They had no English-murdering clerk.

They trusted to the sign to inveigle foreigners into their lairs, and trusted to their own blandishments to keep them there till they bought something.
We ferreted out another French imposition--a frequent sign to this effect: "ALL MANNER OF AMERICAN DRINKS ARTISTICALLY PREPARED HERE." We procured the services of a gentleman experienced in the nomenclature of the American bar, and moved upon the works of one of these impostors.

A bowing, aproned Frenchman skipped forward and said: "Que voulez les messieurs ?" I do not know what "Que voulez les messieurs ?" means, but such was his remark.
Our general said, "We will take a whiskey straight." [A stare from the Frenchman.] "Well, if you don't know what that is, give us a champagne cock-tail." [A stare and a shrug.] "Well, then, give us a sherry cobbler." The Frenchman was checkmated.

This was all Greek to him.
"Give us a brandy smash!" The Frenchman began to back away, suspicious of the ominous vigor of the last order--began to back away, shrugging his shoulders and spreading his hands apologetically.
The General followed him up and gained a complete victory.

The uneducated foreigner could not even furnish a Santa Cruz Punch, an Eye-Opener, a Stone-Fence, or an Earthquake.