AN INTERVIEW WITH A TIGER
There came to New York in May a menagerie. A chance like this roused the
children to a pitch of the wildest enthusiasm. Wonderful posters were
put up. It was not considered a circus at all, but a moral and
instructive show, if it did not have delightful Artemas Ward to
expatiate upon it. There were a great many children who had never seen
an elephant. Hanny Underhill had not.
Jim said, "There was a live lion stuffed with straw; a zebra that had
fifty stripes from the tip of his nose to his tail, nary stripe alike; a
laughing hyena of the desert, who could cry like a child when he was
hungry, and who devoured the people who came to his assistance, thereby
showing the total depravity of human nature; an elephant that could
dance; and monkeys who climbed the highest trees and swung in the gentle
zephyrs by the tail." The crowning point was that he had money enough
saved up to go.
The celebrated lion-tamer, a Mr. Van Amburgh, was to perform with some
trained animals. Oh, what a crowd there was!--most people going early
so they could walk around and view the animals in their cages. There
were two beautiful striped hyenas, lithe as cats, and so restless you
were almost afraid they would find some loose bar and spring out at you.
The two lions roared tremendously when disturbed. A great cage full of
the funniest chattering monkeys, ready for nuts or cake or bits of
apples, and who could swing with their heads downward and turn
astonishing somersaults. Many other curious animals that we see nowadays
in Central Park; but, alas! there was no Park then, and such indulgences
had to be paid for.
The big elephant was very gentle, or in a gentle mood, which answered
the same purpose. The keeper had to have eyes everywhere to see that the
boys did not torment him. How he could take a peanut or a bit of candy
in his trunk, and carry it up to his mouth without dropping it, puzzled
Hanny. For of course all the First Street children went. Mr. Underhill
and Margaret and Mrs. Dean were to keep them safe and in order.
It seemed so hard to leave Daisy Jasper out. But her father could not
go, and her mother was much too timid.
"I'll be her knight," said Doctor Joe. "I will take her up in the buggy,
and we'll squeeze through the crowd."
That settled it. Seeing real live animals was so different from the
stuffed and moth-eaten ones at Barnum's.
There was a great tent and some temporary sheds, with one or two
side-shows. They went quite early, and Doctor Joe paid a man to stand
guard over some seats while they walked around and inspected the cages.
There was a smaller trick elephant, but even Columbus was not as big as
the famous Jumbo.
One of the great pleasures or curiosities was a ride on his back in a
howdah. This was ten cents extra, and only for children. Most of the
boys had spent their money for refreshments at the booths, so they could
only look longingly. The little girls were afraid at first.
"I am going," declared Charles Reed. "Oh, you will not be afraid!"--to
the Deans.
"Don't you want to?" asked Mr. Underhill of his little girl.
Hanny drew a long breath and her eyes dilated. The howdah filled up, and
the ponderous creature moved slowly down to the end of the space and up
again, amid childish exclamations and laughter.
"Yes--I would like to go," said Hanny, when she realised the safety of
the proceeding.
"Oh, Doctor Joe, couldn't you help me up? It would be such a wonderful
thing to ride on an elephant that I should be glad all my life."
Daisy Jasper looked so eager and pleading out of her beseeching blue
eyes. So many pleasures must be foregone that he had not the heart to
deny this.
"Are you quite sure you will not be afraid up there?" he asked
earnestly.
"Oh, no, not with Hanny, dear Doctor Joe!"
He looked at Hanny. The little girl could climb trees and walk out to
the ends of the limbs and jump; she had swung her arms and said one,
two, three, and gone flying over the creek without falling in; she could
do "vinegar" with a skipping rope; she could walk the edge of the
curb-stone without tilting over; she could swing ever so high and not
wink; she wasn't afraid to go up stairs in the dark; but when the
elephant took the first long, rocking step, she felt something as she
had when Luella Bounett had run downstairs with her in her arms. She
grasped Daisy's hand on the one side and Charlie's arm on the other.
"Oh, Hanny, you're not afraid?"
"It's like being out at sea," and Daisy laughed.
But the back of the huge creature seemed up so high and his steps so
long. Then she summoned all her courage, and resolved that she would not
be a "little 'fraid cat."
The keeper interspersed the rides with stories of elephants in India
taking care of babies, fanning flies away from them, watching over sick
masters, and moving great timbers. Even if his eyes were small, he could
see any danger. You could trust him when he was once your friend; but he
never forgave an injury.
