Nothing can afford a better idea of the variety and picturesqueness of
a showman's life than the medley of odd incidents, of strange
experiences and homely happenings that crowd the thought of a veteran
when in a reminiscent mood. It is under this kind of inspiration that I
have jotted down, in this scrappy and haphazard way, the episodes which
sufficiently impressed me at the time of their occurrence to claim
frequent rehearsal when talking over the "old days" with other pioneers
of the tent and the ring. It is the clowns who in one way or another
furnish most material for anecdotes, and the greatest clown America
ever saw was Dan Rice, who at one time was the most famous circus
performer in America, and, with the exception of John Robinson, the
most daring. I have never met a more nervy man; he was without an equal
in trying emergencies. He would face a mob at any time and under any
circumstances. Besides being a natural fighter he was a natural orator.
He had a sonorous, penetrating voice, his enunciation was clear and
distinct, and he knew the secret of flattering and delighting his
auditors. Dan had many competitors for the patronage of the river
towns, the most prominent of whom were two veteran showmen who owned a
floating palace. The "Palace" was simply a large boat fitted up as an
opera house with the most elegant appointments. It would seat several
hundred people and was provided with a complete stage and elaborate
sets of scenery. This was towed by a tug called the "James Raymond," on
which all the performers roomed and took their meals. They had,
besides, a steamer called the "Banjo," on which they gave a minstrel
performance.