The Life of Phineas T. Barnum Part 7

Clark a.s.sured him that he would serve him in any way in his power, and Barnum proceeded to tell him about a wonderful fish from the Nile, offered for exhibition at $100 a week, the owner of which was willing to forfeit $5,000, if, within six weeks, this fish did not pa.s.s through a transformation in which the tail would disappear and the fish would then have legs.

"Is it possible!" asked the astonished Clark.

Barnum a.s.sured him that there was no doubt of it.

Thereupon Clark advised Barnum to engage the wonder at any price; that it would startle the naturalists, wake up the whole scientific world, draw in the ma.s.ses, and make $20,000 for the Museum. Barnum told him that he thought well of the speculation, only he did not like the name of the fish.

"That makes no difference whatever," said Clark; "what is the name of the fish?"

"Tadpole," Barnum replied, with becoming gravity, "but it is vulgarly called 'pollywog.' "

"Sold, by thunder!" exclaimed Clark, and he left.

Another story is ill.u.s.trative of some of the trials incident to theatrical management.

An actor named La Rue presented himself as an imitator of celebrated histrionic personages, including Macready, Forrest, Kemble, the elder Booth, Kean, Hamblin, and others. Taking him into the green-room for a private rehearsal, and finding his imitations excellent, Barnum engaged him. For three nights he gave great satisfaction, but early in the fourth evening he staggered into the Museum so drunk that he could hardly stand, and in half an hour he must be on the stage! Barnum called an a.s.sistant, and they took La Rue and marched him up Broadway as far as Chambers Street, and back to the lower end of the Park, hoping to sober him. At this point they put his head under a pump and gave him a good ducking, with visible beneficial effect, then a walk around the Park and another ducking, when he a.s.sured them that he should be able to give his imitations "to a charm."

"You drunken brute," said Barnum, "if you fail, and disappoint my audience, I will throw you out of the window."

He declared that he was "all right," and Barnum led him behind the scenes, where he waited with considerable trepidation to watch his movements on the stage. La Rue began by saying:

"Ladies and gentlemen: I will now give you an imitation of Mr.

Booth, the eminent tragedian."

His tongue was thick, his language somewhat incoherent, and Barnum had great misgivings as he proceeded; but as no token of disapprobation came from the audience, he began to hope he would go through with his parts without exciting suspicion of his condition. But before he had half finished his representation of Booth, in the soliloquy in the opening act of Richard III, the house discovered that he was very drunk, and began to hiss. This only seemed to stimulate him to make an effort to appear sober, which, as is usual in such cases, only made matters worse, and the hissing increased. Barnum lost all patience, and, going on the stage and taking the drunken fellow by the collar, apologized to the audience, a.s.suring them that he should not appear before them again. Barnum was about to march him off, when he stepped to the front, and said:

"Ladies and gentlemen: Mr. Booth has often appeared on the stage in a state of inebriety, and I was simply giving you a truthful representation of him on such occasions. I beg to be permitted to proceed with my imitations."

The audience at once supposed it was all right, and cried out, "go on, go on"; which he did, and at every imitation of Booth, whether as Richard, Shylock, or Sir Giles Overreach, he received a hearty round of applause. Barnum was quite delighted with his success; but when he came to imitate Forrest and Hamblin, necessarily representing them as drunk also, the audience could be no longer deluded; the hissing was almost deafening, and Barnum was forced to lead the actor off. It was his last appearance on that stage.

Barnum always denied that the "Feejee Mermaid," which attained such lasting notoriety, was an invention of his own. It was first exhibited in London in 1822, where it was purchased by Mr. Moses Kimball, of the Boston Museum, who sold it to Barnum. The creature was really most ingeniously constructed, probably by some j.a.panese. It drew like magic, and afterward served as a good advertis.e.m.e.nt, sent throughout the country for exhibition, the posters reading, "From Barnum's Great American Museum, New York."

Barnum believed in making his place of exhibition as attractive as possible, and the building was decorated with flags and banners, the posters were of the most sensational character, and the first "Drummond Lights" ever seen in New York were placed on top of the Museum, flooding the streets around with brilliance.

