THE CIRCUS
I
An immense traveling show, combining all the elements of the museum,
menagerie, and variety performance, was not Barnum’s own conception,
at least in 1870, when he first joined some other showmen in the
organization of such a combination. It is true that forerunners of the
circus were present in “Barnum’s Great Asiatic Caravan, Museum, and
Menagerie,” and in Barnum’s and Van Amburgh’s Museum and Menagerie,
but these were nothing in comparison with the enterprise which was now
projected. W. C. Coup and Dan Costello, showmen of experience, called
upon Barnum during the period of his semi-retirement and urged that he
form with them a great traveling show. They asked for the power of his
name and for any financial support he was willing to supply, and they
arrived at the correct time, for, tired of doing comparatively nothing,
Barnum approved of all their plans. In 1869 he had decided that it was
time for him to devote himself “to serious reflections on the ends
and aims of human existence,” and he had no thought of engaging in
the circus business. In 1870 he was making preparations with his new
partners for the huge exhibition which they suggested, and which was
larger than anything Barnum had ever previously attempted.
In his autobiography Barnum was in the habit of giving himself credit
for the origin of anything with which his name was associated, and
his partners, realizing the immense asset of the name of Barnum in
their enterprises, were willing to be silent, at least until their
retirement. W. C. Coup published many years after the end of his
association with Barnum an interesting book of circus recollections,
_Sawdust and Spangles_. In his book he printed the following letter
which Barnum wrote him in October, 1870:
“BRIDGEPORT, Oct. 8, 1870.
“MY DEAR COUP: Yours received. I will join you in a show for
next spring and will probably have Admiral Dot well trained this
winter and have him and Harrison in the show. Wood will sell all
his animals outright, and will furnish several tip-top museum
curiosities. You need to spend several months in New York arranging
for curiosities, cuts, cages, bills, etc. All things got from Wood
I will settle for with him and give the concern credit. We can make
a stunning museum department. If you want to call it _my_ museum
and use my name it may be used by allowing me the same very small
percentage that Wood allows for calling himself my successor (3
per cent. on receipts). You can have a Cardiff Giant that won’t
crack, also a moving figure, Sleeping Beauty, or Dying Zouave--a
big Gymnastic figure like that in Wood’s museum, and lots of other
good things, only you need time to look them up and prepare wagons,
etc., etc.
“Yours truly,
“P. T. BARNUM.
“I will spare time to look up the show in New York when you come. I
think Siamese Twins would pay.”
“A Cardiff Giant that won’t crack” referred to the then famous
curiosity, a huge figure, supposed to have been dug up in the small
town of Cardiff, New York, and presented on exhibition as a fine
prehistoric relic. Soon after the exhibition of the original Cardiff
Giant, the figure began to show seams and other signs of artificial
manufacture. Barnum planned the manufacture of a prehistoric relic
without blemishes.
Coup devoted time and energy to the organization of the Greatest Show
on Earth, and Barnum supplied advice and some financial support. On
April 10, 1871, the show opened in Brooklyn, New York, with the largest
area of tent canvas that had ever been spread for a circus, and the
show boasted that it employed more men, horses and animals than any
previously organized in the United States or Europe. There were wax
works, dioramas, the Sleeping Beauty, and the Dying Zouave--mechanical
figures which breathed evenly, and gasped realistically for
breath--Swiss Bell Ringers, and the Cardiff Giant, who did not crack.
Admiral Dot, the Eldorado Elf, and Colonel Goshen, the Palestine Giant,
exhibited together, the Admiral sometimes occupying the Colonel’s hand
as a seat. Esau, the Bearded Boy, and Anna Leake, the armless woman,
were other special attractions.
But the greatest attraction of the opening season was the family
of Fiji Cannibals, whom Barnum was supposed to have obtained from
the Fiji Islands with the aid of the United States consul. These
man-eating cannibals, according to Barnum, had been captured in war
by King Thokambau and rescued from death and consumption as food by
Barnum’s agent at Na Vita Levu. King Thokambau accepted a bond for
the safe return of his captives, and a large sum of money for their
use in Barnum’s circus. “Accompanying them,” wrote Barnum, “is a
half-civilized Cannibal woman, converted and educated by the Methodist
missionaries. She reads fluently and very pleasantly from the Bible
printed in the Fijian language, and she already exerts a powerful
moral influence over these savages. They take a lively interest in
hearing her read the history of our Saviour. They earnestly declare
their convictions that eating human flesh is wrong, and faithfully
promise never again to attempt it. They are intelligent and docile.
Their characteristic war dances and rude marches, as well as their
representations of Cannibal manners and customs, are peculiarly
interesting and instructive. It is perhaps needless to add that the
bonds for their return will be forfeited. They are already learning to
speak and read our language, and I hope soon to put them in the way
of being converted to Christianity, even if by so doing the title of
‘Missionary’ be added to the many already given me by the public.”
Another great attraction of the first season was the giraffe. “Other
managers,” Barnum explained, “gave up trying to import giraffes several
years ago, owing to the great cost and care attending them. No giraffe
has ever lived two years in America. These very impediments, however,
incited me to always have a living giraffe on hand, at whatever
cost--for, of course, their scarcity enhances their attraction and
value as curiosities.” The giraffe’s long neck was always of great
advertising value to the circus.
The success of Barnum’s circus was almost immediate, but it was not
spontaneous. While Barnum was enjoying the fruit of his past activities
at his home in Bridgeport, Coup was preparing the country for the
Barnum show. The name of Barnum was a great attraction, for his thirty
years of association with the public in the amusement business carried
his name and reputation everywhere throughout the United States and in
many of the important countries of Europe. General Tom Thumb, Jenny
Lind, and the American Museum formed a background of notoriety which
finally made Barnum’s name, and later the name of Barnum & Bailey,
a household expression and a national institution. During the first
season Barnum was present with the show in all the large cities, and he
exploited his personality and reputation for the benefit of his circus.
Frequently he delivered lectures on temperance at the Y. M. C. A. in
a city where the circus was performing. “My managers and assistants,”
Barnum wrote, “insist that my free lectures, especially in the large
cities, result to my pecuniary disadvantage, as fully satisfying
many who otherwise would patronize the exhibition to gratify their
curiosity. However, as our immense pavilions are always crowded, I can
see no real cause for complaint.” No doubt there were enough people
who, after seeing Barnum, still wanted to see the giraffe and the Fiji
Cannibals.
But in its first year the factor that contributed more than any other
to the success of Barnum’s circus was W. C. Coup’s advance publicity
and advertising and his excellent transportation arrangements. Every
other circus had previously been confined to a town and its immediate
vicinity for its patronage; Coup ordered his advertisers to post their
bills as far as fifty and seventy-five miles from the place where the
circus would exhibit, and his advance brigade of bill posters, it was
said, posted more bills in one week than other circus companies posted
in an entire season. Coup then arranged with the leading railroads of
New England and New York to run special excursion trains at reduced
fares to points where the Barnum Circus pitched its tents. Often the
attendance at the circus was in this way brought up to a total of
twice and three times the population of the town visited. The gross
receipts of the first season were more than $400,000, and this sum did
not include the profits from candy stands, incidental concerts and
side-shows.
Coup noticed that in the larger towns the receipts averaged from $5,000
to $7,000 a day, and in the smaller towns they fell to $2,000 a day.
This led him to consider the possibility of transporting the Barnum
show by rail, thus making sufficiently long trips to eliminate all
towns where the receipts were likely to fall below $5,000. Barnum tells
in his autobiography how he triumphed over all other showmen because
of his high-handed enterprise and his liberal outlay of money. He
particularly records how he startled his partners, Coup and Costello,
when he decided to transport the circus by rail. But these statements
were not true. All his associates in the circus who have left any
records of their opinions agree that in his last years Barnum was
inclined to be niggardly and conservative, traits which would have
been fatal to the success of such a gigantic enterprise as he was then
conducting. It was Coup who negotiated with the railroads for the
transportation of the circus, and who informed Barnum arbitrarily that
during the season of 1872 the circus would be transported by rail. The
innovation startled Barnum, and he protested vigorously. Even after
rail transportation had been demonstrated as successful, Barnum urged
that it should be abandoned in favor of the old wagons, confining the
show to short trips. But Coup refused to listen to Barnum, and he
so perfected the details of loading and unloading that it was made
possible to make trips of one hundred miles each night, give the
far-famed street parade in the morning, and an afternoon and evening
performance in each city visited. His system of railroad transportation
also made it possible to carry a much larger show about the country,
and during the first season of rail transportation the receipts of
the circus were more than one million dollars, according to Barnum’s
own figures. These tremendous figures of profits and expenditure were
enough to frighten a younger man than Barnum.
