CHAPTER XXIII
Amusements in Puddleford. – The Highland Fling. – A Fire-eater comes next. – Runs a Sword down his Throat. – Starts his Ribbon Factory. – Borrows Squire Longbow's Hat. – Boils Eggs in it. – The Squire gets into a Passion. – The Grand Caravan is posted. – Squire Longbow lectures on the Lion. – Bigelow Van Slyek follows on the Ichneumon – The Caravan arrives. – Great Excitement. – Jim Buzzard still himself. – Aunt Sonora in Trouble. – The Band blows away. – The Canvas is raised. – Terrible Press of Puddlefordians. – The Keeper shows up the Lion. – Explains why he has no Hair. – The Ichneumon is found at last – The Monkey Ride. – Breaking up.
The amusements of a new country are on a scale with everything else. As every people are set to some scale, from the most refined and luxurious, to the most rustic and simple, that scale is always preserved in whatever may exist. Puddleford was not without its public amusements. It was not beyond the reach of strolling vagabonds, and impudent mountebanks. These troops, like light, penetrate every quarter of the globe, and, of course, visited Puddleford.
One of the first exhibitions which wormed its way among the Puddlefordians was made up of a drunken Irishman and a vixen of a woman, a cracked fiddle and a greasy fife, all of whom and which performed the "Highland fling" with variations and other tunes as the man declared (there were no bills), in full costume. The Highlander was drunk, and the woman was out of temper; the fiddle was crazy, and the fife could scarcely squeak. The performance opened with the "Highland fling," was succeeded by the "Highland fling," continued by the "Highland fling," and closed by a grand display of the "Highland fling." This exhibition being the first that ever found its way into the settlement, everybody was delighted. Aunt Sonora said, "she didn't b'lieve there war any such Highlanders – nor any such flings nuther – but the music was very purty, say what they would."
After the Irishman and woman departed, and their memory had nearly faded out, a "fire-eater" came on, and positively turned Puddleford nearly topsy-turvy. He was certainly a most ferocious character. He boiled eggs in a hat, hatched chickens, ate tow, and pulled out ribbons from his mouth; swallowed swords, point foremost, burned all the handkerchiefs in the room, and restored them to their owners again; and did divers more astonishing things, which completely upset the brains of the Puddlefordians, and they began to think, before he finished, that he was fresh from the infernal regions, and had been sent on by Satan himself.
There had never been such a crowd collected at Puddleford for any purpose as assembled to see the wonderful performance of this fire-eater. Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Longbow, Mrs. Beagle, Mrs. Swipes, Aunt Sonora, and a few more of the female aristocracy of Puddleford, occupied the front seats, which were covered with green baize, as a mark of respect and distinction. The background was composed of a very miscellaneous sort of people – Jim Buzzard being in the extreme rear, perched upon a barrel.
It was exceedingly fearful to hear the screams of the women, when the performer had a sword half down his throat.
"What is the man a-goin'-ter to do?" exclaimed Mrs. Bird.
"O, murder! – mur-der!" screamed Aunt Sonora, jumping from her seat.
"O, twitch it out quick – he's cho-kin'!" gasped Mrs. Swipes.
"See him! – see him!" exclaimed a dozen voices at once. "Stop him!" "Run!" "'Tis goin' right straight inter his throat." "He's dyin'! How his eyeballs glare!" "Squire Longbow! – Squire Longbow! – run – run – you're a peace officer – don't see him die!" "There! O, dear me – 'tis gone down – it's outer sight – he's swaller'd it now." "He's got it inter him, mor'n three feet long." "How it must cut!" "There – there!" "I see it – he's pullin' it up agin." "I can jest see the tip end of the handle – but there ain't no blood on't." "How can he get it out?" "Well, if it ain't a comin' right out, I wouldn't say so, handle and all!" "O, dear me – whoever heer'd of a man swallerin' a sword afore!" "How his in'ards must feel!" And so on, keeping the house in a tempest of noise and alarm.
