Читать книгу A Little Girl of Long Ago; Or, Hannah Ann - Amanda M. Douglas - Страница 7

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There came to New York in May a menagerie. A chance like this roused the children to a pitch of the wildest enthusiasm. Wonderful posters were put up. It was not considered a circus at all, but a moral and instructive show, if it did not have delightful Artemas Ward to expatiate upon it. There were a great many children who had never seen an elephant. Hanny Underhill had not.

Jim said, "There was a live lion stuffed with straw; a zebra that had fifty stripes from the tip of his nose to his tail, nary stripe alike; a laughing hyena of the desert, who could cry like a child when he was hungry, and who devoured the people who came to his assistance, thereby showing the total depravity of human nature; an elephant that could dance; and monkeys who climbed the highest trees and swung in the gentle zephyrs by the tail." The crowning point was that he had money enough saved up to go.

The celebrated lion-tamer, a Mr. Van Amburgh, was to perform with some trained animals. Oh, what a crowd there was!—most people going early so they could walk around and view the animals in their cages. There were two beautiful striped hyenas, lithe as cats, and so restless you were almost afraid they would find some loose bar and spring out at you. The two lions roared tremendously when disturbed. A great cage full of the funniest chattering monkeys, ready for nuts or cake or bits of apples, and who could swing with their heads downward and turn astonishing somersaults. Many other curious animals that we see nowadays in Central Park; but, alas! there was no Park then, and such indulgences had to be paid for.

The big elephant was very gentle, or in a gentle mood, which answered the same purpose. The keeper had to have eyes everywhere to see that the boys did not torment him. How he could take a peanut or a bit of candy in his trunk, and carry it up to his mouth without dropping it, puzzled Hanny. For of course all the First Street children went. Mr. Underhill and Margaret and Mrs. Dean were to keep them safe and in order.

It seemed so hard to leave Daisy Jasper out. But her father could not go, and her mother was much too timid.

"I'll be her knight," said Doctor Joe. "I will take her up in the buggy, and we'll squeeze through the crowd."

That settled it. Seeing real live animals was so different from the stuffed and moth-eaten ones at Barnum's.

There was a great tent and some temporary sheds, with one or two side-shows. They went quite early, and Doctor Joe paid a man to stand guard over some seats while they walked around and inspected the cages. There was a smaller trick elephant, but even Columbus was not as big as the famous Jumbo.

One of the great pleasures or curiosities was a ride on his back in a howdah. This was ten cents extra, and only for children. Most of the boys had spent their money for refreshments at the booths, so they could only look longingly. The little girls were afraid at first.

"I am going," declared Charles Reed. "Oh, you will not be afraid!"—to the Deans.

"Don't you want to?" asked Mr. Underhill of his little girl.

Hanny drew a long breath and her eyes dilated. The howdah filled up, and the ponderous creature moved slowly down to the end of the space and up again, amid childish exclamations and laughter.

"Yes—I would like to go," said Hanny, when she realised the safety of the proceeding.

"Oh, Doctor Joe, couldn't you help me up? It would be such a wonderful thing to ride on an elephant that I should be glad all my life."

Daisy Jasper looked so eager and pleading out of her beseeching blue eyes. So many pleasures must be foregone that he had not the heart to deny this.

"Are you quite sure you will not be afraid up there?" he asked earnestly.

"Oh, no, not with Hanny, dear Doctor Joe!"

He looked at Hanny. The little girl could climb trees and walk out to the ends of the limbs and jump; she had swung her arms and said one, two, three, and gone flying over the creek without falling in; she could do "vinegar" with a skipping rope; she could walk the edge of the curb-stone without tilting over; she could swing ever so high and not wink; she wasn't afraid to go up stairs in the dark; but when the elephant took the first long, rocking step, she felt something as she had when Luella Bounett had run downstairs with her in her arms. She grasped Daisy's hand on the one side and Charlie's arm on the other.

"Oh, Hanny, you're not afraid?"

"It's like being out at sea," and Daisy laughed.

But the back of the huge creature seemed up so high and his steps so long. Then she summoned all her courage, and resolved that she would not be a "little 'fraid cat."

The keeper interspersed the rides with stories of elephants in India taking care of babies, fanning flies away from them, watching over sick masters, and moving great timbers. Even if his eyes were small, he could see any danger. You could trust him when he was once your friend; but he never forgave an injury.

