Reminiscences of a Showman

In this chapter of his reminiscences Mr. Cooke speaks of some of the obstacles which the showmen of the early days encountered, detailing especially his experiences with pestilence and the disorderly elements among the population of the smaller towns of the Southwest.

Much against his will, and only at the insistence of The Evening Star, he consents to print an article concerning the yellow fever epidemic of 1888, with which he furnished the press of the North. This epidemic ended the tour of the show with which he was connected at the time. There are thrilling episodes with Texas rowdies and amusing anecdotes of circus life.

Next week will appear the story of the ousting of the Barnum show from Madison Square Garden in New York, a bit of circus history that to this date has never been printed. The means by which Buffalo Bill was enabled to make his first appearance in New York, at Madison Square Garden, will also be narrated, as well as the genesis of his great spectacular production of "The Drama of Civilization."

Among the many disastrous things which beset the showman's path, which is not always strewn with roses, there is nothing more to be dreaded than epidemics and disorder. It is a matter of history that the first show to go South under the Barnum name, with P. A. Older as a partner and manager, was compelled to disband by the yellow fever. Mr. Older tried to finish the season with a part of the outfit, but was quarantined at Shreveport, La., where everything was lost, and, never reorganized.

Numerous other, fatalities of the kind are recorded. Indeed, it was always with apprehension that a circus went South before or immediately after the war. On several occasions I have had to change our route and lie at quarantine stations for weeks watching the situation, often going to high mountain retreats for the night and back to my post during the day. The most recent of these quarantine disasters occurred to the Sells-Forepaugh show at Houston, Tex., a few years ago, and compelled it to cancel its tour. The circus was not permitted to stop for even food and water until it was out of the State.

In 1888 I was special agent of the Barnum Show, at that time touring Texas and the South. That was the year, it will be remembered, in which a yellow fever epidemic broke out in Alabama and Florida. Our route was laid out to cover that territory, and as we had already had trouble getting into Texas because of the quarantine, I was instructed to visit the neighboring States and report upon conditions. It was a serious question whether we could get into that territory at all.

Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1888.

In the course of this visit, and while I was held in Birmingham by the quarantine regulations, I found time to pen the following report, which was sent to the press in the North:

It was Longfellow who told us of Hiawatha’s wooing, and in poetic story exclaimed:

“O the famine and the fever,

O the wasting of the fever!”

Today the cry goes up from a thousand feeble, parched and faltering lips, and the wasting fever rages with relentless fury. Out of the gloom steals a hand, fleshless, yellow and dreadful, and in its grasp there writhes a multitude of delirlus, plague-stricken mortals whose glassy eyes behold the grave. A grim monster clad in the mantle of destruction stalks through the air like a phantom, and with the slightest touch blanches the ruddy cheek and paralyzes the strongest heart. Grim-visaged war itself hath not one-half the horror of this silent, unseen foe, and on the very grounds where cannon and musketry belched forth fire and smoke, and missiles of war which struck down battalion after battalion now reigns an invisible monarch more to be dreaded than contending armies, because no one knows where he is ambushed or when his fevered breath will touch the brow of a new victim and pass on as mysteriously as it came, followed by the bronzed reaper whose only mission is death.

Can you wonder that whole communities are panic-stricken and put to flight. Is it amazing that homes are deserted and cities made desolate at the mere suggestion of the presence of such a fell destroyer?

Your correspondent has spent several days in this vicinity and perforce has been compelled to pass through the infected districts several times. The observations thus taken are neither visionary nor exaggerated; hence the information furnished may be relied upon; although, perhaps, less sensational than many reports that have gone forth.

The first case to be discovered in this section - or, more, properly speaking, west of the Florida boundaries - was at Decatur, Ala. This case was so mild that many doubted its true nature and Dr. Cochrane, the State health officer, was severely condemned by a large majority for proclaiming the attack as having all the symptoms of the dreadful plague. Later developments, however, proved that the diagnosis came none too soon, and no quicker than the discovery was announced than terror entered every heart and the panic-stricken people scattered in all directions.

Quarantine was declared by all principal cities on every side and thus hemmed in the scourge found no chance to fasten itself on the community at large. This restriction on the fleeing refugees only made them the more desperate and, fearful of coming epidemic, and as victim after victim fell before the silent foe it was almost impossible to hold the population within bounds until special relief trains could be sent to rescue those who cared to depart.

