Oh, yes, there was lots of excitement and agility and skill and all that, but why describe a bullfight as a bullfight? No story is older. What was peculiar about this fight was the presence of 3,000 American sailors. That's a different story. You want to know how Jack saw it and what he said and thought and did. You can see bullfights any time you want to pay for them; you can't see American bluejackets at such a spectacle as the chief guests of a Government, and that's what made this fight tremendously interesting.
Well, this one was held in the famous ring almost as old as Lima. Six bulls from the famous stock of Rinconada de Mala, the property of Dr. Don Jesus de Asin, had been provided. They were the fightiest bulls in all Peru; and to make sure that they would do their best they had been teased privately beforehand. The fight, as the handbills announced, was a "grand gala," one given "in honor of the North American squadron to celebrate its happy arrival at the port of Callao."
Well, the hospitality of the Government went further, for it named the bulls in honor of the fleet. The first bull was "the gallant Alfred, in honor of Admiral Evans"; the second, "the heroic Ranger, in honor of Admiral Thomas"; the third, "the Brave Teddy, in honor of Admiral Emory"; the fourth, "the Shufly, in honor of Admiral Sperry"; the fifth, "Banjo, in honor of the officers of the navy"; the sixth, "Yankee Doodle, in honor of the sailors." Could hospitality go further than that?
About 175 men from each ship and all the officers of the fleet were invited. The sailors filled two-thirds of the arena and the officers and the high society of Lima filled the boxes. All had assembled on time, and then came the President to sit in the box directly opposite that of the officers of the municipality, with chairs of red plush for the box and a dais for the President, who was in evening dress. The American Admirals and Captains were in that grand box. The Peruvian band played "The Star Spangled Banner" and the bluejackets stood at attention and then all hands cheered. When the President came and the Peruvian national hymn was played, the bluejackets gave three rousing cheers for Pardo and Peru. Then all was ready for business. The key was tossed into the ring for the parade of the fighters, capeadores, banderilleros, matadors, the rig to pull the dead bulls out, and all that.
The Americans were all intense. The fighters took their stations, the Mayor gave the word, a bugle blew, a door was opened and a great brown and black bull with horns, as one of the local newspapers described them, "like the spires of a steeple," bounded into the ring, took one look around and dashed madly after an aged horseman riding a beautiful iron gray pony and flaunting a red cape over his mount's flanks. There were two of these horsemen and the exhibition they gave of fine riding would have put the best cowboy or rough rider to shame. The man the bull put after was more than eighty years old and the way he twisted his pony here and there and just escaped the lunges of that bull, turning sharp angles, pulling up short, making his horse fairly leap out of the way, dodging this way and that until the bull was astonished elicited roars of applause from the bluejackets. They liked that part. Then a younger man took up the same work. He was even more skilful. Bullfighting was fine so far.
But let Bill Watkins, bos'n's mate, be heard from. Bill, you see, had been to these things before in his gyrations round the world, now having five stripes on his sleeve. Bill gathered a group of youngsters about him and invited the Sun man to come along to have a bullfight "explained proper."
"You see," said Bill, "these Spiggoties (a sailor term applied to Latin Americans because they say 'Me no spiggoty English') think they know all about bullfights. They doesn't, to use good grammar. You want to look at 'em from the standp'int o' seamanship an' gunn'ry. There's where you get the real benefit. Why, many a middy c'n learn more 'bout seamanship an' gunn'ry here than he kin from two years on a bridge. I tell ye these bullfights oughter be in the kricklum, or whatever they call it, at Annapolis."
Just then a bugle blew telling the mounted cape men to give way to those on foot. Bonarillo, the matador, advanced with a purple lined cape "to feel the bull out." He waved the garment gracefully from side to side. The bull dashed at him. Bonarillo's foot caught in the corner of the cape, the bull gathered him on his horns and agilely tossed him over one shoulder and then dashed away after another capeador. Bonarillo tried to get up, but couldn't. Soon he was carried out of the ring. Glory was not to be his that day. Bill took it all in and explained:
"There ye go! Ye see, that matador ought ter remembered that he was in shoal water. He thought he c'd navigate 'thout takin' soundin's or gettin' bearin's. That bull had his range all right, but his deflection was poor. When the bull got 'im under the leg with his horn that shot sure counted. The bull hoisted 'im all right, but the man who was tendin' the fall let 'im go by the run when it came to lowerin' away. There, the wreckin' tugs have got 'im! Now they're carryin' 'm 'behind the breakwater. It's the drydock for cocky Bonarillo, all right. Mighty poor seamanship and just ordinary gunn'ry fer the bull! You see, 'twas only a pot shot."
Then the cape men began to wave their emblems at the bull. Now and then the bull would catch one of the capes in his horns and toss it to the ground and trample on it. The men had to run for the shelters often. The bull was fresh. Bill explained: