[Alice Day McLaren, The Tragic Ten Days of Madero, Scribner's Magazine, January 1914]

THE TRAGIC TEN DAYS OF MADERO*

AN AMERICAN WOMAN'S LETTERS FROM MEXICO

By Alice Day McLaren

MEXICO CITY, March 30, 1910.

            Yesterday on the train we met Francisco I. Madero and his wife returning from a political tour in the State of Sonora. A political tour in Mexico! It sounds like a farce, does it not? And yet he has been lecturing in various parts of the Republic, and Don Porfirio has not yet put a stop to it. Mr. Madero has also written a book setting forth political conditions in this country, the publication of which has not been suppressed, and he is now in the city for the purpose of organizing a party which intends to hold a convention to nominate an opposition candidate to run against the present President. What I cannot make out is why the latter is letting the matter go on so far. He must know about it, and he is either "lying low" to make the blow more crushing when it falls, or he considers the matter too unimportant to notice, or, which does not seem likely, he feels that public opinion has grown too strong for him to take any radical action. I had never met Mr. Madero before, but Will has known him for years. He is a small, almost timid-looking man, and until you hear him speak you would not believe that he had the courage to attempt such a foolhardy undertaking. He is full of his subject and assures us that the movement is far more general than we realize. Doña Sara seemed to me to be fearful of results and very much worried. She looked at her husband with anxious eyes, shook her head, and said: "Que Panchito tan entusiasmado!" (What an enthusiast Panchito is!) She, perhaps, does not share his extreme enthusiasm, but she sympathizes with his ideas and accompanies him on all his tours. She seems to have a vague notion that she affords him some protection. He knows he may be shot some day, for during our talk he said to Will: "I have put all my property into money; I am prepared to sacrifice that money and my life if necessary; I have no children, and, if the worst happens, Sara will have my life insurance." He may be pursuing a will o' the wisp, but he is doing it in deadly earnest.

April 28, 1910.

            We have had a most interesting week. Last Tuesday Lucy came to spend a few days with me, as her husband was called to the Isthmus on business. Tuesday evening we were in the library before dinner when R. L., a business associate of Will's, was announced, and asked to speak to him alone. I supposed it was a matter of business and was very much surprised a few minutes later when José came and told me that the Señores wished to speak to me. They told me that the

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* The Mexicana call the ten days of the conflict in Mexico City (February 9 to 18, 1913) La Decena Tragica. The extracts here given include such passages from letters of the preceding three years as help to the understanding of the crisis.

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Convention of the new political party was about to be held and that Don Porfirio had ordered the arrest of the leader, Francisco I. Madero (of whom I wrote you last month) on a fictitious charge of cutting rubber-plants on a strip of land in litigation; that if he could evade arrest until after the Convention he would give himself up. Neither Will nor R. L. have any special interest in politics, but Mr. Madero is a relative of the latter, and they wanted to know if I had any objection to hiding him in our house until the storm blew over.

            Object! Why I was thrilled all over. Do you remember our old black "Stories of the Civil War"? There was a tale in that of a girl who was bleaching linen on the grass when a rebel spy came by and begged her help. When, a few minutes later, the Federals came up and asked if a man had just passed there, she answered "No," and calmly continued to sprinkle linen, under which, I need hardly add, the fugitive was hidden. I felt just like that heroine, though I may as well say at once that I did not have an opportunity to sprinkle linen on top of Mr. Madero. Lucy was the only difficulty, so it was arranged that I was to tell her that a business friend of Will's, a Mr. "Gonzalez," had arrived unexpectedly, and was to be our guest for a few days, and Will came in shortly after with the stranger. We did not see a great deal of Mr. " Gonzalez" except at meals, as he worked most of the time in his room. He is an interesting talker and has travelled almost everywhere, and has made a very deep study of history and politics, and especially of the political and economic status of the Mexican Indian. We really enjoyed his visit and, while nothing thrilling occurred, there were one or two amusing incidents. As it happened, we had asked some people to dinner on Saturday night, and under the circumstances it seemed wise for Mr. " Gonzalez " not to appear. We explained this to Lucy by saying that he had some letters and telegrams that he felt he must get off that evening. Unluckily, just as we were all assembled in the little reception-room opposite the stairs, the President sent for Mr. Madero for a conference, and R. L., who had arranged the meeting and who was the only person who knew where the fugitive was, came for him. It was a hard moment, but Will went out, closing the doors behind him; Mr. Madero passed quickly down the stairs, and Will came back looking distinctly guilty. I had talked as much as possible during his absence, but Edith B., who is very observant, asked: " Why so mysterious, Don Guillermo?" Will muttered something about a household hitch and I breathed again. After dinner we went into the library, which is on the corner, and I chanced to look out of the window. There, under the arc light, were four mounted policemen in addition to our regular foot gendarme. My inward comment was, "Oh, waiting to arrest him when he comes back!" but, feeling still more like the aforementioned heroine, I opened the French window wide and called to the girls to come and look at the glorious night. Perhaps the gathering of those policemen was a mere coincidence, for Mr. Madero was in his room when we went up-stairs. The next morning Lucy said to me: " What a strange man your friend Mr. Gonzalez is! I saw him go out at six o'clock this morning in a high hat and frock coat." It was true. Something took place at that conference, and the charge against him was withdrawn; and he went first to see his mother and then to the Convention to make a speech of acceptance of the nomination which was offered him. Thus closes our little part in the political life of Mexico. Please don't mention this to any one, as it might cause gossip. I write to you because I know how interested you are in all that affects our life here.

NEW YORK, June, 1910.

            We saw Don Francisco Madero the other day, the father of " Panchito." He tells us that the latter has been put in jail in San Luis Potosi on the charge of sedition. Our help last Spring did not do any good after all, but of course this was to be expected. The President will probably keep him in prison until after election and then release him. Don Francisco tells us that Doña Sara is in San Luis Potosi and takes all his food to the cell herself to avoid any chance of foul play. Poor little woman, what a life!

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MEXICO CITY.  August 26, 1910.

