Mr. Noble read the following letter from Mr. Barnum:
“NEW YORK, April 25th, 1856. “DEAR SIR: I have just received a slip containing a call for a public meeting of the citizens of Bridgeport, to sympathize with me in my trouble. It is headed by his Honor the Mayor, and is signed by most of our prominent citizens, as well as by many more who by hard labor earn their daily bread, and who appreciate a calamity which at a single blow strips a man of his fortune, his dear home, and all the worldly comfort which years of diligent labor has acquired. It is due to truth to say that I knew nothing of this movement until your letter informed me of it. In misfortune, the true sympathy of neighbors is more consoling and precious than anything which money can purchase. This voluntary offering of my fellow-citizens, though it thrills me with painful emotions and causes tears of gratitude, yet it imparts renewed strength and fills my heart with thankfulness to Providence for raising up to my sight, above all this wreck, kind hearts which soar above the sordid atmosphere of ‘dirty dollars.’ I can never forget this unexpected kindness from my old friends and neighbors. I trust I am not blind to my many faults and shortcomings; I, however, do feel great consolation in believing that I never used money or position to oppress the poor or wrong my fellowmen, and that I never turned empty away whom I had the power to assist. My poor sick wife, who needs the bracing air which our dear home (made beautiful by her willing hand) would now have afforded her, is driven by the orders of her physician to a secluded spot on Long Island, where the sea-wind lends its healthful influence, and where I have also retired for the double purpose of consoling her and recruiting my own constitution, which, through the excitement of the last few months, has most seriously failed me. In our quiet and humble retreat that which I most sincerely pray for is tranquillity and contentment. I am sure that the remembrance of the kindness of my Bridgeport friends will aid me in securing these cherished blessings. No man who has not passed through similar scenes, can fully comprehend the misery which has been crowded into the last few months of my life; but I have endeavored to preserve my integrity, and I humbly hope and believe that I am being taught humility and reliance upon Providence, which will yet afford a thousand times more peace and true happiness than can be acquired in the dire strife and turmoil, excitements and struggles of this money-worshiping age. The man who coins his brain and blood into gold, who wastes all of his time and thought upon the almighty dollar, who looks no higher than blocks of houses and tracts of lands, and whose iron chest is crammed with stocks and mortgages, tied up with his own heart-strings, may console himself with the idea of safe investments; but he misses a pleasure which I firmly believe this lesson was intended to secure to me, and which it will secure, if I can fully bring my mind to realize its wisdom. I think I hear you say,
When the devil was sick,
The devil a saint would be,
But when the devil got well,
The devil a saint was he.’
“Granted, but after all the man who looks upon the loss of money as anything compared to the loss of honor, or health, or self-respect, or friends; a man who can find no source of happiness except in riches, is to be pitied for his blindness. I certainly feel that the loss of money, of home and my home comforts, is dreadful; that to be driven again to find a resting place away from the friends that I loved, and from where I had fondly hoped I was to end my days. And when I had lavished time, money, and everything to make my descent to the grave placid and pleasant, is indeed a severe lesson; but after all I firmly believe it is for the best, and though my heart may break I will not repine. I regret, beyond expression, that any man should be a loser for having trusted to my name; it would not have been so if I had not myself been deceived. As it is, I am gratified in knowing that all my individual obligations will be met. It would have been much better if clock creditors had accepted the best offers that it was in my power to make them. But it was not so to be, it is now too late, and as I willingly give up all I possess, I can do no more. Wherever my future lot may be cast, I shall ever fondly cherish the kindness which I have always received from the citizens of Bridgeport. I am, my dear sir, “Truly yours, P. T. BARNUM.”
The reading of the letter excited much sensation, applause, and laughter.
The resolutions were re-read and passed unanimously.
Mr. William Bishop said it was unusual for citizens to meet together to express sympathy with one who had lost his fortune. It was very common for the people and the press to eulogize a man when he was beyond the reach of human sympathy. He thought it was far better to tender a man the marks of approval while he was yet alive and could appreciate it. [Applause] For along time in this city they were accustomed to bury their dead among the living. Mr. Barnum had done more than any other man to secure to this city the most beautiful-cemetery in Connecticut. He alone had secured to the city what it had never had before–a public square. On the east side of the river he had almost completed a school-house, a thing which could be said of no other man. [Loud cheering.] If material aid were needed, he should be proud to assist in raising it. There was one clause in the resolutions which he did not believe. He did not believe that “in all probability he could ever retrieve” his fortune. [Prolonged cheering.]
Mr. J. E. Dunham made a brief but earnest speech. He hoped this meeting would put down the sneers which were in circulation in relation to Mr. Barnum’s sincerity, by showing that those estimated him most who knew him best.
Mr. Nathaniel Greene and Mr. Bowles made short but effective speeches.
The meeting was characterized throughout by the greatest enthusiasm, and adjourned with three loud cheers for Barnum.
Nor was sympathy all his neighbors offered him; shortly after this meeting a number of gentlemen in Bridgeport offered him a loan of $50,000, if that sum would meet the exigency.
Little by little the magnitude of the fraud practiced upon Barnum’s too confiding nature dawned upon him. Not only had his notes been used to five times the amount stipulated, but the money had been applied, not to relieving the temporary embarrassment of the company, but almost entirely to the redemption of the old claims of years gone by. Barnum sent two of his friends to New Haven to ask for a meeting of the creditors, authorizing them to say for him in substance:
“GENTLEMEN: This is a capital practical joke! Before I negotiated with your clock company at all, I was assured by several of you, and particularly by a representative of the bank which was the largest creditor of the concern, that the Jerome Company was eminently responsible, and that the head of the same was uncommonly pious. On the strength of such representations solely, I was induced to agree to indorse and accept paper for that company to the extent of $110,000–no more. That sum I am now willing to pay for my own verdancy, with an additional sum of $40,000 for your ‘cuteness, making a total of $150,000, which you can have if you cry ‘quits’ with the fleeced showman and let him off.”
Many of the old creditors favored this proposition; but it was found that the indebtedness was so scattered it would be impracticable to attempt a settlement by an unanimous compromise of the creditors.
Barnum therefore turned over his Bridgeport property to Connecticut assignees, moved his family to New York, and made an assignment there of all his other property, real estate and personal effects.
About this time he received a letter from Philadelphia proffering the loan of $500 in case he really was in need. The wording of the letter made Barnum suspicious that it was a trick to ascertain whether he really had any property or if he made an honest settlement to the best of his ability. To this letter Barnum replied that he did need $500, and as he had expected the money never came.
But the Philadelphia banks which were holding the Jerome paper for a higher percentage, at once acceded to the terms which Mr. Barnum had announced himself able to pay,
Every dollar which he owed on his own account he had already paid, and for the liabilities incurred by the swindle which had involved him he offered such a percentage which he thought his estate, when sold, would eventually pay. Mrs. Barnum also gave up certain portions of her own property to redeem such notes as could be secured upon these terms.
They went to live in a hired furnished house in New York, the landlady and her family boarding with them. At forty-six Barnum found himself once more at the foot of the ladder–beginning life anew.
“The situation is disheartening,” he said, “but I have experience, energy, health, and hope.”
CHAPTER XXVI. IDLENESS WITHOUT REST.
ANNOYING PERSECUTIONS OF CREDITORS–SUMMER ON LONG ISLAND–THE BLACK WHALE PAYS THE BOARD BILL–THE WHEELER & WILSON COMPANY REMOVE TO EAST BRIDGEPORT–SETTING SAIL FOR ENGLAND.
In the summer of 1855 Barnum had sold the American Museum to Messrs. John Greenwood, Jr., and Henry D. Butler. They paid nearly twice as much for the collection as it had originally cost, giving notes for nearly the entire amount, securing the notes by a chattel mortgage, and hiring the premises from Mrs. Barnum, who owned the Museum property lease, and on which, by agreement of the lessees, she realized something like $19,000 a year. The chattel mortgage was, of course, turned over to the New York assignees with the other property.
Barnum’s widespread reputation for shrewdness was, in his present difficulties, destined to be the cause of considerable annoyance to him. Certain outside creditors who had bought clock notes at a tremendous discount, believing that Barnum’s means were still ample, made up their minds that they must be paid at once without waiting for the sale of the property by assignees.
They, therefore, took what is known as “supplementary proceedings,” by which is meant an examination before a judge, compelling the debtor to disclose, under oath, everything in regard to his property, his present means of living, and so on.
“Putting Barnum through a course of sprouts,” as they expressed it, came to be a very frequent occurrence. One creditor after another hauled him up, and the attorneys would ask the same questions which had already been answered a dozen times.
This persistent and unnecessary annoyance created a great deal of sympathy for the man, the papers took his part, and even the judges before whom he appeared, personally sided with him, although they were obliged to administer the law. After a while, the judges ruled that he need not answer any questions propounded by an attorney, if he had already answered the same question in any previous examination.
In fact, one of the judges lost all patience on one occasion, and said sharply to the examining attorney:
“This, sir, has become simply a case of persecution. Mr. Barnum has many times answered every question that can properly be put to him, to elicit the desired information; and I think it is time to stop these examinations. I advise him not to answer one interrogatory which he has replied to under any previous inquiries.
One consequential little lawyer commenced his examination in behalf of a note-shaver, who held a thousand dollar note which he had bought for seven hundred. After the oath had been administered, he arranged his pen, ink, and paper, and in a loud tone of voice asked:
“What is your name, sir?”
The answer was given, and the next question delivered in a louder, more peremptory tone was:
“What is your business?”
“Attending bar,” answered Barnum.
“Attending bar!” exclaimed the lawyer; “attending bar! Why, I thought you were a teetotaler.”
“So I am,” declared the witness.
“And yet, sir, you have the audacity to assert that you peddle rum all day, and drink none yourself?”
“That is not a relevant question,” said Barnum.
“I will appeal to his Honor the Judge if you don’t answer it instantly,” said the lawyer, gleefully.
“Very well; I do attend bar, and yet never drink intoxicating liquors.”
“Where do you attend bar, and for whom?” pursued the lawyer.
“I attend the bar of this court nearly every day, for the benefit of two-penny lawyers and their greedy clients,” replied the disgusted Barnum.
On another occasion a young lawyer who had been pushing his inquiries to a great length, said in a half-laughing tone of apology:
“You see, Mr. Barnum, I am searching after the small thing; I am willing to take even the crumbs that fall from the rich man’s table.”
“Which are you, then, Lazarus or one of the dogs?” asked Barnum, wearily.
“I guess a blood-hound would not smell out much on this trial,” returned the lawyer, good-naturedly, adding that he had no more questions to ask.
On account of Mrs. Barnum’s continued ill-health, the family spent the summer in a farm-house at Westhampton, Long Island. The farm lay close to the ocean, and the place was very cool and delightful. The respite from active life, and the annoyance attendant to his financial troubles was of the greatest benefit to Mr. Barnum, who spent the time shooting, fishing, and driving.
One morning they discovered that the waves had thrown up on the beach a young black whale, nearly twelve feet long. The animal was dead, but still hard and fresh, and Barnum bought it for a few dollars from the man who claimed it by right of discovery. He sent it at once to the Museum, where it was exhibited in a huge refrigerator for a few days, where crowds came to see it. The managers very properly gave Barnum a share of the profits, which amounted to a sum sufficient to pay the board-bill of the family for the entire season.
“Well,” said the amazed landlord, when he heard of it, “you do beat all for luck. Here you come and board for four months with your family, and when the time is nearly up and you’re getting ready to leave, out rolls a big black whale on our beach, a thing never heard of before in this vicinity, and you take that whale and pay your board-bill with it!”
Shortly after his return to New York an unforeseen event occurred which Barnum realized was likely to extricate him from his difficulties.
The new city which had led him into ruin now promised to be his redemption.
The now gigantic Wheeler & Wilson Sewing-Machine Company was then doing a comparatively small yet rapidly growing business at Watertown, Connecticut. The Terroy & Barnum clock factory was standing idle, almost worthless, in East Bridgeport, and Wheeler & Wilson saw in the empty building, the situation, the ease of communication with New York, and other advantages, precisely what they wanted, provided they could procure the premises at a rate which would compensate them for the expense and trouble of removing their establishment from Watertown. The clock factory was sold for a trifle and the wheeler & Wilson Company moved into it and speedily enlarged it.
This important occurrence gave Barnum great hope for the increased value of the land belonging to his estate. And moreover Mr. Wheeler offered him a loan of $5,000 without security, which sum Barnum accepted, and devoted it, together with Mrs. Barnum’s money, to purchasing the East Bridgeport property at the assignees’ sale and also taking up such clock notes as could be purchased at a reasonable percentage. Though this new plan did eventually result in putting more money in his pocket than the Jerome complication had taken out, yet the process was a slow one. But Barnum concluded to let it work itself out, and meanwhile, with the idea of doing something to help out the accumulation and even saving something to add to the amount, he made up his mind to go to Europe again.
He set sail in 1857, taking with him Tom Thumb and little Cordelia Howard, who had attained celebrity for her artistic rendering of juvenile characters,
CHAPTER XXVII. A PROSPEROUS EXILE.
HIS SUCCESSFUL PUPIL–MAKING MANY FRIENDS IN LONDON–ACQUAINTANCE WITH THACKERAY–A COMEDY OF ERRORS IN A GERMAN CUSTOM HOUSE–ARISTOCRATIC PATRONAGE AT FASHIONABLE RESORTS–BARNUM’S IMPRESSIONS OF HOLLAND AND THE DUTCH.
Years ago Barnum had known Albert Smith in London as a dentist, literary “hack,” occasional writer for Punch and various magazines, etc., not achieving notable success in any of these undertakings. He now found him the most eminent and successful showman in the city, occupying Barnum’s old quarters in Egyptian Hall. The chief attraction of his show was a panorama of Mont Blanc, accompanying which he gave a lecture, descriptive of the mountain and relating his own experiences in climbing it. When Barnum called upon him he found him just as unassuming and cordial as ever; he was forthwith entered on the free list at all of Smith’s entertainments, and the two often dined together at the Garrick Club.
The first time Barnum attended Smith’s exhibition, the latter gave him 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 narrating the story of the ashes and bones to 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! 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 Barnum would at once recognize it as a paraphrase of the scene wherein they, too, had figured in 1844, at the porter’s lodge of Warwick Castle. “In the course of the entertainment,” says Barnum, “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 they dined together at the club that day, Smith introduced Barnum to several of his acquaintances as his teacher in the show business. He also remarked to Barnum that he must have recognized as old friends many of the incidents and jokes in the lecture. Barnum replied that he did. “Well,” said Smith, “of course you as a showman, know very well that, to win popular success. we have to appropriate and adapt to our uses everything of the sort that we can get hold of.”
By thus engrafting his various experiences upon this Mont Blanc entertainment, Albert Smith succeeded in serving up a salmagundi feast which was relished alike by royal and less distinguished palates.
When William Makepeace Thackeray first visited this country, he brought a letter of introduction to Barnum, from Albert Smith, and called on the showman at his New York museum. He spent an hour or more there, asking much advice of Barnum in regard to the management of the course of lectures on “The English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century,” which he proposed to deliver, as he did afterwards, with very great success, in the principal cities of the Union. Barnum gave him the best advice he could as to management, and the cities he ought to visit, for which he was very grateful, and he called on Barnum whenever he was in New York. Barnum also saw him repeatedly when he came to America the second time with his lectures on “The Four Georges,” which, it will be remembered, he delivered in the United States in the season of 1855-56, before he read them to audiences in Great Britain. Barnum’s relations with this great novelist were cordial and intimate; and now, when he called upon him, in 1857, at his own house, Thackeray grasped him heartily by the hand, and said:
“Mr. Barnum, I admire you more than ever I have read the accounts in the papers of the examinations you underwent in New York courts; and the positive pluck you exhibit under your pecuniary embarrassments is worthy of all praise. You would never have received credit for the philosophy you manifest if these financial misfortunes had not overtaken you.”
Barnum thanked him for his compliment, and he continued:
“But tell me, Barnum, are you really in need of present assistance? For if you are you must be helped.”
“Not in the least,” the showman replied, laughing “I need more money in order to get out of bankruptcy, and I intend to earn it; but so far as daily bread is concerned, I am quite at ease, for my wife is worth L30,000 or L40,000.”
“Is it possible!??” he exclaimed, with evident delight; “well, now, you have lost all my sympathy; why, that is more than I ever expect to be worth; I shall be sorry for you no more.”
During his stay in London, Barnum met Thackeray several times, and on one occasion dined with him. He repeatedly expressed his obligations to Barnum for the advice and assistance he had given him on the occasion of his first lecturing visit to the United States.
Soon after Barnum arrived in London he was visited by Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, who had married Jenny Lind. They were then living in Dresden, but Madame Goldschmidt had insisted on his hurrying over to England to see her old manager, and ascertain whether he really was in want. Barnum assured him that he was getting on comfortably, though he had to exercise economy, and that his family would presently come over and live with him in London. Goldschmidt urged him to come to Dresden to live. “It is much cheaper living there,” he said, “and my wife will be so glad to find a suitable house for you.” But Barnum declined the offer. His business prospects would be better in London than in Dresden.
Barnum’s old friends, Julius Benedict and Signor Belletti, also called on him frequently, and made him feel much at home. Among others whom he met in London, some of them quite frequently at dinners, were Mr. George Augustus Sala, Mr. Edmund Yates, Mr. Horace Mayhew, Mr. Alfred Bunn, Mr Lumley, of Her Majesty’s Theatre; Mr. Buckstone; of the Haymarket; Mr. Charles Kean, our princely countryman; Mr. George Peabody, Mr. J. M. Morris, the manager, Mr. Bates, of Baring Brothers & Co.; Mr. Oxenford, dramatic critic of the London Times, Dr. Ballard, the American dentist, and many other eminent persons.
He had numerous offers from professional friends on both sides of the Atlantic, who supposed him to be in need of employment. Mr. Barney Williams, who had not then acted in England, proposed, in the kindest manner, to make him his agent for a tour through Great Britain, and to give him one-third of the profits which he and Mrs. Williams might make by their acting. Mr. Pettengill, of New York, the newspaper advertising agent, offered him the fine salary of $10,000 a year to transact business for him in Great Britain. He wrote: “When you failed in consequence of the Jerome clock notes, I felt that your creditors were dealing hard with you; that they should have let you up and give you a chance, and they would have fared better, and I wish I was a creditor, so as to show what I would do.” These offers, both from Mr. Williams and Mr. Pettengill, Barnum felt obliged to decline.
Mr. Lumley, manager of Her Majesty’s Theatre, used to send him an order for a private box for every opera night, and Barnum frequently availed himself of his courtesy.
Meanwhile the showman was by no means idle. Cordelia Howard as “Little Eva,” with her mother as the inimitable “Topsy,” were highly successful in London and other large cities, while General Tom Thumb, returning after so long an absence, drew crowded houses wherever he went. These were strong spokes in the wheel that was moving slowly but surely in the effort to get Barnum out of debt, and, if possible, to save some portion of his real estate. Of course, it was not generally known that he had any interest whatever in either of these exhibitions; if it had been, possibly some of the clock creditors would have annoyed him; but he busied himself in these and in other ways, working industriously and making much money, which he constantly remitted to his trusty agent at home.
Barnum spent some weeks in London and then went to Germany. He was accompanied by Tom Thumb, and they went by the way of Paris, Strasburg, and Baden-Baden. At the frontier they had a terrible time with the thick-headed customs-inspector. This was at Kehl, near Strasburg. “I knew,” said Barnum in telling the story, “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 solemnly 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 bill, and, examining it, burst into a loud laugh, ‘Why, it is but fifteen kreutzers!’ 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.”
Baden-Baden was found to be an uncommonly pleasant place, the neatest and cleanest little city he had ever seen, Barnum thought. As soon as they were fairly settled there, Tom Thumb began driving out on the streets in his tiny carriage, with his ponies and liveried coachmen and footmen. Public curiosity was greatly excited. The place was thronged with visitors, it being one of the most popular resorts in Europe. There were kings and queens, and minor royalties and members of the nobility without number. All these soon forgot their other amusements and entertainments in their interest in the little General. They crowded his rooms at his reception every day, and Barnum, seeing the quality of his patrons, put the entrance fee higher than it ever was at any other place. Their stay at this resort was exceedingly profitable.
Thence they proceeded to the other German watering places, such as Ems, Weisbaden and Hamburg. They saw that it paid to strike for high game. No matter how high their fee, the crowned, titled, rich, aristocratic throng came to their show by thousands. Among them was the King of Holland, who was particularly interested in Tom Thumb. So profitable was the tour, that Barnum was able to send many thousands of dollars to his agents in America, to buy back his real estate and settle up the remains of the disastrous clock business.
Other German cities visited were Frankfort-on-the-Main, Mayence and Cologne. At the latter place, they remained for some time, seeing as well as giving shows. Then they went on to Rotterdam and Amsterdam.
The shrewd and enterprising Yankee was much impressed by the thrift and industry of Holland. “It gave me,” he afterwards said, “more genuine satisfaction than any other foreign country I have ever visited, if I except Great Britain. Redeemed as a large portion of the whole surface of the land has been from the bottom of the sea, by the wonderful dykes, which are monuments of the industry of whole generations of human beavers, Holland seems to me the most curious, as well as interesting country in the world. The people, too, with their quaint costumes, their extraordinary cleanliness, their thrift, industry and frugality, pleased me very much. It is the universal testimony of all travellers, that the Hollanders are the neatest and most economical people among all nations. So far as cleanliness is concerned, in Holland it is evidently not next to, but far ahead of godliness. It is rare, indeed, to meet a ragged, dirty, or drunken person. The people are very temperate and economical in their habits; and even the very rich–and there is a vast amount of wealth in the country–live with great frugality, though all of the people live well.
“As for the scenery, I cannot say much for it, since it is only diversified by thousands of windmills, which are made to do all kinds of work, from grinding grain to pumping water from the inside of the dykes back to the sea again. As I exhibited the General only in Rotterdam and Amsterdam, and to no great profit in either city, we spent most of our time in rambling about to see what was to be seen. In the country villages it seemed as if every house was scrubbed twice and whitewashed once every day in the week, excepting Sunday. Some places were almost painfully pure, and I was in one village where horses and cattle were not allowed to go through the streets and no one was permitted to wear their boots or shoes in the houses. There is a general and constant exercise of brooms, pails, floor-brushes and mops all over Holland, and in some places, even, this kind of thing is carried so far, I am told, that the only trees set out are scrub-oaks.”
Barnum thought that the reason why his exhibitions were not better patronized here was that the people were too frugal to spend much money for mere amusements. “But they and their habits and ways afforded us so much amusement, that we were quite willing they should give our entertainment the ‘go by,’ as they generally did. We were in Amsterdam at the season of ‘Kremis,’ or the annual fair, which is held in all the principal towns, and where shows of all descriptions are open, at prices for admission ranging from one to five pennies, and are attended by nearly the whole population. For the people generally, this one great holiday seems all-sufficient for the whole year. I went through scores of booths, where curiosities and monstrosities of all kinds were exhibited, and was able to make some purchases and engagements for the American Museum. Among these was the Albino family, consisting of a man, his wife, and son, who were by far the most interesting and attractive specimens of their class I had ever seen.
“We visited the Hague, the capital and the finest city in Holland. It is handsomely and regularly laid out, and contains a beautiful theatre, a public picture gallery, which contains some of the best works of Vandyke, Paul Potter, and other Dutch masters, while the museum is especially rich in rarities from China and Japan. When we arrived at the Hague, Mr. August Belmont, who had been the United States Minister at that court, had just gone home, but I heard many encomiums passed upon him and his family, and I was told some pretty good stories of his familiarity with the king, and of the ‘jolly times’ these two personages frequently enjoyed together. I did not miss visiting the great government museum, as I wished particularly to see the rich collection of Japan ware and arms, made during the many years when the Dutch carried on almost exclusively the entire foreign trade with the Japanese. I spent several days in minutely examining these curious manufactures of a people who were then almost as little known to nations generally as are the inhabitants of the planet Jupiter.”
On the first day of his visits to this museum, Barnum stood for an hour before a large case containing a most unique and extraordinary collection of fabulous animals, made from paper and other materials, and looking as natural and genuine as the stuffed skins of any animals in the American Museum. There were serpents two yards long, with a head and a pair of feet at each end; frogs as large as a man, with human hands and feet; turtles with three heads; monkeys with two heads and six legs; scores of equally curious monstrosities; and at least two dozen mermaids, of all sorts and sizes. Looking at these “sirens” he easily divined from whence the Feejee mermaid originated.
After a delightful visit in Holland, he went back to England; and proceeding to Manchester, opened his exhibition. For several days the hall was crowded to overflowing at each of the three, and sometimes four, entertainments they gave every day. By this time, his wife and two youngest daughters had come over to London, and he hired furnished lodgings in the suburbs where they could live within the strictest limits of economy. It was necessary now for him 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 his absence, he set his face once more towards home and the west, and took steamer at Liverpool for New York.
CHAPTER XXVIII. HOME AGAIN.
JOLLY VOYAGE–MOCK TRIALS ON SHIPBOARD–BARNUM ON TRIAL FOR HIS LIFE–DISCOMFITED WITNESSES AND A TRIUMPHANT PRISONER–FAIR WEATHER FRIENDS–THE BURNING OF IRANISTAN
Barnum made in his life many voyages across the Atlantic, but none, perhaps, pleasanter than this. On every such trip he got under rest and relief from his multitudinous business cares and arduous labors; and he always contrived to organize plenty of merry-making among his fellow-passengers. On this occasion he felt in uncommonly good spirits because he was so rapidly retrieving his well-nigh fallen fortunes. The feature of the voyage was a series of mock trials, in which a judge was selected, jurymen drawn, prisoners arraigned, counsel employed, and all the formalities of a court established. “I have the vanity to think,” said he, afterwards, in telling in his own inimitable way the story of this voyage, “that if my good fortune had directed me to that profession, I should have made a very fair lawyer for I have always had a great fondness for debate and especially for the cross-examination of witnesses, unless that witness was P. T. Barnum in examination under supplementary proceedings at the instance of some note shaver, who had bought a clock note at a discount of thirty-six per cent. In this mock court, I was unanimously chosen as prosecuting attorney, and, as the court was established expressly to convict, I had no difficulty in carrying the jury and securing the punishment of the prisoner. A small fine was generally imposed, and the fund thus collected was given to a poor sailor boy who had fallen from the mast and broken his leg.”
“After several of these trials had been held, a dozen or more of the passengers secretly put their heads together and resolved to place the ‘showman’ on trial for his life. An indictment, covering twenty pages, was drawn up by several legal gentlemen among the passengers, charging him with being the Prince of Humbugs, and enumerating a dozen special counts, containing charges of the most absurd and ridiculous description. Witnesses were then brought together, and privately instructed what to say and do. Two or three days were devoted to arranging this mighty prosecution, ‘When everything was ready, I was arrested, and the formidable indictment read to me. I saw at a glance that time and talent had been brought into requisition, and that my trial was to be more elaborate than any that had preceded it. I asked for half an hour to prepare for my defense, which was granted. Meanwhile, seats were arranged to accommodate the court and spectators, and extra settees were placed for the ladies on the upper deck, where they could look down, see and hear all that transpired. Curiosity was on tip-toe, for it was evident that this was to be a long, exciting and laughable trial. At the end of half an hour the judge was on the bench the jury had taken their places; the witnesses were ready; the counsel for the prosecution, four in number, with pens, ink, and paper in profusion, were seated, and everything seemed ready. I was brought in by a special constable, the indictment read, and I was asked to plead guilty, or not guilty. I rose and In a most solemn manner, stated that I could not conscientiously plead guilty or not guilty; that I had, in fact, committed many of the acts charged in the indictment, but these acts, I was ready to show, were not criminal, but on the contrary, worthy of praise. My plea was received and the first witness called.
“He testified to having visited the prisoner’s museum, and of being humbugged by the Feejee mermaid; the nurse of Washington; and by other curiosities, natural and unnatural. The questions and answers having been all arranged in advance, everything worked smoothly. Acting as my own counsel, I cross-examined the witness by simply asking whether he saw anything else in the museum besides what he had mentioned.
” ‘Oh! yes, I saw thousands of other things.’
” ‘Were they curious?’
” ‘Certainly; many of them very astonishing.’
” ‘Did you ever witness a dramatic representation in the museum?’
” ‘Yes, sir, a very good one.’
” ‘What did you pay for all this?’
” ‘Twenty-five cents.’
” ‘That will do, sir; you can step down.’
“A second, third and fourth witness were called, and the examination was similar to the foregoing. Another witness then appeared to testify in regard to another count in the indictment. He stated that for several weeks he was the guest of the prisoner, at his country residence Iranistan and he gave a most amusing description of the various schemes and contrivances which were there originated for the purpose of being carried out at some future day in the museum.
” ‘How did you live there?’ asked one of the counsel for the prosecution.
” ‘Very well, indeed, in the daytime,’ was the reply; ‘plenty of the best to eat and drink except liquors. In bed, however, it was impossible to sleep. I rose the first night, struck a light, and on examination found myself covered with myriads of tattle bugs, so small as to be almost imperceptible. By using my microscope I discovered them to be infantile bedbugs. After the first night I was obliged to sleep in the coach-house in order to escape this annoyance.’
“Of course this elicited much mirth. The first question put on the cross-examination was this:
” ‘Are you a naturalist, sir?’
“The witness hesitated. In all the drilling that had taken place before the trial, neither the counsel nor witnesses had thought of what questions might come up in the cross-examination, and now, not seeing the drift of the question, the witness seemed a little bewildered, and the counsel for the prosecution looked puzzled.
“The question was repeated with some emphasis.
” ‘No, sir,’ replied the witness, hesitatingly, ‘I am not a naturalist.’
” ‘Then, sir, not being a naturalist, dare you affirm that those microscopic insects were not humbugs instead of bedbugs’–(here the prisoner was interrupted by a universal shout of laughter, in which the solemn judge himself joined)–land if they were humbugs, I suppose that even the learned counsel opposed to me will not claim that they were out of place.
” ‘They may have been humbugs,’ replied the witness.
” ‘That will do, sir; you may go,’ said I; and at the same time, turning to the array of counsel, I remarked, with a smile, ‘You had better have a naturalist for your next witness, gentlemen.’
” ‘Don’t be alarmed, sir, we have got one, and we will now introduce him,’ replied the counsel.
“The next witness testified that he was a planter from Georgia, that some years since the prisoner visited his plantation with a show, and that while there he discovered an old worthless donkey belonging to the planter, and bought him for five dollars. The next year the witness visited Iranistan, the country seat of the prisoner, and, while walking about the grounds, his old donkey, recognizing his former master, brayed; ‘whereupon,’ continued the witness, ‘I walked up to the animal and found that two men were engaged in sticking wool upon him, and this animal was afterwards exhibited by the prisoner as the woolly horse.’
“The whole court–spectators, and even the ‘prisoner’ himself–were convulsed with laughter at the gravity with which the planter gave his very ludicrous testimony.
” ‘What evidence have you,’ I inquired, ‘that this was the same donkey which you sold to me?’
” ‘The fact that the animal recognized me, as was evident from his braying as soon as he saw me.’
” ‘Are you a naturalist, sir?’
” ‘Yes, I am,’ replied the planter, with firm emphasis, as much as to say, you can’t catch me as you did the other witness.
” ‘Oh! you are a naturalist, are you? Then, sir, I ask you, as a naturalist, do you not know it to be a fact in natural history that one jackass always brays as soon as he sees another?’
“This question was received with shouts of laughter, in the midst of which the nonplussed witness backed out of court, and all the efforts of special constables, and even the high sheriff himself, were unavailing in getting him again on the witness stand.
“This trial lasted two days, to the great delight of all on board. After my success with the ‘naturalist,’ not one-half of the witnesses would appear against me. In my final argument I sifted the testimony, analyzed its bearings, ruffled the learned counsel, disconcerted the witnesses, flattered the judge and jury, and when the judge had delivered his charge, the jury acquitted me without leaving their seats. The judge received the verdict, and then announced that he should fine the naturalist for the mistake he made, as to the cause of the donkey’s braying, and he should also fine the several witnesses, who, through fear of the cross-fire, had refused to testify.”
The trial afforded a pleasant topic of conversation for the rest of the voyage; and the morning before arriving in port, a vote of thanks was passed to Barnum, in consideration of the amusement he had intentionally and unintentionally furnished to the passengers during the voyage.
The treatment to which Barnum was subjected on his arrival in New York, was in strange and discreditable contrast to that which he had enjoyed abroad. He sometimes spoke of it in later life, though without any bitterness. He was too much of a philosopher to take it to heart. “After my arrival,” he would say, “often, in passing up and down Broadway, I saw old and prosperous friends coming, but before I came anywhere near them, if they espied me, they would dodge into a store, or across the street, or opportunely meet some one with whom they had pressing business, or they would be very much interested in something that was going on over the way, or on top of the City Hall. I was delighted at this, for it gave me at once a new sensation and a new experience. ‘Ah, ha!’ I said to myself, ‘my butterfly friends, I know you now; and, what is more to the point, if ever I get out of this bewilderment of broken clock-wheels, I shall not forget you;’ and I heartily thanked the old clock concern for giving me the opportunity to learn this sad but most needful lesson. I had a very few of the same sort of experiences in Bridgeport, and they proved valuable to me.”
One of Barnum’s assignees was his neighbor and quondam “gamekeeper,” Mr. Johnson, and he it was who had written to Barnum to return to America, to facilitate the settlement of his affairs. He now told him that there was no probability of disposing of Iranistan at present, and that therefore he might as well move back into his old home. That was August. In September, Barnum’s family followed him to America, and they decided to take Mr. Johnson’s advice and re-occupy Iranistan. They went to Bridgeport, to superintend arrangements, and there Barnum’s second daughter, Helen, was married to Mr. S. W. Hurd, on October 20, 1857.
“Meanwhile, Iranistan, which had been closed and unoccupied for more than two years, was once more opened to the carpenters and painters whom Mr. Johnson sent there to put the house in order. He agreed with Barnum that it was best to keep the property as long as possible, and in the interval, till a purchaser for the estate appeared, or till it was forced to auction, to take up the clock notes, whenever they were offered. The workmen who were employed in the house were specially instructed not to smoke there, but nevertheless, it was subsequently discovered that some of the men were in the habit occasionally of going into the main dome to eat their dinners which they brought with them, and that they stayed there awhile after dinner to smoke their pipes. In all probability, one of these lighted pipes was left on the cushion which covered the circular seat in the dome and ignited the tow with which the cushion was stuffed. It may have been days and even weeks before this smouldering tow fire burst into flame.
Barnum was staying at the Astor House, in New York, when, on the morning of December 18, 1857, he received a telegram from his brother, Philo F. Barnum, dated at Bridgeport, and informing him 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.
This was, of course, a considerable loss to Barnum’s estate, for the house had cost about $150,000. It was also generally regarded as a public calamity. This house had been the only building in its peculiar style of architecture of any pretension in America, and many persons had visited Bridgeport every year expressly to see it. The insurance on the mansion had usually been about $62,000, but Barnum 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, the assignees sold the grounds and outhouses of Iranistan to Elias Howe, Jr., the inventor of the sewing-machine. The property brought $50,000, which, with the $28,000 insurance went into Barnum’s 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 fulfilment of the plan.
CHAPTER XXIX. THE ART OF MONEY GETTING.
THE LECTURE FIELD–SUCCESS–CAMBRIDGE–OXFORD–AN UNIQUE ENTERTAINMENT–BARNUM EQUAL TO THE OCCASION–INVITED TO STAY A WEEK.
Seeing the necessity of making more money to assist in extricating his affairs from financial disorder, Barnum went back to England, taking with him Tom Thumb, whom he exhibited in all the principal places of England, Scotland and Wales; this was early in 1858.
The tour was a profitable one, and the money, as fast as it came in, was remitted to his agents and assignees in America.
At the suggestion of some of his American friends In London, Barnum next appeared on the lecture platform. The subject chosen was “The Art of Money Getting,” although Barnum told his friends that in the light of recent events he felt more competent to speak on the art of money losing. But they assured him that his name having been associated with the Jenny Lind concerts and other great money-making enterprises, the lecture would undoubtedly prove both attractive and profitable.
The lecture was widely advertised, of course, and at the appointed time the great St. James’ Hall, Regent Street, Piccadilly, was completely filled. It was the evening of December 29, 1858. We subjoin extracts from the lecture, which was closely listened to and well received by many more audiences than the one which heard it first at St. James’ Hall.
Those who really desire to attain an independence, have only to set their minds upon it, and adopt the proper means, as they do in regard to any other object which they wish to accomplish, and the thing is easily done. But however easy it may be found to make money, I have no doubt many of my hearers will agree it is the most difficult thing in the world to keep it. The road to wealth is, as Dr. Franklin truly says, “as plain as the road to mill.” It consists simply in expending less than we earn; that seems to be a very simple problem. Mr. Micawber, one of those happy creations of the genial Dickens, puts the case in a strong light when he says that to have an income of twenty pounds per annum, and spend twenty pounds and sixpence, is to be the most miserable of men; whereas, to have an income of only twenty pounds, and spend but nineteen pounds and sixpence, is to be the happiest of mortals. Many of my hearers may say, “we understand this; this is economy, and we know economy is wealth; we know we can’t eat our cake and keep it also.” Yet I beg to say that perhaps more cases of failure arise from mistakes on this point than almost any other. The fact is, many people think they understand economy when they really do not.
True economy is misapprehended, and people go through life without properly comprehending what that principle is. One says, “I have an income of so much, and here is my neighbor who has the same; yet every year he gets something ahead and I fall short; why is it? I know all about economy.” He thinks he does, but he does not. There are many who think that economy consists in saving cheese-parings and candle-ends, in cutting off twopence from the laundress’ bill and doing all sorts of little mean, dirty things. Economy is not meanness. The misfortune is, also, that this class of persons let their economy apply in only one direction. They fancy they are so wonderfully economical in saving a half-penny where they ought to spend twopence, that they think they can afford to squander in other directions. A few years ago, before kerosene oil was discovered or thought of, one might stop over night at almost any farmer’s house in the agricultural districts and get a very good supper, but after supper he might attempt to read in the sitting-room, and would find it impossible with the inefficient light of one candle. The hostess, seeing his dilemma, would say: “It is rather difficult to read here evenings; the proverb says ‘you must have a ship at sea in order to be able to burn two candles at once;’ we never have an extra candle except on extra occasions.” These extra occasions occur, perhaps, twice a year. In this way the good woman saves five, six, or ten dollars in that time; but the information which might be derived from having the extra light would, of course, far outweigh a ton of candles.