When the performer, however, began to make ready to run his "ribbon factory," as he called it, the women recovered from their fright, and were in high glee, particularly during the preliminary remarks, and during the tow-stuffing exercises. He was, beyond all question, a very funny man, and said a host of very funny things. He threw himself into many strange shapes, twisted his face out of form – looked gay and looked solemn by turns, and kept the house in a continual burst of merriment.
Mrs. Bird declared "she should die a lafin'."
Aunt Sonora said "it did seem as if her sides would split right open."
Mrs. Swipes said "she know'd that it did beat all – he was the oddest critter that ever com'd into the settlement."
Ike Turtle said "he was sum, if not more."
Bates declared "he must stay over another night."
Squire Longbow said but little. He sat and shook his sides. "It was as good as anything he ever see'd down on-ter the Susquehannas. He was so glad the man had come so far jist to amuse 'em a little."
But when the man began deliberately to light up the tow, and to set his mouth all in a blaze, the screams commenced again.
"He will blow up – he will blow up!" said one.
"He's all-on-a fire!" another.
"How the sparks do fly out of his mouth!"
"'Tis fire! 'Tis raal fire!"
"O – d-e-a-r!"
"Take him some wa-ter!"
"I say, mister– mister," exclaimed Mr. Longbow, who had become really frightened, and who could sit still no longer, when he saw the man positively burning up – "Did you really mean to set that tow on fire? Don't it burn, mister? Don't you want some help? I say, sir, mis-ter!"
The man answered by blowing a stream of sparks out of his mouth straight at the Squire, who started back in terror, and overset Mrs. Longbow, who uttered an unearthly scream.
The fire flickered out at last, and order was restored.
This was followed by the "ribbon factory," and the man pulled a pile of them out of his mouth, of all sizes and colors, and scattered them around his feet in the most reckless manner.
"Don't tromp on 'em," said Aunt Sonora.
"He ought to be keerful on 'em," said another.
"If Whistle & Sharp only sold sich ribbons," another.
"And to think," continued Mrs. Bird, "they come right out on him, too."
"He keeps 'em in his butes," roared Turtle.
"They don't come out of his butes at all," said Aunt Sonora; "they're all in his mouth."
"He didn't put 'em in his butes," said Mrs. Swipes; "how could they come out on 'em?"
"Put 'em in 'fore he come," said Turtle.
"I say, mister," inquired Squire Longbow, who wished to settle the disputed point for the benefit of all, "did you put them 'are ribbons inter yer butes 'fore you come?"
The man cocked his eye, and kept pulling away.
The Squire looked indignant.
"Ask him if they are raal ribbons," said Aunt Sonora.
"I say, mister," stammered the Squire, again rising, "are them 'are raal ribbons?"
The man still pulled.
"Won't answer no questions!" exclaimed the Squire, and he sat down. The ribbon factory at last ran out.
The only other exercise of importance was cooking eggs in a hat. The performer had borrowed the Squire's hat in the most polite way possible, saying, "he would confer a great favor upon him for the loan of it for a few moments; it would so much aid him in his feats. It was just the hat he wanted – it was sometimes difficult for him to find just the hat – but the Squire's hat filled his eye to a dot."
Now the Squire's hat was the most remarkable hat in all Puddleford. It was a broad-brimmed affair, "raal beaver," he said, which he'd worn mor'n twenty years. He bought it down on the "Susquehannas," and had watched it with sacred care ever since he had owned it. He wore it on Sunday, Fourth of July, on town-meeting days, and on all special occasions. He kept it the rest of the time in a closet in the "cham-ber," covered with a piece of "ile-cloth," which was about as ancient as the hat. There was one grease spot on it, and only one, and there was not a man, woman, or child in the settlement who did not know how it "come on," for the Squire had detailed the circumstances that led to the catastrophe, a hundred times.
The hat was set upon the floor, and the performer brought out a basket of eggs, and bowing gracefully, holding one in his hand at the same time, said he would cook a dozen in that hat, pointing to the Squire's hat significantly.