Regular trains were not allowed to stop at Decatur, Ala., or Jackson, Tenn., where several cases of fever developed later, and it was most pitiful to pass through these afflicted cities and see the hundreds of men, women and children on the platforms, anxiously waiting for the trains to halt long enough for them to jump on and thus escape the fate of many who never lived to see their more fortunate friends depart. Upon several occasions as I passed through these infected places I saw people packing up their household effects and carrying them away. Others were hurrying along with bundles, band boxes and baskets in their hands, all anxious to catch the train which never stopped. I cannot forget a little episode that occurred on one of my trips through Decatur, which caused many of the passengers on our train to smile, although the surroundings were anything but amusing. As we neared the city the conductor requested everybody to close their window, and it is needless to say that the command was obeyed with all dispatch, except by a lady who sat just behind me. It was no fault of hers that the refractory window failed to go down with the rest. As usual the sash stuck and the most vigorous effort failed to make it budge. The situation was getting desperate and fear overcame the woman's self-possession. She fell back in her seat, clasped her hands, jumped up and frantically asked what in the world she should do all in the same breath and before I could get my window closed and adjust hers she was in the middle of the aisle jumping up and down in the wildest confusion.

The situation was so absurd it caused a general titter to run through the car and I don't know but what the humorous occurrence caused every heart to beat lighter while passing through the ill-fated town. Decatur, at this writing, is almost deserted. Out of a population of over 7,000 less than 300 remain and the largest portion of, this number are colored people. Not a dozen stores remain open. Even the druggists have gone, many of them leaving their drug stores wide open and their contents free to those who will have them. So precipitate has been the flight of some that they have left their lamps burning in their houses, having forgotten them in their eager midnight flights by the special relief trains provided by the railroads.

This depopulation of the city has been the means of reducing the mortality and checking the spread of the fever, since it has fewer victims to work upon and as a natural consequence, has died out from lack of food on which to feed.

The same may be said of Jackson, Miss., where the citizens became almost frenzied in their flight and were held in check only by the "shotgun" quarantine which was established by many towns on either side as soon as the epidemic became known.

Outside of these two cities there has been no cases to excite grave alarm but so great is the fear of an epidemic and its awful consequences the people became panic-stricken upon the slightest provocation and it is not to be wondered at, since so many Southern cities have been made desolate in former years and the present death rate in FIorida brings to mind the frightful epidemics which have frequently devastated this country.

The Tomb of Andrew Jackson.

Later on while awaiting developments of the fever conditions at Nashville, Tenn., I found time hanging somewhat heavy, and took advantage of the opportunity to visit the Hermitage, the former home of Andrew Jackson.

This homestead is situated about twelve miles from Nashville, and the day spent in going, coming and viewing the premises proved an event which can never be obliterated from my memory. The Hermitage is a grand old mansion situated a short distance from the roadway, on the sloping elevation of a typical southern plantation. I was met by a colored servant and escorted through the place, with an invitation to gather some leaves and flowers, which I picked near the tomb of General Jackson and his wife. Looking over this romantic retreat, with its ancient walls, dwellings and cabins of former slaves and ancient land-marks, all of which are now surrounded by the most picturesque scenery in the world, one can well, imagine what it might have been long, long ago. The drooping trees, brambles and bushes look wild and lonely, as if longing for their old friends, and in the antique garden, sombre headstones mark the last resting place of the illustrious dead.

While In the old mansion I saw many relics of the past, and was requested to sit in a chair which had been the private property of the never to be forgotten Washington. Old time portraits graced the walls, and among the antique collection I saw an artistic portrait of Mrs. Jackson. As you look upon that face you can readily understand the motive which prompted her husband to write the following epitaph upon the marble slab that covers the grave where her angel form was consigned to the dust from which it came. Upon this stone, where I rested my note-book, I copied this to her memory:

"Her hair was fair; her person pleasing; she delighted in relieving any wants of her fellow-creatures, and she captivated that divine pleasure of the most liberal and unpretending methods; to the poor she was a benefactor; to the rich an example; to the wretched a comforter; to the prosperous an ornament. Her pity went hand in hand with her benevolence and she thanked her creator for her being prompted to do good. Being as gentle, and yet so virtuous, slander might wound, but not dishonor. Even death, when he came, to tear her from the arms of her husband, could but transport her to the bosom of her God,"

This is one of the most loving and angelic descriptions of a pure and noble woman that I have ever read.

After mature investigation I came to the conclusion that it was advisable to abandon our Southern tour altogether. We therefore terminated the season at Little Rock, Ark., and shipped immediately thereafter to Bridgeport, Conn.

It would be hardly possible to write the reminiscences of an active life in the show business without recalling stirring incidents of the early days when circus men encountered many difficulties which have since passed away. I have vivid recollections of two or three very exciting adventures of the kind. Some of them occurred before my connection with the white tops, but as they happened to the shows with which I have more recently been associated, they are part of the history I am writing.