The big india-rubber feet came down with scarcely a sound. He flapped
his ears lazily, he turned around without spilling them out, and marched
up the line as if it was just nothing at all.
Daisy was thrilling with enjoyment. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were
like roses. She even put her hand on the elephant's crumply back, as
they came down the steps, and smiled in Doctor Joe's face, as he held
her by the arm.
"You were so good to let me go. Thank you a thousand times. It was just
splendid!"
They were all in a burst of enthusiasm with "ohs and ahs." But Hanny was
very glad to get back to her father's protecting hand. She felt as if
she had been on a long and perilous journey.
They took their seats, and after one more caravan the performances
began. The trick elephant did several odd things rather clumsily. Then
he stood on his head, and the boys clapped their hands with delight. He
trumpeted, and the very ground seemed to shake. Then he looked around in
a queer sort of fashion, as if he was sure he had frightened everybody.
But what would they have said to the later acrobatic feats and going
through the figures of a quadrille! Half-a-dozen elephants would have
startled any audience.
Presently a big cage was uncovered, and Mr. Van Amburgh went into the
lions' den. Everybody shuddered a little. Hanny thought of the story of
Daniel--perhaps other people did. He shook hands and rubbed shoulders
with them; and they put their paws on his shoulders and shook their
shaggy heads.
Charles said they ought to have finer bodies for such magnificent heads.
Then the lion-tamer told them to lie down. He made a bed of one and a
pillow of the other, and threw himself upon them, hugging them up. He
made them open their mouths, and he thrust in his hand. They pranced up
and down, sprang over the stick he held in his hand, jumped over him;
and it really seemed as if they had a tender regard for him. But Doctor
Joe observed that he always faced them, and kept his eyes steadily upon
them. The applause was tremendous.
Then an incident occurred that was not down in the programme. A handsome
tiger walked out from between two of the cages as if he had a part to
play. He scanned the audience in a deliberate manner; he gave his lithe
body a twist, and switched his tail in a graceful fashion, while his
yellow eyes illumined the space about him. The attention of the audience
was concentrated upon him, while he appeared to be considering what to
do next.
Two keepers came out, while a man in the space between the cages shook
something in his hand. The tiger turned and followed him, and the men
watched until a bar snapped.
Then one of them faced the audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I wish to announce that there is not
the slightest danger. The tiger is securely caged. The animals are under
perfect control."
Two or three women screamed, and one fainted. Several hurried to the
entrance; but the keeper begged them to be tranquil. There had not been
the slightest danger.
Doctor Joe motioned to his party to remain seated while he went to
attend to the women. The performance was mostly over, and the audience
began to disperse, from a sense of insecurity.
"Was he really loose?" asked Tudie Dean, in a little fright.
"Of course he was," replied Charles. "I'm not sure but it was done
purposely after all."
Doctor Joe returned, and they appealed to him.
"Well,"--with a gay air,--"the tiger was quite obedient, wasn't he? You
were not frightened, Daisy?"
"But you stood right there,"--Doctor Joe had given his seat to a lady
just as the performance began. "Why, he looked at you," and Daisy's
nerves gave a little quiver.
"I supposed Mr. Van Amburgh would come and put him through some paces,"
returned Joe.
"It was immense, wasn't it?" exclaimed Jim. "But why did the woman
squeal when it was all over?"
Doctor Joe laughed.
To make amends, a pretty trick pony came out, who really could dance,
and he looked as if he laughed, too. He did a number of amusing things,
and the audience stopped going out. Then the monkeys set up such a
shrill chatter that the people began to laugh. The lion started to roar;
and it seemed as if the tigers joined the chorus. For a few moments it
was a forest concert.
"If only the hyena would laugh," said Jim. The girls were a little
nervous. Joe had gone to get Prince. "Oh, you needn't be a mite afraid.
Mr. Van Amburgh would just have thrown a cloth over his head; and in his
surprise they would have had him all right in a moment. I would not have
missed it for a dollar; though I wouldn't care to encounter him in his
native wilds."
"He did look grand surveying the audience," said Daisy. "I am so glad I
could come--for everything."
The Doctor put Hanny and Daisy in the buggy, as they were both so slim.
Hanny hugged his arm, and said in a voice still a trifle shaky,--
"Weren't you the least bit frightened, Joe?"
"Why, I never imagined there was any danger until it was over. I think
so many people rather dazed Mr. Tiger."
