the barkeeper that I
would take a little of the same.

The moment, though, that I had swallowed it I realized I had been too
hasty. It was mescal--an explosive in liquid form that is brewed or
stilled or steeped, or something, from the juices of a certain variety
of cactus, according to a favorite family prescription used by Old Nick
several centuries ago when he was residing in this section. For its size
and complexion I know of nothing that is worthy to be mentioned in the
same breath with mescal, unless it is the bald-faced hornet of the Sunny
South. It goes down easily enough--that is not the trouble--but as soon
as it gets down you have the sensation of having swallowed a comet.

As I said before, I didn't see any Indians in Old Mexico, but if I had
taken one more swig of the national beverage I am satisfied that not
only would I have seen a great number of them, but, with slight
encouragement, might have been one myself. For the purpose of assuaging
the human thirst I would say that it is a mistake on the part of a
novice to drink mescal--he should begin by swallowing a lighted kerosene
lamp for practice and work up gradually; but the experience was
illuminating as tending to make me understand why the Mexicans are so
prone to revolutions. A Mexican takes a drink of mescal before
breakfast, on an empty stomach, and then he begins to revolute round
regardless.

On leaving Tia Juana we stopped to view the fort, which was the
principal attraction of the place. It was located in the outskirts just
back of the cluster of adobe houses and frame shacks that made up the
town. The fort proper consisted of a mud wall about three feet high,
inclosing perhaps half an acre of bare clayey soil. Outside the wall
was a moat, upward of a foot deep, and inside was a barrack. This
barrack--I avoid using the plural purposely--was a wooden shanty that
had been whitewashed once, but had practically recovered from it since;
and its walls were pierced--for artillery-fire, no doubt--with two
windows, to the frames of which a few fragments of broken glass still
adhered. Overhead the flag of the republic was flying; and every
half-minute, so it seemed to us, a drum would beat and a bugle would
blow and the garrison would turn out, looking--except for their
guns--very much like a squad of district-telegraph messengers. They
would evolute across the parade ground a bit and then retire to quarters
until the next call to arms should sound.