Bread and the Circus
THEY are the largest travelling circus in Europe. Their staff
numbers over
two hundred and fifty ; they have a hundred
and seventy horses, seven
elephants, eight lions, two tigers, three
camels, and a dromedary ; their
cortege on the road is sixty-three
waggons
long. I joined them at Dieppe : they had parted with
their interpreter, and
I took his place.
* * *
Monday, 2 a.m.—There
was no moon ; all night the wind had
been screaming, driving spasmodic
showers before it ; overhead,
above the roofs, vague forms of tattered
clouds were scudding.
In the market-place, flaring petroleum lights flitting to and fro ;
dim
figures hurrying hither and thither through the darkness ;
loose horses
neighing as they stampeded among the tent-ropes ;
incessant volleys of
oaths echoing from wall to wall.
“Here,” Jim, the stud-groom, called to me, “hold this lot o’
‘orses, will
yer ? ” He thrust a bundle of halter-ropes into my hand,
and disappeared
into the darkness.
The big tent came down with a run, and lay before me bellying
and flapping
in the wind, followed by the crashing of the poles, as
the men swung them
into the tent-waggon. Close beside me, I
caught
as he belaboured a horse with his fist ; then, of a sudden, Jim’s
voice bellowing behind me :
“Mind yerself. Shift them ‘orses. The elephants are comin ! “
And their
black, monstrous forms loomed in front of me, moving
silently past,
swinging their trunks from side to side.
” We always give ’em an hour’s start. They can’t do above
three mile an
hour. Come, bring them ‘orses up to the band-
waggon. Here, boy, hold a
light for ‘im. Look alive ; we’re
behind time as it is.”
Already, on all sides, the rumblings of heavy wheels, and
crackings of whips
were starting up ; the waggons were moving to
their places. The nigger
tent-men set a light to the soiled forage ;
the wind scattered the dense
columns of smoke towards the sea,
and the great tongues of crimson flame
flickered up, licking the
air, and revealing that the market-place had at
last been cleared.
“All ready,” sang Jim’s swinging tones.
” All ready …. all ready,” floated back a dozen wavering,
distant
answers.
” Into the buggy with yer. Pull the hay up round yer waist :
it’ll keep the
cold out.”
Ahead, through the twilight, toiling up the hill, we could
perceive the long
train of lumbering waggons, each with a ragged
petroleum flame swinging
beneath the axle.
” Pull ov—er….. Pull ov—er,” and one by one they made
way
for us as we cantered by them.
” Wake ’em up….. Wake ’em up,” and Jim, upright in
buggy, lashed each
successive team into a hand gallop.
When we had reached the front living-waggon, and only the
wet, open road
glimmering wanly in the sickly early morning
light, lay ahead of us, back
we turned down the hill again, waking
up
the vernacular. And so, up and down the line, till we were hoarse
with shouting, and till the last waggon had left the outskirts of the
town.
* * *
4 a.m.—For an hour we had been leading the way,
jogging
along the straight, broad road. Jim had dropped to sleep, and
was
swaying heavily from side to side, his battered face resting on my
shoulder.
Behind us the continuous, somnolent rumbling of the waggon
wheels, and the
rhythmical tramp of the horses’ feet. Now and
then, a boy on a thoroughbred
would gallop past us, cracking his
stock-whip, chasing a drove of foals.
The treeless plain lay
around us, all dark and mysterious ; at intervals,
we brutally broke
the silence of some sleeping village street.
By-and-by, a rift broke in the clouds ; a slab of dark-blue sky
appeared ;
and the rain ceased to beat in our faces.
And a strange, drowsy sensation crept over me—a sensation that
I had
been sitting there always, driving the cream-coloured mare,
endlessly
journeying through the night, with the long line of
waggons lumbering
behind.
* * *
6 a.m.—When I awoke, the sun had risen, and the
great plain
of corn, stretching away and away to the horizon, was rippling
in
the fresh morning breeze like a glittering golden lake. Crowds of
peasants were running from their harvesting to the road-side to watch
us go
by. Moving ahead I could see a dark, shifting mass ; the
elephants were
still some two miles away. I fell to wondering
curiously concerning this
strange little world with whom I had
thrown
adventurous, free-living life.
