Such realistic combats would have delighted Forrest the American tragedian, famous for his ‘powerful’ acting. Rehearsing the part of a brave Roman warrior at the Albany Theatre, Forrest stormed at the representatives of the minions of a tyrant for not attacking him with sufficient spirit. At last the captain of the supers inquired if he wanted to make ‘a bully-fight of it,’ and received an affirmative answer. Evening came, and in due course the fighting scene was reached. Forrest ‘took the stage,’ and the half-dozen myrmidons advanced against him in skirmishing order. ‘Seize him!’ cried the tyrant. Striking a pugilistic attitude, the first minion hit out from the shoulder, and gave the Roman hero a fair ‘facer;’ the second minion following up with a well-judged kick from behind; while the others rushed in for a bout at close-quarters. The eyes of the astounded actor flashed fire; there was a short scrimmage of seven, and then one super went head first into the big drum and stopped there, four retired behind the scenes to have their wounds dressed, and the last of the valiant crew finding himself somehow up in the flies, rushed out upon the roof of the theatre bawling ‘Fire!’ with all the energy left him; while the breathless tragedian was bowing his acknowledgments of the enthusiastic plaudits of the excited audience.
Considering how often the super changes his nationality, one would expect him to be too thorough a cosmopolitan to cherish any insular or continental prejudices. They nevertheless have their sympathies and antipathies. ‘Shure, sir,’ said an Irishman who had for some nights died a glorious death fighting for Fatherland, ‘it’s mighty onpleasant to have to be a German; I’d rather play a Frenchman.’ He had to be contented by receiving the manager’s assurance that if he continued to work up his agony well, he might be permitted to change his uniform at the end of the month. Greater success awaited a stalwart navvy, who after crossing the Danube several times at Alexandra Park, declared he must ‘chuck it up’ if he could not be a Turk. His desire was granted; and the next afternoon he was pitching Russians into the water with a will.
In the old days of the Paris Cirque, a rule is said to have obtained, compelling supers who had incurred the management’s displeasure to go on as ‘the enemy,’ destined to succumb to native valour, by which means the difficulty of getting men to appear as the foes of France was obviated. When the _Battle of Waterloo_ was first produced on the English stage, in one of the battle-scenes the French troops drove a British division across the mimic field. This was done for a few nights. One morning, after rehearsal, the leader of the supernumerary red-coat corps, gathering his followers around him, said: ‘Boys, we mustn’t retreat before the Johnny Crapauds again, to be goosed by the pit. It’s all very well at rehearsal, but when it comes to real acting it won’t do. Let us turn upon the yelling demons and pitch them into the pit!’ And they did it too, astonishing the ‘Frenchmen,’ to say nothing of the audience; as greatly as Mr George Jones was once astonished by certain theatrical pirates. He, as an American sailor, had to rescue a fair captive from the clutches of the aforesaid ruffians. Unfortunately he had contrived to mortally offend the four supers concerned; and when he rushed to the lady’s aid with: ‘Come on, ye villains! One Yankee tar is more than a match for four lubberly sharks!’ instead of leading off in a broadsword fight, the pirate captain shouted: ‘I guess not!’ and seizing Jones by the legs and arms, the pirates carried him off the stage, deposited him in the property closet, and then returning, bore off the damsel to their rocky retreat; leaving the curtain to come down before a very much puzzled audience, to whom no explanation was vouchsafed.