CHAPTER V

My second visit to America. A caravan journey across the prairies and the Rockies from New York to San Francisco. My experiences with Red Indians. A novel treatment of fever. Performances at San Francisco, Java and Australia. Return to New York. A “spiritualistic” swindle. Am engaged by Barnum, Bailey and Hutchinson. The baby elephant born in the show becomes my playmate. An elephant’s wonderful memory. My mysterious mission to Paris under “sealed orders.” What the sealed letter contained--instructions to buy “Jumbo.” Agitation in London over the proposed sale of the big elephant. The Zoological Society accept Barnum’s offer. Proceedings in Chancery. The matter settled. “Jumbo’s” opposition. The true story of the delay. A mishap to his car.

I shall never forget my second visit to America in 1879. It was the most delightful and novel experience a man could possibly have. Imagine travelling entirely by caravan and on foot right across prairie and mountain from New York to San Francisco, meeting little else but buffaloes and Red Indians! We had sixty horses with us, an Indian guide to lead the way, and it was a perfect holiday the whole time, a portion of the route taking us from Portland (Oregon), above the Conjoin Valley, as far as Seattle and through the Rockies amid the wildest and most romantic scenery. This was before the Klondyke rush and Seattle was then a tiny village.

Our interviews with the various tribes of Indians we encountered were most interesting. I expected to find them in their war paint, but it was not so. They were beginning to forget their native customs under the influence of American domination. They had not long since had definite territory assigned them; they were no longer free to wander where they pleased, and they were very sore about it. When they found we were English they were most friendly. Had we been Americans I’m afraid we should have had a reception of quite a different character.

The tribe of Indians which escorted our caravans was the Pendeton, and they were very useful when we wanted water for our horses and did not know where to get it. We were easily understood, for most of them spoke very good English. At first we had the old-fashioned idea that they were treacherous, but they were nothing of the kind. I found them a grand people. They took an immense fancy to our coloured costumes and once one of their chiefs--a fine old fellow of eighty--said to me in his solemn way: “I like those coloured things you’ve on.”

The coloured things were the variegated tights I was wearing in the little entertainment we were giving them, and I made him put them on, which he did--over his ordinary dress. Oh, what a sight! His friends screamed with delight, and nothing would satisfy them but my putting on the rest of the costume and doing a war-dance in which they joined. It was rare fun.

One day we were short of food and the friendly old chief discovering this, said something in his own tongue to one of the young men who vanished and in about half an hour returned loaded with a couple of prairie chickens procured, how and where I can’t say. To cook the chickens they made a wood fire and planted the birds, feathers and all, on the top. In about three-quarters of an hour the grill was ready and the cook, giving the chickens a few taps with his hatchet, feathers and skin all came off. They were served up on a tin plate with some kind of black bread, and I can only say that I never tasted anything more delicious in my life.

The sun was so scorching in the day time that we found it impossible to work the horses, so we travelled by night. The friendly Indians continued with us and one day one of the tribe was taken very ill. When this was told the chief, he said, “We must halt. We must find the river”--and a couple of scouts were sent on a voyage of discovery and came back with the news that there was a river about a mile away.

I was very curious to see the Indian method of treatment, in a case of fever which this was, and the chief asked me to come with him. I said I would, and leaving about a dozen of the tribe to look after the caravan and horses we travelled till we got to the riverside. Here some of the men scooped up mud from the river bed and built a small hut with it. Then lighting a fire inside they baked it until it was like the hot room of a Turkish bath. The patient was inserted and after allowing him to remain some little time his doctors pulled him out and threw him into the river!

According to our European ideas this heroic treatment ought to have finished him, but it didn’t. It finished the fever instead and in a few days the young fellow was quite well.

When we were through the Rocky Mountains our Indian pals left us, and two days’ journey brought us opposite San Francisco, to reach which we had to cross a river in barges. We remained in San Francisco a week, and from here we commenced a most extensive tour, travelling first by boat to Java, where we performed, more to give the animals exercise than anything else, and thence to Australia. Just before reaching Australia we had rather a serious bit of trouble. While crossing the bight between Adelaide and Fremantle the sea was so rough that the ship was in jeopardy, and to save it we had by the captain’s orders to throw some of the animals overboard. With what was left of the circus we gave some performances in Sydney and did remarkably well, and finally we returned to New York by a different route, after having been away some two years.

