prospect of getting away from
Mexico City, and pleased with the idea of taking over
the Francia. I had a sister living in Orizaba and I
knew and liked the town. The idea of being on my
own again and handling business affairs was like
meat and drink to me; I was tired of being an in-
valid.

Vera and I packed our things as quickly as we
could and went to Orizaba.

CHAPTER XIX

Q

"RIZABA is a lovely tranquil town midway on the
steep descent from the high plateau, where Mexico
City lies, to the narrow strip of coast and the port
of Vera Cruz* In Orizaba, the luxuriant tropical
foliage of the lower slope meets and mingles with
the hardy shrubs that grow higher up. The Hotel
France, like my Bella Vista, had formerly been a
great mansion, and the massive gates and stately stone
staircase remained. The great patio was full of
flowering vines and tall palm trees, for Orizaba is
noted for its lovely patios and rambling gardens.
The mellow old houses, the deep ravines that slashed
about the edges of the town, the circling mountains
topped by the snowy cone of the volcano Orizaba
with a twinge of homesickness I realized that the
quality of the place was hauntingly like the charm
of my own town in the peaceful days before the
Revolution. Since I was cut off from Cuernavaca,
I was like an exile forever seeing in strange places a
touch of home.

264 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

This precious peace did not last long. Orizaba
was soon bristling with Carranzista soldiers and the
Hotel France was filled with the tramp of officers'
boots and the jingle of spurs. The commander for
the district, whom we will call General Lopez,
which was not his name, established himself in
the bridal suite. Everywhere were noise and gayety;
and Vera and I discreetly kept to our rooms a great
deal of the time.

Until I saw the effect she had on the militares, I
had not realized how very pretty Vera was becoming.
She was at the age where I thought her still a child
and she thought herself almost a young lady. Her
shy blonde beauty had the added charm of rarity in
that land of brunettes, and she was beginning to
notice how the men looked after her when she walked
with me.

"Remember/* I told her firmly, "y u are n( >t to go
downstairs alone." There were entirely too many
handsome young lieutenants in General Lopez's com-
mand. I wanted no infantile romances added to my
other problems!

But it never occurred to me that there was any
need to be concerned for my daughter until one day,
when she was teasing the parakeet in the patio, I
happened to look up and saw the commander, Gen-
eral Lopez, standing on the balcony watching her.

Without saying anything to Vera, I quietly ma-
noeuvred to keep her out of the general's way. This
was not difficult; simply a matter of keeping her in

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 267

our own rooms and seeing that she went often to my
sister's or to the houses of old friends in Orizaba.
My sister had a daughter who was about Vera's age,
and Vera was always glad to be with Margaret and
with another particularly dear friend, the daughter
of our physician. She suspected nothing.

I had made a point of avoiding conversation with
the military men, who were all complete strangers
to us, and if General Lopez noticed my daughter's
continual absences he had no opening to inquire about
her. He did not lack for feminine society, and after
a few days I concluded that his interest in Vera had
been only a passing flash and that he had already for-
gotten her.

One afternoon Vera came home in great distress.
"The soldiers have taken Katie's pony and her father's
horse!" Katie was the physician's daughter, "Her
father really needs the horse and Katie will be heart-
broken if she does n't have her pony. He does every-
thing she tells him to. She asked me if I would try
to get them back for her. Do you think it would
be all right for me to speak to General Lopez about
it?"

I knew a young girl could not speak to one of
the militares alone; but I promised her, after a mo-
ment's hesitation, that we would both speak to Gen-
eral Lopez. Katie was not only Vera's friend; her
father was an old friend of my dead husband. For
friendship's sake, I thought, we could take a little
risk.

268 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

That evening, when the general entered the draw-
ing-room where I was sitting with my daughter, I
spoke to him. To my surprise he answered in perfect
English. My amazement pleased and flattered him,
and he told us that he had been educated at the
University of California at Berkeley. He went on
talking easily and well, and as he spoke I studied
him. He was a large and powerful man, rather dark,
and fascinating in a way. Underneath his courtly
manners and princely bearing there was a hint of
something elemental that his American culture had
not reached. He was not a man to be taken lightly.

When Vera told him about the horses, he of-
fered at once to do all he could to recover them and
return them to our friends. He added gallantly,
"To such a fair pleader, nothing could be denied."

This remark, and the way he said it, did not please
me in the least. I was more than ever convinced
that Vera and I must keep to strict retirement in our
rooms.

Later that evening, while we were at cena, the late
supper, he came over to our table and told us that
he had given orders about the physician's horses. We
thanked him, but still he lingered.

He said, "I have horses which are at your disposal
for riding at any time, Mrs. King " and added
with a knowing look, "not stolen horses, either."

I did not like his manner. I got up and left the
room, with Vera following close behind me.

The general felt definitely snubbed. Our friends*

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 269

horses were never returned to them. But I do not
think they would have got them back in any case.

A few nights later the full military band assembled
under our windows and serenaded Vera. I was
thoroughly annoyed, and a little troubled. After all,
it might well go to a young girPs head to have a gen-
eral serenading her. I asked Vera what she thought
of General Lopez.

To my relief, she answered promptly, "I don't like
him. I wish he 'd go away from here."

Any woman out of her teens would have felt Gen-
eral Lopez's attraction, but my daughter was still
a child, accustomed to the gentle surroundings of her
boarding school in Tennessee, conducted by women
of the greatest refinement. She was afraid of Gen-
eral Lopez without understanding why.

One afternoon as I was having tea with my sister,
a prominent man of the town hurriedly entered her
drawing-room. "I have something very urgent to
say to you, Mrs. King," he said to me.

I thought at first it was something relating to one
of his large haciendas, for at that time many wealthy
Mexicans put their houses and lands into the hands
of foreigners and in this way saved them from confis-
cation. I said, "Certainly, Don Juan, I will be glad
to help you in any way possible."

But it appeared that Don Juan Gutierrez had come
to help me. He began by apologizing profusely, re-
gretting that he had to trouble me. I was astonished
and began to wonder what was coming. To my hor-

270 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

ror, he told me that General Lopez sent him with
word that he intended to marry my daughter the
next evening. General Lopez had also stated, ad-
vancing his qualifications as a bridegroom, that he
was very rich which was quite true; that he was
a Baptist, which was not true; and, funnier still to
any who knew his reputation, that he was unmar-
ried!

My indignation was unbounded. I wanted to
send back a reply that he should never have my
daughter, but Don Juan wisely counseled me not to
do so. A man high in power could not be refused in
that way. I sent, instead, the polite message that
foreigners never permitted their daughters to marry
so young, and that my daughter must still go to
school for two years; that she had only come from
Tennessee to Mexico for the holidays and had not
returned because railroad communication between
Mexico City and the border had been almost
destroyed, and it was too dangerous for anyone to
travel; and that when her education was completed,
the question of her marriage could be considered. I
thought that would end the matter.

