CHAPTER XVI

THE MERRY CIRCUS DAYS

I returned to Colombo by train, reaching the city in the late afternoon. I made my way at once to Almeida’s. In the roofless dining-room sat Askins and the Swede, highly excited over the news that Colombo was to be visited by a circus.

“That means a few chips a day for some of us,” said Askins. “Circuses must have white workmen. Natives won’t do.”

“Huh! Yank,” roared the Swede half a minute later, “you get burn some, eh, playing mit der monkeys in der jungle? Pretty soon you ban sunstroke. Here, I make you trade.” He pointed to a helmet on the table before him. “He ban good hat,” went on Ole proudly; “I get him last week from der Swede consul. Min he too big. What you give?”

I went upstairs, and returned with a cotton jacket that I had left in the keeping of Askins.

“How’s this?” I demanded.

“He ban all right,” answered Ole, slipping into it; “der oder vas all broke by der sleeves.”

I put on the helmet, and strolled down toward Gordon Gardens, where I had taken up sleeping quarters. It was a park rich in fountains, gay flowers, and grateful shade. Under the trees the night dew never fell, the ocean breeze was the coolest in Colombo, the fountains were good bathrooms, and the ground was a softer bed than any short-legged table could be.

One by one, there drifted into Colombo four fellow countrymen of mine, who, following my example, took up their lodgings in Gordon Gardens. It soon became known as the “American Park Hotel.” One of the newcomers was Marten, from Tacoma, Washington. He was a boy who had spent two seasons in the Orient, diving for pearls.

Another American in our party claimed New York as his birthplace. He said that if we wanted a name for him, “Dick Haywood” would do well enough for a time. But I will tell more of him later.

One day, as dawn was breaking, I climbed the fence of the “American Park Hotel,” and strolled away toward the beach for a dip in the sea, to take the place of breakfast; for my last coin was spent. As I lay stretched on the sands after my bath, I heard someone shout my name. I sprang up, to see the Swede rushing toward me, waving his arms wildly above his head.

“Circus!” he cried. “Der circus is coom, Franck! Creeket-ground!” And, turning about, he dashed off faster than most white men dare to run in Ceylon.

I dashed after the flying Norseman, and overtook him at the entrance to the public playground.

The center of the cricket-field was a wild jumble of animal-cages, rolls of canvas, scattered tent-poles, clowns, jockeys, snake-charmers, and everything else that goes to make up a traveling show. Around it a growing crowd of natives were peering, pushing, chattering, falling back in terror when the angry circus men shook their tent-stakes at them, but sweeping out upon the scattered trappings again as soon as the latter had passed.

We fought our way through the crowd into the center of the mass. “Do you want help?” we shouted to the circus manager. He was a powerful Irishman, with a head like a cannon-ball, and a face and jaw that looked as if he were ready for a fight. Tugging at a heap of canvas, he peered at us between his outstretched legs and shouted: “Yes! I want four min! White wans! If ye want the job, bring two more.”

We turned to look at the sea of faces about us. There was not a white man in the crowd.

“Ve look by Almeida’s!” shouted the Swede, as we battled our way through the mob. Before we could escape, however, I caught sight of a familiar slouch hat well back in the crowd. A moment later Askins stood beside us. Behind him came Dick Haywood. The four of us dashed back to the boss.

“Well!” he roared, “I pay a quid a week! Want it?”

“A pound a week,” muttered Askins. “That’s more’n two chips a day. Aye! We’ll take it.”

“All right! Jump on to that center pole an’ get ’er up. If these natives get in the way, thump ’em with a tent-pole. Step lively, now!”

We soon had a space roped off. The boss tossed a pickax at me and set me to grubbing holes for the poles that were to hold up the seats. Carefully and evenly I swung the tool up and down, like an old lady; for the natives pressed around me so closely that the least slip would have broken a Singhalese head. To them the sight of a white man doing such work was as astonishing as any of the wonders of the circus. Few of them had ever before seen a European using heavier tools than a pen or pencil. Within an hour the news spread through the city that the circus had brought some “white coolies” to town; and all Colombo and his wife did without the afternoon nap and trooped down to the cricket-field to gaze upon the odd sight of white men doing muscular labor.

The mob followed me as I went from hole to hole. My mates, too, were hindered in their work by the crowd as they carried seat-boards, or sawdust for the ring. Haywood, of the untamed temper, taking the boss at his word, snatched up a tent-pole and struck two natives. Even after that they still crowded around him.