* * *
St. Valery-en-Caux, 9 a.m.—We were encamped in the centre
of the town, in front of
the Hôtel de Ville. In less than an hour
and a half every tent was in its
place, and the horses, tethered in
droves, were clattering to water through
the streets.
It was settled that I was to mess in the elephant tent with the
Armstrongs—Joe, the elephant-keeper, Maggie his wife, and
Lieutenant
George, the lion-tamer, his brother, better known to
the public, as ”
Himalayan Henry.”
They were both handsome, strapping fellows. George, the
“lieutenant,” had
been in the show business all his life. He wore
a trailing, coal-black
moustache, and his hat cocked jauntily on the
side of his head, and boasted
himself a terrible chap with ladies.
Joe had been but three years in the
show. Before that he had
been a tram-conductor in Birmingham. He was slow
of speech,
hulking, and shy. Maggie was a Lancashire girl. She had big
blue eyes, a pale complexion, and rosy, sensitive mouth. She had
been
married just six months. She bullied her husband ; George,
on the strength
of his superior salary, bullied them both ; and they
all three bullied ”
Scottie,” or “Jimmy Pimples,” the little under
elephant-keeper, a
sandy-haired, crimson-faced, unshaven, unwashed
ruffian, who helped Maggie
Armstrong to wash up the dishes, did
odd jobs for us, and rated the
elephants in generous Glasgow.
” Scottie ” slept on a hay-bed beside the camels and messed with
the coons
beneath the tack-waggon ; and we four lived in a small
double tent pitched
in a corner of the large one that covered the
elephants.
There were seven of them, as I have said.—”Jim,” the patriarch,
with
and weak, sunken eyes, for ever wearily winking with the fatigue
of his hundred and twenty summers, submitting without a murmur
to the buffetings of his coquettish granddaughter, “Ida”; “Rose,”
a fat, gluttonous, middle-aged dame, and ” Palm,” her husband,
with his great indolently humorous face—an entirely respectable
bourgeois menage ; ” Nick,” the youngster, always squealing and
stealing the hay ; ” Tim,” the monster elephant, restlessly rolling
his vicious white-rimmed eye (he had killed a man some six
months ago) ; impatient, irascible, and sullenly watchful of his
little wife ” Tiny,” the beauty of the band, jealously marching by
her side on the road, with his trunk around her neck, and in the
evenings, rumbling to himself with pride, as he scraped her down
with the jagged edge of an old condensed-milk tin.
* * *
Midday—The post had just come in. The manager,
a freckled,
sandy-haired young man, was giving out the letters in the
dressing-
room, sitting swinging his long legs on an elephant-tub, with
his
hat jammed tight on the back of his head. One by one the men
came
forward ; some sheepishly, some jauntily, some with tremu-
lous eagerness.
And the more illiterate ones remained loitering
at the mouth of the tent,
hesitatingly fingering their envelopes,
curiously revolving them, trying to
decipher the post-marks.
Sam Giddens, the clown, a bald, thick-set, elderly
gentleman,
adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles, and plunged into a copy of the
Era. Quito, the jockey, and the two tumbling boys
were dis-
cussing the incidents of the journey.
” ‘E got me doun, smashed my ‘at in, and tore my coat a’most
off my back,”
Tommy was explaining.
The Yellow Book—Vol. VII. o
What,
” Yes, that black swine.”
* * * * *
” I can’t stand this country. All the women look to me like
men, and all the
men like women. I saw about thirty of them
loading a waggon of wheat this
morning. It’s barbarous, that’s
what it is,” remarked Miss Lucile, the
wire-walker.
” And the way the people bathe too, men and women all to-
gether; I call it
disgustin’,” Quito declared.
” I niver see’d sich a country for rain. It’s Mister Tommy de
Lo all day
long.”
” And d’ye mind how before we started they were all for telling
how the sun
was always shining in la belle France ? ”
” It’s a dreary place, I call it, niver a Sunday from month end
to month
end,” chimed in old Mrs. Chigwin, as she settled her
fringe. ” This ‘ull be
the first year for nine years that I’ve missed
Bank Holiday at Portsmouth.
You see no life here—no great
crowds trippin’ about, enjoyin’ of
themselves. Oh dear, oh dear,
what would I jest give to be ‘ome
agin—nice clean lodgings and a
bit of fresh steak,” she concluded
mournfully.
