" 'Hundreds,' he replied, 'why only three persons have gone out by this way, and they came back, saying that it was a mistake and begging to be let in again.'
" 'What does this mean?' I inquired; 'surely thousands of people have been all over the Museum since they came in.'
" 'Certainly,' was the reply; 'but after they have gone from one saloon to another, and have been on every floor, even to the roof, they come down and travel the same route over again.'
"At this time I espied a tall Irish woman with two good-sized children whom I had happened to notice when they came in early in the morning.
" 'Step this way, madam,' said I, politely; 'you will never be able to get into the street by the front door without crushing these dear children. We have opened a large egress here, and you can thus pass by these rear stairs into Ann Street, and thus avoid all danger.'
" 'Sure,' replied the woman, indignantly, 'an' I'm not going out at all, at all, nor the children either, for we've brought our dinners and we are going to stay all day.'
"Further investigation showed that pretty much all of the visitors had brought their dinners with the evident intention of literally 'making a day of it.' No one expected to go home till night; the building was overcrowded, and hundreds were waiting at the front entrance to get in when they could. In despair, I sauntered upon the stage behind the scenes, biting my lips with vexation, when I happened to see the scene-painter at work, and a happy thought struck me. 'Here,' I exclaimed, 'take a piece of canvas four feet square and paint on it, as soon as you can, in large letters,
{pointing finger} TO THE EGRESS.'
"Seizing his brush, he finished the sign in fifteen minutes, and I directed the carpenter to nail it over the door leading to the back stairs. He did so, and as the crowd, after making the entire tour of the establishment, came pouring down the main stairs from the third-story, they stopped and looked at the new sign, while some of them read audibly: 'To the Aigress.'
" 'The Aigress,' said others, 'sure that's an animal we haven't seen,' and the throng began to pour down the back-stairs only to find that the 'Aigress ' was the elephant, and that the elephant was all out o' doors, or so much of it as began with Ann Street. Meanwhile, I began to accommodate those who had long been waiting with their money at the Broadway entrance."
Barnum had planned to expend the entire profits of the first year in advertising, but so fast did the money pour in, that he was often embarrassed to devise means to get rid of it, according to his first idea. One of the most expensive advertisements consisted of a large number of oil paintings of every animal in zoology. These paintings were prepared secretly, and were put between the windows of the building at night. The town was paralyzed with astonishment, and the daily receipts took an upward jump of nearly a hundred dollars.
Flower shows, dog shows, poultry and bird shows, with prizes to the best specimens, had long been features of the Museum, and at last Barnum rashly decided on a baby show. There was a prize of one hundred dollars attached, and a committee of ladies were appointed to decide on the best baby. The unsuspecting Barnum stepped into the circle and announced the prize winner, but to his astonishment the verdict did not suit anybody but the mother of one baby. The other ninety-nine indignant mothers "jumped on" to Mr Barnum and the committee, and denounced the whole proceeding as impartial and unjust. Barnum offered to let them select a new committee, and even agreed to give another hundred dollar prize, but the storm raged with unabating fury. There were baby shows after that, but the verdict was delivered in writing, and Mr. Barnum never gave the prize in person.
In June, 1843, a herd of yearling buffaloes was on exhibition in Boston. Barnum 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, 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 the balcony band, which was 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 humbug. 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 their laugh over the Buffalo hunt, Barnum let it become known that he was the author of the joke. Of course, their cry of "charlatan," "humbug," and "swindler" was louder than ever from that time, but Barnum never objected to being celled names. The more advertising the better.
About this time Barnum engaged a band of Indians from Iowa.
The party comprised large and noble specimens of the untutored savage, as well as several very beautiful squaws, with two or three interesting "papooses." They lived and lodged in a large room on the top floor of the Museum, and cooked their own victuals in their own way. They gave their war-dances on the stage in the Lecture Room with great vigor and enthusiasm, much to the satisfaction of the audiences. But these wild Indians seemed to consider their dances as realities. Hence, when they gave a real war-dance, it was dangerous for any parties, except their manager and interpreter to be on the stage, for the moment they had finished their war-dance, they began to leap and peer about behind the scenes in search of victims for their tomahawks and scalping knives! Indeed, lest in these frenzied moments they might make a dash at the orchestra or the audience, Barnum had a high rope barrier placed between them and the savages on the front of the stage.
Barnum counted one incident in connection with his Indian show as notable, being one of the few occasions when he played the losing card.
"After they had been a week in the Museum," he said, "I proposed a change of performance for the week following by introducing new dances. Among these was the Indian wedding dance. At that time I printed but one set of posters (large bills) per week, so that whatever was announced for Monday was repeated every day and evening during that week. Before the wedding dance came off on Monday afternoon, I was informed that I was to provide a large, new, red woolen blanket, at a cost of ten dollars, for the bridegroom to present to the father of the bride. I ordered the purchase to be made, but was considerably taken aback when I was informed that I must have another new blanket for the evening, inasmuch as the savage old Indian chief, father-in-law to the bridegroom, would not consent to his daughter's being approached with the wedding dance unless he had his blanket present,
"I undertook to explain to the chief, through the interpreter, that this was only a 'make believe' wedding; but the old savage shrugged his shoulders, and gave such a terrific 'Ugh!' that I was glad to make my peace by ordering another blanket. As we gave two performances per day, I was out of pocket $120 for twelve 'wedding blankets' that week."