"S-i-r!" exclaimed the Squire.
"Keep easy, sir!" said the man.
"In – my – hat!"
"Yes, sir! in your hat!"
"In my beaver hat?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Cook eggs?"
"Yes, sir! Cook 'em!"
"That hat!"
"Yes, sir! I say that hat!"
"Down in front!" exclaimed Turtle; "can't see."
"That hat!" gasped the Squire again.
"He's gummin' you," roared Turtle; "can't cook eggs in a hat. Down in front!"
Squire Longbow was very much excited, and had turned very red in the face. He could not help but think what his first wife would say if she was there – what she would say if she saw that hat with eggs "a-bilin'" in it – but perhaps the showman was "a-tryin'" to scare him, as Turtle said – he would wait a little and watch him closely.
"And now," said the performer, "examine this egg – it is a real egg – and now you see me break it – and now it is broke – and now," cracking it apart with his thumb nails, and looking down into the Squire's hat – "there it goes!"
"Twenty-five dollars! twenty-five dollars for that!" ejaculated the Squire, filled with fury, and jumping towards the performer, with his fist doubled, and his teeth firm set. "You're a great scoundrel, sir – you borrow'd that hat, sir – you borrowed it of me, sir – it is my hat, sir, that you've got, sir – my name is Longbow, sir —Squire Longbow, sir – that's my beaver hat, sir – twenty years old, sir – cost ten dollars, sir!"
"And there goes another," continued the performer, amid the stamping and roars of the audience, popping another egg into the Squire's hat, in the coolest manner possible, disregarding the tempest around him.
"I call upon Mr. Turtle to witness!" continued the Squire; "I'll ish-er a warrant for you, sir – I'll have you up, sir – before me, sir – you can't pay me for that 'ere hat, sir – you'll be imprison'd – you'll go to jail, sir – you won't spile any more people's hats, sir – you won't bile eggs, arter this, sir – it's your last bilin', sir – "
By this time the smoke was rising out of the Squire's hat and curling away towards the ceiling, and the smell of cooked eggs was waxing strong in the nostrils, and the hat, so they all said, was "gone for sartin."
"La!" exclaimed Aunt Sonora, as she saw the fate of the hat, "what wicked critters these performers are; sit right down and burn up a hat – a-bilin' eggs in it!"
The performer returned Squire Longbow's hat, after he had concluded his wonderful experiment of cooking eggs, but the old man looked upon it with suspicion. He turned it over and over, and smelled of it, but declared, at last, that it was his old beaver, and jest as good as new; whereupon he apologized for his getting into a passion, and gave as a reason, that it "was the first time he ever saw the trick done – but now he know'd the man was a gentleman, every inch on him."
But the most remarkable exhibition that ever fell upon Puddleford occurred after this. A caravan of wild animals, about the autumnal days, took Puddleford in its way. It was called the grand caravan. Quite a flaming poster preceded the animals themselves. The bill was indeed a very attractive-looking affair. There was a lion and a tiger painted on it, at a dead lock. The lion, it appeared, had opened the tiger's bowels, and the tiger had opened the lion's bowels – the lion had torn the tiger's head, and the tiger had torn the lion's head – these two furious beasts seemed to be about on an equal footing. An elephant was also portrayed in a very stately manner, carrying a house full of people on his back, who were armed to the teeth, for some unknown purpose, and who also supported a stern-looking gentleman, seated upon his tusks, who carried a long pole in his hand. Monkeys of all sizes were scattered around the picture. Some climbing trees, some chattering higher up in the branches, and some cutting curious antics, evidently for the gratuitous amusement of the public who might choose to look on. This bill was posted up at the Eagle, and it created a very great excitement throughout Puddleford and the adjacent country. Scores of people came in from "round about," to wonder over and digest this wonderful "picter." Aunt Sonora, Mrs. Swipes, Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Beagle, Mrs. Longbow, and their husbands, the "Colonel," Bigelow Van Slyck, Jim Buzzard, and scores of ragged children, pressed into the bar-room, day after day, and "Oh'd" and "Ah'd" over it. All kinds of comments were made by the multitude. The origin, history, habits, and ferocity of the animals were sagely discussed and settled. Squire Longbow, among the rest, told wonderful stories about the "roar" of the lion – how he "shak't the whole woods, when he got his wrath up, and made all the other animals run and hide themselves – he said they'd all have to stop their ears if that feller (pointing to the said lion on the show-bill) giv' 'em a blast – he heer'd one roar onct, down onter the Susquehannas, and he shouldn't forget it the longest day he lived."
