Continuation of the Gymnast’s Reminiscences—A Circus on the move—Three
Months at Carlisle—Performance for the Benefit of local
Charities—Removal to Middlesborough—A Stockton Man’s
Adventure—Journey to York—Circus Ballets—The Paynes in the
Arena—Accidents in the Ring—A Circus Benefit—Removal to
Scarborough—A Gymnastic Adventure—Twelve Nights at the Pantheon—On
the Tramp—Return to London.
‘The circus was near the end of its stay at Greenock when we engaged for
“general utility,” and we were not sorry to leave the banks of the Clyde
for a more genial climate. It rained more or less, generally more, all
the time we were there, and I can quite believe the boy who assured an
English tourist that it didn’t always rain in Scotland, adding, “whiles
it snaws.” There was a frigate lying in the Clyde at the time, and
whenever the crew practised gunnery down came the rain in torrents. I
don’t know how that phenomenon is to be accounted for; but it is a fact
that there was a change from a drizzle to a down-pour whenever the big
guns were fired. And then the Sundays—not a drop of beer! But what do
you think the thirsty folks do? There are a great many people thirsty on
Sundays in Scotland, and especially in Greenock and Glasgow; for they
try to drink enough on Saturday night to last them till Monday, and that
plan doesn’t work satisfactorily. They go to a place called Gourock,
where they can get as much ale or whiskey as they can pay for. That is
how something like the Permissive Bill works in Scotland.
‘On the last night of our stay in Greenock, as soon as we had doffed the
circus uniform, and the audience had departed, we took down our trapeze,
and proceeded to the railway station. A special train had been engaged
for the removal to Carlisle of all the company, the band, the stud, and
the properties, Newsome paying for all. Having to make the journey by
night, we did not see much of the scenery we passed through; but we had
a good time, as the Yankees say, talking, joking, laughing, and singing
all the way. We found at Carlisle as good a building as we had left at
Greenock, and, having fixed up our trapeze, and taken a lodging, we
walked round the city to see the lions, which are rather tame ones.
‘While we were at Carlisle, Hubert Mears was starring with us for a
short time, doing the flying trapeze, and doing it, too, as well as ever
I have seen it done. After him, we had Sadi Jalma, “the serpent of the
desert,” for a time, and very serpent-like his contortions are; he can
wriggle in and out the rounds of a ladder or a chair like an eel. He is
like the acrobats that I once heard a couple of small boys holding a
discussion about, one maintaining that they had no bones, and the other
that their bones were made of gutta percha. He calls himself a Persian
prince, but I don’t believe he is any relation to the Shah. He may be a
Persian, for there are Arab, Hindoo, Chinese, and Japanese acrobats and
jugglers knocking about over England, as well as Frenchmen, Germans, and
Italians; but nationalities are as often assumed as names, and he may be
no more a Persian than I am a Spaniard.
‘It is a praiseworthy custom of Newsome, to devote one night’s receipts
to the charities of every town which he visits. It would require more
time than he has to spare to make the inquiries and calculations that
would be necessary before a stranger could distribute the money among
the several institutions, so as to effect the greatest amount of good;
and it is placed for that purpose at the disposal of the Mayor. The
amount of money which he has thus given for the relief of the sick, the
infirm, and the indigent during the time his circus has been travelling
would have been a fortune in itself, if he had put it into his own
pocket. He divides the year between four towns, and in one year he gave
two hundred pounds to the charities of Preston, and forty pounds to the
Seamen’s Orphans’ Asylum at Liverpool, besides what he gave to the
similar institutions of the other towns which he visited that year.
‘Our next move was to Middlesborough, where a very laughable incident
occurred. A party of us ferried over to Stockton one day, and went into
a public-house there for refreshment. Circus men are always courted and
sought after, as soldiers are in a place where they are only
occasionally seen; and, as soon as we were recognised by the Stockton
men in the room as belonging to the circus, there was a great
disposition shown to treat us, and to get into conversation with us.
Well, a short time afterwards, one of those men came over to
Middlesborough, to see the circus again, and, after the performance, he
went into a public-house where he recognized Sam Sault, a gymnast from
Manchester, who had lately joined us, and insisted upon treating him.
