I was born in the town of Bethel, in the State of Connecticut, July 5, 1810. My father, Philo Barnmn, was the son of Ephraim Barnum, of Bethel, who was a captain in the revolutionary war. My father was a tailor, a farmer, and sometimes a tavern-keeper, and my advantages and disadvantages were such as fall to the general run of farmers' boys. I drove cows to and from the pasture, shelled corn, weeded the garden; as I grew larger I rode horse for ploughing, turned and raked hay; in due tune I handled the shovel and the hoe, and when I could do so I went to school.
I was six years old when I began to go to school. I was a willing, and, I think, a pretty apt scholar. In arithmetic I was unusually ready and accurate, and I remember, at the age of ten years, being called out of bed one night by my teacher, who had wagered with a neighbor that I could calculate the correct number of feet in a load of wood in five minutes. The dimensions given, I figured out the result in less than two minutes, to the great delight of my teacher and to the equal astonishment of nis neighbor.
My organ of "acquisitiveness" was manifest at an early age. Before I was five years of age I began to accumulate pennies and "four-pences," and when I was six years old my capital amounted to a sum sufficient to exchange for a silver dollar, the possession of which made me feel far richer than I have ever since felt in the world.
As I grew older I earned ten cents a day for riding the horse which led the ox-team in ploughing, and on holidays and "training days," instead of spending money, I earned it. I was a small peddler of molasses candy (of home make), ginger-bread, cookies and cherry rum, and I generally found myself a dollar or two richer at the end of a holiday than I was at the beginning. By the time I was twelve years old, besides other property, I was the owner of a sheep and a calf, and should soon, no doubt, have become a small Croesus, had not my father kindly permitted me to purchase my own clothing, which somewhat reduced my little store.
As I grew older my aversion to manual labor, farm or other kind, was manifest in various ways, which were set down to the general score of laziness. My father concluded to make a merchant of me. He erected a building in Bethel, and with Mr. Hiram Weed as a partner, purchased a stock of dry goods, hardware, groceries, and general notions and installed me as clerk in this country store.
We ran a cash, credit and barter store, and I drove sharp bargains with women who brought butter, eggs, beeswax and feathers to exchange for dry goods, and with men who wanted to trade oats, corn, buckwheat, axe-helves, hats, and other commodities for tenpenny, nails, molasses, or New England rum. It was a drawback upon my dignity that I was obliged to take down the shutters, sweep the store, and make the fire. I received a small salary for my services and the perquisites of what profit I could derive from purchasing candies on my own account to sell to our younger customers.
In running a county store, one thing I learned was that sharp trades, tricks, dishonesty and deception are by no means confined to the city. More than once, in cutting open bundles of rags, brought to be exchanged for goods, and warranted to be all linen and cotton, I have discovered in the interior worthless woolen trash and sometimes stones, gravel or ashes. Sometimes, too, when measuring loads of oats, corn or rye, declared to contain a specified number of bushels, say sixty, I have found them four or five bushels short.
My father, for his time and locality, was a man of much enterprise. He could, and actually did, "keep a hotel;" he had a livery stable and ran, in a small way, what in our day would be called a Norwalk Express; and he also kept a country store. With greater opportunities and a larger field for his efforts and energies, he might have been a man of mark and means. Not that he was successful, for he never did a profitable business; but I, who saw him in his various pursuits, and acted as his clerk, caught something of his enterprising spirit, and, perhaps without egotism, I may say I inherited that characteristic. My business education was as good as the limited field afforded, and I soon put it to account and service.
In 1825, my father developed an illness and died at the age of 48. My mother was left with five children, of whom I, at fifteen years of age, was the eldest, while the youngest was but seven. It was soon apparent that my father had provided nothing for the support of his family; his estate was insolvent, and did not pay fifty cents on the dollar. My mother, by economy, industry, and perseverance, succeeded in a few years afterwards in redeeming the homestead and becoming its sole possessor; but, at the date of the death of my father, the world looked gloomy indeed; the few dollars I had accumulated and loaned to my father, holding his note therefor, were decided to be the property of a minor, belonging to the father and so to the estate, and my small claim was ruled out. I was obliged to get trusted for the pair of shoes I wore to my father's funeral. I literally began the world with nothing, and was barefooted at that.
I went to Grassy Plain, a mile northwest of Bethel, and secured a situation as clerk in the store of James S. Keeler & Lewis Whitlock at $6 a month and my board. I lived with Mrs. Jerusha Wheeler and her daughters, Jerusha and Mary, and found an excellent home. I chose my uncle, Alanson Taylor, as my guardian. I soon gained the confidence and esteem of my employers; they afforded me many facilities for making money on my own account, and I soon entered upon sundry speculations and succeeded in getting a small sum of money ahead.
I made a very remarkable trade at one time for my employers by purchasing, in their absence, a whole wagon-load of green glass bottles of various sizes, for which I paid in unsalable goods at very profitable prices. How to dispose of the bottles was then the problem, and as it was also desirable to get rid of a large quantity of tin-ware which had been in the shop for years and was considerably "shop-worn," I conceived the idea of a lottery in which the highest prize should be $25, payable in any goods the winner desired, while there were to be 50 prizes of $5, 100 prizes of $1, 100 prizes of 50 cents, and 300 prizes of 25 cents The tickets sold like wildfire, and the worn tin and glass bottles were speedily turned into cash.
Among our customers were three or four old Revolutionary pensioners, who traded out the amounts of their pensions before they were due, leaving their papers as security. One of these pensioners was old Bevans, commonly known as "Uncle Bibbins," a man who loved his glass and was very prone to relate romantic Revolutionary anecdotes and adventures, in which he, of course, was conspicuous. At one time he was in our debt, and though we held his pension papers, it would be three months before the money could be drawn. It was desirable to get him away for that length of time, and we hinted to him that it would be pleasant to make a visit to Guilford, where he had relations, but he would not go.
Finally, I hit upon a plan which moved him. A journeyman hatter, named Benton, who was fond of a practical joke, was let into the secret, and was persuaded to call Uncle Bibbins a coward, to tell him that he had been wounded in the back, and thus to provoke a duel, which he did, and at my suggestion Uncle Bibbins challenged Benton to fight him with musket and ball at a distance of twenty yards. The challenge was accepted, I was chosen second by Uncle Bibbins, and the duel was to come off immediately. My principal, taking me aside, begged me to put nothing in the guns but blank cartridges. I assured him it should be so, and therefore that he might feel perfectly safe. The ground was measured in the lot at the rear of our store, and the principals and seconds took their places. At the word given both parties fired. Uncle Bibbins of course, escaped unhurt, but Benton leaped several feet into the air, and fell upon the ground with a dreadful yell, as if he had been really shot. Uncle Bibbins was frightened. I ran to him, told him I had neglected to extract the bullet from his gun (which was literally true, as there was no bullet in it to extract), and he supposed, of course, he had killed his adversary. I then whispered to him to go immediately to Guilford, to keep quiet, and he should hear from me as soon as it would be safe to do so. He started up the street on a run, and immediately quit the town for Guilford, where he kept himself quiet until it was time for him to return and sign his papers. I then wrote him that "he could return in safety; that his adversary had recovered from his wound, and now forgave him all, as he felt himself much to blame for having insulted a man of his known courage." Uncle Bibbins returned, signed the papers, and we obtained the pension money. A few days thereafter he met Benton. "My brave old friend," said Benton, "I forgive you my terrible wound and long confinement on the brink of the grave, and I beg you to forgive me also. I insulted you without a cause." "I forgive you freely," said "Uncle Bibbins;" "but,"he added, "you must be careful next time bow you insult a dead shot."
Mr. Olhter Taylor removed from Danbury to Brooklyn, Long Island, where he kept a grocery store and also had a large comb factory and a comb store in New York. In the fall of 1826 he offered me a situation as clerk in his Brooklyn store, which I accepted, and before long was entrusted with the purchasing of all goods for the store. I bought for cash entirely, going into the lower part of New York city in search of the cheapest market for groceries, often attending auctions of teas, sugars, molasses, etc., watching the sales, noting prices and buyers, and frequently combining with other grocers to bid off large lots, which we subsequently divided, giving each of us the quantity wanted at a lower rate than if the goods had passed into other hands, compelling us to pay another profit.
Well treated as I was by my employer, who manifested great interest in me, still I was dissatisfied. A salary was not sufficient for me. My disposition was of that speculative character which refused to be satisfied unless I was engaged in some business where my profits might be enhanced, or, at least, made to depend upon my energy, perseverance, attention to business, tact, and "calculation."
In the following summer, 1827, I was taken down with the small-pox and was confined to the house for several months. This sickness made a sad inroad upon my means. When I was sufficiently recovered, I went home to recruit.
A month afterwards, I returned to Brooklyn, where I gave Mr. Taylor notice of my desire to leave his employment; and I then opened a porter-house on my own account. In a few months I sold out to good advantage and accepted a favorable offer to engage as clerk in a similar establishment, kept by Mr. David Thorp, 29 Peck Slip, New York. It was a great resort for Danbury and Bethel comb makers and hatters, and I thus had frequent opportunities of seeing and hearing from my fellow-townsmen. I lived in Mr. Thorp's family and was kindly treated. I was often permitted to visit the theater with friends who came to New York, and, as I had considerable taste for the drama, I soon became, in my own opinion, a discriminating critic--nor did I fail to exhibit my powers to my Connecticut friends who accompanied me to the play. Let me gratefully add tbat my habits were not bad. Though I sold liquors to others, I do not think I ever drank a pint of liquor, wine, or cordials before I was twenty-two years of age. I always had a Bible, which I frequently read, and I attended church regularly. These habits, so far as they go, are in the right direction, and I am thankful today that they characterized my early youth. However worthy or unworthy may have been my later years, I know that I owe much of the better part of my nature to my youthful regard for Sunday and its institutions--a regard, I trust, still strong in my character.
In February, 1828, I returned to Bethel and opened a retail fruit and confectionery store in a part of my grandfather's carriage-house, which was situated on the main street, and which was offered to me rent free if I would return to my native village and establish some sort of business. This beginning of business on my own account was an eventful era in my life. My total capital was $120--50 of which I had expended in fitting up the store, and the remaining $70 purchased my stock in trade. I had arranged with fruit dealers whom I knew in New York, to receive my orders, and I decided to open my establishment on the first Monday in May--our "general training " day. It was a "red letter" day for me. The village was crowded with people from the surrounding region and the novelty of my little shop attracted attention. Long before noon I was obliged to call in one of my old schoolmates to assist in waiting upon my numerous customers and when I closed at night I had the satisfaction of reckoning up $63 as my day's receipts. I need not say how much gratified I was with the result of this first day's experiment. The store was a fixed fact. I went to New York and expended all my money in a stock of fancy goods, such as pocket-books, combs, beads, rings, pocket-knives, and a few toys. These, with fruit, nuts, etc., made the business good through the summer, and in the fall I added stewed oysters to the inducements.
My grandfather, who was much interested in my success, advised me to take an agency for the sale of lottery tickets, on commission. In those days, the lottery was not deemed objectionable on the score of morality. Very worthy people invested in such schemes without a thought of evil. I obtained an agency to sell lottery tickets on a commission of 10%, and this business, in connection with my little store, made my profits quite satisfactory.
The following scene makes a chapter in the history of Connecticut, as the Stata was when "blue laws" were something more than a dead letter. To swear in those days was according to custom, but contrary to law. A person from New York State, whom I will call Crofut, who was a frequent visitor at my store, was equally noted for his self-will and his really terrible profanity. One day be was in my little establishment engaged in conversation, when Nathan Seelye, Esq., one of our village justices of the peace, and a man of strict religious principles, came in, and hearing Crofut's profane language he told him he considered it his duty to fine him $1 for swearing. Crofut responded immediately with an oath, that he did not care a damn for the Connecticut blue laws. "That will make $2," said Mr. Seelye. This brought forth another oath. "$3," said the sturdy justice. Nothing but oaths were given in reply, until Esquire Seelye declared the damage to the Connecticut laws to amount to $15. Crofut took out a $20 bill, and handed it to the justice of the peace, with an oath. "$16," said Mr. Seelye, counting out four dollars to hand to Mr. Crofut, as his change. "Oh, keep it, keep it," said Crofut, "I don't want any change, I'll damn soon swear out the balance." He did so, after which he was more circumspect in his conversation, remarking that $20 a day for swearing was about as much as he could stand.
There was a young apprentice to the tailoring trade in Bethel, whom I will call John Mallett, whose education had been much neglected, and who had been paying his addresses to a certain "Lucretia" for some six months, with a strong probability of being jilted at last. On a Sunday evening she had declined to take his arm, accepting instead the arm of the next man who offered, and Mallett determined to demand an explanation. He accordingly came to me the Saturday evening following, asking me, when I had closed my store, to write a strong and remonstratory "love-letter" for him. I asked "Bill Shepard," who was present, to remain and assist, and, in due time, the joint efforts of Shepard, Mallett and myself resulted in the following production. I give the letter as an illustrative chapter in real life. It is certainly not after the manner of Chesterfield, but it is such a letter as a disappointed lover, spurred by "The green-eyed monster, which doth mock / The meat it feeds on," frequently indites. With a demand from Mallett that we should begin in strong terms, and Shepard acting as scribe, we concocted the following:
"Bethel, , 18--. Miss Lucretia : I write this to ask an explanation of your conduct in giving me the mitten on Sunday night last. If you think, madam, that you can trifle with my affections, and turn me oft' for every little whipper-snapper that you can pick up, you will find yourself considerably mistaken. [We read thus far to Mallett, and it met his approval. He said he liked the idea of calling her "madam," for he thought it sounded so "distant," it would hurt her feelings very much. The term "little whipper-snapper " also delighted him. He said he guessed that would make her feel cheap. Shepard and myself were not quite so sure of its aptitude, since the chap who succeeded in capturing Lucretia, on the occasion alluded to, was a head and shoulders taller than Mallett. However, we did not intimate our thoughts to Mallett, and he desired us to "go ahead and give her another dose."] You don't know me, madam, if you think you can snap me up in this way. I wish you to understand that I can have the company of girls as much above you as the sun is above the earth, and I won't stand any of your impudent nonsense no how. [This was duly read and approved. "Now," said Mallett, "try to touch her feelings. Remind her of the pleasant hours we have spent together:" and we continued as follows:] My dear Lucretia, when I think of the many pleasant hours we have spent together--of the delightful walks which we have had on moonlight evenings to Fenner's Rocks, Chestnut Ridge, Grassy Plain, Wildcat, and Puppy-town-- of the strolls which we have taken upon Shelter Rocks, Cedar Hill--the visits we have made to Old Lane, Wolfpits, Toad-hole and Plum-trees--when ali these things come rushing on my mind, and when, my dear girl, I remember how often you have told me that you loved me better than anybody else, and I assured you my feelings were the same as yours, it almost breaks my heart to think of last Sunday night. ["Can't you stick in some affecting poetry here?" said Mallett. Shepard could not recollect any to the point, nor could I, but as the exigency of the case seemed to require it, we concluded to manufacture a verse or two, which we did, as follows:] Lucretia, dear, what have I done, / That you should use me thus and so, / To take the arm of Tom Beers' son, / And let your dearest true love go? / Miserable fate, to lose you now, / And tear this bleeding heart asunder! / Will you forget your tender vow? / I can't believe it--no, by thunder. [Mallett did not like the word "thunder," but being informed that no other word could be substituted without destroying both rhyme and reason, he consented that it should remain, provided we added two more stanzas of a softer nature; something, he said, that would make the tears come, if possible. We then ground out the following :] Lucretia, dear, do write to Jack, / And say with Beers you are not smitten; / And thus to me in love come back, / And give all other boys the mitten. / Do this, Lucretia, and till death /I'll love you to intense distraction; / I'll spend for you my every breath, / And we will live in satisfaction. ["That will do very well," said Mallett. "Now I guess you had better blow her up a little more." We obeyed orders as follows:] It makes me mad to think what a fool I was to give you that finger-ring and bosom-pin, and spend so much time in your company, just to be flirted and bamboozled as I was on Sunday night last. If you continue this course of conduct, we part forever, and I will thank you to send back that jewelry. I would sooner see it crushed under my feet than worn by a person who abused me as you have done. I shall despise you forever if you don't change your conduct towards me, and send me a letter of apology on Monday next. I shall not go to meeting tomorrow, for I would scorn to sit in the same meeting-house with you until I have an explanation of your conduct. If you allow any young man to go home with you tomorrow night, I shall know it, for you will be watched. ["There," said Mallett. "That is pretty strong. Now I guess you had better touch her feelings once more, and wind up the letter." We proceeded as follows:] My sweet girl, if you only knew the sleepless nights which I have spent during the present week, the torments and sufferings which I endure on your account; if you could but realize that I regard the world as less than nothing without you, I am certain you would pity me. A homely cot and a crust of bread with my adorable Lucretia would be a paradise, where a palace without you would be a hades. ["What in thunder is hades?" inquired Jack. We explained. He considered the figure rather bold, and requested us to close as soon as possible.] Now, dearest, in bidding you adieu, I implore you to reflect on our past enjoyments, look forward with pleasure to our future happy meetings, and rely upon your affectionate Jack in storm or calm, in sickness, distress, or want, for all these will be powerless to change my love. I hope to hear from you on Monday next, and, if favorable, I shall be happy to call on you the same evening, when in ecstatic joy we will laugh at the past, hope for the future, and draw consolation from the fact that 'the course of true love never did run smooth.' This from your disconsolate but still hoping lover and admirer, Jack Mallett. P. S.--On reflection I have concluded to go to meeting tomorrow. If all is well, hold your pocket handkerchief in your left hand as you stand up to sing with the choir--in which case I shall expect the pleasure of giving you my arm tomorrow night. J. M."
The effect of this letter upon Lucretia, I regret to say, was not as favorable as could have been desired. She declined to remove her handkerchief from her right hand, and she returned the "ring and bosom-pin" to her disconsolate admirer, while, not many months after, Mallett's rival led Lucretia to the altar. As for Mallett's agreement to pay Shepard and myself five pounds of carpet rags and twelve yards of broadcloth lists for our services, owing to his ill success, we compromised for one-half the amount.
Later, I spent some time in New York--and while there, I kept a close eye upon the attractive tailoress, Charity Hallett. In the summer of 1829 I asked her hand in marriage. My suit was accepted, and the wedding day was appointed; I, meanwhile, applying myself closely to business, and no one but the parties immediately interested suspecting that the event was so near at hand. Miss Hallett went to New York in October, ostensibly to visit her uncle, Nathan Beers, who resided at No. 3 Allen Street. I followed in November, pressed by the necessity of purchasing goods for my store; and the evening after my arrival, November 8, 1829, the Rev. Dr. McAuley married us in the presence of sundry friends and relatives of my wife, and I became the husband of one of the best women in the world. In the course of the week we went back to Bethel and took board in the family where Charity Barnnm ns "Chairy" Hallett had previously resided.
I do not approve or recommend early marriages. The minds of men and women taking so important a stop in life should be matured. But although I was only 19 when I married, I have always felt assured that if I had waited twenty years longer I could not have found another woman so well suited to my disposition and so admirable and valuable in every character as a wife, a mother, and a friend.
After returning to Connecticut, in 1831 my uncle Alanson and I opened a country store in a building, which I had put up in Bethel in the previous spring, and we stocked the "yellow store," as it was called, with a full assortment of groceries, hardware, crockery, and "notions;" but we were not successful in the enterprise, and in October following, I bought out my uncle's interest and we dissolved partnership.
One time during period of strong political excitement, I wrote several communications for the Danbury weekly paper, setting forth what I conceived to be the dangers of a sectarian interference which was then apparent in political affairs. The publication of these communications was refused, and I accordingly purchased a press and types, and on October 19, 1831, I issued the first number of my own paper, The Herald of Freedom. I entered upon the editorship of this journal with all the vigor and vehemence of youth. The boldness with which the paper was conducted soon excited widespread attention and commanded a circulation which extended beyond the immediate locality into nearly every State in the Union.
But lacking that experience which induces caution, and without the dread of consequences, I frequently laid myself open to the charge of libel, and three times in three years I was prosecuted. A Danbury butcher, a zealous politician, brought a civil suit against me for accusing him of being a spy in a Democratic caucus. On the first trial the jury did not agree, but after a second trial I was fined several hundred dollars. Another libel suit against me was withdrawn. The third was a criminal prosecution brought against me for stating that a man in Bethel, prominent in church, had been guilty of taking usury of an orphan boy. When the case come to trial the truth of my statement was substantially proved by several witnesses and even by the prosecuting party. But "the greater the truth, the greater the libel," and then I had used the term "usury," instead of extortion, or note-shaving, or some other expression which mucht have softened the verdict. The result was that I was sentenced to pay a fine of $100 and to be imprisoned in the common jail for 60 days. The most comfortable provision was made for me in Danbury jail. My room was papered and carpeted; I lived well; I was overwhehned with the constant visits of my friends; I edited my paper as usual and received large accessions to my subscription list; and at the end of my 60 days' term the event was celebrated by a large concourse of people from the surrounding country. The court room in which I was convicted was the scene of the celebration. An ode, written for the occasion, was sung; an eloquent oration on the freedom of the press was delivered; and several hundred gentlemen afterwards partook of a sumptuous dinner followed by appropriate toasts and speeches. Then came the triumphant part of the ceremonial, which was reported in my paper as follows: "P. T. Barnum and the band of music took their seats in a coach drawn by six horses, which had been prepared for the occasion. The coach was preceded by forty horsemen, and a marshal, bearing the national standard. Immediately in the rear of the coach was the carriage of the orator and the President of the day, followed by the committee of arrangements and sixty carriages of citizens, which joined in escorting the editor to his home in Bethel. When the procession commenced its march amidst the roar of cannon, three cheers were given by several hundred citizens who did not join in the procession. The band of music continued to play a variety of national airs until their arrival in Bethel (a distance of three miles), when they struck up the beautiful and appropriate tune of 'Home, Sweet Home.' After giving three hearty cheers, the procession returned to Danbury. The utmost harmouy and unanimity of feeling prevailed throughout the day, and we are happy to add that no accident occurred to mar the festivities of the occasion."
I later sold my paper, as well as my mercantile business. As far as I was concerned, my store was not a success. Ordinary trade was too slow for me. I bought largely and in order to sell I was obliged to give extensive credits. Hence I had an accumulation of bad debts; and my old ledger presents a long series of accounts balanced by "death," by "running away," by "failing," and by other similarly remunerative returns.
There was nothing more for me to do in Bethel; and in 1834, I removed my family to New York in order to seek my fortune. I hoped to secure a situation in some mercantile house, not at a fixed salary, but so as to derive such portion of the profits as might be due to my individual tact, energy, and perseverance in the interests of the business. But I could find no such position; my resources began to fail; my family were in ill health; I must do something for a living; and so I acted as "drummer" to several stores which allowed me a small commission on sales to customers of my introduction.
Nor did all my efforts secure a situation for me during the whole winter; but in the spring, I received several hundred dollars from my [debt collecting] agent in Bethel, and finding no better business, May 1, 1835, I opened a small private boarding-house at No. 52 Frankfort Street. We soon had a very good run of custom from our Connecticut acquaintances who had occasion to visit New York, and as this business did not sufficiently occupy my time, I bought an interest with Mr. John Moody in a grocery store, No. 156 South street.
I occasionally visited Bridgeport where I almost always found at the hotel a noted joker, named Darrow, who spared neither friend nor foe in his tricks. He was the life of the bar-room and would always try to entrap some stranger in a bet and so win a treat for the company. He made several ineffectual attempts upon me, and at last, one evening, Darrow, who stuttered, made a final trial as follows: "Come, Barnum, I'll make you another proposition; I'll bet you hain't got a whole shirt on your back." The catch consists in the fact that generally only one-half of that convenient garment is on the back; but I had anticipated the proposition--in fact I had induced a friend, Mr. Hough, to put Darrow up to the trick--and had folded a shirt nicely upon my back, securing it there with my suspenders. The bar-room was crowded with customers who thought that if I made the bet I should be nicely caught, and I made pretense of playing off and at the same time stimulated Darrow to press the bet by saying: "That is a foolish bet to make; I am sure my shirt is whole because it is nearly new; but I don't like to bet on such a subject." "A good reason why," said Darrow, in great glee; "it's ragged. Come, I'll bet you a treat for the whole company you hain't got a whole shirt on your b-b-b-back!" "I'll bet my shirt is cleaner than yours," I replied. "That's nothing to do w-w-with the case; it's ragged, and y-y-you know it." "I know it is not," I replied, with pretended anger, which caused the crowd to laugh heartily. "You poor ragged f-f-fellow, come down here from D-D-Danbury, I'm sorry for you," said Darrow tantalizingly. "You would not pay if you lost," I remarked. [He replied,] "Here's f-f-five dollars I'll put in Captain Hinman's (the landlord's) hands. Now b-b-bet if you dare, you ragged c-c-creature, you." I put $5 in Captain Hinman's hands, and told him to treat the company from it if I lost the bet. "Remember," said Darrow, "I b-b-bet you hain't got a whole shirt on your b-b-back!" "All right," said I, taking off my coat and commencing to unbutton my vest. The whole company, feeling sure that I was caught, began to laugh heartily. Old Darrow fairly danced with delight, and as I laid my coat on a chair he came running up in front of me, and slapping his hands together, exclaimed: "You needn't t-t-take off any more c-c-clothes, for if it ain't all on your b-b-back, you've lost it." "If it is, I suppose you have!" I replied, pulling the whole shirt from off my back! Such a shriek of laughter as burst forth from the crowd I scarcely ever heard, and certainly such a blank countenance as old Darrow exhibited it would bo hard to conceive. Seeing that he was most incontinently "done for," and perceiving that his neighbor Hough had helped to do it, he ran up to him in great anger and shaking his fist in his face exclaimed: "H-H-Hough, you infeiiial r-r-rascal, to go against your own neighbor in favor of a D-D-Danbury man. I'11 pay you for that some time, you see if I d-d-don't." All hands went up to the bar and drank with a hearty good will, for it was seldom that Darrow got taken in, and he was such an inveterate joker they liked to see him paid in his own coin. Never till the day of his death did he hear the last of the "whole shirt."
In the summer of 1835, Mr. Coley Bartram, of Reading, Connecticut, informed me that he had owned an interest in a remarkable negro woman whom he believed to be 161 years old, and whom he also believed to have been the nurse of General George Washington. He then showed me a copy of the following advertisement in the Pennsylvania Inquirer, of July 15, 1835:
"The citizens of Philadelphia and its vicinity have an opportunity of witnessing at the Masonic Hall, one of the greatest natural curiosities ever witnessed, viz.: Joice Heth, a negress, aged 161 years, who formerly belonged to the father of General Washington. She has been a member of the Baptist Church 160 years, and can rehearse many hymns, and sing them according to former custom. She was born near the old Potomac River in Virginia, and has for 90 or 100 years lived in Paris, Kentucky, with the Bowling family. All who have seen this extraordinary woman are satisfied of the truth of the account of her age. The evidence of the Bowling family, which is respectable, is strong, but the original bill of sale of Augustine Washington, in his own hand-writing, and other evidences which the proprietor has in his possession, will satisfy even the most incredulous. A lady will attend at the hall during the afternoon and evening for the accommodation of those ladies who may call."
Mr. Bartram further stated that he had sold out his interest to his partner, R.W. Lindsay, of Jefferson county, Kentucky, who was then exhibiting Joice Heth in Philadelphia, but was anxious to sell out and go home--the alleged reason being that he had very little tact as a showman. I went on to Philadelphia to see Mr. Lindsay and his exhibition.
Joice Heth was certainly a remarkable curiosity, and she looked as if she might have been far older than her age as advertised. She was apparently in good health and spirits, but from age or disease, or both, was unable to change her position; she could move one arm at will, but her lower limbs could not be straightened; her left arm lay across her breast and she could not remove it; the fingers of her left hand were drawn down so as nearly to close it, and were fixed; the nails on that hand were almost four inches long and extended above her wrist; the nails on her large toes had grown to the thickness of a quarter of an inch; her head was covered with a thick bush of grey hair; but she was toothless and totally blind, and her eyes had sunk so deeply in the sockets as to have disappeared altogether. Nevertheless she was pert and sociable and would talk as long as people would converse with her. She was quite garrulous about her protege "dear little George," at whose birth she declared she was present, having been at the time a slave of Elizabeth Atwood, a half-sister of Augustine Washington, the father of George Washington. As nurse she put the first clothes on the infant, and she claimed to have "raised him." She professed to be a member of the Baptist church, talking much in her way on religious subjects, and she sang a variety of ancient hynms.
In proof of her extraordinary age and pretensions, Mr. Lindsay exhibited a bill of sale, dated February 5, 1727, from Augustine Washington, county of Westmoreland, Virginia, to Elizabeth Atwood, a half-sister and neighbor of Mr. Washington, conveying "one negro woman named Joice Heth, age 54, for and in consideration of the sum of 33 pounds lawful money of Virginia." It was further claimed that she had long been a nurse in the Washington family; she was called in at the birth of George and clothed the newborn infant. The evidence seemed authentic, and in answer to the inquiry why so remarkable a discovery had not been made before, a satisfactory explanation was given in the statement that she had been carried from Virginia to Kentucky, had been on the plantation of John S. Bowling so long that no one knew or cared how old she was, and only recently the accidental discovery by Mr. Bowling's son of the old bill of sale in the Record Office in Virginia had led to the identification of this negro woman as "the nurse of Washington."