All that winter in New York I was “resting.” The time passed pleasantly as I had made a good many friends, and among them Sammy Booth, the printer, in Centre Street. Mr. Booth--dear old gentleman--was always ready with a good cigar, and we had many a chat, for he loved to hear yarns about the old country. I had, of course, often heard stories of Yankee smartness, and during my acquaintance with Mr. Booth I had personal experience of what I think I may call a super-instance of this characteristic supposed to be peculiar to America.

One day while in Mr. Booth’s office a well-dressed man of affable manners called and gave the firm a very big order to flood New York with posters announcing a gigantic series of spiritualistic manifestations, for which he had hired the Academy of Music in Fourteenth Street, at that time the finest theatre in New York.

Mr. Booth accepted the order and invited some of his friends, of whom I was one, to go with him on the night in question. We arrived at the Academy to find the place packed to the roof. The drop went up, discovering a gentleman at a piano and a row of about twelve chairs. Then the lecturer in immaculate evening dress made his appearance and after an elaborate bow asked the assistance of twelve gentlemen of the audience, requesting them to step on to the stage “to prove that there is no deception in my spiritualism.”

Upon this Mr. Booth, myself and the others mounted the stage and seated ourselves on the twelve chairs. The lecturer politely thanked us and went on to say that while he was away robing himself the gentleman at the piano would favour the audience with a selection from the national airs of America. Then he made his exit.

We soon discovered that the repertoire of the gentleman at the piano was extremely limited. It consisted of only one air--“Yankee Doodle.” We had “Yankee Doodle,” “Yankee Doodle” over and over again _ad nauseam_. The tune might have been a squirrel in a revolving cage or a steam roundabout organ at a country fair.

We waited patiently for half an hour. No lecturer turned up. No--nothing, in fact, save the eternal “Yankee Doodle.” The audience grew fidgety; then somebody shouted, somebody else followed, and at last dimly realising that they had been “had,” an indignant crowd rushed upon the stage, bent upon taking the lives of the twelve gentlemen in the twelve chairs under the impression that they were parties in the swindle. Nothing but the fact of Mr. Booth being extremely well-known saved us. Yells were heard for the money to be returned, but no money was forthcoming, the “lecturer” having hopped away with it some time before. I fancy the poor piano suffered. Some of us had a little bit of it as a relic. It had played its last “Yankee Doodle.”

My next engagement was with Barnum, Bailey and Hutchinson’s show, and we opened in Madison Square Gardens in New York. This was in 1880, when for some reason or another, or perhaps no reason at all, there came about a boom in elephants. Perhaps it was due to the attraction of “Jumbo” at the Regent’s Park Zoo, an immense favourite--in more senses than one--with the children and believed to be the biggest tame elephant in the world. Anyhow, everybody was going mad over elephants, and we at Barnum and Bailey’s believed we had scored over any other show in Christendom when it was discovered that one of our lady elephants was about to become a mother. All the necessary preparations were made, expectation ran high, and at last the youngster came into the world. It at once became a celebrity and a star, for it was the only elephant known to be born in bondage. Barnum and Bailey, you may be sure, made the most of the treasure. The birth was advertised in one way or another all over the world, and we had doctors from every part of the States and a few from Europe to see the marvellous little creature. The mother of the baby elephant was called Mother Hebe--and a dear kind mother she was. It was a pretty sight if somewhat grotesque to see her suckle the infant, which she did in quite a human fashion and totally different from the method adopted by any other animal.

Every afternoon at 4.30 I used to play with the baby elephant. I was as punctual as clockwork--a very important thing in the training of an animal’s affections--and I never missed a day. When the baby was six months old I was nowhere in the game. He was thoroughly master of me and used to enjoy butting me all over the place. I do believe the old mother liked to see her son romping with me.

