Major John M. Burke, who was my lifetime associate in the show
business, had made all arrangements for housing the big troupe. We went
to work at our leisure with our preparations to astonish the British
public, and succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. The big London
amphitheater, a third of a mile in circumference, was just the place
for such an exhibition. The artist's brush was employed on lavish scale
to reproduce the scenery of the Western Plains. I was busy for many
days with preparations, and when our spectacle was finally given it was
received with such a burst of enthusiasm as I had never witnessed
anywhere.
The show began, after the grand entry, with the hour of dawn on the
Plains. Wild animals were scattered about. Within their tents were the
Indians sleeping. As the dawn deepened the Indians came out of their
tents and went through one of their solemn and impressive war-dances.
While this was going on the British audience held its breath. You could
have heard a whisper in almost any part of the arena.
Then in came a courier to announce the neighborhood of a hostile tribe.
Instantly there was a wild scramble for mounts and weapons. The enemy
rushed in, and for ten minutes there was a sham battle which filled the
place with noise and confusion. This battle was copied as exactly as it
could be copied from one of the scrimmages in which I had taken part in
my first days as a scout.
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