The big india-rubber feet came down with scarcely a sound. He flapped his ears lazily, he turned around without spilling them out, and marched up the line as if it was just nothing at all.

Daisy was thrilling with enjoyment. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were like roses. She even put her hand on the elephant's crumply back, as they came down the steps, and smiled in Doctor Joe's face, as he held her by the arm.

"You were so good to let me go. Thank you a thousand times. It was just splendid!"

They were all in a burst of enthusiasm with "ohs and ahs." But Hanny was very glad to get back to her father's protecting hand. She felt as if she had been on a long and perilous journey.

They took their seats, and after one more caravan the performances began. The trick elephant did several odd things rather clumsily. Then he stood on his head, and the boys clapped their hands with delight. He trumpeted, and the very ground seemed to shake. Then he looked around in a queer sort of fashion, as if he was sure he had frightened everybody.

But what would they have said to the later acrobatic feats and going through the figures of a quadrille! Half-a-dozen elephants would have startled any audience.

Presently a big cage was uncovered, and Mr. Van Amburgh went into the lions' den. Everybody shuddered a little. Hanny thought of the story of Daniel—perhaps other people did. He shook hands and rubbed shoulders with them; and they put their paws on his shoulders and shook their shaggy heads.

Charles said they ought to have finer bodies for such magnificent heads.

Then the lion-tamer told them to lie down. He made a bed of one and a pillow of the other, and threw himself upon them, hugging them up. He made them open their mouths, and he thrust in his hand. They pranced up and down, sprang over the stick he held in his hand, jumped over him; and it really seemed as if they had a tender regard for him. But Doctor Joe observed that he always faced them, and kept his eyes steadily upon them. The applause was tremendous.

Then an incident occurred that was not down in the programme. A handsome tiger walked out from between two of the cages as if he had a part to play. He scanned the audience in a deliberate manner; he gave his lithe body a twist, and switched his tail in a graceful fashion, while his yellow eyes illumined the space about him. The attention of the audience was concentrated upon him, while he appeared to be considering what to do next.

Two keepers came out, while a man in the space between the cages shook something in his hand. The tiger turned and followed him, and the men watched until a bar snapped.

Then one of them faced the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I wish to announce that there is not the slightest danger. The tiger is securely caged. The animals are under perfect control."

Two or three women screamed, and one fainted. Several hurried to the entrance; but the keeper begged them to be tranquil. There had not been the slightest danger.

Doctor Joe motioned to his party to remain seated while he went to attend to the women. The performance was mostly over, and the audience began to disperse, from a sense of insecurity.

"Was he really loose?" asked Tudie Dean, in a little fright.

"Of course he was," replied Charles. "I'm not sure but it was done purposely after all."

Doctor Joe returned, and they appealed to him.

"Well,"—with a gay air—"the tiger was quite obedient, wasn't he? You were not frightened, Daisy?"

"But you stood right there,"—Doctor Joe had given his seat to a lady just as the performance began. "Why, he looked at you," and Daisy's nerves gave a little quiver.

"I supposed Mr. Van Amburgh would come and put him through some paces," returned Joe.

"It was immense, wasn't it?" exclaimed Jim. "But why did the woman squeal when it was all over?"

Doctor Joe laughed.

To make amends, a pretty trick pony came out, who really could dance, and he looked as if he laughed, too. He did a number of amusing things, and the audience stopped going out. Then the monkeys set up such a shrill chatter that the people began to laugh. The lion started to roar; and it seemed as if the tigers joined the chorus. For a few moments it was a forest concert.

"If only the hyena would laugh," said Jim. The girls were a little nervous. Joe had gone to get Prince. "Oh, you needn't be a mite afraid. Mr. Van Amburgh would just have thrown a cloth over his head; and in his surprise they would have had him all right in a moment. I would not have missed it for a dollar; though I wouldn't care to encounter him in his native wilds."

"He did look grand surveying the audience," said Daisy. "I am so glad I could come—for everything."

The Doctor put Hanny and Daisy in the buggy, as they were both so slim. Hanny hugged his arm, and said in a voice still a trifle shaky—

"Weren't you the least bit frightened, Joe?"

"Why, I never imagined there was any danger until it was over. I think so many people rather dazed Mr. Tiger."