Everything seemed so straightforward that I was anxious to become proprietor of this novel exhibition, which was offered to me at $1,000, though the price first demanded was $3,000. I had $500, borrowed $500 more, sold out my interest in the grocery business to my partner, and began life as a showman.
At the outset of my career I saw that everything depended upon getting the people to think, and talk, and become curious and excited over and about the "rare spectacle." Accordingly, posters, transparencies, advertisements, newspaper paragraphs--all calculated to extort attention--were employed, regardless of expense. My exhibition rooms in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Albany, and in other large and small cities, were continually thronged and much money was made.
In the following February, Joice Heth died, literally of old age, and her remains received a respectable burial in the town of Bethel.
At a post-mortem examination of Joice Heth by Dr. David L. Rogers, in the presence of some medical students, it was thought that the absence of ossification indicated considerably less age than had been assumed for her; but the doctors disagreed, and this "dark subject" will probably always continue to be shrouded in mystery.
I had at last found my true vocation. My next venture, whatever it may have been in other respects, had the merit of being, in every essential, unmistakably genuine. I engaged from the Albany Museum an Italian who called himself "Signor Antonio" and who performed certain remarkable feats of balancing, stilt-walking, plate-spinning, etc. I made terms with him for one year to exhibit anywhere in the United States at twelve dollars a week and expenses, and induced him to change his stage name to "Signor Vivalla." I then wrote a notice of his wonderful qualities and performances, printed it in one of the Albany papers as news, sent copies to the theatrical managers in New York and in other cities, and went with Vivalla to the metropolis.
Manager William Dinneford, of the Franklin Theatre, had seen so many performances of the kiud that he declined to engage my "eminent Italian artist;" but I persuaded him to try Vivalla one night for nothing, and by the potent aid of printer's ink the house was crammed. I appeared as a supernumerary to assist Vivalla in arranging his plates and other "properties;" and to hand him his gun to fire while he was hopping on one stilt ten feet high. This was "my first appearance on any stage." The applause which followed Vivalla's feats was tremendous, and Manager Dinneford was so delighted that he engaged him for the remainder of the week at $50. At the close of the performance, in response to a call from the house, I made a speech for Vivalla, thanking the audience for their appreciation and announcing a repetition of the exhibition every evening during the week.
Vivalla remained a second week at the Franklin Theatre, for which I received $150. I realized the same sum for a week in Boston. We then went to Washington to fulfill an engagement which was far from successful, since my remuneration depended upon the receipts, and it snowed continually during the week. I was a loser to such an extent that I had not funds enough to return to Philadelphia. I pawned my watch and chain for $35, when, fortunately, Manager Wemyss arrived on Saturday morning and loaned me the money to redeem my property.
As this was my first visit to Washington, I was much interested in visiting the capitol and other public buildings. I also satisfied my curiosity in seeing Clay, Calhoun, Benton, John Quincy Adams, Richard M. Johnson, Polk, and other leading statesmen of the time. I was also greatly gratified in calling upon Anne Royall, author of the Black Book, publisher of a little paper called "Paul Pry," and quite a celebrated personage in her day. I had exchanged The Herald of Freedom with her journal, and she strongly sympathized with me in my persecutions. She was delighted to see me, and although she was the most garrulous old woman I ever saw, I passed a very amusing and pleasant time with her. Before leaving her, I manifested my showman propensity by trying to hire her to give a dozen or more lectures on "Government," in the Atlantic cities, but I could not engage her at any price, although I am sure the speculation would have been a very profitable one. I never saw this eccentric woman again; she died at a very advanced age, October 1, 1854, at her residence in Washington.
I went with Vivalla to Philadelphia and opened at the Walnut Street Theatre. Though his performances were very meritorious and were well received, theatricals were dull and houses were slim. It was evident that something must be done to stimulate the public.
And now that instinct--I think it must be--which can arouse a community and make it patronize, provided the article offered is worthy of patronage--an instinct which served me strangely in later years, astonishing the public and surprising me, came to my relief, and the help, curiously enough, appeared in the shape of an emphatic hiss from the pit. This hiss, I discovered, came from one Roberts, a circus performer, and I had an interview with him. He was a professional balancer and juggler, who boasted that he could do all Vivalla had done and something more. I at once published a card in Vivalla's name, offering $1,000 to any one who would publicly perform Vivalla's feats at such place as should be designated, and Roberts issued a counter card, accepting the offer. I then contracted with Mr. Warren, treasurer of the Walnut Street Theatre, for one-third of the proceeds, if I should bring the receipts up to $400 a night--an agreement he could well afford to make as his receipts the night before had been but seventy-five dollars. From him I went to Roberts, who seemed disposed to "back down," but I told him I should not insist upon the terms of his published card, and ask him if he was under any engagement? Learning that he was not, I offered him thirty dollars to perform under my direction one night at the Walnut, and he accepted. A great trial of skill between Roberts and Vivalla was duly announced by posters and through the press. Meanwhile, they rehearsed privately to see what tricks each could perform, and the "business" was completely arranged.
Public excitement was at fever heat, and on the night of the trial the pit and upper boxes were crowded to the full. The "contest" between the performers was eager, and each had his party in the house. So far as I could learn, no one complained that he did not get all he paid for on that occasion. I engaged Roberts for a month and his subsequent "contests" with Vivalla amused the public and put money in my purse.
In April, 1836, I connected myself with Aaron Turner's traveling circus company as ticket-seller, secretary and treasurer, at $35 a month and one-fifth of the entire profits, while Vivalla was to receive a salary of $50. As I was already paying him $80 a month, our joint salaries reimbursed me and left me the chance of 20 percent of the net receipts. We started from Danbury for West Springfield, Massachusetts, April 26th, and on the first day, instead of halting to dine, as I expected, Mr. Turner regaled the whole company with three loaves of rye bread and a pound of butter, bought at a farm house at a cost of 50 cents, and after watering the horses, we went on our way.
We began our performances at West Springfield, April 28th, and as our expected band of music had not arrived from Providence, I made a prefatory speech announcing our disappointment, and our intention to please our patrons, nevertheless. The two Turner boys, sons of the proprietor, rode finely. Joe Pentland, one of the wittiest, best, and most original of clowns, with Vivalla's tricks and other performances in the ring, more than made up for the lack of music. In a day or two our band arrived and our "houses" improved. My diary is full of incidents of our summer tour through numerous villages, towns, and cities in New England, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Dis trict of Columbia, Virginia, and North Carolina.
The proprietor of the circus, Aaron Turner, was a self-made man, who had acquired a large fortune by his industry. He believed that any man with health and common sense could become rich if he only resolved to be so, and he was very proud of the fact that he began the world with no advantages, no education, and without a shilling. Withal, he was a practical joker, as I more than once discovered to my cost. While we were at Annapolis, Maryland, he played a trick upon me which was fun to him, but was very nearly death to me.
We arrived on Saturday night, and as I felt quite "flush" I bought a fine suit of black clothes. On Sunday morning I dressed myself in my new suit and started out for a stroll. While passing through the barroom, Turner called the attention of the company present to me and said:
"I think it very singular you permit that rascal to march your streets in open day. It wouldn't be allowed in Rhode Island, and I suppose that is the reason the black-coated scoundrel has come down this way."
"Why, who is he?" asked half a dozen at once.
"Don't you know? Why that is the Rev. E. K. Avory, the murderer of Miss Cornell!"
"Is it possible!" they exclaimed, all starting for the door, eager to get a look at me, and swearing vengeance.
It was only recently that the Rev. Ephraim K. Avery had been tried in Rhode Island for the murder of Miss Cornell, whose body was discovered in a stackyard, and though Avery was acquitted in court, the general sentiment of the country condenmed him. It was this Avery whom Turner made me represent. I had not walked far in my fine clothes, before I was overtaken by a mob of a dozen, which rapidly increased to at least a hundred, and my ears were suddenly saluted with such observations as, "the lecherous old hypocrite," "the sanctified murderer," "the black-coated villian," "lynch the scoundrel," "let's tar and feather him," and like remarks which I had no idea applied to me till one man seized me by the collar, while five or six more appeared on the scene with a rail.
"Come," said the man who collared me, "old chap, you can't walk any further; we know you, and as we always make gentlemen ride in these parts, you may just prepare to straddle that rail!"
My surprise may be imagined. "Good heavens!" I exclaimed, as they all pressed around me, "gentlemen, what have I done?"
"Oh, we know you," exclaimed half a dozen voices; "you needn't roll your sanctimonious eyes; that game don't take in this country Come, straddle the rail, and remember Uie, slack-yard '"
I grew more and more bewildered; I could not imagine what possible offence I was to suffer for, and I continued to exclaim, "Gentlemen, what have I done?" Don't kill me, gentlemen, but tell me what I have done."
"Come, make him straddle the rail; we'll show him how to hang poor factory girls," shouted a man in the crowd.
The man who had me by the collar then remarked, "Come, Mr. Avery, it's nv use, you see, we know you, and we'll give you a touch of Lyuch law, and si art you for home again."
"My name is not Avery, gentlemen; you are mistaken in your man," I exclaimed.
"Come, come, none of your gammon; straddle the rail, Ephraim."
The rail was brought and I was about to be placed on it, when the truth flashed upon me.
"Gentlemen," I exclaimed, "I am not Avery; I despise that villain as much as you can; my name is Barnum; I belong to the circus which arrived here last night, and I am sure Old Turner, my partner, has hoaxed you with this ridiculous story."
"If he has we'll lynch him," said one of the mob.
"Well, he has, I'll assure you, and if you will walk to the hotel with me, I'll convince you of the fact."
This they reluctantly assented to, keeping, however, a close hand upon me. As we walked up the main street, the mob received a reenforcement of some fifty or sixty, and I was marched like a malefactor up to the hotel. Old Turner stood on the piazza ready to explode with laughter. I appealed to him for heaven's sake to explain this matter, that I might be liberated. He continued to laugh, but finally told them "he believed there was some mistake about it. The fact is," said he, "my friend Barnum has a new suit of black clothes on and he looks so much like a priest that I thought he must be Avery."
The crowd saw the joke and seemed satisfied. My new coat had been half torn from my back, and I had been very roughly handled. But some of the crowd apologized for the outrage, declaring that Turner ought to be served in the same way, while others advised me to "get even with him." I was very much offended, and when the mob dispersed I asked Turner what could have induced him to play such a trick upon me.
"My dear Mr. Barnum," he replied, "it was all for our good. Remember, all we need to insure success is notoriety. You will see that this will be noised all about town as a trick played by one of the circus managers upon the other, and our pavilion will be crammed tomorrow night."
It was even so; the trick was told all over town and every one came to see the circus managers who were in a habit of playing practical jokes upon each other. We had fine audiences while we remained at Annapolis, but it was a long time before I forgave Turner for his rascally "joke."
An amusing incident occurred when we were at Hanover Court House, in Virginia. It rained so heavily that we could not perform there, and Turner decided to start for Richmond immediately after dinner, when he was informed by the landlord that as our agent had engaged three meals and lodging for the whole company, the entire bill must be paid whether we went then, or next morning. No compromise could be effected with the stubborn landlord, and so Turner proceeded to get the worth of his money as follows:
He ordered dinner at twelve o'clock, which was duly prepared and eaten. The table was cleared and re-set for supper at half-past twelve. At one o'clock we all went to bed, every man carrying a lighted candle to his room. There were thirty six of us and we all undressed and tumbled into bed as if we were going to stay all night. In half an hour we rose and went down to the hot breakfast which Turner had demanded and which we found smoking on the table. Turner was very grave, the landlord was exceedingly angry, and the rest of us were convulsed with laughter at the absurdity of the whole proceeding. We disposed of our breakfast as if we had eaten nothing for ten hours, and then started for Richmond with the satisfaction that we fairly settled with our unreasonable landlord.
At Richmond, after performances were over one night, I managed to partially pay Turner for his Avery trick. A dozen or more of us were enjoying ourselves in the sitting-room of the hotel, telling stories and singing songs, when some of the company proposed sundry amusing arithmetical questions, followed by one from Turner which was readily solved. Hoping to catch Turner I then proposed the following problem:
"Suppose a man is thirty years of age, and he has a child one year of age; he is thirty tunes older than his child. When the child is thirty years old, the father, being sixty, is only twice as old as his child. When the child is sixty the father is ninety, and therefore only one-third older than the child. When the child is ninety the father is one hundred and twenty, and therefore only onefourth older than the child. Thus you see, the child is gradually but surely gaining on the parent, and as he certainly continues to come nearer and nearer, in time he must overtake him. The question therefore is, suppose it was possible for them to live long enough, how old would the father be when the child overtook him and became of the same age?"
The company generally saw the catch; but Turner was very much interested in the problem, and although he admitted he knew nothing about arithmetic, he was convinced that as the son was gradually gaining on the father he must reach him if there was time enough--say, a thousand years, or so--for the race. But an old gentleman gravely remarked that the idea of a son becoming as old as his father while both were living, was simply nonsense, and he offered to bet a dozen of champagne that the thing was impossible, even "in figures." Turner, who was a betting man, and who thought the problem might be proved, accepted the wager; but he was soon convinced that however much the boy might relatively gain upon his father, there would always be thirty years difference in their ages. The champagne cost him $25, and he failed to see the fun of my arithmetic, though at last he acknowledged that it was a fair offset to the Avery trick.
We went from Richmond to Petersburg, and from that place to Warrenton, North Carolina, where, October 80th, my engagement expired with a profit to myself of $1,200. I now separated from the circus company, taking Vivalla, James Sandford (a negro singer and dancer), several musicians, horses, wagons, and a small canvas tent with which I intended to begin a traveling exhibition of my own. My company started and Turner took me on the way in his own carriage some twenty miles. We parted reluctantly, and my friend wished me every success in my new venture.
On Saturday, November 12, 1836, we halted at Rocky Mount Falls, North Carolina, and on my way to the Baptist Church, Sunday morning, I noticed a stand and benches in a grove nearby, and determined to speak to the people if I was permitted. The landlord who was with me said that the congregation, coming from a distance to attend a single service, would be very glad to hear a stranger, and I accordingly asked the venerable clergyman to announce that after service I would speak for half an hour in the grove. Learning that I was not a clergyman, he declined to give the notice, but said that he had no objection to my making the announcement, which I did, and the congregation, numbering about three hundred, promptly came to hear me.
I told them I was not a preacher, and had very little experience in public speaking; but I felt a deep interest in matters of morality and religion, and would attempt, in a plain way, to set before them the duties and privileges of man. I appealed to every man's experience, observation and reason, to confirm the Bible doctrine of wretchedness in vice and happiness in virtue. We cannot violate the laws of God with impunity, and He will not keep back the wages of well-doing. The outside show of things is of very small account. We must look to realities and not to appearances. "Diamonds may glitter on a vicious breast," but "the soul's cahn sunshine and the heart-felt joy is virtue's prize." The rogue, the passionate man, the drunkard, are not to be envied even at the best, and a conscience hardened by sin is the most sorrowful possession we can think of. I went on in this way, with some scriptural quotations and familiar illustrations, for three-quarters of an hour. At the close of my address several persons took me by the hand, expressing themselves as greatly pleased and desiring to know my name; and I went away with the feeling that possibly I might have done some good in the beautiful grove on that charming Sunday morning.
When we were at Camden, South Carolina, Sandford suddenly left me, and as I had advertised negro songs and none of my company was competent to fill Sandford's place, not to disappoint my audience, I blacked myself and sung the advertised songs "Zip Coon," etc., and to my surprise was much applauded, while two of the songs were encored. One evening, after singing my songs, I heard a disturbance outside the tent, and going to the spot found a person disputing with my men. I took part on the side of the men, when the person who was quarreling with them drew a pistol and exclaiming, "You black scoundrel! how dare you use such language to a white man," he proceeded to cock it. I saw that he thought I was a negro and meant to blow my brains out. Quick as thought I rolled my sleeve up, showed my skin, and said, "I am as white as you are, sir." He dropped his pistol in positive fright and begged my pardon. My prosenco of mind saved me.
On four different occasions in my life I have had a loaded pistol pointed at my head and each time I have escaped death by what seemed a miracle. I have also often been in deadly peril by accidents, and when I think of these things I realize my indebtedness to an all-protecting Providence. Reviewing my career, too, and considering the kind of company I kept for years and the associations with which I was surrounded and connected, 1 am surprised as well as grateful that 1 was not ruined. I honestly believe that I owe my preservation from the degradation of living and dying a loafer and a vagabond, to the single fact that I was never addicted to strong drink. To be sure, I have in times past drank liquor, but I have generally wholly abstained from intoxicating beverages, and for more than twenty years past, I am glad to say, I have been a strict "teetotaller."
At Camden I lost one of my musicians, a Scotchman named Cochran, who was arrested for advising the negro barber who was shaving him to run away to the Free States or to Canada. I made every effort to effect Cochran's release, but he was imprisoned more than six months.
I bought four horses and two wagons and hired Joe Pentland and Robert White to join my company. White, as a negro singer, would relieve me from that roll, and Pentland, besides being a capital clown, was celebrated as a ventriloquist, comic singer, balancer, and legerdemain performer. My re-enforced exhibition was called "Barnum's Grand Scientific and Musical Theatre."
Some time previously, in Raleigh, North Carolina, I had sold one-half of my establishment to a man, whom I will call Henry, who now acted as treasurer and ticket-taker. At Augusta, Georgia, the sheriff served a writ upon this Henry for a debt of $500. As Henry had $600 of the company's money in his possession, I immediately procured a bill of sale of all his property in the exhibition and returned to the theatre where Henry's creditor and the creditor's lawyer were waiting for me. They demanded the key of the stable so as to levy on the horses and wagons. I begged delay till I could see Henry, and they consented. Henry was anxious to cheat his creditor and he at once signed the bill of sale. 1 returned and informed the creditor that Henry refused to pay or compromise the claim. The sheriff then demanded the keys of the stable door to attach Henry's interest in the property. "Not yet," said I, showing a bill of sale, "you see I am in full possession of the property as entire owner. You confess that you have not yet levied on it, and if you touch my property, you do it at your peril."
They were very much taken aback, and the sheriff immediately conveyed Henry to prison. The next day I learned that Henry owed his creditors thirteen hundred dollars, and that he had agreed when the Saturday evening performance was ended to hand over five hundred dollars (company money) and a bill of sale of his interest, in consideration of which one of the horses was to be ready for him to run away with, leaving me in the lurch l Learning this, I had very little sympathy for Henry, and my next step was to secure the five hundred dollars he had secreted. Vivalla had obtained it from him to keep it from the sheriff; I received it from Vivalla, on Henry's order, as a supposed means of procuring bail for him on Monday morning. I then paid the creditor the full amount obtained from Henry as the price of his half interest in the exhibition and received in return an assignment of five hundred dollars of the creditor's claims and a guaranty that I should not be troubled by my late partner on that score. Thus, promptness of action and good luck relieved me from one of the most unpleasant positions in which I had ever been placed.
While traveling with our teams and show through a desolate part of Georgia, our advertiser, who was in advance of the party, finding the route, on one occasion, too long for us to reach a town at night, arranged with a poor widow woman named Hayes, to furnish us with meals and let us lodge in her hut and out-houses. It was a beggarly place, belonging to one of the poorest of "poor whites." Our horses were to stand out all night, and a farmer, six miles distant, was to bring a load of provender on the day of our arrival. Bills were then posted announcing a performance under a canvas tent near Widow Hayes's, for, as a show was a rarity in that region, it was conjectured that a hundred or more small farmers and "poor whites" might be assembled and that the receipts would cover the expenses.
Meanwhile, our advertiser, who was quite a wag, wrote back informing us of the difficulties of reaching a town on that part of our route, and stating that he had made arrangements for us to stay over night on the plantation of "Lady Hayes," and that although the country was sparsely settled, we could doubtless give a profitable performance to a fair audience.
Anticipating a fine time on this noble "plantation," we started at four o'clock in the morning so as to arrive at one o'clock, thus avoiding the heat of the afternoon. Towards noon we came to a small river where some men, whom we afterwards discovered to be down-east Yankees, from Maine, were repairing a bridge. Every flooring plank had been taken up, and it was impossible for our teams to cross. "Could the bridge be fixed so that we could go over?" I inquired. " No; it would take half a day, and meantime, if we must cross, there was a place about sixteen miles down the river where we could get over. "But we can't go so far as that; we are under engagement to perform on Lady Hayes's place to-night, and we must cross here. Fix the bridge and we will pay you handsomely."
They wanted no money, but if we would give them some tickets to our show they thought they might do something for us. I gladly consented, and in fifteen minutes we crossed that bridge. The cunning rascals had seen our posters and knew we were coming; so they had taken up the planks of the bridge and had hidden them till they had levied upon us for tickets, when the floor was re-laid in a quarter of an hour.
Towards dinner-time we began to look out for the grand mansion of "lady Hayes," and seeing nothing but little huts we quietly pursued our journey. At one o'clock--the time when we should have arrived at our destination--I became impatient, and riding up to a poverty-stricken hovel and seeing a ragged, barefooted old woman, with her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, who was washing clothes in front of the door, I inquired-- "Hallo! can you tell me where Lady Hayes lives?" The old woman raised her head, which was covered with tangled locks and matted hair, and exclaimed--"Hey?" "No, Hayes, Lady Hayes; where is her plantation?" "This is the place," she answered; "I'm Widder Hayes, and you are all to stay here tonight."
We could not believe our ears or eyes; but after putting the dirty old woman through a severe cross-examination she finally produced a contract, signed by our advertiser, agreeing for board and lodging for the company, and we found ourselves booked for the night. It appeared that our advertiser could find no better quarters in that forlorn section, and he had indulged in a joke at our expense by exciting our appetites and imaginations in anticipation of the luxuries we should find in the magnificent mansion of "Lady Hayes." Joe Pentland grumbled, Bob White indulged in some very strong language, and Signor Vivalla laughed. He had traveled with his monkey and organ in Italy and could put up with any fare that offered. I took the disappointment philosophically, simply remarking that we must make the best of it and compensate ourselves when we reached a town next day.
The next forenoon we arrived at Macon, and congratulated ourselves that we had again reached the regions of civilization. In going from Columbus, Georgia, to Montgomery, Alabama, we were obliged to cross a thinly-settled, desolate tract, known as the "Indian Nation," and as several persons had been murdered by hostile Indians in that region, it was deemed dangerous to travel the road without an escort. Only the day before we started, the mail stage had been stopped and the passengers murdered, the driver alone escaping. We were well armed, however, and trusted that our numbers would present too formidable a force to be attacked, though we dreaded to incur the risk. Vivalla alone was fearless and was ready to encounter fifty Indians and drive them into the swamp.
Accordingly, when we had safely passed over the entire route to within fourteen miles of Montgomery, and were beyond the reach of danger, Joe Pentland determined to test Vivalla's bravery. He had secretly purchased at Mount Megs, on the way, an old Indian dress with a fringed hunting shirt and moccasins and these he put on, after coloring his face with Spanish brown. Then, shouldering his musket he followed Vivalla and the party and, approaching stealthily, leaped into their midst with a tremendous whoop.
Vivalla's companions were in the secret, and they instantly fled in all directions. Vivalla himself ran like a deer and Pentland after him, gun in hand and yelling horribly. After running a full mile the poor little Italian, out of breath and frightened nearly to death, dropped on his knees and begged for his life. The "Indian" leveled his gun at his victim, but soon seemed to relent, and signified that Vivalla should turn his pockets inside out--which he did, producing and handing over a purse containing eleven dollars. The savage then marched Vivalla to an oak, and with a handkerchief tied him in the most approved Indian manner to the tree, leaving him half dead with fright.*
Pentland then joined us, and washing his face and changing his dress, we all went to the relief of Vivalla. He was overjoyed to see us, and when he was released his courage returned; he swore that after his companions left him, the Indian had been re-enforced by six more, to whom, in default of a gun or other means to defend himself, Vivalla had been compelled to surrender. We pretended to believe his story for a week, and then told him the joke, which he refused to credit, and also declined to take the money which Pentland offered to return, as it could not possibly be his since seven Indians had taken his money. We had a great deal of fun over Vivalla's courage, but the matter made him so cross and surly that we were finally obliged to drop it altogether. From that time forward, however, Vivalla never boasted of his prowess.
We arrived at Montgomery, February 27th, 1837. Here I met Henry Hawley, a legerdemain performer, and I sold him one-half of my exhibition. He had a ready wit, a happy way of localizing his tricks, was very popular in that part of the country, where he had been performing for several years, and I never saw him nonplussed but once. This was when he was performing on one occasion the well-known egg and bag trick, which he did with his usual success, producing egg after egg from the bag, and finally breaking one to show that they were genuine. "Now," said Hawley, "I will show you the old hen that laid them." It happened; however, that the negro boy to whom had been intrusted the duty of supplying the bag had made a slight mistake, which was manifest when Hawley triumphantly produced, not "the old hen that laid the eggs," but a rooster! The whole audience was convulsed with laughter, and the abashed Hawley retreated to the dressing-room, cursing the stupidity of the black boy who had been paid to put a hen in the bag.
After performing in different places in Alabama, Kentucky, and Tennessee, we disbanded at Nashville in May, 1837, Vivalla going to New York, where he performed on his own account for a while previous to sailing for Cuba, Hawley staying in Tennessee to look after our horses which had been turned out to grass, and I returning home to spend a few weeks with my family.
Early in July, returning west with a new company of performers, I rejoined Hawley, and we began our campaign in Kentucky. We were not successful; one of our small company was incompetent; another was intemperate--both were dismissed; and our negro-singer was drowned in the river at Frankfort. Funds were low, and I was obliged to leave pledges here and there, in payment for bills, which I afterwards redeemed. Hawley and I dissolved in August, and making a new partnership with Z. Graves, I left him in charge of the establishment and went to Tiffin, Ohio, where I re-engaged Joe Peutland, buying his horses and wagons, and taking him, with several musicians, to Kentucky.
During my short stay at Tiffin, a religious conversation at the hotel introduced me to several gentlemen who requested me to lecture on the subjects we had discussed, and I did so to a crowded audience in the school-house Sunday afternoon and evening. At the solicitation of a gentleman from Republic, I also delivered two lectures in that town, on the evenings of September 4th and 5th.
On our way to Kentucky, just before we reached Cincinnati, we met a drove of hogs, and one of the drivers making an insolent remark because our wagons interfered with his swine, I replied in the same vein, when he dismounted and, pointing a pistol at my breast, swore he would shoot me if I did not apologise. 1 begged him to permit me to consult a friend in the next wagon, and the misun derstanding should be satisfactorily settled. My friend was a loaded double tiarreled gun, which I pointed at him and said: "Now, sir, you must apologize, for your brains are in danger. You drew a weapon upon me for a trivial remark. You seem to hold human life at a cheap price; and now, sir, you have the choice between a load of shot and an apology." This led to an apology and a friendly conversation, in which we both agreed that many a life is sacrificed in sudden anger, because one or both of the contending parties carry deadly weapons.
In our subsequent southern tour we exhibited at Nashville (where I visiteo General Jackson, at the Hermitage), Huntsville, Tuscaloosa, Vicksburg and intermediate places, doing tolerably well. At Vicksburg we sold all our land conveyances, excepting the band wagon and four horses, bought the steamboat "Ceres," for six thousand dollars, hired the captain and crew, and started down the river to exhibit at places on the way. At Natchez our cook left us, and in the search for another I found a white widow who would go, only she expected to marry a painter. I called on the painter who had not made up his mind whether to marry the widow or not, but I told him if he would many her the next morning I would hire her at twenty-five dollars a month as cook, employ him at the same wages as painter, with board for both, and a cash bonus of fifty dollars. There was a wedding on board the next day, and we had a good cook and a good dinner. During one of our evening performances at Francisville, Louisiana, a man tried to pass me at the door of the tent, claiming that he had paid for admittance. I refused him entrance; and as he was slightly intoxicated, he struck me with a slung shot, mashing my hat and grazing what phrenologists call "the organ of caution." He went away and soon returned with a gang of armed and half-drunken companions, who ordered us to pack up our "traps and plunder" and to get on board our steamboat within an hour. The big tent speedily came down. No one was permitted to help us, but the company worked with a will, and within five minutes of the expiration of the hour we were on board and ready to leave. The scamps who had caused our departure escorted us and our last load, waving pine torches, and saluted us with a hurrah as we swung into the stream.
The New Orleans papers of March 19, 1838, announced the arrival of the "SteYmier Ceres, Captain Barnum, with a theatrical company." After a week's performances, we started for the Attakapas country. At Opelousas we exchanged the steamer for sugar aud molasses; our company was disbanded, and I started for home, arriving in New York, June 4.
Longing now for some permanent, respectable business, I advertised for a partner, stating that I had $2,500 to invest, and would add my unremitting personal attention to the capital and the business. This advertisement gave me an altogether new insight into human nature. Whoever wishes to know how some people live, or want to live, let him advertise for a partner, at the same time stating that he has a large or small capital to invest. I was flooded with answers to my advertisements and received no less than 93 different propositions for the use of my capital. Of these, at least one-third were from porter-house keepers. Brokers, pawnbrokers, lottery-policy dealers, patent medicine men, inventors, and others also made application. Some of my correspondents declined to specifically state the nature of their business, but they promised to open the door to untold wealth.
