The cockpit was a round space about ten feet in diameter surrounded by six slender wooden posts supporting the roof and forming a part of a low wall about three feet high—high enough to keep the fighting cocks within, but not to obstruct the view of the sports. The surrounding space was shaded by large trees but not enclosed, being merely a back yard to which a wide passage between two houses led. There was no admission fee, the spectators or “betters” standing around the pit betting on their favorites.
In the fight we saw a medium-sized Spanish rooster, belonging to the establishment, disable a large one of the same breed with the second stroke, and kill it with the third. The entertainment was short, but not sweet. A lance about two and one-half inches long had been fastened to one of the legs of each bird, the lances being about as wide and long as the small blade of a large penknife, slightly curved and acutely pointed. At the second jump the lance of the small rooster pierced the body of the larger one, who immediately turned sidewise and sank down. The victor seemed to understand the action of the wounded bird and was inclined to leave it alone, but the owners set them at it again. The wounded bird made another great effort, but his abdomen was this time pierced by the penetrating lance of the victor, which stuck fast and held him down beside his prostrate victim. The owner pulled them apart, upon which the wounded bird jerked his leg and wing convulsively two or three times and expired.
I think that it was an easy death for a fighting cock, although not as easy as having his neck wrung. He certainly had a much easier time than the victor of the previous fight, in which artificial spurs had not been used. The hero stood on a pile of boards nearby without a feather on his head, neck and thighs, and with his bared skin swollen and as red as raw beef. He had conquered in a long fight, but in the process had undoubtedly had a half hour of the most severe and exhausting punishment. Yet he stood up and looked proudly about him, like a fighting cock still, unconscious of his loss of beauty and of usefulness—too naked to fight and too tough to be eaten.
Having seen enough to satisfy our barbarous instincts, and cool off our enthusiasm but not our bodies, we continued our walk and soon came to a large centrally located market such as exists in nearly all Southern towns. Here we saw negroes carrying in freshly killed beef to be sold the next morning at daybreak, for, on account of the scarcity of ice, the butchers have to sell their meat almost as soon as killed. This probably accounts for the unseasoned toughness which is the chief distinguishing characteristic of tropical beef, although tough beef is sometimes found in the temperate zones. We afterwards passed several saloons in which the white young men of the town were playing cards, and stopped in one of them and drank nauseating luke-warm orangeades. Even the saloons and the hospitals were out of ice. Our last stop was at the hotel, a good-sized frame building that backed up to the seashore and was delightfully cooled by the sea breeze. The front garden of about three acres was the most beautiful mass of foliage I have ever seen. Excepting the wide paths, it was almost a solid mass of loaded orange trees, towering royal palms, foliage plants eight feet high, flowering trees, and other plants of the richest green, yellow, orange and variegated coloring.
We passed through the hall into the back yard, which bordered on the seashore, and sat for a while on the wide porch enjoying the sea breeze and watching a tame cockatoo; a red, yellow, orange, green, black and blue parrot, fully a yard in length from the tip of his yellow beak to the end of his blue and cardinal colored tail. I often wonder if we Americans are not descendants of the beautiful and loquacious parrot instead of the gibbering monkey, for our women are so ornamental, and swearing comes so natural to our men.
While sitting and chatting we had to do the appropriate thing and take a couple of highballs, for we were joined by some real Costa Ricans, who take whiskey and White Rock at stated intervals for their health, particularly when they come down to visit these hot lower regions. When the time came to go we drank another highball. I left out the whiskey, for I knew that I had to climb into the boat; but the others, including the temperate captain, took the universal poison as the Scotch dispense it. They had the advantage of long practise and experience. My book knowledge did not help me in practice.
After exercising a great deal of sober good judgment and juvenile agility, we got safely in and out of the row boat and finally on board our dear S. S. Limón. We were glad to be again on the boat, which was clean, cool and provided with ice and icebox meat, and were fortunate in not being obliged to spend the night in the old dilapidated worm-eaten hotel, which was full of mosquitoes and hot air, and had undoubtedly sheltered and shrouded many a case of yellow fever in the past.
CHAPTER V
Colón and the Panama Railway
Getting Aboard the Italian Steamship—A Life on the Ocean Wave—W. J. Bryan’s Opinion—The Steerage—A Many-tongued Englishman and Champagne Cider—The S. S. Limonians and Dinner—A Polyglot Conversation—Steamer Chairs for Beds—Night Sounds and Nauseous Smells—Fresh Air a Magic Remedy—Colón—The Formalities of Landing in the Canal Zone—Passed Through by the Linguistic Englishman—Circular No. 13—Hotel Washington and Its Discomforts—Attractive Grounds—Impossible Lodgings—Sudden Departure—Paying Double—Expensive Transportation—Aristocratic Beer—Getting Something for Nothing—Suffocated by Handbaggage—The Champagne-Cider-Englishman Again—Across the Isthmus by Railroad—Buried Treasures—U. S. Marines—Rhine Scenery—Cutting a Mountain Ridge in Two—Arrival at Panama—Farewell to S. S. Limonians—Parting without Sorrow—Traveling Friendship—Wise Cab-men and Cheap Transportation—Two and a half Cab Rides for a Glass of Beer—Doing as the Wild Beasts do.