Gil Robinson, son of "Old John" the showman, has also left interesting memoirs of his experiences. To quote :"In the summer of 1873, during the yellow fever epidemic that centered in the South, the show was quarantined at Vinita in the Cherokee nation. Two weeks after Vinita, we stopped at the little town of Jacksonville, Texas. It was Saturday, and the town was crowded. Shortly after the parade started, thirty or fourty tough citizens gathered around the ticket wagon and began firing their guns in the air. The sheriff was sent for, and responded with evident reluctance. When we demanded protection for the show, he said, "Taint no use trin', I jest can't do nothin with 'em. There was a show down here a couple of years ago, an' the boys busted into the dressin tent an' killed two of th' circus fellers an' sence that time they've been jest natchally lookin' fer gore." The sheriff further remarked that we would save ourselves plenty of trouble and probably escape a few fatalities if we permitted the boys to do as they pleased and didn't do nothin' to rile 'em.

"The word was quickly passed around for the employers to prepare for trouble; loaded rifles and shotguns were placed in convenient places behind the cages, and a goodly supply of stakes and other implements of offense and defense were planted where they could readily be procured in case of need.

"The doors were opened and the crowd flocked into the tent. There were a few arguments when the bad men of the town and surrounding country tried to push their way through without buying tickets, but these were handled diplomatically. The show started, and we were congratulating ourselves on escaping serious trouble, when an usher came out to the front door and reported that one of the "bad men" insisted on going into the ring and interfering with the performance. One of the bosses sent in to try and molify the "tough citizen" get him to sit down in the audience. He found the fellow on the ring bank with his feet inside and the performance temporarily stopped.

"My friend" said the circus man quietly, "you'll be able to see the show better in the seats, and if you will go over there to the reserved seats one of the ushers will take good care of you." The fellow simply grinned, and one of his friends on the seats yelled:

"Stay thar, Jeff, don't let 'em put yo' out." "Jeff sized up the circus man, dug his heels into the dirt, and growled : "I reckon I'll stick here."

"The circus man started to walk away, but turned quickly at the warning cry of one of the clowns. The tough had drawn a long, ugly looking knife, and was playfully toying with it. With an agility learned by long experience, the circus boss seized the elbow of the hand holding the knife, and with his other hand grasped the fellow by the back of his neck and hustled him over to the seats and sent him sprawling among his cronies. The gang made a rush for the circus man, and in a minute the tent was a mass of seething, yelling, rioting humanity. The boss canvasman's whistle blew, the sidewalls were dropped down, everyone rushed to get outside, and in a short time the arena was deserted. Then the canvas-men, trained for such an emergency, began to remove the seats and to lower the canvas peaks.

"Suddenly there was a cry of "Hey Rube." Jeff and his fellow desperadoes joined by the sheriff, had massed themselves between the tents and the railroad, and as the crowd thinned out, advanced for an attack on the show. Out came guns and tent stakes and the gang was received with a volley of buckshot and blows that halted them, and presently sent them scurrying for shelter. The ground was covered with the injured. Those who escaped, barricaded themselves in stores and barns from which they were dragged by the infuriated circus men and severely beaten. The battle finally ceased for lack of enemies. We pickited the town for fear of outside reinforcements, and quickly loaded the cars. One of the men, who was a telegraph operator, got in touch with the chief train despatcher after the station agent had disappeared and he arranged to give us an extra engine and the right of way. Then shortly after everybody boarded the cars, lights were ordered dimmed, and the train pulled out. The defeated desperadoes tried to saw through the piles of a bridge about a mile out of town, but were not quick enough to wreck the show train. We passed over safely but a freight train that attempted to cross later on went down with the debris of the wrecked bridge. We did not linger long in Texas. At Galveston we chartered a steamer for New Orleans, and from there direct to winter quarters at Cincinnati. An effort was made to induce the governor of Ohio to issue extradition papers, so that the responsible heads of the show could be taken back to Texas for trial that would undoubtedly have been a travesty on justice. The governor refused. He realized that the desperadoes had not received any greater punishment than they deserved."

This is Mr. Robinson's side of the story, and although he does not state the number of casualties, contemporary news accounts of the period, stated three citizens were killed, and several dozen on each side very badly wounded. This incident known as the "Jacksonville Clem" was long talked of by circus men as being one of the most desperate fights ever waged in circus history. It was years before the Robinson Show ever returned to Texas, and then after civilizing influences had rendered such things to the past.