Chapter Twenty Two.
Such the ungentle sport that oft invites
The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain.
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights
In vengeance gloating on another’s pain.
Byron.
When I first joined the army, we had a drill sergeant who had been in the Queen of Spain’s service, a most intelligent and agreeable fellow, as I afterwards found out when I was myself promoted and allowed to associate with him; but, while I was a recruit, I would freely have given one of my ears, on one or two occasions, to have been fairly out of his clutches. We were sergeants together, and I, in common with the rest of my brother non-commissioned officers, have been often amused and interested by the relation of his experience in the Spanish service, which by his account is immeasurably inferior to our own; indeed, the treatment to which private soldiers in the Spanish army are subjected, would soon incite the British army to open mutiny. My friend was a commissioned officer in Spain, but I have frequently heard him say that he would much prefer to be a private dragoon in the British army. He was about thirty-five years of age when I enlisted, standing about 5 feet 9 inches high, with jet-black curly hair and an olive complexion set off by a handsome soldier-like figure. His word of command to young recruits was divested of that croaking harshness and fierce demeanour so predominant with drill-corporals, sergeants, and adjutants generally; still he was very severe and very exacting, for the slightest appearance of carelessness or inattention he would report a recruit and get him punished. This, however, arose from excessive zeal more than an unkindly disposition, and he never made an enemy who remained so for many hours. He never alluded to his family, and his name—which I forbear to mention—was generally understood to be assumed, but it was evident he was well bred and well educated. After my promotion to the rank of full sergeant, I was necessarily thrown more into his society, particularly at the sergeants’ mess (for sergeants have a mess and dine together as well as officers), where I have often listened with a great degree of interest to his stories of bull-fights in the amphitheatres of Madrid, which I do not particularly remember to repeat, but his relation of a fight between a full-grown Bengal tiger and three bulldogs at Havana I perfectly well remember. He said, “I took my seat in the amphitheatre, in front and within forty feet of the tiger, who was perfectly quiet in a cage about twenty-four feet long and fifteen feet wide, at times walking about, apparently indifferent to the noise which the multitude made around him. Some circus performances were first introduced, after which a couple of trained elephants went through some novel antics, one of them turning the handle of a barrel-organ, while the other danced to a lively Spanish air. These performances occupied about an hour; the three dogs matched to fight the tiger were then introduced, and the instant they caught the eye of the tiger he gave a loud roar, and lashed his tail angrily from side to side. The dogs were of the purest bull breed. One was a brindle, with his ears and tail cut, and of large size; the second dog had neither his ears nor tail trimmed, but he had a very ferocious look—he was all white, and looked as if ready to fight to the death; the third dog was black, with long tail and ears, but had nothing very striking in his appearance beyond a powerful frame and a set of blackguard-looking teeth, always visible through the shortness of his upper lip. I had anticipated seeing the large bloodhounds of the island, one of which weighs as much as all these three, and when I saw these I felt that the tiger would easily conquer them. Boards being placed through the bars of the cage as a partition, the dogs were put in one part, while the tiger was in the other.
“The moment the dogs were put in the cage, all the combatants became infuriate. The tiger, with the hair on his back bristling, rushed to the partition, and the dogs were anxious to get at him. While removing the boards to give them the satisfaction of meeting, the tiger thrust his paw under the board, which was at once seized by the white dog; the board was immediately withdrawn, all pitched in, and the fight grew fast and furious. The white dog was most active, and attacked his monster adversary with great pluck. The tiger vented his first act of anger upon him, giving him a bite in the back of the neck which injured him severely, but, pressing on with a courage which could not be exceeded, he received another wound which evidently touched his spine, and rendered him almost entirely hors de combat, as he could not do any further damage, but he was game to the last. While the blood was flowing from his neck, and he staggering and constantly falling from the injury to his spine, he still endeavoured to assist his brothers in the fray. At the time the white dog was engaging the attention of the tiger, the black had fastened his teeth in his flank, and the brindle was assailing him about the neck. He did not notice the black, but gave the brindle an ugly stroke with his paw. The tiger appeared surprised at such rough treatment, he leaped over all the dogs, and would have run off, if he could have got away; but the dogs followed him up, and now a regular ‘rough-and-tumble’ fight ensued, the black again fastening on the flank of the tiger. The fight had lasted about five minutes, and the tiger began to show signs of giving up. He lay down apparently exhausted, the white dog was disabled, but the black was busily engaged worrying the tiger’s flank, and the brindle was tearing away at his neck and shoulders, but presently he rallied, and gave the brindle a crushing blow with his paw, which, although it did not kill the dog outright, so disabled him that he had nothing more to do with the fight. Black was all this time worrying at the tiger’s flank and hind-legs.
“At length the tiger sprang into a corner of the cage, when the dog caught him by the under jaw and gave him a severe bite, but the tiger shut down his upper jaw upon the dog’s head, and gave him a severe wound. At this time active hostilities ceased. The tiger was evidently willing for an armistice, and quietly lay down in a corner of the cage to lick his wounds; the dogs, however, disabled as they were, staggered up to him and vainly attempted to renew the contest, but the tiger after a snap or blow of his paw ran to another part of the cage.
“There was much excitement evinced by the owner of the dogs, who claimed the victory on the ground that the tiger had run and would not continue the fight. True, he had run, and would probably have run away soon after the fight commenced, could he have done so, but he was not beaten—he was still in good condition, while all the dogs were more or less disabled.
“The nature of all the cat species is to run away, and fight on the defensive; they will spring upon an enemy, fight, run off, and steal back again to spring, fight, and run away. The bulldog has no such traits—he knows only to stand up and fight, to conquer or die. It was decided a drawn battle by the referee.
“The dogs were taken out of the cage, the brindle and the white being carried out of the amphitheatre on a litter, the tiger never taking his eyes off them all the time. The black dog was able to walk away, though sadly mangled. The tiger, after the departure of his visitors, walked about his cage in his ordinary way, as though nothing had happened to him, although he must certainly have felt sore about the flanks and hind-quarters. The fight lasted altogether about twenty minutes.”