I had interviews with some of these mysterious million-makers. One of them was a counterfeiter, who, after much hesitation and pledges of secrecy, showed me some counterfeit coin and bank notes; he wanted $2,500 to purchase paper and ink and to prepare new dies, and he actually proposed that I should join him in the business which promised, he declared, a safe and rich harvest. Another sedate individual, dressed in Quaker costume, wanted me to join him in an oat speculation. By buying a horse and wagon, and by selling oats, bought at wholesale, in bags, he thought a good business could be done, especially as people would not be particular to measure after a Quaker. "Do you mean to cheat in measuring your oats?" I asked. "O, I should probably make them hold out," he answered, with a leer. One application came from a Pearl street wool merchant, who failed a month afterwards. Then came a "perpetual motion" man who had a fortune-making machine, in which I discovered a main-spring slyly hid in a hollow post, the spring making perpetual motion--till it ran down.
Finally, I went into partnership with a German, named Proler, who was a manufacturer of paste-blacking, water-proof paste for leather, Cologne water and bear's grease. We took the store No. 101% Bowery, at a rent (including the dwelling) of $600 per annum, and opened a large manufactory of the above articles. Proler manufactured and sold the goods at wholesale in Boston, Charleston, Cleveland, and various other parts of the country. I kept the accounts, and attended to sales in the store, wholesale and retail. For a while the business seemed to prosper--at least till my capital was absorbed and notes for stock began to fall due, with nothing to meet them, since we had sold our goods on long credits. In January, 1840, I dissolved partnership with Proler, he buying the entire interest for $2,600 on credit, and then running away to Bxltterdam without paying his note, and leaving me nothing but a few receipts. Proler was a good-looking, plausible, promising--scamp.
During my connection with Proler, I became acquainted with a remarkable young dancer named John Diamond, one of the first and best of the numerous negro and "break-down " dancers who have since surprised and amused the public, and I entered into an engagement with his father for his services, putting Diamond in the hands of an agent, as I did not wish to appear in the transaction. In the spring of 1840, I hired and opened the Vauxhall Garden saloon, in New York, and gave a variety of performances, including singing, dancing, Yankee stories, etc. In this saloon Miss Mary Taylor, afterwards so celebrated as an actress and singer, made her first appearance on the stage. The enterprise, however, did not meet my expectation, and I relinquished it in August.
What was to be done next? I dreaded resuming the life of an itinerant showman, but funds were low, I had a family to care for, and as nothing bettor presented, I made up my mind to endure the vexations and uncertainties of a tour in the West and South. I collected a company, consisting of Mr. C. D. Jenkins, an excellent singer and delineator of Yankee and other characters; Master John Diamond, the dancer; Francis Lynch, an orphan vagabond, fourteen years old, whom I picked up at Troy, and a fiddler. My brother-in-law, Mr. John Hallett, preceded us as agent and advertiser, and our route passed through Buffalo, Toronto, Detroit, Chicago, Ottawa, Springfield, the intermediate places, and St. Louis, where I took the steamboat for New Orleans with a company reduced by desertions to Master Diamond and the fiddler.
Arriving in New Orleans, January 20, 1841, I had but $100 in my purse, and I had started from New York four months before with quite as much in my pocket. Excepting some small remittances to my family I had made nothing more than current expenses; and, when I had been in New Orleans a fortnight, funds were so low that I was obliged to pledge my watch as security for my board bill. But on the 16th, I received from the St. Charles Theatre $500 as my half share of Diamond's benefit; the next night I had $50; and the third night $479 was my share of the proceeds of a grand dancing match at the theatre between Diamond and a negro dancer from Kentucky. Subsequent engagements at Vicksburg and Jackson were not so successful, but returning to New Orleans we again succeeded admirably, and afterwards at Mobile. Diamond, however, after extorting considerable sums of money from me, finally ran away, and, March 12th, I started homeward by way of the Mississippi and the Ohio.
At Pittsburg, where I arrived March 30th, I learned that Jenkins, who had enticed Francis Lynch away from me at St. Louis, was exhibiting him at the Museum under the name of "Master Diamond," and visiting the performance, the next day I wrote Jenkins an ironical review, for which he threatened suit, and he actually instigated R. W. Lindsay, from whom I hired Joice Heth in Philadelphia in 1835, and whom I had not seen since, though he was then residing in Pittsburg, to sue me for a pipe of brandy which, it was pretended, was promised in addition to the money paid him. I was required to give bonds of $500, which, as I was among strangers, I could not immediately procure, and I was accordingly thrown into jail till four o'clock in the afternoon, when I was liberated. The next day I caused the arrest of Jenkins for trespass in assuming Master Diamond's name and reputation for Master Lynch, and he was sent to jail till four o'clock in the afternoon. Each having had his turn at this amusement, we adjourned our controversy to New York where I beat him. As for Lindsay, I heard nothing more of his claim or him till twelve years afterwards, when he called on me in Boston with an apology. He was very poor and I was highly prosperous, and I may add that Lindsay did not lack a friend.
I arrived in New York, April 23d, 1841, after an absence of eight months, resolved once more that I would never again be an itinerant showman. Three days afterwards I contracted with Robert Sears, the publisher, for five hundred copies of "Sears' Pictorial Illustrations of the Bible," at $500, and accepting the United States agency, I opened an office, May 10th, at the corner of Beekmau and Nassau streets, the site of the present Nassau Bank. I had had a limited experience with that book in this way: When I was in Pittsburg, an acquaintance, Mr. C. D. Harker, was complaining that he had nothing to do, when I picked up a New York paper and saw the advertisement of "Sears' Pictorial Illustrations of the Bible, price $2 a copy." Mr. Harker thought he could get subscribers, and I bought him a specimen copy, agreeing to f urnish him with as many as he wanted at $1.37X a copy, though I had never before seen the work, and did not know the wholesale price. The result was that he obtained eighty subscribers in two days, and made $50. My own venture in the work was not so successful; I advertised largely, had plenty of agents, and in six months, sold thousands of copies; but irresponsible agents used up all my profits and my capital.
While engaged in this business I once more leased Vauxhall saloon, opening it June 14th, 1841, employing Mr. John Hallett, my brother-in-law, as manager under my direction, and at the close of the season, September 25th, we had cleared about two hundred dollars. This sum was soon exhausted, and, with my family on my hands and no employment, I was glad to do anything that would keep the wolf from the door. I wrote advertisements and notices for the Bowery Amphitheatre, receiving for the service four dollars a week, which I was very glad to get, and I also wrote articles for the Sunday papers, deriving a fair remuneration and managing to get a living. But I was at the bottom round of fortune's ladder, and it was necessary to make an effort which would raise me above want.
I was specially stimulated to this effort by a letter which I received, about this time, from my esteemed friend, Hon. Thomas T. Whittlesey, of Danbury. He held a mortgage of five hundred dollars on a piece of property I owned in that place, and, as he was convinced that I would never lay up anything, he wrote me that I might as well pay him then as ever. This letter made me resolve to live no longer from hand to mouth, but to concentrate my energies upon laying up something for the future.
While I was forming this practical determination, I was much nearer to its realization than my most sanguine hopes could have predicted. The road to fortune was close by.
As outside clerk for the Bowery Amphitheatre I had casually learned that the collection of curiosities comprising Scudder's American Museum, at the corner of Broadway and Ann streets, was for sale. It belonged to the daughters of Mr. Scudder, and was conducted for their benefit by John Furzman, under the authority of Mr. John Heath, administrator. The price asked for the entire collection was fifteen thousand dollars. It had cost its founder, Mr. Scudder, probably fifty thousand dollars, and from the profits of the establishment he had been able to leave a large competency to his children. The Museum, however, had been for several years a losing concern, and the heirs were anxious to sell it. Looking at this property, I thought I saw that energy, tact and liberality, were only needed to make it a paying institution, and I determined to purchase it if possible.
The Museum building belonged to Mr. Francis W. Ohnsted, a retired merchant, to whom I wrote stating my desire to buy the collection, and that although I had no means, if it could be purchased upon reasonable credit, I was confident that my tacc and experience, added to a determined devotion to business, would enable me to make the payments when due. I therefore asked him to purchase the collection in his own name; to give me a writing securing it to me, provided I made the payments punctually, including the rent of his building; to allow me twelve dollars and a half a week on which to support my family; and if at any time I failed to meet the installment due, I would vacate the premises, and forfeit all that might have been paid to that date. "In fact, Mr. Ohnsted," I continued in my earnestness, "you may bind me in any way, and as tightly as you pleaseonly give me a chance to dig out, or scratch out, and I will do so or forfeit all the labor and trouble I may have incurred."
In reply to this letter, which I took to his house myself, he named an hour when I could call on him, and as I was there at the exact moment, he expressed himself pleased with my punctuality. He inquired closely as to my habits and antecedents, and I frankly narrated my experiences as a caterer for the public, mentioning my amusement ventures in Vauxhall Garden, the circus, and in the exhibitions I had managed at the South and West. "Who are your references?" he inquired. "Any man in my line," I replied, "from Edmund Simpson, manager of the Park Theatre, or William Niblo, to Messrs. Welch, June, Titus, Turner, Angevine, or other circus or menagerie proprietors; also Moses Y. Beach, of the New York Sun. "Can you get any of them to call on me?" he continued. I told him that I could, and the next day my friend Niblo rode down and had an interview with Mr. Ohnsted, while Mr. Beach and several other gentlemen also called, and the following morning I waited upon him for his decision. "I don't like your references, Mr. Barnum," said Mr. Ohnsted, abruptly, as soon as I entered the room. I was confused, and said "I regretted to hear it." "They all speak too well of you," he added, laughing; "in fact they all talk as if they were partners of yours, and intended to share the profits."
Nothing could have pleased me better. He then asked me what security I could offer in case he concluded to make the purchase for me, and it was finally agreed that, if he should do so, he should retain the property till it was entirely paid for, and should also appoint a ticket-taker and accountant (at my expense), who should render him a weekly statement. I was further to take an apartment hitherto used as a billiard room in his adjoining building, allowing therefor $500 a year, making a total rental of $3,000 per annum, on a lease of ten years. He then told me to see the administrator and heirs of the estate, to get their best terms, and to meet him on his return to town a week from that time.
I at once saw Mr. John Heath, the administrator, and his price was $15,000. I offered $10,000, payable in seven annual installments, with good security. After several interviews, it was finally agreed that I should have it for $12,000, payable as above--possession to be given on the 15th of November. Mr. Ohnsted assented to this, and a morning was appointed to draw and sign the writings. Mr. Heath appeared, but said he must decline proceeding any further in my case, as he had sold the collection to the directors of Peale's Museum (an incorporated institution) for $15,000, and had received $1,000 in advance.
I was shocked, and appealed to Mr. Heath's honor. He said that he had signed no writing with me; was in no way legally bound, and that it was his duty to do the best he could for the heirs. Mr. Ohnsted was sorry, but could not help me; the new tenants would not require him to incur any risk, and my matter was at ail end.
Of course, I immediately informed myself as to the character of Peales Museum company. It proved to be a band of speculators who had bought Peale's collection for a few thousand dollars, expecting to unite the American Museum with it, issue and sell stock to the amount of $50,000, pocket $30,000 profits, and permit the stockholders to look out for themselves. I went immediately to several of the editors, including Major M. M. Noah, M. Y. Beach, my good friends West, Herrick and Ropes, of the Atlas, and others, and stated my grievances. "Now," said I, "if you will grant me the use of your colunms, I'll blow that speculation sky-high." They all consented, and I wrote a large number of squibs, cautioning the public against buying the Museum stock, ridiculing the idea of a board of broken-down bank directors engaging in the exhibition of stuffed monkeys and gander-skins; appealing to the case of the Zoological Institute, which had failed by adopting such a plan as the one now proposed; and finally, I told the public that such a speculation would be infinitely more ridiculous than Dickens' "Grand United Metropolitan Hot Muffin and Crumpet-baking and Punctual Delivery Company."
The stock was as "dead as a herring 1" I then went to Mr, Heath and asked him when the directors were to pay the other $14,000. "On the 26th day of December, or forfeit the $1,000 already paid," was the reply. I assured him that they would never pay it, that they could not raise it, and that he would ultimately find himself with the Museum collection on his hands, and if once I started off with an exhibition for the South, I would not touch the Museum at any price. "Now," said I, "if you will agree with me confidentially, that in case these gentlemen do not pay you on the 26th of December, I may have it on the 27th for $12,000, I will run the risk, and wait in this city until that date." He readily agreed to the proposition, but said he was sure they would not forfeit their $1,000. "Very well," said I; "all I ask of you is, that this arrangement shall not be mentioned." He assented. "On the 27th day of December, at ten o'clock A. M., I wish you to meet me in Mr. Ohnsted's apartments, prepared to sign the writings, provided this incorporated company do not pay you $14 000 on the 26th." He agreed to this, and by my request put it in writing.
From that moment I felt that the Museum was mine. I saw Mr. Ohnsted, and told him so. He promised secrecy, and agreed to sign the document if the other parties did not meet their engagement. This was about November 15th, and I continued my shower of newspaper squibs at the new company, which could not sell a dollar's worth of its stock. Meanwhile, if any one spoke to me about the Museum, I simply replied that I had lost it.
This newspaper war against the Peales was kept up unceasingly until one morning in December, I received a letter from the secretary of that company (now calling itself the ’New York Museum Company’), requesting me to meet the directors at the Museum on the following Monday morning. I went, and found the directors in session. The venerable president of the board, who was also the ex—president of a broken bank, blandly proposed to hire me to manage the united museums, and though I saw that he merely meant to buy my silence, I professed to entertain the proposition, and in reply to an inquiry as to what salary I should expect, I specified the sum of $3,000 a year. This was at once acceded to, the salary to begin January 1st, 1842, and after complimenting me on my ability, the president remarked: ’Of course, Mr. Barnum, we shall have no more of your squibs through the newspapers.’ To which I replied that I should ’ever try to serve the interests of my employers,’ and I took my leave.
It was as clear to me as noonday that, after buying my silence so as to appreciate their stock, these directors meant to sell out to whom they could, leaving me to look to future stockholders for my salary. They thought, no doubt, that they had nicely entrapped me, but I knew I had caught them. For, supposing me to be out of the way, and having no other rival purchaser, these directors postponed the advertisement of their stock to give people time to forget the attacks I had made on it, and they also took their own time for paying the money promised to Mr Heath, December 26th–indeed, they did not even call on him at the appointed time. But on the following morning, as agreed, I was promptly and hopefully at Mr. Olmsted’s apartments with my legal adviser, at half—past nine o’clock; Mr. Heath came with his lawyer at ten, and before two o’clock that day I was in formal possession of the American Museum. My first managerial act was to write and dispatch the following complimentary note: "AMERICAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK, Dec. 27th, 1841. To the President and Directors of the New York Museum: GENTLEMEN: It gives me great pleasure to inform you that you are placed upon the Free List of this establishment until furthur notice. P.T. BARNUM, Proprietor." It is unnecessary to say that the ’President of the New York Museum’ was astounded, and when he called upon Mr. Heath, and learned that I had bought and was really in possession of the American Museum, he was indignant. He talked of prosecution, and demanded the $1,000 paid on his agreement, but he did not prosecute, and he justly forfeited his deposit money.
And now that I was proprietor and manager of the American Museum, I had reached a new epoch in my career, which I felt was the beginning of better days, though the full significance of this important step I did not see. I was still in the show business, but in a settled, substantial phase of it, that invited industry and enterprise, and called for ever earnest aud ever heroic endeavor. Whether I should sink or swim, depended wholly upon my own energy. I must pay for the establishment within a stipulated time, or forfeit it with whatever I had paid on account. I meant to make it my own, and brains, hands and every effort were devoted to the interests of the Museum.
The nucleus of this establishment, Scudder's Museum, was formed in 1810, the year in which I was born. It was begun in Chatham street, and was afterwards transferred to the old City Hall, and from small beginnings, by purchases, and to a considerable degree by presents, it had grown to be a large and valuable collection. People, in all parts of the country, had sent in relics and rare curiosities; sea captains, for years, had brought and deposited strange things from foreign lands; and besides all these gifts, I have no doubt that the previous proprietor had actually expended, as was stated, $50,000, in making the collection. No one could go through the halls, as they were when they came under my proprietorship, and see one-half there was worth seeing, in a single day; and then, as I always justly boasted afterwards, no one could visit my Museum and go away without feeling that he had received the full worth of his money. In looking over the immense collection, the accumulation of so many years, I saw that it was only necessary to properly present its merits to the public, to make it the most attractive and popular place of resort and entertainment in the United States.
Valuable as the collection was when I bought it, it was only the beginning of the American Museum as I made it. In my long proprietorship, I considerably more than doubled the permanent attractions and curiosities of the establishment. In 1842, I bought and added to my collection the entire contents of Peale's Museum; in 1850, I purchased the large Peale collection in Philadelphia; and year after year, I bought genuine curiosities, regardless of cost, wherever I could find them, in Europe or America,
At the very outset, I was determined to deserve success. My plan of economy included the intention to support my family in New York on $600 a year, and my treasure of a wife, not only gladly assented, but was willing to reduce the sum to $400, if necessary.
Some six months after I had bought the Museum, Mr. Ohnsted happened in at my ticket-office at noon, and found me eating a frugal dinner of cold corned beef and bread, which I had brought from home. "Is this the way you eat your dinner?" he asked. "I have not eaten a warm dinner, except on Sundays," I replied, "since I bought the Museum, and I never intend to, on a week day, till I am out of debt." "Ah!" said he, clapping me on the shoulder, "you are safe, and will pay for the Museum before the year is out."
And he was right, for within twelve months I was in full possession of the property as my own, and it was entirely paid for from the profits of the business.
In 1865, the space occupied for my Museum purposes was more than double what it was in 1842. The Lecture Room, originally narrow, ill-contrived and inconvenient, was so enlarged and improved that it became one of the most commodious and beautiful amusement halls in the city of New York. At first, my attractions and inducements were merely the collection of curiosities by day, and an evening entertainment, consisting of such variety performances as were current in ordinary shows. Then Saturday afternoons, and, soon afterwards, Wednesday afternoons were devoted to entertainments, and the popularity of the Museum 'grew so rapidly that I presently found it expedient and profitable t« open the great Lecture Room every afternoon, as well as every evening, on every weekday in the year. The first experiments In this direction, more than justified my expectations, for the day exhibitions were always more thronged than those of the evening. Of course I made the most of the holidays, advertising extensively and presenting extra inducements; nor did attractions elsewhere seem to keep the crowd from coming to the Museum. On great holidays, I gave as many as twelve performances to as many different audiences.
By degrees the character of the stage performances was changed. The transient attractions of the Museum were constantly diversified, and educated dogs, industrious fleas, automatons, jugglers, ventriloquists, living statuary, tableaux, gipsies, Albinoes, fat boys, giants, dwarfs, rope-dancers, live "Yankees," pantomime, instrumental music, singing and dancing in great variety, dioramas, panoramas, models of Niagara, Dublin, Paris, and Jerusalem; Hannington's dioramas of the Creation, the Deluge, Fairy Grotto, Storm at Sea; the first English Punch and Judy in this country, Italian Fantocsini, mechanical figures, fancy glass-blowing, knitting machines and other triumphs in the mechan' ical arts; dissolving views, American Indians, who enacted their warlike and religious ceremonies on the stage,--these, among others, were all exceedingly successful.
I thoroughly understood the art of advertising, not merely by means of printer's ink, which I have always used freely, and to which I confess myself so much indebted for my success, but by turning every possible circumstance to my account. It was my monomania to make the Museum the town wonder and town talk. I often seized upon an opportunity by instinct, even before I had a very definite conception as to how it should be used, and it seemed, somehow, to mature itself and serve my purpose. As an illustration, one morning a stout, hearty-looking man came into my ticket-office and begged some money. I asked him why he did not work and earn his living? He replied that he could get nothing to do, and that he would be glad of any job at a dollar a day. I handed him a quarter of a dollar, told him to go and get his breakfast and return, and I would employ him, at light labor, at a dollar and a half a day. When he returned I gave him five common bricks. "Now," said I, "go and lay a brick on the sidewalk, at the corner of Broadway and Ann street; another close by the Museum; a third diagonally across the way, at the corner of Broadway and Vesey street, by the Astor House; put down the fourth on the sidewalk, in front of St. Paul's Church, opposite; then, with the fifth brick in hand, take up a rapid march from one point to the other, making the circuit, exchanging your brick at every point, and say nothing to anyone. "What is the object of this?" inquired the man. "No matter," I replied; "all you need to know is that it brings you fifteen cents wages per hour. It is a bit of my fun, and to assist me properly you must seem to be as deaf as a post; wear a serious countenance; answer no questions; pay no attention to any one; but attend faithfully to the work, and at the end of every hour, by St. Paul's clock, show this ticket at the Museum door; enter, walking solenmly through every hall in the building; pass out, and resume your work."
With the remark that it was "all one to him, so long as he could earn his living," the man placed his bricks, and began his round. Half an hour afterwards, at least five hundred people were watching his mysterious movements. He had assumed a military step and bearing, and, looking as sober as a judge, he made no response whatever to the constant inquiries as to the object of his singular conduce. At the end of the first hour, the sidewalks in the vicinity were packed with people, all anxious to solve the mystery. The man, as directed, then went into the Museum, devoting fifteen minutes to a solenm survey of the halls, and afterwards returning to his round. This was repeated every hour till sundown, and whenever the man went into the Museum a dozen or more persons would buy tickets and follow him, hoping to gratify their curiosity in regard to the purpose of his movements. This was continued for several days--the curious people who followed the man into the Museum considerably more than paying his wages--till finally the policeman, to whom I had imparted my object, complained that the obstruction of the sidewalk by crowds, had become so serious that I must call in my "brick man." This trivial incident excited considerable talk and amusement; it advertised me; and it materially advanced my purpose of making a lively corner near the Museum.
The stories illustrating merely my introduction of novelties would more than fill this book, but I must make room for a few of them.
An actor, named La Rue, presented himself as an imitator of celebrated histrionic personages, including Macready, Forrest, Kemble, the elder Booth, Kean, Hamblin and others. Taking him into the green-room for a private rehearsal, and finding his imitations excellent, I engaged him. For three nights he gave great satisfaction, but early in the fourth evening he staggered into the Museum so drunk that he could hardly stand, and in half an hour he must be on the stage I Calling an assistant, we took La Rue between us, and marched him up Broadway as far as Chambers street, and back to the lower end of the Park, hoping to sober him At this point we put his head under a pump, and gave him a good ducking, with visible beneficial effect--then a walk around the Park, and another ducking,--when he assured me that he should be able to give his imitations "to a charm."
"You drunken brute," said I, "if you fail, and disappoint my audience, I will throw you out of the window."
He declared that he was "all right," and I led him behind the scenes, where I waited with considerable trepidation to watch his movements on the stage. He began by saying: "Ladies and gentlemen : I will now give you an imitation of Mr. Booth, the eminent tragedian."
His tongue was thick, his language somewhat incoherent, and I had great misgivings as he proceeded; but as no token of disapprobation came from the audience, I began to hope he would go through with his parts without exciting suspicion of his condition. But before he had half finished his representation of Booth, in the soliloquy in the opening act of Richard III., the house discovered that he was very drunk, and began to hiss. This only seemed to stimulate him to make an effort to appear sober, which, as is usual in such cases, only made matters worse, and the hissing increased. I lost all patience, and going on the stage and taking the drunken fellow by the collar, I apologized to the audience, assuring them that he should not appear before them again. I was about to march him off, when he stepped to the front, and said: "Ladies and gentlemen: Mr. Booth often appeared on the stage in a state of inebriety, and I was simply giving you a truthful representation of him on such occasions. I beg to be permitted to proceed with my imitations."
The audience at once supposed it was all right, and cried out, ' go on, go on "; which he did, and at every imitation of Booth, whether as Richard, Shylock, or Sir Giles Overreach, he received a hearty round of applause. I was quite delighted with his success; but when he came to imitate Forrest and Hamblin, necessarily representing them as drunk also, the audience could be no longer deluded; the hissing was ahnost deafening, and I was forced to lead the actor off. It was his last appearance on my stage.
I wanted to run out a string of American flags across the street on that day, for I knew there would be thousands of people passing the Museum with leisure and pocket-money, and I felt confident that an unusual display of national flags would arrest their patriotic attention, and bring many of them within my walls. Unfortunately for my purpose, St. Paul's Church stood directly opposite, and there was nothing to which I could attach my flag-rope, unless it might be one of the trees in the church-yard. I went to the vestrymen for permission to so attach my flag-rope on the Fourth of July, and they were indignant at what they called my "insulting proposition;" such a concession would be "sacrilege." I plied them with arguments, and appealed to then- patriotism, but in vain.
Returning to the Museum, I gave orders to have the string of flags made ready, with directions at daylight on the Fourth of July to attach one end of the rope to one of the third-story windows of the Museum, and the other end to a tree in St. Paul's churchyard. The great day arrived, and my orders were strictly followed. The flags attracted great attention. By half-past nine Broadway was thronged, and about that time two gentlemen, in a high state of excitement, rushed into my office, announcing themselves as injured and insulted vestrymen of St. Paul's Church. "Keep cool, gentlemen," said I; "I guess it is all right." "Right!" indignantly exclaimed one of them, "do you think it is right to attach your Museum to our Church? We will show you what is ' right' and what is law, if we live till tomorrow; those flags must come down instantly." "Thank you," I said, "but let us not be in a hurry. I will go out with you and look at them, and I guess we can make it all right." Going into the street, I remarked: "Really, gentlemen, these flags look very beautiful; they do not injure your tree; I always stop my balcony music for your accommodation whenever you hold week-day services, and it is but fair that you should return the favor." "We could indict your 'music,'as you call it, as a nuisance, if we chose," answered one vestryman, "and now I tell you that if these flags are not taken down in ten minutes, I will cut them down."
His indignation was at boiling point. The crowd in the street was dense, and the angry gesticulation of the vestryman attracted their attention. I saw there was no use in trying to parley with him or coax him, and so, assuming an angry air, I rolled up my sleeves, and exclaimed, in a loud tone, "Well, Mister, I should just like to see you dare to cut down the American flag on the Fourth of July; you must be a 'Britisher' to make such a threat as that; but I'll show you a thousand pairs of Yankee hands in two minutes, if you dare to attempt to take down the stars and stripes on this great birthday of American freedoml" "What's that John Bull a-saying?" asked a brawny fellow, placing himself in front of the irate vestryman. "Look here, old fellow," he continued, "if you want to save a whole bone in your body, you had better slope, and never dare to talk again about hauling down the American flag in the city of New York."
Throngs of excited, exasperated men crowded around, and the vestryman, seeing the effect of my ruse, smiled faintly and said, "Oh, of course it is all right," and he and his companion quietly edged out of the crowd.
On that Fourth of July, at one o'clock P. M., my Museum was so densely crowded that we could admit no more visitors, and we were compelled to stop the sale of tickets. Looking down into the street it was a sad sight to see the thousands of people who stood ready with their money to enter the Museum, but who were actually turned away. It was exceedingly harrowing to my feelings. Rushing down stairs, I told my carpenter and his assistants to cut through the partition and floor in the rear and to put in a temporary flight of stairs so as to let out people by that egress into Ann street. By three o'clock the egress was opened, and a few people were passed down the new stairs, while a corresponding number came in at the front. But I lost a large amount of money that day by not having sufficiently estimated the value of my own advertising, and consequently not having provided for the thousands who had read my announcements and seen my outside show, and had taken the first leisure day to visit the Museum. I had learned one lesson, however, and that was to have the egress ready on future holidays.
In June, 18i3, a herd of yearling buffaloes was on exhibition in Boston. I bought the lot, brought them to New Jersey, hired the race-course at Hoboken, chartered the ferry-boats for one day, and advertised that a hunter had arrived with a herd of buffaloes--I was careful not to state their age--and that August 31st there would be a "Grand Buffalo Hunt" on the Hoboken race-course--all persons to be admitted free of charge.
The appointed day was warm and delightful, and no less than twenty-four thousand people crossed the North River in the ferry-boats to enjoy the cooling breeze and to see the "Grand Buffalo Hunt." The hunter was dressed as an Indian, and mounted on horseback; he proceeded to show how the wild buffalo is captured with a lasso, but unfortunately the yearlings would not run till the crowd gave a great shout, expressive at once of derision and delight at the harmless humbug. This shout started the young animals into a weak gallop and the lasso was duly thrown over the head of the largest calf. The crowd roared with laughter, listened to my balcony band, which I also furnished "free," and then started for New York, little dreaming who was the author of this sensation, or what was its object.
Mr, N. P. 'Willis, then editor of the Home Journal, wrote an article illustrating the perfect good nature with which the American public submit to a clever hum bug. He said that he went to Hoboken to witness the buffalo hunt. It was nearly four o'clock when the boat left the foot of Barclay street, and it was so densely crowded that many persons were obliged to stand on the railings and hold on to the awning-posts. When they reached the Hoboken side a boat equally crowded was coming out of the slip. The passengers just arriving cried out to those who were coming away, "Is the buffalo hunt over?" To which came the reply, "Yes, and it was the biggest humbug you ever heard of!" Willis added that passengers on the boat with him instantly gave three cheers for the author of the humbug, whoever he might be.