But the trouble does not end here. Feeling that she is so economical in tallow candles, she thinks she can afford to go frequently to the village and spend twenty or thirty dollars for ribbons and furbelows, many of which are not necessary. This false economy may frequently be seen in men of business, and in those instances it often runs to writing-paper. You find good business men who save all the old envelopes and scraps, and would not tear a new sheet of paper, if they could avoid it, for the world. This is all very well; they may in this way save five or ten dollars a year, but being so economical (only in note-paper), they think they can afford to waste time; to have expensive parties, and to drive their carriages.
True economy consists in always making the income exceed the out-go. Wear the old clothes a little longer if necessary; dispense with the new pair of gloves; mend the old dress; live on plainer food if need be; so that, under all circumstances, unless some unforeseen accident occurs, there will be a margin in favor of the income. A penny here, and a dollar there, placed at interest, goes on accumulating, and in this way the desired result is attained. It requires some training, perhaps, to accomplish this economy, but when once used to it, you will find there is more satisfaction in rational saving than in irrational spending. Here is a recipe which I recommend; I have found it to work an excellent cure for extravagance, and especially for mistaken economy: When you find that you have no surplus at the end of the year, and yet have a good income, I advise you to take a few sheets of paper and form them into a book and mark down every item of expenditure. Post it every day or week in two columns, one headed “necessaries” or even “comforts,” and the other headed “luxuries,” and you will find that the latter column will be double, treble, and frequently ten times greater than the former. The real comforts of life cost but a small portion of what most of us can earn.
The foundation of success in life is good health; that is the substratum of fortune; it is also the basis of happiness. A person cannot accumulate a fortune very well when he is sick. He has no ambition; no incentive; no force. Of course, there are those who have bad health and cannot help it; you cannot expect that such persons can accumulate wealth; but there are a great many in poor health who need not be so.
If, then, sound health is the foundation of success and happiness in life, how important it is that we should study the laws of health, which is but another expression for the laws of nature! The closer we keep to the laws of nature the nearer we are to good health, and yet how many persons there are who pay no attention to natural laws, but absolutely transgress them, even against their own natural inclination. We ought to know that the “sin of ignorance” is never winked at in regard to the violation of nature’s laws; their infraction always brings the penalty. A child may thrust its finger into the flames without knowing it will burn, and so suffers; repentance, even, will not stop the smart. Many of our ancestors knew very little about the principle of ventilation. They did not know much about oxygen, whatever other “gin” they might have been acquainted with; and consequently, they built their houses with little seven-by-nine feet bedrooms, and these good old pious Puritans would lock themselves up in one of these cells, say their prayers and go to bed. In the morning they would devoutly return thanks for the “preservation of their lives” during the night, and nobody had better reason to be thankful. Probably some big crack in the window, or in the door, let in a little fresh air, and thus saved them.
Many persons knowingly violate the laws of nature against their better impulses, for the sake of fashion. For instance, there is one thing that nothing living except a vile worm ever naturally loved, and that is tobacco; yet how many persons there are who deliberately train an unnatural appetite, and overcome this implanted aversion for tobacco, to such a degree that they get to love it. They have got hold of a poisonous, filthy weed, or rather that takes a firm hold of them. Here are married men who run about spitting tobacco-juice on the carpet and floors, and sometimes even upon their wives besides. They do not kick their wives out-of-doors like drunken men, but their wives, I have no doubt, often wish they were outside of the house. Another perilous feature is that this artificial appetite, like jealousy, “grows by what it feeds on;” when you love that which is unnatural, a stronger appetite is created for the hurtful thing than the natural desire for what is harmless. There is an old proverb which says that “habit is second nature,” but an artificial habit is stronger than nature. Take, for instance, an old tobacco-chewer; his love for the “quid” is stronger than his love for any particular kind of food. He can give up roast beef easier than give up the weed.
These remarks apply with tenfold force to the use of intoxicating drinks. To make money, requires a clear brain. A man has got to see that two and two make four; he must lay all his plans with reflection and forethought, and closely examine all the details and the ins and outs of business. As no man can succeed in business unless he has a brain to enable him to lay his plans, and reason to guide him in their execution, so, no matter how bountifully a man may be blessed with intelligence, if the brain is muddled, and his judgment warped by intoxicating drinks, it is impossible for him to carry on business successfully. How many good opportunities have passed, never to return, while a man was sipping a “social glass” with his friend! How many foolish bargains have been made under the influence of the “nervine,” which temporarily makes its victim think he is rich. How many important chances have been put off until to-morrow, and then forever, because the wine-cup has thrown the system into a state of lassitude, neutralizing the energies so essential to success in business. Verily, “wine is a mocker.” The use of intoxicating drinks as a beverage is as much an infatuation as is the smoking of opium by the Chinese, and the former is quite as destructive to the success of the business man as the latter. It is an unmitigated evil, utterly indefensible in the light of philosophy, religion or good sense. It is the parent of nearly every other evil in our country.
The safest plan, and the one most sure of success for the young man starting in life, is to select the vocation which is most congenial to his tastes. Parents and guardians are often quite too negligent in regard to this. It is very common for a father to say, for example: “I have five boys. I will make Billy a clergyman; John a lawyer; Tom a doctor, and Dick a farmer.” He then goes into town and looks about to see what he will do with Sammy. He returns home, and says: “Sammy, I see watchmaking is a nice, genteel business; I think I will make you a goldsmith.” He does this, regardless of Sam’s natural inclinations or genius.
We are all, no doubt, born for a wise purpose. There is as much diversity in our brains as in our countenances. Some are born natural mechanics, while some have great aversion to machinery. Let a dozen boys of ten years get together, and you will soon observe two or three are “whittling” out some ingenious device; working with locks or complicated machinery. When they were but five years old their father could find no toy to please them like a puzzle. They are natural mechanics; but the other eight or nine boys have different aptitudes I belong to the latter class; I never had the slightest love for mechanism; on the contrary, I have a sort of abhorrence for complicated machinery. I never had ingenuity enough to whittle a cider-tap so it would not leak. I never could make a pen that I could write with, or understand the principle of a steam-engine. If a man was to take such a boy as I was, and attempt to make a watchmaker of him, the boy might, after an apprenticeship of five or seven years be able to take apart and put together a watch; but all through life he would be working uphill and seizing every excuse for leaving his work and idling away his time. Watchmaking is repulsive to him.
Unless a man enters upon the vocation intended for him by nature, and best suited to his peculiar genius, he cannot succeed. I am glad to believe that the majority of persons do find their right vocation. Yet we see many who have mistaken their calling from the blacksmith up (or down) to the clergyman. You will see, for instance, that extraordinary linguist, the “learned blacksmith,” who ought to have been a teacher of languages; and you may have seen lawyers, doctors and clergymen who were better fitted by nature for the anvil or the lapstone.
Avoid debt. Young men starting in life should avoid running into debt. There is scarcely anything that drags a person down like debt. It is a slavish position to get in, yet we find many a young man, hardly out of his “teens,” running in debt. He meets a chum, and says, “Look at this: I have got trusted for a new suit of clothes.” He seems to look upon the clothes as so much given to him; well, it frequently is so, but, if he succeeds in paying and then gets trusted again, he is adopting a habit which will keep him in poverty through life. Debt robs a man of his self-respect, and makes him almost despise himself. Grunting and groaning and working for what he has eaten up or worn out, and now when he is called upon to pay up he has nothing to show for his money; this is properly termed “working for a dead horse.” I do not speak of merchants buying and selling on credit, or of those who buy on credit in order to turn the purchase to a profit. The old Quaker said to his farmer son, “John, never get trusted; but if thee gets trusted for anything, let it be for ‘manure,’ because that will help thee pay it back again.”
Mr. Beecher advised young men to get in debt if they could to a small amount in the purchase of land in the country districts. “If a young man,” he says, “will only get in debt for some land and then get married, these two things will keep him straight, or nothing will.” This may be safe to a limited extent, but getting in debt for what you eat and drink and wear is to be avoided. Some families have a foolish habit of getting credit at “the stores,” and thus frequently purchase many things which might have been dispensed with.
It is all very well to say, “I have got trusted for sixty days, and if I don’t have the money the creditor will think nothing about it.” There is no class of people in the world who have such good memories as creditors. When the sixty days run out you will have to pay. If you do not pay, you will break your promise, and probably resort to a falsehood. You may make some excuse or get in debt elsewhere to pay it, but that only involves you the deeper.
A good-looking, lazy young fellow, was the apprentice boy, Horatio. His employer said, “Horatio, did you ever see a snail?” “I–think–I–have,” he drawled out. “You must have met him, then, for I am sure you never overtook one,” said the “boss.” Your creditor will meet you or overtake you and say, “Now, my young friend, you agreed to pay me; you have not done it, you must give me your note.” You give the note on interest and it commences working against you; “it is a dead horse.” The creditor goes to bed at night and wakes up in the morning better off than when he retired to bed, because his interest has increased during the night, but you grow poorer while you are sleeping, for the interest is accumulating against you.
