The circus strikes for the South in the autumn, following as long as it can the lanes of warm weather, and trailing along in the wake of the cotton-picking season, gathering up the dollars which have been distributed as a result of the harvesting of the crop. So it happened that in late October, six years ago, a big show was “dipping through Texas,” showing for that day near a fair ground where a cotton pageant was in progress and where one of the attractions was an airplane flight over the grounds, accompanied by a rather straggling exhibition of fireworks.
It was six o’clock and already dark. On the circus grounds, the chandelier man passed on his rounds and put the spluttering lights in places. The menagerie was deserted of humans; every one, from the superintendent down, was on the lot, mingling with the few townspeople and staring up at the aerial fireworks. But suddenly a man whirled. His arms waved. A shout came barking forth:
“Into the menagerie, everybody! Something wrong!”
AN ELEPHANT IS THE EASIEST TO TRAIN AND THE HARDEST TO HANDLE OF ANY MENAGERIE BEAST.
A WORK ELEPHANT WAITING FOR THE CROWDS TO LEAVE THE CIRCUS GROUNDS, WHEN HIS LABORS WILL BEGIN.
From within the tent had come the high-toned, almost shrieking blast of an elephant, the distress signal, as plain a warning of danger as though it had been shouted by a human. Men raced through the entrance and ducked under the side walling—just in time! One of the chandeliers had flooded, the burning gasoline running down upon the tinder-dry grass; already the blaze had spread to piles of canvas, bales of straw about the animal cages, and the elephant hay supply. Another minute and the menagerie would have been a seething mass of flame, but owing to the elephant’s warning, there now was a chance.
There was no time to carry water. In the center of the tent was the inevitable “juice joint,” ready for the trade of the night and supplied with four barrels of lemonade. A swift command and men seized gunny sacks, soaked them in the lemonade barrels and rushed to the fighting of the fire, while bawling messengers summoned the rest of the circus crew and brought the water wagon, followed by crews equipped with picks and shovels and spades, that dirt might be used to extinguish the gasoline flames. Through it all, the elephants remained passive. But once the danger was past, the leader of the herd suddenly came to herself, let out a chirrup and led the herd through the side walling! Which hardly brought even a growl from the menagerie crew. They were too grateful for that warning which had saved the show.
In fact there are many instances where the elephants have done much to allow a circus to make good on its promises.