CHAPTER IX. INCREASED POPULARITY OF THE MUSEUM.

THE AMERICAN FLAG AND ST. PAUL'S--ST, PATRICK'S DAY--THE BABY SHOW--GRAND BUFFALO HUNT--N. P. WILLIS--THE FIRST WILD-WEST SHOW.

The fame of the American Museum rose higher and higher. It is doubtful if any place of entertainment ever attracted such enthusiastic crowds. It was the first place visited by strangers in the city.

The small Lecture Room had been converted into a large and beautiful theatre, and in it many afterward celebrated actors and actresses made their first appearance; Sothern, Barney Williams, and the charming Mary Garmon. On holidays there were lecture performances every hour. The actors kept on their stage clothes from eleven o'clock in the morning until ten at night, their meals were served in the green-room, and the company received extra pay.

The 4th of July, 1842, was a great day in the history of the Museum. Barnum had planned a magnificent display of American flags, as one of the outside attractions, and applied to the vestrymen of St. Paul's Church, opposite the Museum, for permission to attach his flag-rope to a tree in the church-yard.

Their reply was an indignant refusal. Returning to the Museum, Barnum directed that his original order concerning the disposition of the flags be carried out to the letter.

The morning dawned, and the crowds on Broadway were admiring the display, when two representatives of the baffled vestry rushed into the office and demanded that the ropes be taken down. "The Church of St. Paul's, where Washington worshiped, attached to a Museum! Sacrilege!"

Barnum a.s.sumed a conciliatory tone, reminding them that he always stopped his band playing during their week-day services, and suggesting the fairness of the obligation being made mutual.

"If those flags are not down in ten minutes," cried one of the vestrymen, "I will cut them down."

Then Barnum sprang to his feet and exclaimed loudly enough for the crowd to hear:

"Well, Mister, I should just like to see you dare to cut down the American flag on the Fourth of July; you must be a 'Britisher' to make such a threat as that; but I'll show you a thousand pairs of Yankee hands in two minutes, if you dare to attempt to take down the Stars and Stripes on this great birthday of American freedom!"

"What's that John Bull a-saying?" asked a brawny fellow, placing himself in front of the irate vestryman. "Look here, old fellow,"

he continued, "if you want to save a whole bone in your body, you had better slope, and never dare to talk again about hauling down the American flag in the city of New York."

Throngs of excited, exasperated men crowded around, and the vestryman, seeing the effect of the ruse, smiled faintly and said, "Oh, of course it is all right," and he and his companion quietly edged out of the crowd.

By one o'clock that day, the Museum was so densely packed that no more visitors could be admitted, and the proprietor saw with despair the crowds being turned away from the door. Rushing down-stairs, he directed the carpenter to cut down the part.i.tion and floor in the rear and to put in a temporary flight of stairs.

The egress was ready by three o'clock, and people poured out into Ann Street, while the crowd from Broadway poured in. After that, the egress was always ready on holidays. One of Barnum's most amusing reminiscences related to this egress.

"Early in the following March I received notice from some of the Irish population that they meant to visit me in great numbers on 'St. Patrick's day in the morning.' 'All right,' said I to my carpenter, 'get your egress ready for March 17th;' and I added, to my a.s.sistant manager: 'If there is much of a crowd, don't let a single person pa.s.s out at the front, even if it were St.

Patrick himself; put every man out through the egress in the rear.' The day came, and before noon we were caught in the same dilemma as we were on the Fourth of July; the Museum was jammed, and the sale of tickets was stopped. I went to the egress and asked the sentinel how many hundreds had pa.s.sed out?

" 'Hundreds,' he replied, 'why only three persons have gone out by this way, and they came back, saying that it was a mistake and begging to be let in again.'

" 'What does this mean?' I inquired; 'surely thousands of people have been all over the Museum since they came in.'

" 'Certainly,' was the reply; 'but after they have gone from one saloon to another, and have been on every floor, even to the roof, they come down and travel the same route over again.'

"At this time I espied a tall Irish woman with two good-sized children whom I had happened to notice when they came in early in the morning.