            I wish you were going to be here for the Centennial Celebration, which is to last during the entire month of September. I have never seen such preparations in my life. Statues and buildings in process of construction are being hurried to completion, arches are being erected, all public and many private buildings are being illuminated and decorated, and the main streets are simply a mass of flags and lights. Houses have been rented and sumptuously furnished as residences for the special embassies and each has its carriages with men in livery. They say that the big patio of the National Palace has been floored and roofed for the President's Ball and several other entertainments. All sorts of fiestas have been planned for both rich and poor, something for every day. They are spending money like water to glorify the present regime, and if I were a Socialist I should be enraged. I am not, however, and intend to enjoy it all thoroughly. One thing struck me especially. Most of the scaffolding around the new National Theatre has been taken down and a temporary lawn planted around it. It is a magnificent structure, but at the same time it is such a monument of the ostentation of the controlling group. Pour money in as they will, they have been unable to finish it, but they have shammed it over for this event. Besides, why do they need a National Theatre with their poor unhoused and uneducated—but I am talking like a Socialist again. . . .

            P.S.—Francisco I. Madero was let out on bail, which he forfeited by hurrying into the United States. Nothing is being said about it and probably it is not important. Besides it would not do to cast a gloom over Don Porfirio's Celebration.

October 8, 1910.

            E. S. I. arrived a few days ago on his first visit to Mexico. It is too bad that he did not get here in time to see some of the Centennial, for the Capital has never been so gay. The only thing he saw was the Apotheosis to the dead heroes night before last. In a way it was quite impressive. It was held in the same patio as the President's Ball except that they had erected a great tomb in the centre of it reaching nearly to the top of the building. Steps led up to the pillar itself and on each corner of the base was burning a great urn of incense. This, combined with several thousand people, made the air almost unbearable, and the programme itself was deadly. Orations and poems and patriotic anthems. The audience, diplomatic and unofficial alike, fidgeted and yawned behind their hands until the final number, which was worth going for. The President himself, in spite of his eighty-odd years, erect as any of his guard, walked briskly up the steps of the tomb, made a short address in a clear, strong voice, hung a wreath on the great pillar, and descended amid thunderous clapping and wild playing of the National Hymn. He seemed anything but old and broken, and this Centennial seems to be the climax of his wonderful material achievements. I cannot believe that there is much intriguing that he had not got his "iron finger" on. That brings me to what I started to write. Yesterday Will gave a lunch for E. S. I. at the Jockey Club. Among the guests were Don Francisco Madero, Sr., and his second son Gustavo, Mr. Creel, the Minister of Foreign Relations, and a prominent foreign diplomat. To-day what do you think happened? Gustavo Madero was arrested on the charge of suborning an officer of the Mexican Army and Don Francisco, Sr., fearing arrest on some charge or other, is here at our house under the name of Mr. Lopez. For the second time I have a refugee. It is becoming a habit. I had no idea last Spring that the situation would become so complicated. I wonder what E. S. I. thinks of Mexican political methods in comparison with our own, in which he has had so much experience. The luncheon of yesterday is rendered rather grotesque in view of to-day's happenings, and Will told his guest, the foreign diplomat, this afternoon that he hoped the matter would not cause him any embarrassment. The latter answered, "It is all right for me. The Minister of Foreign Relations was there too " which was a point we had not considered.

November 8, 1910.

            I hope you have not been bothered about the so-called anti-American riots,

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due, it is said, to the lynching in Texas. They really have not amounted to much and consisted chiefly of half-grown boys, students perhaps, who have marched the streets shouting, "Death to the Gringo," and breaking a few windows of American shops. The whole thing is a farce. The rioters do not seem to deny that the Mexican murdered the woman or to resent the lynching to any extent. They emphasize the manner of lynching, which is said to be burning at the stake. If true, it is shocking, of course, but American mobs are known to have done the same to their own people. In fact, it is not clear that the man was not an American citizen, after all, although Mexican born. Every one seems to think that the outbreak is due to political conditions here, rather than to any real anti-American feelings. There is undoubtedly an undercurrent of unrest throughout the Republic.

February 12, 1911.

            E. S. I. is here again and the first thing he did was to ask about all that had happened since his last visit, and especially about Mr. Lopez. We told him about helping the Madero family out of town and how they are practically exiles in San Antonio. He is leaving to-morrow for El Paso homeward-bound, and in view of the rumors of trouble in the North he asked Secretary D. of the Embassy, as a joke, "If I am caught by rebels will you send out a rescuing party?" and Mr. D. laughingly assured him he would.

February 25, 1911.

            The joke about being caught turned out to be true. E. S. I. was in the first train held up by Orozco and his men. A track has been run here through the city streets from the Arsenal to the National Station, and soldiers and munitions are being sent north. Hostilities are really begun. It seems impossible, with the taste of the Centennial still in our mouths. Don Porfirio went a step too far when he put Madero in jail, or, perhaps I would better say, when he let him out again. Public opinion evidently was smouldering, and recent events have fanned it into flames. We received a very interesting letter from E. S. I. telling of his slow trip north with the troop train, and how he and a nurse from the railroad hospital took care of the sick and wounded as best they could with the facilities at hand. He seems to have had ample opportunity to study the men and to have taken pleasure in doing so. He writes: "I feel that the Mexican Government has no idea of the seriousness of this uprising. These men are calm, sane, but determined, and should be met squarely."

April 15, 1911.

            Things have become so serious, and every one feels that the country would suffer so terribly by a long civil war, that R. L. has been " orally " authorized by the President to go, in company with Sr. -----, confidential adviser of the latter, to Corpus Christi, Texas, to treat with his refractory relative.

May 4, 1911.

            Will has received a discouraged letter from R. L. from Monterey. His peace mission has failed. Mr. Madero would not hear of any condition whatsoever other than the resignation of General Diaz, and that, evidently, was not included in the instructions given the emissaries. He writes that persecutions are being practised against the non-belligerent members of the Madero family as a lever to force Francisco I. to drop the fight. Bills of the Banco de Nuevo Leon, a Madero-controlled bank, have been repudiated in Federal offices, loans have been called, extensions refused, and countless other acts committed, which, if continued, will prove disastrous to men doing business on as large a scale as the Madero brothers. R. L. ends his letter thus tragically: "The whole family faces ruin, myself along with it. The best thing you can do is to save yourself by severing all connection with me."

May 8, 1911.

