Along the Rio Grande

Preface

To gather material for this book the author wandered in July and August, 1916, along the Rio Grande as a warless war correspondent. Disappointed in the absence of sanguinary battles, he turned his attention to the less bloodthirsty inhabitants and the country in which they lived, and felt it had been worth the journey.

What he has said concerning them was written hastily from day to day for the New York Morning Telegraph, to which he is indebted for the permission to reprint it.

He does not offer this book for literary merits, nor has he any "message" to convey. For this he apologizes. He has described conditions only as he found them and persons whom he has met, without coloring to suit a purpose.

If he conveys to the reader a small part of the interest and strangeness of the land by the Rio Grande his mission shall have been fulfilled — the ''message" can be reserved for some distant date.

T. H. L.

Contents

Chapter Page I. On the Way to the Border and the Unexpectedness of El Paso 1

II. In Old Juarez 8

III. El Paso Loves the Military — Refugees

CHAPTER I. On the Way to the Border and the Unexpectedness of

El Paso.

It wasn't until I reached Texarkana — a town which being not completely in Texas nor Arkansas is not fish nor is it fowl — that I realized, perhaps in addition to reporting any news made by Messrs. Villa and Carranza, there might, after all, be a further and definite mission in my trip to the border.

I fix Texarkana as the place where I first saw light because it isn't until a long way from St. Louis that one finds a noticeable change in the country, and during the deep watches of the night I had slept as no one in a far country on a train hurdling countless switches has a right to sleep.

My mission, to make a long story longer, is to correct the misinterpretation under which the South has been suffering since the Civil War first brought it to the attention of its Northern brethren.

There are three things that make the South different from any other place — cotton, coons and caloric, and concerning them gross misrepresentations have been made to the people of such parts of the country where ice isn't jewelry.

It is astonishing how much one can learn of a race by observing it from a train window. I feel now as if I thoroughly understand the Southern colored people. With the knowledge I have become convinced that they are not as I had been led to believe — lazy, shiftless and thoughtless.

Negfroes are divided into two classes, those standing and those sitting down. In Texas latitude 1 do not believe the v/alkin? negro exists. But standing or sitting they show a perseverence, tirelessness and a tenderheartedness that their pale-faced brother (who isn't very pale down here) might do well to imitate.

No work is too absorbing for them to drop when a train rushes by. This is due partly to their desire to obtain the wholesome exercise of waving and partly because their kindheartedness forbids them to allow the traveller to speed onward toward God knows what without some little thin^ to lighten his way.

Naturally, with the number of trains that pass every day, this task of waving to all of them is no simple one and the Texas negro (no Texan would know him by that name) has reduced the operation to one of the greatest efficiency (another quality with which he has seldom been justly accredited). As the train approaches his arm is raised slowly in front. As the train roars past a slight quivering, like that of an aspen leaf, affects the hand. This continues until the train is well by. His arm again sinks back to its normal position and then, with the v/onderful imagination which I find a characteristic of the colored workers, he stands motionless, watching the train out of sight, woniering what its destination may be, what awaits the innocent travellers within and whether God will ever be kind enoue"h to allow it to return past the field in which he is working. With a sigh he turns back to his task, and if he seems to be less

. * On the Way to the Border 3

industrious than he should it is not because of any laziness on his part.

Again it is due to his kindheartedness. He fears if he sets too hard a pace his comrades will follow his example. He fears also their strength is not equal to his and the thought makes him slow and cautious.

The other class, the sitting negro, is seen usually in his hut, which is perfectly oblong, unpainted, and has on it somewhere or other a porch. The sitting negro is the dreamer, the planner of his community. He gives scant consideration to himself, but sits there, sits there forever wondering how he can be of benefit to his fellowmen, wonderino^ how he is going to obtain a college education for those six pickanninies you see sprawled out on the steps. At times it might seem that his black head, which is bowed forward on the white undershirt, that with a pair of blue overalls complete his attire, is lost in slumber, but those who really understand him know it is merely the intensity of his thought that gives this appearance.

My discoveries about the heat and cotton were made at almost the same time. On my way to the smoking room I noticed that the thermometer stood at 96 degrees. I thought no more about it until, after I had taken my seat, a leathery-faced individual attached to an enormous brown cigar bent a challenging look upon me and said:

"Rather warm, humh?"

I thought it best not to argue about a little matter like 96 decrees. But the heat is not oppressive. Unless one breathes it into his lungs, a process which is apt to scorch them, and thereby heat up his blood, he will not feel the effect of the increased temperature in the least.

