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Music Direction for the Stage
Music Direction
for the Stage
A View from the Podium

Joseph Church

1
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of
Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research,
scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide.
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With offices in
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Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore
South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam
Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press
in the UK and certain other countries.
Published in the United States of America by
Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016
© Joseph Church 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior
permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law,
by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization.
Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the
Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above.
You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Church, Joseph, 1957–
Music direction for the stage : a view from the podium / Joseph Church.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN: 9780199993406 (hardback; alk. paper) 9780199993413 (pbk; alk. paper)
1. Musicals—Production and direction. I. Title
MT955 .C59 2015—2014
782.1/4145 2014017176

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper
 Is it not the business of the conductor to convey to the public in its dramatic form the central
idea of a composition; and how can he convey that idea successfully if he does not enter heart
and soul into the life of the music and the tale it unfolds? How, otherwise, can he give the
performers . . . the spirit they require?
—John Philip Sousa

Paul E. Bierley, John Philip Sousa: American Phenomenon, Google book reprint, Alfred Music Publishing, 2001,
pp. 130–131.
 Contents

Foreword by Alan Menken xiii

Acknowledgments xv

Introduction: The View from the Podium 1

11
pa r t i     Music Direction: A Job Description 
1. Music Direction Today and Yesterday 13
What a Music Director Does 13
Historical Survey of Music Direction 19
Technology and the Shrinking Orchestra 22
Looking to the Future 27
2. Musical Stage Production 34
Songs, Musicals, and Opera 34
A (Very) Brief History of Music for the Stage 38
Production in the Twenty-First Century 42
3. Job Opportunities for Music Directors 45
Broadway and Off-Broadway 45
National Tours 49
Regional (Local), Repertory, and Stock Theater 51
Nightclubs, Cabarets, and Concerts 57
Revues, Special Events, and Industrials 62
Academic Theaters and Events 63
Amateur and Community Performances and Talent Shows 65
Workshops and Developmental Productions 67
viii | C o n t e n t s

pa r t i i     
Personnel 71
4. The Production Team 73
Producers 74
Stage Managers 76
General Managers, Company Managers, House Managers,
and Production Managers 79
5. The Creative Team 81
Composers and Lyricists 81
Directors 84
Choreographers 88
Designers and Technicians 90
6. The Music Team 93
Conductors, Associates, and Assistants 94
Contractors and Music Coordinators 96
Orchestrators and Copyists 98
Vocal and Dance Arrangers 103
Synthesizer Programmers 104
The Orchestra 108
7. The Performers 110
Singers and Dancers 110
Singers and Actors 113
Star Performers and Nontraditional Casting 115
Casting Directors 116

pa r t i i i     
Preproduction  119
8. Mounting a Production 121
Meetings and Agendas, Planning and Scheduling 121
Casting 126
Determining the Orchestration: Three Scenarios 132
Scenario 1: Voice and Piano, or Maybe More 132
Scenario 2: Small Ensembles 133
Scenario 3: Orchestra Reductions 136
9. The Music: Assessment and Analysis 138
Learning and Practicing Scores 139
Preparing Scores for Rehearsal 141
Transcribing 145
Practical Analysis for Music Direction 148
10. Arranging for Music Directors 154
Starting an Arrangement: Approaches and Rightness 156
Technical Fundamentals of Arranging 159
 C o n t e n t s ╇ | ╇ ix

Distribution, Registration, and Voicing 160

Dynamics and Articulation 161
Key 161
Feel and Style 162
Tempo 163
Structure 163
Notating Arrangements 163
Arranging for Voices 164
Arranging for Movement 174

pa r t i v ╅╅╇╛Rehearsals 1: Singers and the Stage 179

11. Overview of Rehearsal Process 181
12. Individual Vocal Rehearsals 187
Coaching Singers 187
Rehearsal Process and Conduct 188
Background, Analysis, and Style 190
Key 194
Tempo 195
Vocal Technique 198
Accompanying and the Accompaniment 199
Text and Singing 202
Acting and Singing 203
13. Ensemble Vocal Rehearsals 207
Ensemble Rehearsal Process 208
Choral Techniques for the Stage 213
Dynamics and Articulation 213
Breathing and Phrasing 216
Vocal Production and Technique 217
Intonation 218
Text and Diction 219
Acting and Characterization 220
Movement 221
Choral Conducting for the Stage 221
14. Rehearsals with Directors and Choreographers 223
Staging and Dramatic Rehearsals 223
Movement and Dance Rehearsals 227
15. Adapting Music to the Production 230
Cueing 231
Underscoring, Transitions, and Incidental Music 235
Overtures, Bows, and Exit Music 239
x | Contents

pa r t v     Rehearsals 2: Musicians, Technicians,

and the Venue  241
16. Orchestras and Orchestrations 243
Organizing the Musicians 243
The Orchestra: Sections and Setup 246
Rhythm Sections: Keyboards, Drums, Bass, and Guitar 247
Woodwinds and Brass 253
Strings 255
Orchestration: Notation and Parts 257
17. Instrumental Conducting for the Stage 262
Rehearsal Process 264
Conducting Styles 267
Visibility and the “Field” 269
Baton, Head, and Hands 269
Conducting Techniques 271
Meter, Beat Patterns, and Subdivisions 272
Preparatory Beats and Cutoffs 278
Rests and Holds 282
Safeties and Vamps 284
Free Tempo, Recitative, and Following Singers 286
Tempo and Tempo Changes 289
Feels, Grooves, and Syncopations 291
Dynamics and Articulations 293
Cueing and the Stage 295
18. From the Studio to the Stage 297
Run-throughs, Dress Rehearsals, and the Sitzprobe 297
Load-ins, Seatings, and Sound Checks 302
The Podium 308
Technical Rehearsals, Previews, and Brush-ups 312
Giving and Receiving Notes 315

pa r t v i     
Performance 321
19. Conducting in Performance 323
The Pre-Show Routine 324
Showtime 326
Repeated Performances: Variations on a Theme 327
When Things Go Wrong 329
20. Maintaining a Production and Preserving a Show 334
A Day in the Life 334
Keeping the Performance Fresh 335
Rehearsing after Opening 337
 C o n t e n t s | xi

Subbing in the Orchestra 340

Subbing on the Podium 341
Disputes 343
Original Cast and Other Recordings 344
Repeatability and the Rehearsal Score 347
21. Working as a Music Director 359
Starting Out 359
Career Philosophy 361
Maintaining a Career 364
How to Get a Gig 367

Appendix A Putting It Together 373

In The Heights #1: “In The Heights” 374
The Lion King #1: “Circle of Life” 378
Appendix B Bibliography, Suggested Reading, and List
of Musical Works Cited 383
Index 387
 Foreword
by Alan Menken
It’s about time someone wrote a book about the world of the music director. And Joe
Church is just the right guy to do it. We met and first worked together back in the early
1980s, with Little Shop of Horrors, and our association has lasted well over thirty years,
through his years as a musician, conductor, professor, and as a music director for all
kinds of projects: from developmental readings and concerts to long-running Broadway
shows. As a composer of songs and scores, whether for stage, screen or recording, I liken
myself to an architect. I create a structure that others can live in. I develop a basic musi-
cal concept with which to tell a story, a style, a vocabulary, an attitude, and a musical
palette. Along with a lyricist and book writer, I design a structure in which songs and
score can push story along, illuminate, amuse, and move emotionally. Like a house, a
musical theater score has a flow and a purpose, an entrance, a variety of rooms that serve
different functions and windows to allow light in.
Actors, singers, musicians, and audiences inhabit those works, the houses we
design. They move in and make them their own in the end and if I’ve done my job well,
those structures can withstand the test of time; surviving through varied interpreta-
tions, differences in languages and culture, and all levels of performance.
In the center of all of this is the music director, who builds the house and main-
tains all the systems. As every architect relies on a contractor to turn blueprints into a
finished house, I rely on my music directors to turn my notes on a page or my MIDI files
or recorded demos into a living, breathing finished experience. I trust them to creatively
interpret my wishes and communicate them to arrangers, orchestrators, singers and
dancers, culminating at last with the audience.
On any given production, the music director might adjust keys, tempos, phrasings,
or dynamics to best suit the skills of individual actors. He or she will stand in the back
of the house to coax the best mix decisions from a sound designer. A music director will
monitor the physical and emotional condition of singers and do whatever it takes to sup-
port them and enhance their performances. Music directors are traffic cops in rehears-
als and performances; the crossroads of notes from the composer, the stage manager, the
director, and the producer. They have to be aware of every note of the score and every
xiv | F o r e w o r d

performance on the stage, never burying their noses in the written score or drifting into
self-indulgence.
When a production is a new work, being developed for the first time, the music
director’s job is intense, exhausting, and exhilarating. In my studio, when I’m creating
a work, I am at one with the notes, the harmonies, the words, the characters, and the
story. That is the peak of the experience for me. In the theater, before, during, and after
a performance, my work lives in my music director’s hands, face, intellect, and heart. It
belongs to him or her every bit as much as it belongs to me in those moments. He or she
interprets audience reactions during previews and, along with the rest of the creative
team sitting out in the house, decides how to adjust the next night, and while we experi-
ence that adjustment, he or she creates it.
It’s no coincidence that I, and so many of the other composers I know and respect,
learned the craft of writing musicals from the great music director Lehman Engel. He
taught so many of us through the BMI Workshop, in a program based on his observa-
tions from the pit of so many of the great musical theater works of the 1940s, 1950s, and
1960s. It’s also no coincidence that so many of the great music directors I have worked
with were fellow composers in those classes. We are cut from the same cloth and we
serve the same end.
If you’re interested in the world of musical theater I know you’ll enjoy and learn
from Joe Church’s Music Direction For The Stage: A View from the Podium.
 Acknowledgments

Music Direction for the Stage: A View from the Podium was a long time in the making, and
could not have been written without the invaluable assistance of several members of the
musical community, who, through interviews or conversations, helped me see through
more than my own eyes. My deepest gratitude to John McDaniel, Jeffery Klitz, Alex
Lacamoire, David Chase, Donald Pippin, Galt MacDermot, Michael Kosarin, Michael
Keller, Constantine Kitsopoulos, Adam Ben-David, Henry Aronson, Jeff Marder, Randy
Cohen, Howard Joines, Andrew Schwartz, Jeffrey Seller, Eric Cornell, Doc Zorthian,
James Harvey, Tom Barney, and Owen Wang. Thanks also to Disney Theatrical Group,
the company managers and stage managers at Rock of Ages on Broadway, the American
Federation of Musicians Local 802, and the photographers who generously contributed
their beautiful artwork.
This book would not exist without two people, editor Norman Hirschy, and the
person who led me to him, David Hahn. Their industriousness fortuitously collided
with my persistence to make sure the book reached its readership. One could not ask for
a kinder, more thoughtful, or better informed guide than Norm. Thank you for believ-
ing in this book, and for sharing my dream of making it come to life. Special thanks,
too, to copy editor Leslie Safford, for her very helpful suggestions and kind support,
and to production editor Molly Morrison for guiding me and holding my hand through
publication. Thanks, too, to Constance Ditzel at Routledge Press for helping me decide
what shape this text should take.
I have often thought my encyclopedically knowledgeable research assistant, Daniel
Sefik, to be more qualified to write this book than I, and I have no doubt I will be peti-
tioning him for a job someday soon. Sincerest thanks to him. My love and gratitude
to my mother, Alexandria Church, who is not only an incisive judge of quality and a
fine editor, but also stayed on my back for all the years this book took to complete. The
xvi | A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s

groundbreaking writings on psychology and political and behavioral science by my late

father, Joseph Church, are my inspiration. I know he is always looking over my shoulder
with a discerning yet loving eye.
Above all, I must acknowledge a lifetime’s worth of magnanimous, insightful men-
tors and colleagues, too numerous to fairly mention any one, who through their tutelage
or collaboration entrusted their ideas to me to pass on. I hope to be as good a teacher
as they. In keeping with this, I must also acknowledge my talented students, who, over
many years of teaching, helped me put this information into focus, and insisted that
I write it down.
Finally, everything I do is for my daughter Susannah Jane Church and my partner
Susan Aquila. Without them I would have given up long ago. Thanks to Susan and Susie
for their unyielding patience, and their love.
Music Direction for the Stage
 Introduction
The View from the Podium

Finally the big night has arrived. We bought our tickets months ago. We put on our
Saturday night best. We arrive at the theater, and settle into our seats. The house lights
dim. Slowly the curtain rises. A spotlight shines on a stunning figure in a dazzling
sequined outfit. The audience’s anticipation is palpable. Then . . . silence. And then . . .
more silence. Wait a minute, silence? Okay, back up. Lower the curtain. Bring up the
house lights. Refund the tickets. What is wrong here? I know. Where’s the music? What
happened to the music?
On every Broadway musical stage, whenever a musical show is put on at the local
high school or church or community theater, every time a nightclub performer appears
in Las Vegas or on a cruise ship, for every musical performance of any kind in any
venue, there is musical accompaniment. The music that accompanies whatever is hap-
pening on stage originates somewhere, and from someone. Someone starts the music,
someone plays the music, and someone stops the music. It may come from an orchestra
pit, or through a sound system, or there may be an orchestra in full view. Regardless of
its outward presentation, there are human beings performing or otherwise executing
every accompaniment. Traditionally, live musicians have done the job, but in recent
years recordings have begun to supplant them. Even when an accompaniment is pre-
recorded, someone played it to begin with, and someone has to turn it on and off at the
right moment in performance.
The term “accompaniment” might imply that the music is somehow subordinate.
In some ways it is, but that does not make it any less essential. It does not renounce
its identity because it is an appendage to something else. Rather, musical accompani-
ment is a form of collaboration. Music conservatories teach accompanying as a discrete
area of study, and in recent years have renamed it “collaborative piano.” This politically
2 | Music Direction for the S ta g e

motivated correction is especially apt in a stage music setting, where a music director is
not just an accompanist, but also a collaborator, performer and co-creator.
For any musician, fruitful and enjoyable collaboration is among music’s richest
rewards. I got an early taste of it on one of the first shows for which I was music director,
and my first with a big orchestra, my college production of West Side Story. For fifteen
weeks (!) we klutzy undergraduates collectively figured out how to put on a musical, and
we rehearsed. Boy, did we rehearse. There were fifteen three-hour orchestra rehearsals,
months of dramatic rehearsals with the director and actors, dance rehearsals, dialect
rehearsals, vocal coachings, you name it. And we talked, and we analyzed. We exhaus-
tively dissected the text and the score, made charts of Bernstein’s musical motifs, lost
sleep over the thought of transposing Tony’s music to a range singable by our sophomore
baritone, and doted on authentic recreation of the Robbins stage movement. I caught the
bug. I dreamed of doing the same thing with Lenny and Steve at my side. (I even wrote
Sondheim a letter with a numbered list of questions specific to our production, and he
wrote back, obligingly and eloquently replying to each in a correspondingly numbered
list of answers.)
Twenty years later, my wish came true (actually it came true a few times before
that, but twenty makes better reading) when I was hired as music director of Broadway’s
upcoming production of The Lion King. The excitement I felt merely at landing the
job—I remember driving home from the interview, my heart pounding, with Lebo M’s
extraordinary Rhythm of the Pridelands CD pumping in the car stereo, the first time
I had heard the South African sound that was to become the musical DNA of the stage
show—was surpassed at every turn during the mounting of the Broadway production.
It was a near-perfect collaboration of talented, imaginative, and diligent individu-
als, under the munificent yet firm leadership of director Julie Taymor and producers
Thomas Schumacher and Peter Schneider of Disney Theatricals. The show was grown
from a seed (the story from the film) in workshops and in extended rehearsals, and
matured into a piece that outshone its already imaginative and beloved source material.
Each person on the very large creative and music teams worked at his or her strength,
but there was constant and welcome crossover among departments and specializations.
Seldom are so many different processes and personalities planted in one stage produc-
tion, and seldom are they given such a well-subsidized breeding and testing ground. The
collaboration, while at times unruly, could not have been healthier. The price tag was
exorbitant, but the payoff, creatively and financially, was and continues to be enormous.
My love for making music for a living in such highly creative melting pots was
what led me to a career in music direction, and what now brings me to writing this book.
There is agreement among many of my colleagues that an attempt to share the occupa-
tion of music direction with others is overdue, and I am pleased to have their support
and contributions in making the attempt in this text. From the unique point of view of
the music director on the podium, this book will observe musical productions and make
accounts of music directors in action within them. I hope to strike a balance between
 Th e V i e w from the Podium | 3