One of the beautiful squaws named Do-humme died in the Museum. Sh
e had been a great favorite with many ladies. Do-humme was buried on the border of Sylvan Water, at Greenwood Cemetery, where a small monument erected by her friends, designates her last resting-place. The poor Indians were very sorrowful for many days, and desired to get back again to their Western wilds. The father and the betrothed of Do-humme cooked various dishes of food and placed them upon the roof of the Museum, where they believed the spirit of their departed friend came daily for its supply; and these dishes were renewed every morning during the stay of the Indians at the Museum.
CHAPTER X. GIANTS AND DWARFS.
SCIENCE FOR THE PUBLIC--MESMERISM EXTRAORDINARY--KILLING OF A RIVAL--THE TWO GIANTS--DISCOVERY OF "TOM THUMB"--SEEKING OTHER WORLDS TO CONQUER--FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND.
Barnum would never submit to being outdone by a rival. In "poker" parlance, he would "see him and go one better." His chief competitor now was Peale, who was running Peale's Museum, and proudly proclaiming it to be a more scientific institution than Barnum's. Thus, he said, he was catering to a higher class of patrons.
"Science, indeed!" said Barnum. "I'll give him science to his heart's content!"
Mesmerism was then a great novelty, and Peale was given exhibitions of it. He had one subject on whom he operated daily, with most surprising results; though at times she was unimpressionable, and the people who had paid to come in and see her performances complained loudly that they were being swindled. Barnum saw here a great opportunity to squelch a rival and increase his own fame at a single stroke. He engaged a bright little girl who was exceedingly susceptible to such mesmeric influences as he could induce. That is, she learned her lesson thoroughly, and when he had apparently put her to sleep with a few passes and stood behind her, she seemed to be duly "impressed," as he desired; raised her hands as he willed, fell from her chair to the floor; and if he put candy or tobacco into his own 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," Barnum 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 his "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," Barnum would say, "looking at his watch; "I have two minutes more, and meantime, to show that a person in this state is utterly insensible to pain, I propose to cut off one of the fingers of the little girl who is still asleep." He would then take out a knife and feel of the edge, and when he turned around to the girl whom he 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?" he 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."
Barnum kept up this performance for several weeks, till he quite killed Peale's "genuine" mesmerism in the rival establishment. At the end of six months he bought Peale's Museum, and the whole, including the splendid gallery of American portraits, was removed to the American Museum, and he immediately advertised the great card of a "Double Attraction," and "Two Museums in One," without extra charge.
Barnum was now devoting all his attention and energy to this enterprise, and was achieving great success. He made everything contribute to its popularity. When a politician asked him for what candidate he was going to vote, he would answer, "For the American Museum;" and this was an index of his whole demeanor.
Among the genuine and literally "great" features of his show were several giants. They often gave both the showman and his 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, "what he calls his 'study'--meaning, I suppose, the place where he intends to study his spelling-book!"
He 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 calling the Frenchman a "Shanghai," and receiving in return the epithet of "Nigger." From words both were eager to proceed to blows, and both ran to the collection of arms, one seizing the club with which Captain Cook, or any other 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, Barnum ran from his 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.
From giants to dwarfs. None of Barnum's attractions has been more famous than "Tom Thumb." The story of his discovery and engagement is dated in November, 1842. Barnum was then at Bridgeport, Conn. One day he heard that there belonged in one of the families of the place a phenomenally small child, and he got his brother, Philo F. Barnum, to bring the little fellow to his hotel. "He was," Barnum afterward said, "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 8th, 1842, and I announced the dwarf on my Museum bills as 'General Tom Thumb.' "
Barnum took the greatest pains to educate and train the diminutive prodigy, devoting many hours to the task by day and by night, and he was very successful, for the boy was an apt pupil, with a great deal of native talent, and a keen sense of the ludicrous. Barnum afterward 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 Barnum was to pay all traveling expenses. He speedily became a public favorite, and long before the year was out, Barnum voluntarily increased his weekly salary to twenty-five dollars, and he fairly earned it.
For two years Barnu
m had been the owner of the Museum. He had enjoyed great prosperity. Long ago he had paid every dollar of the purchase-money out of the profits of the place. All rivals had been driven from the field. He was out of debt, and had a handsome balance in the bank. The experimental stage was passed, and the enterprise was an established success. It was, indeed, in such perfect order that Barnum felt safe in leaving it to his lieutenants, while he went forth to seek new realms of conquest. Accordingly he made 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. He proposed to test the curiosity of men and women on the other side of the Atlantic.
After arranging his business affairs for a long absence, and making every preparation for an extended foreign tour, on Thursday, January 18th, 1844, he went on board the new and fine sailing ship "Yorkshire," Captain D. G. Bailey, bound for Liverpool. The party included General Tom Thumb, his parents, his tutor, and Professor Guillaudeu, a French naturalist. They were accompanied by several personal friends, and the City Brass Band kindly volunteered to escort them to Sandy Hook.
They were met at Liverpool by a large crowd of sight-seers, who had been attracted thither by the fame of "Tom Thumb." The curiosity of the populace was not gratified, however, for Barnum had the child smuggled ashore unseen, under his mother's shawl.
"My letters of introduction," said the showman, 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 mourning for the death of Prince Albert's father, and would not permit the approach of any entertainments. Meanwhile, confidential letters from London informed me that Mr. Maddox, Manager of Princess's Theatre, 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 me 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 an engagement of the General for three nights at Princess's Theatre. 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 a close, we went to London."
Life of Hon. Phineas T. Barnum Page 8