"Oh, if anything had happened to you, what should I do?" asked Daisy, with lustrous eyes.

"Nothing is going to happen to me. You have been a brave girl this afternoon, and it is not the first time either."

Her cheek flushed with pleasure.

It was a great thing to talk over, that and the ride on the elephant. Hanny found her natural history, and she and her father read about elephants most of the evening.

The days were so pleasant that the children often took Daisy out in her chair to see them at their plays. They went around to Houston Street, to the German settlement, as it was beginning to be called. Lena and Gretchen were out on their stoop with their knitting, and the baby between them. They were Lutherans, and they looked quite different from the Jews.

There were still quaint old houses in Ludlow and Orchard streets—two stories with dormer windows in the roof, and some frame cottages with struggling grass-plots. No one dreamed of the tall tenements that were to take their places, the sewing-machines that were to hum while the workers earned their scanty pittance, and swarms of children crowded the streets.

Everybody had more leisure then. Some of the women sat and chatted while their little ones played about.

A little girl came out of an alley way with a peculiar jerky movement, like a hop and a skip, while she kept one hand on her knee. Her hip was large, her shoulder pushed up and apparently bent over.

"Hello!" she said to Hanny. "What's the matter with her?" nodding her head. "Wish't I had a cheer like that. I'd cut a great swell. My! ain't she pritty?"

"She's been ill," returned Hanny.

The child stared a moment and then hopped on.

"Her father works about the stable," explained Hanny, with rising colour. "She comes up sometimes. They're very poor. Mother gives them ever so many things. She can't stand up straight; but she doesn't seem to mind. And one leg is so much shorter. The boys call her Cricket, and Limpy Dick."

"Oh, Hanny, if I were poor and like that!" The tears came in Daisy's eyes. "I can stand up straight, and I am getting to walk quite well. I have so much that is lovely and comforting; and oughtn't one be thankful not to be real poor?"

The little lameter went hopping across the street, and called to some children "to look at the style!"

Down by the corner there was a candy and notion store, kept by an old woman with a queer wrinkled face framed in with a wide cap-ruffle. She had a funny turned-up nose, as if it had hardly known which way to grow, and such round red-apple cheeks. When it was pleasant, she sat in the doorway, regardless of the fate of the heroic young woman of Norway.

"Good day!" she ejaculated. "The Lord bless ye. Yon's got a pretty face, an' I hope it will bring her good fortune." She nodded, and her cap-ruffle flapped over her face.

"If ye see that omadhawn of a Biddy Brady in yer travels, jist send her home. The babby's screamin' himself into fits. Won't her mother give it to her whin she comes in!"

Down below the next corner, there was a throng of children. One big boy was whistling a jig tune, and clapping on his knee.

"That's old Mrs. McGiven," explained Hanny. "The school-children go there for cake and candy and slate pencils, because hers have such nice sharp points. And—Biddy Brady!"

Jim was with the boys. He gave Hanny a nod and laughed and joined the whistling.

"Oh, Jim—Biddy's baby is crying—"

"Come, start up again, Biddy. You haven't given us half a cent's worth! You don't dance as good as the little Jew girl on the next block."

"Arrah now—"

"Go on wid yer dancin'."

Biddy was a thin, lanky girl with straight dark hair that hung in her eyes and over her shoulders. A faded checked pinafore, with just plain arm-holes, covered her nearly all up. To her spindle legs were attached mismatched shoes, twice too large, tied around the ankles. One had a loose sole that flapped up and down. It really wasn't any dancing, for she just kicked out one foot and then the other, with such vigor that you wondered she didn't go over backward. Her very earnestness rendered it irresistibly funny. She certainly danced by main strength.

Hanny began again. "Jim, her baby is crying—"

"He gets his living by crying. I've never heard of his doing anything else."

Biddy brought her foot down with an emphatic thump.

"There now, not another step do yees get out o' me fur that cint. I've give ye good measure and fancy steps throwed in. An' me shoe is danced off me fut, an' me mammy'll lick me. See that now!" and she held up her flapping sole.

They had to yield to necessity, for none of the crowd had another penny. When Biddy realised the fact, she ran off home and bought a stick of candy to solace herself and the baby. Mrs. Brady went out washing, and Biddy cared for the baby when she wasn't in the street. It must be admitted the babies languished under her care.