Imagine, then, my consternation when I was told
shortly after that General Lopez was getting ready
a train to carry off my daughter! I sent at once for
our British Vice-Consul. He came immediately, ac-
companied by a delightful American, Mr. Finney,
from Boston I believe, who had been a coffee buyer
in those parts for years. Mr. Finney's indignation

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 271

was wonderful to see, and I only wish that I could
have taken a snapshot of him as he hopped about
that room in a rage to think that any man would
try to steal my daughter. "Damn his impudence!"
he said, like someone in a play. The consul merely
walked the floor and muttered over and over again,
"But this is an outrage!" That was as far as his
British phlegm would let him go. He wanted to
take my daughter at once to Vera Cruz under his
official protection and put her in charge of the Brit-
ish Consul there. This scheme was not workable,
however. General Lopez had snapped his fingers,
as it were, at the wrath of the British government in
even thinking of carrying off my daughter. He had
power to stop anything and everything on the rail-
road in that part of the country. We thought of
appealing to his superiors, but that was impossible.
General Carranza himself was in Mexico City, and
General Obregon over near Puebla. That was why
General Lopez dared to attempt such an action!

Our only chance was to hide her away.

That night, after dark, she was slipped out of the
hotel and taken to my sister's home. She did not
want to go at first. "I don't know what is the mat-
ter with everybody," she said, in a tone of vexation.
"Auntie Lina has been upset for days and wanting to
take me away from you, and now you are simply
pushing me off on her." I had to tell her then what
General Lopez intended. From my sister's home she
was smuggled to a large tobacco factory owned by

272 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

foreigners a very good hiding place, as there were
innumerable underground passages where she could
be hidden and never found in case search was made.

She was hidden there four days. All this while I
pretended that she was indisposed and could not leave
her room. General Lopez made solicitous inquiries
every day about her health and sent her baskets of
the choicest fruits. Of course, he knew perfectly
well that she was not ill, and not in her room; and
was carrying on a quiet but determined search for
her in the town.

The fifth day, I heard with joy that General
Obregon had sent orders to General Lopez to pro-
ceed at once with his troops to Puebla to fight the
Zapatistas.

Although I felt my troubles were now over, I did
not wish to risk the chance of General Lopez re-
turning to Orizaba. I abandoned the management
of the Hotel France and hurried down to Vera Cruz
with my daughter and my niece, to keep her com-
pany. An English friend lent us his apartment,
which was situated just across the street from the
British Consul's. In Vera Cruz I subsequently re-
ceived messages from General Lopez, relayed through
an American doctor who came sometimes to the
city, congratulating me on the success of my strata-
gem. He intimated that he would come in person to
deliver his felicitations, if and when he reached Vera
Cruz. Fortunately lie and his troops never entered
the city while the girls and I were there.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 273

While still in Orizaba we had heard that Don
Venustiano Carranza, as commander in chief of the
Constitutional armies, had transferred himself to
the presidency of the nation. This action had not
been very cordially received by the other military
chiefs assembled at the time in Mexico City, and Don
Venustiano Carranza decided to abandon Mexico
City and to declare Vera Cruz the capital of the
republic. To our dismay, President Carranza ar-
rived in Vera Cruz soon after we did, with his min-
isters of state, generals and soldiers, and all the riff-
raff, in countless numbers, that followed the army.

I was once more in an extremely nervous condi-
tion. The shock of the incident with General Lopez
had undone all the good effects of my first peaceful
weeks in Orizaba, and I jumped at every unexpected
sound. I would have left at once, with the girls,
for Mexico City if that had been possible. But the
Carranzistas had destroyed the railroad behind them
as they came, in order that Mexico City might suf-
fer from lack of the food ordinarily shipped up from
the coast. Luckily for us, this situation proved to
have its redeeming features. If we could not go
to Mexico City, neither could the Carranzistas' en-
emies come down to attack Vera Cruz. While the
various factions were creating disorder in Mexico
City by their disputes, Carranza ruled quite peace-
fully in our seaport. The girls and I, in driving and
walking about the town, often saw Don Venustiano,
and he always bowed graciously and gave us a pleasant

274 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

smile and a few friendly words. He was a striking
figure on horseback*

In time I became accustomed to the sight of his
troops, stalwart fellows from the north, mingling in
the streets with the darker, slenderer men of the
tropics; even to the sight of the women soldiers. I
remember one particularly, a fine-looking woman,
Colonel Carrasco. They said she led her women
troops like a man, or an Amazon, and herself shot
down, in approved military fashion, any who faltered
or disobeyed in battle. An American pointed out
to me General Alvaro Obregon, who had so provi-
dentially called General Lopez away from Orizaba.
"If I am not mistaken," he said, "that young man
will be one of the great men of Mexico." Even in
those years General Obregon was distinguished for
his fearlessness and brilliant gifts of leadership, and
for his integrity. His men would follow him any-
where, and it was known that he did not take part
in the wholesale stealing practised by many of the
military men.

From time to time we heard news of the dis-
order and depredations in Mexico City. Mr. Clif-
ford, the British friend who had lent me his apart-
ment, was king's messenger on the railroad, and by
virtue of his office was able to pass safely back and
forth between Mexico City and Vera Cruz. He told
us that Villa had taken Mexico City and might have
been made president if the people had not feared a
man so relentless. Later he told us that Zapata had

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 275

entered the city and that he and his followers had
been a source of wonder to the disillusioned citizens.
When they were hungry they asked for tortillas, the
coarse corn cakes to which they were accustomed.
The people laughed at them for fools, being satisfied
with such plain fare when all the luxurious viands
of a great city were theirs for the taking. Know-
lag the native keenness of these hardy mountaineers,
I was sure that they must have laughed in their turn
at the soft city folk who could not understand
anything outside their own way of doing things.

One of the Zapatistas had stopped Mr. Clifford
on the street.

"I had no idea what he wanted/' our friend re-
lated with a grin, "but I knew I wasn't going to
argue. His rifle was in his hand, two cartridge belts
were around his waist, and two more crossed each
other over his back and chest; and as for knives
well, they were glistening wherever they could be
anchored on his person!" The Britisher thought he
was about to be apprehended on suspicion, or at least
asked for a cash donation, but instead, with a friendly
gesture, the man had asked him for a cigarette and
match.

I listened eagerly to everything our friend had to
say about the Zapatistas. These were, for the most
part, men from my own state. Many of them I
must have seen in the old days, in 1911 when Zapata
held Cuernavaca, or even earlier, before the troubles
began. Some, doubtless, I knew by name. And

276 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

though I had been driven from my home by the
Zapatistas, I was glad when he said that Zapata had
made a tremendous impression on all by his sincerity
and selflessness. For I still remembered the Man of
Morelos, silent upon his horse, the day we had waited
together for the coming of Mr. Madero.

Mr. Clifford said that tremendous sums of money
passed through Zapata's hands, but he kept none of
it for himself; and this was very rare in those days
when the temptations that faced the generals were
so great that few could withstand them. The
enormous wealth of the rich people who had fled from
the country was considered forfeited, but there was
no strong central government to which all the gen-
erals felt accountable, and which could systematically
administer for the public good the funds they con-
fiscated. It is not surprising that amid the confusion
many were demoralized by the opportunities to ad-
vance their personal fortunes. But Zapata wanted
nothing for himself, and for his people only land
and the liberty to work it in peace. He had seen
the evil the love of money had wrought in the upper
classes.