After the public had enjoyed a laugh for several days over the Hoboken "Free Grand Buffalo Hunt,"I permitted it to be announced that the proprietor of the American Museum was responsible for the joke, thus using the buffalo hunt as a sky-rocket to attract public attention to my Museum. The object was accomplished, and although some people cried out " humbug,"I had added to the notoriety which I so much wanted, and I was satisfied. As for the cry of "humbug,"it never harmed me, and I was in the position of the actor who had much rather be roundly abused than not to be noticed at all. I ought to add, that the forty eight thousand sixpences--the usual fare--received for ferry fares, less what 1 paid for the charter of the boats on that one day, more than remunerated me for the cost of the buffaloes and the expenses of the "hunt;" and the enormous gratuitous advertising of the Museum must also be placed to my credit.
It will be seen that very much of the success which attended my many years proprietorship of the American Museum was due to advertising, and especially to my odd methods of advertising. Always determined to have curiosities worth showing and worth seeing, at "twenty-five cents admission, children half price," I studied ways to arrest public attention; to startle, to make people talk and wonder; in short, to let the world know that I had a Museum.
By some arrangement, the particulars of which I do not remember, if, indeed, I ever cared to know them, Mr. Peale was conducting Peale's Museum, which he claimed was a more "scientific" establishment than mine, and he pretended to appeal to a higher class of patrons. Mesmerism was one of his scientific attractions, and he had a subject upon whom he operated at times with the greatest seeming success, and fairly astonished his audiences. But there were times when the subject was wholly unimpressible and then those who had paid their money to see the woman put into the mesmeric state cried out "humbug," and the reputation of the establishment seriously suffered.
It devolved upon me to open a rival mesmeric performance, and accordingly I engaged a bright little girl who was exceedingly susceptible to such mesmeric influences as I could induce. That is, she learned her lesson thoroughly, and when I had apparently put her to sleep with a few passes and stood behind hei, she seemed to be duly "impressed" as I desired; raised her hands as I willed, fell from her chair to the floor; and if I put candy or tobacco into my mouth, she was duly delighted or disgusted. She never failed in these routine performances. Strange to say, believers in mesmerism used to witness her performances with the greatest pleasure and adduce them as positive proofs that there was something in mesmerism, and they applauded tremendously--up to a certain point.
That point was reached when, leaving the girl "asleep," I called up some one in the audience, promising to put him "in the same state" within five minutes, or forfeit fifty dollars. Of course, all my "passes" would not put a man in the mesmeric state; at the end of three minutes he was as wide awake as ever.
"Never mind," I would say, looking at my watch; "I have two minutes more, and meantime, to show that a person in this state is utterly insensible to pain, 1 propose to cut off one of the fingers of the little girl who is still asleep." I would then take out my knife and feel of the edge, and when I turned around to the girl whom I left on the chair, she had fled behind the scenes, to the intense amusement of the greater part of the audience, and to the amazement of the mesmerists who were present.
"Why! where's my little girl?" I asked with feigned astonishment.
"Oh! she ran away when you began to talk about cutting off fingers."
"Then she was wide awake, was she?"
"Of course she was, all the time."
"I suppose so; and, my dear sir, I promised that you should be 'in the same state' at the end of five minutes, and as I believe you are so, I do not forfeit fifty dollars."
I kept up this performance for several weeks, till I quite killed Peale's "genuine " mesmerism in the rival establishment. At the end of six months I bought Peale's Museum, and the whole, including the splendid gallery of American portraits, was removed to the American Museum, and I immediately advertised the great card of a "Double attraction" and "Two Museums in One," without extra charge.
The Museum became a mania with me, and I made everything possible subservient to it. On the eve of elections, rival politicians would ask me for whom I was going to vote, and my answer invariably was, "I vote for the American Museum." In fact, at that time, I cared very little about politics, and a great deal about my business. Meanwhile the Museum prospered wonderfully, and everything I attempted or engaged in, seemed at the outset an assured success.
The giants whom I exhibited from time to time, were always literally great features in my establishment, and they oftentimes afforded me, as well as my patrons, food for much amusement as well as wonder. The Quaker giant, Hales, was quite a wag in his way. He went once to see the new house of an acquaintance who had suddenly become rich, but who was a very ignorant man. When he came back he described the wonders of the mansion, and said that the proud proprietor showed him everything from basement to attic: parlors, bed-rooms, dining-room, and,"said Hales, "whathe calls his 'study'--meaning, I suppose, the place where he intends to study his spelling-book!"
I had at one time two famous men, the French giant, M. Bihin, a very slim man, and the Arabian giant, Colonel Goshen. These men generally got on together very well, though, of course, each was jealous of the other, and of the attention the rival received, or the notice he attracted. One day they quarreled, and a lively interchange of compliments ensued, the Arabian polling the Frenchman a "Shanghai," and received in return the epithet of "Nigger." From words both were eager to proceed to blows, and both ran to my collection of arms, one seizing the club with which Captain Cook, or any ether man, might have been killed, if it were judiciously wielded, and the other laying hands on a sword of the terrific size, which is supposed to have been conventional in the days of the Crusades. The preparations for a deadly encounter, and the high words of the contending parties, brought a dozen of the Museum attaches to the spot, and these men threw themselves between the gigantic combatants. Hearing the disturbance, I ran from my private office to the dueling ground, and said:
"Look here! This is all right; if you want to fight each other, maiming and perhaps killing one or both of you, that is your affair; but my interest lies here: you are both under engagement to me, and if this duel is to come off, I and the public have a right to participate. It must be duly advertised, and must take place on the stage of the Lecture Room. No performance of yours would be a greater attraction, and if you kill each other, our engagement can end with your duel."
This proposition, made in apparent earnest, so delighted the giants that they at once burst into a laugh, shook hands, and quarreled no more.
In November, 1842, I was at Bridgeport, Connecticut, where I heard of a remarkably small child, and, at my request, my brother, Philo F. Barnum, brought him to the hotel. He was not two feet high; he weighed less than sixteen pounds, and was the smallest child I ever saw that could walk alone; he was a perfectly formed, bright-eyed little fellow, with light hair and ruddy cheeks, and he enjoyed the best of health. He was exceedingly bashful, but after some coaxing, he was induced to talk with me, and he told me that he was the son of Sherwood E. Stratton, and that his own name was Charles S. Stratton. After seeing him and talking with him, I at once determined to secure his services from his parents and to exhibit him in public.
I engaged him for four weeks, at three dollars a week, with all traveling and boarding charges for himself and his mother at my expense. They came to New York Thanksgiving day, December 8, 1842, and I announced the dwarf on my Museum bills as "General Tom Thumb."
I took the greatest pains to educate and train my diminutive prodigy, devoting many hours to the task by day and by night, and I was very successful, for he was an apt pupil, with a great deal of native talent, and a keen sense of the ludicrous.*
I afterwards re-engaged him for one year, at seven dollars a week, with a gratuity of fifty dollars at the end of the engagement, and the privilege of exhibiting him anywhere in the United States, in which event his parents were to accompany him and I was to pay all traveling expenses. He speedily became a public favorite, and long before the year was out, I voluntarily increased his weekly salary to twenty-five dollars, and he fairly earned it.
Two years had now elapsed since I bought the Museum, and I had long since paid for the entire establishment from the profits; I had bought out my only rival; I was free from debt, and had a handsome surplus in the treasury. The business had long ceased to be an experimeut; it was an established success, and was in such perfect running order, that it could safely be committed to the management of trustworthy and tried agents.
Accordingly, looking for a new field for my individual efforts, I entered into an agreement for General Tom Thumb's services for another year, at fifty dollars a week and all expenses, with the privilege of exhibiting him in Europe. I proposed to test the curiosity of men and women on the other side of the Atlantic.
After arranging my business affairs for a long absence, and making every preparation for an extended foreign tour, on Thursday, January 18, 1844, I went on board the new and fine sailing ship "Yorkshire," Captain D. G. Bailey, bound for Liverpool. Our party included General Tom Thumb, his parents, his tutor, and Professor Guillaudeu, the French naturalist. We were accompanied by several personal friends, and the City Brass Band kindly volunteered to escort us to Sandy Hook.
A voyage to Liverpool is now an old, familiar story, and I abstain from entering into details, though I have abundant material respecting my own experiences of my first sea-voyage in the first two of a series of one hundred letters which I wrote in Europe, as correspondent of the New York Atlas.
On our arrival at Liverpool, quite a crowd had assembled at the dock to see Tom Thumb, for it had been previously announced that he would arrive in the "Yorkshire," but his mother managed to smuggle him ashore unnoticed, for she carried him, as if he was an infant, in her arms.
My letters of introduction speedily brought me into friendly relations with many excellent families, and I was induced to hire a hall and present the General to the public, for a short season in Liverpool . I had intended to proceed directly to London, and begin operations at "headquarters," that is, in Buckingham Palace, if possible; but I had been advised that the royal family was in mourn ing for the death of Prince Albert's father, and would not permit the approacl of any entertainments.
Meanwhile, confidential letters from London, informed me that Mr. Maddox, Manager of Princess's Theater, was coming down to witness my exhibition, with a view to making an engagement. He came privately, but I was fully informed as to his presence and object. A friend pointed him out to ine in the hall, and when I stepped up to him, and called him by name, he was "taken all aback," and avowed his purpose in visiting Liverpool. An interview resulted in au engagement of the General for three nights at Princess's Theater. I was unwilling to contract for a longer period, and even this short engagement, though on liberal terms, was acceded to only as a means of advertisement. So soon, therefore, as I could bring my short, but highly successful season in Liverpool to i close. w,3 went to London.
GENERAL TOM THUMB IN ENGLAND.
Immediately after our arrival in London, the General came out at the Princess's Theater, and made so decided a "hit" that it was difficult to decide>ho was best pleased, the spectators, the manager, or myself. I was offered far higher terms for a re-engagement, but my purpose had been already answered; the news was spread everywhere that General Tom Thumb, an unparalleled curiosity, was in the city; and it only remained for me to bring him before the public, on my own account, and in my own time and way.
I took a furnished mansion in Grafton street, Bond street, West End, in the very center of the most fashionable locality. The house had previously beer occupied for several years by Lord Talbot, and Lord Brougham and half a dozen families of the aristocracy and many of the gentry were my neighbors. From this magnificent mansion, I sent letters of invitation to the editors and several of the nobility, to visit the General. Most of them called, and were highly gratified. The word of approval was indeed so passed around in high circles, that uninvited parties drove to my door in crested carriages, and were not admitted.
This procedure, though in some measure a stroke of policy, was neither singular nor hazardous, under the circumstances. I had not yet announced a public exhibition, and as a private American gentleman, it became me to maintain the dignity of my position. I therefore instructed my liveried servant to deny admission to see my "ward," excepting to persons who brought cards of invitation. He did it in a proper manner, and no offence could be taKen, though I was always particular to send an invitation immediately to such as had not been admitted.
During our first week in London, the Hon. Edward Everett, the American Minister, to whom I had letters of introduction, called and was highly pleased with his diminutive though renowned countryman. We dined with him the next day, by invitation, and his family loaded the young American with presents. Mr. Everett kindly promised to use influence at the Palace in person, with a view to having Tom Thumb introduced to Her Majesty Queen Victoria,
A few evenings afterwards the Baroness Rothschild sent her carriage for us. We were received by a hah1 a dozen servants, and were ushered up a broad Sight of marble stairs to the drawing-room, where we met the Baroness and a party of twenty or more ladies and gentlemen. In this sumptous mansion of the richest banker in the world, we spent about two hours, and when we took our leave a well-filled purse was quietly slipped into my hand. The golden shower had begun to fall.
I now engaged the "Egyptian Hall," in Piccadilly, and the announcement of my unique exhibition was promptly answered by a rush of visitors, in which the wealth and fashion of London were liberally represented. I made these arrangements because I had little hope of being soon brought to the Queen's presence (for the reason before mentioned), but Mr. Everett's generous influence secured my object. I breakfasted at his house one morning, by invitation, in company with Mr. Charles Murray, an author of creditable repute, who held the office of Master of the Queen's Household. In the course of conversation, Mr. Murray inquired as to my plans, and I informed him that I intended going to the Continent shortly, though I shouldlte glad to remain if the General could have an interview with the Queen, adding that such an event would be of great consequence tome.
Mr. Murray kindly offered his good offices in the case, and the next day one of the Life Guards, a tall, noble-looking fellow, bedecked as became his station, brought me a note, conveying the Queen's invitation to General'Tom Thumb and his guardian, Mr. Barnum, to appear at Buckingham Palace on an evening specified. Special instructions were the same day orally given me by Mr. Murray, by Her Majesty's command, to suffer the General to appear before her, as he would appear anywhere else, without any training in the use of the titles of royalty, as the Queen desired to see him act naturally and without restraint.
Determined to make the most of the occasion, I put a placard on the door of the Egyptian Hall: "Closed this evening, General Tom Thumb being at Buckingham Palace by command of Her Majesty."
On arriving at the Palace, the Lord in Waiting put me "under drill" as to the manner and form in which I should conduct myself in the presence of royalty. I was to answer all questions by Her Majesty through him, and, in no event, to speak directly to the Queen. In leaving the royal presence I was to "back out," keeping my face always towards Her Majesty, and the illustrious lord, kindly gave me a specimen of that sort of backward locomotion. How far I profited by his instructions and example, will presently appear.
We were conducted through a long corridor to a broad flight of marble steps, which led to the Queen's magnificent picture gallery, where Her Majesty and Prince Albert, the Duchess of Kent, thb Duke of Wellington and others were awaiting our arrival. They were standing at the farther end of the room when the doors were thrown open, and the General walked in, looking like a wax doll gifted with the power of locomotion. Surprise and pleasure were depicted on the countenances of the royal circle at beholding this remarkable speaimen of humanity so much smaller than they had evidently expected to find him
The General advanced with a firm step, and, as he came within hailing distance, made a very graceful bow, and exclaimed, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"
A burst of laughter followed this salutation. The Queen then took him by the hand, led him about the gallery, and asked him many questions, the answers to which kept the party in an uninterrupted strain of merriment. The General familiarly informed the Queen that her picture gallery was "first-rate," and told her he should like to see the Prince of Wales. The Queen replied that the Prince had retired to rest, but that he should see him on some future occasion. The General then gave his songs, dances, and imitations, and, after a 'conversation with Prince Albert and all present, which continued for more than an hour, we were permitted to depart.
Before describing the process and incidents of "backing out," I must acknowledge how sadly I broke through the counsel of the Lord in Waiting. While Prince Albert and others were engaged with the General, the Queen was gathering information from me in regard to his history, etc. Two or three questions were put and answered through the process indicated in my drill. It was a round-about way of doing business, not at all to my liking, and I suppose the Lord in waiting was seriously shocked, if not outraged, when I entered directly into copversation with Her Majesty. She, however, seemed not disposed to check my boldness, foj- she immediately spoke directly to me in obtaining the information which she sought. I felt entirely at ease in her presence, and could not avoid contrasting her sensible and amiable manners w^th the stiffness and formality of upstart gentility at home or abroad.
The Queen was modestly attired in plain black, and wore no ornaments. Indeed, surrounded as she was by ladies arrayed in the highest style of magnificence, their dresses sparkling with diamonds, she was the last person whom a stranger would have pointed out in that circle as the Queen of England.
The Lord in waiting was perhaps mollified toward me when he saw me following his illustrious example in retiring from the royal presence. He was accustomed to the process, and therefore was able to keep somewhat ahead (or rather aback) of me, but even / stepped rather fast for the other member of the retiring party. We had a considerable distance to travel in that long gallery before reaching the door, and whenever the General found he was losing ground, he turned around and ran a few steps, then resumed the position of "backing out," then turned around and ran, and so continued to alternate his methods of getting to the door, until the gallery fairly rang with the merriment of the royal spectators. It was really one of the richest scenes I ever saw; running, under the circumstances, was an offence sufficiently heinous to excite the indignation of the Queen's favorite poodle dog, and he vented his displeasure by barking so sharply as 4o startle the General from his propriety. He, however, recovered immediately, and, with his little cane, commenced an attack on the poodle, and a funny fight ensued, which renewed and increased the merriment of the royal party.
This was near the door of exit. We had scarcely passed into the ante-room, when one of the Queen's attendants came to us with the expressed hope of Her Majesty that the General had sustained no damage; to which the Lord in Waiting playfully added, that in case of injury to so renowned a personage, he should fear a declaration of war by the United States!
The courtesies of the Palace were not yet exhausted, for we were escorted to an apartment in which refreshments had been provided for us. I was anxious that the "Court Journal" of the ensuing day should contain more than a mere line in relation to the General's interview with the Queen, and, on inquiry, I learned that the gentleman who had charge of that feature in the daily papers was then in the Palace. He was sent for by my solicitation, and promptly acceded to my request for such a notice as would attract attention. He even generously desired me to give him an outline of what I sought, and I was pleased to see afterwards, that he had inserted my notice verbatim.
This notice of my visit to the Queen wonderfully increased the attraction of "Gen. Tom Thumb." and compelled me to obtain a more commodious hall for my exhibition. I accordingly removed to the larger room in the same building.
On our second visit to the Queen, we were received in what is called the "Yellow Drawing-Room," a magnificent apartment, surpassing in splendor and gorgeousness anything of the kind I had ever seen. It is on the north side of the gallery, and is entered from that apartment. It was hung with drapery of rich yellow satin damask, the couches, sofas and chairs being covered with the same material. The vases, urns and ornaments were all of modern patterns, and the most exquisite workmanship. The room was panelled in gold, and the heavy cornices beautifully carved and gilt. The tables, pianos, etc., were mounted with gold, inlaid with pearl of various hues, and of the most elegant designs.
We were ushered into this gorgeous drawing-room before the Queen and royal circle had left the dining-room, and, as they approached, the General bowed respectfully, and remarked to Her Majesty "that he had seen her before," adding, "I think this is a prettier room than the picture gallery; that chandelier is very fine."
The Queen smilingly took him by the hand, and said she hoped he was very well.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, "I am first rate."
"General," continued the Queen, "this is the Prince of Wales."
"How are you, Prince?" said the General, shaking him by the hand; and then standing beside the Prince, he remarked, "the Prince is taller than I am, but I feel as big as anybody," upon which he strutted up and down the room as proud as a peacock, amid shouts of laughter from all present.
The Queen then introduced the Princess Royal, and the General immediately led her to his elegant little sofa, which we took with us, and with much politeness sat himself down beside her. Then, rising from his seat, he went through his various performances, and the Queen handed him an elegant and costly souvenir, which had been expressly made for him by her order, for which, he told her, "he was very much obliged, and would keep it as long as he lived." The Queen of the Belgians (daughter of Louis Philippe) was present on this occasion. She asked the General where he was going when he left London?
"To Paris," he replied.
"Whom do you expect to see there ?" she continued.
Of course all expected he would answer, "the King of the French," but the little fellow replied, "Monsieur Guillaudeu."
The two Queens looked inquiringly to me, and when I informed them that M. Giilaudeu was my French naturalist, who had preceded me to Paris, they laughed most heartily.
On our third visit to Buckingham Palace, Leopold, King of the Belgians, was also present. He was highly pleased, and asked a multitude of questions. Queen Victoria desired the General to sing a song, and asked him what song he preferred to sing.
"Yankee Doodle," was the prompt reply.
This answer was as unexpected to me as it was to the royal party. When the merriment it occasioned had somewhat subsided, the Queen good-humoredly remarked, "That is a very pretty song, General, sing it, if you please." The General complied, and soon afterwards we retired. I ought to add, that after each of our three visits to Buckingham Palace, a very handsome sum was sent to me, of course by the Queen's command. This, however, was the smallest part of the advantage derived from these interviews, as will be at once apparent to all who consider the force of Court example in England.
The British public were now fairly excited. Not to have seen General Tom Thumb was decidedly unfashionable, and from March 20th until July 20th, the levees of the little General, at Egyptian Hall, were continually crowded, the receipts averaging during the whole period about five hundred dollars per day, and sometimes going considerably beyond that sum. At the fashionable hour, sixty carriages of the nobility have been counted at one time standing in front of our exhibition rooms in Piccadilly.
Portraits of the little General were published in all the pictorial papers of the time. Polkas and quadrilles were named after him, and songs were sung in his praise. He was an ahnost constant theme for the London Punch, which served up the General and myself so daintily that it no doubt added vastly to our receipts.
Besides his three public performances per day, the little General attended three or four private parties per week, for which we were paid eight to ten guineas each. Frequently we would visit two parties in the same evening, and the demand in that line was much greater than the supply. The Queen Dowager Adelaide requested the General's attendance at Marlborough House one afternoon. He went in his court dress, consisting of a richly embroidered brown silk-velvet coat and short breeches, white satin vest with fancy colored embroidery, white silk stockings and pumps, wig, bagwig, cocked hat, and a dress sword.
"Why, General," said the Queen Dowager, "I think you look very smart to-day."
"I guess I do," said the General complacently.
A large party of the nobility were present. The old DuKe of Cambridge offered the little General a pinch of snuff, which he declined. The General sang his songs, performed his dances, and cracked his jokes, to the great amusement and delight of the distinguished circle of visitors.
"Dear little General," said the kind-hearted Queen, taking him upon her lap, "I see you have got no watch. Will you permit me to present you with a watch and chain?"
"I would like them very much," replied the General, his eyes glistening with joy as he spoke.
"I will have them made expressly for you," responded the Queen Dowager; and at the same moment she called a friend and desired him to see that the proper order was executed. A few weeks thereafter we were called again to Marlborough House. A number of the children of the nobility were present, as well as some of their parents. After passing a few compliments with the General, Queen Adelaide presented him with a beautiful little gold watch, placing the chain around his neck with her own hands.
After giving his performances, we withdrew from the royal presence, and the elegant little watch presented by the hands of Her Majesty the Queen Dowager was not only duly heralded, but was also placed upon a pedestal in the hall of exhibition, together with the presents from Queen Victoria, and covered with a glass vase. These presents, to which were soon added an elegant gold snuff-box mounted with turquois, presented by his Grace the Duke of Devonshire, and many other costly gifts of the nobility and gentry, added to the attractions of the exhibition. The Duke of Wellington called frequently to see the little General at his public levees. The first time he called, the General was personating Napoleon Bonaparte, marching up and down the platform, and apparently taking snuff in deep meditation. He was dressed in the well-known uniform of the •mperor. I introduced him to the "Iron Duke," who inquired the subject of hia meditations. "I was thinking of the loss of the battle of Waterloo," was the little General's immediate reply. This display of wit was chronicled throughout the country, and was of itself worth thousands of pounds to the exhibition.*
General Tom Thumb had visited the King of Saxony and also Ibrahim Pacha who was then in London. At the different parties we attended, we met, in the course of the season, nearly all of the nobility. Scarcely a nobleman in England tailed to see General Tom Thumb at his own house, at the house of a friend, or at the public levees at Egyptian Hall . The General was a decided pet with some of the first personages in the land, among whom may be mentioned Sir Robert and Lady Peel, the Duke and Duchess of Buckingham, Duke of Bedford, Duke of Devonshire, Count d'Orsay, Lady Blessington, Daniel O'Connell, Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence, Lord Chesterfield, Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Bates, of the firm of Baring Brothers & Co., and many other persons of distinction. We had the free entree to all the theaters, public gardens, and places of entertainment, and frequently met the principal artists, editors, poets, and authors of the country. Albert Smith wrote a play for the General entitled "Hop o' my Thumb," which was presented •with great success at the Lyceum Theater, London, and in several of the provincial theaters. Our visit in London and tour through the provinces were enormously successful, and after a brilliant season in Great Britain I made preparations to take the General to Paris.
In October, 1844, I made my first return visit to the United States, leaving General Tom Thumb in England, in the hands of an accomplished and faithful agent. One of the principal reasons for my return at this time, was my anxiety to renew the Museum building lease, although my first lease of five years had still three years longer to run.
Having completed my business arrangements in New York, I returned to England with my wife and daughters, and hired a house in London. My house was the scene of constant hospitality, which I extended to my numerous friends in return for the many attentions shown to me. It seemed then as if I had more and stronger friends in London than in New York. I had met and had been introduced to "almost everybody who was anybody," and among them all, some of the best soon became to me much more than mere acquaintances.
Among the distinguished people whom I met, I was introduced to the poetbanker, Samuel Rogers. I saw him at a dinner party at the residence of the American Minister, the Honorable Edward Everett. As we were going in to dinner, I stepped aside, so that Mr. Rogers who was tottering along leaning on the arm of a friend, could go in before me, when Mr. Rogers said: "Pass in, Mr. Barnum, pass in; I always consider it an honor to follow an American."
And now I come to speak of on undertaking which all will admit was hold in its conception, complete in its development, and astounding in its success. That I am proud of it, I freely confess. It placed me before the world in a new light; it gained me many warm friends in new circles; it was in itself a fortune to me--I risked much, but I made more.
It was in October, 1849, that I conceived the idea of bringing Jenny Lind to this country. I had never heard her sing, inasmuch as she arrived in London a few weeks after I left that city with General Tom Thumb. Her reputation, however, was sufficient for me.
I found in Mr. John Hall Wilton, an Englishman who had visited this country with the Sax-Horn Players, the best man whom I knew for that purpose. A few minutes sufficed to make the arrangement with him, by which I was to pay but little more than his j if he failed in his mission, but by which, also, he was to be paid a large sum if he succeeded in bringing Jenny Lind to our shores, on any terms within a liberal schedule which I set forth to him in writing.
The sum of all my instructions, public and private, to Wilton, amounted to this: He was to engage her on shares, if possible. I, however, authorized him to engage her at any rate, not exceeding one thousand dollars a night, for any number of nights up to one hundred and fifty, with all her expenses, including servants, carriages, secretary, etc., besides also engaging such musical assistants, not exceeding three in number, as she should select, let the terms be what they might. If necessary, I should place the entire amount of money named in the engagement, in the hands of London bankers before she sailed. Wilton's compensation was arranged on a kind of sliding scale, to be governed by the terms which he made for me. He proceeded to London, and opened a correspondence with Miss Lind, who was then on the Continent. He learned from the tenor of her letters, that if she could be induced to visit America at all, she must be accompanied by Mr. Julius Benedict, the accomplished composer, pianist, and musical director, and also she was impressed with the belief that Signor Belletti, the fine baritone, would be of essential service. Wilton, therefore, at once called upon Mr. Benedict and also Signor Belletti, who were both then in London, and in numerous interviews, was enabled to learn the terms on which they would consent to engage to visit this country with Miss Lind. Having obtained the information desired, he proceeded to Lubeck, in Germany, to seek an interview with Miss Lind herself.
In the course of the first conversation, she frankly told him that during the time occupied by their correspondence, she had written to friends in London, including my friend Mr. Joshua Bates, of the house of Baring Brothers, and had informed herself respecting my character, capacity, and responsibility, which she assured him were quite satisfactory. She informed him, however, that at that tune there were four persons anxious to negotiate with her for an American tour. One of these gentlemen was a well-know* opera manager in London; another, a theatrical manager in Manchester; a third, a musical composer and conductor of the orchestra of Her Majesty's Opera in London; and the fourth, Chevalier Wyckoff, a person who had conducted a successful speculation some years previously, by visiting America in charge of the celebrated danseuse, Fanny Ellsler.
Several interviews ensued, during which she learned from Wilton that he had settled with Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, in regard to the amount of their salaries, provided the engagement was concluded, and in the course of a week, Mr. Wilton and Miss Lind had arranged the terms and conditions on which she was ready to conclude the negotiations.
I was at my Museum in Philadelphia when Wilton arrived in New York, February 19, 1850. He immediately telegraphed to me, in the cipher we had agreed upon, that he had signed an engagement with Jenny Lind, by which she was to commence her concerts in America in the following September. I was somewhat startled by this sudden announcement; and feeling that the tune to elapse before her arrival was so long that it would be policy to keep the engagement private for a few months, I immediately telegraphed him not to mention it to any person, and that I would meet him the noxt day in New York.
When we reflect how thoroughly Jenny Lind, her musical powers, her character, and wonderful successes, were subsequently known by all classes in this country as well as throughout the civilized world, it is difficult to realize that, at the time this engagement was made, she was comparatively unknown on this side the water. We can hardly credit the fact, that millions of persons in America had never heard of her, that other millions had merely read her name, but had no distinct idea of who or what she was. Only a small portion of the public were really aware of her great musical triumphs in the Old World, and this portion was confined ahnost entirely to musical people, travelers who had visited the Old World, and the conductors of the press.
The next morning I started for New York. On arriving at Princeton we met the New York cars, and, purchasing the morning papers, I was surprised to find in them a full account of my engagement with Jenny Lind. This premature announcement could not be recalled, and I put the best face on the matter. Anxious to learn how this communication would strike the public mind, I informed the conductor, whom I well knew, that I had made an engagement with Jenny Lind, and that she would surely visit this country in the following August. "Jenny Lind? Is she a dancer?" asked the conductor. I informed him who and what she was, but his question had chilled me as if his words were ice. Really, thought I, if this is all that a man in the capacity of a railroad conductor between Philadelphia and New York knows of the greatest songstress in the world, I am not sure that six months will be too long a time for me to occupy in enlightening the public in regard to her merits.
I had an interview with Wilton, and learned from him that, in accordance with the agreement, it would be requisite for me to place the entire amount stipulated, $187,500, in the hands of the London bankers. I at once resolved to ratify the agreement, and immediately sent the necessary documents to Miss Lind and Messrs. Benedict and Belletti.