For the winter months, when the circus could not travel, Barnum and
Coup hired the Hippotheatron, on Fourteenth Street, New York, and
they used some of their curiosities and performers in this continuous
museum, menagerie and circus. Part of the show was also sent during the
winter on a tour of the southern states, and in 1872 Barnum accompanied
the show on this trip. On December 24, 1872, the Hippotheatron was
destroyed by fire, and Barnum found himself in possession of nothing
but two elephants and one camel, besides the part of the show which was
then exhibiting in New Orleans. He immediately, so he wrote, cabled
his agents in Europe to obtain duplicate curiosities and new animals
and properties, and he telegraphed his son-in-law: “Tell editors
I have cabled European agents to expend half million dollars for
extra attractions; will have new and more attractive show than ever
early in April. P. T. Barnum.” Coup, meanwhile, had provided for the
reorganization of the show, and in 1873 it was able to take the road
with a larger collection of performers, curiosities and animals than
during its first tour.
The Barnum show depended for its patronage upon its size, and in 1872
Coup and Barnum added another ring under their tent. This was the
first two-ring circus, a development which was followed by every other
large show in the country, and which eventually grew into the famous
three-ring circus which has been universally adopted in this country.
The three-topped tent circus, with its two separate rings, and later
three separate rings, had great advertising advantages over its smaller
rivals. The very fact that the spectator was offered more than he could
possibly see was such a glamorous inducement for him to spend his money
that he usually forgot the obvious disadvantage of not being able to
see it all. This large-sized show, inaugurated by Barnum and Coup, has
always been deplored by circus performers from an artistic point of
view, for they have always seen in its immensity no opportunity for the
display of individual merit. Clowns and acrobats have considered that
their decline in individual popularity was due to the increase in the
magnitude of circus presentation, for it was impossible to do stirring
or excruciating things in the air, in animal cages, or on the sawdust
when two other groups were occupied in distracting the attention of the
audience at the same time. Circus clowns like Grimaldi are no longer
popular personally, because the maximum time allowed for an individual
performance under the Barnum & Bailey régime, which came a few years
later than the Barnum and Coup show, was six minutes. Bailey is said to
have imported a famous English clown, who could not possibly shorten
his act, he insisted, to less than twenty minutes. Bailey paid the
clown’s expenses back to England. But psychologically the three-ring
circus proved a great success, and brought huge financial profits. The
size of the circus gave body to the statement that it was the Greatest
Show on Earth, and Barnum’s show when it finally combined with Bailey’s
was certainly the largest: throughout Barnum’s career largest and
greatest were synonymous.
In September, 1873, Barnum visited Europe for the purpose of attending
the International Exhibition at Vienna. In England he met again his
old friend John Fish, and he traveled throughout the country with Fish
and his daughter, Nancy. While Barnum was in Europe, Coup obtained
a lease on the old New Haven Railroad depot at Madison Avenue and
Twenty-seventh Street, New York, and he determined to build what
is now Madison Square Garden, where the Barnum & Bailey circus has
performed for many years. Barnum declined absolutely to join Coup in
this enterprise until Coup cabled him that he had plenty of offers of
capital and did not need his aid. Then Barnum determined to join the
enterprise. In his autobiography Barnum presented a different version
of his reaction to the plan for Madison Square Garden. If we are to
believe him, he received letters from Coup and his son-in-law that
the New Haven depot was available. “I immediately telegraphed them
to take the lease, and within twenty-four hours from that time I was
in telegraphic communication with seventeen European cities where I
knew were the proper parties to aid me in carrying out a grand and
novel enterprise.” The grand and novel enterprise was the construction
of Madison Square Garden on the site of the New Haven depot and the
operation there of a gigantic place of amusement, combining all the
features of the circus, museum and menagerie, which was to be called
the Great Roman Hippodrome. Coup’s health broke down from overwork on
the Madison Square Garden project. He went to Europe and later sold
out his interest in Barnum’s show. Costello had already left the show.
Coup was a bold adventurer. Later he invested all his capital in the
New York Aquarium, where he had a valuable collection of aquaria and
several giraffes and elephants. His partner was a German, who insisted
that the Aquarium must be kept open on Sunday. Coup would not consent
to this, and since they could not settle the difference of opinion,
Coup coolly suggested that they flip a coin to determine which partner
should own the giraffes and other large animals, and which should take
the aquaria, which were far more valuable. Coup lost, and by the flip
of that coin he lost the fortune he had spent years of a wandering
circus life in gaining.
While Barnum was in Hamburg in November, 1873, he received a cablegram
from his son-in-law, S. M. Hurd, informing him that his wife, Charity
Hallett Barnum, had died on November 17, 1873. Barnum wrote in his
autobiography that it was difficult for any one to imagine the anguish
he suffered by thus being suddenly separated from a companion of
forty-four years. “But when the intelligence,” he continued, “is not
only unlooked for, but, as in my case, it finds the sorrowing husband
four thousand miles away from the bedside of his dead wife, alone,
in a strange land, where his native tongue is not spoken: when he
reflects that children, grandchildren, and other kindred are mourning
over the coffin where he is needed, and where his poor stricken heart
is breaking to be, the utter loneliness of that mourner cannot be
truly comprehended. Long accustomed as I have been to feel that God
is good, and that His ways are always right, that He overcometh evil
with good, and chastens us ‘for our profit,’ I confess the ‘cloud’
seemed so utterly black that it was hard to realize it _could_ have
a silver ‘lining’; and my tongue ceased to move when I attempted to
say, as surely we all ought unhesitatingly at all times to say, ‘Not
my will, but Thine be done.’” But apparently there was a silver lining
even to this black cloud, for, less than one year later, Barnum married
Nancy Fish, the young daughter of his English friend and traveling
companion.[21]
II
When he returned to New York, the show, which had opened as the Great
Roman Hippodrome at Madison Square Garden, was larger than ever, and
he was greeted with cheers by the crowd assembled in the immense
building. This applause Barnum took as a gratifying tribute to his
enterprise as manager of a monster exhibition. President Grant and
his cabinet, governors of states, and judges visited the great show
and congratulated Barnum on a stupendous achievement. When he arrived
home in Bridgeport, his friends and neighbors gave him a complimentary
dinner to place on record their “esteem for his liberality and energy
in private enterprise and in promoting the industries and public
improvement of our city.” In his speech of gratitude Barnum said that
night would “ever stand out a red letter day on the calendar of my
history.”[22]
In London Barnum had contracted with Sanger Brothers for duplicates of
their costumes and properties belonging to the Sanger show, known as
the Great Congress of Nations. In December, 1874, the show returned to
New York and again filled Madison Square Garden with an enthusiastic
audience. King Kalakaua, the first King of the Hawaiian Islands to
visit this country, and one of the first reigning sovereigns ever
entertained here, visited Barnum’s show and enjoyed himself. King
Kalakaua had been received with great enthusiasm by the newspapers and
the public on his tour, which began at San Francisco and ended in New
York. Kalakaua’s predecessor on the Hawaiian throne, King Kamehameha V,
had visited this country when he was Prince Lot, before the American
Civil War. He was thrown out of a New York street car because he was
considered “nothing but a dressed-up nigger.”
Barnum sent King Kalakaua an invitation to watch the Greatest Show
on Earth, and when the King arrived at Madison Square Garden, P. T.
Barnum was in the arena, ready to conduct his guests to the royal
box, decorated tastefully with the United States and Hawaiian flags.
There was a capacity audience in Madison Square Garden to greet Barnum
and the King. A great display of fireworks, which formed the word
“Kalakaua” in letters of blue and red, followed the entry of the King,
and His Majesty was much pleased. The King was particularly impressed
by the horse race between lady jockeys, and he handed the winner a
white rose. He was also interested in Admiral Dot, the Eldorado Elf,
who presented his portrait free of charge. During an intermission the
cry went up from the audience, “King Kalakaua! King Kalakaua!” Barnum
invited the King to answer the call by riding around the arena with
him in an open carriage. There was much cheering and waving of hats
and handkerchiefs for Barnum and His Majesty, while the band played
“Hail to the Chief.” After the performance King Kalakaua visited behind
the scenes, where he was introduced to the “gauzy ballet girls.”
Barnum then gave him a Christmas present of a handsomely bound copy of
the _Life of P. T. Barnum Written by Himself_. A New York newspaper
remarked editorially on this reception: “They [Europeans] will be
astonished that any man on earth would have had the presumption to
propose making a show of a living monarch, albeit his kingdom may
not be the most extensive in the world, and we confess that, in our
opinion, the only human being on the footstool who would have the
temerity to show up a King is our worthy countryman, Phineas T.
Barnum.” The King seemed to realize that he was being made part of the
Greatest Show on Earth, for as he and Barnum stepped into Barnum’s
carriage he murmured philosophically, “We are all actors.”
