“Gentlemen, stretch your imaginations, like Jules Verne, and let this hat represent the cruiser Brooklyn, Admiral Schley’s ship. This oscillating Pullman car is the ocean. The great battle of Santiago is over. Victory has crowned the American arms. An order comes from the flagship to decorate the vessels of the fleet with bunting. The sailors of the Brooklyn dive down into the hold and bring up a variety of flags. (Here I produced from the hat the flags of all nations.) They are not satisfactory. Roll them together, says the commander, and see what the composition will make. (I rolled the flags into a bundle, which I proceeded to throw in the air, whereupon a big silk American flag appeared, the smaller ensigns having disappeared.) Ah, the Star {209} Spangled Banner, under whose folds the men of many nations live in amity as fellow citizens.”
I waved the flag in the air, amid the plaudits of the spectators. Just then the car gave a terrific lurch, while rounding a curve; I lost my balance and was precipitated head first like a battering ram against the capacious stomach of an old gentleman, seated in the front row. He doubled up with pain.
“Say, what kind of a trick do you call that?” he gasped out.
“That,” said I, “is a representation of a sailor on board of the Brooklyn falling overboard.”
“I call it a monkey trick,” he groaned. His dignity and digestive apparatus had been sadly upset. From that time on, he eyed me with suspicion whenever I gave a show, and always took a chair in the back row of seats.
“Speaking of monkey tricks,” said Admiral Schley, “reminds me of an incident that occurred when I was a midshipman on board of the steam frigate Niagara, in 1860. A monkey was the prestidigitateur. We were conveying back to their native land the Japanese embassy that had visited the United States in return for the visit made to their country by Commodore Perry some years before. One of the embassy bought a monkey at Anger Point, Africa, during a stoppage at that place. He (the monkey, not the Ambassador) proved to be a most mischievous brute, and was continually picking and stealing eatables from the cook’s galley. Worse than that, so far as the sailors were concerned, the ‘missing link’ of Darwin took a special delight in upsetting pots and pans of grease on the deck, which the seamen had to clean up. When chased by some irate Jack Tar with a rope’s end, the monkey would take refuge in the rigging, where he would hang by his tail from a spar, and grin with delight at his enemies. We all hated the beast, but respect for our Japanese guests forbade revenge. Finally an old sailor caught the monkey and greased his tail. Soon after, the simian committed one of his daily depredations and hied himself, as usual, up the rigging, where he attempted to swing from a yardarm by his greased tail. But, alas, he fell overboard and was drowned. The verdict rendered was that he had committed suicide. His only mourners were the Mikado’s ambassadors.” {210}
V.
The study of natural magic is wonderfully fascinating. It possesses, too, a decided pedagogic value, which eminent scholars have not been slow to recognize. Those who obtain an insight into its principles are preserved against infection from the many psychical epidemics of the age. The subject is of interest to scientists. Dr. G. Stanley Hall, at one time professor of experimental psychology at the Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md., at present president of Clarke University, Worcester, Massachusetts, used to exhibit conjuring tricks to his classes, to illustrate the illusions of the senses. An eminent German scientist, Dr. Max Dessoir, has written learnedly on the psychology of legerdemain. Prof. Joseph Jastrow, of the University of Wisconsin, subjected the conjurers, Herrmann and Kellar, to a series of careful tests, to ascertain their “tactile sensibility, sensitiveness to textures, accuracy of visual perception, quickness of movement, mental processes,” etc. The results of these tests were printed in Science, Vol. III, page 685–689, under the title of “Psychological Notes upon Sleight-of-hand Experts.”
The literature of natural magic is not extensive. Thirty years ago, first-class works in English on legerdemain were rare. Houdin’s Secrets de la Prestidigitation et de la Magie, which was published in 1868, was out of print, and, says Prof. Hoffmann, “the possession of a copy was regarded among professors of magic as a boon of the highest possible value.” Hoffmann picked up an old second-hand copy of the work in Paris, and translated it in the year 1877. To-day, books on sleight of hand have been multiplying rapidly. Every professor of the art thinks it incumbent upon him to publish a treatise on magic. Strange to say, the good works on the subject have been written by amateurs. Prof. Hoffmann (Angelo Lewis), a member of the London bar, has written the best book, following him have come Edwin Sachs and C. Lang Neill. The autobiography of that arch-master of magic, Robert-Houdin, was translated, in 1859, by Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie, of Philadelphia. Thomas Frost, in 1881, produced an interesting work on the Lives of the Conjurers, but it is now quite out of date. I know of no really scholarly treatise extant to-day on the history of prestidigitation. {211}
