Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 645 A Legendary Figure? A Circus Clown?

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Lionel and Morgan discussed for a while the possibility of replacing gas lamps with electric lights for public lighting in New York City.

Old Morgan was in high spirits. He stood by the window of his study, pointing to the New York night view outside—the scattered gaslights looked so dim in the darkness.

"New York City has 30,000 gas streetlights. Every night, City Hall sends out 600 lighters to light them one by one."

At dawn, these lamplighters would then extinguish the lamps one by one. How much money would that cost? How much manpower would that require?

Lionel nodded: "Lights don't need to be so complicated. Just flip the switch and it's on, pull the switch and it's off."

“Yes! And the lights should be brighter and more consistent. New York’s streets should be as bright as the Dakota Apartments, not like they are now, with dim, yellowish light everywhere.”

He walked to his desk and picked up a document: "The city hall has agreed in principle. A ten-year plan, twenty million dollars. But this is just the beginning."

Once the streets of New York light up, other cities will follow. Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago… and then the whole of America.”

Lionel took the document and flipped through it. It contained detailed budgets and plans: the location of the power plant, the route of the transmission lines, the type and quantity of streetlights…

Lionel still had some concerns about Edison: "What about Mr. Edison? He certainly won't stand idly by."

Old Morgan laughed: "Thomas? He only cares about Britain. London City Hall just signed a contract with him last month to build twelve DC power stations in Holburn."

Even now, he still believes that taking London means taking the world. Times have changed; America is the future!

Lionel put down the documents: "So we need to hurry. Once New York's AC power grid is built, other cities will have no choice."

"That's right. That's why we need to scale up production as quickly as possible. More generators, more transformers, more wires..."

Let Nicolas return to Paris as soon as possible; he needs to continue refining the design and reducing production costs in his laboratory there.

At this point, old Morgan glanced at Lionel. He noticed a clear weariness on the young man's face.

"Leon, you look tired."

Lionel rubbed his temples: "I haven't been sleeping well lately. Every day it's either signing parties or site inspections."

Old Morgan nodded understandingly. He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed one to Lionel.

"You need to rest for a few days. Don't think about work all the time. New York is a fun city; you should explore it."

Lionel took the glass and took a small sip: "What are you looking at?"

Old Morgan thought for a moment, then his eyes suddenly lit up: "I've got it! 'Buffalo Bill's' 'Wild West'! Have you heard of it?"

Lionel paused, momentarily stunned. The first image that flashed through his mind was the psychopathic serial killer from *The Silence of the Lambs*. How could such a person have existed in the 19th century?

“Buffalo Bill? Who is he?” Lionel frowned.

Old Morgan laughed: "That's a nickname. His real name is William Frederick Cody, and he was a buffalo hunter when he was young, so he got that nickname."

He took a sip of his drink and continued, "Last year he started a large theater company in Nebraska called 'Wild West'."

Performing entertaining 'Western-themed shows'—royalties, marksmanship demonstrations, Native American dances…—is very popular now.

Lionel understood. This was a 19th-century "Western-themed show," somewhat similar to his "Pirates of the Caribbean" theme park.

"They've come to New York for a tour. They set up an open-air theater in Brooklyn. Tickets are incredibly hard to come by."

Lionel certainly knew that for old Morgan, there was no such thing as "hard to get" tickets.

Sure enough, old Morgan smiled and said, "But I've already arranged for the theater to reserve the best seats for me. Right in the VIP box, facing the performance area."

"How about it? Their first show in New York is the day after tomorrow afternoon. Why don't you and Miss Sophie go check it out? Relax."

Lionel thought for a moment. Entertainment options were truly scarce in this era. Paris didn't have the Moulin Rouge, and Broadway certainly didn't have the can-can to watch.

The theaters in New York were dimly lit compared to the Comédie-Française, so he had no interest in them. Going to see a circus would be a good alternative.

Thinking about this, he nodded. "Okay. Thank you for the invitation."

Old Morgan raised his glass: "Then it's settled. My carriage will pick you up at one o'clock the day after tomorrow."

The two clinked glasses.

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Two days later, Lionel and Sophie rode in a carriage arranged by old Morgan, crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, and arrived at an open space on the East River.

A huge oval-shaped open space has been built here. Looking out from the carriage window, the shape of the space is clearly visible—

The central area is a sandy performance zone, roughly the size of two football fields. Three sides are wooden stands that extend upwards in a tiered fashion, estimated to accommodate several thousand people.

One side of the stands has a military band seating area, behind which is a tent area, presumably a rest area for the actors and horses.