” I reckon it ‘ud be a lot better if we could pick up the lingo-
I can’t get
beyond ‘quatre sous cognac,'” broke in the vet.
“Ah ! you’d learn that quick enough in Chinese, doctor.”
” I only joined the show five months ago, when they came
tenting in France,”
the old man remarked, turning to me. ” I’ve
had a proper college education,
though you might’n’t think it, and
fine business down at Reading. Many’s
the year, I tell you, that
I’ve turned over more than two thousand pounds.
This has been a
terrible come-down for me.”
” What was the trouble ? ” I asked.
” Drink, young man, drink,” he answered warningly, ” and
for
penny.”
He looked it, bloated and aged and enfeebled before his time.
* * * * *
Meanwhile the ring-master went on :—
” And when we got to the bridge, the horses got frightened and
wouldn’t
cross. All at once the waggon gives a great bump and
Sam begins calling out
that we’d fallen into the river and swim-
ming for his life about the waggon
floor. Didn’t you, Sam ? ”
But the clown, deep in his paper, made no answer.
* * * * *
” Hulloa, Sandow, who’s bin makin’ your face up this time?”
asked the
manager, as the hulking saddler sauntered up for a news-
paper, with a
bruised eye and an ugly, swollen nose.
” It be Jacko agin, sir. He were drunk agin at t’start, and
when I went fur
to wake him, he sets on me, with the result what
you all kin see.”
“What did you do to him ? “
The big man lifted his heavy shoulders.
” I jest chucked him oot o’t’ waggon. That be the wirst o’
having my
strength. If I was a mite o’ a chap like him” (point-
ing to Quito), “I’d
have given him the grandest hiding he’d iver
experienced. Yes, that I
would, yer damned little varmint,” he
added, as Jacko, a wizened, impish
creature not five feet high,
appeared grinning behind him.
* * * * *
” Circus-life ! circus-life ! ” the old doctor philosophised to me
confidentially, wiping his beery eyes. ” It’s bin a terrible come-
down for
me.”
* * *
1.30
right enough, you know ; but the parade’s AI,” Lieutenant
George had declared.
The band, in red coats and firemen’s helmets, led the way,
packed in a car
all gilt and glittering glass, drawn by ten plumed
piebald horses. Next, on
prancing, plum-coloured steeds, eighteen
ladies, sumptuously attired in
plush and satin and heavy brocade.
Then the thoroughbreds, and the ten
trick ponies, tight-reined,
arching their necks and tossing their silky
manes, led by foot-
grooms in scarlet livery. Behind these, the four
monumental
gilded cars—allegorical representations of England,
Scotland,
Ireland, and Wales—each drawn by eight white horses,
and
carrying on its pinnacle a golden-haired girl reclining in
appro-
priate attitudes. Behind them followed the team of elephants
(with the coons dressed in tiger-skins sitting in scarlet howdahs
on their
backs), dragging the lions’ cage with Lieutenant George
in full uniform,
inside amongst the beasts, smoking and twirling
his freshly waxed
moustache. Next, escorted by a cavalcade of
tent-men, dressed as Turkish
grandees, the six tableaux—monster
paintings relating the appearance
of the show before Her Gracious
Majesty the Queen in the midst of a
tropical forest. And lastly
the tigers, the camels, the dromedary, and the
three painted pay-
waggons.
Every window was packed with faces : the streets were swarm-
ing with people.
I rode through the town, perched on the box
of the gilded band-car (I had
been ordered there in case of diffi-
culties with the local police), bowing
to the crowd from side to
side, and feeling like an Eastern potentate at
the head of his
triumphal progress.
* * *
8.30 p.m.—The afternoon show had done fair
business ; but in
the
the windows of the pay-waggons, struggling in desperation to
keep pace with the demands of the surging crowd.
Inside, the flaring petroleum lights flickered over a dim, circular
wall of
upturned faces. A dull, continuous hum of voices filled
the
tent—over three thousand had been packed inside ; and when
the
overture struck up, they were turning people away from the
doors.
I wandered away, in the face of the driving rain, through the
narrow, empty
streets. Here and there, through a lighted window,
I caught a glimpse of a
family group, sitting round a shaded lamp,
the women at their needlework,
the fishermen smoking over a
crumpled newspaper. The muffled strains of the
band, playing
” Nancy Lee,” carried past me on the wind, grew fainter
and
fainter, and presently died away altogether.
