Nor did Louis' case deter me, as I poured the biting, scorching stuff down my throat.

John Barleycorn had thrown Louis to a nasty fall, but I was young.

My blood ran full and red; I had a constitution of iron; and--well, youth ever grins scornfully at the wreckage of age.
Queer, fierce, alcoholic stuff it was that we drank.

There was no telling where or how it had been manufactured--some native concoction most likely.

But it was hot as fire, pale as water, and quick as death with its kick.