THE next day was a great day in Monteverde. All the streets were
hung with flags; and everywhere gaily dressed crowds were to be seen
flocking towards the bull-ring, as the big circus was called where the
fights took place.
The news of the Doctor’s challenge had gone round the town and, it
seemed, had caused much amusement to the islanders. The very idea of
a mere foreigner daring to match himself against the great Pepito de
Malaga!—Serve him right if he got killed!
The Doctor had borrowed a bullfighter’s suit from Don Enrique; and very
gay and wonderful he looked in it, though Bumpo and I had hard work
getting the waistcoat to close in front and even then the buttons kept
bursting off it in all directions.
When we set out from the harbor to walk to the bull-ring, crowds of
small boys ran after us making fun of the Doctor’s fatness, calling
out, “_Juan Hagapoco, el grueso matador!_” which is the Spanish for,
“John Dolittle, the fat bullfighter.”
As soon as we arrived the Doctor said he would like to take a look
at the bulls before the fight began; and we were at once led to the
bull pen where, behind a high railing, six enormous black bulls were
tramping around wildly.
In a few hurried words and signs the Doctor told the bulls what he was
going to do and gave them careful instructions for their part of the
show. The poor creatures were tremendously glad when they heard that
there was a chance of bullfighting being stopped; and they promised to
do exactly as they were told.
Of course the man who took us in there didn’t understand what we were
doing. He merely thought the fat Englishman was crazy when he saw the
Doctor making signs and talking in ox tongue.
From there the Doctor went to the matadors’ dressing-rooms while Bumpo
and I with Polynesia made our way into the bull-ring and took our seats
in the great open-air theatre.
It was a very gay sight. Thousands of ladies and gentlemen were there,
all dressed in their smartest clothes; and everybody seemed very happy
and cheerful.
Right at the beginning Don Enrique got up and explained to the people
that the first item on the program was to be a match between the
English Doctor and Pepito de Malaga. He told them what he had promised
if the Doctor should win. But the people did not seem to think there
was much chance of that. A roar of laughter went up at the very
mention of such a thing.
When Pepito came into the ring everybody cheered, the ladies blew
kisses and the men clapped and waved their hats.
Presently a large door on the other side of the ring was rolled back
and in galloped one of the bulls; then the door was closed again. At
once the matador became very much on the alert. He waved his red cloak
and the bull rushed at him. Pepito stepped nimbly aside and the people
cheered again.
This game was repeated several times. But I noticed that whenever
Pepito got into a tight place and seemed to be in real danger from the
bull, an assistant of his, who always hung around somewhere near, drew
the bull’s attention upon himself by waving another red cloak. Then
the bull would chase the assistant and Pepito was left in safety. Most
often, as soon as he had drawn the bull off, this assistant ran for the
high fence and vaulted out of the ring to save himself. They evidently
had it all arranged, these matadors; and it didn’t seem to me that they
were in any very great danger from the poor clumsy bull so long as they
didn’t slip and fall.
After about ten minutes of this kind of thing the small door into the
matadors’ dressing-room opened and the Doctor strolled into the ring.
As soon as his fat figure, dressed in sky-blue velvet, appeared, the
crowd rocked in their seats with laughter.
Juan Hagapoco, as they had called him, walked out into the centre of
the ring and bowed ceremoniously to the ladies in the boxes. Then he
bowed to the bull. Then he bowed to Pepito. While he was bowing to
Pepito’s assistant the bull started to rush at him from behind.
“Look out! Look out!—The bull! You will be killed!” yelled the crowd.
But the Doctor calmly finished his bow. Then turning round he folded
his arms, fixed the on-rushing bull with his eye and frowned a terrible
frown.
Presently a curious thing happened: the bull’s speed got slower and
slower. It almost looked as though he were afraid of that frown. Soon
he stopped altogether. The Doctor shook his finger at him. He began to
tremble. At last, tucking his tail between his legs, the bull turned
round and ran away.
The crowd gasped. The Doctor ran after him. Round and round the ring
they went, both of them puffing and blowing like grampuses. Excited
whispers began to break out among the people. This was something new
in bullfighting, to have the bull running away from the man, instead
of the man away from the bull. At last in the tenth lap, with a final
burst of speed, Juan Hagapoco, the English matador, caught the poor
bull by the tail.
Then leading the now timid creature into the middle of the ring, the
Doctor made him do all manner of tricks: standing on the hind legs,
standing on the front legs, dancing, hopping, rolling over. He finished
up by making the bull kneel down; then he got on to his back and did
handsprings and other acrobatics on the beast’s horns.
