THE STORY OF A STOLEN NEGRO
The sectional feeling between the North and South was also a constant menace to the showmen when traveling in the slave States, for the circus men were universally regarded as "Yankees." The exciting episodes growing out of this sentiment were numbered by the score, but the one which gave me the greatest fright was encountered in Missouri in an initial chapter of my experience.
As the caravan pulled into Booneville, early one morning, after a wearing night of marching, we found ourselves suddenly surrounded, not by the usual welcoming party of children of all colors and sizes, but by a band of lank Missourians, armed to the teeth. By this time I had developed a very respectable amount of courage for a lad; but the sight of this posse made me decidedly uncomfortable, and I'm afraid my whole body shook as badly as the voice of Mr. Butler, the manager, when he inquired the cause of our hostile reception.
"You've got a stolen nigger in your outfit, and you're our prisoners—that's what's the matter!" was the rough answer of the leader of the posse.
The gravity of our situation was at once grasped by every man who heard this announcement, for the stealing of a slave was then a far greater crime in the eyes of the community than unprovoked murder would now be. A desperate and bloody battle in which every follower of the show must look out for his own life as best he could seemed inevitable. We all kept our eyes on the manager, who was cool and of impressive manners. In those moments of breathless waiting for the fight to begin, I wished myself with the vehemence of despair safely back in the quiet little Hoosier office.
Then Mr. Butler made a plucky appeal to all reasonable men who might be in the posse. Was it not fair, he argued, that the man who had brought this accusation should come forward and make himself and his standing known? Was he a planter, the owner of slaves and a substantial citizen of the great commonwealth of Missouri? This kind of ready eloquence took with the crowd, and it was soon found that the man who had brought the report was unknown to the people of Booneville. He was unable to give a satisfactory account of himself or to prove that he ever owned a slave.
Our trouble seemed to be rapidly clearing away when one of the natives, who had been quietly investigating the caravan, brought the stirring news that he had discovered the stolen negro. Then all was excitement again, and the strain was even more intense than before, for, hidden away in one of the wagons was a black man! This mysterious evidence of guilt dumbfounded every attaché of the show save the manager, who continued to maintain his splendid nerve in the presence of a half a hundred rifles. Every instant I expected the shooting to begin.
Once more, however, Mr. Butler caught the attention of the leader and fired at the man claiming the negro a question which made the fellow turn pale. On his answer depended the issues of peace or conflict. To the surprise of the Missourians, our accuser broke down and confessed that the affair was a scheme laid by himself and the negro to blackmail from the circus manager a large sum of money. They planned that the negro should make his presence known to some citizen while the white man should circulate the rumor that his slave had been stolen by the showman. Then the white man was to go to Mr. Butler and threaten him with the wrath of the people unless a large sum was paid him to quiet the matter and make his peaceable departure with the slave. But the would-be blackmailer had started a larger fire than he had counted on and had become frightened at his own work. The moment his confession was made the mob turned upon him as fiercely as it had first started for us. Then our manager once more stepped forward and urged the cooler members of the posse to hasten the white man and negro inside the protecting walls of the jail. This they did in a hurry—and just in the nick of time, too; for the delay of a moment would have resulted in a lynching. This episode won us the admiration and respect of the rough men who had met us with loaded rifles, and we were feasted on yellow-leg chickens, hickory-cured ham, wild honey and all the delicacies that the southern planters "set out" for their guests.
HORSE THIEVES IN THE CIRCUS
It was on this trip into Missouri that we met with a very serious loss which almost crippled us for a time. The baggage train had passed en route to the city where we were to exhibit, leaving the performers, the band and ring horses, as is the custom, to follow in the rear. We had about twenty horses and ponies of great value, and of invaluable use in the show. One morning, just at daylight, the men who had charge of these horses were attacked by a gang of horse thieves, and the entire lot was taken from them. Our men were left wounded and bound with cords, lying by the wayside. Meanwhile, the tents and other paraphernalia were already in the village, awaiting the arrival of the horses. The time for the show to begin came, but still no horses appeared, and the crowds, assembled to see the performing animals, were growing impatient.