CHAPTER VII.
FUN ON SHORE.
In the latter part of the month of July, we succeeded in making a safeentrance into the neutral port of Rio de Janeiro, after having capturedseveral more valuable prizes, and bringing two or three along with us.There was a British man-o'-war, the Atalanta, in this port, when weentered. She could have blown us out of water by one broadside of hergreat guns, but, nevertheless, she respected the neutrality of the port,and did not dare to molest us.
It may seem strange, from the manner in which Adolphus de Courcy hadbeen treated on board the Queer Fish, that he should regret leaving us.But it is, nevertheless, a fact. When his freedom was given him, heassembled the entire crew around him, thanked them for the jolly timethey had afforded him, and shook the captain warmly by the hand. He wasreally an excellent-hearted fellow, and we gave him three hearty cheersas he went over the ship's side to the boat which was to convey him andhis luggage to the British ship before-mentioned. And his sincerity wasnot of a transient kind; for we afterward learned that he spoke well ofus to the officers of the Atalanta.
Going on shore, after a long voyage, is the sailor's paradise. I reckonsome of those old streets of Rio were glad enough when we disappeared;for a noisier, wilder, more devil-may-care set of tars never raised arumpus in a seaport town than did we in Rio. We were allowed to go onshore in squads alternately; and as many of the British sailors werealso, more or less, in the town, we had several collisions of a veryserious character, though the disturbances were usually speedily quelledby the authorities.
The first disturbance of this kind that I was in happened a few daysafter we entered the port. A large squad of us--perhaps twenty--had goneon shore, but Tony Trybrace and I had somehow got separated from ourcompanions. We were both of us somewhat in liquor, and had ahankering--a usual one under the circumstances--to have something moreto drink. So we entered a queer sort of Spanish gin-shop, and, notunderstanding the lingo very fluently, proceeded to help ourselves--ofcourse with the intention of paying our way.
In the course of this proceeding, Tony was rudely thrust back from thecounter by the proprietor of the place, a wiry Brazilian, and, at thesame time, admonished by a torrent of invectives in the unknown lingo.
It is poor policy to treat a drunken man rudely, unless you are apoliceman. A sailor, especially, will bear but little handling. Tonystaggered back a moment, but, the next, the Brazilian was lying on thefloor from a terrific blow between the eyes. Just at this moment,several English sailors entered the room, and, seeing that we wereAmericans, of course took the landlord's part. The latter was but littlehurt and soon got up, muttering a great string of oaths, the usualconsolation of the Spaniard, but, this time, in a much lower voice, andtaking care to be out of the reach of Tony's powerful fist.
"Hit's ha hawful mean shame for to see ha poor cuss treated hin that'ere way," mused one of the Englishmen to his comrades, in a tone soloud that it was evidently meant for our special benefit.
"That's so! Shiver my timbers eff I would stand it eff I was the Spanishcuss," was the elegant rejoinder.
"Whoever don't like it, can take it up whenever he wants," bluntlyinterposed Tony.
"His that 'ere remark hintended for me?" asked the first speaker.
"Well, it is," said Tony, "and so is this 'ere."
And before I could guess his intention, or move an inch to hinder it,down went the cockney before the same stanch fist of the Yankee sailor.The rest of the Britishers immediately sprung forward to avenge theircomrade's fall; and, as I couldn't stand by and see little Tonyoverpowered, I also went in. There were ten of them, at least, and wewere soon on the verge of destruction, when our cries for help reachedthe ears of friends outside, and in dashed Old Nick and Bluefish, at thehead of a dozen or more of our lads, when the way that the Britishersand that entire gin-shop was cleaned out was a caution. Three policemennow dropped in, but we _dropped_ them in as summary a way as the rest ofthem, and made our escape up the street.
This may be a rude picture, but it is one of truth, and I merely give itas a sample of sailors' life ashore in foreign parts.
But there were other scenes in our Brazilian experience that were muchmore novel and satisfactory than the foregoing. The town itself--or,rather, city; for it is a large place--is full of interest to theforeigner.
The men are mostly very homely, the women very pretty. The higherclasses make a great display in a worldly way. I have seen as elegant"turn-outs" here, as in other parts of the globe. The ladies--some ofthem--are attired with unparalleled magnificence. You know it is acountry of diamonds. The ladies sport a good many of them, but they haveanother kind of ornament which, perhaps, will be new to most of you.This is a peculiar kind of _firefly_ which the ladies wear in theirhair. I have seen them fastened among the black locks of a Brazilianbelle at night-time, when the effect was striking in the extreme.
Gambling is very prevalent among the people.
Even the lowest classes are infatuated with their favorite game of_monte_. They play the clothes off their backs, and would play the hairoff their heads, if they wore wigs. They are great lovers of spicy food,like all the rest of the South Americans, as well as the Mexicans. Theamount of red peppers which a genuine Spanish-American will consume atone sitting would make a Yankee sneeze for the balance of his lifetime.They stew it and fry it and broil it, and eat it as we do tomatoes.
When I was in Mexico, the body of a Mexican, who had died of exposure,remained all night exposed on the mountains, where the wolves are asthick as grasshoppers, and we found the body next morning untouched. Iverily believe that he was so excessively peppery that the wolvescouldn't find palate or stomach for him.
