The Lost Road | Page 4

and Frederick Palmer had gone through the Mexican lines
in an effort to reach Mexico City. Davis and McCormick, with letters to
the Brazilian and British ministers, got through and reached the capital
on the strength of those letters, but Palmer, having only an American
passport, was turned back.
After an ominous silence which furnished American newspapers with a
lively period of suspense, the two men returned safely with wonderful
stories of their experiences while under arrest in the hands of the
Mexican authorities. McCormick, in recently speaking of Davis at that
time, said that, "as a correspondent in difficult and dangerous situations,
he was incomparable--cheerful, ingenious, and undiscouraged. When
the time came to choose between safety and leaving his companion he
stuck by his fellow captive even though, as they both said, a
firing-squad and a blank wall were by no means a remote possibility."
This Mexico City adventure was a spectacular achievement which gave
Davis and McCormick a distinction which no other correspondents of
all the ambitious and able corps had managed to attain.
Davis usually "hunted" alone. He depended entirely upon his own
ingenuity and wonderful instinct for news situations. He had the energy
and enthusiasm of a beginner, with the experience and training of a
veteran. His interest in things remained as keen as though he had not
been years at a game which often leaves a man jaded and blase. His
acquaintanceship in the American army and navy was wide, and for
this reason, as well as for the prestige which his fame and position as a
national character gave him, he found it easy to establish valuable
connections in the channels from which news emanates. And yet, in
spite of the fact that he was "on his own" instead of having a working
partnership with other men, he was generous in helping at times when
he was able to do so.
Davis was a conspicuous figure in Vera Cruz, as he inevitably had been
in all such situations. Wherever he went, he was pointed out. His
distinction of appearance, together with a distinction in dress, which,
whether from habit or policy, was a valuable asset in his work, made

him a marked man. He dressed and looked the "war correspondent,"
such a one as he would describe in one of his stories. He fulfilled the
popular ideal of what a member of that fascinating profession should
look like. His code of life and habits was as fixed as that of the Briton
who takes his habits and customs and games and tea wherever he goes,
no matter how benighted or remote the spot may be.
He was just as loyal to his code as is the Briton. He carried his bath-tub,
his immaculate linen, his evening clothes, his war equipment--in which
he had the pride of a connoisseur--wherever he went, and, what is more,
he had the courage to use the evening clothes at times when their use
was conspicuous. He was the only man who wore a dinner coat in Vera
Cruz, and each night, at his particular table in the crowded "Portales,"
at the Hotel Diligencia, he was to be seen, as fresh and clean as though
he were in a New York or London restaurant.
Each day he was up early to take the train out to the "gap," across
which came arrivals from Mexico City. Sometimes a good "story"
would come down, as when the long-heralded and long- expected
arrival of Consul Silliman gave a first-page "feature" to all the
American papers.
In the afternoon he would play water polo over at the navy aviation
camp, and always at a certain time of the day his "striker" would bring
him his horse and for an hour or more he would ride out along the
beach roads within the American lines. After the first few days it was
difficult to extract real thrills from the Vera Cruz situation, but we used
to ride out to El Tejar with the cavalry patrol and imagine that we
might be fired on at some point in the long ride through unoccupied
territory; or else go out to the "front," at Legarto, where a little
American force occupied a sun-baked row of freight-cars, surrounded
by malarial swamps. From the top of the railroad water-tank, we could
look across to the Mexican outposts a mile or so away. It was not very
exciting, and what thrills we got lay chiefly in our imagination.
Before my acquaintanceship with Davis at Vera Cruz I had not known
him well. Our trails didn't cross while I was in Japan in the
Japanese-Russian War, and in the Transvaal I missed him by a few

days, but in Vera Cruz I had many enjoyable opportunities of becoming
well acquainted with him.
The privilege