Hearing these tales of discord in Mexico City, I
was glad enough to be in Vera Cruz. Among the
train who had come to the coast with Carranza was
my dear friend Federico Chacon. We had a joyous
reunion with him, and there was a great exchange of
adventures that had befallen us since we were last
together. Federico was in his usual good spirits and

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 277

swore, when I asked him, that he enjoyed the entire
confidence of the Carranzistas. I found out later,
from other sources, that this was not entirely true,
and that he said it merely to keep me from worrying;
but at the time I believed it and it made me very
happy.

How he laughed and teased me when I started and
fell into a tremble at a sudden sharp sound outside,
like the report of a revolver!

"Aha, you must have a guilty conscience, Mother
to jump at the popping of a nux vomica pod, that
falls from a tree in your own garden!*'

The thing that aggravated me about these seizures
was that I really was not afraid in the ordinary sense.
I had perfect confidence in the Carranzistas, in the
proximity of the British Consul and of the American
warships that lay in the harbor, and now I even had
Chacon, my own particular hero, within call. I
was afraid of things that were all over, that had hap-
pened a year ago. Any shock seemed to have power
to evoke horrible recollections of my flight from
Cuernavaca, which I had long ago forgotten, or even
had not consciously noted at the time. The worst
times were at night when the pain in my back was
stronger than usual and I could not sleep. Then
whole incidents which had been a merciful blur
at the time would unroll before me with excruciating
clarity like a strip of film, run in slow-motion.

I threw myself as much as possible into the gay
social life of Vera Cruz* There were a number of

278 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

English and American civilians in town, and we
quickly became friends with Admiral Kepperton and
the officers on the American ships. There were par-
ties and dances and picnics on the beach. Vera and
Margaret were having the time of their lives, and I
enjoyed their pleasure. I liked to bathe in the warm
surf, and found the constant roll of the sea, never
far away in Vera Cruz, curiously soothing to my
nerves. Stillness would have been unbearable in my
tense condition, but in the rush and break of the
sea there was a rhythm that seemed to smooth out the
kinks.

And then Chacon got into trouble.

During the time General Robles had been in com-
mand in Cuernavaca, Chacon had held the important
and confidential post of chief of police. For some
reason the Carranzistas had an interest in what had
happened at that period; and some of the Carranzista
officers had dropped veiled hints to me that Chacon
was skating on thin ice. These extremely delicate
hints had gone over my head at the time they were
uttered, but they suddenly crystallized in my mind
when a strange man approached Vera and me one
afternoon and asked if we could tell him where to
find the captain.

We were walking in the plaza, the garden in the
centre of the town, when he stopped us. The re-
quest was innocent enough, but it struck me as odd
that the man should come to me to learn the captain's
whereabouts instead of going to his fellow officers.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 279

And then I realized that he must be one of the numer-
ous private detectives, or spies, who were in the
town, and that he had come to me because he thought
I was a gullible woman, who would not suspect his
intentions!

I told him civilly that at the moment I did not
know where the captain was, but would try to find
Dut for him. If he would call at my apartment that
evening, I might be able to tell him.

Vera and I went home quickly. Our Indian cook
was a woman who had been with me for years in
Cuernavaca, and I trusted her implicitly. I sent
her out at once to find Chacon, telling her not to re-
turn without him. He was not at his lodgings, but
she finally found him watching a cockfight in an
alley. When he heard what had passed between the
detective and me, he admitted that his situation was
as grave as I feared, and asked me to hide him some-
where.

I had anticipated this. All the while we waited for
him I had been trying to plan what to do. We were
living in an apartment building that suddenly seemed
all windows and doors. The only possible place
where anyone could be hidden was an old room with
no windows at all, which was used for a charcoal
cellar. Into this dark and terrible place Federico
descended, bracing himself with an unconscious shake
of the shoulders, like a man about to plunge into
icy water.

He was no more than safely hidden when the de-

280 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

tective arrived. I told him that Chacon had gone
out of the city for two or three days, but if he called
on me when he returned, I would ask him to look up
the man who was seeking him and find out what he
wanted. I do not know if the detective suspected
me of knowing more than I told, but he came nearly
every day to inquire if I had heard anything of Cha-
con's return. He never came inside the house, but
remained respectfully outside, asking his questions
and receiving his answers through the grilled windows
of my first-floor apartment. I was a foreigner and
he knew he was treading on delicate ground. But
he maintained a quiet surveillance of our house.
From day to day I held him off. It never occurred
to me that I was telling lies, nor would I have cared
if it had, remembering Him Who said, "If a sheep
fall into a pit, will ye not take it out on the Sabbath
Day?" Set aside the Sabbath for a sheep! He
would forgive me that I set aside the truth for a life.
I had but one thought, and that was to save that brave
young life with all its noble impulses and loyal friend-
ship.

Meanwhile, Federico's position was desperate. He
was penned up in dark and fearful heat. Dust had
accumulated for years in the charcoal catacomb and
I was afraid he might smother to death. The days
stretched into weeks and still he dared not come out
for a breath of air, as in our apartment there were
neighbors all about us. The least occurrence out of
the ordinary would rouse suspicion in them that we

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 281

foreigners were hiding a young Mexican perhaps
an enemy of the government then in power in Vera
Cruz. Federico was in the hole a month, and never
once did the poor fellow utter a complaint. He
knew we three women were doing all in our power to
help him. I racked my brains for a scheme to get
him safely out of the city. I understood not only the
constant danger of discovery, which would mean
forthright shooting or hanging for poor Federico, but
also the terrible effect of the confinement itself on
one of his active, open nature.

At last I found a way. Mr. Clifford was, as I have
already said, permitted to pass freely in and out of
Vera Cruz. When I told him my tale of woe, he
at once called the British Consul into conference.
"No matter what happens/' I told them, "Chacon
must be saved!"

"Of course he must," said Mr. Clifford stoutly,
knowing how many times I owed my life to Federico.
The two of them decided that the captain should
make his escape carrying the bags of mail on the road
to Mexico City.

Poor Chacon! The day he returned to the light
he looked like a stoker on a transatlantic liner or a
vaudeville actor blackened to look like a negro.
What a joy it was to him to be once more in the free
air! He had a good bath or rather, several
and disguised himself in the white calzones and san-
dals Mr. Clifford had provided. To us who had
known him only as the captain, in faultless military

282 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

dress, giving orders to his men, his appearance as a
mozo, carrying bags of mail, would have been comical
if the emergency had not been so desperate. I hoped
he would not forget his role.

He seemed to take the disguise as a great joke and
beamed his irrepressible smile as he embraced me
and said good-bye. He left with Mr. Clifford.
What a relief to me! No one can imagine how I felt
but those who have gone through such a season of
suspense. The following day, when the private de-
tective came to call on me, he was disgusted to learn
that I had had word that Chacon was in Puebla. Of
course they never found him there; he had gone to
Mexico City. A few days later I had a letter from
him assuring me of his safe arrival.

I fully expected that this second nerve-racking
incident would be followed by the same sort of re-
lapse I had experienced after Vera's troubles with
General Lopez. To my surprise, I felt no such ill
effects. On the contrary, I felt more like my old self
than I had for a long time. The protracted en-
counter of wits with the detective, in which I had
come off best, restored my confidence in my coolness
and resourcefulness. I said to myself, "Vera and
Margaret have been babying me too much. Until
I was hurt I always led an active, constructive life.
No wonder memories prey on me when my daily life
has no purpose." I began to cast about for some
enterprise in which I could use my abilities and regain
mental as well as financial independence. The mem-

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 283

ories of what I had suffered and seen no longer
crowded so strongly into my waking hours; but
sometimes they obtruded into my dreams. I had one
recurrent nightmare in which I stood impotently by,
screaming, while the Zapatistas knocked down my
Hotel Bella Vista and methodically piled up the stones
to form a pyramid.