Cow Boys Raid the Cole Show.

One of these episodes occurred to the W. W. Cole circus when it was traveling by wagon in Texas before railway transportation shows was in vogue. It fully illustrates the trials and provocation of the showmen of that period. There was nothing unusual in meeting a few bad men in nearly every town and hamlet, and all precaution was taken to avoid disputes with them and to prevent any outbreak or disturbance, either on the streets or at the show grounds.

But in spite of every effort on the part of the show people, a band of rowdies or desperate characters frequently came to town prepared to make trouble among themselves or with the circus employes, "just for the fun of the thing." It so happened that an incident of the kind occurred during a night performance in a small town which has since grown to considerable proportions and is so well advanced in modern civilization that I will not mention its name. A bunch of these rough and ready "gun toters," mounted on horseback and yelling at the top of their voices, rode up to the main entrance, dashed into the circus ring and commenced doing cowboy stunts on their own account. They shot holes in the canvas, drove the regular performers out of the ring and extinguished the lights, incidentally wounding two or three or the innocent spectators. Pandemonium reigned.

It was a customary precaution in those days to erect tents with the principal guy ropes for hoisting the big top operated on the outside, instead of being fastened to the centre pole as at present. This arrangement was necessary to prevent anyone from loosening the ropes and letting down the canvas. As oil lamps were then used for lighting, it would have been extremely dangerous to lower the top while the lights were burning. But since the town bullies had in this instance shot the lights out, some of the canvasmen on the outside loosened the ropes and let the tent drop upon the desperados, who were still in the ring.

The side walls still stood and the audience was able to escape under them, while the bullies, entrapped beneath the top in the ring, kept up the fight as best they could. One by one they cut their way through the canvas, but when emerging, they were met by missles or bullets from the hands or guns of the showmen, and those of them who could soon made their escape. It is a matter of record that several lives were lost during the struggle.

Of course the usual legal investigation followed, but it was made so clear that the assault was uncalled for and unprovoked, that the show people were allowed to pack up and go on their way with the sympathy of the entire community. As a precaution against farther such disorders, a company of United States soldiers was detailed to conduct the show from town to town for several days.

An Adventure with Horse Thieves.

I recall a similar incident in early seventies at a little town in Spring county, Arkansas, a few miles from Malvern. As no cook or horse tents were carried in those days, it was the practice to put up the people and horses in the local hotels and stables. It was likewise customary to leave the baggage horses in the barns until after the performance at night, when the canvas equipment would be packed up and left standing on the show grounds. In the meanwhile the performers slept at the hotels until such time as daylight enabled them to be on their way to the next exhibition stand.

It was In the early evening, during the performance, when the only two watchmen on duty at the barn saw in the dim light some one making away with two of their best horses. Jumping to their feet from the straw in which they had been lying, they exchanged shots with the thieves, one of whom fell dead in his tracks. It developed upon investigation that the fallen robber was the brother of the man who kept the hotel and ran the stable. The usual commotion followed. The two watchmen were held over for examination the next day, but on the strength of their testimony and other evidence secured, they were released and the tour continued without farther hindrance.

Fifteen years later, when Malvern had grown to be quite an important junction point on the Iron Mountain Railway in conjunction with the narrow gauge road to Hot Springs, it was put on our route as a show stand. The contracting agent made the usual visit to the town and forwarded his contract back to me. On my arrivel in Malvern with our advertising car, I sent one of my men to the livery stable to order the teams that had previously been arranged for. He soon returned, accompanied by the proprietor of the livery stable, who was boiling with rage and declared himself ready to do us all sorts of bodily harm from shooting to hanging on a telegraph pole.

Naturally, I Inquired into the cause of his fury, and was informed of the incident that had occurred in that section years before. It appears that out contract for the teams had been made with the foreman of the barn during the owner’s absence. When he returned and [???] the name of the W. W. Cole show upon the contract, he at once commenced to brush up his guns and get ready for trouble, at least such is the inference from, the manner in which he came to my car to cancel all contracts, and the reason was that he was a brother of the man who had gone to his long reward years before while attempting to steal a circus horse!

I accepted his "apology," canceled the contract, told him that in his place I would probably do the same thing and informed him that I would seek teams elsewhere.

But this failed to appease our infuriated friend, who warned us in sulphurous terms not to bring our blankety show to town at all, if we really desired to avoid trouble. All this caused no alarm, and after consulting the editor of the local newspaper, city officials and prominent business men, I found that no one took stock in his bluff and bluster. His reputation had been handed down. It was known, in fact, that he was the other man who escaped the fatal bullets fired in the days of long ago.