After the animals went into quarters for the winter I did not see my playmate for fifteen years, when the Barnum Show coming to Olympia in London, I called and asked Mr. Bailey what had become of the baby elephant. “You’ll find him the first elephant round the corner,” said Mr. Bailey. I went and spoke to him and he nearly went off his head with joy, so much so that he became really dangerous from excitement, and I had to leave. Elephants rarely forget kindnesses, but a fifteen years’ memory was a tall order and familiar as I was with the ways of animals I was quite taken by surprise.

In the course of its wanderings Barnum and Bailey’s show found itself some time in 1881 at Chester, Pennsylvania. One evening about five o’clock when I was having tea at my hotel, Mr. Bailey came in. Said he:

“Whimmy, I want you to go to Paris.” Thinking he meant Paris in New York State I said: “All right. When?”

“Well,” he returned, “you can catch the mail train to New York to-night and catch the steamer _Alaska_ for Liverpool.”

“Oh, then you mean the Paris in France.”

“Yes.”

Upon this I went to my wife and told her. She agreed and suggested that while I was in England I might go and see the children, who were in Hull. As for herself, she would be quite safe in America as Mr. Bailey would see that she was looked after.

Then came a little mystery which made me fancy I was an important diplomatic agent engaged on a mission which might plunge the world into war.

“Whimmy,” said Mr. Bailey, when I was ready to start, “I wish you to give me your word of honour that you will not open this sealed envelope until you pass the Goddess of Liberty.”

The Goddess of Liberty, of course, is the enormous figure which is so prominent an object to all steamers coming to or going from New York.

I gave my promise, said good-bye to my wife, and with my kit, a couple of shirts, socks, collars and so on, I caught the train to New York and boarded the _Alaska_.

I needn’t say that I was all agog with curiosity to know what my “sealed orders” contained, for Mr. Bailey hadn’t given me the slightest idea of what my mission to Paris meant, and the minute the _Alaska_ passed the Goddess of Liberty I broke open the envelope. These were the instructions I found inside:

“Go to the Grand Hotel, Paris. There our representative, Davis, is lying dangerously ill. Do the best for him. Should he have gone before you get there, get all his papers and see him put away regardless of expense. After doing your business there go to the Zoological Gardens and buy “Jumbo.” Don’t give more than 5,000 dollars, and return after you have finished your business; also bring the Liliputian Aztecs with you.”

For some months previous the most important topic discussed in London was the fate of “Jumbo.” The big elephant was now twenty years of age and though perfectly docile in his daily duty of giving children rides in the gardens, and quite friendly with and obedient to Scott, his keeper, had when in confinement periods of irritability. There were reasons for this, and among others was the constant gorging of buns and various dainties of the same character and the want of sufficient exercise. It was known that the Fellows of the Royal Zoological Society were seriously perturbed what to do with the public’s pet, and at last it was announced that the dearly beloved “Jumbo” must either be sold or shot!

Instantly a tremendous furore burst out. Ladies and children swarmed to the Zoo and “Jumbo” had the time of his life in the way of being pampered. One lady never missed a day in taking a packet to the huge beast and dropping a few tears of sympathy. But the fiat had gone forth. “Jumbo” must be sold, for here was I, having taken on the responsibilities of Mr. Davis, representing Barnum and Bailey, ready to plank down the purchase money.

When this fact was announced a squabble arose among the Fellows. A certain section swore by all the gods that “Jumbo” should not leave the country, and applied to the Court of Chancery for an injunction to restrain the Council from selling him, on the ground that they had no power under their charter. During the hearing of the application on March 7th, 1882, before Mr. Justice Chitty, it was stated by the Secretary of the Society that Barnum’s offer had been received on October 12th, 1881, and that it was resolved to accept this offer. He considered they had delivered “Jumbo” to Mr. Barnum when the £2,000 was paid. He then told Barnum’s agent that he was the owner of the elephant, but that if he liked he would keep him for a short time on deposit.