Another favorite article of food is the inevitable _tortillo_. This isalmost identical with what our hunters and soldiers call slapjacks. Itis a sort of pancake in a modified form, and goes very well on a hungrystomach.
There are also many lamentable things to witness in Brazil. Thecondition of the slaves is wretched in the extreme. Never--except,perhaps, it was in the Isle of France--did I witness the yoke of slaveryfit the neck of the poor negro so gallingly as at Rio; and I was toldthat the condition of the slaves further up the country--especially inthe diamond districts--was even more deplorable.
But my intention is to devote myself mainly to the fun we had, so wewill quit this distressing subject for a livelier theme.
One of the greatest attractions which Rio afforded us was the inevitablebull-fight. Great preparations had been making for one of theseperformances before we arrived. Of course, as soon as we got wind of iton board the Queer Fish, every man was wild to see the show. The dearlittle captain wished to oblige us all; but, as all could not go, it wasdecided who should, by lots. It was my fortune to be one of the luckyones.
So, on an exceedingly bright morning in the month of July, we--abouttwenty of us--landed at Rio to see the bull-fight. The affair was totake place at a distance of several miles from the city, and we hadtaken the precaution, several days beforehand, of securing conveyances.These were nothing to boast of. They consisted of one barouche, anold-fashioned transportation wagon, and a light, rickety affair, withshafts about fifteen feet long, which is of very frequent use in Spanishcountries (_vide_ Havana).
We made some wry faces at seeing these turn-outs, but the horsesattached to them looked spry, and we were resolved to make the best ofthe bargain. We were soon seated, or, rather, _heaped_ upon the sorryvehicles, the drivers cracked their long whips, and away we went throughthe narrow streets of Rio, singing songs, yelling discordantly, andgetting outside of a large amount of bad alcohol.
At length we reached the plains back of the city--the pampas--the broad,glorious, rolling pampas; and we could see the inclosure where thebull-fight was to take place, together with the flag-decorated,red-roofed buildings surrounding it. A vast concourse had preceded usthere, but we had secured seats beforehand, and had no difficulty inreaching our places. Those Brazilians in our immediate vicinity musthave rememb
ered for a long time the crowd of Yankee privateersmen. TheseSpanish people have ways and manners very singular to a foreigner. Whilewe were waiting for the bulls, all the ladies amused themselves withsmoking their universal cigarettos and fanning themselves. They neverstop smoking, save, perhaps, to make and light a new cigar, and it hasoften been a matter of reflection to me, how they could keep up thateverlasting fanning of their pretty faces. They never stop. The fankeeps moving incessantly. They must be very powerful in the right arm. Iam sure it would make me, or any other strong man, very tired to swingone of those fans for half an hour, yet these pretty ladies keep it upcontinually and never seem fatigued.
While waiting for the bulls, the men either talk to the ladies or play_monte_ among themselves. They frequently quarrel during their games,talk very boisterously, lay their hands on their knives, and look verysavage. But gaming quarrels among them very seldom go any further.
We had plenty of time to observe all these things, as we were fully halfan hour before the time, as was almost everybody else. We spent aportion of our time in eating Brazil-nuts, oranges, bananas and otherfruit, with now and then a cheer or two for the Queer Fish and the flagthat flew at her peak. The native policemen would bob up and down aboutus, endeavoring to maintain better order, but not liking to arrest anyindividual one of us, while they did not dare to attempt a whole arrest.All this weary interval of waiting an American caterer would have filledup with strains of music; but not until almost at the moment of thecommencement of the performance, did the Brazilian musicians (wretchedones) discourse their strains.
At last, however, the band pealed out, and the performers came runninginto the ring. The fighters of the bull, on this occasion, were of twoclasses. One class consisted of men, dressed in tights and spangles,after the manner of our circus actors. These men bore red scarfs orflags, wherewith to blind the beast, while each of them carried a numberof little darts at his belt. The darts were a sort of fireworks, one ofthe various modes adopted for the torture and goading of the bulls. Theother class consisted of the _matadores_, whose duties are of a moresanguinary nature than their brothers of the arena. Most of them on thisoccasion were mounted, and armed with spears, but the most famous wereon foot, armed simply with a long, sheathless rapier. These latter arein a bull-fighting country about the same as first-class theatricalperformers are in America and England. They become very famous whensuccessful, and star it through the country in the same way as ouractors. The main office of the star _matadore_ is to give the finishingblow to the bull--the hight of the accomplishment being in the art ofkilling at a single, graceful thrust of the sword.
When the performers had taken their positions, a signal from the majordomo caused the opening of a suspicious-looking door at the upper end ofthe arena, and out bounded an enormous black bull, with a bellowingnoise, and lashing his sides furiously with his tail.
The game now commenced in earnest.
