<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></SPAN></span></p>
<h2>II</h2>
<h3>ABOUT DOUBLE AND TRIPLE SOMERSAULTS AND THE DANGER OF LOSING HEART</h3>
<div class='cap'>IN talking with my circus friends I was surprised to
learn that a trapeze performer in perfect practice,
say in mid-season, may suddenly, without knowing
why, begin to hesitate or blunder in a certain trick that
he has done without a slip for years. This happened to
Danny Ryan in the fall of 1900, when he found himself
growing more and more uncertain of his difficult
pirouette leap, a feat invented by himself in 1896, and
never done by another performer. Danny did it first
when he used to play the clown with the spring-board
leapers who do graceful somersaults over elephants
and horses. With them would come Danny, made
up as a fat man, and do a backward somersault and
a full twister at the same time, the effect being a
queer corkscrew turn that made the people laugh.
They little suspected that this awkward-looking leap
was one of the most difficult feats in the air ever attempted,
or that it had cost Ryan weeks of patient
practice and many a hard knock before he mastered it.</div>
<p>And then one day, after doing it hundreds of times
with absolute ease, he did it badly, then he did it
worse, then he fell, and finally began to be afraid of
it and left it out of the act. Acrobats shake their
heads when you ask for an explanation of a thing like
that. They don't know the explanation, but they
dread the thing.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"When a man feels that way about a trick, he's got
to quit it for a while," said Ryan, "or he'll get hurt.
'Most all the accidents happen where a performer
forces himself against something inside him that says
stop. Sometimes an acrobat has to give up his work
entirely. Now, there's Dunham,—you've heard of
him,—the greatest performer in the world on high
bars. They'll give him any salary he wants to ask.
Graceful? Well, you ought to see him let go from
his giant swing and do a back somersault clean over
the middle bar and catch the third! And now they
say he's gone out of the business. Somebody told
me it was religion. Don't you believe it. He's had
a feeling—it's something like fear, but it <i>isn't</i> fear—that
he's worked on high bars long enough."</p>
<p>"He's had bad luck with his partners, too," remarked
Weitzel. "Couple of 'em missed the turn
somehow and got killed. Say, that takes a man's
nerve as much as anything, to have his partner hurt.
I don't wonder Dunham wants to quit."</p>
<p>"Tell you where it's hard on an acrobat," put in
Zorella—"that's where he <i>can't</i> quit on account of his
family—where he needs the money. I remember a
young fellow joined the show out west to leap over
elephants. He got along well enough over two elephants,
but when it came to three, why, we could all
see he was shaky. Some of the boys told him he'd
better stop, but he said he'd try to learn, and he
was such a nice, modest fellow and worked so hard
that everybody wished him luck. But it wasn't any
use. One day he tackled a double over three elephants,
and came down all in sections, with his right
foot on the mattress and his left foot on the ground.
That was his last leap, poor fellow, for the ankle bones
snapped as his left foot struck, and a few hours later<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></SPAN></span>
he lay in the dressing-room tent, pretty white, with the
doctors over him. I'll never forget the way he looked
up at us when we came in. He was game all right,
but his eyes were awful pathetic. 'Well, boys' said
he, 'here I am. I did the best I could.' Turned out
he'd done it for a sick wife and a little baby. Pretty
tough, wasn't it?"</p>
<p>Speaking of leaps over elephants brings to my mind
an afternoon when I watched a circus rehearsal in the
open air. That is a thing better worth seeing, to my
mind, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'that'">than</ins> the regular performance; the acrobats and
riders in their every-day clothes are more like ordinary
men and women, and their feats seem the more
difficult for occasional slips and failures.</p>
<p>Here, for instance, are a mother and daughter, in
shirt-waists, watching the trick monkey ride a pony,
when suddenly a whistle sounds, and off goes the
mother to drive three plunging horses in a chariot-race,
while the daughter hurries to her part in an
equestrian quadrille. And now these children playing
near the drilling elephants trot into the ring and do
wonderful things on bicycles. And yonder sleepy-looking
man is a lion-tamer; and those three are the
famous Potters, aërial leapers; and this thick-set fellow
in his shirt-sleeves is Artressi, the best jumper in the
circus. He's going to practise now; see, they are putting
up the spring-board and the long downward run
that leads to it. These other men are jumpers, too,
but Artressi is the star; he draws the big salary.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/illus62.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="313" alt=""FOUR ELEPHANTS WAS ENOUGH FOR ANY MAN TO LEAP OVER."" title="" /> <span class="caption">"FOUR ELEPHANTS WAS ENOUGH FOR ANY MAN TO LEAP OVER."</span></div>
<p>Now they start and spring off rather clumsily, one
after another, in straight leaps to the mattress. They
won't work into good form for some days yet. Here
they come again, a little faster, and two of them try
singles. Here comes Artressi. Ah! a double forward,
and prettily taken. The crowd applauds. Now<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></SPAN></span>
a tall man tries a double. Gradually the practice gets
hotter until every man is doing his best. There will
be stiff joints here in the morning, but never mind!</p>
<p>In a resting-spell I sat down by Artressi and talked
with him about leaping. It was hard, he said, going
off a spring-board into empty air. Didn't know
how it was, but he could always do better with something
to leap over, say elephants or horses. He could
judge the mattress easier; wasn't so apt to miss it.
What was his biggest leap? Well, four elephants and
three camels was about his best, with a pyramid of men
on top. He'd cleared that twice a day for weeks some
years ago, but he wouldn't do it now. No, sir; four
elephants was enough for any man to leap over if he
had a wife and child. That made a flight of thirty
feet, anyhow, from the spring-board to the ground.