"It can't be as bad as that," I told myself, irritated.
I had seen towns that had been sacked. I knew there
must be something left perhaps enough to salvage
and rebuild. . . . "That 's it," I thought, in a flash.
"If I could see the Bella Vista again, the reality would
dispel these horrible fancies. If I could rebuild it,
salvage something from the wreck, I would lose this
sense of futility. . . ."

And from that time on the determination grew in
me to revisit Cuernavaca.

CHAPTER XX

NONSENSE, Mrs. King! Whatever are you think-
ing of!"

It was the British Minister, Sir Thomas Hohler,
speaking. I had just told him of my intention to run
down to Cuernavaca and see for myself what had
happened there. I can see and hear him to-day as
he jumped up, horrified. "I do not approve at all
of your going and perhaps making any amount
of trouble for our government!'*

"Well," I said, "that is at least a new angle of ob-
jection." My family and friends had been trying
to dissuade me from the trip on the ground of my
ill-health and the likelihood of nervous shock.

"You are taking entirely too much for granted,"
went on Sir Thomas, ruffled out of his usual diplo-
matic serenity. "It is true that the Federals have
driven the Zapatistas out of Cuernavaca and are once
more in possession of the town, but that does n't mean
a great deal. The Zapatistas are making constant
trouble for the Federals all through the district

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 285

and you talk of 'running down to see what has hap-
pened/ Really, I can't allow it."

I told him frankly that I should have to go in any
case. Vera and I must find some means of keeping
alive, and the only chance of bettering our desperate
financial situation was to return to Cuernavaca and
try to recover something of what I had lost there.
In the end, all I promised was that I would not take
Vera with me when I went. Sir Thomas's parting
shot was, "All right, go if you are so determined;
but remember I will let you get out of trouble as
best you can, yourself."

That made me rather laugh, for I knew how good
he was, and that if anything did happen to me on my
trip, he would do everything in his power to save me
from the consequences of my "folly." He was a
man whom we should call in Spanish "imiy simpd-
tico" (very sympathetic). He knew how to meet
the difficult state of affairs the Revolution had cre-
ated; and not only his cleverness, but the tact and
delightful manner that went with it, helped all Brit-
ishers through this trying period.

And so, in 1916, two years after I had been driven
out, I returned to Cuernavaca.

Every time the train jerked and stopped suddenly
my heart beat violently and I feared that we were
about to be attacked. The train toiled up the moun-
tain barrier, and we left behind the hazy Valley of
Mexico with its ravaged villages and wasted fields
and crawled across the level highlands. Here noth-

286 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

ing was changed. It was a region of few dwellings,
of thin cold air and waste lands, and of remote up-
land meadows where the cloud mists curled like
smoke. Everything was as it had always been. I
knew what lay beyond every curve, and I waited for
a twisted rock and the tang of pine woods. I was
going home! After two years of wandering, I was
going home to pick up the pieces and see what I could
make of them.

I had learned a lot in the past two years. I was no
longer the woman who, because she was a foreigner,
thought this was not her Revolution. I had come
to know the records of this country, to link them
with what I myself had seen and experienced; to
understand that the Revolution was a profound and
necessary upheaval and I was part of it. The Rev-
olution had cost me all I prized true. But I, who
had come to the town a stranger, had shared richly
in the welfare of Cuernavaca. In the light of that
understanding, I must without bitterness accept my
share of the town's woe. Let the bankers in London
and New York sigh for their losses in Cuernavaca, and
write them off. I lived there. Mine was the citi-
zen's job of rebuilding.

I had been planning for months how to meet this
problem. First, I must make my own estimate of
the damages done to the Bella Vista; then find backing
to make the needed repairs. Some alterations I had
long been wishing to make in the service wing could
be handled at the same time. I knew exactly to

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 287

whom I should go to borrow the money. . . . The
train was edging along at a snail's pace, in case the
track should be torn up ahead, and the trip seemed
interminable. It seemed to me I could not wait to
put my plans into practice.

We passed the dismal sheds of Tres Marias; a lit-
tle farther and we were over the crest of the moun-
tains, and below us lay Morelos! All the while we
were winding down the steep, wooded slope, my eyes
were feeding on the widening glimpses of the valley,
straining to focus more distinctly the white patch
that was Cuernavaca, which appeared and disappeared
as we looped about the mountains.

Recollections surged over me with the force almost
of physical sensations: again I breathed the inde-
scribable pungency that emanates from a Mexican
countryside and is like nothing I have smelled else-
where in the world, and felt the warmth of the sun-
shine that floods the gleaming plaster walls and purple
bougainvillea spilling over from the gardens inside.
I could close my eyes and bask in the homely street
life of the South: the trains of plodding burros and
the endless stream of passers-by; the loungers in the
shady Zocalo listening to the tinkle of a marimba
band; and the young blades in their finery, courting
their sweethearts through the barred windows
"playing the bear, 9 * they call it. I remembered the
Women, with their market baskets, kneeling to pray
at a shrine as they passed; the mellow ring of ancient
church bells, and the constant, companionable under-

288 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

tone of bare feet padding by; the low-pitched mur-
mur of Indian voices, and the soft slap-slap of wom-
en's hands shaping the tortillas for the noonday
meal. . . . And then, in the intensity of the feeling
that welled up in me, these flooding recollections fused
and mingled with my dreams of the future, until all
was indistinct; but the taste of Cuernavaca was in
my mouth like fiery, perfumed wine, so that through
a golden haze I heard laughter sounding in the Bella
Vista, and saw the shining hissing trail of rockets sent
up in the plaza to celebrate a feast day.

And suddenly it seemed to me a proud sweet task
to work shoulder to shoulder with my neighbors to
re-create the town we loved.

Late in the afternoon the train reached Cuer-
navaca. What a sight to greet us! Black, battered,
bullet-pierced walls where had been comfortable,
happy homes; bridges destroyed, approaches to the
town cut oflf; everywhere signs of the dreadful con-
flict that had taken place. . . . My head had known
that it would be like this, but my heart was not pre-
pared. We drove down the silent streets past aban-
doned, deserted houses; not a soul in sight. A dog,
nosing in a heap of rubbish, slunk away at our ap-
proach, and the clatter of the wheels awoke strange
echoes in the emptiness. In the heart of town a
handful of people were living, and I saw the soldiers,
their uniforms marking them as strangers. Some of
my servants had clung to the Bella Vista, and I found
them waiting for me in the ruin of the portal.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 291

Old Natividad rushed to me and put her arms
around me. I clung to her, the tears streaming
down my face. I was sobbing, "But there is no one
here! Where are the people? Where are the
people?"

It did not take long to go over what was left of
my hotel. The great dining room that had been my
pride was bare nothing left in it; only pigs and
chickens living there together quite happily. The
rest of the house was wrecked and ruined in the same
degree. The room where President Madero had slept
was entirely burned out and open to the sky, with no
part of the roof remaining only blackened walls, to
tell the story of a piece of wicked spite against a little
man long dead.