And before me, all wrapped in darkness, the sea lay sullenly
lashing the
shore ; to the east a lighthouse glimmered, and near
at hand, moving quite
slowly through the night, passed the three
lights of a steamer.
We were to start at three to-morrow morning. The night
looked ugly ; out in
the channel a heavy gale was blowing ; the
sky was starless and black as
pitch.
* * *
11 p.m.—Maggie had spread us our supper on a
table built of
piled forage, and round it we took our places, each sitting
astride
a hay-truss. To-night she was busy with discreet attentions
towards the lieutenant ; for he had had a lot of trouble with one
of his
lions, and it was the talk of all the tents.
” Yes, he was a bit obstinate, wasn’t he, Joe ? I had a job to
get inside
the cage, him standing over the door pawing at me.
That’s
as you’re below them, they all make to jump on you, but once
get above them and they just slink and snarl at your feet.”
” I reckon there’s some human beings what isn’t much dif-
ferent,” remarked
Maggie.
” No, there’s no life insurance in our trade. Pass the salt, Joe,
old man,”
the lieutenant concluded.
Outside, the wind was hooting through the camp, banging
against the side of
the tent, and at intervals lifting the side-poles
off the ground. And the
huge, vague shapes of the elephants
swayed uneasily in the fitful flare of
the hissing petroleum light,
their trunks, like black, hungry serpents,
swinging incessantly
across the gangway.
After supper, Joe and Maggie wished us good-night. George
and I stayed
drowsily chatting of the day’s gossip, and of the
storm that was raging
without. By-and-bye we lay down on the
hay, to sleep till the watchman
should come on his rounds. . . .
. . . Gradually I became conscious of Joe’s voice beside me ;
then a ringing
peal of Maggie’s laughter. I opened my eyes : the
tent was still dark. I
could hear the tramp of feet outside, and
the distant neighing of
horses.
All at once the hay seemed to tremble beneath me, and some-
thing rough and
wet and living touched my hand. I sprang up :
above me loomed a great black
form.
” Hulloa, where’s his bed got to ? ” I heard Maggie laughing,
while Joe
shouted :
” Rose, get back, yer greedy beast.”
She had got loose in the night, and whilst I slept had been
standing over
me, craftily stealing the hay from beneath me, till
at length I was lying
on the bare, dusty ground.
* * *
Tuesday,
the tent. Joe and “Scottie” were moving the elephants out.
Tim was trumpeting at the top of his voice, and trying to drag
the tent down about our ears.
The whole camp seemed a scene of hopeless, indescribable con-
fusion. The men
were all shouting to one another in the dark-
ness. Every gust of the gale
was extinguishing the petroleum
lights. I wandered about in search of Jim,
stumbling over the
tent-ropes, splashing into pools of standing water,
jostling against
huddled groups of men vainly endeavouring to rekindle
their
lights. It was rumoured that half the show had already started,
and that the ” boss ” had been knocked on the head by a falling
tent-pole.
The rain was falling in torrents. I caught a glimpse of
the ladies
scurrying under their umbrellas to their omnibus, old Sam
Giddens among
them, wrapped in a multitude of horse-blankets.
It was half-an-hour before I found the buggy, and could hear
Jim’s voice
bellowing close at hand.
One of the leaders of the last tableau team lay kicking on the
ground,
entangled in his traces. Jim was cursing the driver as he
had never cursed
before. We all lent a hand. I sat on the horse’s
head, while the others
worked at the straps. Of a sudden the
light went out. The horse started
plunging : I was pitched into
a pool of water ; and when we could see again
the animal had
kicked himself clear.
We were the last to leave. Drenched to the skin, with the
buggy-hood down,
despite the rain, lest the wind should overturn
us, we crawled up the hill
on to the cliffs. The trees were all
writhing in the gale ; below us, with
a dull, continuous roar, the
surf was crashing against the rocks. Jim had
been drinking
heavily ; before we had gone half-a-mile, he was rolling in
his
sleep. The light behind the buggy was the only one still alight.
At
it aloft, trying to decipher the sign-posts. And then, when I had
found the road, and we were out in the open country, I let the
mare jog along at her own pace, and sat helplessly shivering
and waiting for the sunrise.
About four it seemed to be growing lighter. I turned back
down the line, and
found the last waggon lagging more than a
mile behind. I shouted to the
driver, but he gave me no answer.
