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!