Aunt Sonora inquired of Squire Longbow, "where lions came from, and how they got 'em here, and if they were dang-rous animals, and would bite people."
The Squire drew a long a-hem! stretched out his legs, and looked very wise, for he thought if there was anything that he did know about, it was about lions. He recollected just how that lion looked that he saw down on the Susquehannas. He knew, too, that there was no other person in Puddleford that could throw any light upon the subject of lions. So the Squire began in the most profound manner to answer Aunt Sonora. "The lion," said the Squire, "the great African lion – jist sich a lion as you see on that 'ere bill – inasmuch as you have axed me, I tell you, comes from the jungles of the torrid zone."
Mr. Bates wanted to know what "a jungle was, while he was about his lion story?"
"A jungle – a jungle," continued the Squire, coughing in his embarrassment; "a jungle – is – a – place – a kind-er cave, where the lions go, deep inter the airth, and where they can growl and roar, without disturbin' anybody."
"Inter the airth?" exclaimed Turtle; "how do they catch 'em, then?"
"How do they ketch 'em? – how do they ketch 'em?" exclaimed the Squire; "how do I know? – how can I tell? —I've never been in Africa – I was only tellin' how the lions liv'd."
Mrs. Bird asked the Squire what the lions ate?
"Anything they can get," answered the Squire, very philosophically; "they ain't 'tall particular."
"Don't eat grass, do they?"
The Squire said he "shouldn't be s'prised if they did."
"Do they eat up men and women?"
"Wal," answered the Squire, "to tell you the plain truth, I s'pose they do."
"O Lordy!" exclaimed Mrs. Bird. "Ugh! how he looks!"
During all this time the young Puddlefordians, dirty and barefooted, who had crowded themselves into a corner in a distant part of the room, were filled with terror during the Squire's sage remarks, and fairly trembled for their safety.
Jim Buzzard took occasion to say that "he s'posed the an-er-mals would bite, but he warn't goin' to be scart, if they had 'em fasten'd in cages – but if they were goin' ter run loose, he'd be gaul-blasted if they seed him round thar when they com'd – he'd jest let 'em know he warn't a-goin' to be eat up by their lions and elephuntses – he didn't care nothin' 'bout their monkeys – he warn't 'fraid of them, nohow – but them 'are lions – what teeth they have got – O! mighty! – guess'd they wouldn't ketch him round them grinders."
The bill, among other startling announcements, declared that "the celebrated animal mentioned in Holy Writ, and now known as the Ichneumon," would be exhibited – that it was the first time any company had ever succeeded in carrying him so far into the interior, as he was very partial to salt water, and suffered very much, and grew very faint and weak, when removed any distance away from it.
The showman had been very careful not to furnish a picture of the Ichneumon, whose peculiarities had been so vividly portrayed in print, and the Puddlefordians were in great doubt about his real appearance. There were many curious speculations, and sage reflections indulged in by the more learned portion of the crowd, about his origin and history. It was very difficult, in the first place, to pronounce his name.