He was either dead drunk or numbed by the
wet. I shook Jim
till my arms ached, and when I had waked him, told him
the
trouble. We both sat bawling in concert, and at last extracted a
feeble, incoherent answer. We stopped the waggon, and shouted
to the man to
come down ; he answered thickly that his arms
were stiff with cramp. I
cantered back to the tack-waggon,
roused a couple of coons, and with their
help we lifted the man
down. Then we battered at the door of a wayside
cottage, till
the terrified inhabitants let us in. We lit a straw fire, and
tried
with brandy and rubbing to bring him round. But he had been
badly drunk the night before, and the liquor had taken all the
warmth out
of him. So we stowed him away on a hay bed in the
tack-waggon, set the boy
who was driving the foals on the box of
the tableau, and I mounted the
thoroughbred in his place.
The day was now breaking ; and we were at least four miles
behind. Jim
lashed the tableau team into a hand-gallop, and I
followed behind in charge
of the foals.
About six o’clock we came up with the elephants, slouching
silently along,
and tearing up the corn by the roadside as they
went. . . . An hour later
we rejoined the rest of the show, and
at half-past eight we could see the
wet roofs of Fecamp twinkling
in the distance.
* * *
It
the small horse-tent. The doctor sat on the steps of the harness
waggon, and the tent-men lounged round him in groups. He
would knock the ashes carefully from his pipe, wipe his beery
eyes, and clear his throat authoritatively before unfurling the
Standard. He would begin at the top right-hand column of the
inside page, reading mechanically almost right through the paper
—the political speeches, the police news, the foreign telegrams,
the theatrical notices, and the sporting intelligence—till he had
come again to the advertisements. No one made any comment ;
the tent-men just loitered and listened ; and when he had finished,
they strolled away silently, as they had come. The scene, in its
droll solemnity, struck me as curiously pathetic.
* * *
The “boss” was a podgy, thick-set little man ; he had a ruddy
moustache, and
a merry twinkle in his small, round eyes. His
clothes were always ragged,
and smeared with mud ; for a clean
shirt, I fancy, he professed a convinced
contempt. With every
one, down to the youngest stable-boy, he was familiar
and friendly ;
but, when he was roused, no one—not even Jim, the
stud-groom
—could compete with him in the matter of swearing.
This
“born gift” of his, as the men called it, had long ago won him
universal respect. He lived in a luxurious waggon, the fittings
of which
had cost three hundred guineas. His father had been a
circus proprietor
before him. It was said that he was worth two
hundred thousand pounds ; and
every morning he would strip and
help the men hammer in the tent-pegs.
Mr. Henderson, the trick rider, shared the “boss’s” waggon. He
shaved every
morning, wore clean cuffs, folded trousers, and
glistening
But the fact that his expletives began with the fourth instead of
the second letter of the alphabet, stamped him, so everyone
agreed, as a gentleman with a college education.
The men never mixed with the inhabitants of the towns, for
none of them knew
any French. At Dieppe, twenty-five of them
had given notice ; at Havre half
of the orchestra were to leave us.
Almost everyone was suffering from acute
home-sickness ; after
the evening show the tent-men would sit round the
petroleum
lights smoking and eternally chatting of England.
A few kept a perfunctory route-book ; but most of them, when
we set out in
the morning, had never troubled to learn the name
of the town where we had
spent the day. Their life was almost
entirely centred in the busy routine
of the camp.
* * *
Wednesday, 5 a.m.—It
was a short stage from Fecamp to
Etretat ; and as we got upon the road, the
sun was already
flooding the sky with crimson light. Beneath us the sea
lay
spread like a blue, wide, empty plain ; by the roadside the
reapers
were hurrying to their work amid the corn-sheaves ; the crowds
were busy loading the long-bodied, four-wheeled Normandy
waggons.
The wind had dropped, swelling milk-white clouds hung
overhead. Every
village was thronged with peasants, waiting to
watch us go past. The fresh,
warm rays of the morning sun
crept through me, bringing a keen, exquisite
exhilaration. And
there returned my old instinctive affection for the terse
picturesque-
ness of the so-called lower classes. And I remembered, with
a
twinge of bitter regret, that at the Havre I must leave them to
journey
after year…. I felt I would be content to become one of
them, to share irrevocably their rough, roving life.