The one thing that brought warmth to my heart
was the faces of my servants and their joy in seeing
me. Pilar, the boy who had hidden the fine wines the
night our column of refugees left town, told me that
the Zapatistas had found them in spite of all his pre-
cautions; and that, when they tasted them, they
would have none of them. "Take that stuff away,"
they had ordered in disgust. "You can have it. But
bring us dchol!" They preferred tequila, mezcal,
and the other raw-fire drinks to which they were ac-
customed.

Pilar said the rebels had rushed in screaming,
"Where is the senora? We want her dead or alive."
He was grinning all over as he told how he had
answered them: "My senora (madame) is traveling

292 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

on the road to Mexico/* For his pride in the fact
that he worked for me, the Zapatistas put a rope
around his neck, and he was on the verge of being
hanged, but the prayers and tears of his mother saved
him.

Natividad brought me a frugal supper of frijoles
(beans) and eggs and little plums. The ciruela trees
were still bearing, and that seemed a marvelous thing
to me who had seen the wasted fields all through the
region quickly returning to wilderness once the culti-
vation of man was withheld.

I sat in a sheltered corner with a shawl about my
shoulders, to ward off the chill of the evening, and a
tallow candle burning beside me. The flame made
the shadows darker beyond, blotting out the ruin, so
that all I could see was the circle of light just around
me and the distant brilliance of the stars. I had
meant to go that evening to see General Pablo Gon-
zalez, who commanded the Federal forces in the town,
but I could not bring myself to make the effort. I
tried to draw out the servants and learn what was
passing in the district. Gradually their reserve and
evasiveness wore away, and they spoke more frankly.
They seemed to have little faith in President Car-
ranza's commander, General Pablo Gonzalez. "That
one!" they said, with an expressive shrug of the
shoulders. The Federals, they said, were no better
than the Zapatistas when they held someone else's
town; indeed, not so good, for were they not entire
strangers, from another state? The jefe Zapata

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 293

was, after all, morelense! . . . How strong, I
thought, is the regional pride in these people, the bond
of familiarity and race. My servants were not Za-
patistas; they had thrown in their lot with the people
of the towns, and their homes had been sacked by the
Zapatistas; yet they would not have lifted a finger to
help the Federals in their campaign. Their apathy
baffled me. "Oh, Natividad," I burst out, "how can
you stand like that, doing nothing, when our homes
are in ruins? Don't you care what becomes of you?"

Natividad's old eyes were patient with me as she
answered very gently, "There is something to eat for
to-day, and my head is tight on my shoulders; what
more may one expect, nina?"

"Nina," she called me, "child" a word used
freely among these people in endearment; but as
Natividad said it, I felt its meaning. I saw myself,
in the face of these quiet Indians, a child out alone
after dark. It was not the past six years of civil war,
in whose painful uncertainties I had learned so much,
which had taught these people to live in the moment.
Centuries loomed behind Natividad's words: she spoke
out of the wisdom of an old race that lived in a valley
all men coveted, who had suffered again and again
the onslaught of invasion.

I asked them about Zapata, and then, for the first
time, I felt an eagerness, a kind of expectation stirring
behind their guarded words. Little by little they
brought out the tales of Zapata's prowess in battle,
of his terrible just anger, and his goodness to the weak;

294 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

the mercy he had shown to the spy woman, the beauti-
ful Emilia, because she was a woman, though "that
one" our Federal commander had set her on
the Zapatistas to lead them into a death trap. And
all the ^hile it seemed to me that we were getting
further away from our own affairs, from the condi-
tion that faced us in Cuernavaca. They used the
same words I did, "Revolution, Zapata, govern-
ment," but it seemed to me they meant something
different by them. I remember old Pepe's wrinkled
face, creased with silent laughter, as she spoke of the
snares laid by orr general to trap the cunning fox,
Zapata "as though the jefe were to be caught with
snares like a common man, or killed by a bullet like
anyone else!"

I told them, in my turn, what I had heard in Mexico
City, that there was no leader in Mexico so popular
as Zapata, since all men knew that he fought not for
his own gain, but only "that there might be the same
laws for the poor man as for the rich"; and that when
he was in the capital the people would have made him
president, but he would not let them, saying he was
not the man for the place.

"Como no" they nodded gravely. Their shrewd-
ness told them that no man could walk wisely among
matters he did not understand, and it was for this that
they despised the Federal generals sent out to them.
It was, I sensed, the essence of their trust in Zapata
that he stayed close to the soil of his tierra, whose
needs were part of him; eschewing honors and wealth,

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 295

and sleeping always away from the towns, in a hid-
den place that no man knew; like a holy person dedi-
cated to the service of his people, perhaps.

And then I caught the rhythm of their feeling, and
understood that to them la revolution was infinitely
more than the Revolution of 1910. It was the long
continuous movement of resistance, like a rolling
wave, that had swelled against Cortez and his con-
quistadores, and the greedy Aztec war lords before
them; that had engulfed the armies of Spain and the
armies of France as it now engulfed the bacendados.
It was the struggle of these people for a birthright,
to develop in their own way, in spite of strangers who
came greedily to skim the cream, and, ignorantly, to
make the people over. And so silent and vast and
unceasing was the struggle that it seemed to me as
though the sleeping earth itself had stirred to cast off
the artificial things that lay heavy on it.

The servants had made up a bed of sorts for me In
my old room, and I lay down wearily and tried to rest.
The place had been so completely stripped of my per-
sonal belongings that it looked unfamiliar, and I had
no feeling about it until I closed my eyes. I must
have dozed, for I remember waking. The singing
jet of the old Colonial fountain in my patio was
silenced now forever; and it was the shock of abso-
lute stillness that woke me. Somewhere outside a
shrub called huele de noche was blooming. The
heavy sweetness of the night- fragrant flower op-
pressed me, and I shut my windows to cut it off, but

296 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

that did no good; the glass was out of the frames. I
fastened the solid wooden shutters, and then the room
felt fearfully black and close about me, so that I
slipped on a kimono and slippers and escaped out on
to the inner gallery that encircled the patio, into a
world of illusion.

The courtyard was washed with brilliant moonlight
that flowed over the battered walls and ravaged gar-
den, and the heap of plaster and timbers piled in
one corner, in a luminous pulsing wave. The moon-
light fell on my face and dripped from my fingers,
and the whole enclosure seemed filled with liquid
motion and quivering life. In that quicksilver light
the ruin was transmuted, so that the wreckage and
litter looked like the cheerful, promising disorder
about a house in the building. It seemed to me I was
looking on something half-finished and beautiful,
which the eddying moonlight completed. The vision
was so clear that it seemed as if a word could fix it in
stone. I thought, "It is waiting for someone to make
it come true." I thought, with wonder, ff / can make
it come true. I can bring masons and carpenters
and set them to work, and when they see me building,
then the others will come back and build, too/* I
leaned against the pillar trembling with happiness, be-
cause it was so beautiful that I, the stranger, should
be the one privileged to begin the task of rebuilding.

