"He usually goes from Alexandria to Suez, and down the Red Sea to Khartoum. The natives expect animal buyers, and nearly always have a stock to sell. 'Buy my little lion,' they will say, 'and I will throw into the bargain a young boy or girl.' The lions are carried in cages slung between two camels, and until the camels have become used to the growling of their burden they give the greatest trouble. Sometimes the natives are not friendly, and between their attacks and the ravages of fever, the expedition loses many of its men.
"The cost of such an expedition is not less than thirty thousand dollars, and while the buyer may double this sum in selling, he may lose all. Leaving Africa with a stock worth one hundred thousand dollars, it is not likely to be worth more than half that when it reaches Malta. The risk is so great that a monkey which can be bought for five cents in Africa is worth twenty dollars in New York, and the increase in the value of large animals is proportionate. You can buy a very good lion in Africa for the price that you would give for a monkey here."
The showman gossiped on in this way for some time, and had begun to be something of a bore, when a little man entered from a side door—to speak properly from one of the canvas folds of the tent, in the middle of which the showman and I were seated before a brazier of glowing coals. He was pale-faced and delicate-looking, but his dress was striking, consisting of a jaunty little velvet jacket, yellow corduroy breeches, and Hessian boots with enamelled leather tops.
"He," said the showman, "is Señor Delmonio, the Emperor of the Jungle, the greatest lion-tamer in the world." I had heard of this celebrity, whose name and portrait appeared in gigantic posters of the show, with the announcement that his services only had been obtained at an outlay of several thousand dollars a week. "Bill," he called out, "here's a gentleman interested in the business."
"What did you call him?" I asked.
"Well, you see," was the answer, "he's a Boston man, and his name is Bill Smith."
Señor Delmonio, or Bill Smith, came toward us and shook hands, and then quietly went to the back of a cage containing a pair of savage and uneasy lions. He was out of sight for a moment, but re-appeared entering the cage from the rear. The lions did not pounce upon him, as I shiveringly feared they would do. They curled themselves against the bars, and uttered low growls, as if they were anxious to avoid him; they sat on their haunches at his command, and leaped through hoops which he had taken into the cage with him; they showed docility, but it was with an unwillingness that made itself known in continuous growls.
This was a rehearsal, and when it was finished, the "Emperor of the Jungle," as quiet as ever, came back to where we were sitting. He seemed low-spirited.
"Yours is dangerous work," I said, not having any liking for those exhibitions in which the peril of the performer is what attracts the audience.
"Yes," he answered, with a sigh, "I suppose it will end badly for me some time; it usually does end badly. You see it's against nature. I know that very well. The beasts don't like it, and sooner or later they take their revenge on poor fellows who, like me, trifle with them. It's the whip alone that keeps them under control. If I dropped my whip while I was in the cage with them, they would fancy that I had lost my power, and they would attack me in a moment. How do I begin in training them? Well, the usual way is to make acquaintance with them from the outside, by doing chores around the cage, and getting them familiar with your face, and above all with your voice. It's pretty ticklish to enter the cage for the first time. I expected to come out bleeding, if not dying. But they behaved well, and I've not been afraid since.