* * *
11 a.m.—The ” boss ” had promised ” Jacko ” a
medal as
champion sleeper. He travelled in charge of the drove of
hospital
horses, and slept the journey through, lying flat on his face on
the
back of the old ring-mare, with a horse-rug thrown over his
head.
When, this morning at the start, Jim hauled him uncere-
moniously to the
ground, and set him to drive the last tableau-
team, he screwed up his tiny
bloodshot eyes, and swore he would
be revenged.
He was supposed to be running after Maggie, and Joe, whenever
he found him
hiding in the hay in the elephant-tent, used to thrash
him and throw him
outside.
We were all sitting at breakfast, when, to our surprise, the
stunted, impish
creature sauntered in, puffing ostentatiously at a
cigar-stump.
” Well, Jacko, did yer ‘ave a good sleep on the road ? ” Maggie
asked
maliciously.
” What d’ye think I did ? ” he asked, his wizened face grinning
from side to
side. “Why I’ve bin an’ knocked a bloomin’ ‘ouse
down.”
And so, it appeared, he had. They had bustled him down the
long hill into
the town, and he had swung the waggon with a
crash into a cottage, built of
rubble and mud, and had knocked a
huge hole in the wall.
” A lot of old women were sittin’ at breakfast. Lord ! ‘ow
they did jump and
squeal,” Jacko continued, with pride.
Then,
mouth, he added, chuckling,
“The coves ‘ave sent in a claim for five hundred francs damages.
That’ll
teach Mister Jim to set me drivin’ ‘is blasted tableaux.”
And off he swaggered to tell the tale of his prowess to the
coons and around
the horse-tents.
* * *
6 p.m.—When we came in to tea, after the
day-show, we found
Scottie, busy before a cracked mirror combing his sandy
locks.
He looked more unkempt than ever ; his face was streaming, for
he had been helping to drag the lions’ cage out of the ring, and
the
stubble of a three days’ beard covered his chin. When
Maggie asked him to
build up a table for us, he retorted ex-
citedly : ” Can ye na see that I’m
busy ? ” and recommenced
desperately the parting of his hair.
“What’s up, Pimples, going courtin’? ” asked the lieutenant.
” I’m engaged to conduct a party o’ ladies round the establish-
ment. I’ll be
standin’ you boys drinks at the buffy when I git
back.”
He hurried off, clapping the “lieutenant’s” forage-cap on the
back of his
head. Presently we heard him grandiloquently
pushing back the crowd of
loafers, and at the tent-mouth we
caught a fluttering glimpse of white
skirts and lace parasols.
” This, ladies,” Scottie began, stroking poor old Jim’s inoffensive
trunk,
“this elephant be two hundred and thirty year of age.
He’s often very
ferocious, as yer kin see by the red in his eye.
It takes fifty powerful
men to hold him when he’s fashed. Over
there, ladies, the handsome gent
with the moustache, sitting
on the hay, that’s Mr. Lieutenant George
Armstrong, the cele-
brated
and uncrowned heads ‘o Europe. A remarkable shy man, ladies,
though his looks belie him. He started lion-tamin’ at the age of
twelve, and he’ll be eaten alive some day as sure as I’m standin’
here. This be ‘Tim’ the biggest elephant in any circus. He
killed the last under-keeper, an Irishman, and that’s why I’m here
now. There’s a tremendous lot o’ courage required in our trade,
ladies, as ye kin all see for yerselves,” Scottie continued, straighten-
ing himself with a spasmodic attempt at gravity. “Now, this
way, if you please. If ye’ll follow me, I show ye the horse-tents
and the seventeen Arabian horses that the Sultan of China gave
with his own hands to Mr. Henderson. . . .”
We had finished tea before he reappeared, ruefully displaying a
coin in the
palm of his hand.
” Fivepence,” he burst out, “and I shewed ’em over the whole
bloomin’ show
and told ’em many a thousand lies. . . . Fivepence,”
and he threw the coin
ferociously into the hay.
* * *
Thursday, 3 a.m.—”You’re late, young man, very late,” said
the manager
reprovingly. “Jim’s been gone this hour past. He
waited half an hour for
you, and then had to take on Didon, the
Frenchman who drives the ‘bus, to
help him find the road. We’re
dreadfully short of drivers. I don’t know how
we’re going to
manage.”