I must admit, however, that it gives one a rather queer feeling to see some pond, which has reached the boiling point, steaming away out in the cool green fields.

The heat results in one being able to procure hot water in the trains from the tap labelled ''hot," but the pleasure which one obtains from this source is somewhat moderated by the fact that hot water flows with equal celerity from the one with "cold" written thereon.

As I looked out of the smoker window I saw an endless rolling hill of young plants.

"Some potato field," I remarked to my hot weather friend, for I was impressed by the extent of the acreage.

"Them ain't potatoes, they's cotton," he answered more severely than I thought necessary.

Then I knew what a tremendous imposition is being practiced on the Northern States. That green potatoey looking stuff was no more the soft white material that we call cotton than an Alabama chipmunk is like a Pomeranian. For some mysterious reason the South has been deceiving us, and before I turn northward again I intend to learn the reason.

El Paso is quite as surprising a proposition as one would wish to find. One would expect after riding through hundreds of miles of sun-scorched cactus, mesquite and rocks, with small quantities of alkali dust scattered sparingly between, to come upon a city in which there lived only those who were blind, halt or without interest in life and what it offered.

The train window gives little hint of the productivity that the land contiguous to El Paso really contains. With little exception all in sight is the stretch of barren hills on the other side of the Rio Grande in Mexico with

On the Way to the Border 5

the equally barren Davis range on the north. Occasionally one sees herds of cattle, with a few horses thrown in to keep them company, roaming along in a thin, aimless fashion. They seem to be continually searching for something, which something is doubtless water or a bite to eat, for in most of the places, it requires forty acres of land apiece to furnish them nourishment, and the water is few and far between.

A bridge is crossed and near it are the tents of the soldiers doing guard duty, and if the trains are going slowly enough, which is usually the case, they yell to have newspapers thrown oflf to them. For a few minutes the air is filled with fluttering white.

Farther away, among the green of the mesquite along the Rio Grande, which is a few miles distant from the tracks, brown tents can just be distinguished from time to time.

It doesn't take many miles of this sort of country to cause one to be startled when the factories, smelters and other buildings burst out from the plains just outside of El Paso. The shock is made somewhat greater when one actually finds himself in the middle of a city after leaving the train. Seven-story buildings are common enough, so an EI Pasoan can almost look indifferent when he points them out.

Its population is 70,000. I had this astonishing bit of information thrown at my receptive head by a taxi driver, who, after surveying me with a critical air, charged me in payment for his information fifty cents for a ride which, I was later told should have been "two bits." I was advised that if I wished I could consider its numbers 80,000, for with its immediately adjacent suburbs, such as Fort Bliss, it reaches this total. However, I didn't care to do so, for somehow or other I had a feeling that it would be expensive.

By judicious inquiry I ascertained that the people who have settled in this place are for the most part, in spite of my previous fears, in full possession of their senses and could go to other places if they cared to do so. I did not glean this from any of the hackmen. El Paso is the commercial, mining and agricultural center of this part of Texas. Long years ago, before even the extremely ancient men who are one of the features of hotel life here, were attacking the slats on their cradles, the Apache Indians, with their excellent method of regulating their household affairs, set their wives to cultivating land, then rich and fertile.

Along about 1840, unless some one has been lying to me, white men began to outnumber the Indians and suggest that they move elsewhere.

Several years after this lumbermen, by clearing oflf the timber along the Rio Grande in New Mexico and Arizona, caused El Paso to suffer from droughts and floods, according to season, with a resultant damage to farming conditions. This has all been remedied by a tremendous dam, the Elephant Butte, recently built. Through the irrigation this makes possible 188,000 acres of land have been reclaimed, 48,000 of which lie in Texas.

Near El Paso are raised large quantities of cattle, alfalfa, grain and other crops.

Just at present — July, 1916 — the streets are filled with soldiers and "greasers," the native white population sinking into insignificance beside the striking appearance

On the Way to the Border 7

of the former. When the rest of the National Guard, now on its way, reaches El Paso there will be 75,000 troops encamped in its vicinity, and, without including the large numbers of Mexicans who have taken refuge there to escape the enthusiasms of their kind, there are 20,000 "greasers" infesting the streets at one time or another.