The three days that followed are vague and dream-
like to me as I look back. I remember the sense of
urgent hurry that pervaded me, and the eagerness,

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 297

and the gradual slackening of all my forces, as if I
had been a toy wound up and running down. The
only thing that stands out as real is the wonderful
smile that was on the face of Guadalupe, the Indian
who had run my pottery factory for me, when I
found him waiting for me the next morning, stand-
ing at the foot of the stairs.

"Lupe!" I cried. Lupe had been my tower of
strength in the old days, watching the men in the
little factory to see they did not sell choice bits to
outsiders, keeping them in order. "King of the vil-
lage of San Anton" he was called, because of his skill
and his handiness in a fight.

"And how are your wife and the children?" I
asked. Three of the children had been born at my
factory, where Lupe and his wife had lived. He told
me all were well except the eldest son, who had been
carried off by the enemy. He said, "I heard that
you were in town, senora, and I have come to serve
you and look out for you/* And all through the
strange two days that followed Lupe was standing
ready, day and night, watching over me*

Time has mercifully blotted out the details of the
endless consultations I held about rebuilding my hotel.
I can see now how the townspeople humored me, lis-
tening. I can see that General Pablo Gonzalez
meant to be courteous, but his patience was worn thin
with the ineffectiveness of his campaign against
Zapata. He had his own obsession, the crushing of
his elusive foe in any way he could compass it, and

298 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

my obsession wearied him. I remember the moment
when his patience snapped.

"This is no time to talk of reconstruction, Senora
King! The work of destruction is not yet completed.
Will you not comprehend, senora I am about to
destroy what still remains of Cuernavaca ! " He went
on talking, saying that there was no stamping out Za-
pata because all the towns and villages roundabout
sheltered the Zapatistas in their need; so that he was
going to sack them all, including Cuernavaca, and
thus run his fox into the open. I scarcely heard him.

"But our homes! Our property!" I cried.

"Oh, senora!" he said, almost angrily. "That is
of the past. That is all over. . . ."

I walked back to the heart of town like one coming
out of a daze. I have heard somewhere that when
a man is shot whole incidents may flash through his
mind with such lightning rapidity that he conceives
himself escaping in the interval between the sound of
the gun and his falling. Something like that had
happened to me. The fatal blow had been struck in
the moment I reached the town and knew there was
no hope. The past three days had been a fantastic,
almost hallucinatory struggle to escape; but that was
finished now. I stood in the quiet street and looked
at the blackened walls of the Bella Vista and felt I
had died along with my valley-nestled home.

I walked on past the gardens and stood on the hill
by Cortez's palace where the cobbled street drops
swiftly to the barranca. I thought, "This is the end

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 299

of Rosa King." My life spread out before me like a
fan, and I saw how the boundless possibilities of child-
hood had narrowed and shaped toward this moment;
and it seemed as if such a vital, striving life as mine
could not stop like this, on a hillside. I looked across
the wasted valley to the unchanged beauty of its slopes
and the encircling ranks of its protecting mountain
ranges. They were strong, steadfast, eternal but
so far away. Rebelliously I called to them, "Are you
dead, too?" Then voices came across the valley:
voices of Toltecs and Chichimecans from their homes
of centuries ago at the feet of the white volcanoes;
voices of Tlahuicas from their ancient citadel, Cuau-
hnahuac, where they had battled to hold their freedom
and their country; voices saying, "The very ruins
all about you are telling you we live. Free-born
men, like their mountains, will always survive." And
the motionless foothills seemed to surge with the
shadows of the men I knew lay hiding there, with
their rifles and their leader, finding cover and nourish-
ing herbs among the stony ledges.

And then I knew I had not died. It was just that
the active, forceful part of me had worn out and
been retired from service. I could feel that inside
me my faith in creation's plan and humanity's cause
still lived. That faith was *%" and always had been.

That was my relation to the Revolution.

CHAPTER XXI

T

XHE trip back to Mexico City was the most ter-
rible I have ever taken on a train. There was no ac-
commodation to be had but a third-class coach on the
military train, which meant only hard benches to sit
on and dirt everywhere. The passengers were sol-
diers and their women, and poor people leaving
Cuernavaca and trying to go to parts unknown to
make some sort of living. We went crawling along
until nearly sundown, when we suddenly jerked to a
stop. There was excitement on all sides, everyone
fearing we had been attacked, or were about to be at-
tacked. Darkness came on, but all the lights were
ordered put out. That did not matter much, for it
was almost as dark with the small lamps burning as
without them; but I think that if anyone had so much
as struck a match he would have had a crack on the
head for his trouble. There we stopped all night:
dirt, animals, chickens, dogs, crying babies, and win-
dows shut tight till break of day, when we were per-
mitted to open them. I was on the point of fainting

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 301

when a soldier's woman gave me a little jug of cold
coffee, I had eaten nothing since the day before but
a few sandwiches.

We learned that the track had been found torn up
ahead of our train, and we could take our choice of
staying all day in the train, and running the risk of
being attacked, or of getting out and walking to a
little town where we could get on electric cars that
ran to Mexico City, I preferred to walk. How aw-
ful it all was! I think I should have dropped on the
way if it had not been for the help and kindness of
the people walking with me, always saying, "Only a
little more, senora; only a little more and we shall be
there/* When we did reach Tlalpam, the little town
we were making for, I fell in a dead faint. On com-
ing to, I found a woman forcing brandy down my
throat. Even now I shudder when I think of that
trip and the sorrow in everything I saw; destruction,
ruin, and poverty taking the lead. . . .

"And for what did you go through all this?" said
my friends. "What have you gained? Noth-
ing. . -- ."

Meanwhile the sacking of Cuernavaca, and of all
the towns and villages in Morelos that were in the
hands of General Pablo Gonz&lez, went on in the most
thorough and heartless manner. All the families
living there were put on trains with only as much of
their possessions as they could carry in a small pillow-
case. Everything else belonging to them was seized,

302 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

loaded on trains, and taken to Mexico City to be sold
as quickly as possible.

One day I was called on by three men who told me
that they had bought all the bathtubs from the Bella
Vista. The tubs had been of good American make,
and nine had survived the ravages of the Revolution.
The men asked me to identify them not that I was
to get them back, but in order that the buyers might
be assured of their good quality!

I went to the old warehouse near the station where
the stolen goods were kept, and there were the dear
old tubs looking at me like deserted friends. When I
declared them to be mine and wanted them returned
to me, I was carelessly told that "they had been con-
fiscated, as I had deserted my home. . . ."

Every day numbers of the poor people who had
been turned out of their homes were sent to Mexico
City. It was the rainy season and the torrential
rains that poured down every day added to the misery
of the refugees. I sent my daughter with baskets of
food to the station yards to see if she could find my
servants. She found them there in the yards, where
they and all the others had been left to get on as best
they could; found them sitting cold, wet, hungry,
and dazed with all they saw about them frightened,
too, for most of these people had never been on a train
before or seen the clanging electric cars that ran in
the city streets. My immediate problem was to find
work for my former servants, to keep them from
starving. Two were most fortunate: Pilar found

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 305

work with the Light and Power Company, thanks to
the good offices of George Conway; and for Carlos,
another servant who had been with me five years
and whom I could recommend, I secured employment
with the British Consul. Big Lupe, the fighter, had
been carried off by the Federals and forced to become
a soldier.