description and instruction that makes this text both entertaining and useful. My intent
is to enlighten anyone interested in the profession, purveyors and observers alike.
It is mostly the lack of understanding of music direction (and what may be an
immodest desire for its proper recognition) that creates space for a study of the subject.
A music director is not an interchangeable part, or just someone who plays the piano
really well, or just someone who happened to be available when a music director was
needed, but rather an individual who can provide a unique and significant creative con-
tribution to a production, as well as absolute musical and accompanimental proficiency.
If I have a loftier goal, it is the desire to improve upon the discipline and its execu-
tion in both professional and amateur situations. Music direction has a bad reputation
in some circles, and deservedly so. Some music directors and conductors achieve their
positions not through musical excellence or extreme stage savvy, but simply by conve-
nience, timing, or chance. This is a reality that skilled musicians live with and, for the
most part, tolerate. (Heard any good conductor jokes lately?) The outcome of subpar
music direction will not be necessarily perceived, or even perceptible, to less discern-
ing audiences. This may be good news for musicians who have an interest in the field of
music direction and whose musical chops are not of the highest caliber, but whose tal-
ents in other areas are very strong. More competent musicians can bolster and obscure
those who are less so, even those in leadership positions (this covering for questionable
competence is no less prevalent in any professional organization). Still, when paying any
significant amount of money for a show on Broadway or for any commercial production,
every audience member is absolutely entitled to consistent musical execution of the very
highest order. That is the standard to which this book holds.
What qualifies this author as an expert? In no way whatsoever do I profess to be
the sole or utmost authority. It is not boldness, but rather inquisitiveness that motivates
this work. The only assuredness I put forth is that all music directors can improve their
work with thoughtful and thorough study of their knowledge and methods. I also know
for certain that I am not alone in my quest for organized information on the topic. Many
people enter into music direction situations with little or no experience. As a teacher
and an active professional, I receive dozens of phone calls and emails each year from
young and aspiring music directors wanting to know more about the craft, the profes-
sion, job opportunities, and formal study in the subject. Of course, there are no simple
answers—and there are answers that may differ from mine—if for no other reason but
that music direction is too great a conglomeration of too many disciplines and varies
too greatly from job to job. Therefore, seasoned music directors will probably find some
of the information I present secondary or obvious, while to others it may be revelatory.
In researching this book, I interviewed and observed several of the finest music
directors in the profession, and have tried to represent their views as well as mine.
Much of the time, the experiences and advice they related to me were shared among us
all. Yet each point of view offered another unique perspective to a professional experi-
ence that is by nature multilayered and multifaceted. It is inevitable, however, that in a
4 | Music Direction for the S ta g e

first-person account some statements I make will meet with dissent, which I not only
expect but I encourage. I am well aware that other music directors have different ideas.
Any disagreements, I hope, will initiate open and lively discussion and more profound
scholarship in the field.
During my career I have done both good and bad work as a music director, and
I have benefited from both. For those who might denigrate my authority on the grounds
that I was not entirely in the Broadway mainstream, I respond that this book is not
intended just for the mainstream, but for all corners of the profession. I hope that my
many years of experience in a variety of musical styles and professional situations, in
many different occupational capacities, and in vastly divergent socioeconomic enter-
tainment strata, have furnished me with a firm enough knowledge base to justify my
offering at least a seasoned perspective. I also hope that I have been sufficiently thought-
ful and unbiased to pass on responsibly that which comes from personal experience as
something to be learned from, and worth learning. Beyond that, achieving expertise
and success will be up to the individual, not the textbook.
Some of what I present reflects the guidance I have given to students of music
direction, conducting, and composition, in university courses and private lessons,
professional seminars, and master classes. When I am speaking directly to interested
listeners, my thoughts emerge with less structure. Organizing such a massive body of
freeform thought into a readable and useful state was a long and painstaking process,
but has already has helped me to improve my own work as a music director. It has also
helped me understand why music directors have been so reluctant to codify their work
in writing, and why several of my colleagues have been openly skeptical of any purport-
edly useful guide to the profession.
Music directors experience the excitement of privileged access to music of all sorts,
in all genres, and in all phases of composition. Stage music—Broadway show music in
particular—is not style-specific. It is show-specific, and production-specific. There is
a false but commonly held notion that theater music, or Broadway music, is a style of
its own. Indeed, harmonically tame, bouncy, brassy two- or four-beats, cakewalks and
foxtrots and marches, plus an occasional waltz, have pervaded the scores of many stage
musicals. That sound and feel originated in Tin Pan Alley, vaudeville and British music
hall, and moved on to Broadway early in the 1900s in works of musical stage writers
such as George M. Cohan and Irving Berlin. It has characterized or influenced the styles
of many theater composers since, whether they are purposefully derivative or not. (The
purposefully antique sound has also persisted in songs by progressive popular artists
such as the Beatles, Genesis, and Queen, and even in hip-hop and its offshoots.) Later
in the 20th century, Broadway brought this predilection somewhat up to date by incor-
porating light or generic swing and jazz, and later soft rock beats, but the mild, conven-
tional harmonic and rhythmic vocabularies of its forbears endured. Whereas there are
many stage scores that reflect this conservatism, there are just as many that purposefully
 Th e V i e w from the Podium | 5

break the mold. The best of show music has style and content that surprise and challenge
its audiences.
My bias toward less derivative, more remarkable and substantial music and musi-
cal theater will be obvious. I much prefer music and theater that are aesthetically inter-
esting, in some way original or notable, and worth the effort and investment of writing
and producing. There is a great deal of interesting musical work out there being done
every day in our overpopulated musical world, and some of it is indeed extraordinary.
Yet today’s commercial musical theater industry tends toward the complacent and pre-
dictable. If this opinion puts me slightly out of touch with the realities of my profession,
so be it. Despite any high-minded aesthetic ambitions, I have also spent a lot of time in
the trenches, and I believe I can speak to the needs of any music director working on any
sort of production anywhere. I also love good music of all kinds, regardless of its style
or sophistication.
If theater music is indeed largely stagnant, it is not Broadway’s fault in particular;
rather, it is the general cultural condition. Branding, packaging, star power, demograph-
ics, and salesmanship are more dictatorial than ever. Monetary success or a semblance
of artistic success at times supersedes genuine artistic success. Musical theater and its
offshoots have been very prone to this syndrome. Some Broadway offerings that in years
past would have been run out of town by critics or audiences now last for extended
periods. They play to theatergoers who are aggressively marketed to and buy a ticket
for a show because they recognize its title, or are too easily drawn in by the latest tech-
nological wizardry. (Twenty-five years ago it was a helicopter landing on the stage of
Miss Saigon; today it is Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark.) One might have hoped that the
sustained box office bounty would have resulted in an outpouring of fresh, sophisticated
writing, but unfortunately, originality has not consistently been the case, though the last
decades have seen some brilliant, cutting-edge new work on musical stages.
The silver lining of this lingering overcast, and a very bright one it is, is that the
financial boom in stage music has generated far more and far more professional oppor-
tunities in all related fields, including music direction. Jobs are popping up everywhere,
and even if the music that music directors are leading won’t always alter the course of
music history, it is still usually very skillfully written and enjoyable to perform. And
music directors can always help make it better. Music directors also reap profit from a
task list that has lengthened over the last few decades to include transcribing, arrang-
ing for piano, orchestrating, additional composing, and otherwise completing a score,
activities that all represent increased earnings opportunities.
Quite often being a music director entails making others happy, putting the needs
of others above his or her own, and whoever mounts the podium may be the first to hear
complaints. There is an old quip that the conductor of an orchestra stands in the middle
because that makes him or her the easiest target. This is not far from the truth. The best
music directors are masterful diplomats as well as musicians.
6 | Music Direction for the S ta g e

Yet in spite of its precariousness, the conductor’s podium is one of the best seats in
the house. A music director positioned there has a reasonably unobstructed view of the
stage, can turn around and see the audience, and can even catch some of what’s hap-
pening in the wings and the rafters. It’s the best place to hear everything, too, at least in
principle. The singers are right there, the orchestra is right there, and there you are, the
music director, right smack in the middle of it all.
In spite of your central placement, what is evident to an audience is your work or,
more accurately, the result of your work, not your presence. The audience doesn’t hear
the music director; they hear the music. Most aspects of a music director’s work, if the
work is done well, will be absorbed into the work of others, woven seamlessly into the
fabric of the production, and the music director is invisible, as he or she should be. In a
manner of speaking, the music in a stage production should materialize as if by magic,
or at least without undue effort. This effect is not unlike a great concert musician who
during a great performance allows his or her own persona to disappear, and becomes
purely a vehicle for the vision and expression of the composer.
For these and other reasons, there seems to be an impenetrable mystery surround-
ing what music directors do. The contribution they make may be greater than anyone
other than their closest colleagues know. In a few cases their involvement may be only
menial, but more often the position requires great artistry, skill, and always cooperation.
Assimilation into the fabric of the production may be the ideal, but it does not make the
work any less challenging, or sometimes even any less visible. No one said that being
invisible was easy.
A few matters of background and procedure are worth mentioning at the outset.
To begin with, I apologize for the length of this volume. It was my intent to be thor-
ough, and omitting discussion of any of the sub-disciplines of music direction would
have defeated the purpose. I also wanted to be somewhat anecdotal, and that approach,
too, requires more words. So does working within a new scholarly context, one in
which I often had to state the obvious in order to effectively look beneath it. Though the
many topics in the book are very much interconnected, I have separated them as best
I could by chapter and subheading. If you are a music director working on a show, you
might keep this book at your side; the text is organized to take you from hiring through
opening night and beyond. If you are a music director early in your career, this book
is designed to tell you things you’ll need to know to get a good start. If you are an inter-
ested bystander, feel free to skip around.
Another justification for my lengthiness is the dearth of existing literature on
music direction. The profession is as undocumented as it is often unnoticed, so there are
many holes to fill. Besides a few basic handbooks, there is virtually no scholarly inquiry
into the subject, and at present music direction is part of only a few college or university
curricula. There are few anecdotal writings, a paucity that is surprising, considering
how freely stories and gossip are swapped backstage and in orchestra pits everywhere.
One of the most important scholars of the musical theater, and a music director by trade,
 Th e V i e w from the Podium | 7

Lehman Engel, wrote several books about songs and lyrics for the musical theater and
a handbook on producing musicals that included a chapter on music direction. Steven
Suskin’s marvelous The Sound of Broadway Music includes a few brief but very informa-
tive biographies of music directors. There is a good deal of critical, biographical, and
autobiographical writing about the master composer-conductors of earlier centuries,
including the work they did as music directors, but these works are not really relevant in
the contemporary environment. There are several excellent texts on conducting, orches-
tration, and arranging. I will speak to these specific disciplines as they are relevant to
music direction, but I will offer little basic conducting or orchestration instruction; the
book is already long enough.1
Each music direction job differs in time span and size, in expectation and responsi-
bility, and in required abilities and specializations. In a study of a profession so typically
atypical, an organizing principle for presenting the information was difficult to devise.
In my doctoral dissertation in composition I followed in detail and kept a journal of
my creative process in composing a new musical work. This book follows a comparable
methodology, a series of case studies, some real and some hypothetical, that illumi-
nate an array of preproduction, rehearsal, and performance situations from the music
director’s point of view. Because music direction unfolds over time, the chronicle is in
pseudo-chronological order. For the most part, I follow the order of events as they would
unfold in a production. Occasionally I take excursions outside the loose organizational
model to focus on specific topics. My intent is for the examples and their contexts in dif-
ferent phases of the production process to be inclusive enough to represent musical stage
production of all sorts. I bring up specialized tasks as they arise in the methodological
production schedule.
The focus of this text is music direction for the “stage,” and that is a broad appella-
tion. By my definition, a stage can be anything from a Times Square theater presenting
musicals, revues, concerts, or variety shows, to a noncommercial house doing the same,
but not for profit, to school and municipal auditoriums of all sizes, to dance recitals,
vocal recitals, outdoor arenas for festivals and such, corporate events, special events,
holiday parties, nightclubs, and cruise ship, hotel, and casino lounges, anywhere the
music is live. (Prerecorded music played back in performance barely fits in.) Whereas
I am using Broadway musicals as the paradigm for stage productions of all kinds, I refer
extensively to other productions of all kinds in all venues.
The term “musical theater” includes dramas and comedies set to music, as well
as organized revues. “Productions” encompass all types of stage entertainment,
including concerts and events as well as dramatic shows. The term “musical” refers to
Broadway-like entertainments of all sorts, including ones that never made it, or were
never intended to make it, to Broadway. (Arguably, the flagship of the stage music fleet
is the Broadway stage. Although equally lavish and musically sophisticated endeavors

1. Please refer to the bibliography and list of additional readings in Appendix B.

8 | Music Direction for the S ta g e

are presented in major cities such as Las Vegas, Chicago, and Los Angeles, New York
takes center stage in American theater production. Los Angeles is the home of many
popular artists who employ music directors for their concerts, and Las Vegas is as busy
a live music community as any.) Similarly, the job of theatrical music director is my
starting point or focal point for discussing music direction in all settings. The Broadway
model is useful in that the diverse responsibilities and challenges of music directors in
musical theater apply to music direction in almost all other settings, though a Broadway
budgets will of course far exceed most other productions, which I account for. My intent
in choosing musical examples is to represent a balanced and useful cross-section of the
theatrical song literature.
I was tempted to designate some shorthand for the bulky term “music director,”
such as “MD,” but in the end I resisted. I refer specifically to any of the variety of tasks
that can fall under the job title, when it makes sense to do so. I staunchly refuse to use
the incorrect adjectival forms “music directorial” or “music directional,” though they
have regrettably invaded the lingo. Nor did I, or will I, use the verb form “to music
direct” or the gerund “music directing” (or worse, “musically directing”), though I can
see why one might want to. (Directors can; why can’t we?)
Of late, the term “music supervisor” is a frequent replacement for or colleague of
a “music director.” Here in 2014, the work I describe in this book as music direction
is just as often done on Broadway by someone holding the title of “music supervisor.”
Within a typical modern Broadway music department (though in reality there is no
typical music department) one might find a music supervisor, a music director, and a
conductor, as well as several associate and assistant conductors, and more. Occasionally
the term “music producer” has also made an appearance. The title was transplanted, one
might infer, from record producers, and in some way from theatrical producers. These
are not inappropriate borrowings; indeed, music direction shares a good deal with these
professions. More careful examination reveals that the different duties ascribed to the
different job titles are as changeable as they are under the title of “music director.” They
are merely different levels, or subsets, or permutations of the many duties that fall under
the umbrella term “music direction.” The job title disorder will assuredly continue on
the professional scene, as will the interchangeable use of the term “musical director”
(a title that implies at least to me and most of my colleagues a stage director with good
musicianship rather than someone directing the music).
The term “score” denotes the music of a show. “Arranging” is the transformation
of an existing piece of music (some part or all of a score) into a related but new piece
of music, called an “arrangement.” “Orchestration” is a subset of arranging, denoting
arranging for a specified group of musical instruments. Arranging is among the tasks
that music directors often perform in some fashion, and in recent years this activity
has increased. This upsurge is partly attributable to the arrival on the musical theater
scene of many “pop” writers, who contribute songs rather than completed scores, and
leave their manipulation—their arranging—to the music director or other music staff.
 Th e V i e w from the Podium | 9