We exhibited in Malvern, just as advertised without the slightest sign of any trouble.

The Iniquity of Mr. Hey Rube.

In this connection I must tell an amusing story which is related of the old John Robinson circus long before the war, when the cry “Hey Rube" was equivalent to an open declaration of hostilities, especially upon the circus grounds. I do not know the origin of this custom. Circus people, in those days a class by themselves, looked upon the outside world as largely against them and probably adopted the ordinary designation for a country bumpkin as applying to all who were not showmen. "Hey Rube," it is likely, first called attention to the presence of an outsider and later developed into a war cry against such a one. At any rate, when a showman raised the cry all his fellows within hearing immediately dropped their ordinary work and rushed to his support. It was the battle cry of the showman.

But to the story, which as It was related to me by Gil Robinson, a son of his father, must of course, be true. Robinson was showing at Port Royal, a small town in Virginia. During the night performance a row was started by the toughs of the town, and they were rather roughly handled by the show people. The next day, when the circus was exhibiting in a nearby community the whole company was arrested. The officers of the law went to the manager, telling him that they would release the balance of the company if he would give up "Mr. Rube," the man whom they thought had done most of the damage. The witness with whom they had talked had stated that a man named "Hey Rube" was called for by every member of the company and every time they shouted, another man was knocked down. It was quite evident, therefore, that "Mr. Rube" was the person they wanted. They described him as being very tall, in fact, over six feet in height, of dark complexion and carrying a club nearly seven feet long.

As no one with the show answered to that description, the officers were readily given permission to make a search for the mysterious Individual. It was unsuccessful, and the company was allowed to go on its way to the next town.

Development of the Circus.

It is a source of great satisfaction to know that all these unpleasant conditions have been eliminated from the show history of the present day. They are not to be wondered at, as the early showman had to contend not only with these obstacles, but with the puritanical hostility of the American people, especially in New England, to all forms of amusement.

The first problem to be solved was the means of overcoming this prejudice. The street parade, menagerie and other free shows were devised for this purpose. The parade attracted the people to town and the menagerie furnished an excuse for taking the children.”

The marvelous growth of the American circus has made it a national amusement institution, and improved performances, as well as the high moral tone of the circus as it has been developed in the past forty years, have placed it on a place which is accepted and approved by the best ecclesiastical authority where many other forms of amusement are taboo.

These reminiscences would be incomplete were they not interwoven with stories told me by my old-time friends and associates, many of whom have passed over the Great Divide, although enough remain to verify the anecdotes, and make me careful to be as accurate as possible in narrating them. Among the veterans of the sawdust circle I know of none more versatile and full of anecdote than my congenial friend and fellow trooper, Peter Conklin, the famous clown, the Shakespearian jester of former days, who has often regaled me with his witticisms and bits of early show history.

Two Shows Combined

One of the "old clown's" stories told of his travels in 1857 with the E. F. and J. E. Mabie's circus and menagerie, one of the leading shows of the day. It was among the first of the big shows to tour Arkansas and Texas, and it can well be imagined that the crowds it attracted were not only "wild and woolly," but full of something besides kindred spirits. Nearly every man carried a revolver and many "toted" shotguns to wing a bird on the way home or settle a family feud.

"We were frequently informed that if we didn't do everything on the bills we might be treated to a dose of bucksht," laughed the clown. "When we viewed those pastures we often wondered how we managed to escape.

"Well, we struck a town where three men were to be hanged, and on our arrival the sheriff came to the manager saying:

" 'Look heah, sah, we got a circus of, ouh own in town today, but if you all'll give us some complimentaries I'll postpone ouhs and let the hanging take place aftah you all ah through. If you don't, I'll have the hanging on the public square when youah doors open, and you all know what a free show means.'

"The tickets were given and the sheriff, wishing to be equally magnanimous, promised that he would bring the prisoners up to the show as an added attraction. This he did. The doomed men seemed to enjoy the performance and laughed at the clowns' jokes, mine included. I was instructed to make the following announcement.

" 'Ladies and gentlemen, immediately after the grand concert in the main pavilion the hanging will take place upon the first big tree to the right as you pass out of the tent.'

"Everybody remained for the concert that day. At its conclusion the prisoners were mounted on bronchos. Ropes were thrown over the limb of a tree, the nooses tightened, and at the crack of a whip the bronchos darted off. The condemned men dangled in the air and a concerted crash of well-aimed rifles put an end to their suffering."

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