Page:McClure's Magazine volume 10.djvu/469

Rh sides are heartily bored and wish to goodness the ship would pull out and get away. Our saloon list is composed of fifty persons—the limit of our cabin capacity—being the heads of the various departments of the big show, the "bosses" of this and the assistant "bosses" of that, and a few performers, male and female. The wives and children of the principal officials accompany them. Nearly every one of the passengers knows all the rest; and, in that respect, a more congenial company never assembled for a sea voyage. There is a marked esprit de corps among circus people; and it is at once apparent here. These doormen and ticket sellers, private secretaries, superintendents, animal experts, master mechanics, owners of trained animals, layers-out, are typical show-men, mostly veterans in the business. Performers are inclined to waive circus etiquette, and join social forces with them for the trip. But the performers are few—most of them having gone on ahead from week to week. Two lithe, young equestriennes, as many male riders, a charming young woman charioteer, some Arab acrobats, men and women with trained dogs, pigs, monkeys, geese, and seals—these are all.

All of the summer circus outfit—forty-eight wagons with tents, horses, men, and so on—is to follow us in February. They are not needed during the London engagement. The total of wagons runs up to ninety-six, and of people to 474. The rest of the men required will be hired over the water. Seven more elephants are booked for the next vessel, for lack of room here.

We finally say good-by for good and all—about the dusk of the evening—and pull out into the Hudson, to the tune of "Mr. Johnson, Turn me Loose," executed by the sideshow band. This is not "sprung" on us until it is too late to go ashore; but our friends on the dock, who have been knocking about all day half frozen, look so glad to see us go! We take the band with us. How beautiful the lights of New York look when one is about to leave them behind indefinitely! Round the sweep of Sandy Hook they become merged in one vast red aurora of the North. We are at sea. The swell raises the deck under our feet, and the ship becomes a sentient thing. The pilot-boat, hovering near us the while, puts out a small boat to take off our pilot. The frail shell, with its two hardy sailors, dances up and down in the darkness like a leaf. We watch the red lantern until it drifts under