I then began to prepare the public mind, through the newspapers, for the reception of the great songstress. How effectually this was done, is still within the remembrance of the American public. As a sample of the manner in which I accomplished my purpose, I present the following extract from my first letter, which appeared in the New York papers of February 22, 1850:
"Perhaps I may not make any money by this enterprise; but I assure you that if I knew I should not make a farthing profit, I would ratify the engagement, so anxious am I that the United States should be visited by a lady whose vocal powers have never been approached by any other human being, and whose character is charity, simplicity, and goodness personified. Miss Lind has great anxiety to visit America. She speaks of this country and its institutions in the highest terms of praise. In her engagement with me (which includes Havana), she expressly reserves the right to give charitable concerts whenever she thinks proper. Since her debut in England, she has given to the poor from her own private purse more than the whole amount which I have engaged to pay her, and the proceeds of concerts for charitable purposes in Great Britain, where she has sung gratuitously, have realized more than ten times that amount."
After getting together all my available funds for the purpose of transmitting them to London in the shape of United States bonds, I found a considerable sum still lacking to make up the amount. I had some second mortgages which were perfectly good, but I could not negotiate them in Wall street. Nothing would answer there short of first mortgages on New York or Brooklyn city property.
1 went to the president of the bank where I had done all my business for eight years. I offered him, as security for a loan, my second mortgages, and as an additional inducement, I proposed to make over to him my contract with Jenny Lind, with a written guaranty that he should appoint a receiver, who, at my expense, should take charge of all the receipts over and above three thousand dollars per night, and appropriate them towards the payment of my loan. He laughed in my face, and said: "Mr. Barnum, it is generally believed in Wall street, that your engagement with Jenny Lind will ruin you. I do not think you will ever receive so much as three thousand dollars at a single concert." I was indignant at his want of appreciation, and answered him that I would not at that moment take $150,000 for my contract; nor would I. I found, upon further inquiry, that it was useless in Wall street to offer the "Nightingale" in exchange for Goldfinches. I finally was introdured to Mr. John L. Aspinwall, of the firm of Messrs. Rowland & Aspinwall, and he gave me a letter of credit from his firm on Baring Brothers, for a large sum on collateral securities, which a spirit of genuine respect for my enterprise induced him to accept.
After disposing of several pieces of property for cash, I footed up the various amounts, and still discovered myself five thousand dollars short. I felt that it was indeed "the last feather that breaks the camel's back." Happening casually to state my desperate case to the Rev. Abel C. Thomas, of Philadelphia, for many years a friend of mine, he promptly placed the requisite amount at my disposal. I gladly accepted his proffered friendship, and felt that he had removed a mountain-weight from my shoulders.
On Wednesday morning, August 21, 1850, Jenny Lind and Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, set sail from Liverpool in the steamship Atlantic, in which I had long before engaged the necessary accommodations, and on board of which I had shipped a piano for their use. They were accompanied by my agent, Mr. Wilton, and also by Miss Ahmanseu and Mr. Max Hjortzberg, cousins of Miss Lind, the latter being her secretary; also by her two servants, and the valet of Messrs. Benedict and Belletti.
It was expected that the steamer would arrive on Sunday, September 1. but, determined to meet the songstress on her arrival whenever it might be, I went to Staten Island on Saturday, and slept at the hospitable residence of my friend. Dr. A. Sidney Doane, who was at that time the Health Officer of the Port o/ New York. A few minutes before twelve o'clock, on Sunday morning, the Atlantic hove in sight, and immediately afterwards, through the kindness of my friend Doane, I was on board the ship, and had taken Jenny Lind by the hand.
After a few moments' conversation, she asked me when and where I had heard her sing.
"I never had the pleasure of seeing you before in my life," I replied. "How is it possible that you dared risk so much money on a person whom you never heard sing ?" she asked in surprise.
"I risked it on your reputation, which in musical matters I would much rather trust than my own judgment," I replied.
I may as well state, that although I relied prominently upon Jenny Lind's reputation as a great musical artiste, I also took largely into my estimate of her success with all classes of the American public, her character for extraordinary benevolence and generosity. Without this peculiarity in her disposition, I never would have dared make the engagement which I did, as I felt sure that there were multitudes of individuals in America who would be prompted to attend her concerts by this feeling alone.
Thousands of persons covered the shipping and piers, and other thousands had congregated on the wharf at Canal street, to see her. The wildest enthusiasm prevailed as the steamer approached the dock. So great was the rush on a sloop near the steamer's berth, that one man, in his zeal to obtain a good view, accidentally tumbled overboard, amid the shouts of those near him. Miss Lind witnessed this incident, and was much alarmed. He was, however, soon rescued, after taking to himself a cold duck instead of securing a view of the Nightingale. A bower of green trees, decorated with beautiful flags, was discovered on the wharf, together with two triumphal arches, on one of which was inscribed, " Welcome, Jenny Lind!"* The second was surmounted by the American eagle, and bore the inscription, "Welcome to America I" These decorations were not produced by magic, and I do not know that I can reasonably find fault with those who suspected I had a hand in their erection. My private carriage was in waiting, and Jenny Lind was escorted to it by Captain West. The rest of the musical party entered the carriage, and, mounting the box at the driver's side, I directed him to the Irving House. I took that seat as a legitimate advertisement, and my presence on the outside of the carriage aided those who filled the windows and sidewalks along the whole route, in coming to the conclusion that Jenny Lind had arrived.
A reference to the journals of that day will show that never before had there been such enthusiasm in the city of New York, or indeed in America. Within ten minutes after our arrival at the Irving House, not less than twenty thousand persons had congregated around the entrance in Broadway, nor was the number diminished before nine o'clock in the evening. At her request, I dined with her that afternoon, and when, according to European custom, she prepared to pledge me in a glass of wine, she was somewhat surprised at my saying, "Miss Lind, I do not think you can ask any other favor on earth which I would not gladly grant; but I am a teetotaler, and must beg to be permitted to drink your health and happiness in a glass of cold water."
At twelve o'clock that night, she was serenaded by the New York Musical Fund Society, numbering, on that occasion, two hundred musicians. They were escorted to the Irving House by about three hundred firemen, in their red shirts, bearing torches. There was a far greater throng in the streets than there was even during the day. The calls for Jenny Lind were so vehement that I led her through a window to the balcony. The loud cheers from the crowds lasted for several minutes, before the serenade was permitted to proceed again.
I have given the merest sketch of but a portion of the incidents of Jenny Lind's first day in America. For weeks afterwards the excitement was unabated. Her rooms were thronged by visitors, including the magnates of the laud in both Church and State. The carriages of the wealthiest citizens could be seen in front of her hotel, at nearly all hours of the day, and it was with some difficulty that I prevented the "fashionables" from monopolizing her altogether, and thus, as I believed, sadly marring my interests by cutting her off from the warm sympathies she had awakened among the masses. Presents of all sorts were showered upon her. Milliners, mantua-makers, and shopkeepers vied with each other in calling her attention to then- wares, of which they sent her many valuable specimens, delighted if, in return, they could receive her autograph acknowledgment. Songs, quadrilles and polkas were dedicated to her, and poets sung in her praise. We had Jenny Lind gloves, Jenny Lind bonnets, Jenny Lind riding hats, Jenny Lind shawls, mantillas, robes, chairs, sofas, pianos--in fact, everything was Jenny Lind. Her movements were constantly watched, and the moment her carriage appeared at the door, it was surrounded by multitudes, eager to catch a glimpse of the Swedish Nightingale.
In looking over my "scrap-books" of extracts from the New York papers of that day, in which all accessible details concerning her were duly chronicled, it seems ahnost incredible that such a degree of enthusiasm should have existed. An abstract of the " sayings and doings "in regard to the Jenny Lind mania for the first ten days after her arrival, appeared in the London Times of Sept. 23, 1850, and, although it was an ironical "showing up" of the American enthusiasm, filling several colunms, it was nevertheless a faithful condensation of facts which at this late day seem, even to myself, more like a dream than reality.
Before her arrival I had offered $200 for a prize ode, "Greeting to America," to be sung by Jenny Lind at her first concert. Several hundred "poems" were sent in from all parts of the United States and the Canadas. The duties of the Prize Committee, in reading these effusions and making choice of the one most worthy the prize, were truly arduous. The "offerings," with perhaps a dozen exceptions, were the merest doggerel trash. The prize was awarded to Bayard Taylor for the following ode:
GREETING TO AMERICA.
WOHD8 BY BAYARD TAYLOR--MUSIC BY JULIUS BENEDICT.
I Greet with a full heart the Land of the West,
Whose Banner of Stars o'er a world is unrolled;
Whose empire o'ershadows Atlantic's wide breast,
And opens to sunset its gateway of gold 1
The land of the mountain, the land of the lake,
And rivers that roll in magnificent tide--
Where the souls of the mighty from slumber awake.
And hallow the soil for whose freedom they died I
Thou Cradle of empire! though wide be the foam
That severs the land of my fathers and thee,
I hear, from thy bosom, the welcome of home,
For song has a home in the hearts of the Free 1
And long as thy wafers shall gleam in the Bun,
And long as thy heroes remember their scars,
Be the hands of thy children united as one,
And Peace shed her light on thy Banner of Stars!
This award, although it gave general satisfaction, yet was met with disfavor by several disappointed poets, who, notwithstanding the decision of the committee, persisted in believing and declaring their own productions to be the best. This state of feeling was doubtless, in part, the cause which led to the publication, about this time, of a witty pamphlet entitled "Barnum's Parnassus; being Confidential Disclosures of the Prize Committee on the Jenny Lind song."
It gave some capital hits in which the committee, the enthusiastic public, the Nightingale, and myself, were roundly ridiculed. The following is a fair specimen from the work in question:
BAHNUMOPSIS.
A RECITATIVE.
When to the common rest that crowns his days.
Dusty and worn the tired pedestrian goes,
What light is that whose wide o'erlooking blaze
A sudden glory on his pathway throws?
'Tis not the setting sun, whose drooping lid
Closed on the weary world at half-past six;
'Tis not the rising moon, whose rays are hid
Behind the city's sombre piles of bricks.
It is the Drnmmond Light, that from the top
Of Barnutn's massive pile, sky-mingling there,
Darts its quick gleam o'er every shadowed shop.
And gilds Broadway with unaccustomed glare.
There o'er the sordid gloom, whose deep'ning track*
Furrow the city's brow, the front of ages,
Thy loftier light descends on cabs and hacks,
And on two dozen different lines of stagesi
O twilight Sun, with thy far darting ray,
Thou art a type of him whose tireless hands
Hung thee on high to guide the stranger's way,
Where, in lt» pride, his vast Museum stands.
Him, who in search of wonders new and strange,
Grasps the wide skirts ot Nature's mystic robe
Explores the circles of eternal change,
And the dark chambers of the central globe.
He, from the reedy shores ot fabled Nile,
Has brought, thick-ribbed and ancient as old iron,
That venerable beast, the crocodile,
And many a skin of many a famous lion.
Go lose thyself in those continuous halls,
Where strays the fond papa with son and daughter;
And all that charms or startles or appals,
Thou shall behold, and fora single quarter.
Far from the Barcan deserts now withdrawn,
There huge constrictors coil their scaly backs;
There, cased in glass, malignant and unshorn,
Old murderers glare in sullenness and wax.
There many a varied form the sight beguiles,
In rusty broadcloth decked and shocking hat,
And there the unwieldy Lambert sits and smiles,
In the majestic plenitude of fat.
Or for thy gayer hours, the orang-outang
Or ape salutes thee with his strange grimace,
And hi their shapes, stuffed as on earth they sprung,
Thine individual being thou canst trace 1
And joys the youth in life's green spring, who goes
With the sweet babe and the gray-headed nurse,
To see those Cosmoramic orbs disclose
The varied beauties of the universe.
And last, not least, the marvelous Ethiope,
Changing his skin by preternatural skill,
Whom ev«ry setting sun's diurnal slope
Leaves whiter than the last, and whitening still.
All that of monstrous, scaly, strange and queer,
Has come from out the womb of earliest time,
Thou hast, O Barnum, in thy keeping here,
Nor is this all--for triumphs more sublime
Await thee yet! I, Jenny Lind, who reigned
Sublimely throned, the imperial queen of song,
Wooed by thy golden harmonies, have deigned
Captive to join the heterogeneous throng.
Sustained by an unfaltering trust in coin,
Dealt from thy hand, O thou illustrious man,
Gladly I heard the summons come to join
Myself the innumerable caravan.
Jenny Land's first concert was fixed to come off at Castle Garden, on Wednesday evening, September llth, and most of the tickets were sold at auction on the Saturday and Monday previous to the concert. John N. Genin, the hatter, laid the foundation of his fortune by purchasing the first ticket at $225. It has been extensively reported that Mr. Genin and I are brothers-in-law, but our only relations are those of business and friendship. The proprietors of the Garden saw fit to make the usual charge of one shilling to all persons who entered the premises, yet three thousand people were present at the auction. One thousand tickets were sold at auction on the first morning for an aggregate sum of $10,141.
On the Tuesday after her arrival, I informed Miss Lind that I wished to make a slight alteration in our agreement. "What is it?" she asked in surprise.
"I am convinced," I replied, "that our enterprise will be much more successful than either of us anticipated. I wish, therefore, to stipulate that you shall receive not only $1,000 for each concert, besides all the expenses, as heretofore agreed on, but after taking $5,500 per night for expenses and my services, the balance shall be equally divided between us.
Jenny looked at me with astonishment. She could not comprehend my proposition. After I had repeated it, and she fully understood its import, she cordially grasped me by the hand, and exclaimed, "Mr. Barnum, you are a gentleman of honor; you are generous; it is just as Mr. Bates told me; I will sing for you as long as you please; I will sing for you in America--in Europe--anywhere!"
On Tuesday, September 10th, I informed Miss Lind that, judging by present appearances, her portion of the proceeds of the first concert would amount to $10,000. She immediately resolved to devote every dollar of it to charity; and, sending for Mayor Woodhull, she acted under his and my advice in selecting the various institutions among which she wished the amount to be distributed.
My arrangements of the concert-room were very complete. The great parterre and gallery of Castle Garden were divided by imaginary lines into four compartment*!, each of which was designated by a lamp of a different color The tickets were printed in colors corresponding with the location which the holders were to occupy, and one hundred ushers, with rosettes and bearing wands ripped with ribbons of the several hues, enabled every individual to find his or hor seat without the slightest difficulty. Every seat was of course numbered in color to correspond with the check, which each person retained after giving up an entrance ticket at the door. Thus, tickets, checks, lamps, rosettes, wands, and even the seat numbers were all in the appropriate colors to designate the different departments. These arrangements were duly advertised, and every particular was also printed upon each ticket. In order to prevent confusion, the doors were opened at five o'clock, while the concert did not commence until eight. The consequence was, that although about five thousand persons were present at the first concert, their entrance was marked with as much order and quiet as was ever witnessed in the assembling of a congregation at church. These precautions were observed at all the concerts given throughout the country under my administration, and the good order which always prevailed was the subject of numberless encomiums from the public and the press.
The reception of Jenny Lind on her first appearance, in point of enthusiasm, was probably never before equalled. As Mr. Benedict led her towards the footlights, the entire audience rose to their feet and welcomed her with three cheers, accompanied by the waving of thousands of hats and handkerchiefs. This was peniup& uio largest audience to which Jenny Lind had ever sung. She was evidently much agitated, but the orchestra commenced, and before she had sung a dozen notes of "Casta Diva," she began to recover her self-possession, and long before the scena was concluded, she was as cahn as if she was in her own drawing-room. Towards the last portion of the cavatina, the audience were so completely carried away by their feelings, that the remainder of the air was drowned in a perfect tempest of acclamation. Enthusiasm had been wrought to its highest pitch, but the musical powers of Jenny Lind exceeded all the brilliant •tnticipations which had been formed, and her triumph was complete. At the conclusion of the concert Jenny Lind was loudly called for, and was obliged to appear three times before the audience could be satisfied. Then they called vociferously for "Barnum," and I reluctantly responded to their demand.
On this first night, Mr. Julius Benedict firmly established with the American people his European reputation, as a most accomplished conductor and musical composer; while Signor Belletti inspired an admiration which grew warmer and deeper in the minds of the public, to the end of his career in this country.
The Rubicon was passed. The successful issue of the Jenny Lind enterprise was established. I think there were a hundred men in New York, the day after her first concert, who would have willingly paid me $200,000 for my contract. I received repeated offers for an eighth, a tenth, or a sixteenth, equivalent to that price. But mine had been the risk, and I was determined mine should be the triumph.
The amount of money received for tickets to the first concert was $17,864.05, As this made Miss Lind's portion too small to realize the $10,000 which had been announced as devoted to charity, I proposed to divide equally with her the proceeds of the first two concerts, and not count them at all in our regular engagement. Accordingly, the second concert was given September 13th, and the receipts, amounting to $14,203.03, were, like those of the first concert, equally divided. Our third concert, but which, as between ourselves, we called the "first regular concert," was given Tuesday, September 17, 1850.
The first great assembly at Castle Garden was not gathered by Jenny Lind's musical genius and powers alone. She was effectually introduced to the public before they had seen or heard her. She appeared in the presence of a jury already excited to enthusiasm in her behalf. She more than met their expectations, and all the means I had adopted to prepare the way were thus abundantly justified.
As a manager, I worked by setting others to work. Biographies of the Swedish Nightingale were largely circulated; "Foreign Correspondence" glorified her talents and triumphs by narratives of her benevolence; and "printer's ink " was invoked in every possible form, to put and keep Jenny Lind before the people. I am happy to say that the press generally echoed the voice of her praise from first to ^last. I could fill many volumes with the printed extracts which are nearly all of a similar tenor to the following unbought, unsolicited editorial article, which appeared in the New York Herald of Sept. 10, 1850 (the day before the first concert given by Miss Lind in the United States):
"Jenny Lind, the most remarkable phenomenon in the musical art which has for the last century flashed across the horizon of the Old World, is now among us, and will make her debut to-morrow night to a house of nearly ten thousand listeners, yielding in proceeds by auction, a sum of forty or fifty thousund dollars. For the last teu days our musical reporters have furnished our readers with every matter connected with her arrival in this metropolis, and the steps adopted by Mr. Barnum in preparation for her first appearance, The proceedings of yesterday, consisting of the sale of the remainder of the tickets, and the astonishing, the wonderful sensation produced at her first rehearsal on the few persons, critics in musical art, who were admitted on the occasion, will be found elsewhere in our columns.
" We concur in everything that has been said by our musical reporter, describing her extraordinary genius--her unrivalled combination of power and art. Nothing has been exaggerated, not an iota. Three years ago, more or less, we heard Jenny Lind on many occasions, when she made the first great sensation in Europe, by her debut at the London Opera House. Then she was great in power--in art--in genius; now she is greater in all. We speak from experience and conviction. Then she astonished, and pleased, and fascinated the thousands of the British aristocracy; now she will fascinate, and please, and delight, and almost make mad with musical excitement, the millions of the American democracy. To-morrow night, this new sensation--this fresh movement--this excitement excelling all former excitements--will be called into existence, when she pours out the notes of Costa Diva, and exhibits her astonishing powers--her wonderful peculiarities, that seem more of heaven than of earth--more of a voice from eternity, than from the lips of a human being."
It would seem that the terms of our revised contract were sufficiently liberal to her and sufficiently hazardous to myself, to justify the expectation of perfectly honorable treatment; but certain envious interineddlers appeared to think differently. "Do you not see, Miss Lind, that Mr. Barnum is coining money out of your genius? " said they; of course she saw it, but the high-minded Swede despised and spurned the advisers who recommended her to repudiate her contract with me at all hazards, and take the enterprise into her own hands--possibly to put it into theirs. I, however, suffered much from the unreasonable interference of her lawyer, Mr. John Jay. Benedict and Belletti behaved like men, and Jenny afterwards expressed to me her regret that she had for a moment listened to the vexatious exactions of her legal counselor.
The night after Jenny's arrival in Boston, a display of fireworks was given in her honor, in front of the Revere House, after which followed a beautiful torchlight procession by the Germans of that city.
On her return from Boston to New York, Jenny, her companion, and Messrs Benedict and Belletti, stopped at Iranistan, my residence in Bridgeport, where they remained until the following day. The morning after her arrival, she took my arm and proposed a promenade through the grounds. She seemed much pleased, and said, "I am astonished that you should have left such a beautiful place for the sake of traveling through the country with me."
The same day she told me in a playful mood, that she had heard a most extraordinary report. "I have heard that you and I are about to be married," said she; "now how could such an absurd report ever have originated?"
"Probably from the fact that we are 'engaged,'" I replied. She enjoyed a joke, and laughed heartily.
"Do you know, Mr. Barnum," said she, "that if you had not built Iranistan, I should never have come to America for you?"
I expressed my surprise, and asked her to explain.
"I had received several applications to visit the United States," she continued, "but I did not much like the appearance of the applicants, nor did I relish the idea of crossing 3,000 miles of ocean; so I declined them all. But the first letter which Mr. Wilton, your agent, addressed me, was written upon a sheet headed with a beautiful engraving of Iranistan. It attracted my attention. I said to myself, a gentleman who has been so successful in his business as to be able to build and reside in such a palace cannot be a mere ' adventurer.' So I wrote to your agent, and consented to an interview, which I should have declined, if I had not seen the picture of Iranistau!"
"That, then, fully pays me for building it," I replied.
Jenny Laud always desired to reach a place in which she was to sing, without having the time of her arrival known, thus avoiding the excitement of promiscuous crowds. As a manager, however, I knew that the interests of the enterprise depended in a great degree upon these excitements.
Both concerts in Washington were attended by the President and his family, and every member of the Cabinet. I noticed, also, among the audience, Henry Clay, Benton, Foote, Cass and General Scott, and nearly every member of Congress.
Soon after arriving in Havana, I discovered that a strong prejudice existed against our musical enterprise. I might rather say that the Habaneros, not accustomed to the high figure which tickets had commanded in the States, were determined on forcing me to adopt their opera prices; whereas I paid one thousand dollars per night for the Tacon Opera House, and other expenses being in proportion, I was determined to receive remunerating prices or give no concerts. They attended the concert, but were determined to show the great songstress no favor. I perfectly understood this feeling in advance, but studiously kept all knowledge of it from Miss Lind. I went to the first concert, therefore, with some misgivings in regard to her reception. The following, which I copy from the Havana correspondence of the New York Tribune, gives a correct account of it:
"Jenny Lind soon appeared, led on by Signer Belletti. Some three or four hundred persons clapped their hands at her appearance, but this token of approbation was instantly silenced by at least two thousand five hundred decided hisses. Thus having settled the matter that there should be no forestalling of public opinion, and that if applause was given to Jenny Lind in that house it should first be incontestably earned, the most solemn silence prevailed. I have heard the Swedish Nightingale often in Europe as well as in America, and have ever noticed a distinct tremulousness attending her first appearance in any city. Indeed this feeling was plainly manifested in her countenance as she neared the foot-lights; but when she witnessed the kind of reception in store for her--so different from anything she had reason to expect^-her countenance changed In an instant to a haughty self-possbssion, her eyes flashed defiance, and, becoming immovable as a statue, she stood there perfectly calm and beautiful. She was satisfied that she now had an ordeal to pass and a victory to gain worthy of her powers. In a moment her eye scanned the immense audience, the music began and then followed--how can I describe it ?--such heavenly strains as I verily believe mortal never breathed except Jenny Lind, and mortal never heard except from her lips. Some of the oldest Castilians kept a frown upon their brow and a curling sneer upon their lips; their ladies, however, and most of the audience began to look surprised. The gushing melody flowed on, increasing in beauty and glory. The caballeros, the tenoras and senortiits began to look at each other; nearly all, however, kept their teeth clenched and their lips closed, evidently determined to resist to the last. The torrent flowed deeper and faster, the lark flew higher and higher, the melody grew richer and grander; still every lip was compressed. By and by, as the rich notes came dashing in rivers upon our enraptured ears, one poor critic involuntarily whispered a' brava.' This outbursting of the soul was instantly hissed down. The stream of harmony rolled on till, at the close, it made a clean sweep of every obstacle, and carried all before it. Not a vestige of opposition remained, but such a tremendous shout of applause as went up I never before heard.
"The triumph was most complete. And how was Jenny Liud affected? She who stood a few moments previous like adamant, now trembled like a reed in the wind before the storm of enthusiasm which her own simple notes had produced. Tremblingly, slowly, and almost bowing her face to the ground, she withdrew. The roar and applause of victory increased. ' Encore! encore! encore!' came from every lip. She a?ain appeared, and eourtesying low, again withdrew; but again, again and again did they call her out and at every appearance the thunders of applause rang louder and louder. Thus five times was Jenny Lind called out to receive their unanimous and deafening plaudits."
I cannot express what my feelings were as I watched this scene from the dress circle. Poor Jenny! I deeply sympathized with her when I heard that first hiss. I indeed observed the resolute bearing which she assumed, but was apprehensive of the result. When I witnessed her triumph, I could not restrain the tears of joy that rolled down my cheeks; and rushing through a private box, I reached the stage just as she was withdrawing after the fifth encore. "God bless you, Jenny, you have settled them!" I exclaimed.
"Are you satisfied?" said she, throwing her arms around my neck. She, too, was crying with joy, and never before did she look so beautiful in my eyes as on that evening.
One of the Havana papers, notwithstanding the great triumph, continued to cry out for low prices. This induced many to absent themselves, expecting soon to see a reduction. It had been understood that we would give twelve concerts in Havana; but when they saw after the fourth concert, which was devoted to charity, that no more were announced, they became uneasy. Committees waited upon us requesting more concerts, but we peremptorily declined. Some of the leading Dons, among whom was Count Penalver, then offered to guarantee us $25,000 for three concerts. My reply was, that there was not money enough on the island of Cuba to induce me to consent to it.
I found my little Italian plate-dancer, Vivalia, in Havana. He called on me frequently. He was in great distress, having lost the use of kis limbs on the left side of his body by paralysis. He was thus unable to earn a livelihood, although he still kept a performing dog, which turned a spinning-wheel and performed some curious tricks. One day as I was passing him out of the front gate, Miss Lind inquired who he was. I briefly recounted to her his history. She expressed deep interest in his case, and said something should be set apart for him in the benefit which she was about to give for charity. Accordingly, when the benefit came off, Miss Lind appropriated ?500 to him, and I made the necessary arrangements for his return to his friends in Italy. At the same benefit $4,000 were distributed between two hospitals and a convent.
A few mornings after the benefit our bell was rung, and the servant announced that I was wanted. I went to the door and found a large procession of children, neatly dressed and bearing banners, attended by ten or twelve priests, arrayed in their rich and flowing robes. I inquired their business, and was informed that they had come to see Miss Lind, to thank her in person for her benevolence. I took their message, and informed Miss Lind that the leading priests of the convent had come in great state to see and thank her. "I will not see them," she replied; "they have nothing to thank me for. If I have done good, it is no more than my duty, and it is my pleasure. I do not deserve their thanks, and I will not see them." I returned her answer, and the leaders of the grand procession went away in disappointment.
The same day Vivalia called, and brought her a basket of the most luscious fruit that he could procure. The little fellow was very happy and extremely grateful. Miss Lind had gone out for a ride.
"God bless her! I am so happy; she is such a good lady. I shall see my brothers and sisters again. Oh, she is a very good lady," said poor Vivalia, overcome by his feelings. He begged me to thank her for him, and give her the fruit. As he was passing out of the door, he hesitated a moment, and then said, "Mr. Barnum I should like so much to have the good lady see my dog turn a wheel; it is very nice; he can spin very good. Shall I bring the dog and wheel for her? She is such a good lady, I wish to please her very much." I smiled, and told him she would not care for the dog; that he was quite welcome to the money, and that she refused to see the priests from the convent that morning, because she never received thanks for favors.
When Jenny came in I gave her the fruit, and laughingly told her that Vivalla wished to show her how his performing dog could turn a spinning-wheel.
"Poor man, poor man, do let him come; it is all the good creature can do for me," exclaimed Jenny, and the tears flowed thick and fast down her cheeks. "I like that, I like that," she continued, "do let the poor creature come and bring his dog. It will make him so happy."
I confess it made me happy, and I exclaimed, for my heart was full, "God bless you, it will make him cry for joy; he shall come to-morrow."
I saw Vivalla the same evening, and delighted him with the intelligence that Jenny would see his dog perform the next day, at four o'clock precisely.*
"I will be punctual," said Vivalla, in a voice trembling with emotion; but I was sure she would like to see my dog perform."
For full half an hour before the time appointed did Jenny Lind sit in her window on the second floor and watch for Vivalla and his dog. A few minutes before the appointed hour, she saw him coming. "Ah, here he comes! here he comes I" she exclaimed in delight, as she ran down stairs and opened the door to admit him. A negro boy was bringing the small spinning-wheel, while Vivalla led the dog. Handing the boy a silver coin, she motioned him away, and taking the wheel in her arms, she said, "This is very kind of you to come with your dog. Follow me. I will carry the wheel upstairs." Her servant offered to take the wheel, but no, she would let no one carry it but herself. She called us all up to her parlor, and for one full hour did she devote herself to the happy Italian. She went down on her knees to pet the dog and to ask Vivalla all sorts of questions about his performances, his former course of life, his friends in Italy, and his present hopes and determinations. Then she sang and played for him, gave him some refreshments, finally insisted on carrying his wheel to the door, and her servant accompanied Vivalla to his boarding-house.