In March, 1875, some of Barnum’s fellow citizens in Bridgeport
recognized his preëminence and civic spirit by offering him the
Republican nomination for mayor. He wrote in his autobiography that he
refused the nomination until he was assured that it was intended as a
compliment and would be sustained by both parties. But the Bridgeport
newspapers of the period do not tell the same story. Barnum’s election
was contested bitterly by his Democratic opponent, Frederick Hurd,
and Barnum was elected by only 141 votes; he was the only municipal
official of the Republican ticket who was elected, and his colleagues
in his administration were all his political opponents. In his
inaugural address Barnum said: “It is painful to the industrious and
moral portions of our people to see so many loungers about the streets,
and such a multitude whose highest aspirations seem to be to waste
their time in idleness or at baseball, billiards, etc.” He also assured
the Gentlemen of the Common Council that “Honesty is always the best
policy.”
Barnum opened his administration by declaring war on whisky dealers,
and one of his first measures was an attempt to enforce the Sunday
closing law for saloons. His administration also advocated public
ownership of the water works, although he himself was one of the
largest stockholders in the private water company. One of his most
unpopular measures was his advocacy of a fifteen per cent. reduction in
the salaries of all civic employees, including the mayor. The reduction
was designed to aid the city in its financial difficulties, but men
who were dependent for their livelihood upon their municipal salaries
were not so eager for the reform as was the mayor, whose circus was
earning more money than ever. After one year as mayor, Barnum refused a
renomination.
III
The circus season of 1876 was one of special features. That year was
the centenary of the Declaration of Independence, and Barnum made the
most of it. In the list of attractions were patriotic numbers that
succeeded in stirring national enthusiasm, and the printed program
contained this boast:
“And the Star Spangled Banner
In triumph shall wave
O’er the grandest of shows
Even Barnum e’er gave.”
There was a Goddess of Liberty, “a Gigantic Live American Eagle,”
which was scheduled to “hover overhead”; groups of patriotic figures,
including a man dressed as the Father of His Country and other
appropriately costumed Revolutionary heroes, marched in a triumphal
procession around the arena. “A stupendous chorus of several hundred
thoroughly trained voices,” led by Señora Donetti and J. Russell Haynes
as soloists, sang “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” while the Goddess of
Liberty “triumphantly waved the stars and stripes over the splendid and
animated scene.”
Barnum’s patriotism was one of those sincere beliefs of his which
he was able to enjoy personally and to profit by financially at the
same time. But his patriotism was as nothing in sincerity or value to
him compared with his piety. Barnum’s personal piety was one of the
greatest assets of the Greatest Show on Earth. The church had been
opposed to shows, and especially to the circus, since the first circus
toured America, and at one time the Methodist Church in its regulations
provided that any Methodist who attended the circus automatically
forfeited membership in the church. But Barnum’s show was not only
attended by clergymen and their most pious parishioners, but even
reviewed in most of the religious publications of the country. “That
the Church should ever tolerate, patronize, or even recognize as an
educator the circus,” wrote Barnum, “was a possibility that probably
entered into the dreams of no man but myself, and perhaps no man but
myself believed it possible to organize a circus which should respect
the Church and all pertaining to it.” It was true; Barnum accomplished
both these things, which combined to form one of his most valuable
assets, and he alone of all showmen could have done it, because his
personal reputation for piety, temperance, and abstinence was universal.
Barnum forced recognition upon his clerical friends. His show was
always advertised as “Barnum’s Great Moral Show.” The unobjectionable
character of its performances was stressed unremittingly in its
programs. And then in Barnum’s program notes each year appeared this
notice: “The gentlemen having charge of my advertising department will
address a letter, containing tickets, to each of the clergy of every
denomination, resident in the towns where we exhibit, which will admit
them and their wives, free of charge, to my entire combination of
exhibitions. It sometimes happens, however, that my agents are not able
to procure the names of all the resident clergy. Should any be omitted,
they will receive a cordial welcome by calling either on me in person,
or on my Treasurer, at the ticket wagon, any time before or during the
entertainment. My exhibitions contain nothing that professed Christians
do not approve.” Though he gave passes liberally to clergymen and to
editors,--and for the latter he sometimes supplied transportation from
their distant homes,--Barnum told others that “we never issue one to
the big show except to editors, clergymen, or orphan asylums, or to
persons who render us equivalent service in some way.” He had printed
a card which he handed to those who bothered him for free passes, that
read:
FREE PASSES
In those days there were no passes given.
Search the Scriptures.
“Thou shalt not pass.”--_Numbers_ xx. 18.
“Suffer not a man to pass.”--_Judges_ iii. 28.
“The wicked shall no more pass.”--_Nahum_ i. 15.
“None shall pass.”--_Isaiah_ xxxiv. 10.
“This generation shall not pass.”--_Mark_ xiii. 30.
“Beware that thou pass not.”--_2d Kings_ vi. 9.
“There shall no strangers pass.”--_Amos_ iii. 17.
“Neither any son of man pass.”--_Jeremiah_ li. 43.
“No man may pass through because of the beasts.”--_Ezekiel_ xiv. 15.
“Though they roar, yet they cannot pass.”--_Jeremiah_ v. 22.
“So he paid the fare thereof and went.”--_Jonah_ i. 3.
The clergymen were grateful for their passes, and sometimes mentioned
the circus from the pulpit, advising their congregations to attend this
strictly moral exhibition, of interest and instruction to all. The
show depended for its success on winning the patronage of thousands of
persons in small towns who rarely saw any newspapers except country
weeklies, but who seldom missed Sunday attendance at church. By
reiteration in his advance notices and his programs, and by careful
supervision of the show itself, Barnum impressed upon his patrons the
fact that his circus was reputable and moral. “The reverend clergy and
school teachers of both sexes throughout our land are among my firmest
friends,” Barnum wrote in his program notes for 1879, “and strongest
supporters of my great moral exhibition. I am both a husband and a
father, and I will _never_ place any entertainment before the public
that a Christian mother cannot patronize in every department, with her
innocent daughters, with pleasure and profit.” Not a broad joke nor a
suggestive gesture was allowed a clown in Barnum’s Great Moral Show. In
his program he assured his patrons: “I desire to elevate the morals and
refine the tastes of my patrons. In fine, I aspire to make the world
_better_ for my having lived in it.”
His success in this particular was recognized in many different ways by
his contemporaries, and all were effective as advertising. An important
religious paper, _The Examiner and Chronicle_, wrote a review in which
the editor said: “Barnum’s Great Show is well worthy everybody’s
seeing. It is not too much to say that it is the greatest exhibition of
its kind in the world.” “Amusement is necessary to us all,” said _The
Christian at Work_, “and when we can combine instruction and amusement,
as in this case, we see no reason why we should not be gratified in
this respect, and our children as well.” Henry Ward Beecher, Theodore
L. Cuyler, E. H. Chapin, the most notorious ministers of their day,
wrote endorsements for Barnum’s show and in public utterances expressed
themselves as satisfied that he was a force for great moral good. The
Rev. Robert Collyer, minister of the Church of the Messiah in New York
City, saw Barnum enter the church one evening after the services had
begun and quietly take a back seat. Dr. Collyer announced from the
pulpit: “I see P. T. Barnum in a back pew of this church, and I invite
him to come forward and take a seat in my family pew. Mr. Barnum always
gives me a good seat in his circus, and I want to give him as good
in my church.” Barnum said of this incident, “I thought the reverend
gentleman had the courage of his convictions to a most unusual degree,
and I was grateful to his congregation for the gravity with which they
listened to this very remarkable ‘pulpit notice’ and made way for me
as, with some embarrassment, I took the prominent seat so peremptorily
indicated.” If Barnum was embarrassed then, it was for the first and
last time in his life.
Barnum’s genius for astute showmanship never was displayed to greater
advantage than when he harnessed his caravan to the church by the
straps of his personal piety; since his piety was sincere and his show
carefully moral throughout, his plea for moral support was responded
to with enthusiasm by a large body of clergymen and churchgoers, who
admired solemnly Barnum’s personal virtues and giggled contentedly at
the antics of his clowns. This admiration for him and his enterprise,
which was based psychologically on Barnum’s own continual reiterations
of his own merits and those of his show, was often productive of
personal results. In his advance notes for 1879 Barnum wrote: “One
charming old lady in Boston, with a troop of happy grandchildren in
her train, shook me cordially by the hand and, with a face beaming
with smiles, said to me: ‘Oh, Mr. Barnum, I don’t know how to thank
you enough for the pleasure you have afforded these darlings. I never
saw them so happy before in all their lives; and they have learned so
much in your delightful Museum and wonderful Menagerie. It is better
than all the books in Natural History they ever read. I enjoyed it too;
I shall never forget this day as long as I live; neither will they. I
tell you, Mr. Barnum, you are doing a great deal of good. You deserve
canonizing more than many of the saints. God bless you!’ and with
another shake of the hand she left me, surrounded by her happy charge.”