Among the maxims of the elder Rothschild was one, an apparent paradox: “Be cautious and bold.” This seems to be a contradiction in terms, but it is not, and there is great wisdom in the maxim. It is, in fact, a condensed statement of what I have already said. It is to say, “you must exercise your caution in laying your plans, but be bold in carrying them out.” A man who is all caution will never dare to take hold and be successful; and a man who is all boldness is merely reckless, and must eventually fail. A man may go on “‘change” and make fifty or one hundred thousand dollars in speculating in stocks at a single operation. But if he has simple boldness without caution, it is mere chance, and what he gains to-day he will lose to-morrow. You must have both the caution and the boldness to insure success.
The Rothschilds have another maxim: “Never have anything to do with an unlucky man or place.” That is to say, never have anything to do with a man or place which never succeeds, because, although a man may appear to be honest and intelligent, yet if he tries this or that thing and always fails, it is on account of some fault or infirmity that you may not be able to discover, but nevertheless which must exist.
There is no such thing in the world as luck. There never was a man who could go out in the morning and find a purse full of gold in the street to-day, and another to-morrow, and so on, day after day. He may do so once in his life; but so far as mere luck is concerned, he is as liable to lose it as to find it. “Like causes produce like effects.” If a man adopts the proper methods to be successful, “luck” will not prevent him. If he does not succeed, there are reasons for it, although, perhaps, he may not be able to see them.
We all depend, more or less, upon the public for our support. We all trade with the public–lawyers, doctors, shoemakers, artists, blacksmiths, showmen, opera singers, railroad presidents, and college professors. Those who deal with the public must be careful that their goods are valuable; that they are genuine, and will give satisfaction. When you get an article which you know is going to please your customers, and that when they have tried it they will feel they have got their money’s worth, then let the fact be known that you have got it. Be careful to advertise it in some shape or other, because it is evident that if a man has ever so good an article for sale, and nobody knows it, it will bring him no return. In a country like this, where nearly everybody reads, and where newspapers are issued and circulated in editions of five thousand to two hundred thousand, it would be very unwise if this channel was not taken advantage of to reach the public in advertising. A newspaper goes into the family, and is read by wife and children, as well as the head of the house; hence hundreds and thousands of people may read your advertisement, while you are attending to your routine business. Many, perhaps, read it while you are asleep. The whole philosophy of life is, first “sow,” then “reap.” That is the way the farmer does; he plants his potatoes and corn, and sows his grain, and then goes about something else, and the time comes when he reaps. But he never reaps first and sows afterwards. This principle applies to all kinds of business, and to nothing more eminently than to advertising. If a man has a genuine article, there is no way in which he can reap more advantageously than by “sowing” to the public in this way. He must, of course, have a really good article, and one which will please his customers; anything spurious will not succeed permanently, because the public is wiser than many imagine. Men and women are selfish, and we all prefer purchasing where we can get the most for our money; and we try to find out where we can most surely do so.
You may advertise a spurious article, and induce many people to call and buy it once, but they will denounce you as an impostor and swindler, and your business will gradually die out and leave you poor. This is right. Few people can safely depend upon chance custom. You all need to have your customers return and purchase again. A man said to me, “I have tried advertising and did not succeed; yet I have a good article.”
I replied, “My friend, there may be exceptions to a general rule. But how do you advertise?”
“I put it in a weekly newspaper three times, and paid a dollar and a half for it.” I replied: “Sir, advertising is like learning–‘a little is a dangerous thing!’ “
A French writer says that “The reader of a newspaper does not see the first insertion of an ordinary advertisement; the second insertion he sees, but does not read; the third insertion he reads; the fourth insertion, he looks at the price; the fifth insertion, he speaks of it to his wife; the sixth insertion, he is ready to purchase, and the seventh insertion, he purchases.” Your object in advertising is to make the public understand what you have got to sell, and if you have not the pluck to keep advertising, until you have imparted that information, all the money you have spent is lost.
Work at it, if necessary, early and late, in season and out of season, not leaving a stone unturned, and never deferring for a single hour that which can be done just as well now. The old proverb is full of truth and meaning: “Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well.” Many a man acquires a fortune by doing his business thoroughly, while his neighbor remains poor for life, because he only half does it. Ambition, energy, industry, perseverance, are indispensable requisites for success in business.
Fortune always favors the brave, and never helps a man who does not help himself. It won’t do to spend your time like Mr. Micawber, in waiting for something to “turn up.” To such men one of two things usually “turns up:” the poor-house or the jail; for idleness breeds bad habits, and clothes a man in rags. The poor spendthrift vagabond said to a rich man:
“I have discovered there is money enough in the world for all of us, if it was equally divided; this must be done, and we shall all be happy together.”
“But,” was the response, “if everybody was like you, it would be spent in two months, and what would you do then?”
“Oh! divide again; keep dividing, of course!”
I was recently reading in a London paper an account of a like philosophic pauper, who was kicked out of a cheap boarding-house because he could not pay his bill, but he had a roll of papers sticking out of his coat pocket, which, upon examination, proved to be his plan for paying off the national debt of England without the aid of a penny. People have got to do as Cromwell said: “Not only trust in Providence, but keep the powder dry.” Do your part of the work, or you cannot succeed. Mahomet, one night, while encamping in the desert, overheard one of his fatigued followers remark: “I will loose my camel, and trust it to God.” “No, no, not so,” said the prophet; “tie thy camel, and trust it to God.” Do all you can for yourselves, and then trust to Providence, or luck, or whatever you please to call it, for the rest.
Some men have a foolish habit of telling their business secrets. If they make money they like to tell their neighbors how it was done. Nothing is gained by this, and ofttimes much is lost. Say nothing about your profits, your hopes, your expectations, your intentions. And this should apply to letters as well as to conversation. Goethe makes Mephistophiles say: “Never write a letter nor destroy one.” Business men must write letters, but they should be careful what they put in them. If you are losing, money, be specially cautious and not tell of it or you will lose your reputation.
Preserve your integrity. It is more precious than, diamonds or rubies. The old miser said to his sons: “Get money; get it honestly, if you can, but get money.” This advice was not only atrociously wicked, but it was the very essence of stupidity. It was as much as to say, “if you find it difficult to obtain money honestly, you can easily get it dishonestly. Get it in that way.” Poor fool! Not to know that the most difficult thing in life is to make money dishonestly! not to know that our prisons are full of men who attempted to follow this advice; not to understand that no man can be dishonest without soon being found out, and that when his lack of principle is discovered, nearly every avenue to success is closed against him forever. The public very properly shun all whose integrity is doubted. No matter how polite and pleasant and accommodating a man may be, none of us dare to deal with him if we suspect “false weights and measures.” Strict honesty not only lies at the foundation of all success in life (financially), but in every other respect. Uncompromising integrity of character is invaluable. It secures to its possessor a peace and joy which cannot be attained without it–which no amount of money, or houses and lands, can purchase. A man who is known to be strictly honest, may be ever so poor, but he has the purses of all the community at his disposal–for all know that if he promises to return what he borrows, he will never disappoint them. As a mere matter of selfishness, therefore, if a man had no higher motive for being honest, all will find that the maxim of Dr. Franklin can never fail to be true–that “honesty is the best policy.”
I hold that no man ought ever to indorse a note or become security for any man, be it his father or brother, to a greater extent than he can afford to lose and care nothing about, without taking good security. Here is a man that is worth twenty thousand dollars; he is doing a thriving manufacturing or mercantile trade; you are retired and living on your money; he comes to you and says:
“You are aware that I am worth twenty thousand dollars, and don’t owe a dollar: if I had five thousand dollars in cash, I could purchase a particular lot of goods and double my money in a couple of months; will you indorse my note for that amount?”
You reflect that he is worth twenty thousand dollars, and you incur no risk by indorsing his note; you like to accommodate him, and you lend your name without taking the precaution of getting security. Shortly after, he shows you the note with your indorsement cancelled, and tells you, probably truly, “that he made the profit that he expected by the operation;” you reflect that you have done a good action, and the thought makes you feel happy. By and by the same thing occurs again and you do it again; you have already fixed the impression in your mind that it is perfectly safe to indorse his notes without security.
But the trouble is, this man is getting money too easily. He has only to take your note to the bank, get it discounted, and take the cash. He gets money for the time being without effort; without inconvenience to himself. Now mark the result. He sees a chance for speculation outside of his business. A temporary investment of only $10,000 is required. It is sure to come back before a note at the bank would be due. He places a note for that amount before you. You sign it almost mechanically. Being firmly convinced that your friend is responsible and trustworthy, you indorse his notes as a “matter of course.”
Unfortunately the speculation does not come to a head quite so soon as was expected, and another $10,000 note must be discounted to take up the last one when due. Before this note matures the speculation has proved an utter failure and all the money is lost. Does the loser tell his friend, the indorser, that he has lost half of his fortune? Not at all. He don’t even mention that he has speculated at all. But he has got excited; the spirit of speculation has seized him; he sees others making large sums in this way (we seldom hear of the loser), and, like other speculators, he “looks for his money where he loses it.” He tries again. Indorsing notes has become chronic with you, and at every loss he gets your signature for whatever amount he wants. Finally you discover your friend has lost all of his property and all of yours. You are overwhelmed with astonishment and grief, and you say “it is a hard thing; my friend here has ruined me,” but, you should add, “I have also ruined him.” If you had said in the first place, “I will accommodate you, but I never indorse without taking ample security,” he could not have gone beyond the length of his tether, and he would never have been tempted away from his legitimate business. It is a very dangerous thing, therefore, at any time, to let people get possession of money too easily; it tempts them to hazardous speculations, if nothing more. Solomon truly said, “He that hateth suretiship is sure.”