In addition, smaller, rhythm-section- and keyboard-based orchestras, more common

in contemporary stage music, afford music directors the time to arrange as well as
rehearse; large orchestrations usually occupy too many hours for a music director to do
both jobs effectively.
The sorts of jobs that will not be included this book are the music director of a
symphony orchestra, who is its principal conductor and to various degrees its artistic
director; the music supervisor of a film or television show, who is the person respon-
sible for choosing and placing the music to be used in a film or video; and the music
director or supervisor or producer for an advertising, video production, or video game,
whose responsibilities are primarily organizational. There are conductors for film and
television and video game recordings, but conducting is their sole duty, and often com-
posers conduct these sessions. In recordable media there is much more specialization.
I must also unfortunately exclude the fascinating non-Western traditional and contem-
porary music for the stage in China, Japan, Korea, Indonesia, and India, among other
non-English-speaking regions. My knowledge of those musical traditions is simply too
limited to responsibly write about them, though they are certainly worthy of discussion,
particularly in a global society.
As in many musical professions, and in many professions in and out of the
arts, the cultural and technological times are rapidly changing. These days the view
from the podium can be “partial view” seating, and the music might be heard only
through a sound system. Orchestras are placed upstage, backstage, under the stage,
almost anywhere except the pit, and when they are in the pit, they are often covered
by the stage, acoustically baffled, and/or buried more than six feet deep. On top of
that, today’s music directors are always looking over their shoulders, fearful that the
machine built to replace them is right at their heels. The stalking has already begun,
and the full force of the invasion may not be at all that far in the future. Synthesized
orchestra designs for musical theater performance can now automate entire scores
for performance, and the “conductor” might be no more than a box with chase
lights drawing beat patterns in preprogrammed tempos. (In these designs, if a single
instrument does happen to be available to a certain performance outfit, then that
instrument’s computerized voice can be silenced in the playback. What a twist—real
musicians replacing synthesizers!) Whether these trends represent advancements
will be a frequent topic of this book.
With all those bumps in the road, why be a music director? There is little glamour
in it, and seldom is there prestige, either, except for a very few. The potentially gener-
ous paycheck alone may be sufficient motivation to make such an unusual and risky
career choice. Some music directors may be in it for the cachet of rubbing shoulders with
the artistic elite; a few are more expert shoulder-rubbers than they are musicians, and
they get by just fine. Overall, though, it is not a well-celebrated profession; the music is
mostly, and rightly, taken for granted, except perhaps for its composition. Where is the
music director’s reward? Are the joys of collaborative effort enough?
10 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

For most music directors, the work itself is the payoff. The career choice springs
from an irrepressible passion and devotion to expanding their artistic horizons and
growing as musicians. With every new production, music directors upgrade their
musical, organizational, and collaborative skills. Each new project represents a
new musical adventure, and, not surprisingly, most musicians prefer working on
new music to repeatedly performing pieces from the repertoire. Therefore, the very
act of music direction is a highly desirable state of musical being. The unpredict-
able and sometimes impossible complications of the job balance out with a love of
making music with other dedicated musicians and artists. Music directors embrace
the energy and conviviality that come with stage performance. The impetus is their
love of music and their love for creating and performing and sharing it with others.
I hope that the following text will adequately convey my own joy in music and
making music and my drive to continue making it, and making it better and better,
for a lifetime. I hope to inspire others to do the same.
For those who have wished for this book’s existence, I hope it will become a com-
panion, the diary of a fellow tradesperson, a guidebook, an informative and amusing
source of answers to FAQs. Music direction has always been unnoticed and underappre-
ciated. If it has become undistinguished, I hope that with rigorous examination it may
regain some of its distinction.
Just for fun, and as a first step toward defining a profession that evades definition,
let’s see what happens when a music director fails to do the job properly in performance.
It’s something like the scenario I imagined in the first paragraph, where the music was
missing.
Just out of college, I worked in a summer stock theater as a music director. We were
doing the Marvin Hamlisch–Carole Bayer Sager–Neil Simon musical They’re Playing
Our Song. The show is more like a play with a handful of songs here and there, and
in the middle of the first act, there was a twenty-plus-minute break between numbers.
A door led out of the pit through a short vestibule to an outdoor deck behind the stage.
The rest of the six-piece band and I had it timed so we could adjourn to the patio during
the extended break and be back in plenty of time to play the next song. That is, until
one matinee, on a particularly lovely afternoon, when as we luxuriated in the fresh air,
the actors skipped several pages of dialogue, about five minutes’ worth. We, or more
culpably, I, did not hear the cue line for the song until the actor delivering it repeated it
several times very loudly, loudly enough for us to hear it on the veranda. We scrambled
back into the pit, the drummer nearly knocking over her kit in the process. The actor,
seeing us now in position, calmly walked downstage, leaned over, and dryly said to me,
perched behind an upright piano on the conductor’s podium, beads of sweat forming on
my brow, “So nice of you to join us.”
 PA RT I

Music Direction
A Job Description
 1

Music Direction Today

and Yesterday

What a Music Director Does

The way in which music is directed and performed has a potent and immediate effect on
how a listener perceives it. To demonstrate this, one need do no more than compare one’s
impression of the sound of an amateur high school musical to that of a professional, pol-
ished Broadway show. Nonetheless, even music directors themselves acknowledge that
what constitutes music direction can be hard to pin down.
The basic process of putting music on stage goes as follows. A composer or com-
posers, and perhaps other writers, create a song or songs or a piece of music, or an
entire score, and that music becomes part of a production, that is, a public presenta-
tion. Implementing music into a production is the occupation of a music director. On
its way to the stage, the music may stay pretty much as the writers wrote it, needing
only to be rehearsed and performed as intended. Far more often, however, the music
undergoes some manner of remodeling, and sometimes a complete metamorphosis. In
certain instances, it is difficult to draw a line between the writers’ work and the music
director’s.1 Here is a proposed working definition: a music director is responsible for all
aspects of preparing and performing the music for a musical production.
What a music director does, the job description, is a varying, fluid combination
of creative, technical, and administrative functions. He or she is the nominal head of
any music department that might exist within a production organization.2 Among the
duties are accompanying (usually, but not always, at the piano), conducting, rehearsing,

1. For an example, see Sheryl Kaskowitz, God Bless America, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013,
pp. 21–32.
2. Again, in the current Broadway environment, the title “music supervisor” may be equivalent to the “music
director” who is the subject of this book.
14 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

arranging, composing, giving notes, coordinating with technicians and designers,

hiring and firing, and many others. I have also heard music direction referred to as a
combination of an active performance role, like an actor, and a stage design element,
such as costume or scenic design. This is a fitting summation. Only on rare occasions is
music direction itself the focal point of a production, such as when an orchestra is part
of the staging, or in a production in which musicians are characters or participate in the
action (Ain’t Misbehavin’ is one Broadway hit that prominently featured its music direc-
tor). The case studies to follow will demonstrate music directors’ functions in different
combinations and situations.
The definition of music direction depends what the music director is hired to do
in each job, that is, on the needs of each production’s unique musical element and on
the expectations of the production team. Beyond being a skill set, music direction is
the application of different skills to different problems under different circumstances at
different times. There really is no one definition; the job is simply different each time.
Music direction is the combination of musical jobs that coincide on any given produc-
tion, artistic and administrative stewardship of the music, and leadership of the music
team in rehearsal and through performance. The lack of a single decisive definition will
not impede this study.
The possible duties also include instrumental and vocal conducting; explain-
ing or demonstrating music to others; teaching singing; instruction in harmony and
counterpoint; composing harmony and counterpoint; creating piano or other accom-
panimental arrangements; vocal and dance arrangements; orchestrations; arranging
or composing incidental and transitional music; determining music cues; contracting
and managing music staff and instrumentalists; overseeing the physical and technical
aspects of the music; maintaining and revising performances over time; and acting
as a supporter, mediator, counselor, psychotherapist, and executive decision maker
when musical indecisions and disputes arise. (In professional stage productions, music
direction is usually separated from at least some of the arranging work and credit.) To
prepare for each job, music directors acquire a comprehensive understanding of every
aspect of the musical score, and of the onstage content—including the story and the
style. They must execute their work in an effective union with many other creative and
production personnel.
It would be remarkable for any one person to be equally skilled in all disciplines;
yet the best music directors working on the field today are more than competent, often
expert, in many or all the areas previously listed, and more. Others may specialize in
one or a few. In keeping with historical tradition (as described in this chapter and in
Part 6), many music directors are not exclusively music directors by trade. They are also
composers, arrangers, instrumentalists, singers, actors, and stage directors. Perhaps
they began in one of those fields and moved to music direction. For some it is a tempo-
rary state, perhaps even a onetime digression, and for others, a career.
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 15

Music direction is often assumed to be equivalent to what is called “conducting” in

“legitimate” music (also known as “art” or “serious” music), music composed for listen-
ing and not necessarily connected with other art forms. Indeed, conducting an orches-
tra (or leading a band), when there is one, is a large part of the job, but not the whole
job. I bring this up to clarify the terminology, and because in symphonic conducting,
the issue of “interpreting” a score is of primary interest. “Interpretation” in music direc-
tion is not the same. To begin with, music directors are much more likely to be working
with music of living composers, who may be providing original music for the produc-
tion, and may be present in rehearsal. A music director adapts a score to a production
as much as interpreting in the classical sense. Legitimate music would never permit the
sorts of cuts and additions, rearrangements, and other revisions that are standard music
direction practices with popular stage scores.
In rehearsal and in performance, stage music directors do exhibit unique inter-
pretive voices and, as in the classical world, there are debates over authenticity and
definitiveness. Also as in classical music, the differences among interpretations may
be very subtle even to a trained ear. Because of the inherent variety of music directors’
work and the malleability of the material, their contribution may be more tangible
and conspicuously “interpretive” than a symphonic conductor’s. A music director
“owns” the music direction in the same way that a stage director owns the direction
of a stage show. There is a musical “vision” to a music director’s work, made up of
organizing principles and stylistic preferences and performance practices, as well as
arrangements and addition composition. This is the “direction” part of music direc-
tion. A stage director may decide to set Henry V in World War II; likewise, a music
director might choose to add a modern feel to a traditional song. The music director,
however, makes choices primarily in service of the production’s and the director’s
vision, while the director envisions and mounts the entire production. The director
is the functional and artistic “superior,” but that role does not negate the interpretive
activity of the music director.
Music direction is an arts profession, a paid position (except, of course, in amateur
productions, and even there, musicians are often compensated when others are not), and
many musicians, including me, began their music direction work as a way of making
a living in music. The relation between professionalism and the work itself is complex
and constantly in play. Music directors walk the fine line between manager and artist.
As managers they are expected by a consortium of individuals who are vested rather
than salaried (the producers or other employers) to act like a manager and put in extra
time, go above and beyond, without overtime pay; that’s what managers do, and that’s
why their salaries are higher than non-managers’. Under union coverage, there is com-
pensation available to music directors for only some of the various specialized tasks they
perform: in particular, conducting, and any musical work that they commit to paper as
writers, arrangers, transcribers, and copyists. There is none for the extra administrative
16 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

hours. Most music directors work freelance, but there are some resident music director
positions at theaters and academic institutions.
In music direction, perfection of musical execution is the norm. It is also the
expectation, conscious or not, of colleagues and audiences alike. Imperfection results
in visibility; people generally do not notice the workings of the music until they go wrong.
Writers and directors espouse absolute musical proficiency because fluency ensures maxi-
mum believability and comprehension. The better a language is spoken, the more commu-
nicative and emotional power it has. If stage music is supposed to appear from nowhere, it
certainly should not trip and fall on its way in. For example, any audible flub by the accom-
panist at a vocal recital (who is by my definition the music director of the recital) is sure to
turn the listener’s attention to the piano when it should be on the singer, and the pianist’s
error might well throw the singer off. Take another example: if an excessively loud music
cue is suddenly heard in the midst of a quiet, tender dramatic moment of a play (or film),
the intent of the drama will be compromised. When music does encroach on a dramatic
or entertainment setting on a stage, it should sound as if it belonged there, it should sound
musically right, and it should leave a good impression. It is the music director’s obligation
to properly assimilate the music, to oversee its quality control, and to connect the material
with its listeners.
The idea of music direction, in the sense of someone shaping and leading a musical
performance, goes back to the beginnings of music. Even the gamelans of ancient Indonesia
had leaders who would signal to the group changes of meter and tempo, beginnings and
endings, and transitions from piece to piece. Yet listening audiences are rarely aware of
any musical leadership, and for good aesthetic reason. They need not be aware to fulfill
their experience; indeed, the unnecessarily conspicuous presence of a musical leader will
detract from it. An audience is better off, for the most part, taking in the whole of a stage
work rather than being party to the techniques that go into realizing it. This is not to say
that when an orchestra plays alone the audience members’ eyes are not fixed on the con-
ductor for the majority of the time; they probably are. When music is accompanying some-
thing happening on stage, however, all eyes turn to the stage, and so do everyone’s ears, too
(including the music director’s).
The following accounts demonstrate the obscurity and inscrutability of music
direction.
In 1964, the last Tony Award for Best Conductor and Musical Director was given to
Shepard Coleman for his work on the original production of Hello, Dolly! on Broadway.
Mr. Coleman died in 1998. His obituary in the New York Times cites his work as a “pit
musician for Broadway musicals from 1946 to 1960” and states that his Hello, Dolly!
Tony was for his “vocal arrangements” for the show.3 In truth, Mr. Coleman had been let
go early on in the production, and his position was taken over by dance arranger Peter

3. “Shepard Coleman, Musical Director,” New York Times, 25 May 1998, http://www.nytimes.com/1998/05/25/
arts/shepard-coleman-musical-director-for-theater-74.html/.
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 17

Howard three months after the show opened. Historian Steven Suskin puts forward the
very plausible notion that in bestowing the award on Coleman, “the Tony voters simply
voted for the biggest hit musical.”4 It is unknown what contributions Coleman made to
the production, or why he was fired.
Other recipients of the Best Conductor and Musical Director award included such
highly respected maestros as Maurice Abravanel and Thomas Schippers, who were far
better known for their work conducting major symphony orchestras than for Broadway
shows. After 1964, the Tony for Best Conductor and Musical Director was dropped from
the awards roster.
In 1994, a group of Broadway and Off-Broadway music directors formed a new
committee within their union local (New York’s Local 802 of the American Federation
of Musicians, or AFM) to define and address issues specific to their profession. (I was
among the founding members.) Among our objectives was the reinstatement of the
Tony Award for Music Directors, and we also sought the creation of a Tony for Best
Orchestrations.
The impetus for forming the committee was the concern among the participating
music directors that they were making significant creative contributions to shows (that
is, arranging and composing) as well as providing the usual conducting and coaching
and technical and administrative functions, but that their work was neither acknowl-
edged nor understood by their employers and by their audiences. Furthermore, there
were few guidelines for compensating the music directors for their work. Local 802
recognized “conductors” as members of their rank and file, but nowhere in the union
bylaws did the term “music director” appear. In many cases the music that music direc-
tors had composed or arranged or otherwise contributed to on a production was not
paid for at all. The reluctance of employers to begin budgeting for something they had
never had to in the past was understandable.
The extent of the theater community’s lack of comprehension of music direction
became much more evident when the new union committee expressed its concerns
to the Tony Awards Administration Committee. The American Theater Wing, which
administers the Tony Awards, has progressed over time into an organization that pur-
portedly dedicates all of its efforts to promotion of and education in the theater arts.
Its Administration Committee determines eligibility for nominations in all awards
categories, reviews the rules governing the awards, and appoints the Nominating
Committee.5 The Administration Committee consists of ten members designated by
the Wing, ten by what is called the Broadway League (formerly the League of American
Theatres and Producers, a more descriptive title), and one each by the Dramatists Guild

4. On the Record: No Strings and Peter Howard’s Broadway, Playbill.com., 5 September 2004, http://www.
playbill.com/news/article/on-the-record-no-strings-and-peter-howards-broadway/.
5. The Tony Awards®. Rules and Regulations of the American Theater Wing’s Tony Awards®, New York: Jean
Kroeper. 2011–2012, brochure, pp. 1–2.
18 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

of America, Actors’ Equity Association, United Scenic Artists, and the Stage Directors
and Choreographers Society (all unions or other organizations of theater professionals).
There is no representative required from the field of music, nor is there a musicians’ union
delegate. Yet musicals, rather than straight plays, garner the vast majority of the income of
today’s Broadway theater industry, and the production numbers and excerpts from musi-
cals are what the Tony Award television viewers tune in to watch.
The music directors’ committee presented its case in person and with a meticulously
detailed and well-produced demonstration video about music direction, showing the trans-
formation of a raw piece of music into its final form. The Tony committee members were
apparently unmoved by our impassioned plea. They still expressed bafflement at a music
director’s work, and were unable to remember the criteria by which they had judged the
award up until 1964, even though some of them had been on the awards committee then.
The effort was not entirely fruitless: thankfully, the Tony committee established the award
for orchestration as a result.
We were an enthusiastic group, and one whose purpose was objectively well justified.
Considering how the entertainment industry loves to bestow accolades, extolling its own
excellence as a proven marketing tool, it is surprising that the Tony committee did not
accede to a music direction award.6 There is a Tony Award now for Sound Design. Perhaps
the explanation for the omission is in the invisibility of music direction. A respected stage
manager friend once told me that he believed neither music directors nor stage managers
should receive front-page billing in theater programs, as they were the deliberately name-
less pilots of the ship, the captains sequestered on the bridge, the drivers of the bus whom
no one should disturb while operating the vehicle. Our expertise was presumptive, and our
contribution most valuable when completely unseen. Of course, in some ways he was right,
but it seemed only natural for music directors to seek the same sort of recognition for their
work afforded to nearly all of their colleagues.
Our committee sought recognition of and payment for our work mostly because we
saw arranging and composing music as outside of the traditional job duties, which we were
already performing very conscientiously. This was a legitimate concern. Writers of suc-
cessful show music garner very robust royalties, while music directors are for the most
part salaried. Historically, music directors had already been working without the standards
and protections given to stage directors, technicians, and managers by their guilds and
unions. When the position started to regularly involve new responsibilities, it became criti-
cal that their work be acknowledged in a more substantive way, and immediately, to avoid
precedents of nonpayment. There was a brief attempt by the music directors’ committee
to ally itself with the stage directors’ society (SDC, formerly SSDC, the Society of Stage
Directors and Choreographers), but eventually the committee gave up that effort as well.