Mr. Bartlett, the Superintendent of the Gardens, gave some interesting evidence. Numerous elephants he had known had become dangerous and had killed persons and had to be shot. “Jumbo” had at times in the last two years shown signs of “must.” Last autumn he had smashed oak bars eight inches square, lined with iron, by striking them with his head. If the Society kept him, they would have to build a special house for him as the present one was not strong enough. The only thing that could be done when he went “must” would be to chain him down and put him on half rations.

The upshot of the matter was that Mr. Justice Chitty decided that when the secretary reported on the 22nd February that the money had been paid the elephant was sold and that the Council had power to sell. In spite of this decision, lamentations went up, and one of “Jumbo’s” indignant friends tried to start a subscription to keep him in the country.

Of course, the excitement and sentimentalism over the exodus of the big beast was all to the good from the showman’s point of view. Mr. Bailey knew what he was about and he cabled to me to give a dinner to the Press at the Zoological Gardens before taking away the pet of the British public.

This dinner took place on a Friday evening and “Jumbo” was to leave on the following day. While we were enjoying ourselves at the dinner, Scott, “Jumbo’s” keeper at the Zoo, called me out and told me that it was impossible to ship “Jumbo” that night as the elephant had positively refused to enter the travelling car which had been specially prepared for his conveyance to the docks.

I may say that this car was of peculiar construction. It was more like a tunnel than a car, being open at both ends, which were to be closed when “Jumbo” was inside. So many years have elapsed and so many of those in the “know” have passed away that there is no harm now in telling the story of “Jumbo” as seen from the inside. The tunnel arrangement was adopted with a view to taking “Jumbo” in. It was thought that when he saw the trees, grass, flowers and so on through the end he would readily enter the tunnel under the impression that he was walking into the open air. It is my belief that “Jumbo” was far too shrewd to be “codded”--to use showman’s slang--in this manner.

Besides--and this is where the secret comes in--Mr. Barnum, like Pharaoh of old, had--so to speak--hardened his heart and would not let “Jumbo” go. Why should he be in a hurry. The English and American papers were paragraphing the obstinacy of “Jumbo” day after day, the difficulties of removal were made as much of as possible. Barnum was delighted with the fantastic notion that forty millions in Great Britain were tearing their hair in their anguish at having to part with their beloved beast, while fifty millions in America were going through the same operation lest at the eleventh hour something might happen to prevent them gloating over the possession of the precious pachyderm. It was a showman’s policy to keep up the excitement for the sake of the advertisement, and so while it was made out that superhuman efforts were being made to induce “Jumbo” to set foot in the car, as a matter of fact this was the last thing desired until there were signs of the strain on the public mind giving way.

I needn’t say that I put on an expression of intense anxiety when I announced to the feasting pressmen that I must deal with the difficulty at once, and as my absence did not mean any cessation of the festivities, I don’t think they minded my going very much. The result was that I hurried off, took a hansom to the American Exchange, and cabled to Mr. Bailey: “Cannot get ‘Jumbo’ away this week. Waiting instructions from you.” Mr. Bailey cabled in return, “Keep ‘Jumbo’ back until further orders.” I did. I kept him for six weeks. The _Persian Monarch_, which had been chartered, sailed without him, and all this time “Jumbo” obligingly refused to enter his tunnel-car.

When it was considered a suitable moment “Jumbo” was induced to take up his quarters in the travelling box, which with its living freight did not weigh much less than 12 tons. An inclined plane had been cut in the ground to make the floor of the box level with that of the cage, and all went well until in turning a corner in a somewhat narrow path a soft bit of gravel was reached, some stupid person called out “Whoa!” and the team of six powerful dray horses stopped in this awkward place. Before they could go on again, the wheels had sunk down to the axles. Here the box remained until night. The horses had to be taken out while powerful jacks were used to raise the conveyance, which was accomplished a little before midnight, “Jumbo” in the meantime having alternate fits of irritation and calmness. A little after 1 a.m. a fair start was made, and at length the road outside the Gardens was reached, and without further mishap the car was brought alongside the _Assyrian Monarch_ at Millwall Docks.