Even granting the possibility that this particular old lady of Boston
was a mythical press agent figure, the incident recorded is one that
must have occurred to him often.
Barnum was frequently approached personally by his patrons, and the
thrill of such admiring contact never lost its power to satisfy him.
He occupied in the sentiments of his host of patrons a position more
enviable for the satisfaction of natural, human vanity than that of
any other public figure in the world. His personality was removed
from the stress and conflict of political controversy, which makes
enemies as well as friends, and by nature of his contributions to a
nation’s amusement he was accepted with a cordiality that was never
bestowed even upon a President of the United States. His reception was
more familiar and more general than that of any other public person:
instead of a world figure, he was a world character, and the kindly
manifestations of his genial success were an immense source of comfort
to his old age. Whenever possible he was present at the circus in all
the large cities to enjoy the triumph which he had so justly earned.
And his presence invariably increased the gate receipts. Many people
came to look at the famous Barnum and remained to look at the other
curiosities, while of those larger numbers who were attracted by the
show itself, few missed the opportunity to look at Barnum. He once
heard a small boy in Toronto ask his father excitedly, “Say, Pa, which
cage is Barnum in?” In Erie, Pennsylvania, he was watching the circus
performance and caught the conversation of a farmer and his wife,
who were sitting behind him. They had not seen a circus since their
childhood and were emotionally aroused by its manifold wonders. When
a young equestrian rode round the ring, standing on his head on the
horse’s bare back, the farmer jumped to his feet, waved his straw hat,
and shouted with enthusiastic excitement, “I’ll bet five dollars that’s
Barnum! There ain’t another man in America who can do that but Barnum!”
Barnum did not disillusion him.
The name and personality of Barnum became a strong American legend,
and it was recognized as such by some of his more unscrupulous rivals.
Barnum wrote in his autobiography: “Nearly every circus and menagerie
in the country has lately added what is called a ‘museum,’ and in some
cases they have employed a man named, or supposed to be named, Barnum,
intending to advertise under the title of ‘Barnum’s Show,’ thereby
deceiving and swindling the public. The trick is very transparent, and
can be successful, if at all, only in very rural regions, where the
newspapers fail to penetrate. The whole public knows that there is
but one P. T. Barnum, and but one show in the country of sufficient
importance to bear his name.”
Another factor in the spread of the Barnum legend was his
autobiography. It was sold at the circus for one dollar, fifty cents
less than the published price, and, so anxious was Barnum to increase
its circulation, each purchaser was entitled by his purchase to a
fifty cent ticket to the entire show, so that the book was sold at
the circus for less than half its published price. The cost of the
autobiography to Barnum, he told Major J. B. Pond, was nine cents a
copy, because he ordered a million copies of the book. Barnum told a
reporter for the _Buffalo Courier_, who found him at “Waldemere” in the
act of adding another appendix to the book, that he sold 100,000 copies
each year at the circus. “Nearly every family buys one or more of my
book,” Barnum said. “As the multitudes pour out of my canvas tents at
the close of each exhibition, every third person seems to have a book
under his arm.” “That must be a funny sight,” said the reporter. “Yes,”
said Barnum, “it looks as if they were coming out of a circulating
library.” When the same reporter expressed his astonishment at the
magnitude of Barnum’s circus, Barnum said, “My business is to astonish
as well as to please.”
But in spite of his support from the church, his personal notoriety,
and the extent of his advertising, Barnum’s show was not alone in the
field. There were many circus troupes touring the country, and at least
one other was as large as Barnum’s, that owned by Cooper & Bailey.
So great was circus rivalry that circus men stopped at nothing to
hinder the progress of a competitor. W. C. Coup wrote in _Sawdust and
Spangles_ that a circus company once burned a railroad bridge after
crossing it so that a rival show could not get to its next stand.
The rivalry manifested itself in Barnum’s advertisements. He plastered
the country with large bills, reading, “Wait for Barnum. Don’t spend
your money on inferior shows.” He also attacked competitors in his
program notes, and when he chronicled the glory of his curiosities
he frequently offered rewards for those who could honestly equal
them. In 1879 he promised $10,000 “to any person who can show that
the bare expenses of running my establishments during the last six
years has not averaged more than _the entire gross receipts_ of any
other show during the same time, which has ever traveled either in
this country or Europe, and in making this offer I promise every
facility for learning the facts.” Barnum was proud of his menagerie and
sure of its preëminence. He printed the following offer: “While most
exhibitions advertise more animals than they possess, and many which
the advertisers never saw, I hereby solemnly agree to forfeit and pay
$50,000.00 if the proprietors of any Menagerie now in the country can
show that they have incurred the same expense, and if an equal number
of rare wild animals was ever before seen in any traveling exhibition
in this country or in Europe, or anywhere on the face of the whole
earth. I am thoroughly in earnest in making this proposition, and
pledge my honor and my money for its due fulfilment.” This magnificent
menagerie included, “the only Two-Horned Rhinoceros ever exhibited
in America, which cost me $16,000.00”; a Black, Double-Humped Camel,
“as dark as Erebus,” and “by his side in strong contrast, another
Double-Humped Camel perfectly White.” Then there was “the remarkable
anomalous pachyderm from the interior of Africa, which even the savants
of Europe have not been able to classify. It has the head of the
hippopotamus, the tusk of the elephant, the hide of the rhinoceros,
the body of the lion, and the feet of a camel. It weighs nearly two
tons and has been named from its peculiar form and strange combination,
the ELEPHANTUS-HIPPO-PARADOXUS; as it paradoxically combines several
animals in one.” The zoölogical boast continued:
“To the perfecting of this grand Zoölogical Collection, I have made
Earth, Sea, and Air pay tribute, and my brave rangers, hunters,
and agents have traveled to the uttermost parts of the Earth to
complete it; braving the dangers of the jungle, the miasma of the
morass, the arid, burning plains, the snows of the Polar Circle,
the simooms of the desert, the ferocious cannibals of the African
forests, and ‘the pestilence that walketh by noon-day’ in the
dread lagoons and poisoned swamps of India. This superb and only
exhaustive Zoölogical Collection in the United States contains
more costly and rare specimens of natural reptiles, amphibia,
and wild denizens of every clime and country than have ever been
before presented to the public, and form a Vast Living School
of Instruction, where the student may spend hours in wondrous
contemplation, looking ‘from Nature up to Nature’s God.’”
The foregoing sounds as if Barnum had stepped out, and the circus
press agent had stepped in. But he took personal interest in all the
publicity of his huge show, and he undoubtedly approved all blurbs
which he did not write himself. These Barnum circus advertisements
have a grandiose intensity that is unsurpassed in the history of
advertising. There is a Walt Whitmanlike fervor in Barnum’s exhortation
to the public not to miss his free street parade:
“Come from your fields, your workshops, your offices, your stores
and homes! Gather your families--your friends--your neighbors, and
make a holiday for once! Secure an eligible position by 9 o’clock
in the morning, and see the gorgeous procession--then troop along
to the acres of snowy canvas, and devote the rest of the day
to seeing my Grand Museum, my School of Automatic Wonders, the
Tattooed Greek Nobleman, Giants and Dwarfs, my Gigantic Menagerie,
my Twenty Trained Imported Stallions, and my Magnificent Circus!
Then you can go home happy, having enjoyed yourselves innocently
and learned much that will afford you pleasure hereafter. Then for
a night’s refreshing sleep and a good day’s work to-morrow.”
But in spite of all the wonders of the Barnum show, as advertised,
Cooper & Bailey continued to prosper and enjoy some of the patronage
that Barnum thought was exclusively his. Barnum’s programs and advance
publicity began to question the honesty of other shows. One year this
verse was used:
“Others may issue paper lies,
But we show all we advertise.”
In another paragraph Barnum suggested that other showmen advertise
things that are not included in their shows, and dare not advertise
some of the things they have. The bitter rivalry between Barnum’s
show and the show now owned by Cooper, Bailey and Hutchinson, which
was called “Great London Circus, Sanger’s Royal British Menagerie,
and Grand International Allied Shows,” came to a crisis when a baby
elephant was born in the Bailey show, the first baby elephant ever born
in captivity. Barnum, realizing the value of this feature, telegraphed
Bailey an offer of $100,000 for the baby elephant. Bailey refused, and
as soon as his show reached Barnum’s territory, Bailey issued bill
posters and small handbills with a reproduction of Barnum’s telegram,
under the spreading caption, “What Barnum Thinks of the Baby Elephant.”
Barnum was anxious for peace, and he offered J. L. Hutchinson, one of
Bailey’s partners, a free partnership in his show if Hutchinson would
persuade Bailey to combine with Barnum. In 1880 Bailey reached an
agreement with Barnum, and the combined shows were organized under the
firm name of Barnum, Bailey & Hutchinson. Cooper was dead, Hutchinson
soon retired, and the firm became Barnum & Bailey, the Greatest Show on
Earth.