Bigelow Van Slyck, who was a host at Puddleford in philology, attempted to give the most correct pronunciation of the word. It was "Ich, something," he said – "probably the whole word was taken from Ich – and that was an animal that scratched himself – and yet he didn't believe this animal had any hair – and it was only hairy animals that did scratch themselves – and the reason why he thought the animal hadn't any hair, was, that he must be a salt-water animal – for the bill said he was mentioned in Holy Writ – and also, that he couldn't live away from salt-water. He thought he knew sun-thin' 'bout Holy Writ – he thought he did – and sunthin' 'bout animals, too – and if he was to give his opinion, he should say the Ichneumon was the great Le-vi-a-thern, that went into the mighty deep!" (Here Bigelow raised upon his toes, and spread out his arms, as if to show the crowd how big the great Le-vi-a-thern was.)
Bigelow's oration produced a very solemn effect on the Puddlefordians. The idea that the great Leviathan, of Holy Writ, was really coming into their midst, was a most astounding thought to every man, woman, and child present.
Mrs. Longbow, who was a member of Bigelow's church, as has been seen, wanted to know "in what part of Holy Writ that 'are Ich-what-do-ye-call-it was found?"
Bigelow said it was somewhere – he couldn't 'zactly tell – it was either in the Old or New Testament, he was very – "sartin."
Mrs. Longbow said "she'd never see'd it."
Bigelow said "he'd never seen him nuther."
Mrs. Longbow explained – "she'd never seen the animal in the Holy Writ."
Bigelow thought, "if she'd look, she'd find it."
Mrs. Longbow said "she'd look now."
Bigelow said "he hadn't time now, but he'd look it up by next Sunday, and preach on't."
Turtle, who had been carefully watching Bigelow in his attempt to identify the Ichneumon, and who had great respect for his opinion in all matters connected with Holy Writ, thought he discovered a flaw in the argument. He would "jest like to know how they could carry around a salt-water animal on land?"
Bigelow said "he warn't alive – he was stuff'd. It didn't say the celebrated live animal called the Ichneumen."
"But it did say," replied Turtle, "that it was the first time they had succeeded in carrying the animal so far in the interior."
Bigelow was a little puzzled at this – but said, "he s'posed it was in great danger of being stolen – but at any rate, the Ichneumen was the great Leviathern, or some other – very – strange – animal, —that he was sure of."
Squire Longbow, who had listened in the most dignified manner to all that Bigelow had said, heaved a long sigh at his last remark, and declared that Bigelow had, in his opinion, "s'plained the whole thing – and 'twas clear 'nough to him that the Ich-nu-men was the Viathen – 'tany rate, he know'd the Viathen was the Ich-nu-men."
The excitement was very great from the time the bill was posted until the grand caravan actually arrived. Very little else was talked about, or thought of in Puddleford, and the region round about. Every business, and every domestic and social arrangement had reference to the coming event. Squire Longbow had declared, two weeks before the day fixed for the performance, that no law business would be done in his office on show-day. Turtle had issued a similar proclamation. Important financial arrangements were everywhere matured to enable the Puddlefordians to "raise the wind," so they might procure an entrance behind the canvas. The draft of ready money upon the people threatened to be very disastrous, for the admission was two shillings per head, children half price – cash down.
The caravan was expected to arrive at about ten o'clock in the forenoon. But the mighty multitude, who had some distance to travel, packed and provisioned, and started on their way the day previous. Everybody was determined to be on the ground when the first blow was struck. The morning of the long-looked for period presented a spectacle more stirring and sublime than anything which had ever been before known. Every man, woman, and child was dressed in his or her best. Many had strained a point, and appeared in a style so rich that they were scarcely known by their best friends. And then, too, every person appeared to be so full of good humor and smiles, that it really seemed to be the only desire of all to make each other happy. Squire Longbow shone like a dollar. The old homespun coat and beaver hat wore a new brightness about them; and, what was very unusual for the Squire, he had procured a new hickory cane, and had cut "Longbow" upon it, which very much added to his dignity. Turtle had actually mounted a clean collar, which was one of the most remarkable occurrences of the season. Jim Buzzard, however, had not met with any change, outwardly or inwardly. He wore the same hat, coat, and boots that were found with him when he was first seen sunning himself on a dry-goods box, one morning, in the streets of Puddleford. The hat was a little more jammed up, and the boots gaped a little wider – but he was still the same Jim Buzzard, and they were still the same hat and boots. They bade fair to last as long as he did. His garments seemed to have grown to him, and to have become a part of him – to have formed a sort of attachment for him, and he really looked as if he had been born with these very clothes on.
