Mission Dolores, the place where these cruel sports were held, is a small village about two miles south-west of San Francisco, which was first settled by a couple of Roman Catholic priests during the American Revolution. It is contended by some that this was the first settlement effected by white persons in Upper California. The buildings are but one story in height, covered with tiles, and are constructed of adobe or sun-dried clay. With regard to the general aspect of the place, it is distressingly shabby and gloomy. For scores of years, the inhabitants, who are a queer compound of Spanish and Indian blood, have lived here in poverty, ignorance and inactivity. But I am digressing. What was I to do about the bull-fight? I had never witnessed such an exhibition, and consequently had a great desire to see it. It was Sunday, however, and how could I reconcile the instructions of a pious mother with an inclination so much at variance with the divine command? Well, without entering into any thing like a defence of my determination, suffice it to say that I made up my mind to go, and went. Anxious, however, to moderate or diminish the sin as much as possible, I determined to hear a sermon first, and go to the bull-fight afterwards. For the sake of somewhat condensing the events of the day, I concluded to leave the city immediately, and repair to the Mission, there to attend an antique Catholic church, which has been built nearly three-quarters of a century.
Starting off with this view, I arrived within hearing of the priests’ voices about the time they began to chant the service, and on entering the rickety old church, much to my gratification, I learned that it was an extraordinary occasion with them, and that a deal of unusual display might be expected. The rite or ceremony of high mass was to be performed. Monks and friars from the monasteries of Mexico were in attendance; and the church was thronged with a large and heterogeneous crowd.
Four o’clock, the hour appointed for the fight between the bear and the bull, having arrived, a few taps by the drummer, and some popular airs played by the other musicians, announced that the amphitheatre, which fronted the church and stood but a few yards from it, was open for the reception of those who desired admission. I made my way to the ticket-office, and handed three dollars to the collector, who placed in my hand a voucher, which gained me access to an eligible seat within the inclosure. I found myself among the first who entered; and as it was some time before the whole audience assembled, I had ample opportunities to scan the characters who composed it, and to examine the arrangement and disposition of things around me.
The seats were very properly elevated so high above the arena that no danger was likely to result from the furious animals; and I suppose five thousand persons could have been conveniently accommodated, though only about three-fourths of that number were present. Among the auditory, I noticed many Spanish maids and matrons, who manifested as much enthusiasm and delight in anticipation of what was to follow as the most enthusiastic sportsman on the ground. Crying children, too, in the arms of self-satisfied and admiring mothers, were there, full of noise and mischief, and a nuisance, as they always are, in theatres and churches, to all sober-minded people. Of men, there were all sizes, colors and classes, such as California, and California alone, can bring together. There was but one, however, who attracted my particular attention on this occasion. I had no recollection of having ever seen him before that day. He sat a few feet from me on my left. There was nothing uncommon about his form or features. The expression of his countenance was neither intellectual nor amiable. His acquirements and attainments were doubtless limited, for he demeaned himself rudely, and exhibited but little dignity of manner. It was the strange metamorphosis he had undergone since the morning which won for him my special observation. Only four hours had elapsed since I saw him officiating at the altar and feasting upon a substance which he believed to be the actual flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, who died more than eighteen hundred years ago! In the forenoon of the Lord’s day, he took upon himself the character of God’s vicegerent, invested himself with sacerdotal robes, assumed a sanctified visage, and discharged the sacred duties of his office. In the afternoon of the same Sabbath, he doffed his holy orders, sanctioned merciless diversions, mingled on terms of equality with gamblers and desperados, and held himself in readiness to exclaim Bravo! at the finale of a bull-fight.
By this time the whooping, shouting and stamping of the spectators attested that they were eager and restless to behold the brutal combat; and an overture by a full brass band, which had been chartered for the occasion, gave them assurance that their wishes would soon be complied with. The music ceased; the trap-door of the bull’s cage was raised, and “Hercules,â€� huge, brawny and wild, leaped into the centre of the inclosed arena, shaking his head, switching his tail, and surveying the audience with a savage stare that would have intimidated the stoutest hearts, had he not been strongly barred below them. His eyes glistened with defiance, and he seemed to crave nothing so much as an enemy upon which he might wreak his vengeance. He contorted his body, lashed his back, snuffed, snorted, pawed, bellowed, and otherwise behaved so frantically, that I was fearful he could not contain himself until his antagonist was prepared. Just then, two picadors—Mexicans on horseback—entered the arena, with lassos in hand. Taurus welcomed them with an attitude of attack, and was about to rush upon one of their horses with the force of a battering-ram, when, with most commendable dexterity, the picador who was farthest off lassoed him by the horns, and foiled him in his mad design. As quick as thought, the horseman from whom the bull’s attention had been diverted, threw his lasso around his horns also; and in this way they brought him to a stand midway between them. A third person, a footman, now ran in, and seizing his tail, twisted it until he fell flat on his side; when, by the help of an additional assistant, the end of a long log-chain was fastened to his right hind-leg. In this prostrated condition he was kept until the other end of the chain was secured to the left fore-leg of the bear, as we shall now describe.
