A friend of mine had his house completely stripped of everything of value (by his servants) while the family were out; the thieves were never caught, though one of the girls had two gold front teeth (a most uncommon thing amongst Mexicans). Most people when they leave their houses, and no member of the family stays at home, either turn out all the servants and lock the doors, or lock the servants in the house while they are away. An American ore-buying concern here had its office in front of the railway station, the busiest part of the city. One Sunday afternoon four men drove up in a wagon, opened the door with a key, loaded the cash-safe on to the wagon, locked the door, and neither they nor the safe have ever been seen since. The police saw them at work, but thought they were employees of the house and so did not interfere. I went into a billiard hall a few days ago in Acambaro (while waiting between trains) to play a game; the proprietor said he was sorry but some one had stolen all the balls. A few weeks ago I was in a street car in Morelia; when we got to a cross-over the conductor cussed, for some one had stolen the switch (tie rods and all) during the night.
In Guanaguato, a mining town near here, there used to live a mine manager who was in the habit of keeping rather large sums of money in his house. His servant girl told some of her friends of this, and also that he would be out at the mine on a certain night. She was, however, mistaken about the latter, as he happened to stay at home. During the night Mrs. Rose woke up and found four men in her room. When she called to her husband one of them struck her across the back with a machete (cane knife), then her husband woke up and grappled with them though quite unarmed. While the poor fellow was putting up a most unequal fight his wife, though badly hurt, ran to the bureau, got out his revolver and handed it to him. But he was so terribly wounded that though he was able to empty the gun and scare off the robbers he could not shoot well enough to get any of them. His wife recovered, but poor Rose died the next day from his wounds. I am glad to say that the murderers were all caught later and shot. But there is a moral to this which many of us have learned: if you have a revolver keep it under your pillow and not in a bureau drawer.
A few years ago a poor old American market-gardener here was killed a most brutal way, being first tortured to try to make him show where he had hidden money that did not exist; he was well over seventy years old, rather childish, but liked and admired by the entire American colony here. Some of this bandit element then decided to hold up the owner of one of the largest hardware (ironmonger’s) stores here; but his wife and fourteen-year-old boy happened to overhear some of the conversation from the porch of their house (not one hundred yards from where the old man had been killed), and one with a shotgun and the other with a 22 calibre rifle went out and so peppered them that they fled with what lead they had received. It was lucky for them that they did so, for, on another occasion, a man did actually hold up this same gentleman, and when Kipper finally got through with him, he was glad to get into the hands of a policeman alive. I have said enough to show that the people are thieves, and at times dangerous. As I said before, there are plenty of policemen, but they are on actual duty twelve hours per day, and then have to sleep in the police station, ready to be called out in case they are needed; therefore they put in most of their duty-time getting cat-naps in doorways or wherever they can find a place. Besides this, they are recruited from the peon class, and get very little pay. During my first year’s work, when I used to go to the yard at 3 A.M., I have seen a dozen of them asleep on the benches in San Francisco park as I passed through. Discipline is almost unknown, and I have seen policemen on duty sitting on the curb shining their shoes. Of course they smoke all the time on duty, and very frequently drink more than is good for them.
What they need is a Roosevelt for police commissioner. They tell a story of Roosevelt when he was police commissioner in New York. One evening he saw a policeman standing before a saloon back entrance about to take a drink of beer. “What is your name?” asked Roosevelt. “It is none of your business; what is your name?” said the cop. “My name is Roosevelt,” was the answer. The policeman finished his beer, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and said, “If your name is really Roosevelt then I guess my name is Dennis” (a slang phrase in America, used in the sense that he was discharged). The quick reply saved him from more than a reprimand. This reminds me of a story of the judge in Kentucky who had a man up for making illicit whisky. “What is your name?” he asked the prisoner, and was answered, “Joshua.” The judge smiled on the court, and said, “Joshua, Joshua, it seems to me that I have heard that name before. Oh yes! you are the fellow who made the sun stand still.” “No,” replied the prisoner, “I am that Joshua who made the moonshine still” (the name given to an illicit distillery).
CHAPTER XXIX
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.