[Illustration: LETTER-HEAD OF BARNUM, BAILEY & HUTCHINSON
In all his enterprises Barnum used his envelopes and letter-heads to
advertise his face and his business.
_Westervelt Collection_
]
James Anthony Bailey was the perfect partner for P. T. Barnum, for they
were opposites in character, but never antagonists in their business
relations. Bailey was born to the name McGinnis in Detroit, Michigan,
on the Fourth of July, 1847. His father died of cholera during an
epidemic, and his mother died soon afterwards. He could not agree with
his brothers and sisters, and school teachers were always an annoyance.
He ran away from home and worked with a traveling show whose advance
agents were Frederick H. Bailey and Benjamin Stevens. Bailey gave
young McGinnis his first job, took care of him, and the boy, wishing
to forget his brothers and sisters and to avoid detection, took the
name of Bailey. In later years he never admitted to the name McGinnis,
and he once discharged a clown who boasted that he knew the boss well
and had played marbles with him when his name was McGinnis. During the
Civil War Bailey was a sutler’s clerk, and after the war he traveled
with several small shows. He finally became a partner in Cooper &
Bailey and traveled with his show throughout the United States,
Australia and South America.
The contrast between Barnum and Bailey extended even to their physical
characteristics: Barnum was more than six feet tall, robust, strong,
and corpulent after middle age; Bailey was short, thin, alert, and
nervous. Barnum’s disposition was placid, serene, and, after the period
of his bankruptcy and recovery, he could not bring himself to worry
for long about the circus or anything else; Bailey was always worried,
always anxious, and his twitching, electric energy made it impossible
for him to leave the circus grounds until the tents had been struck;
a rain storm, which usually frightened and aroused the elephants to
a state of panic, was a constant source of worry to him, and always
when the skies were clouded he asked every one he met whether he
thought it would rain. Barnum lived for publicity, Bailey hated it:
he objected even to the use of his photograph in the advertisements.
Barnum reveled in the title, “Prince of Humbugs”; Bailey hated every
form of humbug and used his energy as much as possible to make it
unnecessary by obtaining curiosities which people would recognize
readily as unique. This was more expensive than Barnum’s cunning, but
it paid larger returns eventually. Bailey was prodigal with money used
for increasing the size and magnificence of his show, and Barnum was
always complaining about the expense. Bailey was at the circus before
nine o’clock in the morning, and he usually locked up at night; Barnum
in his old age seldom visited the circus except to enjoy his notoriety
in the arena whenever it played in large cities. Bailey and Mrs. Bailey
traveled with the circus in a private railroad car, which was their
home for more than six months every year.
Barnum realized the value of his partner, and he never lost an
opportunity to praise him in the newspapers. “Bailey knows,” he told
a reporter. “Would you believe it, I’ve never been behind the curtain
of our present show [1890]. I don’t know a performer. That’s Bailey’s
business.” And upon another occasion he said: “I want you newspaper
fellows to let the public know how great a man my partner, Mr. Bailey,
is. I’ve never met his equal. He’s got brains--lots of them--and he
knows how to use them. He doesn’t copy any of us, old or young. He’s
original in his methods, and his resources are amazing. I ought to be
jealous of him, and I would be if he were not my partner. How I would
hate to have him for a rival! Don’t forget when you are scattering
around adjectives about this great spectacle to save a good one or two
for Mr. Bailey.” Even Barnum would have admitted that if there was one
asset as useful as the notoriety of P. T. Barnum in making Barnum &
Bailey the Greatest Show on Earth, it was the astute energy of James
Anthony Bailey.
There was one point on which Barnum and Bailey agreed in their general
principles, and that was the value to the circus of temperance. Barnum
advocated it on moral grounds, and Bailey believed in it for the sake
of efficiency. Every contract between Barnum & Bailey and each circus
performer or circus employee contained a clause prohibiting the use of
either malt or spirituous liquors during the period of time covered
by the contract.[23] Barnum knew that drink was a curse, and Bailey
believed that the occupation of a circus performer was too hazardous
without the additional risk of intoxicating influences.
Although Bailey’s achievements were great, the publicity value of
Barnum’s name is not to be underestimated, and Bailey always took it
into account; nor did Bailey object to the exaggeration in circus
advertisements, for he was too discerning not to realize the value of
imaginative words in the description of actual phenomena.
Barnum could always be depended upon, even in his old age, to create
a controversy or cause a laugh. In 1880 Henry Bergh, president of the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, who was one of the
constant annoyances of Barnum’s life, caused a controversy that settled
their antagonism forever and gave Barnum excellent publicity. The show
was then exhibiting at the Empire Rink, New York, and one of the main
attractions was Salamander, the Fire Horse, who walked through fire and
came out unscathed. Bergh protested against this cruelty to the horse.
Barnum challenged Bergh to meet him in the circus ring and to discuss
the subject before the public. Bergh did not appear, but he sent his
superintendent, Hartfield, with a squad of twenty policemen to prevent
the cruelty. Barnum entered the circus ring and addressed the audience.
He assured the public that Salamander’s performance had been witnessed
by Queen Victoria, Prince Bismarck and the Emperor of Germany. Then
Salamander was led into the ring by Prince Nagaard, his trainer.
The fire hoops were lighted, and Barnum ran his own hand through
the flaming circles. Ten clowns performed in the hoops of fire, and
then Salamander passed through without fear and was not even singed.
Superintendent Hartfield walked through the artificial fire himself
and was satisfied that it was harmless.
Before the demonstration Barnum told the audience that many years
before Bergh had insisted that the hippopotamus which Barnum was
exhibiting as the Great Behemoth at his Museum must be provided with
a swimming tank filled with water and was satisfied that this was
impossible only when Barnum pointed out that such a pleasure would kill
the beast, although it was necessary for the whales. Bergh objected
again when he heard that Barnum’s snakes were being fed with live toads
and lizards, although he was assured that they killed their prey before
eating it. Bergh’s letter of protest read:
“I am informed that several live animals were recently thrown
into the cage with your boa constrictor to be devoured! I assert,
without fear of contradiction, that any person who can commit an
atrocity such as the one I complain of is semi-barbarian in his
instincts. It may be urged that the reptiles will not eat dead
food. In reply to this I have only to say--then let them starve;
for it is contrary to the merciful providence of God that wrong
should be committed in order to accomplish a supposed right. But I
am satisfied that this assertion is false in theory and practice,
for no living creature will allow itself to perish of hunger
with food before it--be the aliment dead or alive. On the next
occurrence of this cruel exhibition this society will take legal
measures to punish the perpetrator of it.”
Barnum took measures to punish Bergh. He sent a copy of Bergh’s letter
to Professor Louis Agassiz at Harvard, who wrote in reply:
“I do not know any way to induce snakes to eat their food otherwise
than in their natural manner--that is alive. Your museum is
intended to show the public the animals as nearly as possible
in their natural state. The society of which you speak is, as I
understand, for the prevention of unnecessary cruelty to animals.
It is a most praiseworthy object, but I do not think the most
active members of the society would object to eating lobster salad
because the lobster was boiled alive, or refuse roasted oysters
because they were cooked alive, or raw oysters because they must be
swallowed alive. I am, dear sir, your obedient servant,
“L. AGASSIZ.”
Barnum sent Agassiz’ letter to Bergh and demanded an apology. Bergh
answered that he was convinced more than ever of the necessity for
laboring in the cause of righteousness, when such distinguished
savants were fighting on the other side. He added: “I scarcely know
which emotion is paramount in my mind, regret or astonishment, that so
eminent a philosopher should have cast the weight of his commanding
authority into the scale where cruelty points the index in its favor.”
Evidently Henry Bergh did not like oysters. Barnum gave all this
correspondence to the newspapers, and it created publicity for several
days.
It is interesting in this connection that, in spite of his long
association with animals, or perhaps because of it, there is no
indication in Barnum’s life of any personal love for them. So far as
we know, he did not keep dogs; he never mentions a cat, and he kept
fine horses for his carriage only because they made an excellent
impression on the streets. Animals were a part of his business. But he
had sufficient interest in their welfare to support societies for the
prevention of cruelty to animals. He was the head of such a society
in Bridgeport, and he contributed liberally to a similar society
patronized by Queen Victoria in England.[24] His controversy with
Henry Bergh did not impair his personal respect for the man and his
work, even when they interfered with Barnum’s own interests. In his
will Barnum gave the City of Bridgeport $1,000 “to be used for the
erection of a statue of Henry Bergh, the Distinguished Philanthropist
and founder of the Society for the protection of animals from abuse and
cruelty.” If the City of Bridgeport did not erect the statue, Barnum
provided that the $1,000 was to be donated to any city that would do so.