6. In 2013, the Society of London Theatre, the group that gives out Olivier Awards, London’s equivalent of
the Tonys, pledged to honor music directors, supervisors, orchestrators, and composers of incidental music,
beginning in 2014.
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 19

Instead, music directors looked to their own individual contract negotiations, with varying
degrees of alacrity and of success, to ensure that the original creative work they did was
fairly compensated.7

Historical Survey of Music Direction

The existence of musical leaders, as noted, traces back to the origins of performance
ensembles. A music director exercising the sorts of skills previously described emerges
with the advent of musical-dramatic performance. Greek choruses, whose members
also danced, were accompanied by instruments; it’s quite likely that the choregos, or
chorus master (although the term could also refer to a play’s sponsor), acted as music
director, organizing, programming, and leading the music and dancing at the perfor-
mance. Later, in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, itinerant minstrel groups performed
music in a predetermined manner, like a modern touring production. A music director
organized, programmed, and led their musical performance.
Many a major composer of the 15th through 20th centuries served as music direc-
tor of a church or royal court (Kapellmeister or maestro di camera, for instance), or later
to a symphony orchestra. To this day many music directors find gainful employment in
the church. Other music directors for courts or churches may not be best remembered
for their compositions, yet were required to be occasional composers. There were always
professional opportunities for those willing to serve the upper and ruling classes in sev-
eral musical capacities: conducting, arranging, composing, and otherwise presenting
the music for any or all purposes dictated by their employers. There was music for enter-
tainment, music for the constant variety of religious services, music for rich amateurs to
play on their given instruments at their given levels of ability, music for the glorification
of an individual or a holy figure, music for holidays, and music of all shapes and sizes.
One reason Mozart’s life was so brief and tragic was his difficulty holding down a job
as a music director. Mozart and other masters often depended on the income derived
from their positions as music directors. And they were kept very, very busy at work. It is
no wonder that as composers they were so prolific; they had to produce a huge volume
of material to satisfy their patrons and hold onto their jobs. This demand did not make
them any less meticulous, as shown in J. S. Bach’s manuscript page in Figure 1.1.
Figure 1.1 is the full score; Bach also copied all the individual orchestra parts and,
unfathomably, was in the habit of writing the clef and key signature on every staff of
every part, using no shortcuts or shorthands. There might also have been a staff of com-
posers, arrangers, copyists, and performers working under him or with him, not unlike
a modern music department in a large production company or a Broadway show.

7. In late 2013 Local 802 began discussing the possibility of paying pension and health contributions on
Broadway music supervision fees.
 “J. S. Bach, manuscript, soprano aria from Cantata BWV 105. (The Bach example is from
F I G U R E 1.1
Wikipedia Commons, “BWV105-wie-zittern” by Johann Sebastian Bach, Bach Digital Archive, Leipzig,
Germany. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons, http://commons-wikimedia.org/
wiki/File:BWV105-wie-zittern.jpg.)
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 21

The greatest of these music directors rose to near “star” status. Handel was a par-
ticular favorite of the general public, Beethoven of the aristocracy, the latter despite a
well-documented abrasive personality, the former sporting the utmost charm and social
grace. Most music directors operate today, mostly contentedly, in relative anonymity.
They are active members of the musical and theatrical communities, but are largely
unknown outside those circles. There are the occasional “stars,” but they are rare, and
even the best-known music directors are far from being household names like the per-
formers they accompany or the productions they work on.
As music intended for artful entertainment took an increasingly firm hold in the
Western cultural musical consciousness, beginning late in the 18th century, composers
became more independent and more often self-employed, and engaged music directors
as performers, leaders, and organizers of their musical presentations. The separation of
composer and performer grew wider, though it has never become complete. Although
many composers continued as performing musicians, and though many conductors,
pianists, and instrumentalists continued to write their own music, a greater number
specialized in either writing or performing.
In the mid-1900s the variety of types and styles of stage music exploded, and with it
the field of music direction. Popular music and musical theater burgeoned into profitable
industries. Producers and presenters bet their bankrolls on their shows, and impresarios
found a new home in show business. Audiences flocked to theaters and auditoriums, and
countless performers, technicians, and creative specialists found work there, including
musicians. An expert who could handle large amounts of music in different styles with
relative facility, and with the intelligence or intuition to make the music work effectively
in many situations, was a huge commodity. Specializations abounded, with conductors,
pianists, arrangers, orchestrators, copyists, and others steadily employed and, around
1900, unionized. Singing and dancing on stage were nothing new; music direction was
nothing new. Now, as in history, music directors were the generalists, the “multitaskers.”
What was new in the modern age were the stylistic scope of music that music directors
worked on and the conditions under which they were employed.
In the world of contemporary commercial music, which encompasses music
for the stage, the composer is seldom also the music director. Some pop singers and
singer-songwriters (James Taylor, Bette Midler, and Miley Cyrus, to name just a few)
employ music directors, especially when the arrangements are specific and the accom-
paniment needs to be well controlled in a live setting. Usually these music directors are
members of the onstage band—the drummer, perhaps, or bassist, guitarist, or keyboard
player; it really doesn’t matter—and are responsible mostly for distributing and updat-
ing set lists, making sure everyone is on stage at the right time, starting and stopping the
songs in a concert, perhaps counting off the tempos, and helping to maintain the quality
of performance over time.
The leading stage music directors of the past gained their reputations through
proven virtuosity (often at a young age) on one or more instruments or a flair for
22 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

composition and improvisation, or both. Improvisation, which is in effect spontaneous

composition, was a requirement simply because of the sheer volume and immediacy of
music to be composed. If a composer’s deadline could not be met or the composer was
not on site, the music director could always fake something or elaborate on existing
music. This is still the practice today.
But prodigal talent or impeccable musicianship is not necessarily requisite to work-
ing as a music director in today’s environment. Some music directors have achieved suc-
cess just because of their understanding of a particular musical style, their singular skill
at a particular instrument, some nonmusical ability such as outstanding organizational
acumen, an unbreakable connection to a star performer, or perhaps just being in the
right place at the right time. If a certain music director’s skills are precisely in line with
the needs of a particular production, then he or she need not be multitalented. Some
music directors have a long-term association with a certain writer or director or a per-
ceived sensitivity to a certain type of material.
Though some may lack the virtuosity of music directors of earlier eras, today’s
music directors are direct occupational descendants of their musical ancestors. Their
methods have evolved a great deal (most conductors no longer beat the tempos on the
floor with a large stick, as was practiced in 18th-century conducting, and seldom do they
write their music by hand in ink anymore), but there are still employment opportuni-
ties anytime someone needs music for the dancing and singing, or whenever someone
is putting on a show.

Technology and the Shrinking Orchestra

The following is a “help wanted” ad posted on an online theater website in 2011:

[Unnamed theater] requires a musical director/arranger to m.d. and create cus-

tom tracks for a summer season of 3 cabaret musical revues with four-member
SATB cast. The shows are a Sinatra tribute, an Elvis tribute and a celebration
of ‘One Hit Wonders’. The candidate will rehearse the cast through the open-
ing of the final of the three shows [sic]. Theater provides a Yamaha Motif XS for
rehearsals and building tracks—experience with that line or similar is a plus.
Duties include creating vocal arrangements, charting certain songs by ear, and
the creation of MP3 accompaniment tracks with complex rhythm/orchestration
ranging from american [sic] standard to pop. The right candidate will have the
computer software technology (Logic, Cubase, ProTools, or a similar program)
to build quality MIDI tracks before rehearsals begin and to modify those tracks
during rehearsals as needed.8

8. Retrieved from http://www.theproducersperspective.com/my_weblog/2011/02/musical-directorarranger-

new-huntington-theater.html.
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 23

For music directors, there is gainful employment in technologically oriented posi-

tions, but the music direction position advertised here largely ends on opening night,
when the machines take over. In many fields, computers are now performing many
functions formerly done by humans, and music is not exempt. The reaction of audiences
watching shows with mechanized accompaniment runs the gamut from ignorance to
outrage. In music, as in other areas, the information age has brought with it an unfor-
tunate tendency toward superficiality, enough so that listeners sometimes can no longer
discern live music from its electronic emulation, or make no such value judgment. This
is not to say that electronically produced music is all bad or entirely unacceptable in live
stage productions. Rather, it can be very useful, from allowing low-budget productions
to sound more grand to creating musical and sound effects that would be otherwise
unperformable. (Even Respighi’s Pines of Rome is rented to orchestras with an audiotape
of nightingale song to be played during the last segment.)
Like it or not, permanent groundwork for further dilution of realistic sound may
already have been laid. Music directors are among those in the industry who will decide
whether replacing live music with electronically simulated sound is a threat to the
long-term health of music, or a new and useful technology. If audiences can no longer
tell the difference between the real thing and a fake, or if they believe a recording to be
a live band, should it matter to those who produce the music?
Even putting aside the argument that electronics replace human jobs, my answer
is almost always a resounding yes. Audience members who do know the difference find
the replacement unacceptable. Professional musicians, and all performers, avow to sat-
isfy the keenest listener in the audience, not the one who will love the show regard-
less of its production values. This pledge is even more sacrosanct when considering the
high cost of tickets. On the other hand, all professional musicians must appreciate the
importance of thoughtful budgeting. Unfortunately, the most popular means of cutting
budgets is by reducing orchestra (and cast) sizes and replacing real instruments with
synthesizers. The practice continues on Broadway despite its increasing profits. This can
be a disheartening state of affairs for music directors doing their best to serve the music,
and for those who aspire to conduct a full orchestra.
Compounding their gradual diminution, orchestras are being hidden away under
stages, behind set pieces, and in offstage rooms. Traditionally, an orchestra would
occupy an orchestra “pit” in front and below the level of the stage. Pits are a holdover
from opera (venues for musicals and concerts are often converted opera houses, or mod-
eled after opera houses) that help balance orchestra and singer, both without amplifica-
tion (pits, of course, preceded microphones). Now many orchestras are being evicted
from their dens and relocated, reducing their visibility and live audibility. Many are
isolated in separate, acoustically treated compartments, similar to a recording studio.
The podium of this book’s subtitle may in the future be a chair in front of a com-
puter screen and an electronic keyboard in a dressing room backstage. For the 2013
Tony Awards show, held at Radio City, the orchestra was piped in from a recording
24 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

studio several blocks away, despite the Hall’s spacious, mobile pit, and a generous but
ironic nod to live orchestras from Harold Prince in his acceptance speech for a lifetime
achievement award. Music directors continue to pursue the best possible performance
and sound, and can either work within the given constraints, or protest them. It seems,
however, that these technologies are here to stay, so it is probably wise to work with
them, one would hope not exclusively, but always creatively.
Music directors can, if they like, “sequence” a production’s accompaniment, that
is, record it on a hard drive as digital data, and replay it with remarkable flexibility in
factors like key, tempo, and instrumentation. The reliability and realistic sound of such
an accompanimental approach, however, are different matters. Although one or two
computers can (arguably) do the work of a full orchestra, and the sound of some digital
samples is now astonishingly real, in performance these data streams still run with vary-
ing degrees of dependability and authenticity. They are contingent on electric current
and complex connectivity as well as human skill, and are prone to breakdown. The best
electronic music designs now operate more reliably, but when they do fail, the effects of
their failure can be catastrophic—if the accompaniment ceases to play, the curtain will
have to come down. With intelligent and limited usage, digital emulation and synthe-
sis are acceptable, but as proxies for large musical textures, they range from problem-
atic to mildly disappointing to abrasive. Most importantly, they defeat the purpose of
live accompaniment; the point of onstage entertainment is that human beings are the
entertainers.
Music directors (and producers) should keep in mind that synthesized music
incurs costs of its own, some of which might be hard to foresee (computer crashes, power
outages). Synthesizer programming itself, the plentitude of gear and the maintenance
thereof, and the reconciliation of electronic and acoustic sound sources are all expensive
undertakings. Keyboard players whose synthesized and sampled sounds unseat musi-
cians also receive a significant premium on their salaries, a concession by producers to
the union, intended to regularize the total amount of money passing through the union
payroll and offset the unemployment of live players. One might think the expense would
be a deterrent to replacing musicians, but clearly it is not. Shows with sufficient techni-
cal layouts have gone so far as to integrate the musical synthesizer programming into
the larger technical plot, using click tracks and MIDI channels to synchronize lighting,
sound, and special effects, as well as music.
The trend toward synthesis is empowered by the predominance of amplified sound
design, which has reached a point in full-blown commercial stage shows where now
virtually no acoustic sound at all reaches the listener. What audiences now mostly hear
comes from microphones and direct lines, processed and sent through speakers placed
strategically through the performance space. The finished musical product, that is, what
the audience hears, may not at all resemble the music at its source. Inexplicably, even
some pit or onstage orchestras that would be acoustically vivid without amplification
now reach the audience only through a sound system.
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 25

The dispute over shrinking orchestras and digital replacement has become increas-
ingly controversial and antagonistic in recent years, coinciding with the improvements in
synthesizer technology. For decades, the musicians’ union had enforced minimum orches-
tra sizes in most Broadway theaters, based on the seating capacity of each. The minimums
ostensibly kept Broadway orchestras large and lusty, and guaranteed employment for a
steady pool of theater musicians. The minimums ranged from five musicians to twenty-five
or more in theaters seating from about seven hundred to two thousand; the smallest houses
had no minimum. If the orchestra required for a production happened to be smaller than the
theater’s minimum, the producers would engage “walkers” to fill the remaining spots. These
were union members who were paid to attend every performance as if performing, but did
not perform. (Some conductors, including me, tried to find some value in employing walkers
by using them as orchestra understudies, but more commonly they could be found watching
sports on television or playing cards in a secluded room of the theater.) These sorts of poli-
cies held sway in other performing venues throughout the country as well, and some still do.
Broadway producers began challenging the minimums in the 1980s, and rightly so, as
the system had become manifestly dysfunctional, and a source of unnecessary expenditures.
The producers’ rationale, however, was not based on correcting the flawed system from an
artistic standpoint; rather, it was an undisguised attempt to reduce personnel and increase
profits. The effort has since then persevered, with considerable resistance from the union and
its membership. In 1998 the union allowed producers some relief, by way of an utterly con-
founded system of disproportionate personnel reductions, by adding the aforementioned
premiums paid to synthesizer players, and by establishing an untrustworthy case-by-case
examination body called the Special Situations Committee. The escalation reached a climax
in March 2003, when Broadway musicians went out on strike, and were supported by Actor’s
Equity (the actors’ union), shutting down Broadway for two weeks during the height of the
pre-Tony theater season, as shown in Figure 1.2. In true muscle-flexing New York fashion,
the mayor and city government eventually stepped in and forced an agreement.
The current contract leaves a system of reduced minimums in place until 2016. The com-
promise is disappointing for both sides, especially for the musicians (and the music), and the
true issues have never been properly understood by anyone except those at the higher levels of
production. The media has done little to clarify the underlying conflict, instead reducing the
problem to a simple disagreement over minimums or no minimums. Far more thoughtful
solutions are called for, and are possible, but at the time of the strike the atmosphere was so
hostile and the pressure to reconcile so intense that they were politically infeasible. The idea
behind the Special Situations Committee—good-faith meetings of producers and artists to
reach informed agreements on orchestra sizes—was a sensible one. Nonetheless, producers,
with their managerial acumen, have since then kept the upper hand.9

9. In the case of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, the presentation to the committee to compare real and synthe-
sized violins with prerecorded ones was so slanted by the sound design and threadbare live orchestral forces
that the acoustic sound never had a chance. The show closed before the lengthy appeal process, endlessly post-
poned by the producers, was ever completed.
26 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

Broadway musicians on the picket lines in 2003. (Credits: A: Photo courtesy of AFM Local
F I G U R E 1. 2
802; B: Photo by Michael Minn/michaelminn.net/newyork.)