Running a pair of large clasping-tongs under Bruin’s trap-door, which was lifted just enough for the purpose, they grasped his foot, pulled it out, and held it firmly, while one of the party bound the opposite end of the chain fast to his leg with thongs. This done, they hoisted the trap-door sufficiently high to admit of his egress, when out stalked “Trojan,â€� apparently too proud and disdainful to vouchsafe a glance upon surrounding objects. He was a stalwart, lusty-looking animal, the largest grizzly bear I had ever seen, weighing full fourteen hundred pounds. It was said that he was an adept in conflicts of this nature, as he then enjoyed the honorable reputation of having delivered three bulls from the vicissitudes of this life. It is probable, however, that his previous victories had flushed and inspired him with an unwarrantable degree of confidence; for he seemed to regard the bull more as a thing to be despised than as an equal or dangerous rival. Though he gave vent to a few ferocious growls, it was evident that he felt more inclination to resist an attack than to make one. With the bull, the case was very different; he was of a pugnacious disposition, and had become feverish for a foe. Now he had one. An adversary of gigantic proportions and great prowess stood before him; and as soon as he spied him, he moved backward, the entire length of the chain, which jerked the bear’s foot and made him rend the air with a most fearful howl, that served but the more to incense the bull. Shaking his head maliciously, casting it down, and throwing up his tail, he plunged at the bear with a force and fury that were irresistible. The collision was terrible, completely overthrowing his ponderous enemy and laying him flat on his back. Both were injured, but neither was conquered; both mutually recoiled to prepare again to strike for victory. With eyes gleaming with fire, and full of resolution, the bull strode proudly over his prostrate enemy, and placed himself in position to make a second attack. But now the bear was prepared to receive him; he had recovered his feet wild with rage, and he then appeared to beckon to the bull to meet him without delay. The bull needed no challenge; he was, if possible, more impetuous than the bear, and did not lose any more time than it required to measure the length of the chain. Again, with unabated fierceness, he darted at the bear, and, as before, struck him with an impetus that seemed to have been borrowed from Jove’s own thunderbolt; as he came in contact with the bear, that amiable animal grappled him by the neck, and squeezed him so hard that he could scarcely save himself from suffocation. The bull now found himself in a decidedly uncomfortable situation; the bear had him as he wanted him. Powerful as he was, he could not break loose from Bruin. A vice could not have held him more firmly. The strong arms of the bear hugged him in a ruthless and desperate embrace. It was a stirring sight to see these infuriated and muscular antagonists struggling to take each other’s life. It was enough to make a heathen generalissimo shudder to look at them. How ought it to have been, then, with enlightened civilians? This question I shall not answer; it was easy enough to see how it was with the Spanish ladies—they laughed, cheered, encored, clapped their hands, waved their handkerchiefs, and made every other sign which was characteristic of pleasure and delight. The contending brutes still strove together. Hercules quaked under the torturing hugs of Trojan. Trojan howled under the violent and painful perforations of Hercules. But the bear did not rely alone upon the efficacy of his arms; his massive jaws and formidable teeth were brought into service, and with them he inflicted deep wounds in his rival’s flesh. He seized the bull between the ears and nostrils, and crushed the bones with such force that we could distinctly hear them crack! Nor were the stunning butts of the bull his only means of defence; his horns had been sharpened expressly for the occasion, and with these he lacerated the bear most frightfully. It was a mighty contest—a desperate struggle for victory!