            We went to dine with a diplomatic friend and his wife the other night, and at about half-past nine, while we were calmly playing bridge, the maître d'hôtel came hurriedly in and said rapidly in French, "They are fighting in Piedad." "How do you know?" "The peasants passing have told me." Without a word, without as much as going to the veranda where

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a battle in Piedad could not only be heard but almost seen, our host walked to the telephone, called up a certain newspaper correspondent who is a warm friend of his, and said, "There is a battle being fought in Piedad." Meanwhile we had gone to the veranda and strained eyes and ears in the direction of the supposed disturbance. Absolute quiet prevailed. In about twenty minutes the newspaper correspondent arrived, stating that he had been to Piedad in an automobile and that the little village was fast asleep. I write you this because the question arises at once, "Are the man's despatches to his home Government as frenzied as this?" This is a small matter but it might happen equally well in a large one.

May 16, 1911.

            Don ----- Madero, one of the most active business members of the family, came to Will to-day to ask him to go to the President of the National Railways to see about securing a special train for him to go, in company with Don Francisco Madero, Senior, and R. L., to treat once more with the rebel " Jefe." The matter was easily arranged and they are to start at once for the north.

June 1, 1911.

            It does not seem possible, but the peace mission was successful, not only bringing about a settlement, but bringing it about on the rebel's terms. Don Porfirio has given up the fight and last Thursday went out of the back door of his down-town house, and with his family boarded a train for Vera Cruz, taking the first steamer for Europe. Mr. de la Barra, who was formerly Mexican Ambassador in Washington, is to be Provisional President, and elections are to be held in the fall. Our little Mr. " Gonzalez " of a year ago has pulled Don Porfirio off the throne. There has been a good deal in the papers about riots in the City on the day he left, but, knowing the unreliability of many of the reports, I hope you did not let them alarm you. We were not in the centre of, town at all, as it was a religious holiday and all the offices and shops were closed, but we lunched at the French Legation, which is much nearer the Centre than our own house. After lunch we were playing bridge when one of the so-called mobs came by, and we dropped our cards to watch it. It consisted, for the most part, of ragged boys, big and little, carrying banners and sticks, and beating on tin cans, much like a boys' parade in our own country. Just in front of the Legation they met a milk-cart, legitimate prey, of course. They stopped it, jeered the driver, took out a few empty tins which they placed on the curb, and went on amid the expletives of the outraged milkman. How the most hectic of reporters could write that up as "mobs of angry men with death in their eyes" is hard to understand.

July 10, 1911.

            Last Sunday Will gave a stag lunch here at the house, and I ate in the pantry with the cat and listened as well as I could to the talk in the dining-room. It was difficult amid the clatter. The reason for the lunch was that a number of Will's "official" friends wished to meet Mr. Francisco I. Madero " unofficially, " to get to know him before he really becomes official, as he undoubtedly will at the next election. Later in the afternoon I went in to greet him, and it was the first time I had seen him since he was our hidden guest. I have never seen such a modest man in my life. He flushed all over when I congratulated him, and insisted that it was not due to him at all but to an absolute cry from the Mexican people. Perhaps he is right in a way, but it is perfectly clear that very few of them have acted with the good faith and selflessness of their leader and spokesman. It is almost more than human, and sooner or later his ideals are going to receive a shock, I fear. In fact, the failure to hold Zapata has been one. The day after the luncheon one of the Mexican papers came out with a notice of it, ending up, " in this same house Mr. Madero was hidden over a year ago when he was evading arrest in order to hold the Convention of the new party." Will was very much annoyed and spoke to him apologizing for the notice, saying that he had no idea how it got into the paper and that he had never mentioned his visit to us in 1910 to any one and was at a loss to know how the secret got out. Mr. Madero looked at

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him as naive as a child and said, "Why, I told them; I did not know that you would object."

September 1, 1911.

            We have spent most of the week attending the Convention that has nominated Francisco I. Madero for President, and it has been most interesting. We were fortunate enough to have a box, which we occupied during nearly every session. There must have been in the neighborhood of fifteen hundred delegates from all parts of the Republic, and it was perfectly remarkable to see the intelligence and sanity with which those men, without any previous political experience, carried through that Convention. We have heard so much about the country "not being ready for democracy." Perhaps not, but a much larger percentage of it is ready than many people believe. E. S. I. is here again, strangely enough. He seems to be here for all our political excitements. He says that this Convention was held with as much despatch and probably more order than similar events in our own country. The only point that has come up for discussion in this campaign has been the nomination for vice-president. It seems Mr. Madero indicated that a man named Pino Suarez, who is comparatively unknown around the Capital, would be more desirable to him for vice-president than Dr. Vasquez Gomez, who seemed the logical candidate for the position, or than either of the other two aspirants. Dr. Vasquez Gomez was very prominent during the Revolution, and many of Mr. Madero's supporters think he has made a political blunder in disregarding this fact. Judging by his stand on the peace conditions I do not believe he is given to compromise of any sort.

November 15, 1911.

            Inauguration Day has come and gone, and our obscure little refugee of a year and a half ago is President of the Republic of Mexico. There was a parade and a reception at the National Palace to celebrate the Inauguration. There were thousands of people on the streets and the greatest order prevailed, although I am told that the crowd did not compare either in numbers or enthusiasm with the one on the day of Mr. Madero's arrival in the city from the North in June. I still regret having missed that. Two things I noticed which I never saw or heard during Don Porfirio's time. One was that a great percentage of the populace removed their hats when the flag passed; the other that groups of people sang the National Hymn in the street. Rumor has it that General Diaz forbade both these demonstrations, as it stirred up enthusiasm for the " patria" rather than loyalty to himself. This is merely a story, of course, but perhaps now that restraint is removed patriotism will flourish better. The difficulty will be to direct it properly, and to do that the lower classes must be taught a few first principles. They are so wofully ignorant and so hopelessly apathetic. Some amusing things happened in connection with the reception. We did not go, but I heard about them afterward. It appears that through some mismanagement of the arrangements the diplomatic guests were badly squeezed by the pressing forward of the crowd in their eagerness to get a look at the new President. Now I come to think of it, that is not a trait peculiar to the Mexican. At any rate, it caused a great deal of unpleasant comment among the Diplomats, who perhaps felt that their dignity had not been properly respected. Our friends have taken to calling us "Maderistas" on account of the interest we have shown in this whole affair, and also on account of both business and friendly relations with the family, which date back some fifteen years. A day or two after the jostling episode one of the Ministers asked me with the most scornful upcurling of mustaches: "And now what does your hussband sink of hiss fren' Madero?" I was playing cards and did not look up, but answered pleasantly enough: "Oh! he does not seem to think that pinching the Diplomats a little affects the fundamental welfare of the country." I could not see his face, but I know he was furious, for he left abruptly. The same day at tea-time I saw Eleanor A., whose husband, you remember, is ----- Minister. I asked her what he thought of it and she said in her harum-scarum way: "Oh! Hans is so fat he did not mind the jostling, and he took