"Oh, if anything had happened to you, what should I do?" asked Daisy,
with lustrous eyes.
"Nothing is going to happen to me. You have been a brave girl this
afternoon, and it is not the first time either."
Her cheek flushed with pleasure.
It was a great thing to talk over, that and the ride on the elephant.
Hanny found her natural history, and she and her father read about
elephants most of the evening.
The days were so pleasant that the children often took Daisy out in her
chair to see them at their plays. They went around to Houston Street, to
the German settlement, as it was beginning to be called. Lena and
Gretchen were out on their stoop with their knitting, and the baby
between them. They were Lutherans, and they looked quite different from
the Jews.
There were still quaint old houses in Ludlow and Orchard streets,--two
stories with dormer windows in the roof, and some frame cottages with
struggling grass-plots. No one dreamed of the tall tenements that were
to take their places, the sewing-machines that were to hum while the
workers earned their scanty pittance, and swarms of children crowded the
streets.
Everybody had more leisure then. Some of the women sat and chatted while
their little ones played about.
A little girl came out of an alley way with a peculiar jerky movement,
like a hop and a skip, while she kept one hand on her knee. Her hip was
large, her shoulder pushed up and apparently bent over.
"Hello!" she said to Hanny. "What's the matter with her?" nodding her
head. "Wish't I had a cheer like that. I'd cut a great swell. My! ain't
she pritty?"
"She's been ill," returned Hanny.
The child stared a moment and then hopped on.
"Her father works about the stable," explained Hanny, with rising
colour. "She comes up sometimes. They're very poor. Mother gives them
ever so many things. She can't stand up straight; but she doesn't seem
to mind. And one leg is so much shorter. The boys call her Cricket, and
Limpy Dick."
"Oh, Hanny, if I were poor and like that!" The tears came in Daisy's
eyes. "I can stand up straight, and I am getting to walk quite well. I
have so much that is lovely and comforting; and oughtn't one be thankful
not to be real poor?"
The little lameter went hopping across the street, and called to some
children "to look at the style!"
Down by the corner there was a candy and notion store, kept by an old
woman with a queer wrinkled face framed in with a wide cap-ruffle. She
had a funny turned-up nose, as if it had hardly known which way to grow,
and such round red-apple cheeks. When it was pleasant, she sat in the
doorway, regardless of the fate of the heroic young woman of Norway.
"Good day!" she ejaculated. "The Lord bless ye. Yon's got a pretty face,
an' I hope it will bring her good fortune." She nodded, and her
cap-ruffle flapped over her face.
"If ye see that omadhawn of a Biddy Brady in yer travels, jist send her
home. The babby's screamin' himself into fits. Won't her mother give it
to her whin she comes in!"
Down below the next corner, there was a throng of children. One big boy
was whistling a jig tune, and clapping on his knee.
"That's old Mrs. McGiven," explained Hanny. "The school-children go
there for cake and candy and slate pencils, because hers have such nice
sharp points. And--Biddy Brady!"
Jim was with the boys. He gave Hanny a nod and laughed and joined the
whistling.
"Oh, Jim--Biddy's baby is crying--"
"Come, start up again, Biddy. You haven't given us half a cent's worth!
You don't dance as good as the little Jew girl on the next block."
"Arrah now--"
"Go on wid yer dancin'."
Biddy was a thin, lanky girl with straight dark hair that hung in her
eyes and over her shoulders. A faded checked pinafore, with just plain
arm-holes, covered her nearly all up. To her spindle legs were attached
mismatched shoes, twice too large, tied around the ankles. One had a
loose sole that flapped up and down. It really wasn't any dancing, for
she just kicked out one foot and then the other, with such vigor that
you wondered she didn't go over backward. Her very earnestness rendered
it irresistibly funny. She certainly danced by main strength.
Hanny began again. "Jim, her baby is crying--"
"He gets his living by crying. I've never heard of his doing anything
else."
Biddy brought her foot down with an emphatic thump.
"There now, not another step do yees get out o' me fur that cint. I've
give ye good measure and fancy steps throwed in. An' me shoe is danced
off me fut, an' me mammy'll lick me. See that now!" and she held up her
flapping sole.
They had to yield to necessity, for none of the crowd had another penny.
When Biddy realised the fact, she ran off home and bought a stick of
candy to solace herself and the baby. Mrs. Brady went out washing, and
Biddy cared for the baby when she wasn't in the street. It must be
admitted the babies languished under her care.
