Haiti - The Traveller's Tree: A Journey Through the Caribbean Islands - page 154

were, to judge by the conversation, three crack breeds: the Rajah, the Cuban and the Dominican from the
neighbouring republic.
A red cock and a white were the first two antagonists: Rouge and L'Homme à Surprises. They were
subjected to an intricate toilet by their seconds, who first dosed them with hæmoglobin, and then, filling
their own mouths with water, pressed the birds to their lips, sucking and soaking the feathers so that they
should cling to the body and afford no hold for the enemy. For the same reason their lower neck-feathers
had been plucked, and their combs cropped flush with their low brows. No steel spurs were used, but
their natural spurs were sharpened to a last, perfect point with penknives, and the birds were placed beak
to beak.
Till then they had been crowing and flapping their wings threateningly. But now, craning forward and
moving their heads up and down, or gyrating them with their beaks still touching, they fell silent: stream-
lined instruments of destruction on stilts, glaring at each other through wary, bloodshot and ferocious
eyes. Their remaining neck feathers stiffened into ruffs, and then, slowly turning inside out as their anger
rose, surrounded the purposeful heads in bristling funnels of plumage. Their prolonged sparring evoked
a chorus of encouragement and jeering. As if they felt that their valour was impugned, the birds closed
with each other. Pecking and lunging, they sailed into the air with their claws palm to palm, and hung
there, poised with beating wings for a few seconds like a pair of heraldic supporters. Turning over and
over, they subsided in a turmoil of flying feathers, and resumed their tussle in the dust while a typhoon
of noise swept through the crowd. The spectators leaned forward over the competitors in a close circle
of heads, working their arms up and down as they screamed, in a strange, unconscious imitation of the
contestants. Again the two cocks shot up into the air. Last minute bets were placed, and greasy bundles
of gourdes sailed to and fro across the ring. Both were bleeding round the neck, and it was evident that
Rouge was growing weaker. L'Homme à Surprises went for him again and again, making wicked staccato
pecks at his throat. At last, with a deafening roar of applause and encouragement, they closed again, and,
as the dust and feathers cleared, Rouge rolled over on his back with a deep wound at the junction of the
breast and neck. His claws clenched and unclenched once or twice and then froze. The victor mounted
the corpse and, spreading his wings, let out a long, triumphant crow. Jumping into the ring, his owner
snatched him up and kissed him. Straw hats were flying in the air.
After a pause for drinks and the settling of accounts, two new cocks took the ring. It was plain from
the start which was going to win. One of them repeatedly turned his back on the other, and attempted to
escape, but he was forced by his partisans back into the range of his opponent's murderous and unerring
attacks. Finally he seemed to abandon all ideas of flight or resistance and stood in a species of coma. His
enemy strode round him, pecking terrible gashes in his neck, and then aimed at his eyes. His victim stood
inert and helpless, his head stretched forward, gasping slowly, with the blood gradually filling his open
beak and dripping on to the dust. A savage jerk of his tormentor's head sent a shower of blood splashing
across the shirts and forearms of the spectators, and the noise, the scores of crowing cocks, the claustro-
phobic heat, the dust, the smell of sweat and the flying drops of blood combined to form an oppressive
atmosphere of crime and collusion. The remaining eye grew glazed, and the loser fell on his side with
one wing hanging open….It was about then that we realized that we had bitten off more than we could
chew and, extricating ourselves from the crowd, slunk into the open, three hang-dog sporting coves. A
Negro ran after me and thrust a handful of guilty winnings into my hand, gave me a friendly pat on the
shoulder, and ran back. We headed down the road into Pétionville, in search of stiff glasses of whisky and
soda, discussing the scene we had just left and our debility in the presence of the robust amusements of