Few of the performers or staff members go to the lot for Sunday meals, although the tent awaits their presence. They register at the local hotels and spend much time in writing and reading. Many take advantage of the chance for a change and spend the night away from their accustomed sleeping apartments. In the evening a large number of the women attend church and the men pass a few hours in simple pleasures. At the lot the scene is one of peace and quiet. The canvas of the “big” and other “tops” which have not been elevated lie passive on the ground ready for the men who will haul them aloft at sunrise. They are not raised until immediate necessity demands, for the reason that the danger of fire or “blow down” is thus minimized in the one and rendered impossible in the other instance. Curious crowds flock about the grounds and are permitted free scrutiny. It is particularly a Sunday assembling-place for women. They desert household cares and domestic duties for the fascinations which invest the circus in repose.
CHAPTER III
EARLY SCENES ON THE LOT
The selection of the place of exhibition is a duty which requires careful study and practical observation and involves a variety of considerations. Ten acres is the smallest piece of ground on which our circus can spread itself, and an unoccupied site of this size which has the requisite advantages is not always easy to find in these days of rapid-growing communities. A plot which had all the conditions demanded the year before may be the foundation of many houses when the show arrives on its next visit. The spot chosen is generally rural in its situation—the claim on space makes this unavoidable—but it imperatively must be urban in convenience. Swift-moving trolley cars have added joy to the circus business, for they make accessible these remote localities. Obviously when transportation facilities are awkward, the show suffers. And so it is that usually we find ourselves settled for the day where stretches of electric wires are a constant menace to towering chariots and a source of terror to their fair occupants. Of course, the conformation of the immediate ground and the condition of the soil are taken into important account in the choice of the lot, but the difficulties which they offer often submit to the mastery of the army of workmen. Water must be convenient, abundant and wholesome.
Sometimes nowhere in a town can be found empty room for all the big and small tents, huddle them as we will. Then the “big,” menagerie and side-show “tops” are given places in the allotted limit, and the canvas adjuncts are planted down the road, in neighboring back yards or in distant fields. It is an irritating and inconvenient compromise, but one that cannot be always avoided. These annoying conditions, however, do not present themselves as a general rule. Our destination is more often a fragrant spacious pasture where the air is pure, the sun brilliant and nature’s tranquil beauty all-pervading.
The boss canvasman is first on the ground and remains in supreme control of the horde of brawny men who trail after him. With the arrival of the chain-and-stake wagon the active work of erecting the tents begins. The “cook tent” is first placed in position, for food must await the throngs of men, women and children who are on the way. This is a simple and expeditiously accomplished duty, as compared with the elevation of the “big top,” a swelling fabric within whose folds fifteen thousand persons can accommodate themselves. The boss canvasman combines with other qualifications a practical knowledge of surveying. His comprehensive scrutiny of the area determines accurately boundaries, positions, extent, lines and angles, and indicates to his experienced mind how best to avoid roughness and depressions and how to overcome the other resistances the tract offers. Sometimes huge rocks or spreading trees make the task one of great difficulty, for it must be accomplished with haste. His examination finished, he unwinds a metal tape line and traverses the lot. Slender iron rods are planted where he indicates. These are immediately replaced by strong wooden stakes to which the “guys” or ropes of the tents will be fastened. Soon the ground bristles with these pegs, thrust into place with unerring aim and in perfect cadence by gangs of sledge-hammer drivers.
Teams of horses pull the towering centre poles into upright position and the skeleton of the monster is in place. The vast reaches of canvas are unrolled in sections and laced together while flat on the ground. Then the mammoth white cloth rises like a canvas-backed Aladdin’s palace and is attached to the side-poles, which are twelve feet high and twelve feet apart around the outer edges of the white spread. The scene is one of bustle and activity. Small boys are pressed into service, receiving a ticket to the show as remuneration. Menagerie, side-show, stable, blacksmith, harness, dressing, wardrobe, and barber tents yield to diligent exertion, and soon the delegated proprietors of the broad green space have finished their morning labors. Meanwhile the wagons and apparatus have arrived, and owner, manager, riders, ringmasters, animal trainers, gymnasts, jugglers, clowns, ticket-sellers and all the rest of the heterogeneous throng put in appearance. Curious crowds rivet their attention upon the unwonted doings. They come from farm and merchandise and from seats of learning and courts of justice, and find keen enjoyment in the sights and sounds.
The “cook tent” is one of the marvels of the modern circus. It was the custom for many years for the circus management to send its employees to the local hotels for their food. The undertaking of providing meals for the army on the grounds was so stupendous that the most comprehensive and well-organized show hesitated to make the essay. Finally, the objections to the old method made the accomplishment imperative. As circuses grew in size, the combined resources of the hotels in many towns were unable to meet the demand made upon them. There was too much delay and unsatisfactory provisions, and the circus felt their injurious effects. The arrangement now in vogue does away with all these difficulties. Advance men see that all the needs of the commissary department are provided for, and meat, vegetables, water and the other requirements await the hand of the chefs. There are two separate and distinct culinary establishments. One is occupied by the workingmen, whose stomachs are not gratified until the tents are raised and all the apparatus is on the lot. This is a wise provision which insures prompt work. There are no laggards in their ranks in the early morning.
Under an adjoining canvas are fed the executive staff and performers, men, women and children. There are three long rows of tables, and crossing them at one end a shorter set of boards where is the owner’s place and those of his immediate associates. It is from this position, his abundant family collected around him, that he makes his announcements, administers rebukes and extends praise. He surveys the scene critically and is immensely pleased at the healthy relish which pervades the place. Curious sightseers peer through the apertures and he abruptly bids them retreat with the assurance that “we are not wild animals. We eat just like other human beings.” Outside the tent rest hogsheads, from which are dipped panfuls of pure, clear water, for grimy hands and dusty faces. Long towels slung over stretches of rope are ready for use. Scrupulously clean cloths cover the table, and no spot or stain afflicts the dishes. The food, cooked in the open, has its own peculiarly delicious, appetizing flavor. It is served in abundance, and a happier, heartier party never did justice to a meal. Skilful waiters do prompt, experienced attendance. Service and quality could not be improved upon in the large hotels of many cities. As the “cook tents” are the first to be raised, so they are the first to be levelled and packed away on the cars. The last meal of the day is served at five o’clock in the afternoon, and two hours later there is no perceptible trace of the improvised restaurant, save the coals which glow in the twilight.