When we exhibited in Kansas the country was in such a state of terror,
resulting from the "border warfare," that all the towns and villages
had organized military companies. At each camping place we were obliged
to join these home guards, for protection. One day, while we were
exhibiting at Lawrence, a detachment of militia encamped about a mile
from us, the posts and guards surrounding the entire city. I had with
me a friend from my old home at Delavan, Wisconsin. He was a merchant
and had never seen any of the hardships of the camp or of circus life,
and all this rough experience was new to him.
As we were obliged to travel through the country for weeks without
daring to take off our clothes, I had a wagon snugly covered and this
served as a sort of sleeping berth. In this wagon my friend and I spent
our nights. At our feet slept a faithful watch dog. On this particular
night we were sound asleep, when the dog made a sudden lunge, jumping
upon us and instantly awakening us. The moon was hid behind a cloud,
and it was, for the moment, very dark. As I jumped to my feet, I
indistinctly saw what appeared to me to be a body of men coming towards
us. I fired several shots from the big pistols I always carried swung
from my belt; but still the mass came forward. I soon heard a most
pitiful wail of grief, and then I discovered that I had shot into a
herd of elephants which had stampeded.
The firing, together with the noise, alarmed the militia around the
city, who, thinking the border ruffians were upon us, came to our
assistance. It was some time before I could convince them of the real
state of affairs, as the elephants had made a wild escape and
consternation reigned. The militia hunted for the men who fired the
guns, threatening dire vengeance for alarming the post, but after a
full explanation we succeeded in pacifying them. Then we had a long
chase after the stampeded elephants, which were finally captured.