Poor Vivalla! He was probably never so happy before, but his enjoyment did not exceed that of Miss Lind. That scene alone would have paid me for all my labors during the entire musical campaign. A few months later, however, the Havana correspondent of the New York Herald announced the death of Vivalla and stated that the poor Italian's last words were about Jenny Lind and Mr. Barmim.
In the party which accompanied me to Havana, was Mr. Henry Bennett, who formerly kept Peale's Museum in New York, afterwards managing the same establishment for me when I purchased it, and he was now with me in the capacity of a ticket-taker. He was as honest a man as ever lived, and a good deal of a wag. I remember his going through the market once and running across a decayed actor who was reduced to tending a market stand; Bennett hailed him with "Hallo! what are you doing here; what are you keeping that old turkey for?"
"O! for a profit," replied the actor.
"Prophet, prophet!" exclaimed Bennett, "patriarch, you mean!"
With all his waggery he was subject at times to moods of the deepest despondency, bordering on insanity. Madness ran in his family. His brother, in a fit of frenzy, had blown his brains out. Henry himself had twice attempted his own life •while in my employ in New York. Some time after our present journey to Havana, I sent him to London. He conducted my business precisely as I directed, writing up his account with me correctly to a penny. Then handing it to a mutual friend with directions to give it to me when I arrived in London the following week, he went to his lodgings and committed suicide.
At Pittsburg we gave one concert.
We reached New York early in May, 1851, and gave fourteen concerts in Castle Garden and Metropolitan Hall. The last of these made the ninety-second regular concert under our engagement. Jenny Lind had now again reached the atmosphere of her legal and other "advisers," and I soon discovered the effects of their influence. I, however, cared little what course they advised her to pursue. I, indeed, wished they would prevail upon her to close with her hundredth concert, for I had become weary with constant excitement and unremitting exertions. I felt it would be well for her to try some concerts on her own account, if she saw fit to credit her advisers' assurance that I had not managed the enterprise as successfully as it might have been done.
At about the eighty-fifth concert, therefore, I was most happy to learn from her lips that she had concluded to pay the forfeiture of twenty-five thousand dollars, and terminate the concerts with the one hundredth.
We went to Philadelphia, where I had advertised the ninety-third and ninety-fourth concerts. Not caring enough for the profits of the remaining seven concerts to continue the engagement at the risk of disturbing the friendly feelings which had hitherto uninterruptedly existed between that lady and myself, I wrote her a letter offering to relinquish the engagement, if she desired it, at the termination of the concert which was to take place that evening, upon her simply allowing me a thousand dollars per concert for the seven which would yet remain to make up the hundred, besides paying me the sum stipulated as a forfeiture for closing the engagement at the one hundredth concert. This offer she accepted, and our engagement terminated. .
Jenny Lind gave several concerts, with varied success, and then retired to Niagara Falls, and afterwards to Northampton, Massachusetts. While sojourning at the latter place, she visited Boston and was married to Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, a German composer and pianist, to whom she was much attached, and who had studied music with her in Germany. He played several times in our concerts. He was a very quiet, inoffensive gentleman, and an accomplished musician.
I met her several times after our engagement terminated. She was alwayi affable. On one occasion, while passing through Bridgeport, she told me that she had been sadly harassed in giving her concerts. "People cheat me and swindle me very much," said she, "and I find it very annoying to give concerts on my own account."
I was always supplied with complimentary tickets when she gave concerts in New York, and on the occasion of her last appearance in America I visited her in her room back of the stage, and bade her and her husband adieu, with my best wishes. She expressed the same feeling to me in return. She told me she should never sing much, if any more, in public; but I reminded her that a good Provi dence had endowed her with a voice which enabled her to contribute in an emi neut degree to the enjoyment of her fellow beings, and if she no longer needed the large sums of money which they were willing to pay for this elevating and delightful entertainment, she knew by experience what a genuine pleasure she would receive by devoting the money to the alleviation of the wants and sorrows of those who needed it.
"Ah! Mr. Barnum," she replied, "that is very true; and it would be ungrateful in me to not continue to use, for the benefit of the poor and lowly, that gift which our kind Heavenly Father has so graciously bestowed upon me. Yes, I will continue to sing so long as my voice lasts, but it will be mostly for charitable objects, for I am thankful to say that I have all the money which I shall ever need." Pursuant to this resolution, the larger portion of the concerts which this noble lady has given since her return to Europe have been for objects of benevolence.
If she consents to sing for a charitable object in London, for instance, the fact is not advertised at all, but the tickets are readily disposed of in a private, quiet way, at a guinea and half a guinea each.
After so many months of anxiety, labor and excitement, in the Jenny Lind enterprise, it will readily be believed that I desired tranquillity. I spent a week at Cape May, and then came home to Iranistan, where I remained during the entire summer.
In 1849 I had projected a great traveling museum and menagerie, and, as I bad neither time nor inclination to manage such a concern, I induced Mr. Seth B. Howes, justly celebrated as a "showman," to join me, and take the sole charge. Mr. Sherwood E. Stratton, father of General Tom Thumb, was also admitted to partnership, the interest being in thirds.
In carrying out a portion of the plan, we chartered the ship "Regatta," Captain Pratt, and despatched her, together with our agents, Messrs. June and Nutter, to Ceylon. The ship left New York in May, 1850, and was absent one year. Their mission was to procure, either by capture or purchase, twelve or more living elephants, besides such other wild animals as they could secure. In order to provide sufficient drink and provender for a cargo of these huge animals, we purchased a large quantity of hay in New York. Five hundred tons were left at the Island of St. Helena, to be taken on the return trip of the ship, and staves and hoops of water-casks were also left at the same place.
They arrived in New York in 1851, with ten elephants, and these harnessed it pairs to a chariot, paraded up Broadway past the Irving House, while Jenny Lind was staying at that hotel, on the occasion of her second visit to New York. We added a caravan of wild animals and many museum curiosities, the entire outfit, including horses, vans, carriages, tent, etc., costing $109,000, and commenced operations, with the presence and under the "patronage" of General Tom Thumb, who traveled nearly four years as one of the attractions of "Barnum's Great Asiatic Caravan, Museum and Menagerie," returning us immense profits.
At the end of that time, after exhibiting in all sections of the country, we sold out the entire establishment--animals, cages, chariots and paraphernalia, excepting one elephant, which I retained in my own possession two months for agricultural purposes. It occurred to me that if I could put an elephant to plowing for a while on my farm at Bridgeport, it would be a capital advertisement for the American Museum, which was then, and always during my proprietorship of that establishment, foremost in my thoughts.
So I sent him to Connecticut in charge of his keeper, whom I dressed in'Oriental costume, and keeper and elephant were stationed on a six-acre lot which lay close beside the track of the New York and New Haven railroad. The keeper was furnished with a time-table of the road, with special instructions to be busily engaged in his work whenever passenger trains from either way were passing through. Of course, the matter soon appeared in the papers and went the entire rounds of the press in this country and even in Europe. Hundreds of people came many miles to witness the novel spectacle.* Letters poured in upon me from the secretaries of hundreds of State and county agricultural societies throughout the Union, stating that the presidents and directors of such societies had requested them to propound to me a series of questions in regard to the new
*#ee llluntrnUoli, oppujilo,
power I had put in operation on my farm. These questions were greatly diversified, but the "general run" of them were something like the following:
1. "Is the elephant a profitable agricultural animal?"
2. "How much can an elephant plow in a day 1"
3. "How much can he draw?"
4. "How much does he eat?"--this question was invariably asked, and was & very important one.
5. "Will elephants make themselves generally useful on a farm?"
6. "What is the price of an elephant?"
7. "Where can elephants be purchased?"
Then would follow a score of other inquiries, such as, whether elephants were easily managed; if they would quarrel with cattle; if it was possible to breed them; how old calf elephants must be before they would earn their own living: •nd so on indefinitely. I began to be alarmed lest some one should buy an elephant, and so share the fate of the man who drew one in a lottery, and did not know what to do with him. I accordingly had a general letter printed, which I mailed to all my anxious inquirers. It was headed "strictly confidential," and I then stated, begging my correspondents "not to mention it," that to me the elephant was a valuable agricultural animal, because he was an excellent advertisement to my Museum; but that to other farmers he would prove very unprofitable for many reasons. In the first place, such an animal would cost from $3,000 to $10,000; in cold weather he could not work at all; in any weather he could not earn even half his living; he would eat up the value of his own head, trunk, and body every year; and I begged my correspondents not to do so foolish a thing as to undertake elephant farming.
Newspaper reporters came from far and near, and wrote glowing accounts of the elephantine performances. Pictures of Barnum's plowing elephant appeared' in illustrated papers at home and abroad.
The six acres were plowed over at least sixty times before I thought the advertisement sufficiently circulated, and I then sold the elephant to Van Amburgh's Menagerie.
In 1851 I became a part owner of the steamship "North America." Our intention in buying it was to run it to Ireland as a passenger and freight ship. The project was, however, abandoned, and Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt bought one-half of the steamer, while the other half was owned by three persons, of whom I was one. The steamer was sent around Cape Horn to San Francisco, and was put into the Vanderbilt line.
After she had made several trips I called upon Mr. Vanderbilt, at his office, and introduced myself, as this was the first time we had met.
"Is it possible you are Barnum?" exclaimed the Commodore, in surprise, "why, I expected to see a monster, part lion, part elephant, and a mixture of rhinoceros and tiger I Is it possible," he continued, "that you are the showman who has made so much noise in the world?"
I laughingly replied that I was, and added that if I too had been governed in my anticipation of his personal appearance by the fame he had achieved in his line, I should have expected to have been saluted by a steam whistle, and to have seen him dressed in a pea jacket, blowing off steam, and crying out "all aboard that's going."
"Instead of which," replied Mr. Vanderbilt, "I suppose you have come to arik me 'to walk up to the Captain's office and settle.'"
After this interchange of civilities, we talked about the success of tiie "North America" in having got safely around the Horn, and of the acceptable manner in which she was doing her duty on the Pacific side.
"We have received no statement of her earnings yet," said the Commodore, "but if you want money, give your receipt to our treasurer, and take some."
A few months subsequent to this, I sold out my share in the steamship to Mr. Daniel Drew.
Some references to the various enterprises and "side shows" connected with and disconnected from my Museum, is necessary to show how industriously I have catered for the public's amusement, not only in America but abroad. When I was in Paris in 1844, in addition to the purchase of Robert Houdin's ingenious automaton writer, and many other costly curiosities for the Museum, I ordered, at an expense of $3,000, a panoramic diorama of the obsequies of Napoleon. Every event of that grand pageant, from the embarkation of the body at St. Helena, to its entombment at the Hotel des Invalides, amid the most gorgeous parade ever witnessed in France, was wonderfully depicted. This exhibition, after having had its day at the American Museum, was sold, and extensively and profitably exhibited elsewhere. While I was in London, during the same year, I engaged a company of "Campanalogians, or Lancashire Bell Ringers," then performing in Ireland, to make an American tour. They were really admirable performers, and by means of their numerous bells, of various sizes, they produced the most delightful music. They attracted much attention in various parts of the United States, in Canada, and in Cuba.
As a compensation to England for the loss of the Bell Ringers, I despatched an agent to America for a party of Indians, including squaws. He proceeded to Iowa, and returned to London with a company of sixteen. They were exhibited by Mr. Catlin on our joint account, and were finally left in his sole charge.
On my first return visit to America from Europe, I engaged Mr. Faber, an elderly and ingenious German, who had constructed an automaton speaker. It was of life-size, and when worked with keys similar to those of a piano, it really articulated words and sentences with surprising distinctness. My agent exhibited it for several months in Egyptian Hall, London, and also in the provinces. This was a marvelous piece of mechanism, though for some unaccountable reason it did not prove a success. The Duke of Wellington visited it several times, and at first he thought that the "voice" proceeded from the exhibitor, whom he assumed to be a skillful ventriloquist. He was asked to touch the keys with his own fingers, and, after some instruction in the method of operating, he was able to make the machine speak, not only in English but also in German, with which language the Duke seemed familiar. Thereafter, he entered his name on the exhibitor's autograph book, and certified that the "Automaton Speaker" was an extraordinary production of mechanical genius.
The models of machinery exhibited in the Royal Polytechnic Institution in London, pleased me so well that I procured a duplicate; also duplicates of the "Dissolving Views," the Chromatrope and Physioscope, including many American scenes painted expressly to my order, at an aggregate cost of $7,000. After they had been exhibited in my Museum, they were sold to itinerant showmen, and some of them were afterwards on exhibition in various parts of the United States.
In June, 1850, I added the celebrated Chinese Collection to the attractions of the American Museum. I also engaged the Chinese Family, consisting of two men, two "small-footed" women and two children.
The giants whom I sent to America were not the greatest of my curiosities, though the dwarfs might have been the least. The "Scotch Boys" were interesting, not so much on account of their weight, as for the mysterious method by which one of them, though blindfolded, answered questions put by the other respecting objects presented by persons who attended the surprising exhibition. The mystery, which was merely the result of patient practice, consisted wholly in the maimer in which the question was propounded; in fact, the question invariably carried its own answer; for instance:
"What is this?" meant gold; "Now what is this?" silver; "Say what is this?" copper; "Tell me what this is?" iron; "What is the shape?" long; "Now what shape?" round; "Say what shape," square; "Please say what this is," a watch; "Can you tell what is in this lady's hand?" apurse; "Now please say what this is?" akey; "Come now, what is this?" money; "How much?" a penny "Now how much?" sixpence; "Say how much," a quarter of a dollar; "What color is thisf'black; "Now what color is this?"red; "Say what color,"green; and so on, ad infinitum. To such perfection was this brought that it was ahnost impossible to present any object that could not be quite closely described by the blindfolded boy. This is the key to all exhibitions of what is called "second sight."
In 1850, the celebrated Bateman children acted for several weeks at the American Museum, and in June of that year I sent them to London with their father and Mr. Le Grand Smith, where they played in the St. James Theater, and afterwards in the principal provincial theaters. The elder of these children, Miss Elate Bateman, subsequently attained the highest histronic distinction in America and abroad, and reached the very head of her profession.
In October, 1852, having stipulated with Mr. George A. Wells and Mr. Bushnell that they should share in the enterprise and take the entire charge, I engaged Miss Catherine Hayes and Herr Begnis, to give a series of sixty concerts in California, and the engagement was fulfilled to our entire satisfaction. Mr. Bushnell afterwards went to Australia with Miss Hayes, and they were subsequently married. Both of them are dead.
Before setting out for California, Miss Catherine Hayes, her mother and sister, spent several days at Iranistan and were present at the marriage of my eldest daughter, Caroline, to Mr. David W. Thompson. The wedding was to take place in the evening, and in the afternoon I was getting shaved in a barber-shop in Bridgeport, when Mr. Thompson drove up to the door in great haste and exclaimed:
"Mr. Barnum, Iranistan is in flames!"
I ran out half-shaved, with the lather on my face, jumped into his wagon and bade him drive home with all speed. I was greatly alarmed, for the house was full of visitors who had come from a distance to attend the wedding, and all the costly presents, dresses, refreshments, and everything prepared for a marriage celebration to which nearly a thousand guests had been invited, were already in my bouse. Mr. Thompson told me that he had seen the flames bursting from the roof, and it seemed to me that there was little hope of saving the building.
My mind was distressed, not so much at the great pecuniary loss which the destruction of Iranistan would involve, as at the possibility that some of my family or visitors would be killed or seriously injured in attempting to save something from the fire. Then I thought of the sore disappointment this calamity would cause to the young couple, as well as to those who were invited to the wedding. I saw that Mr. Thompson looked pale and anxious.
"Never mind!" said I; "we can't help these things; the house will probably be burned; but if no one is killed or injured, you shall be married to-night, if we are obliged to perform the ceremony in the coach-house."
On our way, we overtook a fire-company, and I implored them to "hurry up their machine." Arriving in sight of Iranistan, we saw huge volumes of smoke rolling out from the roof and many men on the top of the house were passing buckets of water to pour upon the fire. Fortunately, several men had been engaged during the day in repairing the roof, and their ladders were against the house. By these means and with the assistance of the men employed upon my grounds, water was passed very rapidly, and the flames were soon subdued without serious damage. The inmates of Iranistan were thoroughly frightened; Catherine Hayes and other visitors, packed their trunks and had them carried out on the lawn; and the house came as near destruction as it well could, and escape.
While Miss Hayes was in Bridgeport, I induced her to give a concert for the benefit of the "Mountain Grove Cemetery," and the large proceeds were devoted to the erection of the beautiful stone tower and gateway at the entrance .of that charming ground. The land for this cemetery, about eighty acres, had been bought by me, years before, from several farmers. I had often shot over the ground while hunting a year or two before, and had then seen its admirable capabilities for the purpose to which it was eventually devoted. After deeds for the property were secured, it was offered for a cemetery, and at a meeting of citizens several lots were subscribed for, enough, indeed, to cover the amount of the purchase money. Thus was begun the "Mountain Grove Cemetery," which is now beautifully laid out and adorned with many tasteful and costly monuments.* Among these are my own substantial granite monument, the family monuments of Harral, Bishop, Hubbell, Lyon, Wood, Loomis, Wordin, Hyde, and others, and General Tom Thumb has erected a tall marble shaft which is surmounted by a life-size statue of himself. There is no more charming burialground in the whole country; yet when the project was suggested, many persons preferred an intermural cemetry to this rural resting-place for their departed friends; though now all concur in considering it fortunate that this adjunct was secured to Bridgeport before the land could be permanently devoted to other purposes.
Some time afterwards, when Mr. Dion Boucicault visited me at Bridgeport, at my solicitation, he gave a lecture for the benefit of this cemetery. I may add that on several occasions I have secured the services of General Tom Thumb, and others, for this and equally worthy objects in Bridgeport. When the General first returned with me from England, he gave exhibitions for the benefit of the Bridgeport Charitable Society. September 28, 1867, I induced him and his wife, with Commodore Nutt and Minnie Warren, to give their entertainment for the benefit of the Bridgeport Library, thus adding $475 to the funds of that institution; and on one occasion, I lectured to a full house in the Methodist Church, and the entire receipts were given to the library, of which I was already a life member, on account of previous subscriptions and contributions.
WORK AND PLAY.
In the summer, I think, of 1853,1 saw it announced in the newspapers that Mr. Alfred Bunn, the great ex-manager of Drury Lane Theater, in London, had arrived in Boston. I knew Mr. Bunn by reputation, not only from his managerial career, but from the fact that he made the first engagement with Jenny Lind to appear in London. This engagement, however, Mr. Lumley, of Her Majesty's Theater, induced her to break, he standing a lawsuit with Mr. Bunn, and paying heavy damages. I had never met Mr. Bunn, but he took it for granted that I had seen him, for one day after his arrival in this country, a burly Englishman abruptly stepped into my private office in the Museum, and, assuming a theatrical attitude, addressed me:
"Barnum, do you remember me?"
I was confident I had never seen the man before, but it struck me at once that no Englishman 1 ever heard of would be likely to exhibit more presumption or assumption than the ex-manager of Drury Lane, and I jumped at the conclusion:
"Is not this Mr. Bunn?"
"Ah I Ah! my boy!" he exclaimed, slapping me familiarly on the back, "I thought you would remember me. Well, Barnum, how have you been since I last saw you!"
I replied in a manner that would humor his impression that we were old acquaintances, and during his two hours' visit we had much gossip about men and things in London. He called upon me several times, and it probably never entered into his mind that I could possibly have been in London two or three years without having made the personal acquaintance of so great a lion as Alfred Bunn.
I met Mr. Bunn again in 1858, in London, at a dinner party of a mutual friend, Mr. Levy, proprietor of the London Daily Telegraph. Of course, Bunn and I were great chums and very old and intimate acquaintances. At the same dinner, I met several literary and dramatic gentlemen.
In 1851, 1852, and 1853, I spent much of my time at my beautiful home in Bridgeport, going very frequently to New York, to attend to matters in the Museum, but remaining in the city only a day or two at a time. I resigned the office of President of the Tairfield County Agricultural Society in 1853, but the members accepted my resignation, only on condition that it should not go into effect until after the fair of 1854. During my administration, the society held six fairs and cattle-shows--four in Bridgeport and two in Stamford--and the interest in these gatherings increased from year to year.
Pickpockets are always present at these country fairs, and every year there were loud complaints of the depredations of these operators. In 1853 a man was caught in the act of taking a pocket-book from a country farmer, nor was this farmer the only one who had suffered in the same way. The scamp was arrested, and proved to be a celebrated English pickpocket. As the fair would close the next day, and as most persons had already visited it, we expected our receipts would be light.
Early in the morning the detected party was legally examined, plead guilty, and was bound over for trial. I obtained consent from the sheriff that the culprit should be put in the fair room for the purpose of giving those who had been robbed an opportunity to identify him For this purpose he was handcuffed, and placed in a conspicuous position, where, of course, he was "the observed of all observers." I then issued handbills, stating that as it was the last day of the Pair, the managers were happy to announce that they had secured extra attractions for the occasion, and would accordingly exhibit, safely handcuffed, and without extra charge, a live pickpocket, who had been caught in the act of robbing an honest farmer the day previous. Crowds of people rushed in "to see the show." Some good mothers brought their children ten miles for that purpose, and our treasury was materially benefited by the operation.
At the close of my presidency in 1854, I was requested to deliver the opening speech at our county fair, which was held at Stamford. As I was not able to give agricultural advice, I delivered a portion of my lecture on the "Philosophy of Humbug." The next morning, as I was being shaved in the village barber's shop, which was at the time crowded with customers, the ticket-seller to the fair came in.
"What kind of a house did you have last night?" asked one of the gentlemen in waiting.
"Oh, first-rate, of course. Barnum always draws a crowd," was the reply of the ticket-seller, to whom I was not known.
Most of the gentlemen present, however, knew me, and they found much difficulty in restraining their laughter.
"Did Barnum make a good speech?" I asked.
"I did not hear it. I was out in the ticket-office. I guess it was pretty good, for I never heard so much laughing as there was all through his speech. But it makes no difference whether it was good or not," continued the ticket-seller, "the people will go to see Barnum."
"Barnum must be a curious chap," I remarked.
"Well, I guess he is up to all the dodges."
"Do you know him?" I asked.
"Not personally," he replied; "but I always get into the Museum for nothing. J know the doorkeeper, and he slips me in free."
"Barnum would not like that, probably, if he knew it," 1 remarked
"But it happens he don't know it," replied the ticket-seller, in great glee.
"Barnum was on the cars the other day, on his way to Bridgeport," said I, "and I heard one of the passengers blowing him up terribly as a humbug. He was addressing Barnum at the time, but did not know him. Barnum joined in lustily, and indorsed everything the man said. When the passenger learned whom he had been addressing, I should think he must have felt rather flat."
"I should think so^teo," said the ticket-seller.
This was too much, and we all indulged in a burst of laughter; still the ticketseller suspected nothing. After I had left the shop, the barber told him who I was. I called into the ticket-office on business several times during the day, but the poor ticket-seller kept his face turned from me, and appeared so chap-falleu that I did not pretend to recognize him as the hero of the joke in the barber's shop.
This incident reminds me of numerous similar ones which have occurred at various times. On one occasion--it was in 1847--1 was on board the steamboat trom New York to Bridgeport. As we approached the harbor of the latter city a stranger desired me to point out "Barnum's house " from the upper deck. I did so, whereupon a bystander remarked, "I know all about that house, for 1 was engaged iu painting there for several months while Barnum was in Europe." He then proceeded to say that it was the meanest and most ill-contrived house he ever saw. "It will cost old Barnum a mint of money and not be worth two cents after it is finished," he added.
"I suppose old Barnum don't pay very punctually," I remarked.
Oh, yes, he pays punctually every Saturday night--there's no trouble alviut that; he has made half a million by exhibiting a little boy whom he took from Bridgeport, and whom we never considered any great shakes till Barnum took him and trained him."
Soon afterwards one of the passengers told him who I was, whereupon he secreted himself, and was not seen again while I remained on the boat.
On another occasion, I went to Boston by the Fall River route. Arriving before sunrise, I found but one carriage at the depot. I immediately engaged it, and, giving the driver the check for my baggage, told him to take me directly to the Revere House, as I was in great haste, and enjoined him to take in no other passengers, and I would pay his demands. He promised compliance with my wishes, but soon afterwards appeared with a gentleman, two ladies, and several children, whom he crowded into the carriage with me, and, placing then- trunks on the baggage rack, started off. I thought there was no use in grumbling, and consoled myself with the reflection that the Revere House was not far away. He drove up one street and down another, for what seemed to me a very long time, but I was wedged in so closely that I could not see what route he was taking.
After half an hour's drive he halted, and I found we were at the Lowell Railway depot. Here my fellow-passengers alighted, and, after a long delay, the driver delivered their baggage, received his fare, and was about closing the carriage door preparatory to starting again. I was so thoroughly vexed at the shameful manner in which he had treated me, that I remarked:
"Perhaps you had better wait till the Lowell train arrives; you may possibly get another load of passengers. Of course my convenience is of no consequence. I suppose if you land me at the Revere House any time this week, it will be as much as I have a right to expect."
"I beg your pardon," he replied, "but that was Barnum and his family. He was very anxious to get here in time for the first train, so I stuck him for $2, and now I'll carry you to the Revere House free."
"What Barnum is it?" I asked.
"The Museum and Jenny Lind man," he replied.
The compliment and the shave both having been intended for me, I was of course mollified, and replied, "You are mistaken, my friend, 7am Barnum."
"Coachee" was thunderstruck, and offered all sorts of apologies.
"A friend at the other depot told me that I had Mr. Barnum on board," said he, "and I really supposed he meant the other man. When I come to notice you, I perceive my mistake, but I hope you will forgive me. I have carried you frequently before, and hope you will give me your custom while you are in Boston. I never will make such a mistake again."
In the spring of 1851, the Connecticut legislature chartered the Pequonnock Bank of Bridgeport, with a capital of two hundred thousand dollars. I had no interest whatever in the charter, and did not even know that an application was to be made for it. More banking capital was needed in Bridgeport in consequence of the great Increase of trade and manufactures in that growing and prosperous city, and this fact appearing in evidence, the charter was granted as a public benefit. The stock-books were opened under the direction of State commissioners, according to the laws of the Commonwealth, and nearly double the amount of capital was subscribed on the first day. The stock was distributed by the commissioners among several hundred applicants. Circumstances unexpectedly occurred which induced me to accept the presidency of the bank, in compliance with the unanimous vote of its directors. Feeling that I could not, from my many avocations, devote the requisite personal attention to the duties of the office, C. B. Hubbell, Esq., then mayor of Bridgeport, was at my request appointed vice-president of the institution.
In the fall of 1852 a proposition was made by certain parties to commence the publication of an illustrated weekly newspaper in the city of New York. The field seemed to be open for such an enterprise, and I invested twenty thousand dollars in the concern, as special partner, in connection with two other gentlemen who each contributed twenty thousand dollars, as general partners. Within a month after the publication of the first number of the Illustrated News, which was issued on the first day of January, 1853, our weekly circulation had reached seventy thousand. Numerous and ahnost insurmountable difficulties, for novices in the business, continued however to arise, and my partners, becoming weary and disheartened with constant over-exertion, were anxious to wind up the enterprise at the end of the first year. The good-will and the engravings were sold to Gleason's Pictorial, in Boston, and the concern was closed without loss.
In February, 1854, numerous stockholders applied to me to accept the presidency of the Crystal Palace, or, as it was termed, "The Association for the Exhibition of the Industry of all Nations." I utterly declined listening to such a project, as I felt confident that the novelty had passed away, and that it would be difficult t« revive public interest in the affair.
Shortly afterwards, however, I was waited upon by numerous influential gentlemen, and strongly urged to allow my name to be used. I repeatedly objected to this, and at last consented, much against my own judgment. Having been elected one of the directors, I was by that body chosen president. I accepted the office conditionally, reserving the right to decline if I thought, upon investigation, that there was no vitality left in the institution. Upon examining the accounts said to exist against the association, many were pronounced indefensible by those who I supposed knew the facts in the case, while various debts existing against the concern were not exhibited when called for, and I knew nothing of their existence until after I accepted the office of president. I finally accepted it, only because no suitable person could be found who was willing to devote his entire time and services to the enterprise, and because I was frequently urged by .liroctors and stockholders to take hold of it for the benefit of the city at large, inasmuch as it was well settled that the Palace would be permanently closed early in April, 1854, if I did not take the hehn.
These considerations moved me, and I entered upon my duties with all the vigor which I could command. To save it from bankruptcy, I advanced large sums of money for the payment of debts, and tried by every legitimate means to create an excitement and bring it into life. By extraneous efforts, such as the Re-inauguration, the Monster Concerts of Jullien, the Celebration of Independence, etc., it was temporarily revived, but it was up-hill work, and I resigned tho presidency.
The following trifling incident, which occurred at Iranistan in the winter of 1852, has been called to my mind by a lady friend from Philadelphia, who was visiting us at the time. The poem was sent to me soon after the occurrence, but was lost and the subject forgotten until my Philadelphia friend recently sent it to me with the wish that I should insert it in the present volume:
WINTER BOUQUETS.
AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OP AN AMERICAN CITIZEN,
The poor man's garden lifeless lay
Beneath a fall of snow;
But Art in costly greenhouses,
Keeps Summer in full glow.
And Taste paid gold for bright bouquets,
The parlor vase that drest,
That scented Fashion's gray boudoir,
Or bloomed on Beauty's breast.