There is the fear constantly stored away in the back of the El Pasoan mind that these Mexicans will take it into their heads to have a specially-appointed uprising at the expense of the Americans who happen to be in the city at the time. To guard against this there are squads of soldiers constantly doing guard duty, and, although such an uprising might result in the loss of a great many lives, it would not require much time to suppress it. Not long ago, when a large fire broke out there, 300 men came from Camp Cotton on their military motorcycles in seven minutes. It is a distance of about three miles. The armed presence of so many "los gringos" has got the Mexicans pretty well subdued, and it is not very probable, unless they get a lot of bad whisky packed away beneath their belts or some of their brethren from across the river sally forth in a raid, that they will attempt any uprising.

There are many American refugees in town, most of them being in the mining business, but, aside from this, there is very little of what the hotel man calls "transient trade," and business is not as good as it usually is at this time of year, and all possible attempts are being made by the citizenry to make the honest soldier recompense them for the misfortune which near war has brought upon El Paso. Families of the militia in particular will doubtless soon be hearing loud cries for additional funds.

CHAPTER II. In Old Juarez

Like a trip to Chinatown to the round-eyed visitor who wishes to "see New York," a journey across the Rio Grande into the Mexican border town of Juarez affords the g:reatest amount of excitement to him who seeks thrills in the town of El Paso.

Since the recently strained relations with Mexico all Americans have been requested to leave the city. All that one now sees over there are the sullen brown faces of the Mexicans, the large majority of whom are peons. American Consular Agent Edwards himself has departed and is making his headquarters at El Paso.

I went over upon my arrival in El Paso with J. Y. Baskin, a commission merchant who has large interests in Mexico and makes the trip across the river daily. He is rather skeptical of the amount of danger involved.

"If a person keeps cober and minds his own business there is no reason at all why he should have any trouble with the Mexicans. Farther in it might be different, but in Juarez a drunken native and possible arrest are the chief things to avoid."

We drove out in a machine along South Santa Fe street, which rapidly changes in character from the low business buildings near El Paso to the adobe houses of the peons, almost the only persons to be found in that part of town, which is known as the Chihuahua District. The bridge leading over the Rio Grande to the Mexican town

■ In Old Juarez 9

is reached and on the American side are groups of militia, part of whom are acting as a patrol and the rest there merely from a desire to look across at the "greasers" on the other side and dream of a battle with them, which is far too slow, in their eyes, in coming.

Our car was stopped and the guards searched under the seats to make sure that nothing illegal was taken to the other side. At the farther end of the bridge we halted again to obtain permission from the Mexican patrol to proceed into the city.

It is hard to adjust oneself at first to the sudden jump from the busy, noisy, prosperous El Paso to the sleepy, penniless city of starving peons. It has changed from the riotous town of gambhng and vice that it was a few years ago. All that one now sees in the streets are the lowest class of Mexicans and hundreds of idling Carranza soldiers who are glad of the opportunity to fight and take their chance of being killed in return for food and Carranza money, even though the latter is practically worthless, except in payment for express, railroad fare and telegraph tolls.

The Silver King, the Cafe Negro, the Big Kid, the Tivoli, the Mexican Monte Carlo and the Black Cat Dance Hall, which Jack London described as the most depraved in the country, are no longer the scenes of activity that they were when Villa tucked away in his jeans ^80,000 monthly from the vice concessions. In those good old days that ingenious bandit added to his income by slapping on a revenue tax on all liquor except that which he had freighted over the river at night.

A murder was a small matter in the Black Cat. An El Pasoan recalls one night there when two stabbings took place. The victims were carried out to the street and the dancing never stopped.

Even when times were less troubled than at present Juarez frequently proved a trifle too exciting for American citizens. A party of newspaper men from this city were once sitting in the Cafe Negro peacefully sipping their drinks. At a table across the room was a big, swarthy Mexican with two senoritas. A note was handed to one of the women and instantly the Mexican snatched it away and demanded who sent it. She nodded toward the door, which happened to be in the direction of the journalists, though all had easy consciences. The Mexican singled out one of the group as the guilty party and the first inkling the latter had of the excitement created was the blurred vision of a vase hurtling by his head propelled by the senorita's champion. Happily his aim was as bad as his intentions. The Mexican quickly followed the vase and in a couple of seconds was standmg over the American with a gun pressed tightly against his victim's stomach, demanding an explanation.

"It was the longest three minutes I ever had," said the newspaper man in speaking about it to me. "I had my doubts whether I would be able to convince him that my actions had been perfectly innocent.

"On another occasion we stepped into the entrance to one of the places and stumbled over a sleeping guard.

