The Mexican workman—His remembrance of a grudge—The
_Commissaria_—Private feuds—American _versus_ English.
As a workman the Mexican is surprisingly good, considering the poor food
they are able to buy with the small wages they get. They have not much
initiative, but can be taught to do almost anything and do it well. A
few years ago American mechanics could command almost any salary in
Mexico, but now Mexicans can do for themselves, and Americans would
starve on the salary. When I arrived I had not one single man who had
ever seen asphalt laid before, or knew anything about a plant. I had
plans with me, and we went to work and put up the plant. Then I had to
teach my yard foreman (an American) the first principles of the asphalt
business. I got up at three each morning and started up the plant, then
went to the street with the first load and showed the men how to lay it,
and did the rolling myself. I soon found, though, that I could not keep
this up, so we wired to the States for a roller-man and a raker. And
with these two men, who understood their branch of the work, I managed
to get through the first season and complete a contract for $84,000. The
yard foreman picked up his end in an astonishing short time, and after
the first job that end gave me very little trouble.
We were about two-thirds through the work when I noticed that my two
Americans were acting sulkily and hanging back, till finally it came one
day to a climax and they both went on strike. The cause of the strike
was so trivial that I thought there must be something more behind, but
did not find it out till some months afterwards. A short while after I
came here the company had got a superintendent for their Mexico City
branch from New York, and this roller-man and raker were men who had
worked for him there. It seems that he had arranged with them to make
trouble for me so that I should not finish the work, and then he could
get a man of his own in my place. However, in the middle of the trouble
he was caught padding the company’s pay-roll, and just escaped arrest by
getting out of the country. This broke up the strike, and I was able to
finish up and get rid of my men, who had done one good thing for me—and
that was to break in a crew of Mexicans, with whom I have done the work
ever since.
I early had trouble with the men stealing tools, and soon found that the
only way was to charge whatever tools were missing amongst the whole
crew. This kept the thieving within bounds, as the innocent men watched
the guilty, though they would never tell on them, as this was against
their code of honour. This does not hold good in every case, and lucky
for us it did not. We had a gatekeeper whom we trusted implicitly,
giving him duplicate keys for the office, storerooms, &c. Well, he and
the night-watchman fell out. One morning the latter came to me and asked
me to make the _portero_ give him back $3 that he had of his. I told him
that I could not interfere with their private quarrels. He said, “But he
stole the money from me.” I still told him that I would not interfere.
“But,” said he, “he is stealing from you also.” I think this really
slipped out in the heat of anger. I asked him who else knew about the
matter, and had all witnesses at once taken to the _Commissaria_. There
they were forced to tell their tale and sign their names to their
declaration. We then had the _portero_ tried, convicted, and sentenced
to six years and four months in the penitentiary.
A Mexican seldom forgets a grudge, and the day he got out this man found
and tried to kill the old night-watchman, and I later met him in
Chihuahua dressed as a soldier, and he told me he had got a five-year
term in the army. I have known of cases of men getting stabbed, and yet
denying that they knew the man who had done it, hoping when well to be
able to revenge themselves, as they only believe in personal vengeance
and dislike the law to step in. One of my stable hands had trouble with
some man, and one night there was a tap at the stable door (he slept in
the grain-room); when he poked out his head to see who it was he was
slashed with a knife from ear to ear. He recovered, but never would tell
who did it, saying that he had not seen; yet I have no doubt that matter
has been settled ere now. Another of our men had a fight to which there
were two eye-witnesses, one of whom told me how the whole affair came
off. Yet when the man was arrested both swore that they knew nothing
about it and had never seen any fight. The man was held four months for
evidence and then turned out. I suppose, morally, I should have told
what I knew, but it is a good axiom in this country never to volunteer
information to the police, as you will surely be held in jail as an
important witness. As a very friendly judge once said to a friend of
mine, “My dear sir, you know too much.” My friend at once took the hint
and immediately forgot everything he had been trying to tell.
Americans seem to have an idea that Englishmen have no sense of humour,
and are very fond of telling stories at our expense. To illustrate the
cleverness of an American over an Englishman, they tell of the American
over in England who insisted in smoking in a “non-smoking,” first-class
carriage. An Englishman in the carriage, who had protested in vain,
finally called the guard. When the guard arrived the American quickly
spoke first. “Guard,” he said, “this gentleman is riding in a
first-class carriage on a third-class ticket.” Investigation proved this
to be true, and the irate Englishman was ejected. One of the spectators
asked the American how he had known that the Englishman only had a
third-class ticket. “Well,” said the American, “I happened to see a
corner of it sticking out of his waistcoat pocket and noticed that it
was the same colour as my own.” But I have also heard a story of an
American from the interior, unfamiliar with crustacea, who was doing
England. By way of seeing life he lunched at the Savoy on the day of his
arrival, and, settling himself at a table, prepared to enjoy a hearty
meal. Some celery in a glass was placed before him, which he ate whole
without much satisfaction. But the second course—a crab in
mayonnaise—was too much for him. Beckoning the waiter to him, he said,
"Say, I’ve eaten your bouquet, but I’m damned if I’ll eat that bug."
Mexicans also are great story-tellers, but their humour is so peculiar
that one has to be a Mexican to understand and appreciate it. But then
their way of looking at things is so different from ours. They think a
boxing match a most brutalising sport, and will hardly allow even
amateur boxing exhibitions in the country; yet they think bull-fighting
is elevating, and can see absolutely no harm in it. Whereas to most
foreigners one bull-fight is all that they can stand.
Neither Americans nor Mexicans here show much interest in any but local
affairs. Of course educated men know something of European matters, but
the ignorance of some Americans on such a subject as India is
surprising. A doctor here argued with me the other day that “Hindu”
simply meant the race, and “Mohammedan” was their religion; and he tried
to prove it by saying they got the name “Hindu” from “Hindustan,” the
name of the country, as Englishman from England, and that the religion
of the Hindu race was Mohammedan. Yet he is an educated American
professional man!