A rich man sat beside the fire,
Within his sculptured halls;
Brave heart, ciear head, and busy hand
Had reared those stately walls.
lie to his gardener spake, and said
In tone of quiet glee--
" I want a hundred fine bouquets--
Canst make them, John, for me ?"
John's eyes became exceeding round,
This question when he heard;
He gazed upon his master,
And he answered not a word.
"Well, John," the rich man laughing said,
u If these too many be,
What sayest to half the number, man ?
Canst fifty make for me ?"
Now John prized every flower, as 'twere
A daughter or a son;
And thought, like Regan--" what the need
Of fifty, or of one?"
But, keeping back the thought, he said,
"I think, sir, that I might;
But it would leave my lady's flowers
In very ragged plight."
" Well, John, thy vegetable pets
Must needs respected be;
We'll halve the number once again--
Make twenty-five for me.
And hark ye, John, when they are made
Come up and let me know;
And I'll give thee a list of those
To whom the flowers must go."
The twenty-five bouquets were made,
And round the village sent;
And to whom thinkest thou, my frieiul.
These floral jewels went?
Not to the beautiful and proud--
Not to the rich and gay--
Who, Dives-like, at Luxury's feast
Are seated every day.
An aged Pastor, on his desk
Saw those fair preachers stand;
A Widow wept upon the gift,
And blessed the giver's hand.
Where Poverty bent o'er her task,
They cheered the lonely room;
And round the bed where sickness lay.
They breathed Health's fresh perfume.
Oh! kindly heart and open hand--
Those flowers in dust are trod,
Bat they bloom to weave a wreath for thee,
In the Paradise of God.
Sweet is the Minstrel's task, whose song
Of deeds like these may tell;
And long may he have power to give,
Who wields that power so welll
Mrs. Anna Bac!h«,
I now come to a series of events which, all things considered, constitute one of the most remarkable experiences of my life--on experience which brought me much pain and" many trials; which humbled my pride and threatened me with hopeless financial ruin; and yet, nevertheless, put new blood in my veins, fresh vigor in my action, warding off all temptation to rust in the repose which affluence induces, and developed, I trust, new and better elements of manliness in my character.
When the blow fell upon me, I thought I could never recover; the event has shown, however, that I have gained both in character and fortune, and what threatened, for years, to be my ruin, has proved one of the most fortunate happenings of my career. The "Bull Run" of my life's battle was a crushing defeat, which, unknown to me at the time, only presaged the victories which were to follow.
It is vital to the narrative that I should give some account of the new city, East Bridgeport, and my interests therein, which led directly to my subsequent complications with the Jerome Clock Company.
In 1851, I purchased from Mr. William H. Noble, of Bridgeport, the undivided half of his late father's homestead, consisting of fifty acres of land, lying on the eastside of the river, opposite the city of Bridgeport. We intended this as the nucleus of a new city, which we concluded could soon be built up, in consequence of many natural advantages that it possesses.
Before giving publicity to our plans, however, we purchased 174 acres contiguous to that which we already owned, and laid out the entire property in regular streets, and lined them with trees, reserving a beautiful grove of six or eight acres, which we enclosed, and converted into a public park. We then commenced selling alternate lots, at about the same price which the land cost us by the acre, always on condition that a suitable dwelling-house, store, or manufactory should be erected upon the land, within one year from the date of purchase: that every building should be placed at a certain distance from the street, in a style of architecture approved by us; that the grounds should be enclosed with acceptable fences, and kept clean and neat, with other conditions which would render the locality a desirable one for respectable residents, and operate for the mutual benefit of all persons who should become settlers in the new city.
This entire property consists of a beautiful plateau of ground, lying within less than half a mile of the center of Bridgeport city. Considering the superiority of the situation, it is a wonder that the city of Bridgeport was not originally founded upon that side of the river. This "cheerful and elegant piece of ground," as Dr. Timothy Dwight so truly describes it, had only been kept from market by the want of means of access. A new footbridge was built, connecting this place with the city of Bridgeport, and a public toll-bridge which belonged to us, was thrown open to the public free. We also obtained from the State Legislature a charter for erecting a toll-bridge between the two bridges already existing, and under that charter we put up a fine covered draw-bridge at a cost of $16,000, which also we made free to the public for several years. We built and leased to a union company of young coach-makers a large and elegant coach manufactory, which was one of the first buildings erected there, and which went into operation on the first of January, 1852, and was the beginning of the extensive manufactories which were subsequently built in East Bridgeport.
Besides the inducement which we held out to purchasers to obtain their lots at a merely nominal price, we advanced one-half, two-thirds, and frequently all the funds necessary to erect their buildings, permitting them to repay us in sums as small as five dollars, at their own convenience. This arrangement enabled many persons to secure and ultimately pay for homes which they could not otherwise have obtained. We looked for our profits solely to the rise in the value of the reserved lots, which we were confident must ensue. These extraordinary inducements led many persons to build in the new city, and it began to develop and increase with a rapidity rarely witnessed in this section of the country.
It will thus be seen that, in 1851, my pet scheme was to build up a city in East Bridgeport.
I can truly say that mere money-making was a secondary consideration in my scheme. I wanted to build a city on the beautiful plateau across the river; in the expressive phrase of the day, I "had East Bridgeport on the brain," Whoever approached me with a project which looked to the advancement of my new city, touched my weak side and found me an eager listener, and it was in this way that the coming city connected me with that source of so many annoyances and woes, the Jerome Clock Company.
There was a small clock manufactory in the town of Litchfleld, Connecticut, in which I became a stockholder to the amount of six or seven thousand dollars, and my duties as a director in the company called me occasionally to Litchfield and made me somewhat acquainted with the clock business. Thinking of plans to forward my pet East Bridgeport enterprise, it occurred to me that if the Litchfield clock concern could be transferred to my prospective new city, it would necessarily bring many families, thus increasing the growth of the place and the value of the property. Negotiations were at once commenced and the desired transfer of the business was the result. A new stock company was formed under the name of the "Terry & Barnum Manufacturing Company and in 1853 a factory was built in East Bridgeport.
In 1855, I received a suggestion from a citizen of New Haven, that the Jerome Clock Company, then reputed to be a wealthy concern, should be remo/ od to East Bridgeport, and shortly afterwards I was visited at Iranistau by Mr. Chauncey Jerome, the President of that company. The result of this visit was a proposition from the agent of the company, who also held power of attorney for the president, that I should lend my name as security for $110,000 in aid of the Jerome Clock Company, and the proffered compensation was the transfer of this great manufacturing concern, with its seven hundred to one thousand operatives, to my beloved East Bridgeport. It was just the bait for the fish; I was all attention; yet I must do my judgment the justice to say that I called for proofs, strong and ample, that the great company deserved its reputation as a substantial enterprise that might safely be trusted.
Accordingly, I was shown an official report of the directors of the company, exhibiting a capital of $400,000, and a surplus of $187,000, in all, $587,000. The need for $110,000 more, was on account of a dull season, and the market glutted with the goods, and immediate money demands which must be met. I was also impressed with the pathetic tale that the company was exceedingly loth to dismiss any of the operatives, who would suffer greatly if their only dependence for their daily food was taken away.
The official statement seemed satisfactory, and I cordially sympathized with the philanthropic purpose of keeping the workmen employed, oven in the dull season. The company was reputed to be rich; the President, Mr. Chauncey Jerome, had built a church in New Haven, at a cost of $40,000, and proposed to present it to a congregation; he had given a clock to a church in Bridgeport, and these things showed that he, at least, thought he was wealthy. The Jeromo clocks were for sale all over the world, even in China, where the Celestials were said to take out the "movements," and use the cases for little temples for their idols, thus proving that faith was possible without "works." So wealthy and so widely-known a company would surely be a grand acquisition to my city.
Further testimony came in the form of a letter from the cashier of one of the New Haven banks, expressing the highest confidence in the financial strength of the concern, and much satisfaction that I contemplated giving temporary aid which would keep so many workmen and their families from suffering, and perhaps starvation. I had not, at the time, the slightest suspicion that my voluntary correspondent had any interest in the transfer of the Jerome Company from New Haven to East Bridgeport, though I was subsequently informed that the bank, of which my correspondent was the cashier, was almost the largest, if not the largest, creditor of the clock company.
Under all the circumstances, and influenced by the rose-colored representations made to me, not less than by my mania to push the growth of my new city, I finally accepted the proposition and consented to an agreement that I would lend the clock company my notes for a sum not to exceed $50,000, and accept drafts to an amount not to exceed $00,000. It was thoroughly understood that I was in no case to be responsible for one cent in excess of $110,000. I also received the written guaranty of Chauncey Jerome that in no event should I lose by the loan, as he would become personally responsible for the repayment. I was willing that my notes, when taken up, should be renewed, I cared not how often, provided the stipulated maximum of $110,000 should never be exceeded. I was weak enough, however, under the representation that it was impossible to say exactly when it would be necessary to use the notes, to put my name to several notes for $3,000, $5,000, and $10,000, leaving tho date of payment blank, but it was agreed that the blanks should be filled to make the notes payable in five, ten, or even sixty days from date, according to the exigencies of the case, and I was careful to keep a memorandum of the several amounts of the notes.
On the other side it was agreed that the Jerome Company should exchange its stock with the Terry & Barnum stockholders and thus absorb that company and unite the entire business in East Bridgeport. It was scarcely a month, before the secretary wrote me that the company would soon be in a condition to "snap its fingers at the banks."
Nevertheless, three months after the consolidation of the companies, a reference to my memoranda showed that I had already become responsible for the stipulated sum of $110,000. I was then called upon in New York by the agent, who wanted five notes of $5,000 each, and I declined to furnish them, unless I should receive in return an equal amount of my own canceled notes, since he assured me they wore canceling these "every week." The canceled notes were brought to me next day, and I renewed them. This I did frequently, always receiving canceled notes, till finally my confidence in the company became so established, that I did not ask to see the notes that had been taken up, but furnished new accommodation paper as it was called for.
By and by I heard that the banks began to hesitate about discounting my paper, and knowing that I was good for $110,000 several times over, I wondered what was the matter, till the discovery came at last that my notes had not been taken up as was represented, and that some of the blank date notes had been made payable in twelve, eighteen, and twenty-four months. Further investigation revealed the frightful fact that I had indorsed for the clock company to the extent of more than half a million dollars, and most of the notes had been exchanged for old Jerome Company notes due to the banks and other creditors. My agent who made these startling discoveries came back to me with the refreshing intelligence that I was a ruined man!
Not quite; I had the mountain of Jerome debts on my back, but I found means to pay every claim against me at my bank, all my store and shop debts, notes to the amount of $40,000, which banks in my neighborhood, relying upon my personal integrity, had discounted for the clock company, and then I--failed!
What a dupe had I been! Here was a great company pretending to be worth $587,000, asking temporary assistance to the amount of $110,000, coming down with a crash, so soon as my helping hand was removed, and sweeping me down with it. It failed; and, even after absorbing my fortune, it paid but from twelve to fifteen per cent, of its obligations, while, to cap the climax, it never removed to East Bridgeport at all, notwithstanding this was the only condition which ever prompted me to advance one dollar to the rotten concern!
If at any time my vanity had been chilled by the fear that after my retirement from the Jenny Lind enterprise the world would) forget me, this affair speedily re-assured me; I had notice enough to satisfy the most inordinate craving for notoriety. All over the country, and even across the ocean, "Barnum and the Jerome Clock Bubble," was the great newspaper theme. I was taken to pieces, analyzed, put together again, kicked, "pitched into," tumbled about, preached to, preached about, and made to serve every purpose to which a sensation-loving world could put me. Well! I was now in training, in a new school, and was learning new and strange lessons.
Yet these new lessons conveyed the old, old story. There were those who had fawned upon me in my prosperity, who now jeered at my adversity; people whom I had specially favored, made special efforts to show their ingratitude; papers, which, when I had the means to make it an object for them to be on good terms with me, overloaded me with adulation, now attempted to overwhehn me with abuse; and then the immense amount of moralizing over the "instability of human fortunes," and especially the retributive justice that is sure to follow "illgotten gains," which my censors assumed to be the sum and substance of my honorably acquired and industriously worked for property. I have no doubt that much of this kind of twaddle was believed by the twaddlers to be sincere; and thus my case was actual capital to certain preachers and religious editors who were in want of fresh illustrations wherewith to point their morals.
I was in the depths, but did not despond. I was confident that with energetic purpose and divine assistance, I should, if my health and life were spared, get on my feet again; and events have since fully justified and verified the expectation and the effort.
Happily, there is always more wheat than there is chaff. WMle my enemies and a few envious persons and misguided moralists were abusing and traducing me, my very misfortunes revealed to me hosts of hitherto unknown friends who tendered to me something more than mere sympathy. Funds were offered to me in unbounded quantity for the support of my family and to re-establish me in business. I declined these tenders because, on principle, I never accepted a money favor, unless I except the single receipt of a small sum which came to me by mail at this time, and anonymously so that I could not return it. Even this small sum I at once devoted to charity towards one who needed the money far more than I did.
The generosity of my friends urged me to accept "benefits" by the score, the returns of which would have made me quite independent. There was a proposition among leading citizens in New York to give a series of benefits which I felt obliged to decline, though the movement in my favor deeply touched me.
As the clock company had gone to pieces and was paying but from twelve to fifteen per cent, for its paper, I sent two of my friends to New Haven to ask for a meeting of the creditors. It was found that the indebtedness was so scattered it would be impracticable to attempt a settlement by an unanimous compromise of the creditors. It was necessary to liquidation that ray property should go into the hands of assignees; I therefore at once turned over my Bridgeport property to Connecticut assignees, and I removed my family to New York, where I also made an assignment of all my real and personal estate, excepting what had already been transferred in Connecticut.
We were now living in a very frugal manner in a hired furmshed house in Eighth street, near Sixth avenue, in New York, and our landlady and her family boarded with us. At the age of forty-six, after the acquisition and the loss of a handsome fortune, I was once more nearly at the bottom of the ladder, and was about to begin the world again. The situation was disheartening, but I had energy, experience, health and hope.
Leaving all my business affairs at home in the hands of my friends, early in 1857 I set sail once more for England, taking with me General Tom Thumb, and also little Cordelia. Howard and her parents. This young girl had attained an extended reputation for her artistic personation of "Little Eva," in the play of "Uncle Tom," and she displayed a precocious talent in her rendering of other juvenile characters. With these attractions, and with what else I might be able to do myself, I determined to make as much money as I could.
When I reached London, I found Mr. Albert Smith, who, when I first knew him, was a dentist, a literary hack, a contributor to Punch, and a writer for the magazines, now transformed to a first-class showman in the full tide of success, in my own old exhibition quarters in Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly. He was exhibiting a panorama of his ascent of Mont Blanc. His lecture was full of amusing and interesting incidents, illustrative of his remarkable experiences in accomplishing the difficult feat.
Calling upon Albert Smith, I found him the same kind, cordial friend as ever, and he at once put me on the free list at his entertainment, and insisted upon my dining frequently with him at his favorite club, the Garrick.
The first time I witnessed his exhibition, he gave me a sly wink from the stage at the moment of his describing a scene in the golden chamber of St. Ursula's church in Cologne, where the old sexton was narrating the story of the ashes and bones of the eleven thousand innocent virgins, who, according to tradition, were sacrificed on a certain occasion. One of the characters whom he pretended to have met several times on his trip to Mont Blanc, was a Yankee, whom he named "Phineas Cutecraft." The wink came at the time he introduced Phineas in the Cologne Church, and made him say at the end of the sexton's story about the Virgins' bones: "Old fellow, what will you take for that hull lot of bones? I want them for my Museum in America!" When the question had been interpreted to the old German, he exclaimed in horror, according to Albert Smith: "Mine Gott I it is impossible! We will never sell the Virgins' bones!" "Never mind," replied Phineas Cutecraft, "I'll send another lot of bones to my Museum, swear mine are the real bones of the Virgins of Cologne, and burst up your show!" This always excited the heartiest laughter; but Mr. Smith knew very well that I would at once recognize it as a pharaphrase of the scene wherein he had figwed with me, in 1844, at the porter's lodge of Warwick Castle. In the course of the entertainment, I found he had woven in numerous anecdotes I had told him at that time, and many incidents of our excursion were also travestied and made to contribute to the interest of his description of the ascent of Mont Blanc.
When we went to the Garrick club that day, Albert Smith introduced me to several of his acquaintances as his "teacher in the show business." As we were quietly dining together, he remarked that I must have recognized several old acquaintances in the anecdotes at his entertainment. Upon my answering that I did, "indeed," he remarked, "you are too old a showman not to know that in order to be popular, we must snap up and localize all the good things which we come across." By thus engrafting his various experiences upon this Mont Blanc entertainment, Albert Smith succeeded in serving up a sahnagundi feast which was relished alike by royal and less distinguished palates.
After a pleasant and successful season of several weeks in London and in the provinces, I took the little General into Germany, going from London to Paris, and from thence to Strasbourg and Baden-Baden. I dreaded to pass the custom-house at Kehl, nearly opposite Strasbourg, and the first town on the German border at that point. I knew that I had no baggage which was rightfully subject to duty, as I had nothing but my necessary clothing, and the package of placards and lithographs, illustrating the General's exhibitions. As the official was examining my trunks, I assured him in French, that I had nothing subject to duty; but he made no reply and deliberately handled every article in my luggage. He then cut the strings to the large packages of show-bills. I asked him in French, whether he understood that language. He gave a grunt, which was the only audible sound I could get out of him, and then laid my show-bills and lithographs on his scales as if to weigh them. I was much excited. An English gentleman, who spoke German, kindly offered to act as my interpreter. "Please to tell him," said I, "that those bills and lithographs are not articles of commerce; that they are simply advertisements." My English friend did as I requested; but it was of no use; the custom-house officer kept piling them upon his scales. I grew more excited. "Please tell him I give them away," I said. The translation of my assertion into German did not help me; a double grunt from the functionary, was the only response. Tom Thumb, meanwhile, jumped about like a little monkey, for he was fairly delighted at my worry and perplexity. Finally, I said to my new found English friend: "Be good enough to tell the officer to keep the bills if he wants them, and that I will not pay duty on them, any how." He was duly informed of my determination, but he was immovable. He lighted his huge Dutch pipe, got the exact weight, and, marking it down, handed it to a clerk, who copied it on his book, and solenmly passed it over to another clerk, who copied it on still another book; a third clerk then took it, and copied it on to a printed bill, the size of a half letter sheet, which was duly stamped in red ink with several official devices. By this time, I was in a profuse perspiration; and, as the document passed from clerk to clerk, I told them they need not trouble themselves to make out a bill, for I would not pay it; they would get no duty and they might keep the property.
To be sure, I could not spare the placards for any length of time, for they were exceedingly valuable to me as advertisements, and I could not easily have duplicated them in Germany; but I was determined that I would not pay duties on articles which were not merchandise. Every transfer, therefore, of the bill to a new clerk, gave me a fresh twinge, for I imagined that every clerk added more charges, and that every charge was a tighter turn to the vise which held my fingers. Finally, the last clerk defiantly thrust in my face the terrible official document, on which were scrawled certain cabalistic characters, signifying the amount of money I should be forced to pay to the German government before I could have my property. I would not touch it; but resolved I would really leave my packages until I could communicate with one of our consuls in Germany, and I said as much to the English gentleman who had kindly interpreted for me. He took the biU, and, examining it, burst into a loud laugh. "Why, it is but fifteen kreutzersl" he said. "How much is that?" I asked, feeling for the golden sovereigns in my pocket. "Sixpence!" was the reply. I was astonished and delighted, and, as I handed out the money, I begged him to tell the officials that the custom-house charge would not pay the cost of the paper on which it was written. But this was a very fair illustration of sundry red-tape dealings in other countries as well as in Germany.
I found Baden a delightful little town, cleaner and neater than any city I had ever visited.
When our preliminary arrangements were completed, the General's attendants, carriage, ponies and liveried coachmen and footmen arrived at Baden-Baden, and were soon seen in the streets. The excitement was intense and increased from day to day. Several crowned heads, princes, lords and ladies, who were spending the season at Baden-Baden, with a vast number of wealthy pleasure-seekers and travelers, crowded the saloon in which the General exhibited, during the entire time we remained in the place. The charges for admission were much higher than had been demanded in any other city.
From Baden-Baden we went to other celebrated German Spas, including Ems, Homburg and Weisbaden. These were all fashionable gambling as well as watering places, and during our visits they were crowded with visitors from all parts of Europe. Our exhibitions were attended by thousands who paid the same high prices that were charged for admission at Baden-Baden, and at Wiesbadcn, among many distinguished persons, the King of Holland came to see the little General. These exhibitions were among the most profitable that hail ever been given, and I was able to remit thousands of dollars to my agents in the United States, to aid in repurchasing my real estate, and to assist in taking up such clock notes as were offered for sale. A short but very remunerative season at Frankf ort-on-the-Maine, the home and starting-place of the great house of the Rothschilds, assisted me largely in carrying out these purposes.
After a truly delightful visit in Holland, we went back to England; and, proceeding to Manchester, opened our exhibition. For several days the hall was crowded to overflowing at each of the three, and sometimes four, entertainments we gave every day. By this time, my wife and two youngest daughters had come over to London, and I hired furnished lodgings in the suburbs where they could live within the strictest limits of economy. It was necessary now for me to return for a few weeks to America, to assist personally in forwarding a settlement of the clock difficulties. So leaving the little General in the hands of trusty and competent agents to carry on the exhibitions in my absence, I set my face once more towards home and the west, and took steamer at Liverpool for New York.
I was staying at the Astor House, in New York, when, on the morning of December 18,1857,1 received a telegram from my brother Philo F. Baraum, dated at Bridgeport, and informing me that Iranistan was burned to the ground that morning. The alarm was given at eleven o'clock on the night of the 17th, and the fire burned till one o'clock on the morning of the 18th. My beautiful Iranistan was gone! This was not only a serious loss to my estate, for it had probably cost at least $150,000, but it was generally regarded as a public calamity. It was the only building in its peculiar style of architecture of any pretension in America, and many persons visited Bridgeport every year expressly to see Iranistan. The insurance on the mansion had usually been about $62,000, but I had let some of the policies expire without renewing them, so that at the time of the fire there was only $28,000 insurance on the property. Most of the furniture and pictures were saved, generally in a damaged state.
Subsequently, my asiguees sold the grounds and outhouses of Iranistan to the late Ellas Howe, Jr., the celebrated inventor of the needle for sewing-machines. The property brought $50,000, which, with the $28,000 insurance, went into my assets to satisfy clock creditors. It was Mr. Howe's intention to erect a splendid mansion on the estate, but his untimely and lamented death prevented the fulfillment of the plan.
Genin, the hatter, bought the first Jenny Lind ticket at auction for two hundred and twenty-five dollars, because he knew it would be a good advertisement for him. "Who is the bidder?" said the auctioneer, as he knocked down that ticket at Castle Garden. "Genin, the hatter," was the response. Here were thousands of people from the Fifth avenue, and from distant cities in the highest stations in life. "Who is ' Genin,' the hatter?" they exclaimed. They had never heard of him before. The next morning the newspapers and telegraph had circulated the facts from Maine to Texas, and from five to ten millions of people had read that the tickets sold at auction for Jenny Liud's first concert amounted to about twenty thousand dollars, and that a single ticket was sold at two hundred and twenty-five dollars, to "Genin, the hatter." Men throughout the country involuntarily took off their hats to see if they had a "Genin" hat on then- heads. At a town in Iowa it was found that in the crowd around the post-office, there was one man who had a "Genin " hat, and he showed it in triumph, although it was worn out and not worth two cents. "Why," one man exclaimed, "you have a real 'Genin' hat; what a lucky fellow you are." Another man said, "Hang on to that hat, it will be a valuable heir-loom in your family." Still another man in the crowd, who seemed to envy the possessor of this good fortune, said, "Come, give us all a chance; put it up at auction!" He did so, and it was sold as a keepsake for nine dollars and fifty cents? What was the consequence to Mr, Genin1 He sold ten thousand extra hats per annum, the first six years. Nine-tenths of the purchasers bought of him, probably, out of curiosity, and many of them, finding that he gave them an equivalent for their money, became his regular customers. This novel advertisement first struck their attention, and then, as he made a good article, they came again.
On the twelfth of August, 1861, I began to exhibit the first and only genuine hippopotamus that had ever been seen in America, and for several weeks the Museum was thronged by the curious who came to see the monster. I advertised him extensively and ingeniously, as "the great behemoth of the Scriptures," giving a full description of the animal and his habits, and thousands of cultivated people, biblical students, and others, were attracted to this novel exhibition. There was quite as much excitement in the city over this wonder in the animal creation as there was in London when the first hippopotamus was placed in the zoological collection in Regent's Park.
Having a stream of salt water at my command at every high tide, I was enabled to make splendid additions to the beautiful aquarium, which I was the first to introduce into this country. I not only procured living sharks, porpoises, sea horses, and many rare fish from the sea in the vicinity of New York, but in the summer of 1861, and for several summers in succession, I despatched a fishing smack and crew to the Islands of Bermuda and its neighborhood, whence they brought scores of specimens of the beautiful "angel fish," and numerous other tropical fish of brilliant colors and unique forms. In the same year, I bought out the Aquaria! Gardens in Boston, and soon after removed the collection to the Museum.
In December, 1861, I made one of my most "palpable hits." I was visited at the Museum by a most remarkable dwarf, who was a sharp, intelligent little fellow, with a deal of drollery and wit. He had a splendid head, was perfectly formed, and was very attractive, and, in short, for a "showman," he was a perfect treasure. His name, he told me, was George Washington Morrison Nutt, and his father was Major Rodnia Nutt, a substantial farmer, of Manchester, New Hampshire. I was not long in despatching an efficient agent to Manchester, and in overcoming the competition with other showmen who were equally eager to secure this extraordinary pigmy. The terms upon which I engaged him for three years were so large that he was christened the $30,000 Nutt; I, in the meantime, conferring upon him the title of Commodore. As soon as I engaged him, placards, posters and the columus of the newspapers proclaimed the presence of "Commodore Nutt," at the Museum. I also procured for the Commodore a pair of Shetland ponies, miniature coachman and footman, in livery, gold-mounted harness, and an elegant little carriage, which, when closed, represented a gigantic English walnut. The little Commodore attracted great attention, and grew rapidly in public favor. General Tom Thumb was then traveling in the South and West. For some years he had not been exhibited in New York, and during these years he had increased considerably in rotundity and had changed much in his general appearance. It was a singular fact, however, that Commodore Nutt was ahnost a fac-simile of General Tom Thumb, as he looked half-a-dozen years before. Consequently, very many of my patrons, not making allowance for the time which had elapsed since they had last seen the General, declared that there was no such person as "Commodore Nutt;" but that I was exhibiting my old friend Tom Thumb under a new name.
Commodore Nutt enjoyed the joke very much. He would sometimes half admit the deception, simply to add to the bewilderment of the doubting portion of my visitors.
It was evident that here was an opportunity to turn all doubts into hard cash, by simply bringing the two dwarf Dromios together, and showing them on the same platform. I therefore induced Tom Thumb to bring his western engagements to a close, and to appear for four weeks, beginning with August 11, 1862, in my Museum. Announcements headed "The Two Dromios," and "Two Smallest Men, and Greatest Curiosities Living," as I expected, drew large crowds to see them, and many came especially to solve their doubts with regard to the genuineness of the "Nutt." But here I was considerably nonplussed, for astonishing as it may seem, the doubts of many of the visitors were confirmed! The sharp people who were determined "not to be humbugged, anyhow," still declared that Commodore Nutt was General Tom Thumb, and that the little fellow whom I was trying to pass off as Tom Thumb, was no more like the General than he was like the man in the moon. It is very amusing to see how people will sometimes deceive themselves by being too incredulous.
Commodore Nutt and the Nova Scotia giantess, Anna Swan, illustrate the old proverb sufficiently to show how extremes occasionally met in my Museum. He was the shortest of men and she was the tallest of women. I first heard of her through a Quaker who came into my office one day and told me of a wonderful girl, seventeen years of age, who resided near him at Pictou, Nova Scotia, and who was probably the tallest girl in the world. I asked him to obtain her exact height, on his return home, which he did, and sent it to me, and I at once sent an agent who in due time came back with Anna Swan. She was an intelligent and by no means ill-looking girl, and during the long period while she was in my employ, she was visited by thousands of persons. After the burning of my second Museum, she went to England where she attracted great attention.
For many years I had been in the habit of engaging parties of American Indians from the far west, to exhibit at the Museum, and had sent two or more Indian companies to Europe, where they were regarded as very great "curiosities." In 1864, ten or twelve chiefs of as many different tribes, visited the President of the United States, at Washington. By a pretty liberal outlay of money, I succeeded in inducing the interpreter to bring them to New York, and to pass some days at my Museum. Of course, getting these Indians to dance, or to give any illustration of their games or pastimes, was out of the question. They were real chiefs of powerful tribes, and would no more have consented to give an exhibition of themselves than the chief magistrate of our own nation would have done. Their interpreter could not therefore promise that they would remain at the Museum for any definite time; "for," said he, "you can only keep them just so long as they suppose all your patrons come to pay them visits of honor. If they suspected that your Museum was a place where people paid for entering," he continued, "you could not keep them a moment after the discovery."