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some cakes in his pocket to eat during the ceremony, so he did not suffer at all. But," she said laughing, "some Mexicans saw him and remarked in Spanish: ' Look! the foreign pig eats!' " I thought—" So, there was injured dignity on both sides."

April 5, 1912.

            President Taft's message for "Americans who find conditions intolerable in Mexico" to leave the country has caused a panic. In San Antonio the baggageman who checked my trunk to Mexico was surprised when he heard where I was going, and remarked: "Pretty nervy, ain't it?" As a matter of fact, the tide was all the other way, and I passed train-load after train-load of women and children going to Texas and various other places to wait until conditions grow better. Indeed, they do not seem to have improved much, especially in the interior points from which the greater part of the refugees come. Brigandage apparently has spread, although the bands do not make much pretence of being organized or of a political nature. The Government Officials whom I have seen are possessed of a happy optimism and reiterate that "in thirty days everything will be settled." Perhaps their measures are more active than they appear to a lay eye. Almost all foreigners are dismal, heaving sighs and predicting the exact date on which Orozco, Zapata, or " cualquier otro jefe " (some chief or other) will enter the city to give his men a half-day's loot. Many of the colonies have talked of arming themselves and some measures have been taken. Our own colony has had a shipment of second-hand army rifles sent in and goodness knows how many thousand rounds of ammunition, which they offer for sale to Americans for a moderate sum. We have not invested in one and our sole arm is a thirty-thirty Winchester rifle and seven cartridges, the latter a gift from Paul V., who thinks we ought not to be entirely without protection in case of riot. Some of the colonies have appointed concentration houses, armed and provisioned, and each colonist has been told where to go and what to take, a blanket, two candles, and a bag of beans being part of the equipment, if I remember rightly. So much has been said about the Capital being entered that Will and I have begun to mock, and every time a few firecrackers are discharged we look at each other and say: " They are taking the City." The chances of such an event are very remote, to say the least.

September 16, 1912.

            Last night we went to the National Palace to hear and see the "grito" which I think I have already described to you, but I do not remember. Risking repetition, it is the commemoration of the cry of Independence led by the Priest Hidalgo in 1810. He rang a bell at midnight on September 15th of that year calling to the people to strike a blow for Independence. The cry was taken up by them and the result was freedom from Spanish rule. The same little bell now hangs in the National Palace, and it is the custom to repeat the ceremony on the same date and at the same hour ever since. I heard the story that two years ago, when the Centennial was being celebrated, some rebellious person muffled the bell. Nothing was said at the time and the story has probably just sprung up of itself. To go on about last night, first there was a reception with a concert, Bonci, who is here with an opera company, being among the artists. At midnight every one went out on the balconies, the bell was rung by the President, and cannon were fired in front of the Cathedral, which by the way was illuminated and was a beautiful sight with its great old towers and dome. The wiring on the Cathedral, and on the Palace as well, is a relic of the Centennial, and the plaza was as light as day. And there was the sight we really came to see, the mass of people in the plaza. There they were, thousands of them packed together with their faces turned upward toward the bell; all you could see were faces, faces, faces, with the light shining on them, those of the men framed by the brims of their big sombreros and those of the women by their rebozos. They were so solemn that I was oppressed by them. There was a feeble cheer at the moment of the "grito," but the light was on, not in, those gloomy upturned countenances. A few minutes later I said to Will that it looked as if the President had failed to convince them, but he is more optimistic than I and reminded me that an Indian crowd is al-

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ways apathetic. I had the feeling that the President should have harangued them. It was such an opportune moment, just after ringing the Independence bell, to tell them what he was doing and hoped to do for them, and to ask for their support, and for patience a little bit longer. It appears that my idea was too fantastical, yet it did not seem right to go off and drink champagne with that lump of hopelessness outside. Handbills, calculated to stir up enthusiasm, were passed around among the crowd stating that Orozco had been routed, I do not know how many guns captured, and Orozco, Sr., taken prisoner. There was no apparent rejoicing, and no doubt the average laborer is tired of hearing about military triumphs.

November 30, 1912.

            Thanksgiving has come and gone and we celebrated with the proverbial turkey with all its accoutrements. Speaking of this, the Mexican Government has cause for Thanksgiving, for they have successfully put down a revolt in Vera Cruz led by Felix Diaz, an ex-general in the Mexican Army and a nephew of Don Porfirio. He is a graduate of the Chapultepec Military Academy, and has a good deal of influence in the Army. He caused a defection among the troops and there was quite a row in Vera Cruz, but it has been put down and Felix Diaz is in prison down there. I don't know what they intend to do with him. The putting down of this rather formidable uprising will help the present Government very much and is a distinct show of strength. After the quelling of this disturbance others are less likely to break out. One thing must be said for Felix Diaz, and that is that he resigned from the Army before attempting to cause trouble for the Government, and there is an element of decency in that.

February 10, 1913, 9 P. M. Monday.