Sam had no objection to be treated, and the Stockton man was elated with
the opportunity of showing that he was acquainted with a circus man. So
one glass followed another until the Stockton man became, all at once,
helplessly drunk. Sam, who retained the use of his limbs, and some
glimmering of reason, good-naturedly took his drunken friend to his
lodging to save him from being turned out of the public-house, and then
locked up by the police. He had no sooner reached his lodgings, and
helped the drunken man up the stairs, however, than he felt a doubt as
to the safety of his purse; and, on immediately thrusting his hand into
his pocket, he found that it was gone. He reflected as well as he was
able, and came to the conclusion that he must have left it on the
parlour table at the public-house. Depositing his helpless companion
upon the sofa, he ran down-stairs, and rushed off to the tavern, where,
by great good fortune, he found his purse on the chair on which he had
been sitting, where he had placed it, it seems, when he thought he had
returned it to his pocket.
‘While he was at the public-house Joe Ridley and I, and my partner, who
lodged in the same house with Sam Sault, returned to our lodging, and
found the drunken man asleep on the sofa, smelling horribly of gin and
tobacco smoke, and snoring like a fat hog. We looked at the fellow in
surprise, wondering who he was, and how he came to be there. Neither of
us recognized him as any one we had seen before. Then the question was
raised,—What should we do with him. “Throw him out of the window,” says
Joe Ridley. “Take him down into the yard and pump on him,” says Fred.
“No, let us paint his face,” says I. So I got some carmine, and Fred got
some burnt cork, and we each painted him to our own fancy till he looked
like an Ojibbeway in his war-paint. By that time Sam Sault got back from
the public-house, and found us laughing heartily at the queer figure cut
by the recumbent Stocktonian.
‘“Oh, if he is a friend of yours, we’ll wipe it off,” says I, when Sam
had explained how the man came to be there.
‘“Oh, let it be,” says Sam,“ and let him be where he is; we’ll turn him
out in the morning, without his knowing what a beauty you have made him,
and that will serve him right for giving me so much trouble.”
‘So the fellow was left snoring on the sofa till morning, when, it
appears, he woke before we were about, and, finding himself in a strange
place, walked down-stairs, and quitted the house. We never saw him
again, but we often laughed as we thought of the figure the man must
have cut as he stalked into Stockton, and how he must have been laughed
at by his mates and the people he met on his way.
‘From Middlesborough we went to York, where the circus stood on St
George’s Field, an open space between the castle and the Ouse. About
that time, Webster Vernon left the company, and was succeeded as
ring-master by a gentleman named Vivian, who was quite new to the
profession, and whose adoption of it added another to the changes which
he had already known, though he was still quite a young man. He had been
a lawyer’s clerk, then a photographic colourist, and afterwards an
actor; and was a quiet, gentlemanly fellow, unlike the majority of
circus men, who are generally a fast, slangy set. He had married early,
and his wife, who was an actress, had an engagement in London—a frequent
cause of temporary separation among those whose business it is to amuse
the public, whether their lines lie in circuses, theatres, or
music-halls. Joe Ridley’s wife was in London, and Sam Sault had left his
better half in Manchester. Franks, and Adams, and old Zamezou, and Jem
Ridley, and the head groom had their wives with them; but two of the
five were connected with the circus, Adams’s wife taking money at the
gallery entrance, and the groom’s riding in _entrées_.
‘How did we do ballets? Well, they were _ballets d‘ action_, such as
used to be done at the music-halls by the Lauri family, and more lately
by Fred Evans and troupe. The Paynes starred in them at one time, but
generally they were done by the regular members of the company, usually
by Alf Burgess, and Funny Franks, and Joe Hogini, with Adele Newsome in
the leading lady’s part, the subordinate characters being taken by Marie
Newsome and Jane Adams, and my partner and I, and Charley Ducrow.
‘Who starred with us at this time, besides the Paynes? Well, there was
Hassan, the Arab, who did vaulting and balancing feats, and his wife,
who danced on the tight rope. He vaulted one night over a line of
mounted dragoons from Fulwood barracks, turning a somersault over their
heads and drawn sabres. Didn’t we have accidents in the ring sometimes?