" 'Step this way, madam,' said I, politely; 'you will never be able to get into the street by the front door without crushing these dear children. We have opened a large egress here, and you can thus pa.s.s by these rear stairs into Ann Street, and thus avoid all danger.'

" 'Sure,' replied the woman, indignantly, 'an' I'm not going out at all, at all, nor the children either, for we've brought our dinners and we are going to stay all day.'

"Further investigation showed that pretty much all of the visitors had brought their dinners with the evident intention of literally 'making a day of it.' No one expected to go home till night; the building was overcrowded, and hundreds were waiting at the front entrance to get in when they could. In despair, I sauntered upon the stage behind the scenes, biting my lips with vexation, when I happened to see the scene-painter at work, and a happy thought struck me. 'Here,' I exclaimed, 'take a piece of canvas four feet square and paint on it, as soon as you can, in large letters,

{pointing finger} TO THE EGRESS.'

"Seizing his brush, he finished the sign in fifteen minutes, and I directed the carpenter to nail it over the door leading to the back stairs. He did so, and as the crowd, after making the entire tour of the establishment, came pouring down the main stairs from the third-story, they stopped and looked at the new sign, while some of them read audibly: 'To the Aigress.'

" 'The Aigress,' said others, 'sure that's an animal we haven't seen,' and the throng began to pour down the back-stairs only to find that the 'Aigress ' was the elephant, and that the elephant was all out o' doors, or so much of it as began with Ann Street.

Meanwhile, I began to accommodate those who had long been waiting with their money at the Broadway entrance."

Barnum had planned to expend the entire profits of the first year in advertising, but so fast did the money pour in, that he was often embarra.s.sed to devise means to get rid of it, according to his first idea. One of the most expensive advertis.e.m.e.nts consisted of a large number of oil paintings of every animal in zoology. These paintings were prepared secretly, and were put between the windows of the building at night. The town was paralyzed with astonishment, and the daily receipts took an upward jump of nearly a hundred dollars.

Flower shows, dog shows, poultry and bird shows, with prizes to the best specimens, had long been features of the Museum, and at last Barnum rashly decided on a baby show. There was a prize of one hundred dollars attached, and a committee of ladies were appointed to decide on the best baby. The unsuspecting Barnum stepped into the circle and announced the prize winner, but to his astonishment the verdict did not suit anybody but the mother of one baby. The other ninety-nine indignant mothers "jumped on"

to Mr Barnum and the committee, and denounced the whole proceeding as impartial and unjust. Barnum offered to let them select a new committee, and even agreed to give another hundred dollar prize, but the storm raged with unabating fury. There were baby shows after that, but the verdict was delivered in writing, and Mr. Barnum never gave the prize in person.

In June, 1843, a herd of yearling buffaloes was on exhibition in Boston. Barnum bought the lot, brought them to New Jersey, hired the race-course at Hoboken, chartered the ferry-boats for one day, and advertised that a hunter had arrived with a herd of buffaloes, and that august 31st there would be a "Grand Buffalo Hunt" on the Hoboken race-course--all persons to be admitted free of charge.

The appointed day was warm and delightful, and no less than twenty-four thousand people crossed the North River in the ferry-boats to enjoy the cooling breeze and to see the "Grand Buffalo Hunt." The hunter was dressed as an Indian, and mounted on horseback; he proceeded to show how the wild buffalo is captured with a la.s.so, but unfortunately the yearlings would not run till the crowd gave a great shout, expressive at once of derision and delight at the harmless humbug. This shout started the young animals into a weak gallop and the la.s.so was duly thrown over the head of the largest calf. The crowd roared with laughter, listened to the balcony band, which was also furnished "free," and then started for New York, little dreaming who was the author of this sensation, or what was its object.

Mr. N. P. Willis, then editor of the Home Journal, wrote an article ill.u.s.trating the perfect good nature with which the American public submit to a clever humbug. He said that he went to Hoboken to witness the buffalo hunt. It was nearly four o'clock when the boat left the foot of Barclay Street, and it was so densely crowded that many persons were obliged to stand on the railings and hold on to the awning-posts. When they reached the Hoboken side a boat equally crowded was coming out of the slip.