            Our joke about "taking the City" begins to assume rather a grim aspect, as you know before this in our home newspapers. The first rumor we had of any trouble was on Saturday evening when Will came home from the office. Some one had told him that there was a whisper around town of a proposed defection of troops in San Angel, one of our little suburbs, but that the Government was forewarned and had taken the necessary precautions. We thought little about the matter and I was full of the tennis tournament which I had been attending that afternoon. As I wrote you, there are four players down from the United States, Miss Mary Brown, last year's woman champion, being the bright and particular star of the tournament. The Reforma Club was gay with spectators and nothing could have looked less like impending trouble. In fact, I made an engagement with Mr. and Miss S. to play a match on Sunday morning. We had a dinner on Saturday evening and the subject of politics was scarcely touched upon, which is rare in these days. Yesterday morning about eight o'clock I heard the servants talking in excited tones and slamming doors and windows, and I got up to expostulate with them for disturbing our Sunday-morning snooze, and Gabriela, with a nervous giggle, said: "Señorita, there is shooting in the Centre. Who knows what it may be?" We had heard a few explosions but we took them to be fireworks, of which the Indian is very fond. We decided not to try to sleep any more and got up and dressed in our tennis clothes, supposing that the trouble would be settled by the time we were ready to go out. While we were dressing, a bullet thumped against the concrete side of the house, and I went down to hunt for it as soon as I was dressed. You know Will's father and mother went through a revolution in Colombia way back in the early sixties and some of the flattened bullets that hit their house are still treasured in the family. I thought it would be so interesting for us to repeat the experience more than fifty years later, but hunt as I would I could not find the bullet, although I could see where it had struck. The shooting continued in a desultory manner during breakfast and at nine-fifteen Mr. S. telephoned that he supposed the tennis game was off. I replied that we were ready to go and I am sure he thought me mad, because their house is down near the Centre and he knew the situation was bad and we did not. He told me that he considered it very unsafe to be on the streets,

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but Will and I disregarded this and started for the Reforma Club on foot. Of course there were no trams, as they all start from just in front of the National Palace, which appeared to be the seat of the disturbance. We walked from here directly to the Paseo and on our way met a mounted soldier leading two riderless horses. We stopped him and asked the state of things in the Centre and he answered with the single word " Grave. " When we questioned him further his answers were so evasive that we could not tell to which party he belonged or whether he was a deserter, so we walked on. On the Paseo we passed the mounted Park Guard on their way to the National Palace. There were, perhaps, forty of them and their horses broke into a gallop just as we reached them. They looked very martial indeed. A number of riderless horses, still saddled and fully accoutred, came running by, terrified. It made me shudder to think where their riders must be. There was no one at the Club when we got there, but a couple of members drifted in later. Meanwhile the firing continued, mostly with small arms, although some cannon were discharged in the course of the morning. We remained at the Club until five o'clock, with the exception of one " excursion " to the Cafe Chapultepec, which we found closed, and to the guard-house at the foot of the entrance to the Castle where we asked the cadet on patrol for news. He was very careful in his statements, but admitted that the President had ridden out early with his guard and some of the Chapultepec cadets, and said that they had had no more reports. Doña Sara, he said, was still at the Castle. At half past one we telephoned to a Mexican friend who was in a position to know some of the facts and learned the following: the cadets from the Military College at Tlalpam, who are called the Aspirantes, with certain other troops, marched into the City on Saturday night and took the National Palace, and early yesterday morning they liberated General Reyes and ex-Brigadier General Felix Diaz, who were both in prison for armed rebellion. This was all in accordance with a plot which must have been brewing for some time. Meanwhile Minister of War Garcia Peña and Gustavo Madero, hearing of a disturbance, hurried to the National Palace and were at once taken prisoners by those left in charge. The news, however, had spread and a Federal General recaptured the Palace before the main body of revolutionists returned with Generals Reyes and Diaz. When the former, at the head of his troops, arrived at the Palace expecting his people to be in possession, he was greeted with a volley from the Federals and was killed, as well as hundreds of on-lookers who went to see the excitement. The President, by this time, had been notified of the trouble and rode down the main street accompanied by his guard and some of the Chapultepec cadets; forced his way into the Palace where his Cabinet joined him soon after. General Diaz, seeing that the plot was forestalled, in company with General Mondragon, who, they say, is a very able soldier, took possession of the Citadel, where practically all the arms and ammunition are kept. We did not hear details of how it happened that this place, the most important of all, fell so easily into the hands of the insurgents.

            As I have said, we started for home about five o'clock and for some hours previous to this the firing had been straggling. The streets were deserted out where we were, presenting a contrast to the usual Sunday crowd. We had just reached the Paseo when the sharpest battle of the day began and I wanted to crouch in a swampy ditch near by or else run back to the Club. I knew the battle was some distance away, but I remembered the time B. discharged that German Army rifle by mistake and how easily it went through two walls, making a groove through a window-seat cushion on its way and, after all that, knocked a white spot on the stone terrace outside. Will thought it would be worse to be caught away from home when night came than to take the risk of a spent bullet, so we plodded on. As we got in toward our colony we met several neighbors who had heard various rumors, all more or less confirming what I have written. Will was awfully bothered by a report that R. L. had been shot, but he telephoned his father's house and found it to be untrue. The firing ceased as night fell, so we had a good sleep.

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            We had been asked to lunch at the Austrian Legation to-day, but this morning, when we still heard a little firing, we were not sure that we were wanted. We decided to walk over there, a block only, and find out, but just as we started a note came from Mr. P. saying he still expected us. Simultaneously my French teacher came, and, while I was not in the humor to struggle through an hour's French, I was very much interested in what he had to tell me. He is a strange man and especially interested in military tactics, and had spent the night looking around the Citadel and estimating its strength and the possibility of taking it. His idea is that it is a very good position, hard to get at on account of the houses huddled about it and the lack of straight avenues toward it. He does not know how many men Diaz has, or how well they are provisioned. When he left, he gave me another thirty-thirty cartridge that he happened to have in his pocket. That makes eight that we have now. Will was chafing to go to the office, but one of his partners telephoned him that it would not be safe. At lunch there was gossip of all sorts, but as there was no firing we hoped that some kind of settlement was being negotiated. Some said that Diaz had only a handful of men and almost no provisions, and could not possibly hold out. A Secretary of one of the Legations, however, said that he had been personally into the Citadel for an interview with General Diaz, and that he had twenty-five hundred men and ample provisions for a long siege. Will asked him how the President was fixed and he answered, "Oh, I don't know anything about that!" It struck us as very strange that a Secretary to a Diplomat would know all about the Insurgent forces and nothing about the Government position, but perhaps it is not significant. Among other things we heard that the parents and sisters of the President have taken refuge in the Japanese Legation, just across the open square from the Austrian Legation; also that the Federal forces are to storm the Citadel to-morrow morning. Paul V. and two other friends came home with us after lunch and we have been playing cards. The firing began again this afternoon, and they left between five and six in order to get home before dark. Every one seems more apprehensive of mobs than of bullets.