We stood watching the departure of the blacksmith’s waggon.
The sky was
glittering with stars, a couple of petroleum lights
were swinging aimlessly
in the distance ; the camp seemed almost
empty.
” Didn’t I tell you you’d oversleep yourself, if you didn’t get to
bed,
went on. ” Look here,” he added suddenly, ” you’d better take
the ‘bus. You’re accustomed to driving ? ”
” Yes, but not four horses,” I objected.
” Never mind, jump up. Keep your wheelers well in hand,
and the cream cob
off the pole, or he’ll start kicking.”
Behind the blacksmith’s waggon, the ‘bus team was being
harnessed, while I
could vaguely perceive the huddled forms of the
sleeping ladies. My heart
was full of pity for them as I mounted
the box.
I had just steered out of the gateway, to my surprise, without a
spill, when
through the darkness I heard the boss’s voice. ” Wake
’em up there, Didon.
What’re yer up to. Shove ’em along.”
And, running alongside the team with
his stock-whip, he set them
off at a hand-gallop.
We swung round the corner into the main road, the ‘bus
lurching heavily as
we bumped over the kerb-stone. From within
floated a muffled series of
feminine screams. . . .
And then, on we rattled through the night, through the dark
stillness of the
sleeping country. . . .
* * *
6 a.m.—” Stop at the bottom of the hill ;
you’ve got a shoe
loose,” shouted one of the boys, galloping alongside.
I listened, but I could hear no clinking of flapping steel ;
every horse was
going as sound as a bell.
” No, they’re all right enough,” I called back.
” There’s a buffy at the bottom,” retorted the boy.
I remembered that there was a half-crown fine for stopping for
drinks on the
road, and that a lame horse or a shoe loose was the
only
pulled up.
” What’s up ? ” called a voice through the glass.
” Shoe loose, doctor,” I answered.
The next moment he was on the road beside the team.
” Where’s the buffy ? ” he asked.
I pointed with the whip to the house, and soon some half-dozen
of us were
sitting in the kitchen, and they were standing me
coffee and cognac all
round.
* * *
8 a.m.—The shipping of the Havre was in
sight—a delicate
tracery against the sky, like a distant winter
forest. Beyond,
across the river, wrapped in pale blue haze, stretched the
cliffs of
Honfleur, and the offing, all shimmering in the sunlight,
lay
studded with snow-white sails. . . .
With the skid on, we swung down the long hill into the city.
And as we pushed our way through the streets, tight-packed
with a staring
crowd, and bawled unceremoniously at the local
police, and forced the irate
tram-drivers to retreat till there was
space for us to pass them, and
searched at every turning to the
right and to the left for the square where
we were to camp, I
realised more than ever the exhilarating charm of this
reckless,
adventurous life.
* * *
Havre, 9.30 a.m.—He
was a little French cabin-boy. He had
deserted his ship, and had followed
the show from Dieppe. He used
to explain to us with pride how, if he were
caught, he would get
forty-eight days imprisonment. His clothes were a mass
of filthy
rags. I gave him a pair of trousers, and he stole my cigarettes.
He
was streaming for a crust of bread. His devotion to Joe was
untiring ; every day he ran the whole journey alongside the
elephants, belabouring “Rose” with an old bit of bamboo. And
all the afternoon he used to fight the town-urchins who came
swarming round the tent-edge to tease the elephants. He confided
to me his passion for the circus, and his longing to become a tamer
of lions, like George ; and I promised to ask the manager to give
him a start.
When this afternoon the police caught him and carried him off,
he cried very
bitterly, and swore he would come back to us.
* * *
10.30 a.m.—”Scottie” sat by the tent-mouth with
his head
between his hands. I bid him good morning ; he made no
answer.
The others were at breakfast.
“What’s up with ‘Scottie’ ? ” I asked.
” He was drunk at the start this morning,” Joe replied, curtly.
“I wasna,” “Scottie” retorted sullenly. “I’d just had one
single
cognac.”
” I felt downright sorry for that little French lad,” Joe went
on.
” Dirty little runaway beast. It just served him right. I
couldn’t abide ‘im
sneaking about the tent,” Maggie burst out.
” Come, don’t be funny,” growled Joe.
Maggie swung round on her hay-truss, turning her back on
him.
” Joe’s that snappy,” she explained to me tearfully.