Jim sauntered around and said nothing. Sometimes he might be seen perched away off by himself upon a post, overlooking the crowd – sometimes stretched out on a box in the sun, snoring, and making ready for the coming occasion. He knew he would get in. He had no money, but he was a philosopher. He let matters take care of themselves, and as he had always been provided for, he felt perfectly satisfied that he always would be.
Everybody inquired very particularly about everybody's family on that day; and why shouldn't everybody inquire about everybody's family, for it was the day of the great caravan, and everybody was of course overflowing with joy. Mrs. Longbow assured Aunt Sonora, that "she would sartinly call on her the very next afternoon;" and Aunt Sonora apologized for not having dropp'd in to take tea with Mrs. Longbow, long afore. Mrs. Bird went so far as to inquire of Mr. Longbow, "how his cousins," which she said she had heer'd on, were gettin' along down on the Susquehannas – the only time before or since that the old lady ever alluded to the Squire's cousins, down on the Susquehannas, or anywhere else.
The grand caravan at last appeared in the distance, preceded by a cloud of dust, and heralded by distant strains of music. The shock was electrical – the rush was immense. The boys ran, and turned somersets – the men ran after the boys, and the women ran after the men. Jim Buzzard, disturbed by the "noise and confusion," actually rolled off a box, where he was dozing; crawled to his feet, and rubbed his eyes open with his fist. The jam was really terrific – women lost portions of their dresses, men's hats flew off, and somehow, in the hurly-burly and jam, Squire Longbow missed his beaver hat, cane, and eye-shade. The Squire was in great mental excitement, as well as in bodily danger. He panted for breath, and plodded on the best way he could. Even a man of his distinction was not regarded on that day. Among other trials and reverses, he found himself separated from Mrs. Longbow, who, for anything he knew, was "trampled to death," somewhere; and with one eye on the grand caravan, and the other (the blind one) looking after his second wife, he hurried along, muttering to himself like some mad animal. He was dashed on to Mr. Turtle in his progress, and nearly upset that respectable legal gentleman. Mr. Turtle rose, filled with wrath, and with drawn fist, and just saw his mistake in time before the blow descended. "O, it's you, Squire!" said Mr. Turtle. Squire Longbow asked Mr. Turtle where his wife was? Mr. Turtle, very much excited, said something which the Squire did not understand, and pointed nowhere in particular, and then bounded on after the grand caravan. The Squire, after twisting and turning, and panting and blowing, and after having overturned three or four innocent women, who happened to be in his way, found himself at last out of the rush, in the corner of a rail fence, blowing his flushed face with his best cotton handkerchief. When he came to himself, he began to think. He recollected that he was a magistrate yet, and if anybody should steal his hat, cane, or his eye-shade, he muttered, "he'd bring 'em afore him by daylight next morning, he would – he'd have some kinder la' in town, if 'twas caravan day."
The fate of Aunt Sonora was about as melancholy as that of the Squire. She was somehow drawn into the tide, and as the good old lady could not move fast, the current that passed her on each side rolled her round and round, as she stood, first one way and then the other, until she became completely peeled of her outer clothes. Cries were jerked out of her in a spasmodic way, as she could catch her breath. "Massy – massy! O, massy – me! I'm – k-i-l-l-'d!" and many more heart-rending exclamations she uttered; but it was the great caravan that was coming, and she was neither heard nor heeded. When she escaped, she looked as if she had been plucked of all her feathers; she, however, quietly slid into the house of Mrs. Longbow, which was near by, for repairs. When she found herself able to speak, she declared, "if that was the way the caravan was a-goin' to use folks, she hop'd lite-ning would strike 'em 'fore they got out-er the settlement – they'd sp'ilt her shillin' caliker dress, and she wouldn't gin it for all the monkeys the confounded consarn had."
