In Mexico City, huge identic headlines screamed from El Universal Grafico and El Excelsior, news of an atrocity unparalleled: the burning alive by rebels in a locked and kerosene-soaked railway train of 100 passengers, including Senora Refugia Obregon Ponce de Leon, eldest daughter of onetime (1920-24) Mexican President Alvaro Obregon.
Mexicans gasped with incredulity, then read in heavy type: Official Bulletin of the Presidential Staff.
The sensation approached that to be expected at Washington should the White House Spokesman announce that a daughter of onetime (1909-13) President Taft had been locked into a Pennsylvania railway train by strikers at Passaic, N. J., and burned to death.
Everywhere, friends of Senor Obregon despatched their condolence by mail, wire, cable. Moved, they recalled the happy girlhood of Refugia Obregon on her father's huge ranch in Sonora. They remembered her love of animals, her tame pig, her ponies, her intelligent parrot, "Chi-Chi," whom she taught to ask for food politely in Spanish and English. Last week, they mused sorrowfully, she was barely 20, just entering the flower of her womanhood, a devoted wife to her spruce, fashionable husband, Colonel Ponce de Leon. . .
Before details of the atrocity were availa^e through press channels, War Minister Joaquin Amaro gave out the story verbally,, in lurid fashion:
"Mexico has just witnessed a hecatomb—the like of which it has never before witnessed in its history. It is a crime without name, such as never before was perpetrated by any rebel faction. It has left the entire republic stupefied by its savagery.
"As the Guadalajara-Mexico City Express neared La Barca, in Jalisco, it ran at full speed upon two rails from which attacking Indians had removed the spikes, and crashed to a sudden stop. . . .
"The object of th,e attack was the soldier train guards, but the infuriated hillsmen dealt death to everyone in the line of fire. Of the passengers in the two second class cars, numbering over 100, scarcely one escaped injury or death, because about these cars raged the most intense fury of the battle, since from them the soldier guards defended the train. These wooden cars were perforated as though cardboard, by bullets from the high power rifles of the peasants, who appeared magnificently armed. . . .
"The battle was in semidarkness, for the moon had not yet risen and the train cars were not lighted.
Toward the end of the ghastly scene the moon began to rise, and in the obscure light the commanding form of a priest in priestly robes could be seen urging on the hillsmen to the work of destruction. . . .
"Amid the shrieking of women, crying of children and shouts of desperation of the men on the doomed train, the battle went on. No quarter was given or asked for, and the soldier train guards went to their death one after another, fighting desperately. It was an uneven fight to the last. . . .
"Then the work of destruction began. The safe was broken open in the express car and the contents, amounting to $200,000 in gold and silver coin, was extracted.