Pepito and his assistant had their noses sadly out of joint. The crowd
had forgotten them entirely. They were standing together by the fence
not far from where I sat, muttering to one another and slowly growing
green with jealousy.
Finally the Doctor turned towards Don Enrique’s seat and bowing said in
a loud voice, “This bull is no good any more. He’s terrified and out of
breath. Take him away, please.”
“Does the caballero wish for a fresh bull?” asked Don Enrique.
“No,” said the Doctor, “I want five fresh bulls. And I would like them
all in the ring at once, please.”
At this a cry of horror burst from the people. They had been used to
seeing matadors escaping from one bull at a time. But _five_!—That must
mean certain death.
Pepito sprang forward and called to Don Enrique not to allow it, saying
it was against all the rules of bullfighting. (“Ha!” Polynesia
chuckled into my ear. “It’s like the Doctor’s navigation: he breaks all
the rules; but he gets there. If they’ll only let him, he’ll give them
the best show for their money they ever saw.”) A great argument began.
Half the people seemed to be on Pepito’s side and half on the Doctor’s
side. At last the Doctor turned to Pepito and made another very grand
bow which burst the last button off his waistcoat.
[Illustration: “Did acrobatics on the beast’s horns”]
“Well, of course if the caballero is afraid—” he began with a bland
smile.
“Afraid!” screamed Pepito. “I am afraid of nothing on earth. I am the
greatest matador in Spain. With this right hand I have killed nine
hundred and fifty-seven bulls.”
“All right then,” said the Doctor, “let us see if you can kill five
more. Let the bulls in!” he shouted. “Pepito de Malaga is not afraid.”
A dreadful silence hung over the great theatre as the heavy door into
the bull pen was rolled back. Then with a roar the five big bulls
bounded into the ring.
“Look fierce,” I heard the Doctor call to them in cattle language.
“Don’t scatter. Keep close. Get ready for a rush. Take Pepito, the one
in purple, first. But for Heaven’s sake don’t kill him. Just chase him
out of the ring—Now then, all together, go for him!”
The bulls put down their heads and all in line, like a squadron of
cavalry, charged across the ring straight for poor Pepito.
For one moment the Spaniard tried his hardest to look brave. But the
sight of the five pairs of horns coming at him at full gallop was too
much. He turned white to the lips, ran for the fence, vaulted it and
disappeared.
“Now the other one,” the Doctor hissed. And in two seconds the gallant
assistant was nowhere to be seen. Juan Hagapoco, the fat matador, was
left alone in the ring with five rampaging bulls.
The rest of the show was really well worth seeing. First, all five
bulls went raging round the ring, butting at the fence with their
horns, pawing up the sand, hunting for something to kill. Then each one
in turn would pretend to catch sight of the Doctor for the first time
and giving a bellow of rage, would lower his wicked looking horns and
shoot like an arrow across the ring as though he meant to toss him to
the sky.
It was really frightfully exciting. And even I, who knew it was all
arranged beforehand, held my breath in terror for the Doctor’s life
when I saw how near they came to sticking him. But just at the last
moment, when the horns’ points were two inches from the sky-blue
waistcoat, the Doctor would spring nimbly to one side and the great
brutes would go thundering harmlessly by, missing him by no more than a
hair.
Then all five of them went for him together, completely surrounding
him, slashing at him with their horns and bellowing with fury. How he
escaped alive I don’t know. For several minutes his round figure could
hardly be seen at all in that scrimmage of tossing heads, stamping
hoofs and waving tails.—It was, as Polynesia had prophesied, the
greatest bullfight ever seen.
One woman in the crowd got quite hysterical and screamed up to Don
Enrique,
“Stop the fight! Stop the fight! He is too brave a man to be killed.
This is the most wonderful matador in the world. Let him live! Stop the
fight!”
But presently the Doctor was seen to break loose from the mob of
animals that surrounded him. Then catching each of them by the horns,
one after another, he would give their heads a sudden twist and throw
them down flat on the sand. The great fellows acted their parts
extremely well. I have never seen trained animals in a circus do
better. They lay there panting on the ground where the Doctor threw
them as if they were exhausted and completely beaten.
Then with a final bow to the ladies John Dolittle took a cigar from his
pocket, lit it and strolled out of the ring.
_THE NINTH CHAPTER_