Tuesday evening.

            This letter is assuming the aspect of a journal, but I want to write down things as they happen. This morning at daybreak the fighting began in earnest and continued for nine solid hours, cannon booming, Mausers popping, and, worst of all, that dreadful tap-tap-tap of the rapid-fire guns, like the explosions from a big motor-cycle. Our house is less than a mile from the Citadel, and yet we seem to be out of the line of fire. Other houses all around us have been hit with small bullets, although no shells have come so far. To-day things began to look serious for a long siege, so I held a consultation with my cook, and we have laid in whatever supplies we could find: two sacks of charcoal, wood, lard, beans, rice, flour, condensed milk, meat, and, in fact, anything available. My servants are splendid, and have gone foraging around in the lee of adobe walls, pale as it is possible for them to be, bent on getting food for us. The Señores must he fed, no matter what happens to them. There is a great deal of genuine devotion in the Mexican Indian and it is getting full sway now.

            This afternoon, during a lull in the firing, we went to the Japanese Legation to offer to do anything we could for the President's family. We found them in good spirits and they told us that advices from the Palace reported the battle going distinctly in favor of the Government, that they had left their house at the request of the President, who was worried for their safety, and not because they anticipated any danger, and that Generals Blanquet and Angeles were expected soon with reinforcements for the Government. Being still restless, we went around the square, keeping close to the walls, and went to see the von H.'s. They were well closed up, as a number of houses had been hit on their street. We have asked them to lunch to-morrow.

Wednesday evening.

            There was no fighting last night, but it began early this morning, and the cannon sounded much closer, and we soon found out the reason. The artillery of General

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Angeles had arrived and had taken a stand in front of the National Station in Cuauhtemoc Circle. The von H.'s did not come to lunch, as the shooting was much more general and walking on the streets was quite unsafe. In fact, we heard over the telephone that several Americans had been accidentally shot on the streets, a number wounded in their own houses, and one woman killed while cooking dinner. Most of the time we have remained in a little back room I call my "study," where I am writing now, and where three brick walls intervene between us and the street, but when the firing lessens we cannot seem to keep from sallying forth. I know this would call down a scolding from you, but you will not get this letter until after the thing is all settled. We heard on one of our excursions to the street that there had been a meeting of all the Diplomats, and that they had decided to give the conflicting parties until Friday morning to come to an agreement, and, if they failed to do so, two thousand American Marines would be landed in Vera Cruz and come at once to the City. We did not give much credence to that, because it was too awful to think about, and toward five o'clock we went to the Austrian Legation to ask Mr. P. what reports he had. He said that there was no change whatever in the situation, but what he was most concerned about at the moment was that the battery of General Angeles was firing shells into the houses on Cuauhtemoc Circle, and that some of them had been badly shattered; that the Belgian Legation had been hit by flying bullets from exploding shells and that the Minister and his family had left, and that he, Mr. P., was going at once to bring away the J.'s (who also live on that Circle) in an automobile. The J.'s are friends of ours as well, and as I knew Mr. P. had his house full of Austrians I told him to bring them to us. At about seven they arrived, with a couple of suit-cases—Madam J. almost hysterical from the strain, poor woman; Mr. J. looking haggard from worry; little Jean, aged four, crying with fright; and the eyes of his nurse, Mathilde, almost popping from her head. Jean was soon quieted with a bath and a glass of milk and bed, poor little chap. We all had dinner, and the comparative quiet out here, after what she had been through to-day, had a soothing effect on Madam J. and she also has gone to bed. The two men are discussing the situation, but it is really bedtime for every one. There are no street lights to-night, but fortunately there is a glorious moon, which will make it harder for the omnipresent sneak thief. We still have lights in the house and, curiously enough, telephone connection as well. I have three oil lamps and a can of kerosene in the store-room, and a supply of candles, so we will not be left in utter darkness if our electric lights should go.

Thursday evening.

            The fighting has gone on pretty steadily, with no new developments as far as we know. At ten o'clock a Greek friend of ours, who spent last night with Paul V. in the J.'s' house, came to see us, with the news that a Shrapnel shell had come through the front wall at eight o'clock this morning, exploded in the drawing-room, and practically wrecked it. He and Paul V. had been at the telephone not five metres away, but fortunately the bullets were stopped by the thick walls. He had the empty three-inch Shrapnel in his pocket. The day has passed much like the others, with all sorts of rumors going about. One was to the effect that Mr. de la Barra was going, after a conference with the Diplomatic Corps, to arrange the matter with the President and Felix Diaz, it being understood that the former was to resign, hostilities were to cease, and a compromise provisional president (presumably Mr. de la Barra himself) would step in until order was completely restored, when elections would be held, etc.

            This afternoon Will joined a patrol corps of the colony. A number of foreigners have organized to patrol the streets during the night in case there should be rioting or thieving. There is one of the concentration houses that I scorned last year on the corner. Will's hours are from ten to twelve and he is out now, walking up and down the block, armed only with his stick. I have on my blanket coat and hang out of the window for five minutes and then come back and write for five minutes, and try not to be nervous, although my hands are wet and like lumps of ice. I don't think there is much danger,

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but there are shots now and then from sharp-shooters. At nine-thirty, before Will went out, George L. telephoned, asking me to take some refugees. I told him I had five grown-ups and one child, four servants, and the niece of one of them, a child of nine, and was saving my one spare bed for another friend (Paul V., whose neighborhood was becoming less and less safe) but that I would take two. He was terribly severe with me then. "Look a' here, Mrs. Mac," he said, "this is no time to think of your own convenience. There are people over here without a roof to shelter them or a bite to eat and you ought to be willing to put yourself out a little." I was humbled sufficiently and asked how many he wanted me to take, so we compromised on three. I got out the tired maids and we made up two cots, put out towels and bath wrappers and slippers and all we could think of to make them comfortable, looked in the ice-box to see what there was for them to eat, and after all they did not come. It kept my mind off of Will's patrol for the first hour. It is just midnight and he should be coming in. I shall be thankful when he is safe indoors again.

