Hilton’s menagerie had at this time passed into the possession of Manders, and the lion-tamer of the show was an Irishman named James Strand, who had formerly kept a gingerbread-stall, and had been engaged to perform with the beasts when those attractive exhibitions had been threatened with temporary suspension by the abruptness with which his predecessor, Newsome—a brother, I believe, to the circus-proprietor of that name—had terminated his engagement. Strand’s qualifications for the profession were not equal to his own estimate of them, however, and Manders had to look out for his successor.
One day, when the menagerie was at Greenwich Fair, a powerful-looking negro accosted one of the musicians, saying that he was a sailor just returned from a voyage, and would like a berth in the show. The musician communicated the man’s wish to Manders, and the negro was invited to enter the show. His appearance and confident manner impressed the showman favourably, and, on his being allowed to enter the lion’s cage, at his own request, he displayed so much address and ability to control the animals that he was engaged at once, and “the gingerbread king,” as Strand was called, was informed that his services could, for the future, be dispensed with. This remarkable black man was the famous Macomo, who for several years afterwards travelled with the menagerie, exhibiting in his performances with lions and tigers as much daring as Van Amburgh, and as much coolness as Crockett.
One of the finest tigers ever imported into this country, and said to be the identical beast that escaped from Mr. Jamrach’s premises in St. George’s Street (better known by its old name of Ratcliffe Highway), and killed a boy before it was recaptured, was purchased by Manders, and placed in a cage with another tiger. The two beasts soon began fighting furiously, upon which Macomo entered the cage, armed only with a riding-whip, and attempted to separate them. His efforts caused both the tigers to turn their fury upon him, and they severely lacerated him; but, covered with blood as he was, he continued the struggle for supremacy until the beasts cowered before him, and he was able, with the assistance of the keepers, to separate them.
It is worthy of remark, in connection with the causes of accidents with lions and tigers, that Macomo, like Crockett, was a strictly sober man, never touching intoxicating liquors of any kind. “It’s the drink,” said the ex-lion king, who was interviewed by the special commissioner of a London morning journal two years ago; “It’s the drink that plays the mischief with us fellows. There are plenty of people always ready to treat the daring fellow that plays with the lions as if they were kittens; and so he gets reckless, lets the dangerous animal—on which, if he were sober, he would know he must always keep his eye—get dodging round behind him; or hits a beast in which he ought to know that a blow rouses the sleeping devil; or makes a stagger, and goes down, and then they set upon him.”
Macomo’s fight with the two tigers was not the only occasion on which he received injuries, the scars of which he bore upon him to the day of his death, which, contrary to the expectation of every one who witnessed his performances, was a peaceful one. He died a natural death in 1870, when he was succeeded by an Irishman named Macarthy, who had previously been attached in a similar capacity to the circus of Messrs. Bell and Myers. While performing, in 1862, with the lions belonging to that establishment, he had had his left arm so severely mangled by one of the beasts that amputation became necessary. This circumstance seems to have added to the éclat of his performances; but he had neither the nerve of Macomo, nor his resolution to abstain from stimulants. Unlike his predecessor, he frequently turned his back upon the lions, though he had frequently been cautioned against the danger he thereby incurred; and it was believed that his disregard of the warning was one of the causes of the terrible encounter which terminated his existence.
Macarthy was bitten on two occasions while performing with Manders’s lions, prior to the disaster at Bolton. The first time was while performing at Edinburgh, when one of the beasts made a snap at his remaining arm, but only slightly grazed it. The second occasion was a few days before the fatal accident occurred, when one of the Lions bit him slightly on the wrist. He lost his life in representing a so-called “lion hunt,” an exhibition which was introduced by Macomo, and consists in chasing the animals about the cage, the performer being armed with a sword and pistols, and throwing into the mimic sport as much semblance of reality as the circumstances allow. The exhibition is acknowledged by lion-tamers themselves to be a dangerous one, and it should never be attempted with any but young animals. For their ordinary performances, most lion-tamers prefer full-grown animals, as being better trained; but a full-grown lion does not like to be driven and hustled about, as the animals are in the so-called “lion hunt,” and when such are used for this exhibition they are frequently changed.
Macarthy was driving the animals from one end of the cage to the other when one of them ran against his legs, and threw him down. He soon regained his feet, however, and drove the animals into a corner. Whilst stamping his feet upon the floor, to make the animals run past him, one of them crept stealthily out from the group, and sprang upon him, seizing him by the right hip and throwing him down upon his side. For a moment the spectators imagined that this was part of the performance, but Macarthy’s agonised features soon convinced them of the terrible reality of the scene before them. As he struggled to rise, three other lions sprang upon him, one of them seizing his arm, from which he immediately dropped the sword.
The keepers now hurried to the unfortunate man’s assistance, some of them endeavouring to beat off the infuriated lions, while others inserted a partition between the bars of the cage, with a view to driving the animals behind it. This was a task of considerable difficulty, however, for as one beast was obliged to relinquish its hold of the unfortunate man, another rushed into its place. Heated irons were then brought, and by their aid, and the discharge of fire-arms, four of the lions were driven behind the partition. Macarthy was lying in the centre of the cage, still being torn by the lion that had first attacked him. A second partition was attempted to be inserted, but was found to be too large; and then one of the keepers drew the first one out a little, with the view of driving the fifth lion among the rest. More blank cartridges were fired, without effect, and it was not until the hot irons were applied to the nose of the infuriated brute that it loosed its hold, and ran behind the partition.
Even then, before the opening could be closed, the lion ran out again, seized the dead or dying man by one of his feet and dragged him into the corner, where four of the beasts again fell upon him with unsatiated thirst of blood. The terrible scene had now been going on for a quarter of an hour, and, even when all the animals were at length secured, it was found that they were next the entrance of the cage, the opposite end of which had to be broken open before the mangled corpse of the lion-tamer could be lifted out.
As lion-tamers are well paid, and this was only the second fatal accident in the course of half a century, it is not surprising that, as soon as the catastrophe became known, there were several candidates for the vacancy created by Macarthy’s death. Mrs. Manders had resolved to discontinue the exhibition, however, and the applicants for the situation received an intimation to that effect.