Oh, yes, he turned two somersaults on the way—forward
somersaults. It wasn't possible for anybody to
clear four elephants and turn backward somersaults.</p>
<p>I asked Artressi (his real name is Artress) about a
leap with three somersaults, and found him positive
that such a feat will never become part of a regular
circus program. A man can turn the three somersaults
all right, but he loses control of himself, and
doesn't know whether he is coming down right or
wrong. In fact, he is sure to come down wrong if he
does it often. Then he mentioned the one case where
he himself had made a leap with three somersaults. It
was down in Kentucky, at the home of his boyhood.
Years had passed since he had seen the town, and in
that time he had risen from nothing to a blaze of circus
glory. He had become the "Great Artressi" instead
of little Joe Artress, and now he was to appear
before the people who knew him.</p>
<p>It was perhaps the most exciting moment of his life,<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></SPAN></span>
and as he came down the run toward the spring-board
he nerved himself to so fine an effort that instead of
doing two somersaults over the horses and elephants,
as he intended, he did three, and, by a miracle of fortune,
landed safely. That was his first and last triple;
he wasn't taking chances of a broken neck or a twisted
spine, which had been the end of more than one ambitious
leaper. No, sir; he would stick to doubles, where
a man knows exactly what he's doing.</p>
<p>In talking with acrobats, I came upon an interesting
phenomenon that seems almost like a violation of the
laws of gravitation. It appears that the movements
of a performer on the bars or trapeze are affected in a
marked degree by the slope of the ground underneath.
In other words, although bars and trapeze may rest
on supports that are perfectly level, yet the swing of
an acrobat's body will be accelerated over a downward
slope or retarded over an upward slope. So true is
this that the trapeze performer swinging over an upward
slope will often require all his strength to reach
a given point, while over a downward slope he must
hold back, lest he reach it too easily and suffer a collision.
Nevertheless, the swing in both cases is precisely
the same, with rigging and bars fixed to a true
level.</p>
<p>On this point there have been endless arguments,
and many persons have contended that acrobats must
imagine all this, since the upward or downward slope
of the ground under a trapeze can in no way affect the
movement of that trapeze. I fancy the wisdom of
such people is like that of the professors who proved
some years ago that it is a physical impossibility for a
ball-player to "pitch a curve." There is no doubt that
trapeze performers are obliged to take serious account
of the ground's slope in their daily work, to note carefully<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></SPAN></span>
the amount of slope and the direction of slope,
and to take their precautions accordingly. If they
did not they would fail in their feats. Those are the
facts to which all acrobats bear witness, let scientists
explain them as they may.</p>
<p>"Suppose the ground slopes to one side or the other
under your trapeze," I asked Ryan, one day. "How
does that affect you?"</p>
<p>"It draws you down the slope, and makes your bar
swing that way."</p>
<p>"What do you do about it?"</p>
<p>"Sometimes I pull the bar over a little in starting,
so as to balance the pull of the hill; but that's uncertain.
It's better to fix the rigging so that the bar is
a little higher on the downhill side."</p>
<p>Ryan said that a straight-ahead downhill slope is the
worst for a man, because he is apt to hold back too
hard, being afraid of bumping into his partner, and so
he doesn't get send enough, and falls short of his
mark.</p>
<p>"But all slopes are bad for us," he said, "and we
try hard to get our things put up over level ground."</p>
<p>This is but one instance of the jealous care shown
by acrobats for their bars and rigging. These things
belong not to the circus, but to the individual performers,
who put every brace and knot to the severest
test. For the high bars a particular kind of hickory
is used with a core of steel inside. Every mesh
of the net must resist a certain strain. The bars themselves
must be neither too dry nor too moist. The
light must come in a certain way, and a dozen other
things. Many an accident has come through the failure
of some little thing.</p>
<p>This much is certain, that acrobats often suffer without
serious injury falls that would put an end to ordinary<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></SPAN></span>
men. Like bareback riders, they <i>know how to
fall</i>, this art consisting chiefly in "tucking up" into a
ball and hardening the muscles so that the shock
is eased. Also they have by practice acquired the
power of deciding instantly how to make the body protect
itself in an emergency.</p>
<p>"Now," said Ryan, "I'll give you a case where two
of us did some quick thinking, and it helped a lot.
We were with a circus in Australia, making a night
run. It was somewhere in New South Wales, and
every man was asleep in his bunk. First thing we
knew, bang, rip, tear! a drowsy engineer had smashed
into us and taken the rear truck of our sleeper clean
off, and there were the floor timbers of our car bumping
along over the ties. We had the last car.</p>
<p>"Our engineer never slowed up, and our floor was
going into kindling-wood fast. It was as dark as
pitch, and nobody said a word. Fred Reynolds and I—Reynolds
was a clown acrobat—had lower berths
right at the end, next to the negro porter, and I don't
say we escaped because we were acrobats, but—well,
this is what we did. Fred gave one mighty leap, just
like going over elephants, and cleared the whole trail
of wreckage that was pounding along behind the car
and landed safe on the track. It was a crazy thing
to do, in my opinion, but it worked. I made a spring
for the chandelier, and hung there until the train
stopped. And afterward I found my trousers back on
the road-bed with the legs cut clean off, and I guess
my own legs would have gone the same way if
they'd been there. What did the porter do? Oh, he
did nothing, and—and he was killed."</p>
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