The school-children had a good deal of fun hiring her to dance. Biddy was shrewd enough about the pennies.

Jim joined the cavalcade as the boys went their way.

"Why, she likes the money," he said in answer to an upbraiding remark from Hanny. "That's what she does it for."

"It was very funny," declared Daisy. "She's such a straight, slim child in that long narrow apron. If it hadn't been for the baby, I would have given her a penny."

They went on down the street. There were several fancy-goods stores and some pretty black-eyed Jewish children with the curliest hair imaginable. There was the big school across the way, and a great lock factory, then a row of comparatively nice dwellings. They turned into Avenue A., and were in a crowd of Germans. The children and babies all had flaxen or yellow hair and roundish blue eyes. The mothers were knitting and sewing and chattering in their queer language. Even the little girls were knitting lace and stockings. The boys seemed fat and pudgy. They stared at the chair and its inmate, but Sam went quietly along. Here were German costumes sure enough.

They turned up Second Street, and so around First Avenue, home.

"Why, it's like going to foreign countries," Daisy said. "Some of the children were very pretty. But that Biddy Brady—I can see her yet."

The very next day Daisy drew two pictures, and held them before Hanny.

"Why, that's Biddy Brady!" the little girl said, with a bright wondering laugh. "And that's old Mrs. McGiven! They're splendid! How could you do it?"

"I don't know. It came to me."

Mrs. Craven said the old lady was excellent. And she laughed about Biddy Brady's dancing.

Sometimes they went up to Tompkins' Square. They would study their lessons or do a bit of crocheting. Daisy was learning a great many things. Or they went a little farther up and over to the river, which was much wider at that time. The old farms had been cut up into blocks; but while they were waiting for some one to come along and build them up, the thrifty Germans had turned them into market gardens, and they presented a very pretty appearance.

They could see the small clusters of houses on Long Island, and the end of Blackwell's Island—a terrible place to them. The boys had seen the "Black Maria," which the little girl thought must be some formidable giant negress capable of driving the criminals along as one would a flock of sheep, and she was quite surprised when she learned it was a wagon merely. The East River was quite pretty up here, and the ferry-boats made a line of foam that sparkled in the sun.

Occasionally Doctor Joe joined the party, and took them in other directions. He had accepted the offer of an old physician on East Broadway, which was then considered very aristocratic. The basement windows had pretty lace curtains, and the dining-rooms had beaufets in the corners, on which the glass and silver were arranged. The brass doorknobs and the name-plate shone like gold, and the iron railings of the stoops were finished with quite pretentious newels, that the children called sentry boxes.

Grand Street, at the eastern end, had many private dwellings. Ridge and Pitt and Willet streets were quite steep and made splendid coasting places in winter. There was the Methodist church, in which many famous worthies had preached, and even at the end of the century the old place keeps its brave and undaunted front.

Strawberries did not come until June; and the girls took them round the streets in tiny deep baskets. There were no such mammoth berries as we have now; but, oh, how sweet and luscious they were! Little girls carried baskets of radishes from door to door, and first you heard "strawbrees," then something that sounded like "ask arishee," which I suppose was brief for "ask any radishes."

The fish and clam men were a great delight to the children. One curious, weather-beaten old fellow who went through First Street had quite a musical horn, and a regular song.

"Fine clams, fine clams, fine clams, to-day,

That have just arrived from Rockaway.

They're good to boil, and they're good to fry,

And they're good to make a clam pot-pie.

My horse is hired, and my waggon isn't mine.

Look out, little boys, don't cut behind!"

Where the rhyme was lame, he made up with an extra flourish and trill to the notes. The cats used to watch out for him. They seemed to know when Friday came, and they would be sitting on the front stoops, dozing until they heard the welcome sound of the horn. There were huckster waggons with vegetables, and a buttermilk man.

An old coloured woman used to come round with brewer's yeast, and one morning she had a great piece of black cambric twisted about her bonnet.

"Who are you in mourning for, auntie?" asked Margaret.

"My ol' man, Miss Margret. Happened so lucky! He jest died Sat'day night, an' we buried him on Sunday, an' here I am goin' round on Monday—not losin' any time. Happened so lucky!"

Jim went into spasms of merriment over the economy of the incident.