PANIC IN A MENAGERIE. 323 less great force was applied outside to hold on to the ropes. Some fifty men took hold of the ropes on the south side, and attempted to hold it from blowing over, but it was utterly impossible. In another instant the ropes snapped, the centre pole came unfastened, and, with a terrible crash, the large pavilion was dashed to the ground, upsetting, at the same time, two of the wagons containing wild animals. At this point several voices cried out,"The animals are loose!" This terrific alarm, added to the intense excitement caused by the falling of the canvas and breaking of the seats and screaming of women and children, made confusion worse confounded, and the scene one of the wildest disorder. The people were terrified, and fled everywhere in the wildest confusion. Amid the screams of at least a thousand people, who were trying to extricate themselves from beneath the broken benches, and crawling out from under the canvas, mothers and fathers seized their children and frantically rushed their way out as best they could. Many of the children were pressed down in the excitement, and trampled in the dirt; some were very much bruised. Many men and women fled to adjacent houses, and closed the doors behind, to escape from being overtaken by the wild animals, which they imagined were in pursuit of them. But two persons were seriously injured, a man, who was flung across a bench while attempting to support a guy, and a little girl, who had her arm broken and received a severe wound on the head. A fire broke out one November night, not long ago, in a building in Philadelphia, used as the winter quarters of a menagerie. In the yard were quartered the cages containing lions, leopards, tigers, bears, and monkeys. These were saved, the cages being run out before the fire reached them. The scene during the hauling out of the cages was terrific, as the animals, frightened at the flames, were 324 WILD ANIMALS LOOSE. darting backward and forward in their cages, uttering fearful cries. In the excitement some of the dens were overturned, and in two instances the bars were so displaced that two leopards and a lion made their appearance on the street. One of the leopards took shelter in a neighboring stable, where he was soon secured, and the other ran along Jefferson Street to Twenty-third Street, and then passed in at an open doorway of a dwelling, through the entry, into the yard, where he was captured. On his way through the hall he passed several members of the family, and their condition can be better imagined than described. The lion, in his frantic efforts to release himself, succeeded in removing a bar, but as he jumped from the cage, a daring fellow threw a packing box over him, and he was housed until after the fire was extinguished, when he was placed in safe quarters. Thou sands of people were on the grounds, and rumors were numerous. One minute you heard that a lion had escaped, in another two lions, in another a tiger was added, and in another the entire stock of animals had escaped and were prowling around. The consternation was very great, but nobody was hurt. Had the animals been very wild, there would have been several casualties to announce, most probably. A menagerie exhibiting at Muscatine, Iowa, not long since, struck its tents at eleven o'clock at night, and started for Davenport. Before a dozen miles had been traversed, a fierce storm let loose its lightning, thunder, and water. The lightning was blinding in its brilliancy, the thunder was terrific, and the rain, violently driven by the wind, came down in sheets. A panic seized the whole cavalcade-men, horses, and animals seemed terror-stricken. Eight of the drivers deserted their teams, and it was not long before wagons and horses were in inextricable confusion-a jammed up mass of floundering animals and overturned vehicles. The darkness, save when lightning illuminated the scene, was impenetrable. The caged lions, tigers, leopards, wolves, and other beasts became frightened, and bounded from side to side of their prisons, and roared and growled and shrieked in very terror. The elephants laid down in the road and refused to move. Three of the horses were struck by lightning, and killed. It was a wonder that no human lives were lost. The show reached Davenport at a late hour in the day, men and teams well-nigh exhausted by the terrible night's work and the hard journey which followed it. It seems curious to think of applying chloroform to a wild animal, but I heard of a tiger which was placed. under the influence of chloroform at Tiffin, Ohio, one Sunday, when "the menagerie" was there, and a leg, which had been badly mangled in a little unpleasantness with a panther, was successfully amputated. No animal furnishes more curious and interesting stories than the elephant. It is well known that this ponderous creature is given to return injuries or insults in kind. In Madagascar an elephant's cornac, happening to have a cocoa-nut in his hand, thought fit, out of bravado, to break it on the animal's head. The elephant made no protest at the time; but next day, passing a fruit stall, he took a cocoa-nut in his trunk, and returned the cornac's compliment so vigorously on his head, that he killed him on the spot. But if vindictive, the elephant is also grateful. At Pondicherry, a soldier, who treated an elephant to a dram of arrack every time he received his pay, found himself the worse for liquor. When the guard were about to carry him off to prison he took refuge under the elephant, and fell asleep. His protector would allow no one to approach, and watched him carefully all night. In the morning, after caressing with his trunk, he dismissed him to settle with the authorities as best he could. Both revenge and gratitude imply intelligence; still more does the application of an unforseen expedient. A train of artillery going to Seringapatam, had to cross the shingly bed of a river. A man who was sitting on a gun-carriage fell; in another second the wheel would have passed over his body. An elephant walking by the side of the carriage saw the danger, and instantly, without any order from his keeper, lifted the wheel from the ground, leaving the fallen man uninjured. These anecdotes, however, it must be borne in mind, are exceptional in their character; and I would advise anybody who thinks of throwing himself down in the elephant's track to be picked up, when the menagerie procession is passing through the streets, to think a long time before doing it. Elephants generally seem to have an extreme development of caution with regard to bridges. An elephant belonging to a menagerie which was exhibiting in Vermont, while traveling from Waterbury, in that State, to Northfield, in crossing a bridge over a creek, crushed the floor with his enormous weight, and fell partly through, his fore quarters only remaining on the bridge. By this accident he was lamed for several days, but not sufficiently to prevent him from traveling. When he was brought to the Long Bridge over the Richelieu river, at St. John's, he evidently retained a vivid recollection of this mishap, and neither coaxing, threats, persuasion, nor force, could induce him to budge an inch on the, to him, perilous structure. Nor does it appear that his apprehensions were unfounded, for the proprietors of the bridge notified the menagerie managers that they were dubious of the capacity of the bridge to bear the weight of the elephant, and that if they crossed him they must do so at their own risk. The morning was rather chilly, and as they did not |