If orchestral sound continues to give in to more rhythmically based music, the

controversy may die down simply because of the shift in the language. In popular
music, acoustic and electronic music have been more cooperative. But for musical
works whose writers intended them to have full-sized, living orchestras, is not a
high-priced ticket worth the human-based superiority that the art form demands?
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 27

An audience member deserves to hear the energy of a living horn player blowing
into a metal mouthpiece or bamboo reed, deserves to hear the sound of the player’s
spit, and even deserves the musician’s mistakes, which confirm the sound’s reality,
its personality, and its immediacy. Surely the few dollars that might be saved with
reduced and synthesized orchestras cannot be worth the loss in humanity. When
synthesis is called for, so be it, but humanity is the essence of live stage performance.
Audiences pay often exorbitant prices for Broadway tickets so that they can experi-
ence this essence.
On stage, casts have shrunk as well, but obviously an actor or singer’s stage perfor-
mance cannot be synthesized (though it can be permanently captured, by recording it).
Larger vocal arrangements may suffer from reduced casting, but it is usually more problem-
atic for stage directors than for music directors. The reality is that music directors simply
don’t conduct big orchestras as often anymore, as most want to. Striking keys and pushing
buttons have to some extent taken over wielding a baton. The charm and allure of the large
orchestra and chorus will never fade, but meanwhile, and especially while working their
way up the ladder, music directors might have to be content leading smaller ensembles.

Looking to the Future

In 2011, nearly fifty years after Shepard Coleman’s brief moment of Tony glory, there
were four Tony nominees for best orchestrations: Doug Besterman for a revival of How
to Succeed in Business without Really Trying, Larry Hochman for the critically acclaimed
The Scottsboro Boys, Marc Shaiman and Larry Blank for the ill-fated Catch Me If You
Can, and the eventual winners, Larry Hochman and Stephen Oremus for The Book
of Mormon. The first three were fine orchestrations, if unadventurous; one (How to
Succeed) was a fourteen-piece reimagining (with no strings) of what had been a fuller
orchestral grouping (twenty-two in the 1996 Broadway revival and twenty-seven in the
original Broadway production). In what may be seen as a sign of the times, what dis-
tinguished the orchestration of The Book of Mormon, other than its victory, was that it
was mostly an electronic facsimile of an orchestra and an orchestration. There were four
acoustic instrumentalists (trumpet, trombone, a violin-viola double, and multi-reeds)
and a rhythm section (guitar, bass, and drums) complementing two elaborate key-
board synthesizer parts. The synthesizers emulated (with varying verisimilitude) a host
of orchestral and other instruments, everything from African drums to concert bass
drum rolls and tympani crescendos to alto flute and baritone sax. Whereas the faux
instrumentation is clever at times, the score is less orchestrated than it is synthesized. As
in 1964, when voting on the season’s best orchestration, the Tony voters again seemed
merely to have filled out the ticket of their favorite musical (The Book of Mormon took
home a total of nine Tonys, including Best Musical). Furthermore, the recording of
Mormon that Tony voters heard, the original cast recording, complements the orchestra
28 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

with real instrumentalists, an inaccurate representation of what is played and heard in

the theater.
One might well contend that a musical aspiring to such a large and varied orches-
tral sound should achieve that sound with a real orchestra, rather than with two key-
boards and a few real orchestral instruments as fill-ins, especially on a hit show of this
magnitude. In these situations music directors can and should invoke their influence
and insist on those real strings, more brass and woodwinds, and real tympani and other
percussion. Luckily for The Book of Mormon, its synthetic onstage reality takes a car-
toonish view of the world, and permits this synthetic musical approach. No listener
really seems to mind.
If a production really cannot afford or has no access to large ensembles, the music
director has the choice of acceding either to reduced orchestrations or to synthesized
or prerecorded music. Often the former is the better choice; for instance, a well-played
two-piano version of a Broadway score, perhaps with bass and drums, can be far more
exciting and responsive in performance than a CD playback or a second-rate digital
sample. Or if a college has only half the orchestra needed, but the players they do have
are very good, there may be a way to feature those instruments in a cleverly reduced
orchestration that does not sacrifice the composer’s intention, and fills in the rest on
piano or a keyboard. For more contemporary, rhythmically oriented music, greater use
of electronic synthesis is probably a more suitable option.
Let’s say that a score for a musical requires an expressive bowed string sound (some-
thing a synthesizer does reasonably well) for only one of its sixteen musical numbers,
and uses strings only minimally elsewhere. In that case, hiring a string section might
be fiscally unwise and musically unnecessary. Certain instruments and certain quali-
ties of instruments, however, are more difficult to duplicate than others. Use of a pizzi-
cato (plucked) string sample is not as distasteful as keyboard player struggling to play a
sweeping chromatic run of twenty-four violins. Strings may seem an overused example,
but string sections have been among the first targeted by producers for elimination, or at
least drastic reduction. The orchestra of the Broadway version of the string-heavy movie
musical Mary Poppins had one lone cello player, and the 2011 musical Priscilla, Queen of
the Desert used a live orchestra of only nine players to represent a large recording studio
orchestra, heavily augmented as it was by string samples and prerecorded tracks, with
no real string players at all. These are artistic choices that may be without merit, yet
music directors, and all musicians, often have little recourse but to go along.
On the other hand, in a large-budget show with music that calls for a large orchestra-
tion, it is difficult to defend the use of a reduced or artificial orchestra, unless as part of
the director’s vision (such as the recent Sondheim revivals in which the actors played the
instruments themselves, though one might suspect that this artistic conceit began as an
avaricious twinkle in a line producer’s eye). A music director, however, cannot enter into a
contractual agreement and then complain because he or she does not like the terms. Music
directors who do not want to work with a synthesized orchestra should not accept a job
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 29

that entails leading one. They must make the best of every work situation because they are
involved in a collaborative, commercial enterprise. Cooperation is always within reach
as long as neither Scrooge-like penny pinching nor unbridled musical zeal rules the day.
Problems caused by sound amplification are particularly difficult for today’s music
directors to solve. When on the modern-day podium, they do not necessarily hear what
the audience hears, especially if the podium is not downstage center, which increasingly
it is not. Only when music directors observe a performance as audience members can
they find out if the music sounds as they intend, and often they cannot leave the podium,
at least until after a show opens and is running. For this reason many Broadway music
directors stipulate in their contracts a salaried viewing of one performance per week.
Somehow music directors must be determined and vigilant in their efforts not to sacri-
fice the music to misrepresentation through amplification.
There are clearly issues yet to be resolved in modern Broadway sound design, osten-
sibly the paradigm for all theatrical sound design. Critics and audiences alike openly
express their inability to hear properly at many musicals, or complain that the sound is
too loud (usually), or too soft (rarely), or that the words are unintelligible. Music direc-
tors can help, and should help, for the sake of the music, and for the long-term aesthetic
well-being of the art form.
The purported philosophy of Broadway sound design is absolute clarity of the sung
and spoken word, which is indeed the most important facet of the work. Quite often,
however, in attempting to achieve this goal, it is defeated. Because the sound operator of
a Broadway show mostly “rides the faders” on the vocals, that is, brings up and down dif-
ferent singers’ levels, the orchestra is left out of the mix, so to speak, and the entire bal-
ance is left to up one individual. It is hard to hear the orchestra at all in many Broadway
shows, not to mention the detail within them. In others, the entire mix is simply too
loud. Singers rely on their microphones and their lyrics are therefore not distinct.
Furthermore, the musical attributes that composers, music directors, and orchestrators
prize as the audible substance of their work are often inaudible, or amplified indelicately.
There are, of course, exceptions, and some sound designers are entirely devoted to
faithful reproduction of acoustic sound. A shining example is the recent Broadway pro-
duction of The Bridges of Madison County. Its masterly score was orchestrated by com-
poser Jason Robert Brown for eleven pieces. The pit was wide open, and the singers were
strong. Sound designer Jon Weston smartly let the music play and sing itself, giving the
sound just enough of a boost to make it clearly and evenly audible throughout the theater.
Historical perspective helps clarify the issues. The whole notion of sound design for
a show is relatively new, and there are few remaining vestiges of the original approach
to stage music. Nonetheless, the music of past eras and newly written music rooted in
the music of past eras receive many modern performances. The musicals of Rodgers and
Hammerstein, Lerner and Loewe, and Cole Porter are performed in some of the same
Broadway theaters audiences visit today, but without modern sound designs. When that
music was composed, people still sang on stage augmented at most by foot microphones
30 | M u s i c D i r e c t i o n for the S ta g e

placed far downstage along the floor, and maybe an auxiliary vocal microphone over-
head. Amplified sound for the stage became more widely accepted when popular music
and recorded music gained prevalence in post–World War II culture; a singer’s voice
needed reinforcement to be heard over the accompanying electric instruments, brass,
and drums. As rock and pop music took to the theatrical stage and pit, greater reliance
on amplification came with it. To restore balance within a pit orchestra, sound designers
had to put acoustic (non-electric) instruments through microphones to bring them up
to the level of the amplified instruments. Consequently, the singers on stage could not
be heard over the amplified orchestra. Before long everything was going through micro-
phones, amplifiers, and banks of processors, each altering the essence of the sound. The
modern-day sound design had been born, and grew up fast, big, and strong.
Complicating matters further in the present day is that there are few remaining
Mermans or Streisands with self-amplifying voices (Kristen Chenoweth, Brian Stokes
Mitchell, and some others still possess them), and opera singers less frequently cross over
to popular stage performance, as they do in classic musicals. A pop singer with a natural
voice that can be properly heard only through a microphone now has as much of a chance
at success on the musical stage as a singer with powerful pipes and a master’s degree in
voice. The understanding that all voices will be amplified on stage makes these disciplines
more acceptable to undervalue. (Musical-theater-singing training programs may also be
deemphasizing the importance of stage projection and enunciation.) Just as importantly,
modern stage production rejects old practices of musical staging that allowed voices to
be better heard when unamplified, in particular, moving downstage and turning toward
the audience when singing, in favor of dramatic realism (not to mention singing while
swinging from a rope or a vine or when perched on a catwalk high above the stage).
It has become virtually impossible to eliminate amplification; it is too central to
modern music and stage performance, and audience members’ ears have been trained
to expect it. Rather, the solution lies in using it sensibly. Instead of amplifying all ele-
ments of the music, just because that is the current convention, why not amplify for bal-
ance and audibility, as the philosophy of good audio design states? It is possible to work
from the premise of amplifying only that which needs amplification, and then balanc-
ing other elements accordingly. The multi-speaker, souped-up, tricked-out, up-to-date
systems that sound shops spend countless dollars on are only necessary for a produc-
tion whose size and style call for that sort of design. A singer who needs a close micro-
phone to be heard should still sing dynamically, and can be reinforced just enough to
be heard over the accompaniment. If an accompaniment is orchestral, the music direc-
tor should balance the orchestra naturally, then reinforce individual players or sections
as needed: this strategy will reveal the features of the orchestration while keeping the
orchestra at a manageable volume level. Nightclubs often get a beautiful sound from a
good piano with some gentle reinforcement through the house speakers, a pickup on a
bass or guitar, and a very high-quality vocal microphone. The sound is strong, vivid, and
resonant, an excellent model for Broadway, which is often tinny and muddled.
 M u s i c D i r e c t i o n To d ay and Y e s t e r d ay | 31

When music directors work with repertory and revival musicals and traditional
stage music, they should consider that modern audiences have become less tolerant of
the sound of the past, the rougher, grainier, truer sound of minimally processed music.
Today’s listeners respond more readily to the slick, shiny sound quality they have become
accustomed to over two decades of digital playback. Modern music directors can imple-
ment ideas that update the sound of older music and thereby enhance the audience’s
enjoyment of it, while assuring authentic interpretation (assuming it is desired) and
retaining the performance practices that characterize the style. Again, they require the
sound department’s cooperation to attain this ideal.
Today’s music directors are just beginning to develop strategies through which to
effect a positive outcome on the way the music they produce is generated and amplified.
Foremost in the effort are, first, their knowledge of technology and sound design, so that
they are justified in adding their voices to the discussion of instrumental emulation and
sound reinforcement with producers and designers, and, second, constant and thor-
ough communication with and monitoring of the synthesizer and the sound design, and
their personnel, through all phases of preproduction and production, so that the designs
are properly and musically executed. Under ideal circumstances, music directors and
informed producers together will decide to employ the number and type (real or imita-
tion) of musicians that are right for the production, good for the music, and in line with
the available talent. They will choose their sound team carefully and with the intent of
the score in mind: a designer’s or operator’s proficiency in one style does not guarantee
excellence in another. If as music director you want your opinion to count, and if you
are in a situation in which sharing your musical desires and philosophies with those in
charge is acceptable (without jeopardizing your job), you should express yourself early
on, while the production is still taking shape. You can help formulate strategies that
give producers what they need (savings and quality), and still be faithful to the music.
Artistic quality will generate financial success, and good producers know it.
The theater-going and music-listening public will require re-education if the voice
of aesthetic reason is to be heard over the screaming sound systems. Only by regularly
experiencing the unfiltered glories of an appropriately sized and properly amplified (or
unamplified) orchestra and cast will audiences retune their attention and regain their
appreciation. Ticket buying is the most powerful tool available to music’s defenders, but
how can musicians hope to influence the busloads who are shuttled into Times Square
if their viewing choices are predetermined by a media blitz or a travel agency? Critics
regularly express their affection for live sound, when it happens. The 2008 revival of
South Pacific at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theater was highly acclaimed for,
among other things, its large thirty-piece orchestra, barely needing or using amplifica-
tion in the open pit of the three-quarter-style house (where the audience surrounds the
stage on three sides), as seen in Figure 1.3. The orchestra sounded lush, beautiful, and
natural, and the music director on the podium expertly led a tasteful, convincing, and
moving production.
Exploring the Variety of Random
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 He could see that his pony was tiring fast and that his predicament
would soon be desperate unless something speedily occurred to aid
him. It was only a question of time before his horse would break
down under the strain and then the young pioneer’s case would be
almost hopeless. Joseph raised his head and glanced about him.
A short distance ahead, and a little to one side, he spied a ravine. A
narrow gully, filled with bowlders and scrubby trees, appeared to
Joseph’s gaze and he quickly decided to enter it, for perhaps he
might find a place of refuge. He turned his horse and plunged into
the ravine.
As he urged his horse to a final effort his mind turned to Robert
and Deerfoot. What had become of them? If they had been killed, or
far worse, captured, Joseph would be left all alone in the world. A
lump arose in his throat at the thought. This was no time for
sentiment, however, and he quickly suppressed his feelings and
devoted his whole attention to his own safety.
A short distance in advance of him he spied a thick clump of
bushes. Toward these Joseph hurried and upon reaching the spot
was overjoyed to find that they would afford a screen sufficient to
hide him from the gaze of anyone who should pass that way. On the
other hand he could look out from his refuge and see all that was
taking place around him.
He tethered his horse to one of the roots of a large tree, which had
been torn from its place by some great wind. Making sure that in his
hiding place he and his horse were well concealed, he crawled
cautiously along the trunk of the fallen tree, until he reached a spot
from which he could see the surrounding country.
Hardly had he been in his place a moment when he heard the
clatter of hoofs and not fifty feet from him he spied five Indians
riding past at full speed in pursuit of the flying volunteers.
 CHAPTER XIII
THE WHINNY OF A HORSE

