Thus, for a real or imagined slight, the streak of black blood will show up and convert a friend into a relentless enemy.
It is not surprising when one considers the lack of civilising influences which ought to be exerted from the top downwards, but which have no root in the highest power they know, which is the arm of the law. It might be interesting to note a few proofs of the corruption which exists among those who wield the local weapons of justice—among the commissaries, police, and justices of the peace.
The Chief of Police of——, for instance, a town of only about 7,000 inhabitants, refused £2,000 a year for the local gambling rights.
Again, a gardener, whom I knew, was put in jail for being drunk and disorderly. On going to the place some time later I found the man still imprisoned. "Why," I asked, "for such a small offence"? "We found," was the answer, "that when sober he was such a good workman that we could not spare him from the job of cleaning the stables."
On the other hand, a friend of mine was dissatisfied with the policeman he had, and sent the sergeant into the township to exchange him for another. The man returned with a particularly villainous-looking specimen, and when asked where he had got him, explained that the Chief of Police had told him to look among the prisoners for a suitable man, give him a uniform and take him.
"I thought this was the best of them; but they all wanted to come," he concluded ingenuously.
Another commissary in the north of this country flattered himself on his revolver-shooting, and used to perform the feat of shooting the hat off a man's head without hurting him. He was in the local bar one day when a peon entered with a brand new white hat; it was an opportunity not to be missed. Crack—and the man fell with a bullet through his temple instead of his hat.
Did the Comisário stand stricken with remorse, or burst into self-reproach? No. He moved the body with the toe of his boot and remarked: "Carramba, I am getting a very poor shot nowadays."
A story which was told me in the province of Rio Negro, and which was well vouched for, contained serio-comic elements of which I believe the perpetrator, whom I knew personally, quite capable.
An old man who owned a considerable quantity of land, died intestate. A man who lived with him, Garcia by name, had no idea of letting the property go to distant unknown relations, and concocted the following plot (obviously with the connivance of the neighbouring Justice of the Peace, who was a friend of his).