Finally, however, fatigued, exhausted, writhing with pain and weltering in sweat and gore, they waived the quarrel and separated, as if by mutual consent. Neither was subdued; yet both felt a desire to suspend, for a time at least, all further hostilities. The bull, now exhausted and panting, cast a pacific glance towards the bear, and seemed to sue for an armistice; the bear, bleeding and languid after his furious contest, raised his eyes to the bull, and seemed to assent to the proposition. But, alas! man, cruel man, more brutal than the brutes themselves, would not permit them to carry out their pacific intentions. The two attendants or managers, Ignacio and Gomez, stepped up behind them, goading them with spears till they again rushed upon each other, and fought with renewed desperation. During this scuffle, the bull shattered the lower jaw of the bear, and we could see the shivered bones dangling from their bloody recesses! Oh, heaven! what a horrible sight. How the blood curdled in my veins. Pish! what a timid fellow I am, to allow myself to be agitated by such a trifle as this! Shall I tremble at what the ladies applaud? Forbid it, Mars! I’ll be as spirited as they. But, to wind up this part of our story, neither the bear nor the bull could stand any longer—their limbs refused to support their bodies; they had worried and lacerated each other so much that their strength had completely failed, and they dropped upon the earth, gasping as if in the last agony. While in this helpless condition the chain was removed from their feet, horses were hitched to them, and they were dragged without the arena, there to end their miseries in death.
The second act of the afternoon’s entertainment was now to be performed. It would be unnecessary, and painful to the feelings of sensitive readers, to dwell long upon this murderous sport. It was a mere repetition, in another form, of the disgusting horrors of that which preceded it. Fully satiated with the barbarities I had already witnessed, I am not sure that I should have staid to see any more, had it not been for the peculiar sensations which the cognomen of one of the actors awakened within me. By reference to the advertisement, it will be perceived that the two managers of this part of the proceedings were Joaquin Vatreto and Jesus Alvarez. The latter name sounded strangely in my ears. It occurred to me that it was peculiarly out of place in its present connection. What! Jesus at a bull-fight on Sunday, and not only at it, but one of the prime movers and abettors in it!
But now to the fight. All things being ready, the great bull, Behemoth, was freed from restraint, and sprang with frantic bounds into the midst of the arena. He bore a suitable appellation, for he was a monster in size and formidable in courage. Two picadors, Joaquin Vatreto and Jesus Alvarez, mounted on fiery steeds, with swords in hand, now entered and confronted him. Behemoth looked upon this sudden invasion as an intolerable insult. His territory was already too limited for so powerful a monarch as he considered himself, and he could not think of dividing it with others. The sight of these unceremonious intruders inflamed him with such rancor that he could no longer restrain himself; but lowering his head and tossing his tail aloft, he rushed furiously at them. They evaded his charge. The horses were well trained, and seemed to enjoy the sport, and to pride themselves upon their adroit manœuvres. But both they and their riders had enough to do to evade the fury of the enraged brute. Each successive bout became more animated and fierce. The foiling of the bull’s purposes only exasperated him the more. There was not room enough in his capacious body to contain his effervescing wrath. The foam which he spurted from his mouth and nose fell upon the earth like enormous flakes of snow. Faster and faster, and with truer aim, he charged his foes. At last one of the horses, in attempting to wheel or turn suddenly round, stumbled, and the bull, taking advantage of the event, gored him so desperately in the abdomen that a part of his entrails protruded from the wounds and trailed almost upon the ground! This was truly a distressing scene. I could have wept for the poor, innocent charger, but in this case tears were of no avail.
One of the picadors now alighted, and engaged the attention of the bull, while the other led the two horses outside the inclosure. When this was done, a man on foot, called a matador, dressed in close-fitting, fantastic garments, with a heavy sword in his right hand, and a small red flag in his left, entered the arena and bowed first to the bull and then to the audience. It was now a matter of life and death between the bull and the matador. One or the other, or both, must die. If the bull did not kill the man, the man would kill the bull; if the man killed the bull, the man was to live, but if the bull killed the man, the bull was to die; so that death was sure to overtake the bull in any event. The action commenced, and waxed hotter and hotter every moment, and it was only by uncommon skill and agility that the matador could shun the frenzied charges of the bull. Had it not been for the flag which he carried in his hand, and which enabled him to deceive his antagonist by seeming to hold it directly before him, when in reality he inclined it to the right or to the left, as his safety dictated, the bull would unquestionably have dashed his brains out, thrown him over his head, or gored him to death. Nothing could have irritated or vexed the bull more than did the sight of this red flag, and he made all his assaults upon it, supposing, no doubt, that he would strike the mischief behind it, but the agile matador always took special care to spring aside and save himself from the deadly stroke. After tormenting, teasing and chafing him for about a quarter of an hour in this way, six keen javelins or darts, with miniature flags attached, were handed to the matador, who ventured to face the bull, and never quit him until he had planted them all in his shoulders, three in each. Stung to madness, the animal reared, rolled and plunged in the most frightful manner. Soon, however, he was on his feet again, pursuing his persecutor with renewed zeal.