C lose behind these Indians came five more and then a little squad
of three. Next appeared one solitary brave, his war paint shining
while he shouted at the top of his voice. Joseph shuddered as he saw
these savages dash past him and involuntarily he drew back further
on the tree trunk. He had no desire to be seen by any one of his
bloodthirsty foes, especially at this time when they were so filled with
confidence and their desire to kill.
“If I count the number of Indians who pass this way,” thought
Joseph, “I can tell just how many may return and in that way I can
tell whether or not there are any between me and Dixon’s Ferry.
When I am sure that all have returned I can start out and take my
time about getting back.”
This seemed to Joseph an excellent plan and he proceeded to put it
into execution. The only trouble was that he expected at least several
hundred of Black Hawk’s party to pass that way in their pursuit of
Major Stillman’s men, and undoubtedly it would take a long time
before they would return. Then, too, there was always the chance
that some might go back to their camp by a different route and thus
escape his notice. At any rate he decided to make an attempt at
carrying out his scheme.
Thus far he had counted fourteen warriors. No more appeared for
some time and Joseph began to wonder where the main body was.
Certainly the fleeing volunteers had passed his hiding place, and if
the Indians intended to overtake them they must follow the same
course.
“Here they come,” thought Joseph as once more he heard the
clatter of hoofs on the prairie. Peering out cautiously he was
surprised to see only four Indians in the party. He heard more
approaching, however, and soon an additional band of six appeared.
This last detachment was not riding as hard as the ones who had
passed previously. They seemed to be in no hurry and were
apparently debating whether or not they should give up the pursuit
of the rangers.
Suddenly Joseph heard a shout and saw the six warriors abruptly
halt. They turned and awaited the approach of a solitary brave a
hundred yards or more to their rear. When he came up to them, the
seven Indians gathered in a circle and held a spirited discussion.
Joseph fancied that the argument was as to whether they should
push on or give up the chase and return to camp. Evidently his
surmise was correct, for at the expiration of a few moments the
entire band started back in the direction from which they had come.
“That makes twenty-five Indians I have counted altogether,”
thought Joseph. “I wonder what has happened to all the others who
attacked us?”
Many minutes passed, however, and no more appeared. “Seven
already returned,” said Joseph to himself. “That makes eighteen
more I must wait for. I hope they won’t be long and that they won’t
discover me.” The thought of what might happen to him, should his
hiding place be found by any of the marauders, made him shudder.
He turned and glanced at his horse. The animal stood with drooping
head, evidently thoroughly tired from its exertions. That he would
soon be overtaken if it came to a question of speed was only too
evident to the youthful frontiersman. It seemed to Joseph that hours
elapsed before he heard any more hoofbeats on the prairie indicating
that more of his enemies were returning. He was tired and it was all
he could do to keep awake. Several times the young volunteer almost
dropped off to sleep and the use of all his will power was required to
shake off this feeling of drowsiness. Joseph knew that any such lapse
might easily prove fatal to his chances of escaping.
Finally, however, he heard a noise and as he peered out from his
hiding place he discovered a band of ten Indians approaching. They
trotted along in a careless manner, evidently confident that no
danger was lurking near at hand. That this was the case was fully
realized by Joseph who wondered what would befall him if he should
shoot at any one of the band. From his station in the ravine he could
easily have selected his man and found no difficulty in bringing him
down. He might even kill two or possibly three of his foes, but he was
largely outnumbered and it would only be a question of time before
he must either be killed or taken prisoner.
“They’ll never capture me alive,” thought Joseph decidedly. He
knew that in such a case his doom would be surely sealed and
undoubtedly preceded by tortures that made his blood run cold even
to think about. It was hard for him to restrain himself, however, as
he watched his enemies jog past the place where he lay hidden. He
fingered his rifle nervously and once or twice even raised it to his
shoulder.
At length the Indians passed beyond his sight and Joseph settled
himself to wait for the remaining eight. He was not kept in suspense
long, for in a few moments six more rode by. They talked freely
among themselves and were apparently discussing their victory.
Gestures were frequently used in the course of their conversation,
and everyone seemed to be trying to outdo the others in boasting of
his conquest.
“Only two more,” thought Joseph as this party disappeared. “I
wish they’d hurry up and come, too.” The young pioneer was greatly
puzzled to know what could have happened to the remainder of
Black Hawk’s band. He had been sure that the volunteers were
attacked by at least several hundred warriors. Little by little,
however, he began to change his ideas as he saw the few that had
followed in pursuit of the white men. “Could it be possible,” he
thought, “that over three hundred white men had been put to flight
by a mere handful of Indians?” He had counted twenty-five in all and
he doubted if more than twice that number could have attacked them
in the first place.
“What a disgrace,” he thought. “We ran like a lot of cowards. The
first shout scared us away and we didn’t even stop to see how many
there were against us.” He became still more angry as he thought of
the rout and when he recalled the look of fear on Walt’s face a snort
of disgust and contempt expressed his feelings in the matter.
Once more, however, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound
of horses’ hoofs. A moment later two Indians came within sight and
Joseph heaved a sigh of relief as he realized that these were the last
he was waiting for. In a few moments more he could mount his horse
and proceed to Dixon’s Ferry and then he could discover what had
befallen Robert and Deerfoot.
The Indians were now opposite Joseph’s lookout. He remembered
distinctly seeing these men pass before, for one of them rode a
spotted pony, easily distinguished from all the others. As Joseph
noted this fact, the pony in question suddenly thrust his head
forward and whinnied. This in itself was not remarkable, but its
consequences certainly were.
Joseph was horrified to hear from behind him the answering
whinny of his own horse. That this desire for company on the part of
his horse might easily have fatal results the young frontiersman knew
only too well. His limbs were almost paralyzed as with wide eyes he
watched his two foes to see if they had heard the sound. That they
had done so was only too evident from their actions. They
immediately wheeled their ponies and peered eagerly in the direction
from which the unexpected sound had come.
Spellbound, Joseph watched them. Perhaps they might pass on
after all, thinking their ears had deceived them. That there was but
slight chance of this, however, he well knew, and for a moment he
thought his best plan would be to fire at them. On second thought he
decided that the sound of the shots might summon help to the
redskins and that was the last thing Joseph desired to happen.
Motionless, and with their guns ready for instant use, the two
warriors sat and looked straight at Joseph’s hiding place. He knew
they could not see him from the place where they were stationed, and
he hoped and prayed that they would not investigate. This hope was
quickly dissipated, however, for suddenly his horse whinnied again.
For a moment the young volunteer was so angry he could have shot
the animal, but he knew that any such action would only spell ruin to
his chances of escape. At any rate, the horse knew no better and was
probably lonesome.
No sooner had the sound reached the ears of the waiting Indians
than they raised their guns and fired. Two bullets came crashing
through the bushes close to Joseph’s head and he heard one of them
flatten itself against a rock just behind him. Taking quick aim he
fired his own rifle and saw one of the Indian’s ponies drop to the
ground. He waited for no more, but jumping quickly upon the back
of his horse he sped away down the ravine.
 A hundred yards in advance of him the gully led out onto the open
prairie. Soon Joseph emerged; his appearance was greeted by a yell
of rage, and two bullets which whistled past his ears. Glancing
behind him the young volunteer saw the Indian, whose horse had
been shot, struggling to reload his gun, while the one that was
mounted on the spotted pony was speeding forward in hot pursuit.
Joseph bent low over the neck of his horse and urged the animal to
do its best. He had one bullet in his rifle and this he decided to use
only when he could be reasonably sure of hitting his mark. Behind
him he heard the war whoop of the pursuing redman, and this time
Joseph knew that he was engaged in a race for life, such as he had
never had before. The opportunities were more equal this time, but
the Indian being behind had whatever advantage there was. “His life
or mine,” decided Joseph.
How long could his horse hold out? That was the question that
most of all troubled the young pioneer. He realized how far and how
fast his mount had already traveled that day, and grave fears for the
animal’s endurance beset Joseph’s mind.
Once more he glanced behind him. The Indian was gaining rapidly
upon him. The spotted pony was evidently very fleet and the distance
between the two racers was rapidly diminishing. Joseph’s heart sank
at the sight. He was tempted to turn and fire at his pursuer now.
Nearly a hundred yards still separated them, however, and Joseph
knew only too well that any chance of success at that distance was
very slight. Dangerous as it was he decided to save his ammunition
and run the risk of still being alive when a better opportunity should
present itself.
On they sped, the horses’ hoofs beating a sharp tattoo on the hard
ground of the sunbaked prairie. The brush seemed to interfere with
his horse’s progress while the spotted pony which his pursuer rode
ran easily and apparently was unhampered by any obstructions.
“What a pony that is,” thought Joseph. “If we could only trade
mounts he’d never catch me. I could laugh at him and simply run
away as I pleased.”
A quick look about him showed Joseph that now scarcely more
than fifty yards was between him and his enemy. “Why doesn’t he
shoot?” exclaimed the young volunteer out loud. “If he’d only fire
and miss me I could stop and shoot him down before he has a chance
to reload.”
As if following Joseph’s suggestion the Indian suddenly raised his
gun and fired. The fleeing boy was crouching so low that he seemed
almost a part of his horse’s back. As he saw the redskin lift his gun to
take aim he flattened himself out still further and held his breath as
he waited for the result of the shot.
At last the time had come which was to decide his fate. As the
sharp bark of the Indian’s rifle sounded over the prairie Joseph felt a
burning sensation in the fleshy part of his shoulder. He was
wounded. It was his left shoulder, however, and so excited was the
young volunteer that he scarcely felt the pain of the wound. He
quickly stopped his horse and straightening up in the saddle lifted
his gun to his shoulder.
The Indian seeing that he was tricked tried desperately to turn his
pony. At the same time he hurled his tomahawk, but the distance was
too great and it fell short of its mark. Joseph pulled the trigger and
immediately the Indian threw up his hands. For a moment he
struggled convulsively to keep his seat, but it was of no avail. He fell
to the ground, dead, a bullet through his temple.
Joseph was stunned for a moment, and then, realizing that he was
safe once more, a great wave of joy swept over him. He felt no
remorse at having killed this man, for by doing so his own life had
been saved. Perhaps, too, this Indian was one of those who had
massacred his family. The young volunteer dismounted and drew
near to his fallen foe.
The young Indian was lying face down upon the ground. Joseph
rolled him over and noticed at his belt two freshly taken scalps.
Suddenly a great wave of horror rushed over the young frontiersman
as he looked. One of the scalps at the Indian’s belt was bright red.
 CHAPTER XIV
THE SWALLOW