The school-children had a good deal of fun hiring her to dance. Biddy
was shrewd enough about the pennies.
Jim joined the cavalcade as the boys went their way.
"Why, she likes the money," he said in answer to an upbraiding remark
from Hanny. "That's what she does it for."
"It was very funny," declared Daisy. "She's such a straight, slim child
in that long narrow apron. If it hadn't been for the baby, I would have
given her a penny."
They went on down the street. There were several fancy-goods stores and
some pretty black-eyed Jewish children with the curliest hair
imaginable. There was the big school across the way, and a great lock
factory, then a row of comparatively nice dwellings. They turned into
Avenue A., and were in a crowd of Germans. The children and babies all
had flaxen or yellow hair and roundish blue eyes. The mothers were
knitting and sewing and chattering in their queer language. Even the
little girls were knitting lace and stockings. The boys seemed fat and
pudgy. They stared at the chair and its inmate, but Sam went quietly
along. Here were German costumes sure enough.
They turned up Second Street, and so around First Avenue, home.
"Why, it's like going to foreign countries," Daisy said. "Some of the
children were very pretty. But that Biddy Brady--I can see her yet."
The very next day Daisy drew two pictures, and held them before Hanny.
"Why, that's Biddy Brady!" the little girl said, with a bright wondering
laugh. "And that's old Mrs. McGiven! They're splendid! How could you do
it?"
"I don't know. It came to me."
Mrs. Craven said the old lady was excellent. And she laughed about Biddy
Brady's dancing.
Sometimes they went up to Tompkins' Square. They would study their
lessons or do a bit of crocheting. Daisy was learning a great many
things. Or they went a little farther up and over to the river, which
was much wider at that time. The old farms had been cut up into blocks;
but while they were waiting for some one to come along and build them
up, the thrifty Germans had turned them into market gardens, and they
presented a very pretty appearance.
They could see the small clusters of houses on Long Island, and the end
of Blackwell's Island,--a terrible place to them. The boys had seen the
"Black Maria," which the little girl thought must be some formidable
giant negress capable of driving the criminals along as one would a
flock of sheep, and she was quite surprised when she learned it was a
wagon merely. The East River was quite pretty up here, and the
ferry-boats made a line of foam that sparkled in the sun.
Occasionally Doctor Joe joined the party, and took them in other
directions. He had accepted the offer of an old physician on East
Broadway, which was then considered very aristocratic. The basement
windows had pretty lace curtains, and the dining-rooms had beaufets in
the corners, on which the glass and silver were arranged. The brass
doorknobs and the name-plate shone like gold, and the iron railings of
the stoops were finished with quite pretentious newels, that the
children called sentry boxes.
Grand Street, at the eastern end, had many private dwellings. Ridge and
Pitt and Willet streets were quite steep and made splendid coasting
places in winter. There was the Methodist church, in which many famous
worthies had preached, and even at the end of the century the old place
keeps its brave and undaunted front.
Strawberries did not come until June; and the girls took them round the
streets in tiny deep baskets. There were no such mammoth berries as we
have now; but, oh, how sweet and luscious they were! Little girls
carried baskets of radishes from door to door, and first you heard
"strawbrees," then something that sounded like "ask arishee," which I
suppose was brief for "ask any radishes."
The fish and clam men were a great delight to the children. One curious,
weather-beaten old fellow who went through First Street had quite a
musical horn, and a regular song.
"Fine clams, fine clams, fine clams, to-day,
That have just arrived from Rockaway.
They're good to boil, and they're good to fry,
And they're good to make a clam pot-pie.
My horse is hired, and my waggon isn't mine.
Look out, little boys, don't cut behind!"
Where the rhyme was lame, he made up with an extra flourish and trill to
the notes. The cats used to watch out for him. They seemed to know when
Friday came, and they would be sitting on the front stoops, dozing until
they heard the welcome sound of the horn. There were huckster waggons
with vegetables, and a buttermilk man.
An old coloured woman used to come round with brewer's yeast, and one
morning she had a great piece of black cambric twisted about her bonnet.
"Who are you in mourning for, auntie?" asked Margaret.
"My ol' man, Miss Margret. Happened so lucky! He jest died Sat'day
night, an' we buried him on Sunday, an' here I am goin' round on
Monday,--not losin' any time. Happened so lucky!"
Jim went into spasms of merriment over the economy of the incident.