Indian Conjuring :: CHAPTER VIII THE BASKET TRICK

CHAPTER VIII THE BASKET TRICK

When we discussed the Mango Tree trick, I commented unfavourably upon the veracity of our friend Macpherson. Let me here state definitely that there is no such person as far as I know, though the description of the trick as I have given it, was related to me word for word in the smoking room of an outward bound ship. It was capped by some one saying that they had seen the tree grown without earth, on the deck of a steamer on its way to Australia. I make no comment on this version of the Mango Tree trick. There are many people who describe tricks to me and ask how they could have been done. Some of these baffle all explanation. They are so marvellous, that I am convinced that they have never been done and could never be performed.

Such tricks as described to me are usually the fruit of a vivid imagination, pure and simple. As an instance of this, I will relate an incident that happened some time ago in Calcutta. I gave a performance in a public place in which I did a billiard ball trick. In the trick, the greatest number of billiard balls that I have at any one time in my hands is two. Throughout the whole of the trick I use no more than one red, two white, and two smaller white balls. Five in all. After the performance, I was having a well earned drink, when a complete stranger to me asked if I had seen "that chap who did the tricks." I could truthfully answer "no" and did so. "He was an absolute marvel," said the stranger "there he was on the stage in evening dress with both arms bared (I never bare my arms) and he produced the whole set of pool balls, every single colour of them." This was said to me within ten minutes of my having performed the trick, and the five balls that I used had been exaggerated into sixteen or seventeen. I forget how many balls are used at the game of Pool.

The French Police truthfully say that no two untrained persons can describe accurately in detail a scene witnessed an hour previously. I am sure that all our Indian judges can verify this statement. It can be easily proved by any one of my readers trying with his friends. It is this inability to accurately describe what has been seen that assists the conjuror so much in deceiving his audience. It is this inability which unfortunately results in rumours being spread of wonderful performances being given by magicians in distant lands, notably the Rope trick, with which I will deal later. Such rumours and stories are started by persons who from bravado will swear that they have seen this, that, and the other, in order generally to be the centre of their astounded listeners.

A trick that is most frequently described is that known as the Basket trick, which is in my opinion the chef d'oeuvre of the Indian Jadoo-wallah. It is a wonderful bluff usually wonderfully shewn.

A perfectly good basket is placed on the ground. It is shewn to be quite empty and devoid of any trap, false bottoms or other mechanism. After a well conducted altercation with his assistant, a small boy, the performer tells him to get into the basket. The boy attempts to do so, but finds that it is too small to contain more than his feet and legs doubled up. The Jadoo-wallah presses forward the little boy's head and this leaves only his shoulders and back visible. A large cloth of thick texture is then thrown over the little boy who is half in and half out of the basket, and the lid is balanced on top of all. A little more altercation ensues when the Maestro takes a big stick and aims a mighty blow at the basket. As the blow falls the lid sinks down on to the top of the basket, and a terrible silence is the result.

The Jadoo-wallah realises that he has killed his assistant, and, if a good showman, bewails his lot suitably. He then decides to get rid of the body and, in some cases, to restore it to life again. In order to show that a tune on the "bean" has the required effect of making the body disappear, he lifts the lid of the basket and first with one foot and then the other steps on to the cloth covering the basket and presses it down to the bottom. There is nothing in the basket!

To further prove the emptiness of the basket he replaces the lid, through the middle of which there is a hole, and through this hole thrusts down in all directions a sword. Occasionally he thrusts it through the sides. There is nothing in the basket. The body has disappeared.

This ends the trick, though on occasions the performer orders the lad to re-appear from the end of the garden, or elsewhere.

The collection is made, the basket is hitched up on the shoulder pole and with his bag of tricks the Jadoo-wallah moves on to the next bungalow. How can it be done?

First let us note carefully the shape of the basket. It is oblong, about two feet high with a bulge in all its sides, so that the bottom of the basket is larger than the top.

When the boy gets into the basket he places both feet into it and sits down, filling the basket thus:—

When the performer pushes his head forward the boy gets into this position:—

The cloth is then thrown over all, the boy and the basket, and while the lid is being placed on top, and the altercation continues, the boy gets into this position, holding the basket lid up with one hand.

The lid of the basket being held up like this causes the audience to think that his former position is unaltered.

If one were to take away the cloth and look inside the basket one would see the boy lying something like this.

The performer takes away the lid which the boy has allowed to sink into its proper place after the terrible blow with the big stick, and to show the emptiness of the basket, puts his feet into the basket, between the body and bent up legs of the boy, and sits down on top of the assistant. By doing so he pushes the cloth down close on to the boy.

He then gets out again, replaces the lid and thrusts the sword through the hole in the lid twisting it in all directions. Were it not for the thickness of the cloth, which is by now close to the body of the boy by reason of the performer having pressed it down by sitting in the basket, the sword would certainly hurt the little chap. Incidentally the sword is none too sharp.

The sword is withdrawn and pushed through the sides, above the body of the boy.

The basket is proved undeniably empty.

If my readers doubt this explanation, let them offer the Jadoo-wallah, at this stage of the game, two thousand rupees to be allowed to fire a No. 8 cartridge from a 12 bore gun from a range of thirty yards at the empty basket. The performer will not accept the offer unless he values the boy at less than two thousand rupees and has a good chance of escaping arrest for murder. I have offered it twice with impunity.

The trick divides into two endings. One can always tell which ending it will have by a glance at the basket. If it has two ropes which pass underneath it, permanently attached, the betting is that the boy will appear from the end of the garden. The reason of this is that after the re-appearance of the boy—a duplicate of the one in the basket—the permanent ropes on the basket allow it to be hitched up on the shoulder pole and carried away, with the disappeared boy still inside it. When the Jadoo-wallah gets round the corner, the little assistant gets out while his impersonator goes a round about way into the next compound ready to re-appear at the end of the next performance of the trick.

If the basket has no ropes attached to it, odds are on the performance ending by the magician apologising profusely to his Gods who restore the boy from the depths of the basket again. The performer in this case has no duplicate, and the trick if well presented is almost as effective as the other, with the more elaborate ending.

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