Some years before he paired up with P. T. Barnum, James A. Bailey brought his traveling circus to Melrose as August, 1873, wound down. There, the show collided with a Midwest thunderstorm of magnificent proportions that brought the tent down and sent patrons and performers alike scurrying to safety.
This report was published in The Chariton Patriot of Sept. 3, 1873, without attribution. Melrose had a newspaper of its own at the time, The Bell, and it may have been lifted from there. Whatever the case, its an entertaining read --- although the writer seems to rely a bit to heavily on the word "ludicrous."
The piece is headlined, "From Melrose: Bailey's Circus Tents Blow Down. A Ludicrous Scene."
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One of the most intensely ludicrous events of show life transpired at Melrose on Monday, during the Female Minstrel performance. Just after the close of the circus, a fearful storm of wind and rain accompanied by thunder and lightning appalling visited the place. When the minstrel performance was about half through, it being evident that the tents could not stand, the management gave the word to the crowd to "disperse, the tent was falling."
Then followed a scene that would beggar the descriptive powers of a Nast, rain pouring in torrents mid lightning flashes, thunder roars in unison with that of the thoroughly frightened animals and screams of women, children, men and monkeys in a wild rush for the door. Under the tent bottom, here they go, there they rush madly, yelling, howling and crushing one another. Out they go into the storm bare-headed, down goes the large canvas with a crash appalling, the wind carrying part into the creek.
Those who had been fortunate enough to not stay at the performance were close by in buildings and at once took in the ludicrous phase and joined the din with loud jeers and laughter which seemed suddenly to possess the whole crowd now safe out of the tent and louder rang the din.
But what are those beautiful bright objects of buff, scarlet and gold that run through the crowd with such agile rapid strides? There they go. The mob catches a glimpse and louder yells and guffaws follow. Across the low ground they speed, mud and water splashing at every bound. The hairless old elephant puts in a shrill scream. With fear subsiding, the sense of utter ludicrousness of the time takes possession of all. On speed our angelic beings, up the railroad track they now fly, making straight for the freight cars standing on the side track. Yes, as sure as fate they are. Lord, yes! They are the Female Minstrels in tights. Hoop La! Count 'em. Two in buff and scarlet boots, one in blue, one white and blue, one pure white barefooted, no tights except nature's and the floating white single garment cut low at the neck, short sleeves and wonderfully ruffled, a French name for it --- but our memory fails us. There they disappear in the car.
The rain pours; down goes the dressing tent which until now has stood the wind and there in all his glory stands Adam No. 2 trying his best to crawl head foremost into a wet shirt. Fine tinsel-mounted star-spangled clothing, sodden and wet, stew the ground in dire confusion; and all goes merry as a marriage bell until the rain slacks.
And then comes forth our song nymphs from the freight cars, bedraggled, sorry sights, with long disheveled dewy locks, yet beautiful with all, and as merry seemingly as crickets. One steps upon the porch of the Stoddard House and tips the crowd a few steps of a fancy jig. The rest dart up the stairs, especially the one with the white robe (now having a man's overcoat thrown round her shoulders).
"No show tonight," and the crowd left satisfied that they had been treated to one of the best free shows ever on exhibition in America. All hail, Bailey & Co., and their Female Minstrels, for have they not opened the flood gates of a brazen Heaven and cooled a parched earth? Their loss is at least $500 in damage to clothing, tents, &c.
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