Friday evening.

            Paul V. came to lunch to-day, bearing a great piece of beef which he rescued from the J.'s' larder. It was a welcome gift, for provisions were getting a little low and ice gave out to-day. The milkmen still venture out, which is a blessing. Paul said that the firing was so general and so close around this colony that when he crossed Chapultepec Avenue, three blocks away, he had to run, which he found difficult carrying about twenty pounds of raw beef. We joked him about being a candidate for the Marathon. We have to joke in order not to be dismal. While we were at lunch Mr. P. came in with the news that the Madero residence in Berlin Street was in flames. Will hurried to the telephone to advise the family, but they already knew it. It burned to the ground and only brick walls are standing. We went to see the family this afternoon and we found them calm and brave. "We are all alive and safe," they said, "and that is much to be thankful for." They refused to believe that the burning of the house was spite work and not one of them bemoaned the loss of anything, except the youngest daughter, who has a wonderful voice; "I am sorry to lose all my music," she said, and the older daughter was worried about her dogs.

            To-night two friends are patrolling with Will and I am far less anxious.

Saturday evening.

            The firing began very early this morning and there was shooting at intervals all last night. It seemed much nearer this time, and it turned out to be due to the fact that one side or the other had taken possession of the German School not more than five blocks east of our house. During the morning one of the office clerks telephoned to say that there was a report in his neighborhood that Felix Diaz had been killed at three o'clock this morning, so we went over to the Japanese Legation again to see if they had heard anything there. They had no news, but another sister of the President had arrived with her four little children, having been compelled to leave her own home first, and afterward the home of friends where she had taken refuge, as both houses had been in the line of fire. Madame Hourogoutchi, the wife of the Japanese Chargé d'Affaires, has been perfectly splendid in this whole thing and I have not words enough to tell you what they, both of them, have done during this awful week. It is not merely the fact that they took in four members of the Madero family, giving them protection at the risk of exposing their Legation to outrage and themselves to diplomatic criticism (although other Legations, it is said, are giving asylum to persons sympathizing with the revolt), but they have, besides their three children, sixteen persons of their own nationality under their protection. Aside from the mere domestic aspect, there has been continued telephoning, receiving of visitors, sending out of messages, this, that, and the other, and those two people have just helped and sympathized to the very utmost. To-day when the new family arrived they were welcomed with open arms. I asked Madame Hourogoutchi if I could send over anything, as I thought she might need linen or dishes or other household necessities, but she said

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the only thing she was short of was soap, so we left, promising to bring some over later. There was still some firing, but we had become so hardened that we paid little attention to it, and as we came out on the little parked square we thought we would walk across it to the Austrian Legation and bring Mr. P. home to lunch with us. He was just finishing lunch when we reached his house, but he told us that he believed the President would surely resign to-morrow, that the Senate convened this morning, and that it, with the Diplomats, were bringing all possible pressure to bear to secure a settlement one way or another; he also said that General Angeles had moved his battery from the National Station to the corner by the American Embassy, and that the Ambassador had protested most emphatically to the President, as the Embassy would surely receive the answering fire; that General Angeles had accordingly moved up a block and is at the foot of Orizaba Street (our street) not more than three blocks away. The shooting is parallel to us and this morning I noticed the line of smoke from the shells, but did not realize how close they were.

            We left the Legation with this information, and started home directly across the park instead of keeping to the walls as we had done before we got so used to war, and just as we got to the centre of the square, where the two streets cross, zing went a bullet not two yards above our heads; then zing, zing, zing, and the air was full of them. We ran to the northeast garden and threw ourselves flat on the ground, pulling ourselves along on our stomachs until we had our heads behind a tree, like the proverbial ostrich. Comparing notes afterward, we found we had the same feeling—that a bullet entering softly into the flesh of the body would be far less objectionable than one shattering the skull, but we did not analyze at the time. The number of shots increased, and some passed us so low and close that they seemed to snap in the air instead of singing. They rang on the iron lamp-Posts in the park and whizzed through the branches of the very trees under which we lay, and finally, when one came especially close, hitting the ground a short distance from us, we decided it would be better to run for the Austrian Legation than to lie there in the direct line of fire. Accordingly we crawled through the trees as far as they went and then, when clear, rose and ran. I recalled Will's joke to Paul V. about the Marathon yesterday. When we reached the Legation there was such a rain of bullets against the walls and posts that I dropped again in terror in front of the low brick coping of the iron fence. The policeman unlocked the gate and we hurried in, to get properly scolded by Mr. P. After a few minutes the firing lessened, and we ran for home; this time, needless to say, hugging the wall all the way around.

            After lunch Paul V. telephoned that it would be impossible for him to get back to us; that the fighting was waxing hot on his street and that he had seen six noncombatants, probably servants searching for food, killed on the block where he lives. A little later another friend telephoned that he had heard that there was fighting in Jalisco Street, two short blocks behind us, and, sure enough, a few minutes later there was a short, rapid battle apparently within a stone's throw of the house. Only one bullet struck us, that entering the wood-work of my dressing-room window.

            This has really been our most exciting day. Will is not patrolling to-night, as the firing is too general, but he has joined a watch of six Americans who, thank Heaven, are lurking in an entry from which they can watch the street for blocks. Some one is patrolling around and around on a motor-cycle, which gives a weird effect, with nothing else moving in the moonlight. I wish this awful time would end.

VERA CRUZ, Monday, February 17, 1913.