IV
The greatest single acquisition of the Barnum & Bailey show during its
entire history, from the point of view of the international excitement
which it caused, and the probable financial returns as a result of
that excitement, was Jumbo, the largest elephant in captivity. For
many years Jumbo had been the favorite animal in the collection of the
Royal Zoölogical Gardens in Regent’s Park, London. In his youth Jumbo
was captured by the Hamran Arabs, who sold him to a Bavarian collector,
Johann Schmidt, and in 1861 Schmidt sold him to the Jardin des Plantes
of Paris. The Royal Zoölogical Society traded a rhinoceros for him at a
time when Jumbo showed no signs of becoming a giant; he was an African
elephant, and African elephants take longer to mature than their Indian
brothers.
Barnum had seen Jumbo many times in London after Jumbo had become a
famous giant elephant. Barnum coveted him, but it seemed hopeless
to think of obtaining him. However, an agent was instructed to ask
the Royal Zoölogical Society secretary how much he would take for
Jumbo, and the secretary, much to the surprise and delight of Barnum
and Bailey, replied that he would sell Jumbo for $10,000. The money
was sent immediately, and Jumbo was purchased in the name of P. T.
Barnum. After the sale was completed, it was announced in the London
newspapers. Immediately there was a furor of public indignation, and
Jumbo became the most important question of the day in England.
Hundreds of letters were written to the newspapers by fathers and
mothers whose children had been carried for many years on Jumbo’s back,
and the children themselves wrote sentimental notes, appropriately
misspelled, begging Mr. Barnum not to take from them their dear Jumbo.
The Queen and the Prince of Wales, who had often ridden on Jumbo’s
back, joined in protesting against this outrageous sale of a public
character; John Ruskin wrote indignantly that England had not been in
the habit of selling her pets. Queen Victoria, the Prince of Wales,
and John Ruskin begged the Zoölogical Society to refuse to deliver the
elephant to Barnum, and they promised that the British nation would be
responsible for any damages due to breach of contract. It was almost
as if Barnum had purchased an English institution, like Mr. Gladstone
or the Albert Memorial, and the volume of protest was greater than
it would probably have been had Barnum been successful many years
before in his attempt to carry off Shakespeare’s home. Lord Winchilsea
undoubtedly expressed the view of thousands of Englishmen in his verse
entitled “Jumbo”:
“But since in England’s fallen state
She owns two things supremely great,
Jumbo and Gladstone--(each we find
The most prodigious of their kind)--
And one won’t budge. Then, Barnum, make
A fair exchange, for quiet’s sake!
Take the Right Honorable, and go!
He’ll make the better raree show!
Leave Jumbo.”
Patriotic citizens were indignant with the Secretary of the Royal
Zoölogical Society. He wrote a statement to the press, in which he
claimed that for some time past Jumbo had been a source of constant
anxiety to the directors of the Zoo. “It is well known,” wrote the
secretary, “to all who have had much experience with such animals in
confinement that male elephants, when they arrive at the adult age,
are periodically liable to fits of uncertain temper.” Jumbo was eleven
feet tall and weighed seven tons. In a fit of anger it was likely that
he could cause considerable damage. “The possibility of having to
destroy the animal,” said the secretary, “would be repugnant to the
feelings of all who know and admire him, especially as there seems to
be no reason whatever to suppose that when once the removal is over
he may not be well cared for and live comfortably.” He pointed out
that Barnum & Bailey had more than twenty elephants living together
in the circus menagerie, and the fact that they lived in harmony and
happiness, said the secretary, was proved by the birth of two baby
elephants, “an occurrence hitherto unprecedented in captivity.” The
publication of the letter by Mr. Sclater, secretary of the Royal
Zoölogical Society, occasioned an answer, which was published in
_The Times_ on February 24, 1882, in which the correspondent asked
how often, if ever, it had been found necessary to confine Jumbo or
seclude him owing to his “alleged recently-developed bad temper.” It
was also asked if the Society had already determined to part with
Jumbo before Barnum’s offer of $10,000. The correspondent failed “to
see why the possession of 20 elephants enables the American firm to
make arrangements for their custody so superior to those of our own
Zoölogical Society for four or five animals, and I would ask whether it
is or is it not a fact that one of the animals at Regent’s Park is at
this time expecting that ‘unprecedented occurrence’--viz., an addition
to her family in captivity?” The correspondent also asked whether it
was, or was it not, a fact that this supposedly dangerous animal had
been allowed during the last few days to mix with little children.
“Assuming that the transfer of locality,” he concluded, “will not
affect his daily exhibition, is it quite fair and honorable to accept
so large a price for an animal that will presumably be at least as
dangerous, if not more so (for his removal may not improve his temper),
to the American, as he is said to be to the English children?”
The public was so eager to look at this animal they were about to lose
forever that the Royal Zoölogical Gardens were crowded daily, and
$50,000 were added to its receipts by the farewell receptions of Jumbo.
Jumbo had a passion for buns, and so many were fed to him by his new
ardent admirers that it was feared he would be killed with kindness
before he could be transported. After Jumbo became a national question,
the popular enthusiasm took a form it seems to take often with its
greatest favorites. There were Jumbo cigars, Jumbo letter-heads, Jumbo
ear rings, fans, hats, and cravats, Jumbo underclothing and Jumbo
overcoats, Jumbo boots and Jumbo perfumes. On the menus of London
hotels were Jumbo soups and hash, Jumbo fritters and stews, Jumbo
salads and pies, Jumbo ice-cream and Jumbo kisses.
The editor of the _London Daily Telegraph_ sent the following cable
despatch to Barnum:
“LONDON, February 22, 1882.
“P. T. BARNUM, New York:
“Editor’s compliments. All British children distressed at
elephant’s departure. Hundreds of correspondents beg us to inquire
on what terms you will kindly return Jumbo. Answer prepaid,
unlimited.
LESARGE, _Daily Telegraph_.”
But Barnum was firm. He answered prepaid, and took advantage of the
word unlimited to advertise the Greatest Show on Earth:
“NEW YORK, February 23.
“My compliments to Editor _Daily Telegraph_ and British nation.
Fifty millions of American citizens anxiously awaiting Jumbo’s
arrival. My forty years’ invariable practice of exhibiting best
that money could procure makes Jumbo’s presence here imperative.
Hundred thousand pounds would be no inducement to cancel purchase.
My largest tent seats thirty thousand persons, and is filled
twice each day. It contains four rings, in three of which three
full circus companies give different performances simultaneously.
In the large outer ring, or racing track, the Roman Hippodrome
is exhibited. In two other immense connecting tents my colossal
zoölogical collection and museum are shown.
“In December next I visit Australia in person, with Jumbo and my
entire mammoth combination of seven shows, via California, thence
through Suez Canal. Following summer to London. I shall then
exhibit in every prominent city in Great Britain. May afterwards
return Jumbo to his old position in Royal Zoölogical Gardens.
Wishing long life and prosperity to the British nation, _The Daily
Telegraph_, and Jumbo, I am the public’s obedient servant,
“P. T. BARNUM.”
This reply was published in full in the _Daily Telegraph_, and it
looked to Jumbo’s many new admirers as if there was no longer any
possibility of saving Jumbo for England. And the enthusiasm for Jumbo
increased every day. Four thousand six hundred and twenty-six curious
and sorrowing persons on a certain Wednesday in March, 1882, visited
Jumbo, as against 214 for the corresponding Wednesday of the previous
year. London _Fun_ suggested that the British coat of arms should be
altered by the removal of the lion and the substitution of Jumbo, the
motto reading, “Dieu et Mon Jumbo.” James Russell Lowell, American
ambassador to the Court of St. James’s, remarked in a public speech
that “the only burning question between the two nations is Jumbo.”
But the English did not give up hope of retaining their favorite. Some
of the fellows of the Royal Zoölogical Society brought an action in
chancery for an injunction against the removal of Jumbo. The fellows
contended that the council of the Society had no power under its
charter to sell any animal, and they declared it as their opinion that
“it must be morally wrong for the Council to sell a dangerous animal,
and as a consequence whenever an animal cannot be safely retained
in the gardens it ought to be killed.” “The Society is felt to be
established for the promotion of science, and not for the purposes of
trade,” wrote one of the fellows to the _Times_. This suit in chancery
caused considerable comment in the _Times_. Sir George Bowyer, Fellow
of the Royal Zoölogical Society, wrote that the British Museum had the
power to dispose of duplicates and useless books, but if its trustees
were to sell the Codex Alexandrinus, or some similar rare volume, a
court would intervene. The Society, in the sale of Jumbo, said Sir
George, had disposed of its most valuable and rarest item. There was
only one elephant in the world known to be larger, and he belonged to a
maharajah of India. Sir George refused to believe that the animal was
in the dangerous state of “must,” a term used to designate elephants
with tempers, and refused to admit that if he was he should be removed.