On their arrival at the Museum, therefore, I took them upon the stage and personally introduced them to the public. The Indians liked this attention from me, as they had been informed that I was the proprietor of the great establishment in which they were invited and honored guests. My patrons were of course pleased to see these old chiefs, as they knew they were the "real thing," and several of them were known to the public, either as being friendly or cruel to the whites. After one or two appearances on the stage, I took them in carriages and visited the Mayor of New York in the Governor's room at the City HaLL Here the Mayor made them a speech of welcome, which being interpreted to the savages was responded to by a speech from one of the chiefs, in which he thanked the great "Father" of the city for his pleasant words, and for his kindness in pointing out the portraits of his predecessors hanging on the walls of the Governor's room.
On another occasion, I took them by special invitation to visit one of the large public schools up town. The teachers were pleased to see them, and arranged an exhibition of special exercises by the scholars, which they thought would be most likely to gratify their barbaric visitors. At the close of these exercises, one old chief arose, and simply said, "This is all new to us. We are mere unlearned sons of the forest, and cannot understand what we have seen and heard."
On other occasions, I took them to ride in Central Park, and through different portions of the city. At every street corner which we passed, they worJd express their astonishment to each other, at seeing the long rows of houses which extended both ways on either side of each cross-street. Of course, between each of these outside visits I would return with them to the Museum, and secure two or three appearances upon the stage to receive the people who had there congregated "to do them honor."
As they regarded me as their host, they did not hesitate to trespass upon my hospitality. Whenever their eyes rested upon a glittering shell among my specimens of couchology, especially if it had several brilliant colors, one would take off his coat, another his shirt, and insist that I should exchange my shell for their garment. When I declined the exchange, but on the contrary presented them with the coveted article, I soon found I had established a dangerous precedent. Immediately, they all commenced to beg for everything in my vast collection, which they happened to take a liking to. This cost me many valuable specimens, and often "put me to my trumps" for an excuse to avoid giving them things which I could not part with.
The chief of one of the tribes one day discovered an ancient shirt of chainmail which hung in one of my cases of antique armor. He was delighted with it, and declared he must have it. I tried all sorts of excuses to prevent his getting it, for it had cost me a hundred dollars, and was a great curiosity. But the old man's eyes glistened, and he would not take "no" for an answer. "The Utes have killed my little child," he told me through the interpreter; and now he must have this steel shirt to protect himself; and when he returned to the Rocky Mountains he would have his revenge. I remained inexorable until he finally brought me a new buckskin Indian suit, which he insisted upon exchanging. I felt compelled to accept his proposal; and never did I see a man more delighted than he seemed to be when he took the mailed shirt into his hands. He fairly jumped up and down with joy. He ran to his lodging-room, and soon appeared again with the coveted armor upon his body, and marched down one of the main halls of the Museum, with folded arms, and head erect, occasionally patting his breast with his right hand, as much as to say, "now, Mr. Ute, look sharp, for I will soon be on the war path!"
Among these Indians were War Bonnet, Lean Bear, and Hand-in-the-water, chiefs of the Cheyennes; Yellow Buffalo, of the Kiowas; Yellow Bear, of the same tribe; Jacob, of the Caddos; and White Bull, of the Apaches. The little wiry chief known as Yellow Bear had killed many whites as they had traveled through the "far west." He was a sly, treacherous, blooa-Lairsty savage, who would think no more of scalping a family of women and children, than a butchei would of wringing the neck of a chicken. But now he was on a mission to the "Great Father " at Washington, seeking for presents and favors for his tribe, and he pretended to be exceedingly meek and humble, and continually urged the interpreter to announce him as a "great friend to the white man." He would fawn about me, and although not speaking or understanding a word of our language, would try to convince me that he loved me dearly.
In exhibiting these Indian warriors on the stage, I explained to the large audiences the names and characteristics of each. When I came to Yellow Bear I would pat him familiarly upon the shoulder, which always caused him to look up to me with a pleasant smile, while he softly stroked down my arm with his right hand in the most loving manner. Knowing that he could not understand a word I said, I pretended to be complimenting him to the audience, while I was really saying something like the following:
"This little Indian, ladies and gentlemen, is Yellow Bear, chief of the Kiowas. He has killed, no doubt, scores of white persons, and he is probably the meanest, black-hearted rascal that lives in the far west." Here I patted him on the head, and he, supposing I was sounding his praises, would smile, fawn upon me, and stroke my arm, while I continued: "If the bloodthirsty little villain understood what I was saying, he would kill me in a moment; but as he thinks I am complimenting him, I can safely state the truth to you, that be is a lying, thieving, treacherous, murderous monster. He has tortured to death poor, unprotected women, murdered their husbands, brained their helpless little ones; and he would gladly do the same to you or to me, if he thought he could escape punishment. This is but a faint description of the character of Yellow Bear." Here I gave him another patronizing pat on the head, and he, with a pleasant smile, bowed to the audience, as much as to say that my words were quite true, and that he thanked me very much for the high encomiums I had so generously heaped upon him.
After they had been about a week at the Museum, one of the chiefs discovered that visitors paid money for entering. This information he soon communicated to the other chiefs, and I heard an immediate murmur of discontent. Their eyes were opened, and no power could induce them to appear again upon the stage. Their dignity had been offended, and their wild, flashing eyes were anything but agreeable. Indeed, I hardly felt safe in their presence, and it was with a feeling of relief that I witnessed their departure for Washington the next morning.
During the winter of 1871 and 1872, I worked unremittingly, re-organizing and re-enforcing my great traveling show. To the horror of my very able but too cautious manager, Mr. W. C. Coup, and my treasurer, Mr. Hurd, I so augmented the already innumerable attractions, that it was shown beyond doubt, that we could not travel at a less expense than five thousand dollars per day, but, undaunted, I still expended thousands of dollars, and ship after ship brought me rare and valuable animals and works of art. Two beautiful Giraffes or Camelopards, were dispatched to me (one died on the Atlantic), and a third was retained for me at the Zoological Gardens, London, ready to be shipped at a moment's notice. As no giraffe has ever lived two years in America, all other managers had given up any attempt to import them, but this only made me more determined to always have one on hand at whatever cost.
My agents in Alaska procured for me several immense sea-lions and barkingseals, which weighed a thousand pounds each, and consumed from sixty to' a hundred pounds of flah daily.
My novelties comprised an Italian goat "Alexis," taught in Europe to ride on horseback, leap through hoops and over banners, alighting on his feet on the back of the horse while going at full speed. I had also many extraordinary musical and other automatons and moving tableaux, made expressly for me by expert European artists.
But perhaps the most striking additions to my show were four wild Fiji Cannibals, ransomed at great cost from the hands of a royal enemy, into whose hands they had fallen, and by whom they were about to be killed and perhaps eaten.
Perceiving that my great combination was assuming such proportions that it would be impossible to move it by horse power, I negotiated with all the railway companies between New York and Omaha, Nebraska, for the transportation by rail, of my whole show, requiring sixty to seventy freight cars, six passenger cars, and three engines. The result is well remembered. The great show visited the States of New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, District of Columbia, Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan, often traveling one hundred miles in a single night to hit good-sized towns every day, arriving in time to give three exhibitions, and the usual street pageant at eight o'clock, A. M. By means of cheap excursion trains, thousands of strangers attended daily, coming fifty, seventy-five and a hundred miles. Thousands more came in wagons and on horseback, frequently arriving in the night and "camping out." The tenting season closed at Detroit, October 30th, when we were patronized by the largest concourse of people ever assembled in the State of Michigan.
With wonderful unanimity the public press acknowledged that I exhibited much more than I advertised, and that no combination of exhibitions that ever traveled had shown a tithe of the instructive and amusing novelties that I had gathered together. This universal commendation is, to me, the most gratifying feature of the campaign, for, not being compelled to do business merely for the sake of profit, my highest enjoyment is to delight my patrons. The entire six months' receipts of the Great Traveling World's Fair, amounted to nearly one million dollars.
In July, 1874, immense canvas tents were made of sufficient capacity to accommodate all my great Roman Hippodrome performances. These tents, with the expense of removing the whole Hippodrome establishment to Boston for a three weeks' exhibition, cost me nearly fifty thousand dollars. During the three weeks' exhibition in Boston, the tents were crowded each afternoon and evening with the most delighted audiences. Excursion trains on all the railroads leading to Boston brought thousands of visitors to the Hippodrome every day, and the Boston and New England papers, secular and religious, without exception, were loud in praise of what all acknowledged to be by far the most gorgeous, extensive, instructive and expensive traveling exhibition of which we have any record.
From Boston the entire Hippodrome was transported by railroad to Philadelphia, where a success was achieved fully equal to that in Boston. The Hippodrome afterwards visited Baltimore, Pittsburgh and Cincinnati, everywhere drawing immense crowds, and opened again in my great Hippodrome building in New York, in November, where, for several months, it afforded a treat to the American public that will probably not be witnessed again in this generation. I am confident that nothing less than my reputation for forty years as a liberal caterer for public instruction and amusement, would have brought a paying response to my efforts. The great religious community aided mostly in sustaining this hazardous enterprise.
In the summer of 1878, I expended some twenty thousand dollars in the purchase and reclamation of a large tract of salt marsh adjoining Sea-side Park and the grounds of Waldemere on the west. This marsh has been inaccessible from time immemorial, annually producing plentiful crops of mosquitoes. The times were hard, many laboring men in Bridgeport were suffering for want of employment, and although it was evident I should never be reimbursed for half my expenditures, I could see that the improvement would be a great public benefit, and remembering the dykes in Holland which I had so frequently seen with astonishment and admiration, I determined, as I told my neighbors, to "cheat my heirs," by expending a good sum pro bono publico. I built this dyke straight across a channel which let in the tide-water every twelve hours and covered an immense tract of low salt meadow. I made the dyke seventy feet wide at bottom, and of sufficient width on the top to form a fine street leading from one of our city avenues to the beach on Long Island Sound. This gives nearly a mile high and dry front on the salt water connecting with Sea-side Park. I propose to make a present to the city of this "water " front, 150 feet in width, which will give them as an extension of their already beautiful Park, a delightful additional boulevard for carriages and promenade on the very edge of Long Island Sound, where the plashing salt waves may be seen, heard and enjoyed for all time. Mayor Morford (of opposite politics from myself) in his message to the Common Council of Bridgeport, characterized my proposition as a "liberal offer," and said, "the Barnum Boulevard, in connection with the Sea-side Park, adding nearly a mile to the present park-drive, would be the finest improvement of the kind on the Atlantic Coast."
In 1879 and 1880 the show under the same management was very successful. I introduced the firing of Zazel from a cannon. This has since been the principal feature of other shows, as has also the tattooed Greek whom I first introduced to the American public in 1876. While exhibiting in the Rink in 1880, I had a business encounter with Henry Bergh, Esq., which created much interest and excitement in the arena and in the newspapers.
So late as 1880, no traveling show in the world bore any comparison with my justly-called "Greatest Show on Earth." Other show-managers boasted of owning shows equalling mine, and some bought of the printers large colored showbills pictorially representing my marvelous curiosities, although these managers had no performances or curiosities of the kinds which they represented. The cost of one of their shows was from twenty thousand to fifty thousand dollars, while mine cost millions of dollars. Their expenses were three hundred to seven hundred dollars per day, while mine were three thousand dollars per day. The public soon discovered the difference between the sham and the reality, the natural consequences of misrepresentation followed; the small showmen made little or nothing, some went into bankruptcy each season, while mine was always crowded, and each succeeding year showed a larger profit.
My strongest competitors were the so-called "Great London Circus, Sanger's Royal British Menagerie and Grand International Allied Shows." Its managers, Cooper, Bailey & Hutchinson, had adopted my manner of dealing with the public, and consequently their great show grew in popularity.
On the tenth of March, 1880, while in Philadelphia, one of their large elephants, Hebe, became a mother. This was the first elephant born in captivity, and the managers so effectively advertised the fact that the public became wild with excitement over the "Baby Elephant." Naturalists and men of science rushed in numbers to Philadelphia, examined the wonderful "little stranger " and gave glowing reports to the papers of this country and of Europe. Illustrated papers and magazines of this and foreign lands described the Baby Elephant with pen and pencil, and before it was two months old I offered the lucky proprietors one hundred thousand dollars cash for mother and baby. They gleefully rejected my offer, pleasantly told me to look to my laurels, and wisely held on to their treasure.
1 found that I had at last met foemen "worthy of my steel," and pleased to find comparatively young men with a business talent and energy approximating to my own, I met them in friendly council, and after days of negotiation we decided to join our two shows in one mammoth combination, and, sink or swim, to exhibit them for, at least, one season for one price of admission. The public were astonished at our audacity, and old showmen declared that we could never take in enough money to cover our expenses, which would be fully forty-five hundred dollars per day. My new partners, James A. Bailey and James L. Hutchinson, sagacious and practical managers, agreed with me that the experiment involved great risk, but, from the time of the Jenny Lind Concerts, the Great Roman Hippodrome and other expensive enterprises, I have always found the great American public appreciative and ready to respond in proportion to the sums expended for their gratification and amusement.
This partnership entered into, we conceived the idea of building a monster emporium or winter quarters to accommodate all our wild animals, horses, chariots, railroad cars, and the immense paraphernalia of the united shows, instead of distributing the same in different localities. We inclosed a ten-acre lot in Bridgeport adjacent to the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad. In this inclosure we erected an elephant house one hundred feet square, kept heated to the temperature naturally required by these animals. Here thirty to forty elephants are luxuriously housed and trained to perform in a circus-ring in the center.
In another large building the lions, tigers and leopards, which require a different temperature, are lodged and trained. Still another accommodates the camels and caged animals. The monkeys have roomy quarters all to themselves, where they can roam and work their mischievous will unrestrained. The amphibious animals, hippopotami, sea-lions, etc., have in their inclosure a huge pond heated by means of steam pipes, where the elephants are permitted their great enjoyment, a bath. A building three hundred feet long covers eight lines of tracks where the cars are stored, and these tracks are all connected by switches with the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad. In a circus ring •xclusively for the purpose the riders, acrobats, etc., practice in the winter, so as not to lose their hard-won skill and suppleness. The chariots are all placed in one huge store-house, and are run into position by the larger elephants, which, standing behind the chariots, put their heads against them, and, with wonderful intelligence and docility, push them in place at the direction of their keeper. The elephants are always called into requisition when a car gets off the switches, and indeed they do all the heavy work of the winter quarters. A nursery department maintained for the reception and careful tending of new-born animals adjoins the office of the veterinary surgeon. The harness, paint and blacksmith shops are all immense and distinct. The accommodations include stabling for seven hundred of our best horses, and store-rooms for canvas, tent-poles and innumerable properties. Editors and artists flocked to see the quickly-famous winter quarters, and well-illustrated articles appeared in leading periodicals. The public also were anxious and curious to see the workings of this city of wonders, but were reluctantly denied admission, as visitors deranged the necessarily strict routine of the establishment, and were themselves in no little danger, many of the wild animals which are perfectly tractable when alone with their keepers, being permitted to leave their cages and frolic at large in their respective buildings. The signs which designate the different buildings are visible from all trains passing through Bridgeport.
In November of 1880, while in New York on business, I was suddenly attacked by an almost fatal illness, and laid for many weeks between life and death, unconscious of the tender solicitude shown me by countless good friends in this country, and the cable messages of inquiry that came thickly from others in foreign lands; the knowledge of all which will be ever a bright and grateful memory. Dr. Chapin, then on his death-bed, sent a messenger daily; reporters besieged the house at all hours, and contributed bulletins of my progress or relapse to all the principal New York papers; while the Associated Press kept the remoter public informed by telegraph of my condition. When strong enough I went to Florida, to recuperate in that delightful climate, returning in April to take up my old avocations with the old zest, and little less than the old strength.
The Barnum & London Circus opened in New York March 18, 1881, heralded by a torchlight procession through the city on Saturday night, March 16th, which was witnessed by more than half a million of people and pronounced the most brilliant display ever seen in America.
Very early in the traveling season of 1881, we enlarged our already immense tents three different times, and yet so great was the multitude that attended our exhibitions--many coming on excursion trains twenty, thirty and even fifty miles--that at half the towns we visited we were unable to accommodate all who came, and we turned away thousands for want of room. In every town we were patronized by the tlite, and frequently the public and private schools, as well as manufactories, were closed on "Barnum Day," school committees and teachers recognizing that children would learn more of natural history by one visit to our menagerie than they could acquire by months of reading.
In Washington President Garfield told me he always attended my shows, and when Secretary Blaine said, "Well, Barnum! all the children in America are anxious to see your show," the president smilingly added, "Yes! Mr. Barnum is the Kris Kringle of America."
Sir Edward Thornton, the British Ambassador, secured seventy-five seats at one of our exhibitions in Washington, and the next day wrote me a letter in which he said, "I certainly consider it the best organized and most complete establishment of that kind that I have ever visited, and that it is the most instructive and enjoyable." General Sherman wrote, "I say without hesitating that it surpasses anything of the kind I have seen in America or Europe." I received the autographic indorsements of President Garfield, Vice-president Arthur, Secretary Blaine, McVeagh, Roscoe Conkling, Hunt, Secretary of the Navy, Robert T. Lincoln, T. L. James, Senators Frye, Salisbury, Lamar and Platt of Connecticut, Gov. Hawley and most of the foreign ambassadors, cabinet ministers and United States senators. The furore which my show never fails to excite everywhere was tersely and wittily expressed in a notice posted up in a factory in a town which we visited last season. "Closed on account of the greatest interference on earth."
The immense patronage which my own country bestows on my efforts is all that keeps me from taking my big show to Europe, where my name is as wellknown as in America.
For years showmen have asserted that I did not own my show; others assumed to be my relatives and representatives. Determined to put down these false assertions and assumptions I sued the Philadelphia Sun for $100,000 damages in April, 1881, for saying that I merely hired out my name. The publisher, convinced of his error, retracted the statement and apologized. I withdrew the suit, having obtained all the redress I desired. In May, 1881, the desire to acquire, for my show-season of 1882, attractions which only my personal negotiations could secure, I revisited England, sailing in the " Scythia."After four pleasant weeks I returned in the "Gallia," successful in the object of my journey and invigorated by that finest of all tonics, a sea-voyage. Desiring to aid in beautifying the village of Bethel, it being my birth-place, from which a busy checkered life has never alienated my interest, I presented to my old companions a bronze fountain eighteen feet high, made in Germany; the design a Triton of heroic size, spouting water from an uplifted horn. It was a gala day for Bethel, the streets and residences were decorated with flags and bunting, a procession of police, fire companies with their engines, bands of music, citizens and invited guests in carriages, etc., paraded the town, and they formed in line around the square, newly adorned by the fountain.
In December of each year, I dispatch my manager and agents to Europe to discover fresh attractions "without regard to expense," and to bring home for my next season the many novelties which my European agents have secured during the preceding twelve months. My agents in India, Africa and Australia are continually procuring rare wild beasts, and in every part of the civilized globe where some startling curiosity or marvelous performer is seen, the question at once is, "Where is Barnum!" The news reaches me at an early date, and if the attraction described is found worthy of a place where none but The Very Best is exhibited, it is secured.
This is decidedly an age of progress. Every person must continually make improvements in his business and his manner of conducting it, or he will inevitably be left behind in the race. I have never felt inclined to give an inferior exhibition, and as a matter of mere policy, if I had no higher motive, I know I cannot afford to exhibit anything except the very best, without a moment's consideration of its cost. When the great Daniel Webster was asked by the student who was about to graduate, whether the profession of law was full, he replied: "The lower story is crowded, but there is always plenty of room up-stairs!" On this principle I always conduct my business.
In the autunm of 1881 I made a formal proposition to the Common Council of Bridgeport to present to that city the boulevard and dyke, mentioned on page 325. My offer was unanimously accepted and a vote of thanks passed, in which it was declared that the water front thus presented should be designated as• "The Barnum Boulevard."
On February 2,1882, "Queen," one of my twenty-two elephants gave birth to a young one at our "winter-quarters" in Bridgeport. The event had long been anticipated and thoroughly published throughout America and Europe. Scientists, all over the country, had been informed that the period of gestation being known to be about twenty months, a "Baby Elephant" might be expected early in February. The public press, naturalists, college professors and agents of zoological gardens in Europe were on the qui vive, and when the interesting event was imminent it wat telegraphed through the associated press to all parts of the United States, and about sixty scientists, medical men and reporters arrived in time to be present at the birth. The next morning more than fifty colunms of details of the birth, weight and name of the Baby Elephant appeared in the American papers, and notices cabled to London and Paris appeared in the morning papers. As this was the second elephant ever born in captivity, either in America or Europe, it created a great sensation. Its weight was only one hundred and forty-five pounds at birth. We named it "Bridgeport," after the place of its nativity and of my residence.
We opened our Great Show for the season of 1882 on Monday, March 13th, in Madison Square Garden, New York City, having given an illuminated street pageant the preceding Saturday evening, which eclipsed all similar exhibitions ever witnessed in America. The fame of the "Baby Elephant," and our vastly enlarged and improved Great Show for 1882, had created quite a furore in the public mind, and from the very first night of opening, our efforts were crowned with success totally unprecedented in the show business. Day after day, and night after night, we turned away multitudes for want of room. Our daily expenses, rain or shine, for the entire traveling season, are estimated at $4,800, or $28,800 per week. Our receipts averaged $9,166 each day, or 855,000 per week.
"Jumbo,"the largest elephant ever seen, either wild or in captivity, had been for many years one of the chief attractions of the Royal Zoological Gardens, London. I had often looked wistfully on Jumbo, but with no hope of ever getting possession of him, as I knew him to be a great favorite of Queen Victoria, whose children and grandchildren are among the tens of thousands of British juveniles whom Jumbo has carried on his back. I did not suppose he would ever be sold. But one of my agents, who made the tour of Europe in the summer and autumn of 1881 in search of novelties for our big show, was so struck with the extraordinary size of the majestic Jumbo that he ventured to ask my friend, Mr. Bartlett, Superintendent of the Zoological Gardens, if ho would sell Jumbo. The presumption of my agent startled Mr. Bartlett, and at first he replied rather sarcastically in the negative, but my agent pushed the question and said, "Mr. Barnum would pay a round price for him."Further couversation led my agent to think that possibly an offer of $10,000 might be entertained. He cabled me to that effect, to which I replied: "I will give ten thousand dollars for Jumbo, but the Zoo will never sell him." Two days afterwards my agent cabled me that my offer of $10,000 for Jumbo was accepted, I to take him in the Garden as he stood. The next day I dispatched Mr. Davis by steamer to London, with a bank draft for £2000 sterling, payable to the order of the Treasurer of the Royal Zoological Gardens, London.
From that time an excitement prevailed and increased throughout Great Britain which, for a cause so comparatively trivial, has never had a parallel in any civilized country. The council and directors of the Royal Zoo were denounced in strong terms for having sold Jumbo to the famous Yankee showman, Barnum. The newspapers, from the London Times down, daily thundered anathemas against the sale, and their colunms teemed with communications from statesmen, noblemen and persons of distinction advising that the bargain should be broken at all risk, and promising that the money would be contributed by the British public to pay any damages which might be awarded to Barnmn by the courts. It is said that the Queen and the Prince of Wales both asked that this course should be adopted. I received scores of letters from ladies and children, beseeching me to let Jumbo remain, and to name what damages I required and they should be paid. Mr. Laird, the ship-builder, wrote me from Birkenhead that England was as able to pay " Jumbo claims "as she was to pay the " Alabama claims,"and it would be done if I would only desist and name my terms. All England seemed to run mad about Jumbo; pictures of Jumbo, the life of Jumbo, a pamphlet headed " Jumbo-Barnum," and all sorts of Jumbo stories and poetry, Jumbo Hats, Jumbo Collars, Jumbo Cigars, Jumbo Neckties, Jumbo Fans, Jumbo Polkas, etc., were sold by the tens of thousands in the stores and streets of London and other British cities. Meanwhile the London correspondents of the leading American newspapers cabled colunms upon the subject, describing the sentimental Jumbo craze which had seized upon Great Britain. These facts stirred up the excitement in the United States, and the American newspapers, and scores of letters sent to me daily, urged me not to give up Jumbo.
The editor of the London Daily Telegraph cabled me to name a price for which I would cancel the sale, and permit Jumbo to remain in London: "London, February 22. P. T. Sarnmn, N. T.: Editor's compliments; all British children distressed at Elephant's departure; hundreds of correspondents beg us to inquire on what terms you will kindly return Jumbo. Answer, prepaid, unlimited. LESARGE, Daily Telegraph." I cabled back as follows: "New York, February 23, 1S83. To Lesarge, Daily Telegraph, London: My compliments to Editor Daily Telegraph and British Nation. Fifty-one millions of American citizens anxiously awaiting Jumbo's arrival. My forty years' invariable practice of exhibiting the best that money conld procure, makes Jumbo's presence here imperative. Hundred thousand pounds would be no inducement to cancel purchase. My largest tent seats 20,000 persons, and is filled twice each day. It contains four rings, in three of which three full circus companies give different performances simultaneously. In the large outer ring, or racing truck, the Roman Hippodrome is exhibited. In two other immense connecting tents my colossal Zoological collection and museum are shown. ***** Wishing long life and prosperity to British Nation and Telegraph and Jumbo, I am the public's obedient servant, P. T. BARNUM."
This dispatch was published in the London Daily Telegraph the next morning, and was sent by the London Associated press to the principal newspapers throughout Great Britain, which republished it the following day, giving the excitement an immense impetus. Crowds of men, women and children rushed to the "Zoo " to see dear old Jumbo for the last time, and the receipts at the gates were augmented nearly two thousand dollars per day. A "fellow " or stockholder of the Royal Zoo sued out an injunction in the Chancery Court against the "councillors " of the Zoo and myself to quash the sale. After a hearing, which occupied two days, the sale was declared valid, and Jumbo was decided to be my property. The society for the prevention of cruelty to animals threatened my agent with imprisonment, if he used force to induce Jumbo to enter a huge iron-bound cage, which had been constructed and placed on wheels to draw Jumbo at night eight miles to the steamship "Assyrian Monarch," which was to bring him to New York.
Jumbo came up in Parliament, where the President of the Board of Trade was questioned in regard to precautions being taken to protect the passengers on shipboard. Mr. Lowell, our American Minister to the Court of St. James, in a speech given at a public banquet in London, playfully remarked, "the only burning question between England and America is Jumbo." The London Graphic, Illustrated News, Punch, and all the London papers published scores of pictures and descriptions of Jumbo, in prose and poetry, for several weeks in succession.
On account of the national interest manifested in "Jumbo," we presume the " British Lion " is for the time forgotten; and we thcreiore suggest the above as the most appropriate coat-of-arms for England.--London Fun.
Finally, after more than a month's delay, when it was seen that nothing could induce me to cancel my purchase, and that Jumbo was pretty sure to leave London, Saturday, March 25th, my agent was offered £10,000 if he would let Jumbo remain in his old quarters. This, of course, could not be done, for I had expended many thousand dollars in engravings, cuts, lithographs and advertisements, promising the public that the citizens of the United States should see Jumbo, "the largest quadruped at present known on the face of the earth." The Royal Zoological Garden, besides receiving £3,000 from me, probably cleared an extra £15.000, or more, by showing my animal after I had paid for him--all on account of this most remarkable excitement throughout Great Britain.
After much trouble in dragging the huge monster to the London docks, he was shipped by my agent, James R. Davis, in charge of his old keeper, Matthew Scott, and our agent, William Newman (known as Elephant Bill), and other attendants, and set sail in the "Assyrian Monarch" March 25th.
After a rough passage he arrived in New York, in good condition, Sunday morning, April 9th. On landing him, Sunday evening, at Pier 1, North River, his cage was placed on its original wheels, and drawn up Broadway by sixteen heavy draught-horses, assisted by our two largest elephants. On Monday, April 10, 1882, Jumbo was placed on exhibition in the menagerie department of our Great Show where he created an immense sensation, and augmented our receipts during two weeks to such an extent as to considerably more than repay us for his purchase and subsequent expenses, amounting in all to nearly $30,000.
I am now nearly seventy-two years of age, and as hale and hearty as any man. While I live I shall remuin in the show business--in fact, the terms of my partnership with Bailey and Hutchinson provide for its continuance till the year 1899. Yes, and for one hundred years after I am dead and under the sod the world will have ' Barnum's Great Show,' just as it has today. My grandsons will assist my partners and their successors in its management, as part owners and in behalf of my estate. To many this may appear like egotism, but I do not mean it as such. I feel that I have done a good work during my career as a showman, and I want it continued after I am dead.
To my eyes the handsomest picture in all this world is an array of young and smiling faces, such as have seen day after day and night afer night beneath the shelter of my tents. To my ears the sweetest music is the clear, ringing laugh of the children as they give vent to their joy in my show. The best music that Jenny Lind ever uttered is no comparison to the soul-inspiring laughter of the little ones. When I think in this strain I feel that I have benefited mankind, and it will be a source of consolation to me when I die to know that when I have passed away future generations may enjoy moral »and instructive amusements of my creation.
During my career as a showman I have catered to three generations. It is a common occurrence for people to come up to me in the show and say, 'Mr. Barnum, my parents took me to see your show, thirty or forty years ago, and now I have come and brought my wife and children.' Indeed, they frequently bring their grandchildren, and thus I am privileged to confer pleasure on four generations.
I take great pleasure in associating with the various peoples of the world, and studying human nature. And I advise all persons to take every opportunity to travel and mingle with the various nations, learning their peculiarities. Much information it thereby gained, and a fund for reflection and amusement secured.