            You will be relieved to get our telegram of this morning telling you that we are safely out of Mexico City. I had intended to write you each day of the bombardment, but yesterday there was no time for writing. Early in the morning we heard that there was to be a twenty-four-hour armistice in order that non-belligerents who were in the line of fire might get to places of safety. As I wrote you, we had not suffered for lack of anything during the week, having had light and

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water and even luxuries, such as milk and butter. Bread had been scarce and very dear, and there had been no ice since Friday, but we had fuel and enough staple groceries for some time, and one of the servants had succeeded in getting us two live turkeys; there were a few tins of sardines and salmon, and the J.'s had brought one large tin of pâté de foie gras and two small ones of Camembert cheese, which, while not very practical, would keep off starvation for a while. We were very short of money, Mr. J. having but fifteen pesos, and I had only started with forty-five in the beginning and this was gone. Yesterday morning the water gave out, so we all discussed the question of going to Tampico until after the trouble was over. Mr. J. felt that his responsibility in connection with the bank would not let him leave, but we said, if we could get the money we would go, as it would leave more provisions for them, and that it would be two less to carry water for. Mr. J. started for the bank with some friends in an automobile and we asked him to get us some money. Meanwhile we started on foot for the Buena Vista Station to see about trains and tickets. The streets presented a curious appearance, crowded with people in automobiles, in carts, and on foot, taking necessaries to places of safety. Automobiles and carts were piled with mattresses, blankets, and children, and the people on foot were carrying huge bundles on their heads and backs and in their hands. The more fortunate had push-carts or baby-carriages and many were leading domestic animals. There were many pigs being dragged and pushed along, and their squeals of protest were appalling. Venders had swarmed out by the dozens to take advantage of the few hours to do business, and buyers were eagerly laying in what supplies they could. There was one vender with flowers—think of it—in the middle of a bombardment! Among other acquaintances we met on the streets were the four American tennis-players who were marooned on the eve of their departure. Taken altogether, it must have been one of the most exciting tournaments they have ever attended.

            As we approached the centre of town the streets were shocking, full of débris and a mass of broken wires. There were dead horses and dead men lying about, and there was a hard dry wind blowing dust and disease in all directions. The buildings and houses did not look so much damaged as we had expected—a window broken here and there, cornices knocked off, a hole now and then made by a Shrapnel, and numberless nicks in plaster and concrete made by bullets. That walk decided us to go if we could possibly arrange it, so we went to the Buena Vista Station by a roundabout route, which was the only one the soldiers would permit us to take. The soldiers themselves looked tired and dirty. At the Station we tried to get tickets for Tampico, but Mr. Clark, the General Manager of the National Lines advised us not to try to go as there had been trouble near San Luis Potosi. We then went to the Vera Cruz Station close by, intending to go to Tampico from Vera Cruz by boat, and we found the whole building packed with frenzied refugees. Many were going to Puebla on the afternoon train, and many more were going by the night train to Vera Cruz, and were waiting with their baggage to be sure to get a place. Will asked about accommodations and was told that everything in the six Pullmans was sold. He asked me if I would rather sit up all night or stay at home in my good bed, and I said I preferred to go. We started on our long walk home to get money to buy our tickets, intending, in case Mr. J. had not reached his bank, to get a check cashed at the American Embassy, where we had heard a bank had been temporarily opened. About half-way home we were overtaken by an American in an automobile, who picked us up to give us a lift. We had seen the man before, but did not know his name. His house had been pierced by several bullets, and he was fearfully nervous and could hardly wait to get out of the City. He had succeeded in getting tickets for the night train, but no sleeping accommodations for himself and his wife. We told him we were going if we could get some money, and he told us excitedly that he thought we could all go together in his automobile to the Station, and that he would send for us at half past three or four. We repeated that we did not have tickets yet, and he whipped out his wallet. "Here,"

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he said, "my name's Williams. You don't know me, but now is no time to stand on ceremony. Take this," and he handed out a fifty-dollar bill and sent us back to the Station in his motor. It was a Godsend, for we not only got our tickets, but just as Will reached the window an extra Pullman was put on and we purchased a section and a drawing-room for ourselves and our benefactors. It was half past one by this time, and on our way home we heard that dreadful tap-tap-tap of the rapid-fire guns; the armistice was broken.

            We lunched and packed our bags. Mr. J. had money for us and moreover had managed to get an automobile to take us to the Station at half past five. That was an exciting ride. There was firing on every side—shells as well as bullets—and there was an additional menace of tangled wires underfoot and overhead. The chauffeur was a plucky American boy of about twenty, and he made a wonderful run. There were soldiers in every doorway and lying behind every wall, and the patrol rose as we passed, prepared to stop us. Our driver waved his passport and we hurried on. He took the car carefully along in the lee of the houses and when we crossed open streets threw the throttle wide. A curious and interesting sight greeted us in the Station. Frightened women and children and servants huddled together, piles of baggage, people eating and drinking beer from bottles, some silent, some haggard, some repeating stories and making prognostications, and many (like myself) relating their narrow escapes. The cannon boomed, trains puffed, and bells rang, people chattered and moved restlessly, and there was the dusty, lurid half-light that is peculiar to covered railway platforms. At last, after an almost interminable wait, our train pulled out in two sections, and we gradually got away from the din of battle. It was heaven.

MEXICO CITY, February 24, 1913.

            There remains little for me to tell you about the " tragic ten days," as the main events will be published the world over. Vera Cruz was full of people and we found it impossible to get steamer accommodations to Tampico, so we stayed where we were until yesterday. On Tuesday night the word came that the Government had fallen, on Thursday came the shocking details of the assassination and mutilation of Gustavo Madero, and the news of the accidental shooting of an intimate friend of Will's. On Friday and Saturday rumors began to circulate that the deposed President and Vice-President had also been shot. That they did not pass through Vera Cruz on their way out of the country was clear, and we began to be apprehensive. Yesterday on the train we saw the confirmation of the shooting published in all the papers. Not three years ago Francisco I. Madero told us he was prepared to give up his life for his cause, and the sacrifice has been made.

            We walked to town this morning, going through the precinct around the citadel, and were surprised to see how clean and comparatively unchanged the City is. All the dirt and debris and tangled wires and fallen posts have been removed, and there are no evidences of carnage. The trams are running and lights going, and workmen are already busy in all departments repairing damage. Many buildings are badly shelled, some wrecked, a very few burned. The upper story of the Y. M. C. A. building is shattered, the beautiful residence of Madame S. is riddled with shells, and a clock tower near the Citadel is a mere handful of iron and cement. Masons are at work, however, and in some cases rents and holes are already filled with cement and plaster. In six days the outward evidences of a mortal combat are almost removed. The real story that lies beneath what we have seen, the story of intrigue, of plots, of grudges and grievances, in short, the political story in all its complexity, may never be made public, but it is there like some invisible, vital thing. All that we see is that a Government has fallen at the expense of hundreds of lives and a new one has risen on its bloody remains.