**'Carajo! Quien vive!' he cried and sank on one knee, raising his rifle. My friend gasped. 'My God,' he cried with the clearness of vision that frequently comes to one who has had as much to drink as he had, 'when they drop on one knee like that they mean to shoot.* He was probably right, but at that moment an officer fortunately

All one now sees are the lowest class of Mexicans and idling Carransa soldiers.

In Old Juarez 11

came running up and gave the order to cease firing. We hurried back to El Paso where we belonged."

The inside of the custom house is decorated with pictures of Mexican notables. Each new faction in power tears down those of the persons of whom they do not approve and substitutes for them their own pet idols.

The old bull ring has been burned, although fights can still be held in it. It was fired when the Maderistas took the town in 1911 and the industrious IWexicans in the intervening five years have been unable to assemble either enough energy or money to rebuild it. The ruins are still standing of Kettleson & Degetau's wholesale hardware house, the railroad station, the custom house and the post office building which were fired in the same year. Most of the other places have been patched up or completely torn down.

Throughout all the trouble that the place has seen, the impressive white cement Mission Guadalupe, which is flanked by squatty Mexican places of business, and the big Juarez racetrack have remained untouched, the former probably because of superstition, and the latter through a healthy respect of the Mexican for the $100,000 a year paid for the racing concession and the resultant crowds which it has brought in the past.

Although I was unable to go inside of it I am told thai the interior of the cathedral is unique. The primitive mind of the Mexican being unable to conceive of Christ in any but a material way have a score or more realistic wax figures of Him that are revolting in their vividness. Some depict Him in a coffin, others with blood dripping from wounds — all of them offensive to those accustomed to milder methods of representation.

Several long-necked chickens, lean from nervousness caused by thieving: neighbors, scurried away from in front of us, complaining: at the hardness of fate. Some optimislic Mexican had planted a small patch of corn on one of the streets. How much his hune:ry friends will leave for him when it is ready for picking is problematical.

House after house of adobe and a few of brick we passed. Peeking out at the Grins:os from the doors, or running around barefooted or naked in front of them were swarms of muchachos — the Mexican family has much in common with the rabbit.

In one yard we saw a rare sight, a woman with the inevitable black shawl over her head, giving her little brown nino a bath. The sad part of it was the baby was too young ever to recall the event. A little further along, on the banks of the irrigation canal, a few hardy youths of twelve were stripped for a swim. Bathing suits are not a civic requirement.

A few hopeful street vendors, whom none seemed to favor with a great deal of attention, strolled up the street. One with a basket of cakes was telling those who cared to listen: "Oh, que bueno, lo que traigo ahora." ("Get next to the good stuff I've got with me to-day.") An old man with a black beard on one half of his chin, a few teeth, a red shirt and wearing sandals, hovered anxiously over a haphazard goat. In a voice that once mighi have been musical he cried: "Fresco leche." If you or I had been doing it we would have said: "Fresh milk," and meant about the same thing. The worthy Juarez citizen has the goat milked before his eyes and is sure that he is getting it new.

Juarez is conveniently located for the residents of

In Old Juarea 18

El Paso who wish to watch the battles which are not as uncommon as they should be over there. A. F. Haynes, a railroad man of this city, described to me the fight when Maedro's forces took Juarez from those of Diaz in l9ll.

"1 was up in the tower of the El Paso station when they began to fire," he said. "I could see the puffs of smoke and hear the faint cracks from the rifles of Madero's men, led by Generals Orosco and Blanco. At the time Madero himself was stopping at the Sheldon Hotel, in this city, when word was brought to him of the engagement. He jumped into a big red automobile and dashed up Santa Fe street far up the river, where he crossed over. He wished his men to surrender, and he sent a bearer with a flag of truce on a snow-white horb>e.

"He rode toward the line of Maderistas. Through the glasses I saw one of the men rise up. There was a spurt of smoke and the rider dropped from his horse. His assassin didn't wish the forces he v/as with to surrender at this time. The rest of the troops, thinking the flag bearer had been shot by some one on the other side, were furious and went on with the attack more frenziedly than ever. The city was taken later.

"The next year Villa captured the town with a single cannon shot, after which the white flag was run up at Juarez and the place surrendered. It was following this that Villa held the executions which shocked the United States so much. Ammunition was scarce. To save it he lined his prisoners up seven deep in front of the wall and turned the machine guns on them."