At the entrance to the venue stood a tall wooden sign with the words "Buffalo Bill's Wild West - A magnificent epic of the American frontier!" written in bright paint.

Next to the wooden sign was a smaller note: "Performance starts at 2 PM daily, lasting two and a half hours. Ticket price: 25 cents (regular) to $1 (front row)." The carriages didn't stop at the entrance; instead, they went around to the side of the venue and entered through a dedicated passageway. Only luxurious carriages were parked here.

Old Morgan's butler was already waiting, and he respectfully led Lionel and Sophie through the tent area toward the stands.

The tent area was bustling with activity. Lionel saw cowboys polishing their rifles, Mexican riders adjusting their reins, and Native Americans applying face paint.

They climbed the wooden stairs to a box at the top of the stands. The box was enclosed by wooden railings and contained several chairs and a small round table.

The view here is excellent, overlooking the entire performance area.

Morgan was already waiting in the box. When he saw Lionel and Sophie, he immediately stood up, shook hands with Lionel, and exchanged pleasantries.

Then Morgan gestured for them to sit down: "The show is about to start. Today's is a special performance!"

Sophie asked curiously, "A special screening?"

Morgan winked mysteriously: "You'll find out soon enough. A big shot is joining the show today."

He then turned to Lionel: "Lion, have you seen 'Wild West'?"

Lionel laughed: "This is truly the first time I've seen this from the sidelines."

Morgan laughed too, clearly recalling Lionel's ordeal in Windbreak Town three years ago.

But he remained enthusiastic: "I've already seen it once in Philadelphia. It was the best large-scale circus performance I've ever seen! Even better than Barnum's Circus!"

He launched into a long explanation: "'Buffalo Bill' was a legendary figure. He was a stagecoach, then a scout for the army, and he even hunted bison..."

It is said that he hunted over four thousand bison by himself!

Sophie's eyes widened: "More than four thousand?"

"Yes! That's why he's called 'Buffalo Bill.' But now he doesn't hunt anymore; he focuses on his 'Wild West' shows."

He brought in real cowboys, real Native Americans, and real gunmen to recreate authentic Western life.

Lionel listened, completely unmoved. He knew that the so-called "real Western life" was rapidly disappearing in this era.

As the railway traversed the continent and white settlers continued to move westward, Native American lands were constantly encroached upon. This kind of performance was, in effect, consuming a culture that was on the verge of extinction.

But he didn't say it aloud, he just nodded: "That sounds interesting."

At this point, the audience seats gradually filled up, forming a dense, dark mass, far more crowded than the indoor theater.

The performance started promptly at 2:00 PM.

The military band played a stirring march. At the entrance to the field, a group of riders rushed in.

First came the American cavalry, dressed in blue uniforms and carrying the Stars and Stripes; then came the Mexican riders, wearing wide-brimmed hats and capes.

Next came the cowboys, dressed in leather pants and plaid shirts, wielding lassos; finally, a group of Native American riders, their faces painted and feathers in their hair.

What's most remarkable is that they rode horses without saddles, but they didn't look disheveled at all; instead, they let out loud battle cries.

The audience erupted in enthusiastic applause and cheers.

The riders circled the sandy area once, then split into two teams and lined up on either side of the field.

Next came the horse-drawn carriages—a dozen or so covered wagons lined up and slowly drove into the area and parked.

At that moment, "Buffalo Bill's" voice resounded throughout the stadium through the metal megaphone:
"Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome our special guest today—the legendary Sioux chief, 'Sitting Bull'!"

The entire venue was in an uproar.

The audience all stood up and craned their necks to look at the entrance. They saw an elderly Native American riding a horse slowly entering the arena.

He was very old, his face was covered with wrinkles, he was dressed in traditional animal skin clothing, and he wore an eagle feather crown on his head.

His gaze was calm, even somewhat indifferent, as if the surrounding commotion had nothing to do with him. He didn't wave or smile; he simply rode his horse around the arena.

But the audience erupted in even louder cheers, with many clapping excitedly and some even shedding tears.

Morgan was so excited his face turned bright red: "It really is him! 'Sitting Bull'! He actually came to New York!"

Lionel stared at the old man on the sidelines, momentarily stunned—of course he knew the name.

That was "Sitting Bull," a legendary figure among the Sioux tribe of Native Americans, a chief and shaman, who was as famous as "Crazy Horse" and led his tribe in resisting the westward expansion of the United States for more than a decade!

Even in Parisian newspapers, his legendary history is occasionally mentioned.

Now he's become a circus performer, surrounded by onlookers like a clown.

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(End of this chapter)