But the caravan moved on regardless of accidents, and the music grew stronger and stronger, as it approached nearer and nearer; and as the breeze cast aside the dust, men, and horses, and wagons were seen moving forward, solemnly preceded by an elephant, which carried a stately looking gentleman upon his tusks, according to the representation on the bill. As the procession approached the village, its extent and magnificence began to dwindle. Alas! three wagons and one sickly-looking elephant comprised the whole affair. The people were evidently very much disappointed. The bill was a very large bill, and they did not see how it was possible for the few vehicles that came into town, to hold all the live stock which had been promised.
Squire Longbow still stood in the corner of the rail fence, looking out for the lion, for he had pledged his reputation to the Puddlefordians that the lion should be all that he had promised. He didn't know whether he would come on foot or not, housed or open; but the Squire saw no lion, nor any place for one.
Bigelow was busy sharply scenting out the "Ich-nu-men, celebrated in Holy Writ," as the bill declared. He felt it to be his duty to take a kind of guardianship over the Ich-nu-men, while he might favor Puddleford with his presence, because he was associated with Holy Writ; but Bigelow could not find him anywhere, living or dead, kicking or stuffed. He was much disappointed, but took courage from the hope that he was shut up from vulgar gaze in one of the strong cages.
The musicians still blowed their blast, as the cavalcade wound its way through the principal streets. The bill declared that the band was the celebrated "Boston Band," led by Monsieur Huzzleguget, and, according to that, it was composed of some twenty-four performers, drawn by six fiery steeds, attached to a Grecian chariot, driven by one elegant-looking gentleman, heavily whiskered, who must have been some six feet high; but, alas! the band itself that led on the animals through the streets of Puddleford consisted of only four seedy-looking performers, who carried three rusty copper horns and a bass drum, which was beat by a melancholy-looking boy. The three horn-men had blown their faces as round as pumpkins, and as red, too; or something besides wind, perhaps, had blown the color into their faces, for they occasionally took something to drink, during the heat of the exercises, from a bottle which they kept under the seat of the chariot.
The chariot was a large high-boarded wagon, and painted red, and was drawn by a couple of jaded "tugs," who showed plainly enough that their days were fast drawing to a close. But the music still blowed, and the procession moved on, and the Puddlefordians were as much delighted as if the proclamation had been fully realized.
Up went the canvas, and the show prepared to open. The hurry to enter was most marvellous – such a crowd Puddleford never saw before. Even Squire Longbow could not wait until the doors were actually opened. He was bewitched to see the great African lion. The Squire, as a peace-officer, ordered the crowd to keep back, in reality for the purpose of giving him and Mrs. Longbow a better chance; but the Squire's commands were entirely disregarded; he had sunk down to the level of a mere citizen; he was stripped of all his power; it was the great caravan day, and who cared for a justice of the peace on such an occasion?
Aunt Sonora having repaired the disasters of the forenoon, had determined to see the fun out. She had put on her "'t'other frock," and looked as well as she did before she had been peeled through the morning multitude. The doors were opened at last, and the "rush" entered, and in a few moments the canvas was alive with human beings. The grand caravan now on exhibition was originally the fag-end of a large concern, which had been bought up by sharpers to swindle the people. I say, originally, because this fag-end had been divided up into three smaller fag-ends which were out in different parts of the new country scouring around for money. The Puddleford fag-end had a runt of a lion, who was very evidently on his last legs; for he had been travelled until his hair was worn entirely off, and his spirits exhausted. It was very clear that he was showing himself for about the last time. The elephant was diseased, and the tiger was about four times the size of a cat. There were three dirty-looking monkeys in a cage eating crackers and hickory nuts, and chatting and throwing shucks through the bars at the gaping crowd – an ichneumon – a black bear, the only hearty fellow in the concern – and a mussy-looking ostrich, who had lost his tail-feathers in his peregrinations through the globe. This was the caravan.