“Snappy ! so’d you be, if you’d seen the jeb I had to get
that big brute
(indicating Tim) on to the road this morning, and
that darned Scotchman
stumbling all over the shop half boozed.”
“I wasna,
in a husky voice.
” Look yer here,” Joe interrupted, ” if yer can’t keep a civil
tongue in yer
head, yer can jest clear out o’ the tent.”
The situation was growing strained. The heat was terrific;
we were encamped
in a small dusty square in a low quarter of the
city, and before the first
tent-peg had been driven in, the ground
was swarming with roughs. There had
been a lot of fighting,
and the ” boss ” and Jim had been cursing
themselves hoarse.
Everyone, as George mildly expressed it, was “just a bit
put
out.”
“Ain’t it sickly, the ‘eat in this tent ? ” Maggie remarked. ” I
feel that
upset—,” and she cast a sidelong glance in Joe’s
direction, but he
went on scowling and munching his bread and
butter.
” No, you don’t care, you great selfish lout ; you think of
nothing but them
stinkin’ elephants, and getting yer own break-
fast comfortable.”
The “lieutenant” winked at me from his corner, and helped
himself to some
more bacon. Maggie was on the verge of tears,
and Joe was desperately
gulping down his breakfast.
” Come, Maggie, have a bite o’ somethin’,” he began, sheepishly,
after a
pause.
She shook her head violently.
” Give her time, Joe, old man,” advised the ” lieutenant.”
A few minutes later Joe asked again.
” Ain’t yer goin’ to have nothin’?”
She dissented faintly.
Joe rose, and putting on his coat, moved towards the tent-
mouth.
“Well, I’m going out,” he exclaimed, with forced carelessness.
The Yellow Book—Vol. VII. p
“Because
make yourself unsociable all round,” Maggie called after him.
” I was going to get yer some fresh water. I see yer can’s
empty,” he
answered, reproachfully.
” Oh, there ain’t no ‘urry for that. Sit down and ‘ave a fresh
cup o’
tea.”
She faced round again, smiling through her tears, and filled up
his cup,
while the “lieutenant” went on winking and rolling him-
self a
cigarette.
“An’ Pimples,” Maggie asked presently, “shall ‘e ‘ave this bit
‘o bacon
what’s left over ?”
Joe shrugged his broad shoulders with an assumption of con-
temptuous
indifference.
“Scottie,” Maggie called, “‘ere’s a bit o’ bacon for yer.”
” I’m na goin’ to tak’ charity at my time o’ life,” the little man
shouted,
and, rising, strode defiantly out of the tent.
* * *
5.30 p.m.—The show was packed. The band was
playing
” Nancy Lee ; ” Quito, in his flesh-coloured tights, was
cantering
round the ring, and the children were roaring with laughter
as
Sam Giddens banged the boss over the head with a bladder.
For the last time I strolled through the tents. Outside the
dressing-room I
found “Jacko” kneeling on the ground, busy
pasting the paper hoops ; beside
the tableaux the coons were fight-
ing a gang of over-inquisitive
dock-labourers, ousting them from the
camp with a heavy volley of broken
British oaths ; and on the steps
of the harness waggon the old doctor sat
watching them, moodily
puffing at his short black pipe. The ” lieutenant ”
was waxing
his coal-black moustache ; Joe and ” Scottie ” were amicably
harnessing
Maggie was boiling the water for tea, and laying the cloth on the
piled trusses of hay.
One after another I bid them good-bye, strangely reluctant to
leave them,
childishly eager to prolong indefinitely this short
moment of departure.
The ” lieutenant ” and I promised to write
regularly to one another, and we
hurriedly arranged how we would
meet again next year in the South.
Then I pushed my way through the crowd of loungers that
surrounded the camp,
and turned slowly away down the boulevard
towards the railway station.
Twenty minutes later, as my train steamed out of the city, I
could hear the
distant wavering strains of the band, and I could
see the sunlight glinting
on the white, bulging canvas of the big
show-tent.
MLA citation:
Crackanthorpe, Hubert. “Bread and the Circus.” The Yellow Book, vol. 7, October 1895, pp. 235-257. Yellow Book Digital Edition, edited by Dennis Denisoff and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Centre for Digital Edition, 2020. https://1890s.ca/YBV7_crackanthorpe_bread/