In spite of the ruthlessness of his campaign, General
Pablo Gonzalez was unable to subdue Morelos be-
cause he could not capture Zapata. The Federals
were equipped with the best artillery, infantry, and
cavalry of the times, and their officers were men with
the skill that study and training alone can give; but
Zapata outwitted them all and would be living to-
day if he had not been betrayed by a man who was
willing to dishonor the white flag to trap him.

Early in April, 1917, a Federal colonel acting on
secret orders from General Pablo Gonzalez "went
over" to the Zapatistas, taking with him six hundred
cavalrymen, rapid-firing guns, and ammunition.
The villagers of Chinameca complained to Zapata,
however, of the cruelties previously inflicted on them
by Colonel Guajardo's men robberies, violent at-
tacks, and murders. To appease the villagers and to
win the full confidence of General Zapata, Guajardo
separated sixty men from his ranks and had them
shot.

On April 17, General Zapata, riding a beautiful
horse, the gift of Colonel Guajardo, approached the
hacienda that the colonel was occupying. Guajardo

306 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

himself escorted him, and ten trusted followers. At
the entrance of the hacienda, Guajardo's troops were
ready as if to present arms to General Zapata, and as
he entered the gates the cornet gave out three notes
of honor. As the last note sounded, and just as
General Zapata stepped over the threshold of the
door, the guard fired directly at him, killing him in-
stantly. . . .

The body of Zapata was taken to Cuautla, not far
from where he was murdered, and publicly exposed
so that no one might doubt his death. The dreadful
news spread from village to village. The Indians
were stunned. They had not believed that Zapata
could die.

The despicable treachery of General Pablo Gon-
zalez and his tool Guajardo was never pardoned by
their companions in arms or by any of the leading men
of President Carranza's army. Even those opposed
to Emiliano Zapata had recognized in him a quality
of selflessness that set him above other men. Vast
sums of money had passed through this man's hands
and he gave it all to the poor; he was the only leader,
perhaps, of whom this might be said. After his
death there was no one among his followers who
could take his place. His men divided and went to
other factions, principally to that of General Alvaro
Obregon, in whom they recognized a sincerity akin
to that of Zapata. Obregon had turned against Car-
ranza when the president's regime began to take on

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 307

airs of the 1 dictatorship the nation had risen to over-
throw.

The Revolution dragged on interminably.

We became so accustomed to the unsettled condi-
tions that they did not make much impression on us
any more. Curious as it seems, those of us living in
the foreign colonies were more excited about what
was going on in France, where the World "War was
drawing to its close, than about the latest develop-
ments just around us. We could not afford to think
too much about what was going on in Mexico; it was
too close to us. After all, we were foreigners and
there was nothing we could do to help stabilize the
situation; and meanwhile the effects of the long-
drawn-out struggle on our personal fortunes were too
important and painful to dwell on. Since there was
no pushing serious affairs, Mexico City was very gay:
a constant round of parties, and war-time balls and
benefits of all kinds.

My own history for this period consists of a series
of hopeful attempts to reestablish myself financially,
each venture having to be abandoned sooner or later
because of my ill-health; and each venture impress-
ing on me more deeply that this phase of my life was
over. With it all, Vera and I got along, on a sort of
day-to-day basis, sharing in the general gayety. My
memories of these years are largely snapshots of good
times; but the feeling was always the same with me,
and perhaps with most of us, that our little world was

308 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

settling deeper and deeper into a bog from which I
should not see the release.

So far as I could, I clung to the comparative
security of life in the foreign colony. After what
I had been through, I had no wish to become involved
again in the main current of the Revolution. It
was not possible for me to escape the backwash
entirely; the turbulence of the times affected all
business relations. Then, too, I knew personally
many Mexicans deeply involved in the Revolution,
and I could not help being concerned for them. All
my life I have liked people and wanted them to like
me; and it has always seemed to me that while
respect and esteem have their place, love and affection
are everything. Looking back, I can see that more
than anything else it was my friendship which de-
termined the course of my life. It was always
through friendship that I got into trouble, and al-
ways through friendship that I got out. If I had
my life to live over, I should want that to be the
same. . . .

On the twenty-sixth of November, 1919, General
Felipe Angeles, through whom I had first become in-
volved in Revolutionary affairs, was executed in
Chihuahua.

I have always thought that President Carranza
might have saved the life of this brave man. England
and France both asked that he be spared; but the presi-
dent was more intent on reorganizing the union of
Mexican States, and on bringing recalcitrant leaders

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 309

into line, than on looking for personal virtues and
military skill in men not in harmony with his own
exaltation to power. And so my friend Felipe Angeles
was executed.

The night before his death he spoke for two hours
in a theatre in Chihuahua which was packed with
people who loved and respected him. I have heard
from an Englishman who was there how beautifully
he spoke, begging his countrymen to be true to Mex-
ico, to cease their strife with one another, and work
together for the common good; showing them how
the long struggle was exhausting the country and
bringing untold suffering to the masses as well as to
the irresponsible class against whom the Revolution
had been directed.

The next morning he was taken out to be shot.
When they placed him against the wall he refused
to have the bandage tied over his eyes, and with his
own hand gave the signal for the death squad to fire.

Although at the time I did not realize it, this was
the dark hour before the dawn.

Looking back, I can see how the chaos of the Revo-
lution was even then shaking down; how the mili-
taristic leaders were being replaced by men who were
more than soldiers, men with the kind of genius
needed to translate into practical, working reforms
the ideals of the Revolution for which the way had
been cleared. The task of creating a stable, peace-
time order on the new democratic basis had been im-

310 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

perfectly begun by President Carranza. Now it fell
into the hands of Alvaro Obregon and Plutarco
Elias Calles, the two men ideally suited to accomplish
it.

With growing confidence we watched these men
take hold. We saw revolt and friction being ironed
out; saw the problem of military plot and counter-
plot receding to second place, as the government
turned its attention to the giant's job of filling an
empty treasury, protecting the national resources
from the commercial vampires, and carrying out the
revolutionary provisions of the Reform Constitution.
It was a wonderful thing to me to see the rights of
the peones sustained in the courts, the workers safe-
guarded against exploitation. Schools were built.
The government launched a tremendous educational
campaign, of the magnitude needed to fit for citizen-
ship, in this day and age, a people the vast majority
of whom could not read or write, and many of whom
spoke only their regional dialect and did not know
the national language. Even to-day, when I see
the bright-faced school children putting on a pro-
gramme of songs and dances on a feast day, I cannot
help thinking with a kind of marveling joy, "These
are the people they said had no capacity !" . .

Much has been said against the new regime* I
hear it from my friends, the reactionaries who long
for the good old days of Porfirio Diaz, when they
themselves were better off than they are now; and
the sentimentalists, who would have progress with-

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 311

out paying the price. But they do not see through
my eyes. I am still a foreigner, an Englishwoman.
But after the sufferings I shared with the people of
my town, I cannot be a stranger to Mexicans. What-
ever happens, I am on their side. What is for their
good, I want. Perhaps it is because this progress has
already cost me all I had that I am not afraid of it,
and of what it might do to me. Nothing which
could happen to me personally could make up for
what I suffered: it is only in the belief that my
neighbors are better off for the storm that broke
me that I am reconciled. I am aware of the blunders
of the new regime, of the frailty of some of its
partisans; but these things do not bother me much.
When, amid all the enormous practical difficulties
that complicate the agrarian question, I see steps
taken toward restoring their ancient lands to the
Indians, it seems to me that the dreams for which
Madero and Zapata died are arduously converting
themselves into realities.

