Well, the usual performance was gone through with at first. The horsemen charged; one of the horses was killed; the flag-bearers charged, and one of them was killed. The fireworks had become exhausted: so _that_ part of the show--a very disgusting part to me, I must say--had to be skipped. The master of ceremonies seemed loth to give the signal for the death of this noble beast. And while he was deliberating, the bull made a sudden and most effective charge upon all the horsemen and flagmen, who were very injudiciously, all grouped together. The result was that the horses were immediately overthrown and disabled, one of the flagmen was immediately killed, and another one badly hurt, while one of the three _matadores_,[1] who had been in the group, was tossed high into the air and, by the rules of the arena, was out of the fight, on account of his having left his proper position at the edge of the ring. There were now, literally, as the only remaining fighters, two _matadores_ or swordsmen. One of these, at the sign from the master of ceremonies--which was now very hastily given--rushed in to the attack. But his blow was a bad one. The old _matadore_--the one who had finished up the the first bull so nicely, was now the only one left, and he, without losing a particle of his composure, went in with a confident air. But he made a mistake, just as he reached the animal's side, and had his arm paralyzed by hitting a horn with his crazy-bone, and away flew his sword out of his hand. The next instant, he was tossed sky-high and Mr. Bull had it all his own way. A murmur of horror ran through the audience, for it seemed that now, as every one of the fighters was either prostrate or weaponless, there would be a great carnage. Even the hitherto imperturbable major domo lost his presence of mind and turned as pale as death. At this momentous juncture, old Bluefish, to our unmitigated astonishment, started up with a wild whoop. "I'll spike him! I'll spike him! Smash my top-lights, if I don't spike him!" he shouted. And, before we could guess his intention, he had leaped the railing, and was in the ring. Snatching up the sword of one of the fallen _matadores_, he made at the bull. The latter charged him, with a roar that shook the pavilion to its center. But the sturdy old sailor leaped on one side, got in his blow, and drove it in behind the shoulder, the weapon rapping up against the skin, close to the hilt. The magnificent beast tottered forward an instant, and then dropped to the earth, stone dead. Cheer after cheer greeted the brave deed of the Yankee tar. "Bravo! bravo! Americano! Americano!" echoed from the crowd of Brazilians. "I told yer I'd spike him!" was the simple and only self-comment of Bluefish, as he returned to our midst.