This letter brought one from Major-General William Agnew, who said
that his thirty-four years’ experience in Assam, “where elephants
abound,” qualified him to say that an elephant in a state of “must” was
an elephant to be removed from public gardens. “Among the elephants
I myself owned at different times when magistrate of Goalpara was a
male which became ‘must,’ and after attacking and almost killing its
keeper broke from its stable, and for four days defied all my efforts
for its recapture, which was only effected by the help of a party of
elephant hunters who happened to pass through the station at the time
in question.... I should like to be allowed to say one word more, which
is that it behoves those in authority to see to the safety of Jumbo’s
fellow-travelers on his voyage to America--at least, if he is to be
a passenger in an emigrant ship. For my own part I should be very
sorry indeed to travel with him.” The question was asked in the House
of Commons if the Board of Trade had taken any measures to safeguard
Jumbo’s fellow passengers.
Jumbo’s case then came up before Mr. Justice Chitty in the Court of
Chancery. The _Times_ for March 9, 1882, published a leading article
on the decision. “The case was one into which sentiment and prejudice
have entered so far that the verdict of a jury,” said the _Times_, “if
to a jury we can imagine it submitted, would not have been doubtful.
It needed an impartial Judge to separate the question of propriety and
advisability from the question of legal right.” Mr. Justice Chitty gave
it as his opinion that the Royal Zoölogical Society had the right
under its charter to sell animals without consulting all its fellows.
The fellows had contended that this right was a delegated power, which
was exercised legitimately when a gnu was sold for £150 or a pair of
tigers for £400, but that Jumbo was unique and irreplaceable. Mr.
Justice Chitty said that Jumbo’s mere size did not exempt him from the
power of sale possessed by the Council. A report was read from the
superintendent of the Zoo, written to the Council more than one year
before the sale, in which he called attention to Jumbo’s temperamental
state of mind and asked that he be provided with means for the animal’s
destruction, should he become dangerous. The dissenting fellows urged
the immorality of selling a dangerous animal to the American people,
and the _Times_ wrote in its leader: “Regard for the safety of Mr.
Barnum’s keepers and of the American public does not seem to have
entered into the Council’s deliberations. A celebrated Latin poem
ends with a prayer that Cybele will drive others frantic, but not
the speaker himself. The Council of the Zoölogical Society will tell
Jumbo in effect to crush and trample upon Americans if he will, but
not upon us. This is a somewhat startling application of the principle
of _caveat emptor_.” Mr. Justice Chitty replied to this argument that
the Council of the Royal Zoölogical Society was not the guardian of
the American people. Mr. Justice Chitty finally decided that the sale
was valid, and that Jumbo was Barnum’s rightful purchase. At the last
hearing Mr. Justice Chitty said that he had received a number of
letters with respect to the case. Of course, they had not the slightest
effect upon his mind, he said, but still it was extremely improper that
they should have been sent. Some of the letters were from children. The
_Times_ did not approve of the Jumbo excitement. Its editorial ended:
“People who have no suspicion that the friendly relations between
Russia and Germany have been endangered by Skobeleff’s speeches,
who have a vague idea of the Irish as a tiresome people, who
are far from comprehending the issues raised by the appointment
of the Lord’s Committee, and who confess that they have not
followed the discussions upon Parliamentary procedure, have taken
a keen interest in Jumbo’s destiny. Others have let fall the
thread of public events while they gaped open-mouthed at Jumbo
reconnoitering his trolley. It is well enough that children should
crowd in thousands to the Zoölogical Gardens, and, as a parting
act of kindness, or cruelty, stuff the hero of the hour with buns
innumerable. But it speaks volumes for the fundamental levity of
adult nature that men have, for the last fortnight, given the
first and foremost place in those of their thoughts which did not
regard themselves, not to kingdoms and their destinies, but to
Jumbo. It is too much to hope that we have heard the last of this
famous elephant; but perhaps Jumbo’s future will not monopolize
conversation after Mr. Justice Chitty’s decision of yesterday.”
It was too much to hope that the _Times_ had heard the last of Jumbo;
when the public realized that his departure was inevitable, a wave of
sentimental expression swept over England that surpassed anything that
had gone before. Besides the accounts in newspapers, the illustrated
papers published engravings of Jumbo in various attitudes. Picture
books were published, and one of these contained the following verses
about Jumbo and the female elephant, Alice, who was known as his wife:
“When quite a baby I came here, and now to London folk I’m dear,
They’ll try to keep me yet, I know, from Barnum and his traveling
show.
I have no tusks, for one fine day I had some very merry play,
And ran against a door of oak, and that was how my tusks were
broke.
It grieves me sadly to be sold for just two thousand pounds in
gold,
And could I talk I’d quickly say, ‘I’m treated in a shameful way.’
They chained me up one day, to be shipped across the raging sea,
But I, your faithful friend Jumbo, did not just feel inclined to
go.
Again they tried the nasty chain, but all the efforts were in vain,
For with a very angry frown upon the ground I laid me down.
“I love each little girl and boy who mounts my back for fun and joy,
And hope they’ll leave me here for life with Alice, my dear little
wife.
I love the brave old British flag, of it, my boys, I’ll always
brag,
And you must clearly understand, I do not care for Yankee land.
Leave me with Alice kind and true, leave us together in the Zoo,
And let our friend Squire Barnum know, I can’t go with him in his
show.”[25]
Jumbo himself took an active part in the controversy by lying down in
the Royal Zoölogical Gardens and refusing to go near the large case
constructed for his removal. His admirers were delighted and praised
his intelligence as much as they had previously marveled at his size.
Barnum’s agent cabled to him: “Jumbo is lying in the Garden and will
not stir. What shall we do?” Barnum replied: “Let him lie there as long
as he wants to. The publicity is worth it.” It was said that Barnum’s
agents stimulated the sentiment for Jumbo in England; they may have
started the sentimental ball rolling, but once it started it required
no further attention. The ordinary elephant is afraid of a horse, and
Jumbo, who had not been outside the Gardens for seventeen years, sat
down as soon as he saw a horse. The superintendent of the Society for
the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, who was in attendance to see that
Jumbo was not injured or maltreated, refused to allow the use of a
goad. The superintendent of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Children was also present to see justice done to the favorite of his
charges.
Another difficulty Barnum’s agents experienced was with Jumbo’s size;
there were few steamers with hatchways large enough to drop a huge
elephant down into the hold. Finally, the _Assyrian Monarch_, a British
freight steamer, was chosen. Then the huge box was built, and Jumbo was
led into it several times in order to accustom him to his new quarters.
Finally, when he suspected nothing, he was shut up in the crate and
chained. For an hour he struggled against confinement, and it was
feared he would smash his cage, but the box was placed on wheels, and
ten horses were hitched to the shafts. During the early hours of the
morning Jumbo was led triumphantly to the docks. In spite of the time a
large crowd followed Jumbo on his nine mile trip to the pier. At seven
o’clock he breakfasted and was treated to a large draught of beer by
a lady admirer who had followed him all the way from the Zoölogical
Gardens--Jumbo’s keeper, Matthew Scott, who had been his keeper since
the animal’s childhood, had shared with him everything, including
whisky, beer and cuds of tobacco. At the dock thousands of people
gathered in windows, on roofs, and in boats to bid Jumbo farewell.
He was placed on a lighter ballasted with sixteen tons of iron, and
floated down the Thames to the _Assyrian Monarch_.
A select party sat down to luncheon on board the _Assyrian Monarch_
to bid farewell to Jumbo. William Newman, his American keeper, was
presented with a gold medal by a few fellows of the Royal Zoölogical
Society “to commemorate their appreciation of the coolness and skill of
William Newman.” Mr. Patton, a member of the steamship company which
owned the _Assyrian Monarch_, proposed the toast, “The United States,”
to which General Merritt, the American Consul-general at London,
replied. General Merritt expressed his belief that the possession of
common objects of interest and sympathy tended to unite America and
England in friendship and mutual understanding. He regretted that the
great elephant was not conveyed in an American ship, but expressed the
hope that America would soon have a mercantile marine of her own. The
Consul-general then spoke of the large numbers of the subjects of the
Queen who had left England for America in recent years.