More than to anyone else, the stability and success
of the new regime have been due to the genius of
Plutarco Elias Calles. Mexico to-day is not only
faced with the same problems that beset the rest of
the world; she has still clinging to her skirts prob-
lems long since dismissed in England and the United
States to the north. The gravest problem that faces
all democracies, that of leading the people in the
direction of their own greatest good, is particularly
difficult in Mexico. The voting public shades from

312 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

the primitive Yaquis of the desert to the super-
civilized intellectuals of the capital; and white,
mestizo (mixed) , and Indian are broad terms which
do not begin to express the subtle racial differences
and antagonistic backgrounds of the people. It
seems to me that everyone must respect the grandeur
of the man who can dominate these diverse elements
and inspire them to work together. "With intuitive
sympathy, Calles has addressed himself to the one
motive they all have in common: the urge to develop
from the inside a Mexican culture.

Meanwhile the people of the nation were flocking
back to their homes in the wasted districts, and the
rebuilding of the towns and villages was begun.
After my tragic experience in 1916, going to and
returning from Cuernavaca, I felt I should never
wish to see again the town I had loved so much. But
as time went on I found myself listening for news of
Cuernavaca, trying to piece together the bits friends
told me. They said the people had come back, and
the ruined houses were being built up again, quickly.

In 1923 I went down from Mexico City to see
for myself how it was; and after that I visited often
in Cuernavaca, There was no question of my stay-
ing and attempting to rebuild my business. My
health was completely shattered, and what I had
gone through had made me unfit for anything that
required exertion or careful thought. Besides, I
had lost everything I had. The Bella Vista had
passed into the hands of another owner, who rebuilt

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 313

the hotel; but it is not now the same as when I had it.

Each time I went to Cuernavaca I was surprised
to see the vast improvement in the little city. Both
Federals and Zapatistas had spared the ancient
churches, and the massive stone palace of Cortez had
been too durable and too useful to both sides to be
destroyed; so that when the ruined houses and shops
began to build up again the town seemed much as
it had been if one did not look closely.

I was making my home at this period with my
children, but the high altitudes where they lived over-
taxed my weakened heart, and I missed the warm,
flooding sunshine of Morelos, and the starlight over
the white volcanoes. I missed the old associations.
. . . My daughter and son were grown up and
married. I suspected they were old enough to get
along by themselves, without my fond maternal
eye. . . .

In 1928 I said to them, "These places may be home
to you; but I am going back to live in Cuernavaca,
where I belong/'

EPILOGUE

I

T has been thirty years since first I came to Cuer-
navaca three decades of life; years that, with the
exception of the revolutions in which I was caught,
have dealt kindly with me.

To-day I sit on that same verandah I knew so well
in the days when Cuernavaca echoed and reechoed
with the sound of soldiery men mad with triumph,
and other men running for their lives from the bul-
lets that destroyed, for the time at least, all that was
beautiful in this quaint town nestled in the Valley of
Morelos. It is late on a Sunday afternoon, and the
holiday throngs who motored down from Mexico
City for a lazy week-end are starting back across the
mountains. They sweep in like a tide and out again,
the great and near-great of the capital, enjoying a few
hours of delicious relaxation in our fountain-cooled,
flower-splashed patios, then back again to the press
of affairs.

Across the street from my rocking-chair the Indian
men of Morelos peacefully promenade by the side of

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 317

dark-eyed maidens, while a band plays the melodies
of Mexico the strange, weird tempos of tribal
dances, the harmony now and then disturbed by
snatches of popular airs of the day.

Sunset brings the end of another day. Multicol-
ored birds seek their nests; the reds, blues, and purples
of flowers fade slowly into the color of night. The
brilliance of blossoms has vanished with the day. In
the morning it will come again more brilliant,
more vivid; and the birds once more will sing the
songs they have sung through the centuries.

Night shadows creep softly toward me; the great
trees in the plaza across the way become fantastic
shapes in the first blackness of the night. Then, sud-
denly, the lights of the city flash on. Tiny specks
of brilliant white are everywhere.

I watch the endless promenade in the plaza. It is
all going on forward. Only my thoughts go back-
ward over the trail of time, to the days when first I
knew this restful, peaceful town. * . . Out of the
mist of memories come half- forgotten faces faces
of people long dead or long since lost sight of, and
the youthful ghosts of some still my friends* Faces
and facts come crowding to my mind which have
played no part in what I have just written; and then,
more deeply etched, come the faces of those whose
friendship wrote the story recounted here: Helene
Pontipirani, that wild girl who left misery and suf-
fering behind her from the time she left her parents*
home her overpassionate heart stopped suddenly

318 TEMPEST OVER MEXICO

and is at peace; Huerta, the murderer, who was good
to me dead, I have heard, of his dissipations in a
prison at Fort Bliss, Texas; Felipe Angeles executed,
as I have told, at Chihuahua, and his beautiful wife,
my dear friend, dead also, as she had wished to be.
She, who had dreaded life without her husband, lay ill
in New York when the news of his death came; and
the shock killed her. . . . Federico Chacon came
through unscathed, his bravery and wonderful
smiles bringing him safely through endless adventures,
till the Revolution was over and he could return to
his family in the north. . . .

So my mind wanders back through the years. I
compare the Mexico of a quarter of a century ago
with the Mexico of to-day, and cannot help but feel
that these revolutions through which I managed to
live were inevitable the very foundation stones on
which this present-day republic has been built. A
horrible thought, when one considers the killed and
wounded, the orphan children and destitute women
and girls; but strong nations the world over have been
built on the ruins of a just revolt.

Then comes another thought, another comparison
between yesterday and to-day. I think of the State
of Morelos, and particularly of Cuernavaca, as it was
when I first came here. Again I see the dark and
dirty market places of those early days; heavily laden
beasts of burden belabored over rough and hilly roads;
filth-lined gutters where drainage or anything else
could run, as the city's water supply.

TEMPEST OVER MEXICO 319

Now, to-day, as I look about me, I find only peace
and sweet repose: a small city, more than four cen-
turies old, but modern in its methods market places
clean and well lighted, a pure and bountiful water
supply, streets not only clean but neat. There dare
not be a speck of refuse anywhere, for the time-worn
winding streets are constantly patrolled by uniformed
policemen. And best of all, I see the evidences of a
fine new pride in race and ancestry on the part of my
neighbors. On the stone walls of Cortez's palace are
painted now the heroic, dark-skinned Tlahuicas in
their war masks of wolves and tigres, who died de-
fending this valley; and opposite them, Diego Rivera
has set the slender, strong figure of Zapata, who won
back the land for the people.

My thoughts come back to the music in the plaza
across the way, to the clean-garbed youths and laugh-
ing maidens by their side, I sigh * . . a sigh that be-
speaks not the black clouds of bygone years, but a sigh
of content for the bright skies ahead in the days,
in the years, in the centuries, that are still to come to
Cuernavaca.