The ball was opened by one of the horsemen couching his spear andrushing in to the attack. But, quick as a wink, and as lively as a cat,the bull leaped on one side, avoided the thrust, and ripped up the_matadore's_ steed, killing him instantly. The poor bull-fighter washurled high in the air, and fell to the ground. I looked to see himdestroyed instantly. But now the flag-bearers rushed in, flinging theirred scarfs over the animal's horns, and engaging his attention untiltheir discomfited comrade recovered, and was enabled to limp out of thering. The other horsemen, three in number, now spurred forward, andsucceeded in inflicting several painful wounds.
Infuriated with agony, the bull rushed at them blindly, this way andthat; but they glided away from him, and inflicted new wounds.
At last the flagmen (I forget what the Spanish name for them is) rushedin and flung their little darts into the animal's side. The torch wasapplied immediately afterward, and the bull was transformed into anenormous fiery porcupine, and a very frightful-looking figure he cut.Although considerably enfeebled by loss of blood, the ungovernable furyof the bull sustained him for another assault, when he gored anotherhorse and tossed the rider almost to the top of the pavilion. But nowthe master of ceremonies gave the signal, and one of the pedestrian_matadores_ stepped out, sword in hand.
There were three of these men. They had remained standing motionless ina very nonchalant way, waiting for the signal of the _coup de grace_.The one who now stepped out to the task, was a lithe, handsome fellow.With a light bound, he sprung at the side of the bull, avoided theside-sweep of his angry horn, and plunged his weapon in the animal'sneck.
A storm of hisses burst from the audience, for the blow was not thedeath-blow; and the _matadore_ recovered his sword and returned to hisformer position; for one of the rules of the bull-fight is that the blowwhich is intended to be final must not be repeated, if it beunsuccessful.
And now, at another signal from the major domo, an old _matadore_, whohad stood gravely in front of us throughout the entire performance, nowadvanced easily toward the bull, who made a staggering charge upon him.But he easily evaded the charge, gained the animal's side, and drove inhis thin sword to the hilt, right behind the shoulder-blade. This timeit was the _coup de grace_. The bull stumbled forward, and then fell tothe ground dead, while a thundering cheer greeted the successful_matadore_, who bowed carelessly, as if he was used to it, wiped hissword, and quietly resumed his former position.
Now the supernumeraries entered the ring, with a wagon, to remove thedead bull and horses and other _d?bris_.
Several other bulls, more or less formidable, were disposed of in rapidsuccession.
But the greatest bull was reserved for the _finale_. A hum went throughthe audience as he sprung into the arena. I think I never saw a nobleranimal than this bull. He was of a bright bay, and as glossy as thecostliest satin. His eyes were brilliant and large. The strength asdisplayed in the splendid limbs and glorious neck was prodigious. All"our crowd" sent up a rousing cheer as soon as this animal made itsappearance.
Well, the usual performance was gone through with at first. The horsemencharged; one of the horses was killed; the flag-bearers charged, and oneof them was killed. The fireworks had become exhausted: so _that_ partof the show--a very disgusting part to me, I must say--had to beskipped. The master of ceremonies seemed loth to give the signal for thedeath of this noble beast. And while he was deliberating, the bull madea sudden and most effective charge upon all the horsemen and flagmen,who were very injudiciously, all grouped together. The result was thatthe horses were immediately overthrown and disabled, one of the flagmenwas immediately killed, and another one badly hurt, while one of thethree _matadores_,[1] who had been in the group, was tossed high intothe air and, by the rules of the arena, was out of the fight, onaccount of his having left his proper position at the edge of the ring.There were now, literally, as the only remaining fighters, two_matadores_ or swordsmen. One of these, at the sign from the master ofceremonies--which was now very hastily given--rushed in to the attack.But his blow was a bad one. The old _matadore_--the one who had finishedup the the first bull so nicely, was now the only one left, and he,without losing a particle of his composure, went in with a confidentair.
But he made a mistake, just as he reached the animal's side, and had hisarm paralyzed by hitting a horn with his crazy-bone, and away flew hissword out of his hand. The next instant, he was tossed sky-high and Mr.Bull had it all his own way.
A murmur of horror ran through the audience, for it seemed that now, asevery one of the fighters was either prostrate or weaponless, therewould be a great carnage. Even the hitherto imperturbable major domolost his presence of mind and turned as pale as death.
At this momentous juncture, old Bluefish, to our unmitigatedastonishment, started up with a wild whoop.
"I'll spike him! I'll spike him! Smash my top-lights, if I don't spikehim!" he shouted.
And, before we could guess his intention, he had leaped the railing, andwas in the ring. Snatching up the sword of one of the fallen_matadores_, he made at the bull. The latter charge
d him, with a roarthat shook the pavilion to its center. But the sturdy old sailor leapedon one side, got in his blow, and drove it in behind the shoulder, theweapon rapping up against the skin, close to the hilt. The magnificentbeast tottered forward an instant, and then dropped to the earth, stonedead.
Cheer after cheer greeted the brave deed of the Yankee tar.
"Bravo! bravo! Americano! Americano!" echoed from the crowd ofBrazilians.
"I told yer I'd spike him!" was the simple and only self-comment ofBluefish, as he returned to our midst.
We were proud enough of him, you may be sure. But we were prouder still,when, as we were going out with the throng, the band struck up "HailColumbia." The master of ceremonies had ordered it as a compliment tous.