410 LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI.
the cocks had been fighting some little time, I was expecting them
momently to drop dead, for both were blind, red with blood, and so
exhausted that they frequently fell down. Yet they would not
give up, neither woxild they die. The negro and the white man
would pick them up every few seconds, wipe them off, blow cold
water on them in a fine spray, and take their heads in their mouths
and hold them there a moment—to warm back the perishing life
perhaps \ I do not know. Then, being set down again, the dying
creatures would totter gropingly about, with dragging wings, find
each other, strike a guess-work blow or two, and fall exhausted once
more.
I did not see the end of the battle. I forced myself to endure it
as long as I could, but it was too pitiful a sight; so I made frank
confession to that effect, and we retired. We heard afterward that
the black cock died in the ring, and fighting to the last.
Evidently there is abundant fascination about this £ sport' for
such as have had a degree of familiarity with it. I never saw people
enjoy anything more than this gathering enjoyed this fight. The case
was the same with old grey-heads and with boys of ten. They lost
themselves in frenzies of delight. The 'cocking-main' is an in human
sort of entertainment, there is no question about that; still, it seems
a much more respectable and far less cruel sport than fox-huntmg—
for the cocks-like it; they experience, as well as confer enjoyment;
which is not the fox's case.
We assisted—in the IfVench sense—at a mule race, one day. I
believe I enjoyed this contest more than any other mule there* I
enjoyed it more than I remember having enjoyed any other animal
race I aver saw. The grand stand was well filled with the beauty
and the chivalry of New Orleans. That phrase is not original with me.
It is the Southern reporter's. He has used it for two generations.
He uses it twenty times a day, or twenty thousand times a day; or a
million times a day—according to the exigencies. He is obliged to
use it a million times a clay, if he have occasion to speak of
respectable men and women that often; for he has no other phrase
for such service except that single one. He never tires of it; fc
always has a fine sound to him. There is a kind of swell mediaeval
bulliness and tinsel about it that pleases his gaudy barbaric souL