I heard two natives at my elbow talking in English:

“This sight is to me astounding!” shrieked a high-caste youth to his older companion. “I have never before known that Europeans can do such workings.”

“Why, indeed yes!” cried his companion. “In his home the sahib does just so strong work as our coolies; but he is play cricket and tennis he is doing even stronger. He is not rich always and sitting in shade.”

“But do the white man not losing his caste when he is working like coolies?” demanded the youth. “Why is this man work at such? Is he perhaps prisoner, that he disgraces himself lower than the keeper of the arrack-shop?”

“Truly, my friend, I not understand,” admitted the older man a bit sadly; “but I am reading that in sahib’s country he is make the workings of coolie and yet is not coolie.”

There were others besides the natives who stood in the crowd watching the “white coolies.” Here and there I caught sight of a European scowling darkly at me. I wondered what I had done to displease them.

When night fell all was in readiness for the show. The circle of seats was built; the tents were stretched; rings, ropes, and lights were ready for use. Half a thousand chairs had been placed for Europeans. We had worked so hard under the blazing sun that we agreed we would not dare to do so more than once a year, not even for “more than two chips.” The boss gave a last snarl, called a ’rickshaw, and drove off to his hotel. We went to a shop across the way, ate our curry and rice, and returned to stretch out on the grass near an entrance.

That night, at the circus, we found greater amusement in watching the people on the circle of benches than in watching the ring. First we acted as ushers. The crowds that swarmed in upon us belonged to every caste on the island. In seating them we had to settle important questions that never trouble circus men of the Western world. It was difficult to determine where to put them. A company of priests wearing cheesecloth robes began to scream at us because we seated them where there was no room for their betel-nut boxes. Light-colored islanders began to shout angrily when we tried to seat them near darker natives. Merchants refused to sit in the same section with shop-keepers. Shop-keepers cried out in rage when we made the mistake of placing them near clerks. Clerks cried out hoarsely when we seated them among laborers. Skilled workers screamed in frenzy whenever we tried to make room among them for common coolies.

The lowest class native, called the sudra, who wears nothing but a scant cloth about as big as a pocket handkerchief, is the most despised of all. When I ushered in one of these, row after row of natives raised an uproar against him as he passed. He shrank timidly behind me as we journeyed through the tent, looking for a seat. Most of the natives refused to sit as circus seats are meant to be sat on, but squatted on their heels, hugging their scrawny knees. We had much trouble trying to keep tricky ’rickshaw runners from crawling in among the chairs when we weren’t looking. And through it all certain native youths, in order to show that they understood English, kept bothering us by asking unnecessary and unanswerable questions.

Toward the last, when the Europeans came in, quiet and proud in manner, the natives began to behave themselves a little better. And when the bicyclers appeared for the first act, they forgot that the despised _sudra_ sat under the same tent with them. The mixed crowd settled down into a motionless sea of strained, astonished faces. When “The Wonderful Cycle Whiz” was over, we hurried to pull down the bicycle track and carry the heavy pieces outside the tent. While we lowered a trapeze with one hand, we placed and held the hurdles with the other. We had to make tables and chairs for a “Hand Balancing Act” appear as if by magic. Breathlessly we led the trick ponies on, cleared the ring for the performing elephant, set it up again for the “Astounding Bareback Rider,” and cleared it again for the “Hungarian Horses.”

Then “Mlle. Montgomery” capered out into the ring to perform her “Daring Horsemanship Act.” We did our best to strike the fair rider squarely on the head with paper hoops—not so much because we wished to charm the audience with our skill as to escape the words of scorn that “mademoiselle” flung back at us when we blundered.

Away with hoops and ribbons! We rushed to get the place ready for the clown act. After the clowns came an act to show “The Wonderful Power of Man Over Ferocious Beasts,” during which a thin and moth-eaten tiger, crouched on a horse, rode twice around the ring with a sad and hen-pecked expression on his face.

Then came ten minutes’ recess that was no recess for us: for we had to bring on more hoops and rings of fire, tables and chairs, performing dogs that had to be held in leash, and at last to set up the elephant’s bicycle and drive the lion out for a spin on the huge animal’s back. How we did work! We must have left streams of sweat behind us. Although our tasks were not finished by the time the last stragglers left the tent, we lost no time in tearing off the heavy uniforms the boss had provided for us.