F or a moment Joseph was too stunned to move. Shaking all over

with anguish he stood still and looked at the blood-stained
trophy fastened at the Indian’s belt. The hair was exactly the color of
Robert’s, and Joseph felt sure that his brother had fallen a victim to
this redskinned warrior. A great sob rose in the boy’s throat and the
tears welled up into his eyes, as he stood on the prairie and gazed at
what he considered the proof of his brother’s death.
“The only one left,” thought Joseph. “My whole family wiped out
by Black Hawk. Thank goodness, I am still here and I swear I’ll have
revenge.” He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he thought of
all he had suffered at the hands of the savages.
How long he stood in this place he did not know. It might have
been seconds and it might have been hours, as far as he was
concerned, for the young pioneer had lost all sense of time. He was
completely wrapped up in his own thoughts. A coyote barked and at
the sound Joseph raised his head. He looked about him, but the only
sign of life he saw was the two ponies browsing quietly nearby.
“I’d better get out of here,” exclaimed the young volunteer
suddenly. “There’s no telling how soon those other savages may be
on my trail if that fellow whose horse I shot only gives the alarm.” He
started to remove the scalp from the Indian’s belt, but suddenly drew
back. “I can’t! I can’t touch it!” he moaned. He turned and walked
toward the place where his horse was feeding. The animal raised its
head and watched Joseph’s approach, but made no effort to escape.
The young pioneer grasped the bridle and was about to climb into
the saddle when a sudden idea struck him. “Why not take the other
pony, too?” he thought. Surely it was a beautiful animal and much
faster than any horse Joseph had seen among the volunteers. A few
moments later he was seated astride the spotted pony on his way to
Dixon’s Ferry. With one hand he led his own horse and at a good rate
of speed jogged forward on his way.
His new mount had a remarkable gait, which Joseph could not
help admiring. Joseph’s heart was heavy and his spirits were low, but
in spite of his sorrowful feelings, he did not fail to realize that the
pony which had fallen into his hands was a prize. “The kind of a
horse I’ve always wanted to own but never expected to,” he thought.
Hour after hour he jogged across the prairie until at last he spied
Dixon’s Ferry in the distance. No sign of the enemy had appeared
throughout the day, though Joseph had taken pains to search the
horizon every few moments. The end of his journey was in sight,
though this knowledge gave but little pleasure to the young
volunteer. He kept wondering what he should do now that he was left
alone, bereft of parents, sisters and brother.
Coming into Dixon’s Ferry, Joseph met a large force as it was
departing from the little settlement. General Whiteside was in
command and the object of the expedition was to bury the dead left
on the battlefield by Major Stillman. General Atkinson had now
arrived with his troops and Dixon’s Ferry presented a busy scene.
The fight of the previous day was the main topic of conversation and
consternation and bewilderment had taken possession of the men.
Joseph rode quietly through the camp, searching eagerly for a
familiar face. He did not arouse any particular comment as he came
in with his two horses, for more than a thousand men were departing
with General Whiteside at just that time and the young volunteer was
overlooked in the crowd. Suddenly he spied Deerfoot, seated under a
large tree smoking his long pipe. His back was toward Joseph, so that
he approached close to the Indian without being seen.
“Deerfoot!” Joseph called, as he stopped his horses under the tree
where the Pottowattomie was seated.
The Indian jumped to his feet as if he had been a jumping-jack.
His pipe fell to the ground and broke into a thousand bits while he
stared at Joseph with startled eyes. For once he forgot to mask his
feelings.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Joseph in amazement.
 “Me thought you dead,” said Deerfoot in an awestruck voice.
“Not at all. I’d just as lief be, though.”
Deerfoot stared and stared at his young friend as if he could not
believe his eyes. Finally he apparently convinced himself that it was
no apparition that he saw, and his gaze shifted to the horse Joseph
rode. Once more he started perceptibly. “Where you get that pony?”
he demanded.
“I captured him.”
“Where his rider?”
“He’s dead.”
“You shoot him?” asked Deerfoot.
“Yes.”
“You not catch him when he ride that pony,” said the Indian
decidedly.
“No,” said Joseph, “he caught me.” He proceeded to tell Deerfoot
of his encounter on the prairie and how he had finally shot his
pursuer. “You act as though you had seen this pony before,
Deerfoot,” he added.
“Sure that The Swallow,” said Deerfoot quietly.
“The Swallow?” repeated Joseph. “How does it happen that you
know his name and recognized him when you saw him?”
“Everyone know that pony,” replied Deerfoot.
“Why do they?” Joseph demanded.
“He fastest horse in country.”
“What!” exclaimed the young frontiersman. “The fastest horse in
the country, you say? What do you mean?”
“He called The Swallow,” said Deerfoot. “He run as fast as swallow
fly.”
“Whew!” whistled Joseph in amazement. “It looks as though I had
found a pretty good horse, doesn’t it? Who owned him?”
“White Owl,” replied Deerfoot. “He one of Black Hawk young
men.”
“Do you suppose it was White Owl I killed?”
“That so. He no let any other ride pony.”
 “Well,” exclaimed Joseph bitterly, “I’m glad I killed him and got
his horse. I’d give him back both if I could, if he’d only return what
he took from me.”
“What he take from you?” asked Deerfoot.
“I guess you know as well as I do,” cried Joseph, his voice choking
with emotion. “If you’d seen the scalp he had, you’d know. If Robert
isn’t dead, why isn’t he with you now?”
“Because he’s been down taking a swim in Rock River,” said a
voice nearby, and turning around Joseph saw his brother standing
not five feet distant from the spot where he and Deerfoot were
talking. His teeth showed in a radiant smile, while his hair seemed
redder than ever before.
“Bob!” exclaimed Joseph. “I thought you were dead.”
“Far from it,” laughed Robert. “I consider myself one of the
liveliest people in camp.”
“But I saw your scalp,” protested Joseph.
“You see it now, you mean,” said Robert. “It is right on the top of
my head, just where it has always been.”
“Why,” said Joseph, “I killed an Indian out on the prairie who had
two scalps at his belt. One of them had red hair, just the color of
yours. I was sure you had been killed.”
“Not I,” laughed Robert. “Deerfoot and I wasted no time on the
prairie. We were among the first to reach Dixon’s. We were worried
about you, though. When you didn’t turn up we were almost sure you
had been killed. What have you been doing all this time and how did
you escape?”
Joseph related his experiences again and then some moments
were spent in admiring Joseph’s new horse, The Swallow. “He is
certainly a beauty!” exclaimed Robert enthusiastically. “I can easily
see that everyone is going to be very jealous of you, Joe.”
“Let them!” laughed Joseph. “They can do anything they want, but
they can’t take my pony and they can’t catch him either.”
Deerfoot again appeared at this moment, bringing some food for
Joseph. When the young man’s hunger had been appeased and the
horses had been cared for, the three companions set out for a tour of
the camp. Everywhere were little excited groups of men talking about
the battle. Some of the men had not even returned to Dixon’s Ferry,
but had kept right on to their homes, having had enough of Indian
warfare.
One gathering contained faces familiar to the boys and this one
they joined. Walt was in the center doing most of the talking.
“Yes,” he was saying, “just as I passed that ravine at least a
hundred Indians came tearing out at me. They were yelling like a
pack of wolves and firing off their guns as fast as they could load
them. I shot two of them, but they were too many and I finally
decided to run for it. I have the satisfaction of knowing that I
finished a couple of them anyway.”
“Where was that ravine, Walt?” asked Joseph curiously.
“Hello, there, my boy!” exclaimed Walt, catching sight of Joseph.
“Glad to see you back. We were afraid you had fallen by the wayside.
Why, that ravine I was speaking of was near a clump of woods about
a mile this side of where our camp was pitched.”
“How many Indians did you say came out of there?”
“Why, about seventy-five or a hundred. What are you laughing at?”
he demanded as a smile overspread Joseph’s face.
“Nothing,” replied Joseph quietly, “except this: I spent most of last
night in that ravine you were describing.”
“What if you did?” exclaimed Walt warmly. “That doesn’t say a
hundred or more Indians didn’t charge out from there earlier, does
it?”
“Well, I don’t know,” mused Joseph. “The trouble with your story
is this: I reached that gully before any of the Indians. I hid there all
night and I counted every Indian that pursued our men. I counted
them as they went out and I counted them again as they came back,
just to make sure they had all returned.”
“Do you insinuate that I am a liar?” cried Walt, half rising to his
feet.
“I insinuate nothing,” replied Joseph coolly. “I am merely stating
facts.”
Silence reigned in the little company. The men gathered there
looked curiously from one to the other of the speakers. The situation
was tense and for a moment it seemed as if there might be trouble.
 “All right then,” said Walt in response to Joseph’s statement. “Tell
us how many Indians you counted.” The trapper’s tone was
contemptuous, for he had been piqued at the way the two brothers
threatened him when he made remarks about Deerfoot and he still
held his grudge.
“How many do you think there were?” Joseph demanded.
“Don’t you know yourself? I thought you counted them.”
“I did. I just wondered if you had any idea of the number.”
“Well,” said Walt, “I should say that at least five hundred attacked
us originally. Probably not more than two-thirds of that number
chased us very far. When we passed that ravine I was speaking of,
there were about three hundred or three hundred and fifty.”
Joseph laughed outright at this. “What’s the joke?” demanded
Walt hotly.
“Do you want to know just how many there were?”
“Of course we do.”
“Well,” said Joseph, “there were exactly twenty-five.”
A howl of derision not only from Walt but from the whole
company greeted this remark. The men looked at Joseph
contemptuously.
“Your night out must have affected your head,” said Walt
sneeringly.
“Nothing of the kind,” exclaimed Joseph warmly, and hot-headed
Robert drew a bit closer to his brother in case there should be
trouble. “I counted twenty-five and that’s all there were. I don’t
believe there were over fifty opposed to us at any time.”
“Poor boy! Poor boy,” moaned Walt pityingly. “He’s either out of
his head or he never learned how to count.”
“Look here,” cried Joseph, thoroughly aroused. “I know what I’m
talking about and I’m telling the truth, and that’s more than you are.
I saw you pass me and if ever a man was scared, you were. Your face
was as white as chalk and you were running like a scared rabbit. And
when you say you killed two Indians, you lie.”
Walt sprang to his feet, his face livid. He struggled to reach
Joseph, but was restrained by his companions. For some moments
the excitement was intense and it was a puzzle as to how the
difficulty would be settled.
“Look here,” exclaimed one of the men. “One of these men is a liar,
that’s sure. Which one it is I can’t say, though I’m inclined to think it
is this boy here who says he counted only twenty-five Indians.
Suppose we make him prove his statement.”
“Can you do it?” whispered Robert in his brother’s ear.
“No, of course not,” said Joseph. “I have nothing but my word.”
“We’ll fight the whole gang, then,” exclaimed Robert.
“I wouldn’t believe that boy on oath now,” cried Walt, still trying to
wrench himself free from those who were holding him. “Next thing
he’ll be trying to tell us that he captured The Swallow from White
Owl and brought him back to camp.”
“That’s just exactly what I did do,” exclaimed Joseph.
 CHAPTER XV
AN INVITATION

A roar went up from the assemblage at this remark of Joseph. The

men laughed and whistled and hooted until the din was almost
deafening. Through it all Joseph stood quietly, but with white face
and clenched hands. Robert was for challenging everyone present to
fight at once and it was with difficulty that he was restrained by his
cooler headed brother.
Finally the noise somewhat subsided. The men ceased their jeering
and turned to Joseph once more. Walt appointed himself
spokesman.
“So you captured The Swallow, did you?” he said sneeringly.
“That’s what I told you,” replied Joseph quietly.
“Would you mind letting us look at him?” asked Walt with
pretended politeness. At the same time he winked at the others in the
crowd.
“Certainly you may see him,” agreed Joseph. “Suppose I do prove
to you that I captured The Swallow. Will you believe my other story
then?”
“We’ll believe anything,” laughed Walt, good-natured once more at
the prospect of making sport of Joseph. Certainly he had thought
that the boy was idly boasting about the horse or he never would
have undertaken the risk he now was incurring.
“Come along, then,” exclaimed Joseph, and with Robert and
Deerfoot walking beside him, he started toward the place where the
ponies were tethered. Walt became a bit uneasy now as he saw how
ready Joseph was to carry out his suggestion. Perhaps he had
captured The Swallow after all, and if so Walt fully understood that
he would find himself in a very embarrassing position.
 Robert and Joseph conversed eagerly as they went along. “I knew
that when we started on the thirteenth of the month bad luck would
follow us,” exclaimed Robert. “Just see what has happened! We were
defeated and disgraced by a handful of Indians, and then you get
mixed up in a quarrel and are called a liar and I don’t know what
else. I felt sure we ought not to have started on that day.”
“Don’t be silly, Bob,” laughed Joseph. “We have had some hard
luck, I’ll admit, but we’ve had some good luck, too. At least I have.
Just think of my capturing the most famous horse in this part of the
country and now owning him all for myself.”
“How can you be sure it is The Swallow?” demanded Robert.
“Deerfoot said it was.”
“Perhaps he was mistaken.”
“No mistaken,” exclaimed Deerfoot. “That Swallow, sure.”
“I hope so,” said Joseph fervently. “I’m in for it if there has been
any mistake.”
They had now come within a short distance of the spot where the
horses had been fastened. Joseph at once turned to face the crowd
following him. Many more had collected by this time so that more
than a hundred men were gathered together to see the result of the
argument. Most of them favored Walt, if only for the reason that they
had fled as eagerly as he and they had no desire to be publicly
acclaimed as cowards.
“Wait here a moment,” exclaimed Joseph. “I’ll go get The Swallow,
and ride him out here for you to see.”
“We can’t wait more than two days,” called Walt as Joseph made
off. The crowd laughed at this remark, for Walt was considered a
great wit.
“You didn’t wait very long for Black Hawk to arrive the other day,
either, did you, Walt?” shouted Robert, incensed at the treatment to
which his brother was being subjected. The crowd also laughed at
this and Walt’s face once more flushed with rage.
“Did you wait yourself?” he cried angrily.
“Not I,” replied Robert cheerily. “I came home just as fast as you
did. The only difference is I admit it and you don’t.”
 The crowd enjoyed this conversation tremendously and was
hoping for more of it, but just at this moment Joseph appeared. As
the spotted pony trotted into view from behind a clump of trees a
murmur of admiration ran through the gathering. “That’s him, all
right!” exclaimed a raw-boned pioneer standing next to Robert. Nods
of affirmation were seen on all sides and exclamations of envy were
heard as well.
Robert looked for Walt to see what he had to say now, but he
looked in vain. Walt had disappeared. He had recognized The
Swallow instantly, for he had often seen the famous pony and knew
him well. Realizing that he was beaten he slipped quietly away in the
crowd and hastened to his tent to be alone and unseen.
“Where’s Walt?” cried Joseph, looking in vain for the trapper.
“He had an engagement, I guess,” laughed one of the men, after a
vain search had been made for the missing man. “Maybe we can find
him though,” suggested one of the others.
“Let him go,” exclaimed Joseph. “All I want to know is whether
this pony is The Swallow or not.”
“He certainly is,” cried the whole assemblage with one accord.
They gathered about Joseph and his new mount, curiously inspecting
this horse that had made itself so famous on the prairies. Everyone
now was on Joseph’s side and every man vied with one another in
saying pleasant things. Even Robert was pacified and he took great
pride in the sudden fame which his brother had acquired.
“What’ll you sell him for?” was the question frequently put to
Joseph; but in answer, the young pioneer every time shook his head
and merely smiled. “Money couldn’t buy this horse from me,” he
exclaimed.
Supper time soon came and the gathering then scattered. The two
brothers and Deerfoot were left to themselves, and the Indian was
soon busily engaged in preparing the evening meal. When this was
over, the three volunteers settled themselves around their fire and
discussed all that had happened to them recently. They also talked of
what might be in store for them in the approaching days, and
wondered what their fortunes would be.
“What do you suppose our next move will be?” inquired Joseph.
 “I heard this afternoon that we were to join General Whiteside’s
men in a few days,” replied Robert. “He went out to the battlefield
yesterday, you know, and is to push on after Black Hawk.”
“What is General Atkinson to do?”
“He is the one that is going to join General Whiteside. I supposed,
of course, we would go with him.”
“We stay here,” said Deerfoot.
“What for? How do you know?” queried Robert.
“Stillman’s men stay here, guard supplies.”
“How did you find that out?” asked Joseph curiously.
“Me know, that’s all,” replied the Indian, and both boys were aware
that further questioning was useless. They also were convinced, too,
that Deerfoot was probably right. Seldom it was that he made any
statement of which he was not absolutely sure.
“They’ll leave us here because we disgraced ourselves, I suppose,”
exclaimed Robert bitterly. “I don’t blame them either, but I tell you it
makes me mad. I wish I could get just one more chance.”
“Don’t worry, Bob,” urged Joseph. “You’ll probably get another
chance, all right. We’ll all have to make up for the way we acted.”
“Where do you think Black Hawk is now, Deerfoot?” exclaimed
Robert impulsively. He half rose to his feet as though he intended to
start in pursuit of his enemy that very moment.
“Sit down, Bob,” laughed his brother. “You’re not thinking of
starting after him now, are you?”
“Just as soon as I can,” said Robert eagerly. “Where is Black Hawk
now?”
“He go north,” replied Deerfoot. “Four lakes probably.”
“Is that far from here?”
“Very far,” said the Indian. “Much swamps, too.”
“That’s probably just what will happen, all right,” agreed Joseph.
“Black Hawk will go up into the swamps and hide there and then
we’ll have some fun driving him out again.”
“Maybe he starve,” suggested Deerfoot.
“Hasn’t he any supplies?” asked Joseph.
 “No think so. He not able to raise corn last year. He no get any
now.”
“That’s very true,” said Joseph. “Perhaps General Atkinson intends
to starve him out.”
“That’s not my way, though,” exclaimed Robert. “I’m for going
right into the swamps or any other place where he may lead us.
Finish it up and get it over with as soon as we can, is my idea.”
“I don’t know,” argued the more cautious Joseph. “Starving him
out may take longer, but it is just as good a way in the end and we
won’t lose half as many men.”
“Still,” laughed Robert, “I don’t suppose any of the officers are
going to ask us for our opinion in the matter, so there isn’t much use
in our talking about it.”
“You’re right, Bob,” agreed Joseph. “Who is this coming?” he
exclaimed a moment later. Some man was making his way through
the darkness toward their fire. It was impossible to see who it was
and the prowler came all the way up to the fire without being
recognized. It was then discovered that the visitor was Walt.
“I’ve come to apologize to you, Joseph,” he said, after he had made
himself known. “I acted badly this afternoon and I know it. I’m sorry
and I want you to shake hands with me and forgive me if you can.
Will you do it?”
“Of course I will,” exclaimed Joseph at the same time putting forth
his hand.
“I did lie,” continued Walt. “I acted like a coward, too, and you
showed me up for what I was. I was mad at you for doing it at the
time, but I got to thinking it over and decided that I deserved it all.
From now on I’m going to try to make up for it, and I want your
friendship and that of your brother, and Deerfoot’s, too. Do you
think I stand any chance of getting it?”
“You certainly do,” said Robert heartily. This red-headed boy had a
quick temper but he had also a correspondingly warm heart. He saw
that Walt meant what he had said, and that was all that Robert
needed. He shook hands warmly with the trapper. Deerfoot in silence
also offered his hand.
“Now,” said Walt. “I’m going to ask another favor of you three. I
have been ordered to carry some dispatches for General Atkinson.
He told me to select my own party and I want you three as members
of it. Will you go?”
“Will we go!” exclaimed Robert. “Of course we’ll go and the sooner
the better. When do we start, Walt?”
“The first thing in the morning. Just sit down a minute and I’ll tell
you about it.”
 CHAPTER XVI
A SCOUTING PARTY