We sometimes see men who have obtained fortunes suddenly become poor. In many cases this arises from intemperance, and often from gaming and other bad habits. Frequently it occurs because a man has been engaged in “outside operations” of some sort. When he gets rich in his legitimate business, he is told of a grand speculation where he can make a score of thousands. He is constantly flattered by his friends, who tell him that he is born lucky, that everything he touches turns into gold. Now if he forgets that his economical habits, his rectitude of conduct and a personal attention to a business which he understood, caused his success in life, he will listen to the siren voices. He says:
“I will put in twenty thousand dollars. I have been lucky, and my good luck will soon bring me back sixty thousand dollars.”
A few days elapse, and it is discovered he must put in ten thousand dollars more; soon after he is told “it is all right,” but certain matters not foreseen require an advance of twenty thousand dollars more, which will bring him a rich harvest; but before the time comes around to realize the bubble bursts, he loses all he is possessed of, and then he learns what he ought to have known at the first, that however successful a man may be in his own business, if he turns from that and engages in a business which he don’t understand, he is like Samson when shorn of his locks–his strength has departed, and he becomes like other men.
If a man has plenty of money, he ought to invest something in everything that appears to promise success, and that will probably benefit mankind; but let the sums thus invested be moderate in amount, and never let a man foolishly jeopardize a fortune that he has earned in a legitimate way by investing it in things in which he has had no experience.
When a man is in the right path he must persevere. I speak of this because there are some persons who are “born tired;” naturally lazy and possessing no self-reliance and no perseverance. But they can cultivate these qualities, as Davy Crockett said:
“This thing remember, when I am dead, Be sure you are right, then go ahead.”
It is this go-aheaditiveness, this determination not to let the “horrors” or the “blues” take possession of you, so as to make you relax your energies in the struggle for independence, which you must cultivate.
How many have almost reached the goal of their ambition, but, losing faith in themselves, have relaxed their energies, and the golden prize has been lost forever.
It is, no doubt, often true, as Shakespeare says:
“There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.”
If you hesitate, some bolder hand will stretch out before you and get the prize. Remember the proverb of Solomon: “He becometh poor that dealeth with a slack hand; but the hand of the diligent maketh rich.”
Perseverance is sometimes but another word for self-reliance. Many persons naturally look on the dark side of life, and borrow trouble. They are born so. Then they ask for advice, and they will be governed by one wind and blown by another, and cannot rely upon themselves. Until you can get so that you can rely upon yourself, you need not expect to succeed. I have known men, personally, who have met with pecuniary reverses, and absolutely committed suicide, because they thought they could never overcome their misfortune. But I have known others who have met more serious financial difficulties, and have bridged them over by simple perseverance, aided by a firm belief that they were doing justly, and that Providence would “overcome evil with good.”
Learn something useful. Every man should make his son or daughter learn some trade or profession, so that in these days of changing fortunes–of being rich to-day and poor to-morrow–they may have something tangible to fall back upon. This provision might save many persons from misery, who by some unexpected turn of fortune have lost all their means.
Let hope predominate, but be not too visionary. Many persons are always kept poor because they are too visionary. Every project looks to them like certain success, and therefore they keep changing from one business to another, always in hot water, always “under the harrow.” The plan of “counting the chickens before they are hatched” is an error of ancient date, but it does not seem to improve by age.
Do not scatter your powers. Engage in one kind of business only, and stick to it faithfully until you succeed, or until your experience shows that you should abandon it. A constant hammering on one nail will generally drive it home at last, so that it can be clinched. When a man’s undivided attention is centred on one object, his mind will constantly be suggesting improvements of value, which would escape him if his brain was occupied by a dozen different subjects at once. Many a fortune has slipped through a man’s fingers because he was engaged in too many occupations at a time. There is good sense in the old caution against having too many irons in the fire at once.
Be systematic. Men should be systematic in their business. A person who does business by rule, having a time and place for everything, doing his work promptly, will accomplish twice as much and with half the trouble of him who does it carelessly and slipshod. By introducing system into all your transactions, doing one thing at a time, always meeting appointments with punctuality, you will find leisure for pastime and recreation; whereas the man who only half does one thing, and then turns to something else, and half does that, will have his business at loose ends, and will never know when his day’s work is done, for it never will be done. Of course, there is a limit to all these rules. We must try to preserve the happy medium, for there is such a thing as being too systematic. There are men and women, for instance, who put away things so carefully that they can never find them again. It is too much like the “red-tape” formality at Washington, and Mr. Dick-ens’ “Circumlocution Office,”–all theory and no result.
To get rich is not always equivalent to being successful. “there are many rich poor men,” while there are many others, honest and devout men and women, who have never possessed so much money as some rich persons squander in a week, but who are nevertheless really richer and happier than any man can ever be while he is a transgressor of the higher laws of his being.
The inordinate love of money, no doubt, may be and is “the root of all evil,” but money itself, when properly used, is not only a “handy thing to have in the house,” but affords the gratification of blessing our race by enabling its possessor to enlarge the scope of human happiness and human influence. The desire for wealth is nearly universal, and none can say it is not laudable, provided the possessor of it accepts its responsibilities, and uses it as a friend to humanity.
The history of money-getting, which is commerce, is a history of civilization, and wherever trade has flourished most, there, too, have art and science produced the noblest fruits. In fact, as a general thing, money-getters are the benefactors of our race. To them in a great measure, are we indebted for our institutions of learning and of art, our academies, colleges and churches. It is no argument against the desire for, or the possession of, wealth, to say that there are sometimes misers who hoard money only for the sake of hoarding, and who have no higher aspiration than to grasp everything which comes within their reach. As we have sometimes hypocrites in religion, and demagogues in politics, so there are occasionally misers among money-getters. These, however, are only exceptions to the general rule. But when, in this country, we find such a nuisance and stumbling block as a miser, we remember with gratitude that in America we have no laws of primogeniture, and that in the due course of nature the time will come when the hoarded dust will be scattered for the benefit of mankind. To all men and women, therefore, do I conscientiously say, make money honestly, and not otherwise, for Shakespeare has truly said, “He that wants money, means and content, is without three good friends.”
Money is in some respects like fire; it is a very excellent servant but a terrible master. When you have it mastering you; when interest is constantly piling up against you, it will keep you down in the worst kind of slavery. But let money work for you, and you have the most devoted servant in the world. It is no “eye-servant.” There is nothing animate or inanimate that will work so faithfully as money when placed at interest, well secured. It works night and day, and in wet or dry weather.
Do not let it work against you; if you do, there is no chance for success in life so far as money is concerned. John Randolph, the eccentric Virginian, once exclaimed in Congress, “Mr. Speaker, I have discovered the philosopher’s stone: pay as you go.” This is, indeed, nearer to the philosopher’s stone than any alchemist has ever yet arrived.
Barnum and the newspapers had always been on the best of terms, and in nearly every instance the press praised the lecture in most unqualified terms. The following extract from the London Times is a fair sample of many notices which he received:
“We are bound to admit that Mr. Barnum is one of the most entertaining lecturers that ever addressed an audience on a theme universally intelligible. The appearance of Mr. Barnum, it should be added, has nothing of the ‘charlatan’ about it, but is that of the thoroughly respectable man of business; and he has at command a fund of dry humor that convulses everybody with laughter, while he himself remains perfectly serious. A sonorous voice and an admirably clear delivery complete his qualifications as a lecturer, in which capacity he is no ‘humbug,’ either in a higher or lower sense of the word.”
During the year 1859 he delivered this lecture nearly one hundred times in London and in different parts of England, always with great success.
Remembering his experiences with Tom Thumb at Oxford and Cambridge, and knowing the fondness of the college men for joking, Barnum made up his mind to endure any amount of friendly chaff when he visited their cities.
He commenced at Cambridge, where he was greeted with a crowded house, composed largely of under-graduates. Soon after he began to speak, one of the young men called out: “Where is Joice Heth?” to which Barnum replied: “Young gentleman, please to restrain yourself till the close of the lecture, when I shall take great pleasure in affording you all the information I possess concerning your deceased relative.”
This turned the laugh against the youthful inquirer, and kept the students quiet for a few moments. Questions of a similar character were occasionally propounded and as promptly answered, and on the whole the lecture was interrupted less than Barnum had anticipated, while the receipts were over one hundred pounds sterling.
At Oxford the hall was filled to suffocation half an hour before the time announced for the lecture to begin, and the sale of tickets was stopped.
Barnum therefore stepped upon the platform, and said: “Ladies and gentlemen: as every seat is now occupied and the ticket-office is closed, I propose to begin my lecture now and not keep you waiting till the advertised hour.”
“Good for you, old Barnum,”–“Time is money,”–“Nothing like economy,” yelled the audience. Holding up his hand for silence, Barnum proceeded:
“Young gentlemen, I have a word or two to say, in order that we may have a thorough understanding between ourselves at the outset. I see symptoms of a pretty jolly time here this evening, and you have paid me liberally for the single hour of my time, which is at your service. I am an old traveller and an old showman, and I like to please my patrons. Now, it is quite immaterial to me; you may furnish the entertainment for the hour, or I will endeavor to do so, or we will take portions of the time by turns –you supplying a part of the amusement and I a part–as we say sometimes in America, ‘you pays your money, and you takes your choice.’ “
This frankness pleased the students, who agreed to this unique proposition unhesitatingly.
The lecture proceeded for fifteen minutes, when a voice called out: “Come, old chap! you must be tired by this time. Hold up now till we sing Yankee Doodle.” Whereupon they all joined in that honorable song with lusty good-will, Barnum meanwhile sitting down comfortably, to show them that he was quite satisfied with their manner of passing the time. When the song was concluded, the leader of the party said: “Now, Mr. Barnum, you may go ahead again.”
