September, 1920 
FOREST AND STREAM 
491 
caballeros in jacket and trousers and 
sombrero. The long, wide trousers were 
to cover the iron boots worn to protect 
their legs from the horns of the bull. 
The procession proceeded to the box 
of the president or patron of the func- 
tion, where Mazzantini recited in glow- 
ing terms the brave work to follow, 
whereupon the president delivered to 
him the key of the bull pens. The pro- 
cession then retired and the gate was 
closed, but soon swung open to admit 
half a dozen matadors and toreadors. 
Then the gate was again opened and a 
small bull rushed into the arena, his 
eyes glaring and gleaming with hate as 
he surveyed the immense audience. Then 
he rushed madly at the group in the 
ring, and compelled, one after the other, 
to leap over the barrier, some barely 
escaping his horns as they struck the 
wooden fence with a resounding blow. 
A MOUNTED picador now slowly en- 
tered, carrying a long lance or pike. 
The poor, lean crowbait of a horse 
was completely blindfolded. The now 
thoroughly enraged bull rushed at the 
horse, goring him repeatedly, his blood 
and entrails, flowing and protruding from 
the wounds; the picadhr meanwhile 
prodding the bull with his pike, the 
blood streaming down its sides. The 
poor horse whinnying and whining and 
screaming with terror, as it tramped on 
its entrails dragging on the ground. Oh, 
the pity of it; Then the horse and rider 
were forced against the barrier, and 
with a violent lunge the bull impaled the 
horse and raised up both man and beast 
on his horns several inches from the 
ground, thus exhibiting the immense 
strength of his neck. Vainly trying to 
escape, the horse managed to reach the 
center of the ring, when with another 
rush the bull sent both horse and man 
to the ground, both completely at his 
mercy. As the bull drew back a pace 
or two for the final onslaught, Mazzan- 
tini toled the bull away with his red 
mantle, the senoras meanwhile applaud- 
ing the bull with shouts of “Viva la 
toro!” and rapping their fans on the 
railing. Mazzantini continued to play 
with the bull, toling him about with his 
red muleta, until the wretched picador 
could be removed from the arena; but 
the poor horse, mercifully, was dead. 
Then came the act of the banderilleros. 
Standing on tip toe, with a baderilla in 
each hand, and without the protection 
of the red muleta, he challenged the bull, 
who rushed at him with lowered head 
and expectant horns well forward, but 
just at the ri#it moment the man leaped 
nimbly aside as the bull passed under 
his arm, and the two banderillas were 
thrust deep into the shoulders of the 
tricked animal. This was repeated sev- 
eral times until the bull was adorned 
with several pairs of the beribboned 
V barbs, while the blood streamed down 
his shoulders. 
The bull now being worked up to the 
desired state of fury and frenzy, Maz- 
zantini stepped into the center of the 
ring, and flaunting his red mantle, the 
maddened bull rushed at it, but quickly 
holding it to one side the disappointed 
bull passed under the man’s arm, and 
turning quickly, pawed the earth, and 
renewed the attack. This was repeated 
a number of times, until the enraged 
animal was fairly foaming at the mouth. 
Then came the last scene in the bloody 
drama. With a long, sharp sword in one 
hand and the mantle in the other, Maz- 
zantini waited for the final onslaught 
of his antagonist who, meanwhile, was 
pawing the ground and shaking his head 
from side to side in baffled rage and 
viciousness. Mazzantini continued to 
taunt and defy the bull, who now 
spurned the ground as he leaped and 
lunged at his adversary and blindly at- 
tacked the hateful red gage. As he did 
so Mazantini curved his body slightly, 
and as the bull swept by, with a well- 
directed and skillful thrust the sharp 
sword passed beneath the shoulder blade 
and collar bone, up to the hilt, pene- 
trating and piercing the heart and lungs. 
The bull dropped to his knees, the hot 
blood spurting from his nostrils. Then 
drawing his stout dagger the victor 
plunged it into the bull’s neck, severing 
the spinal cord, when with a convulsive 
shudder the worsted animal fell over 
on his side, dead. 
Again the gates swung open, and. amid 
shouting and loud cracking of whips, a 
team of three horses abreast, gaily ca- 
parisoned and decorated with flags and 
streamers galloped around the arena, 
and after being harnessed to the horns 
of the vanquished bull galloped out 
again amid the huzzahs and plaudits of 
the excited audience, and the bloody 
drama was ended. 
A circus from the United States was 
exhibiting in the city, and it seemed 
very odd to us to hear the old familiar 
Chestnuts of the sawdust ring, which age 
cannot wither nor custom stale, re-pro- 
duced in fairly good Spanish by the 
clowns and ringmaster. In addition to 
a number of very good acts there was a 
burlesque bull-fight in which all of the 
usual features were parodied. The 
picadors were mounted on, or rather en- 
closed in, “basket-horses”, a stage imi- 
tation of mettled steeds, which were sus- 
pended by straps from their shoulders, 
and their legs hidden by a valance. 
The skin of a bull, or cow perhaps, 
was operated by two men, one in the 
front legs, the other behind. The pica- 
dors cavorted about the ring on their 
prancing steeds, with long slender bam- 
boo reeds for lances which bent double 
when prodded against the sides of the 
bull. Then, when the maddened bull 
chased a picador, both horse and rider 
climbed up the center-pole, closely fol- 
lowed by the pursuing bull for a few 
feet. The whole affair was ludicrous 
and much enjoyed by the American and 
Cuban portion of the audience, though 
the Spanish quota rather resented it at 
first, deeming it a reflection on their 
national sport, but soon thought better 
of it and accepted it in a spirit of con- 
cession and good humor. 
W E left Havana during the first 
week in January, 1887, on the 
fine steamer Ciudad de Cadiz 
(City of Cadiz), which was afterward 
transformed into a cruiser during the 
Spanish-American war. We ran down 
to Porto Rico and anchored for a day 
or two in the beautiful harbor of San 
Juan. I went ashore the next day, 
which happened to be Epiphany Sunday, 
and witnessed a novel and very inter- 
esting display, the procession of the 
Magi and shepherds from a church on 
top of the hill to one in the lower part 
of the town. The Three Wise Men were 
represented by three boys, two white and 
one colored, mounted on donkeys, attired 
in royal robes, with gilt crowns on their 
heads and carrying gilt vessels in their 
hands as gifts for the Babe in the 
Manger at Bethlehem. They were fol- 
lowed by several hundred girls and boys, 
white and colored, on foot, representing 
shepherds and shepherdesses, and daint- 
ily attired as those seen on old Dresden 
china, and carrying gilded crooks orna- 
mented with wreaths and ribbons. 
The day being very hot I stepped into 
a cafeteria and ordered a big lemonade, 
some dulces and a dish of fig bananas, 
the most delicious and delectable of all 
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