I met old Deaves, the butcher, with his bulldog, the other day (I never remember meeting Deaves without also simultaneously meetin’ his bulldog), and the old fellow got talkin’ about old times, and especially about the times the butchers used to have trainin’ their bulldogs and baitin’ bulls and bears, not in Wall street, but in the “arena” as the high-toned butchers delighted to call it, the “arena” over in Williamsburg.
This “arena,” or bull and bear baitin’ pit, was got up by a joint stock company of the boss butchers, and unlike most joint stock companies, its financial affairs, though limited in amount, were honestly kept in account, and there was somethin’ to represent the money which its stock originally cost. Among the members of this “company” were the Perins, DeForest, the Hills, the Mooks, the Conklins, Scott, Davenport and other progenitors of well-known butcher families.
They used to meet every fine Wednesday afternoon, and after a social drink all around, would devote ‘emselves heart and soul to “improvin’ the breed of bulldogs,” as they termed it, a laudable object which they accomplished by settin’ their dogs at the bears and bulls, the best and bloodiest dog in the baitin’ gettin’, or his owner gettin’ for him, a prize consistin’ of a silver collar for the dog, or some silver dollars for the owner, the latter preferred .
The “arena” was about two hundred feet square, built with a strong fence twelve or fourteen feet high all around it. There was a platform built extendin’ along the inside of the fence for the accommodation of the spectators. Under this platform were the kennels for the dogs. In the center of the ring was a pole, securely fastened, to which, in turn, would be securely fastened the bull or bear it was desired to “bait” or badger, for the sake of “improvin’ the breed of bulldogs.”
The “ring” itself was about a hundred feet in diameter and was enclosed by a second strong fence about four feet high, the pole in the center being made of hickory wood, and projectin’ about eight inches above the ground, and to it was attached a strong iron ring, to which the rope holding the bull or bear was tied. There was generally allowed about forty feet of rope, so that there was room enough for the bull or bear to move about and to make things lively for the dogs, while improving their breed.
Joe Conklin, the butcher, acted as general manager of the sports of the arena, and like a smart man, generally appointed somebody else to do the work of the position under the title of “assistant,” while he himself got all the honor and glory of the office. He was the only man in office in ancient or modern times whoever did this sort of thing (!).
Conklin had another smart habit. Whenever there was no special danger he would “handle” the dogs, as it was called, set ‘em on the bull or bear; but when the bull or bear was particularly fierce, why, then, “every man handle his own dog” was the rule.
Not that Joe Conklin was a coward, far from it, as will be shown presently, but like a sensible man, he didn’t court danger when it could possibly be, with honor and without loss, avoided or put on somebody else.
Judges bein’ selected, and umpires, etc., the sports of the arena, or the improvin’ of the breed of bulldogs, would commence, to the vast delight of the butchers and of such of their apprentices who, as a special favor, were allowed to witness the excitin’ and instructive proceedin’s.
The bull would be brought in and tied up, and then the dogs would be set loose.
A dog, if he was “a good ‘un” and well-trained, would crouch close to the ground and work himself up slowly to the bull, then would make a spring and seize the bull, either by the nose or under jaw. Then the circus, or the school for trainin’, would commence. At any rate, the fight would begin, and a very excitin’ and edifyin’ fight it generally proved to be. It was hold on dog and throw off bull. While the bets would sometimes be on the dog and sometimes on the bull; as there were more dogs than bulls, the dogs usually got the best of it, till, wearied of the fun, or trainin’, the bull would be led away and the dogs called off.
Sometimes it would be difficult and dangerous work to separate the combatants. The dog and the bull would be about as close as man and wife, and it was as unsafe to interfere between them as it was to take part in a family row.
Occasionally the bull would save the Butchers the trouble of takin’ off the dog by hurlin’ the dog himself fifteen or twenty feet in the air, and over the ring fence.
Two bulls and a bear would generally be baited in the course of an afternoon’s sport or trainin’. In baitin’ a bear two or three dogs would generally be set on the bear at once, and even then the bear would generally quit winner.
This series of instructive sport was kept up for several years; then at last public opinion sat down on it. Not on account of any Henry Bergh ideas–they were not heard of then–but on account of two serious accidents which took place.
A tavern keeper in Williamsburg who kept a bear for the use of the arena heard complaints that his bear was gettin’ too fat, too lazy and too tame to do any fightin’. So he determined to feed him less, to make him fiercer and not to feed him to the day of the baitin’ at all.
Now there was a smart little colored boy who had charge of the bear, who was kept down in the cellar of the tavern chained all the time–the bear I mean of course, not the boy. One day the boy was sent downstairs to lead out the bear to the arena. He went down lively enough into the cellar, but never came out of the cellar alive. As soon as he was loosened the hungry bear rushed on the poor little boy, mangled him and commenced eatin’ him alive. His agonizin’ screams of course brought instant assistance, but his rescuers arrived too late. Ere the bear could be beaten off the boy was dead.
This terrible affair put an end to “the arena” in Williamsburg. But bull baitin’ was revived a year later in New York, at John Armstrong’s place on Third avenue. It had big success for a while, and then an affair occurred which stopped it at once and forever.
Joe Conklin was handling one of his own dogs in a fight with a very ferocious bull; the spectators warned him out of the ring, but he wouldn’t heed the warnin’. Suddenly the bull got loose and went for Joe Conklin. Full of pluck, now that he was in for it, findin’ he couldn’t escape, Conklin fought the mad bull for awhile as bravely as any bulldog, but received a fearful gash in the side which rendered him a cripple for life. The affair made a stir in the town and the authorities put an end to bull baitin’ in New York.
[Editor’s notes: The injury to Joe Conklin occurred in 1831, and was noted in the New York Commercial Advertiser of June 9:
Bear baiting, badger baiting, rat-killing and dog vs. dog fights continued on for several decades, as seen in this New York Clipper advertisement from 1855:]