The lecture went on, or rather A lecture, for Barnum began to adapt his remarks to the occasion. Every few minutes would come some interruption, which was always as much enjoyed by Barnum as by the audience. When the entertainment concluded, the young men crowded to the platform to shake hands with the speaker, declaring that they had had a “jolly good time,” while the leader said: “Stay with us a week, Barnum, and we’ll dine you, wine you, and give you full houses every night.”
Barnum would have accepted the invitation had he not been announced to lecture in London the next evening, and he told the students so. They asked him all sorts of questions about America, the Museum and other shows, and expressed the hope that he would come out of his troubles all right.
At least a score of them invited him to breakfast with them the next morning, but he declined, until one young gentleman insisted on personal grounds. “My dear sir,” said he, “you must breakfast with me. I have almost split my throat here to-night, and it is only fair for you to repay me by coming to see me in the morning.” This appeal was irresistible, and Barnum agreed to come.
The boys were pleased with his nerve and good nature, but they confided to him that they liked better to get people angry. A few weeks before Howard Paul had left them in disgust, because they insisted on smoking when his wife was on the stage. They added that the entertainment was excellent, and Howard Paul might have made a thousand pounds if he had kept his temper.
Some time later Barnum was offered L1,200, or $6,000, for the copyright of his lecture; the offer was, however, refused.
CHAPTER XXX. AN ENTERPRISING ENGLISHMAN.
A NEW FRIEND–DINNER TO TOM THUMB AND COMMODORE NUTT–MEASURING THE GIANT–THE TWO ENGINES.
The morning after the lecture in Manchester a gentleman named John Fish called at the hotel where Barnum was staying. He said that he had attended the lecture the evening before, and added that he was pretty well acquainted with the lecturer, having read his autobiography. He went on to say that he was joint proprietor with another gentleman in a cotton-mill near Manchester, “although,” he said, “a few years ago I was working as a journeyman, and probably should have been at this time had I not read your book.”
Observing Mr. Barnum’s surprise, he continued:
“The fact is, Mr. Barnum, upon reading your autobiography, I thought I perceived you tried to make yourself out worse than you really were; for I discovered a pleasant spirit and a good heart under the rougher exterior in which you chose to present yourself to the public; but,” he added, “after reading your life, I found myself in possession of renewed strength, and awakened energies and aspirations, and I said to myself, ‘Why can’t I go ahead and make money, as Barnum did? He commenced without money and succeeded; why may not I?’ In this train of thought,” he continued, “I went to a newspaper office and advertised for a partner with money to join me in establishing a cotton-mill. I had no applications, and, remembering your experiences when you had money and wanted a partner, I spent half a crown in a similar experiment. I advertised for a partner to join a man who had plenty of capital. Then I had lots of applicants ready to introduce me into all sorts of occupations, from that of a banker to that of a horsejockey or gambler, if I would only furnish the money to start with. After a while, I advertised again for a partner, and obtained one with money. We have a good mill. I devote myself closely to business, and have been very successful. I know every line in your book; so, indeed, do several members of my family; and I have conducted my business on the principles laid down in your published ‘Rules for Money-making.’ I find them correct principles; and, sir, I have sought this interview in order to thank you for publishing your autobiography, and to tell you that to that act of yours I attribute my present position in life.”
“Your statement is certainly flattering,” said Mr. Barnum, “and I am glad if I have been able in any manner, through my experiences, to aid you in starting in life. But I presume your genius would have found vent in time if I had not written the book.”
“No, indeed, it would not,” he replied, in an earnest tone; “I am sure I should have worked as a mill-hand all my life if it had not been for you. Oh, I have made no secret of it,” he continued; “the commercial men with whom I deal know all about it; indeed, they call me ‘Barnum’ on ‘change here in Manchester.”
On one occasion, when General Tom Thumb exhibited in Bury, Mr. Fish closed his mill, and gave each of his employees a ticket to the exhibition; out of respect, as he said, to Barnum. On a subsequent occasion, when the little General visited England the last time, Mr. Fish invited him, his wife, Commodore Nutt, Minnie Warren, and the managers of “the show,” to a splendid and sumptuous dinner at his house, which the distinguished little party enjoyed exceedingly.
Soon after his return to America, Barnum read an account of a French giant then exhibiting in Paris, and said to be over eight feet in height. As this was considerably taller than anything that the showman had ever beheld, he wrote to his friend Fish, who had expressed a wish to do him any service in his power, and requested him to go to Paris, and, by actual measurement, find out the exact height of the giant. He inclosed an offer, arranging the prices on a sliding scale, commencing at eight feet, and descending to seven feet two inches, for if he were not taller than that he was not to be desired.
Mr. Fish put a two-foot rule in his pocket, and started for Paris, where, after several days’ delay and much trouble beside, he finally succeeded in gaining an interview. The giant was shown Barnum’s letter, and read the tempting offers made for his services, provided he measured eight feet, or within six inches of that height.
“Oh, I measure over eight feet,” said he.
“Very likely,” responded Mr. Fish, “but you see my orders are to measure you.”
“There’s no need of that; you can see for yourself,” stretching himself up a few inches by aid of a peculiar knack which giants and dwarfs possess to increase or diminish their apparent stature.
“No doubt you are right,” persisted Mr. Fish, “but you see I must obey orders, and if I am not permitted to measure you I shall not engage you.”
“Well,” said the giant, “if you can’t take my word for it, look at that door. You see my head is more than two feet above the top (giving his neck a severe stretch); just measure the door.”
But Mr. Fish refused. The giant was now desperate, and, stretching himself up to his full height, exclaimed: “Well, be quick! Put your rule to my feet and measure me; but hurry up, please!”
Mr. Fish regarded him coolly. “Look here!” said he, “this sort of thing won’t do, you know. I don’t understand this contrivance around the soles of your boots, but it seems to me you’ve got a set of springs there which aids your height when you desire it. Now I will not stand any more nonsense. If I engage you at all, you must first take off your boots, and lie flat upon your back in the middle of the floor.”
The giant protested, but Mr. Fish was firm, and at last he slowly took off his coat and lay down on the floor. Mr. Fish applied his rule, and to his own astonishment and the giant’s indignation the latter proved to be barely seven feet one and one-half inches. So he was not engaged at all.
Some time afterwards Barnum wrote to his friend and asked his permission to put him into a new book then in course of preparation. He wrote in return the following characteristic letter:
Had I made a fortune of L100,000 I should have been proud of a place in your Autobiography; but as I have only been able to make (here he named a sum which in this country would be considered almost a fortune), I feel I should be out of place in your pages; at all events, if you mention me at all, draw it mildly, if you please.
The American war has made sad havoc in our trade, and it is only by close attention to business that I have lately been at all successful. I have built a place for one thousand looms, and have, as you know, put in a pair of engines, which I have named “Barnum” and “Charity.” Each engine has its name engraved on two large brass plates at either end of the cylinder, which has often caused much mirth when I have explained the circumstances to visitors. I started and christened “Charity” on the 14th of January last, and she has saved me L12 per month in coals ever since. The steam from the boiler goes first to “Charity” (she is high pressure), and “Barnum” only gets the steam after she has done with it. He has to work at low pressure (a condensing engine), and the result is a saving. Barnum was extravagant when he took steam direct, but since I fixed Charity betwixt him and the boiler, he can only get what she gives him. This reminds me that you state in your “Life” you could always make money, but formerly did not save it. Perhaps you never took care of it till Charity became Chancellor of Exchequer. When I visited you at the Bull Hotel, in Blackburn, you pointed to General Tom Thumb, and said: “That is my piece of goods; I have sold it hundreds of thousands of times, and have never yet delivered it!” That was ten years ago, in 1858. If I had been doing the same with my pieces of calico, I must have been wealthy by this time; but I have been hammering at one (cotton) nail several months, and, as it did not offer to clinch, I was almost tempted to doubt one of your “rules,” and thought I would drive at some other nail; but, on reflection, I knew I understood cotton better than anything else, and so I back up your rule and stick to cotton, not doubting it will be all right and successful.
Mr. Fish was one of the large class of English manufacturers who suffered seriously from the effects of the rebellion in the United States. As an Englishman, he could not have a patriot’s interest in the progress of that terrible struggle; but he made a practical exhibition of sympathy for the suffering soldiers, in a pleasant and characteristic manner.
At the great Sanitary Fair in New York, during the war, Mr. Fish sent two monster “Simuel cakes,” covered with miniature forts, cannon, armies, and all the panoply of war, which attracted great attention from every one present.
CHAPTER XXXI. AT HOME AGAIN.
THE CLOCK DEBTS PAID–THE MUSEUM ONCE MORE UNDER BARNUM’S MANAGEMENT–ENTHUSIASTIC RECEPTION–HIS SPEECH–TWO POEMS.
In 1859, Barnum returned to the United States. During his trip abroad he had secured many novelties for the Museum, the Albino Family, Thiodon’s Mechanical Theatre, and others.
These afforded him a liberal commission, and he had beside made considerable money from the Tom Thumb exhibitions and his lectures.
All this, his wife’s income, as well as a large sum derived from the sale of some of her property, was faithfully devoted to the one object of their lives–paying off the clock debts.
Mrs. Barnum and her daughter, Pauline, had either boarded in Bridgeport or lived in a small house in the suburbs during the entire four years of struggle. The land purchased by Mrs. Barnum at the assignee’s sale in East Bridgeport had increased in value meanwhile, and they felt justified in borrowing on it, some of the single lots were sold, and all this money went toward the discharge of the debts.
At last, in March, 1860, all the clock indebtedness was extinguished, except $20,000, which Barnum bound himself to take up within a certain time, his friend James D. Johnson guaranteeing his bond to that effect.
On the seventeenth day of March, Messrs. Butler and Greenwood