When everything had been put away, we made our beds by setting several chairs side by side, and turned in. Although we were disturbed in the night by prowling natives, we slept part of the time.

The circus had been nearly a week in Colombo when I was unexpectedly advanced to a position of importance. It was in an idle hour late one afternoon. The four of us were showing what tricks we could perform in the empty ring, when the ring-master and the manager walked in upon us and caught me in the act of “doing a hand-stand.” I quickly righted myself.

The ring-master looked me over from my shaved head to my bare feet, turned to scowl at the manager a moment, and then began talking to me in a voice that sounded as if it came from a phonograph:

“Know any other stunts?”

“One or two,” I answered.

“Where’d ye learn ’em?” snapped the ring-master.

I told him I had been a member of a gymnasium for a few years.

“Gymnasium on shipboard?” asked the owner.

“Why, no, sir; on land.”

“Could you do a dive over that chair into the ring, a head-stand, a stiff-fall, and a roll-up?” rasped the ring-master.

I heard my companions chuckle and snort behind me. They seemed to think it was funny.

“Yes, sir; I can work those,” I stammered.

“You’re a sailor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then a few tumbles won’t hurt you any. Can you hold a man of twelve stone on your shoulders?”

My fellow workmen snorted again.

I figured it up quickly: twelve times fourteen pounds—one hundred and sixty-eight pounds.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well,” snapped the ring-master savagely, “I want you to go on for Walhalla’s turn.”

“Whaat!” I gasped. “Walha—!” I was so astonished that I almost took to my heels. Walhalla and Faust were our two funniest clowns, who kept the natives roaring with delight for more than an hour each day. My companions were so overcome that they laughed aloud behind me.

“Here, you!” cried the ring-master, whirling upon them. “Go over and brush the flies off that elephant! An’ keep ’em brushed off! D’ye hear me!”

“Now, then, Franck,” he went on to me, “Walhalla has a fever. Now—”

“But I’m no circus man!” I argued.

“Oh, nonsense!” said the ring-master. “You’ve been with us long enough to know Walhalla’s tricks, and you can learn how to do them in a couple of rehearsals.”

“There’ll be ten chips a day in it,” put in the manager.

“Eh—er—ten rupees!” I choked. (That was more than three dollars and a quarter.) “All right, sir. I’ll make a try at it.”

“Of course,” said the manager. “Now go and get tiffin, and be back in half an hour. I’ll have Faust here for a practice.”

I sprang for the door, but stopped suddenly as a thought struck me.

“But say,” I wailed, “we’re aground! The clothes—!”

“Stretch a leg and get tiffin!” cried the ring-master. “Walhalla’s rags are all here.”

That evening, before the show began, I worked feverishly with Faust. We practiced jokes, tumbles, tripping each other up, pretending we were knocked down, and so on, while the manager tried to give us more time by holding back the audience. When the natives finally stormed the tent and forced their way inside, I scurried away to the dressing-tent to put on my clown’s outfit and have my face painted.

We had to leave out some of the acts until the next day gave more time for practice; but the natives didn’t seem to notice it, and the Europeans didn’t care, so I got through the performance with nothing worse happening to me than one rather bad fall that was a little too real.

We gave two performances a day because the natives enjoyed our act. But one day, while back in the dressing-tent where I scraped dried paint off one side of my face, while my fellow clown daubed fresh colors on the other, while I was jumping out of one foolish costume into another more idiotic, turning the place topsy-turvy in a mad scramble to find my dunce-cap and a lost slap-stick, I began to lose my love for the clown’s life.

And when I went to bed on my row of chairs that night, I found myself wishing that the time would soon come when I could earn my living in some other way.

One long week I wore the cap and bells on the cricket-field of Colombo. Then the day dawned when our tent was quickly taken down and bundled into the hold of a ship by naked stevedores. On the forward deck the moth-eaten tiger peered through the bars of his cage at the jungle behind the city and rubbed a watery eye; at the rail an unpainted Faust stared gloomily down at the water. But we four wanderers shed no tears as we stood at the far end of the break-water and watched the circus carried off until it sank below the sky-line. As we straggled back at dusk to join the homeless wanderers under the palms of Gordon Gardens, I caught myself feeling now and then in the band of my trousers for the money I had sewed there.