Well, none of a very serious character, and nearly all that happened in
twelve months might be counted on the fingers of one hand. Coleman
slipped off the bare back of a horse one night, and cut his hand with a
sword. Burgess had a finger cut one night in catching the knives for his
juggling act, which used to be thrown to him from the ring-doors while
he was on the globe, and keeping it in motion with his feet. Adele
Newsome was thrown one night, and pitched amongst the spectators, but
received no injuries beyond a bruise or two. Lizzie Keys slipped off the
pad one night, but came down comfortably on the sawdust, and wasn’t hurt
at all. Fred fell from the trapeze once, and that was very near being
the most serious accident of all. He fell head foremost, and was taken
up insensible by the fellows at the ring-doors, and carried into the
dressing-room. We thought his neck was broken, but Sam Sault, who had
seen such accidents before, pulled his head right, and, when his senses
came back to him, it did not appear that he was much the worse for the
fall after all. Then my turn came. One night, when the performances were
to commence with a vaulting act, I went to the circus so much more than
half tight that I was advised on all sides to stand out of it, and
Henry, the manager, very kindly said that I should be excused; but, with
the obstinacy of men in that condition, and their usual belief that they
are sober enough for anything, I persisted in going into the ring with
the rest. What happened was just what might have been expected, and
everybody but myself feared. Instead of clearing the horses I touched
one of them, and, in consequence, instead of dropping on my feet, I was
thrown upon my back; and that accident, with a violent attack of
inflammation of the lungs, laid me up for two or three weeks, during
which I was treated with great liberality by Newsome, and received many
kindnesses from more than one of the good people of York.
‘My partner and I had a benefit while we were in York, but we didn’t
make more than £3 by it. The way benefits are given in circuses is by
admitting the tickets sold by the party whose benefit it is, and of
course the number of tickets a circus man can sell among the inhabitants
of a town where he was a stranger till the circus appeared, and where he
has lived only two or three months, can’t be very great. We were
thankful for what we got, however, and had new trunks made on the
strength of it—black velvet, spangled. Soon after this we removed to
Scarborough, where I had a rather perilous adventure. I attempted to
ascend the cliff, and found myself, when half way up, in an awkward
position. I had reached a narrow ledge, above which the cliff rose
almost perpendicularly, without any projection within reach that I could
grasp with one hand, or plant so much as one toe upon. Descent was
almost as impracticable as the completion of the ascent, for, besides
the difficulty of having to feel for a footing with my feet while
descending backward, a portion of the cliff, which I had been standing
upon a few minutes before, had given way and plunged down to the beach.
It seemed probable that the ledge I was standing upon might give way if
I stood still much longer, and in that case I should go down after it.
So I shouted “help!” as loud as I could, and in a few minutes I saw the
shako-covered head of a volunteer projected over the edge of the
precipice, and heard him call out, “A man over the cliff!” His corps was
encamped on the cliff, and in a few minutes I was an object of interest
to a large number of spectators, whom his alarm had attracted to the
edge of the cliff. Presently a rope was lowered to me, and held fast by
men above, while I went up it, hand over hand, as I did every night in
the circus, when we ascended to the trapeze.
‘When we had been in Scarborough about a month, my partner and I had a
disagreement, and I left the circus, and procured an engagement for
twelve nights at the Pantheon music-hall. That completed, “the world was
all before me, where to choose!” I thought there might be a chance of
obtaining an engagement at one or other of the music-halls at Leeds and
Bradford, and I visited both towns; but without meeting with success. By
the time I arrived at the conclusion that I must return to London I was
pretty nigh hard up. I counted my coin the morning I left Leeds, and
found that I had little more than enough to enable me to reach Hull,
where I expected to receive a remittance from “the old house at home!” I
had a long and weary walk to Selby, where I sat down beside the river,
to await the arrival of the steamer that runs between Hull and York.
Once more I counted my money, and had the satisfaction of ascertaining
that I had just one penny above the fare from Selby to Hull. I shoved my
fingers into each corner of every pocket, but the search did not result
in the discovery of a single copper more. It was something to have that
penny, though, for besides being thirsty, I was so fatigued that I
needed some sort of stimulant.
‘“I must have half a pint,” I thought, and I went into the nearest
public-house, and had it. Then I sat down again, and looked up the brown
Ouse, where at last I saw the black hull and smoking funnel of the
steamer. As soon as she came alongside the landing-place, I went aboard,
and descended into the fore-cabin, where I lay down, and smoked my last
bit of tobacco, after which I dozed till the steamer bumped against the
pier at Hull. There I was all right, as far as my immediate wants were
concerned. I dined, replenished my tobacco pouch, and strolled up to
Springthorp’s, to see if there was any chance there. There was no
immediate opening, however, and on the following day I took a passage
for London in one of the steamers running between the Humber and the
Thames.’