Everywhere we went we saw evidences of the constant state of war in which the country of Mexico exists. Cavalrymen, all Carranzistas, some with new suits and

14 Along the Rio Gramde

some with nothing but their usual flannel shirts, chaps and sombreros, rode up the street on horses that had doubtless been stolen. We passed places of business, with armed Mexicans sitting on the steps outside, and through numerous doors piles of guns could be seen within.

It is quite doubtful, unless the situation clears greatly the coming months, whether Juarez will be restored to its usual gay activity. The track will probably remain closed. Tourists will not dare nor be permitted to visit there unless some sort of order is brought about in Mexico, which at present seems extremely doubtful. Without racing and the tourists the other places will remain closed and Juarez will remain the same sleepy, famine-ridden, oppressed city it now is.

Chapter III

El Paso Loves the Military — Refugees From Sonora.

Men in number sufficiently great to wipe out the entire Mexican army, should the gentlemen decide to advance on this city in a body, are stationed at or near El Paso. In July there were more than 28,000 soldiers from the States of Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Michigan, with enough more expected to raise the number to 50,000. In no matter what direction one travels from the city, whether it is to Camps Pershing, Stewart, Cotton and Fort Bliss or along the border, their yellow khaki tents are bunched in all parts of the landscape.

El Paso rejoices, for a soldier's money — when he has it — is noted for its inability to stay in his pocket. The town for many years has been prosperous, but it has now reached the ultra-wealthy stage. It is catching the shekels as they fall. There is every evidence that it will be many months before the troops are recalled, since the chances for any conflict with Mexico seem extremely remote, though the danger constantly threatens.

The only thing that up to the time I visited there in July had thrown a hint of shadow into the situation was the fact that many of the militia had run out of funds. El Paso is a city of extremely high prices — one that would make New York blush for its amateurishness. Many of the State militia had not yet received their pay. The First ^Pennsylvania Brigade, for instance, did not draw any recompense until July 19, which was for the latter part of June only.

However, in spite of this, El Paso is doing very well and a large number of the visitors in town are those who have heard of the good news and have come to take advantage of their opportunities.

Camps Cotton, Pershing and Fort Bliss are situated near the lines which run into town. The cars are jammed at all hours of the day with soldiers coming to the city. Those at Camp Stewart — the Fourth, Eighth and Sixth Pennsylvania Infantry and the First Pennsylvania Cavalry — are not so fortunate, as their location is eight miles from El Paso, with no trolley at hand. It means a long, hot hike for them through the alkali dust or an occasional lift from one of their trucks, for which no bodies have yet been received.

At every corner a fakir of some sort awaits their arrival. "Impromptu" auction sales are held on the street. Some "rancher" who has suddenly discovered a pressing need for funds is willing to sacrifice several precious rings which he happens to have with him, for whatever they will bring. The unfortunate man sells them, too, but before he puts up the next ring with the little white stone in it, v/hich volunteer experts pronounce a flawless diamond, he thoroughly impresses it upon the purchaser he has practically committed a robbery by not having paid more.

If gold at panic rates fails to lure the militiaman he can go a little further down Mills street to purchase from a "first cousin of Villa" a handsomely burnished set of horns which, when lung power is applied to one extremity, will emit a low, moaning noise calculate4 to

El Paso Loves the Military 17

conjure before the eyes of the people back home a vivid picture of the bold, bad West in which their son has been camping.

The seven motion picture shows are "turning them away," both in the daytime and at night, for, in spite of the heat, the picture proprietors manage to keep their theatres cool.

In their wildest dreams the saloons foresaw no such days as these, although it is seldom that one finds a drunken soldier on the streets. El Paso is not dry — far from it — except after 9.30 at night and on Sunday. If an overpowering desire for demon rum still attacks one at these times it does not require an unusual degree of ingenuity to obtain it. It is possible, for a nominal sum, to join any one of several drinking clubs such as 'The Cactus" or "The Wigwam" and quench your thirst as thoroughly as your bankroll will permit.

The hotels and restaurants are filled at every meal with Uncle Sam's boys in khaki. Most of them are either officers or militiamen, for the regular, as a general rule, has no outside allowance upon which to draw. The army pay without artificial aid will not permit of a too excessively pampered life, a fact which does not entirely abolish the rivalry existing between the two branches of the service.

El Paso, as it is about 4,000 feet up in the air and has a dry climate, is an excellent place for consumptives. As a result one does not meet the type of New York panhandler who tells you he only needs ten cents more to have enough carfare to leave the city. Instead he appeals to one's sympathies by saying that he is a lunger and unable to work.