The Potter Journal

Whimbamper and Lion Fight.

The menagerie was in town. A rare occurrence was the exhibition of wild beasts—lions, monkeys, hyenas, tigers, polar bears and ichneumons, in Baltimore in the early day of which we are writing; yet they came occasionally, and this time were visited by old Nat Wheatly, a jolly, weather beaten old tar; well known in Baltimore as an inveterate joker, who never let any one get the advantage of him. He was, furthermore, a stutterer of the first class.

Nat visited the menagerie. As he entered the showman was stirring up the monkeys and turning the lion, giving elaborate descriptions of the various properties and natural peculiarities of each and all.

'Ladies and gentlemen, this is the African lion. A noble beast he is, ladies and gentlemen; is called king of the forest. I have heard often that he takes nothing of devouring young creatures of every description when at home in the woods. Certain it is that no other beast can whip him.'

'M-mi-mister,' interrupted Wheatly, 'd-do you say he c-can't be whipped?'

'I d-do,' said the man of the lion and tigers.

'What'll you bet I c-can't fetch a critter that'll whip him?'

'I ain't a betting man at all, but I don't object to making a small bet to that effect.'

'I'll bet that I can fetch a critter that will whip him. What say you to a hundred dollars?'

Now there were several merchants in the crowd who knew Wheatly well, and were fully convinced that if the bet was made he was sure of winning, so that he had no difficulty in finding backers, one of whom told him he would give him ten gallons of rum if he won. The menagerie man glanced at his lion. There he crouched in his cage, his shaggy mane bristling, and his tail sweeping, the picture of grandeur and majesty. The bribe was tempting and he felt assured.

'Certainly, sir, certainly, I have no objection to old Hercules taking a bout with any critter you can fetch.'

'Vyery well,' said Nat, 'it's a bet.'

The money was planked up, and the night was designated for the terrible conflict. The news spread over Baltimore, and at an early hour the boxes of the spacious theatre were filled, the pit being cleared for the affray.

Expectation was on tiptoe, and it was with great impatience that the crowd awaited the arrival of Wheatly. He at length entered, bearing a bag or sack on his shoulders, which, as he sat it on the floor, was observed to contain some remarkably hard and heavy substance.—The keeper looked with indignation.

'Where's your animal?' he inquired.

'Th-there,' said Nat, pointing at the bag with his finger.

'Well, what is it?' asked the man with increased astonishment.

'Th-th-that, ladies and Gentlemen,' gesticulating like the showman, 'is a w-wh-whimbamper.'

'A whimbamper!' ejaculated the showman.

'That is certainly a new feature in zoology and anatomy. A whimbamper! Well, let him out and clear the ring, or old Hercules may make a mouthful of both of you.'

The keeper was excited. Accordingly Nat raised the bag, holding the aperture downwards, and out rolled a huge snapping turtle, while the cheers and laughter of the audience made the arches ring.

'Th-there he is,' as he tilted the whimbamper over with both hands, and set him on his legs, all unconscious of its peril.

Wheatly was about leaving the ring, when the keeper swore the lion should never disgrace himself by fighting with such a pitiable foe.

'Very well,' said Nat, 'if v-you choose to give me the h-hundred dollars.'

'But it's unfair,' cried the showman.

The audience interposed and insisted on the fight. There was no escape, and the showman reluctantly released the lion, making himself secure on the top of the cage.

The majestic beast moved slowly around the ring, snuffing and lashing, while every person held his breath in suspense. Lions are beasts, and this one was not long in discovering the turtle, which lay on the floor, a large and inanimate mass. The lion soon brought his nose in close proximity to it, which the turtle not liking popped out his head and rolled his eyes, while a sort of wheeze issued from his savage mouth. The lion jumped back, turned and made a spring on the turtle, which was now fully prepared for his reception. As the lion landed on him, the turtle fastened his terrific jaws on his nostrils, rendering him powerless to do harm; yet with activity of limb he bounded around the circle, growled, roared, and lashed himself, but the snapper hung on seeming to enjoy the ride vastly.

'G-g-go it, wh-limbamper!' cried Wheatly from the boxes.

The scene was rich. The showman was no less enraged than the lion, and drawing a pistol he threatened Nat that if he did not call the turtle off he would shoot him.

'T-take him off yourself,' shouted Nat in reply.

At this critical moment, by dint of losing a portion of his nose, the lion had the luck to shake his 'pitiable' foe from him, and clearing the space between him-self and his cage with a bound, sunk quietly in to chew the cud of defeat in pain.

It was a fair fight, all declaring that the 'whimbamper' was the victor. 'The next morning Nat carried his turtle to market and sold him. So this valiant champion, after conquering the king of the forest, served to make a dinner for Baltimore epicures.