“I can’t tell you much, for I don’t know much about it, myself,”
Walt explained. “All the information I have are my orders. I am
to carry some dispatches from General Atkinson to Fort Armstrong.”
“That’s all that is necessary for us to know,” cried Robert
enthusiastically. “How many are there to be in our party?”
“Ten. We four and six others.”
“We’d better get ready then, I guess,” suggested Joseph, who was
always of a practical turn of mind. “How about food? Who is to look
out for that?”
“I am,” replied Walt. “The rest of you needn’t worry about a single
thing. Everything is ready and all you will have to do is to go along.”
“That’s fine!” exclaimed Robert. “Just the kind of an expedition I
like. Not a blessed thing to worry about.”
“Except Indians,” Joseph cautioned him.
“Huh! Indians!” snorted Robert. “We aren’t afraid of Indians! Are
we, Deerfoot?” and he slapped that surprised brave heartily on the
back.
“No afraid,” replied Deerfoot seriously, looking in astonishment at
his young friend. He never had become used to these outbursts of
hilarity on Robert’s part and he did not know just what to make of
them.
“You’re glad you’re going, too, aren’t you?” Robert insisted.
“Yes, me glad,” answered Deerfoot, without changing the
expression of his face or the tone of his voice.
“You’re hopeless, Deerfoot,” exclaimed Robert laughing. “You
show about as much enthusiasm as a piece of rock.”
 “He doesn’t believe in wasting his strength and breath perhaps,”
suggested Joseph. “When the time comes he’ll be in the thick of
things, though, you may be sure of that.”
“I know it,” said Robert. “When he does a thing or says a thing he
means it. That’s more than I can say sometimes.”
“We won’t worry about you, I guess, Bob,” laughed Walt. “I know
who can be depended upon. That’s the reason I asked you to go with
us.”
“And now I’m going to leave you,” he added. “Don’t forget
tomorrow. We’ll meet at the swimming hole at daybreak. Good
night.”
“Good night,” replied Joseph, Robert and Deerfoot together, and a
moment later Walt disappeared in the darkness.
“Where is Fort Armstrong?” demanded Robert, as they were
preparing to turn in for the night.
“Why, Bob,” chided his brother. “Don’t you know where that is?”
“Of course I do,” replied Robert. “That’s just the reason I asked
you.”
“Well, it’s right where the Rock River empties into the
Mississippi,” Joseph explained, paying no attention to his brother’s
attempt at sarcasm. “That is the place where General Atkinson and
General Whiteside came from. They collected their troops there
before they started up the Rock River.”
“Then we’re going back the way they came?”
“Exactly.”
“But I’m afraid we’ll miss something,” protested Robert.
“Don’t you want to go? A few minutes ago you said you did.”
“I still do,” exclaimed Robert quickly. “For a moment it seemed to
me that we would be getting out of touch with things if we went back
there, but I guess there’s likely to be something going on, no matter
where we are.”
“Surely, there is,” Joseph agreed. “I think that Black Hawk’s
victory will make it very unsafe for the settlers around here, too.”
“That’s so. Probably all the Indians will start out on the warpath
now.”
 “Yes, and they’ll be murdering all the settlers in the country,”
exclaimed Joseph. “Many more families will get the same treatment
ours did, I’m afraid.”
“Well, that’s what you and I are here to stop, you know,” said
Robert.
“Perhaps if we stop talking and get some sleep we’ll be in better
shape to do it, too,” Joseph suggested. “Look at Deerfoot. He’s asleep
already.”
The two brothers also were soon fast asleep and knew nothing
more until they felt their Indian friend shaking them and telling
them to wake up. They were on their feet almost instantly and were
soon ready to depart. The ponies were fed and watered, and in a
short time they were all on their way to the meeting place on the
river bank. It was scarcely light as yet and the first rays of the sun
were just appearing when the young soldiers reached their
destination.
Walt was already on hand, as also were two of the other members
of the party. In a few moments the three remaining scouts appeared
and a start was made at once.
The boys were very proud to be members of this expedition. A
responsibility had been placed upon their shoulders and every man
likes to feel that he is thought capable of sharing such a trust. Joseph
was doubly proud. He sat astride The Swallow and felt himself the
center of all eyes. The more he rode the pony the better he liked him,
too. As Walt said, “The Swallow was everything that a horse should
be.”
They struck off across the prairie and following the course of the
river as closely as practicable they made their way steadily forward.
Both Joseph and Robert were delighted to see among their number
John Mason, the man who had first called Robert “Red,” and had
entertained them one night with a story of a hunting experience his
father had had. The two brothers had formed a strong liking for this
man. He was a splendid type of pioneer and commanded the respect
of all who came in contact with him.
“Bad times ahead of us, boys,” he exclaimed, bringing his horse
alongside Robert’s and addressing the two brothers.
“What’s the matter now?” Robert demanded.
 “Black Hawk has turned his war parties loose on the settlements.”
“He did that long ago,” said Joseph. “Bob and I know that from
bitter experience.”
“I know you do,” exclaimed Mason. “I guess you have caught it as
hard as anyone, but it’s going to be worse than ever now. Since Black
Hawk chased us away so easily, I guess he has become conceited and
thinks that nothing can hold him back.”
“That’s what we said would happen,” Joseph remarked.
“Well, it’s true,” continued Mason. “Several reports have come in
already of people being murdered.”
“Near here?” inquired Robert.
“Yes, quite near. Yesterday morning they killed a man just north of
here. He was a minister and was on his way to Chicago. It seems he
was in the habit of traveling around through the settlements in the
course of his work. He was a queer looking old fellow, with a beard
that was nearly a yard long. I remember him well, for he used to
come around my part of the country as well as here. Two nights ago
he stopped over night with a family who warned him that suspicious
Indians were in the neighborhood. They all left the house and
hurried off to safe places, but he stayed on. He said he wasn’t afraid
and that he didn’t think the Indians would harm him anyway. So he
stayed. One of the sons returned home the next morning to get
something that had been forgotten, and found the poor old fellow
scalped and his head almost severed from his body. Isn’t that
horrible?”
“I should say it is,” agreed Joseph, shuddering at the thought.
“Where did you hear about it?” asked Robert.
“The son who returned home told me. He hurried right from there
to Dixon’s and wants to enlist. He says this business must stop.”
“He is right about that!” Joseph agreed heartily. “Why, no one will
be safe any more unless something is done. All the other tribes may
be lured in, too, if they see the success Black Hawk is having.”
“Very true,” said Mason. “I believe that already some of the
Winnebagos and Pottowattomies have joined him.”
“Is that so?” exclaimed Robert. “I wonder if Deerfoot knows that
some of his people are with Black Hawk now?”
 “Of course he knows,” said Joseph. “He seems to know everything
almost before it happens. He is uncanny at times.”
“Do you suppose it will make any difference to him?”
“Not a bit. Why, he’d choose you and me in preference to his own
family, I think. He likes us better than anyone else in the world.”
“He certainly is a good friend of yours, isn’t he?” remarked Mason.
“At any rate I believe only a small band of his people are with Black
Hawk. Some of the young bloods who like fighting, that’s all.”
“Indians love to fight, don’t they?” said Robert. “I wonder why it
is.”
“Simply because it is born in them, I guess,” laughed Mason. “All
their lives they fight. If not with the whites, then with some other
tribe.”
“I feel sorry for them,” Joseph remarked. “They certainly have had
a hard time ever since the white people came into this country. Every
year they are pushed farther and farther west. They see their homes
being taken from them and I don’t blame them if they don’t like it.”
“I suppose you felt sorry for them when they were murdering our
family and burning our home,” exclaimed Robert hotly.
“That’s different,” agreed Joseph. “At the same time I don’t
suppose they know any better and that is their way of making war.”
“That doesn’t excuse them, though,” retorted Robert.
“Of course it doesn’t,” Joseph admitted. “I’m for getting even with
them just as much as you are. Don’t worry about that. And I agree
with you that the quicker we let them know that we won’t stand for
this sort of business the better it will be for all concerned.”
“That’s exactly the way I feel,” said Mason. “Personally I have
nothing against the Indians. There are good ones and there are bad
ones, just as there are good and bad white men. This country has got
to be safe for settlers to live in though, and I am going to do my best
to help make it that way. As you say we must let the Indians know
that we intend to put a stop to this wholesale murder and massacre.”
The sun by this time was high in the heavens and a stop was made
to refresh the horses and to give the men a short breathing spell.
They halted in a clump of trees near the bank of the river. The men
stretched themselves on the ground and completely relaxed. It was a
peaceful scene and it would have been difficult for an observer to
realize that danger lurked near at hand. One of the scouts stationed
as a lookout soon testified to this fact, however.
When a half-hour had elapsed the march was resumed. The route
still lay along the bank of the river, most of it over the open prairie.
Occasionally they crossed a swamp or passed through a clump of
woods and at such times extreme caution was exercised. One man
was sent ahead to spy out the land, while the others followed in
single file, prepared for any emergency that might arise.
Thus far no sign of the enemy had been discovered, however. At
the same time the scouts did not relax their caution for an instant.
They were too familiar with the ways of the redmen to think
themselves ever secure from an attack.
The day wore on and the shadows grew longer. Some of the horses
began to show signs of fatigue, but not so The Swallow. He stepped
as lightly as ever and apparently was as fresh as when he started.
Joseph became more enthusiastic over his new pony every moment.
The other horses were tired, however, and soon it was decided to
stop for the night.
“There’s a large swamp just ahead,” explained Walt. “I think we
ought to get through that before we pitch camp. On the other side is a
long stretch of prairie and we should be safe from any surprise out
there in the open.”
Walt’s suggestion was approved and soon the little party came to
the swamp. It was particularly dense and of large extent. To ride
around it would have consumed much valuable time. Consequently
they plunged into its fastnesses and urged their horses to make their
best speed and reach the open country again as quickly as possible.
The party was strung out in a long line, with John Mason at the
head. No one spoke and the only sound to be heard was the heavy
breathing of the horses and the sucking of their hoofs as they pulled
them out of the soft, wet earth.
Suddenly a rifle shot rang out through the still air and the band of
scouts came to an abrupt halt.
 CHAPTER XVII
A PERILOUS UNDERTAKING

E very man immediately dismounted. There was a rush for shelter

and in a remarkably short space of time the whole band had
placed themselves behind trees or clumps of bushes. Not one had
abandoned his pony, however, for without a mount no man would
stand much chance if it should come to a question of escape.
The shot had been fired at John Mason, who was in the lead, but
he had escaped unharmed. Meanwhile, not a sound broke the
stillness which rested over the swamp. Many moments elapsed and
still no significant sound was heard. Joseph was standing behind a
large oak tree, well screened by a heavy growth of bushes. He had
quickly tied The Swallow to an overhanging bough and he hoped that
no one of the Indians would discover the presence of the pony.
Robert had taken his station in a position similar to Joseph’s and
about ten yards distant from him. The remainder of the band were
placed at varying intervals over a space of nearly a hundred and
twenty-five yards. Every man held his rifle ready for immediate use.
Joseph glanced eagerly about him. He could see his comrades
crouching behind their shelters but no sign of the enemy appeared. It
gave the young pioneer a queer feeling to see all these men hiding
and yet not to know from what they were trying to conceal
themselves.
He looked again at his brother. This was just the kind of situation
to appeal to Robert and he was greatly enjoying himself. He loved
adventure with a spice of real danger in it, and consequently was in
high spirits. He caught Joseph’s eye and smiled. Then he waved his
hand at his brother. As he did so there came the sharp report of a
rifle and a bullet clipped a piece of bark from the tree just above his
head. Robert drew back hurriedly.
Instantly the white men’s rifles spoke, all firing at the puff of
smoke which disclosed the position of the Indian sharpshooter.
Whether or not any of the bullets reached their mark could not be
seen, but this was the signal for a general fusillade. The redmen
replied to this volley with a volley of their own and from that time on
the firing became general on both sides. Above all the noise arose the
frequent war whoops of the Indians, and both Robert and Joseph
shuddered at the sound. They had heard it often before and every
time it had been followed by misfortune.
Suddenly another war whoop sounded not thirty feet from the spot
where Joseph was standing. At the sound he started violently and his
gun almost fell from his shaking fingers. He turned in alarm to see
whence the noise came, and to his intense relief discovered that
Deerfoot was the cause of his fright. The Pottowattomie had flung his
defiance back at his foes to show them that not all of his tribe were
on the side of Black Hawk.
So interested was Joseph in watching his red ally that he nearly
forgot that he was in a fight and that at least fifteen or twenty
bloodthirsty Sacs were intent on taking his life.
At the conclusion of this war cry Deerfoot immediately dropped to
the ground and began to worm his way forward on his belly as fast as
he could crawl. With fascinated gaze, Joseph watched the half-naked
redman whose skin glistened with war paint as he cautiously, but
steadily crawled onward across the swamp.
From behind a tree scarcely fifty yards distant one of the enemy
had been firing. Evidently this brave was the goal Deerfoot had in
mind. Joseph soon realized this and resolved to do all in his power to
aid. As fast as he could load his gun he emptied it at the hidden
Indian and did his best to keep his attention occupied so that
Deerfoot might approach unnoticed. Deerfoot must have realized
this, though, of course, he made no sign. Rifle in hand he still was
crawling through the swamp. The grass was high, affording him
excellent protection and he took great pains to keep every possible
bush or stump or tree between him and the object of his quest.
 Every little while Joseph lost sight of Deerfoot. It was difficult to
follow the Pottowattomie’s course as he went along, and so skillfully
did Deerfoot perform his task that only the occasional waving of a
clump of bushes gave evidence that anyone was disturbing them.
“That’s a wonderful performance,” thought Joseph, and he was right.
At length Joseph withdrew his gaze from Deerfoot’s movements
and looked around at the rest of his comrades. No one seemed to
have been hit as yet, though Joseph could only account for eight of
the ten members of the party. Robert was as cheerful as ever and
presented a smiling though powder-smeared countenance to his
brother’s gaze.
“Why don’t we charge them, Joe?” he called.
“That would be a foolhardy thing to do,” replied Joseph. “What
chance would we stand?”
“Some of us would survive,” said Robert. “I wish they’d try it,
anyway.”
Joseph made no reply beyond a shake of the head and once more
he turned his attention to Deerfoot. He was, however, now unable to
locate the Pottowattomie. Having once taken his eyes from the path
he was pursuing Joseph could not find it again. That Deerfoot must
have approached close to his goal now, he felt confident, but still no
sign of him appeared. The young pioneer riveted his gaze upon the
tree that sheltered his enemy, hoping for an opportunity for a
favorable shot. He thought he saw a feather move behind the broad
trunk, and immediately he fired.
An answering shot came almost instantly. Joseph could hear the
bullet cut through the branches directly above him, and involuntarily
he drew back farther behind his shelter. Scarcely had the report of
the rifle died away when an unearthly yell rent the air. Then before
Joseph’s eyes was enacted an awful scene.
He saw Deerfoot suddenly spring to his feet, appearing as if by
magic from the tall grass at the foot of the tree behind which his
enemy was located. The shining, painted body of the Pottowattomie
appeared like some strange monster in the half light of the coming
night. His war cry echoed far out over the marsh, while in one hand
he grasped his rifle, and in the other was his tomahawk. With one
bound he flung himself upon his adversary.
 Joseph could see the flash of Deerfoot’s hatchet as it was raised to
strike. He could almost feel the shock of the two men’s bodies as they
came together and then the struggle passed out of his range of vision.
He hastily reloaded his gun and turned to Robert.
“Come on, Bob!” he cried. “We must help Deerfoot!”
“You can count on me,” replied Robert quickly, and together the
two boys started forward to the aid of their friend. It was a dangerous
mission on which they were embarking, but neither boy gave any
heed to his own peril. To help Deerfoot was their only thought and
though they were not sure that their loyal friend was in need of aid,
they were determined to be on hand in case such a need should arise.
“Keep low, Bob,” warned Joseph.
“I’m as low as I can get now!” exclaimed Robert. “I’m almost bent
double as it is.”
“That’s the way to be. Now hurry as fast as you can.”
The two brothers darted forward, rifle in hand. Crouching low and
running swiftly they hastened to Deerfoot’s assistance.
“Come back!” shouted some one of their comrades in alarm as he
saw what the two boys were attempting. No attention was paid to
this bit of advice, however, and the boys merely increased their
speed. A bullet scudded over their heads, and then another struck the
ground just in front of them. On they went, however, each boy fearful
lest he should be too late in bringing aid to their faithful ally.
Nearer and nearer they approached to the tree behind which
Deerfoot had disappeared. Thus far they had been untouched but it
seemed almost a miracle. Every moment the rain of bullets about
them increased and to their watching comrades it seemed as if they
must be hit. Yells of defiance and rage greeted their appearance and
apparently every one of the hostile party was now directing his fire at
the two daring youths.
Half the distance had been covered by this time. Only a few
seconds had elapsed but to the two brothers it seemed as if a long
time had passed since they had left their shelter and started on their
perilous adventure. No thought of retreat had entered either boy’s
mind, however, and even if they had had such a desire it was too late
now to turn back.