Tequila—Mexican respect for the white man—Personal vengeance preferred
to Law—Mexican stoicism—Victims of red tape.
Tequila, which is the common drink in Guadalajara, is fermented and
distilled pulque. Pulque is the fresh sap of the maguey or “century”
plant (one of the big-leafed cacti), tasting something like sweet cider.
Like “tari” in India, it is practically non-intoxicating when fresh, but
when fermented is very much so, and when distilled into tequila it is
something like Indian “arrak,” and has the effect of driving most men
fighting-crazy. An ordinary tumblerful sells for six cents, so the very
poorest can afford it, and practically every one, men and women, drink
it. The police are very indulgent with drunks, and generally leave them
alone if they can zig-zag within the confines of the street. Even when
they do have to arrest them they handle them tenderly. For instance, one
night I saw a drunk, on his way to the lock-up, sit down in the middle
of the street and swear by all the calendar that he would go no farther
until he had another drink. After remonstrating and arguing in vain one
of the police went and got him a drink, when he arose and went peaceably
along.
Only on two occasions have I seen the police club a man, which in the
States is no uncommon sight. Once was when two police were taking off a
man by his arms pulled over their necks; he took a bite out of one of
the necks, and they had to club him off. The other case shows the
respect of the average Mexican for a white man. On one occasion two men
started to fight near where I was working. One of them had a knife and
the other a blocksetter’s spike. I noticed that one of them was wounded
and, being the smaller, would probably be killed by the other. They were
not my men, but I hated to see an unevenly matched fight, so I ran up,
and on my demand (I am afraid I spoke rather roughly) they both gave up
their weapons. One had a stab in the stomach, and I told him I would
send him to the hospital, at which he broke and ran. I followed, but to
all my arguments he would reply that he had a family to support and
would be sent directly from the hospital to the jail for fighting, so
preferred to cure himself. Finally I let him go, and when I got back to
the work I found a policeman whom one of my men had run to fetch when I
started to take a hand. To him I turned over the weapons of war, and, on
his insisting, I also gave him a description of the men, telling him
about the wounded man. As he was returning to the police station to make
his report he ran into my wounded friend who was on his way home, and
with the assistance of another officer tried to take him to the
hospital. Then this man, who had given up his weapon to me without a
fight, now, though unarmed, put up such a fight that they had to club
him into submission before they could take him. On another occasion a
man who formerly had worked for us got into a fight on the Paseo, and
with two policemen after him, shooting at him, he ran into our gate, and
getting behind some barrels of asphalt defied the police. They did not
seem anxious at all to come to close quarters with him, and so things
rather hung fire. Our yard foreman, who was an old miner and prospector
in the early days of Colorado, told the police to hurry up as his men
were doing no work owing to the excitement. Then, seeing that the police
were stuck, he walked up to the man, took him by the wrist, and jerked
him out from his barricade and turned him over to the police out in the
street.
The police in Mexico carry open lanterns at night, I suppose it is to
warn evildoers to get out of their way! I saw three of them once hunting
for a man among the vacant lots of the Colonia Francesa, and they looked
like three fireflies whom any one could easily elude in the darkness.
Once one of my men disappeared for a few days, and when he returned to
work I asked him what he had been up to. He told me that he had got into
a fight, and a policeman in trying to arrest him had hit him over the
head with his lantern and broken it, and that he had to lie in jail till
he could pay his fine, besides paying for a new lantern.
The Mexicans hate the law to step in to settle their differences, as
they believe only in personal vengeance. I was in the commissaria once
when a man was brought in badly hurt, and, as he refused to tell the
judge who had done it, he was sent to jail till he should tell. On a
recurring sentence or, as the judge said, “trenta days y vuelta” (thirty
days and return); this is a very common way of prolonging a sentence
when the law distinctly lays down the limit of sentence for the offence.
I said to the judge, who is a good friend of mine, that this seemed
queer justice. “Well,” said he, "it is the only means I have to deal
with these people, and to avert murder. If I can only find out who the
other man is I can put him out of harm’s way till this fellow cools down
and forgets his wrongs." I heard of another case of a man brought in as
a drunk, who was set in one corner to wait his turn at examination. When
his turn finally came, they tried to prod him up when he did not answer,
thinking he was shamming, but they found he was dead from a bad stab in
the chest. He had kept himself so covered with his blanket that they had
not known he was wounded, trusting, I suppose, that it would not be
discovered, and that later he could settle with his opponent in his own
way.
Mexicans are of a stoical Indian blood, and pain that they understand
they can bear without a murmur. But a headache or other pain that they
cannot account for makes them think they are going to die. One of our
men slipped into a melting-tank containing liquid asphalt at between
300° and 400° Fahrenheit. He fell in up to his armpits, yet never made a
sound either then or when he was pulled out, but actually assisted us in
getting his clothes off. We rolled him in oiled cloths, got him into a
hack, gave him half a bottle of tequila, and prepared to start him off
to the hospital when a priest came up, running, confessed him, and gave
him the last rites of the church. Through it all he never made a moan,
though his teeth were chattering with the shock. The law in this country
said that in case of an accident one must not touch the person until the
police have had a chance to investigate, and had this happened with only
Mexicans around, they would have telephoned the police, and then sat
idle till they came, with the man still in the kettle: this law has
since been changed. I, however, took chances, and ordered a hack, then I
telephoned to the _Jefe Politico_ (mayor and chief magistrate) asking
permission to send the man direct to the hospital without waiting for
the police investigation. He consented on my assuring him that it was an
accident. So I sent a man with the poor fellow and a note to the
director of the hospital, but I found out later that when the director
saw that the man was certain to die, he refused to receive him without a
permit from the police captain of our precinct. So the poor devil was
driven one and one-half miles back to the police station and from there
back to the hospital, and it was nearly two hours from the time of the
accident before he got medical attention. At the police station the man,
half crazy with pain and tequila, accused the man who had pulled him out
of having pushed him in, so down came the police and arrested him. The
judge of the first criminal court was a good friend of the company, and
we went up to see him so as to have an immediate trial if possible. He
took our depositions, and as luckily half a dozen of us had seen the
accident, he turned the accused man loose in a very few hours, though it
caused us some trouble. I told the judge about the hospital business,
and he severely reprimanded the director.