As the boat dropped down to Gravesend, Jumbo received royal honors, the
crews of the training ships mounting the yards as he went by. Baroness
Burdett-Coutts, friend and correspondent of Dickens, admirer of Louis
Napoleon, and collector of Shakespeare folios, took as much interest
in Jumbo as she did in her other hobbies. She traveled by train to
Gravesend on the day of Jumbo’s final departure, and she took with
her a party of Lords and their Ladies. The Baroness had sent ahead
a large box of buns for the use of Jumbo during his passage. Before
the _Assyrian Monarch_ left she gave Jumbo his last bun and bid him
good-by, expressing the opinion that he would find as many warm friends
in America as he had found in England. She shook hands with Newman and
Scott, and the boat departed. A code of signals was arranged by which
news of Jumbo was signaled for more than twenty-four hours after the
_Assyrian Monarch_ passed Dover, and accounts of his health were sent
from The Lizard, the last point on British soil. The ship also carried
elastic bags, into which communications concerning Jumbo were placed
and dropped overboard for the information of the British public.[26]
Jumbo arrived in New York harbor on Sunday morning, April 9, 1882.
Barnum, Bailey, and Hutchinson went down to the ship. The _Tribune_
said that “Mr. Barnum’s nose shone in the morning light, and his eyes
sparkled with boyish eagerness,” as he “clambered nimbly on board
the _Assyrian Monarch_.” “‘Bless my soul!’ he exclaimed. As nobody
complied, he continued, ‘Where’s Jumbo? I didn’t know he was here until
I read of his arrival in the papers this morning.’” When at last he
found himself in front of Jumbo, Barnum was almost moved to tears.
“Dear old Jumbo,” said the showman, who was then seventy-one years old,
“that beast has cost me $50,000,” he added thoughtfully. Mr. Hutchinson
was seized with a fit of coughing, according to the _Tribune_ reporter,
and said that Barnum’s figures were a trifle high, that the actual
cost of Jumbo and his transportation was nearer $30,000. Barnum became
sentimental and reminiscent. He remarked that he had ridden on Jumbo’s
back with General Tom Thumb. “Thirty years ago,” Barnum addressed the
reporters in his squeaky, aged voice, “I brought the biggest thing
New York had ever seen up the bay in the shape of Jenny Lind, and she
cleared $700,000 in nine months.” Then he looked hopefully at Jumbo
and stroked him tenderly. He asked that Jumbo’s dimensions be given to
the press. “How high does he reach up with his trunk?” Barnum asked.
“It’s forty-nine feet, isn’t it?” and he stared suggestively at one
of the keepers. But the keeper did not take the hint. “Twenty-six
feet,” he answered. Barnum remarked, “If I were a showman, I would
have exaggerated it, but there’s nothing like the truth!” “They took
in $2,000 a day after he was sold to me,” Barnum said, “but I let them
keep it; I didn’t want any trouble.” A bottle of whisky was brought
forth for Jumbo. Barnum shouted, “I object to my elephant drinking
whisky,” but in spite of his protests the entire quart of whisky was
poured down Jumbo’s throat, and the animal did not even blink an
eyelash. The whisky was followed immediately by a quart of ale, Barnum
protesting vigorously, but nobody paying any attention to his wishes.
“Look at the evils of intemperance,” he said. “Why, Jumbo would have
been twice as large if Scott hadn’t stunted him by giving him a bucket
of beer every day.”
Barnum had an order from the Secretary of the Treasury, admitting Jumbo
free of duty, on the declaration that he was an animal imported for
breeding purposes. When he first bid for Jumbo, Barnum intended to use
him mainly for breeding purposes, but after England sentimentalized
about the elephant, he was worth more as a curiosity. Jumbo was led up
Broadway to Madison Square Garden, where the circus was then playing.
At first he was frightened by the band music, the crowds, and the
horses, but he soon grew accustomed to his new surroundings. Barnum
told a reporter that in six weeks Jumbo had attracted $336,000 to the
circus.
[Illustration: “THE TOWERING MONARCH OF HIS MIGHTY RACE,” IN NEW YORK
_From a circus pamphlet_]
Before Barnum had purchased Jumbo, the elephant was known only to the
population of London; after the controversy he was known throughout
the British Isles. It was Bailey’s intention, therefore, to take the
Greatest Show on Earth to England with Jumbo and give the entire
population of the British Isles an opportunity to see the animal.
For several years Jumbo was with the Barnum & Bailey show in this
country, while preparations were being made for the extensive foreign
tour. Exhibited with him was a baby elephant, called “Tom Thumb.” On
September 15, 1885, in Ontario, Canada, Jumbo was struck by a freight
train and pinned between it and a train of show cars. The freight train
was derailed and the engine broken. Jumbo’s skull was fractured, and he
suffered internal injuries. He died a few moments later. It was said by
the circus publicity men that Jumbo died in a heroic attempt to rescue
his favorite, the baby elephant, “Tom Thumb.”
[Illustration: BARNUM PORTRAYS JUMBO IN A HEROIC MOOD
_From a circus pamphlet_]
Jumbo’s death was cabled all over the world, and English newspapers
and public mourned his loss. Soon after Jumbo’s death Barnum & Bailey
succeeded in buying Alice from the Royal Zoölogical Gardens. She was
brought to this country and advertised extensively as “Jumbo’s Widow.”
Jumbo’s skeleton was articulated and his skin stuffed. He was thus
exhibited at the show by the side of his widow, and the specimens were
finally given by Barnum to Tufts College, of which he was one of the
founders. That college still uses the head of Jumbo as its emblem.
Three days after Jumbo died, Barnum wrote to Harper Brothers, the
publishers:
“WALDEMERE, BRIDGEPORT, CONN., Sept. 18th, 1885.
PRIVATE
“GENTLEMEN
“Millions of children and adults (myself included) are mourning the
death of _Jumbo_.
“Would you like to publish for the holidays--the life history and
death of Jumbo, with many incidents and anecdotes not heretofore
published By P. T. Barnum Profusely Illustrated? The title can of
course be changed from the above. Probably numerous cuts now extant
can be used. If properly written up, would it not be an interesting
Christmas Childrens book--perhaps on _both_ sides of the Atlantic?
Truly yours,
P. T. BARNUM.
“Messrs. Harper Brothers & Co.”
There is this reply penciled on the letter, apparently a memorandum
from a member of the Harper firm: “If Mr. Barnum would employ some one,
accustomed to writing for publication, to prepare the book (retaining
Mr. B.’s name on title-page) we think it might be a successful venture
and would like to consider the Ms.”[27] This to the author of the _Life
of P. T. Barnum Written by Himself_ and _The Humbugs of the World_!
Barnum could not receive such a suggestion with equanimity.
But in his last years Barnum did allow several juvenile books of
adventure to be written by the circus press agent and published under
his name. Among these are _Lion Jack: A Story of Perilous Adventures
Among Wild Men and the Capturing of Wild Beasts; Showing How Menageries
are Made. By P. T. Barnum_; _Dick Broadhead, A Tale of Perilous
Adventures by P. T. Barnum, author of “Lion Jack,” “Jack in the
Jungle,” “Struggles and Triumphs of P. T. Barnum,”_ etc. The circus
press agent also wrote for Barnum his book called _The Wild Beasts,
Birds, and Reptiles of the World: the Story of Their Capture. By P. T.
Barnum._ These books are written in the familiar style of all juvenile
adventure stories. On page 167 of _Lion Jack_ occurs this sentence:
“‘Up the river, now, and keep a sharp look-out for the hippopotami,’
said the doctor.” The hero, Jack, is a circus-rider, who has all the
virtues of ambitious boyhood and not a vice, a veritable Horatio
Alger, Jr., hero. Barnum himself is introduced by the press agent as
a character in his own story, and he is called “the good-natured,
benevolent-looking, middle-aged gentleman,” designated as “the owner”
of the show, who lived in “a pleasant city on the coast of Long Island
Sound.”
V
While Jumbo was still a popular favorite, Barnum & Bailey indulged in
another adventure in elephants that created national interest. Two
agents of the Greatest Show on Earth were traveling in the East in
search of human types for the great “Ethnological Congress of Strange
Savage Tribes,” which was the leading feature of the show one year. The
agents, Thomas H. Davis and J. B. Gaylord, visited Burmah. Here they
learned of the extravagance of King Theebaw, who found it difficult to
keep his expenditures within the limits of his enormous revenues. Davis
made a substantial present to the chief priest of the King’s chapel,
in order to obtain confidence at court, and this gift was appreciated
by the King’s favorite wife, who worshiped regularly at the chapel,
which, without the aid of American money, would have fallen into a
state of irreverent decay. Davis spent much time in the company of the
chief priest, who was anxious to return the favor of the American gift.
Davis’s only request was a sight of the Sacred White Elephants, which
were famous throughout the world for their rarity.
The chief priest admitted Davis to the royal stables; he decided
that Barnum & Bailey must have a Sacred White Elephant. Since it was
considered an act of the worst religious profanation for one of the
Sacred White Elephants to leave Burmah or Siam, it was necessary for
Davis to act with care and patience. He made a friend of the prime
minister of Burmah, whose double task was to keep the King always
supplied with money and to restrain the nation from rebellion. The
tasks were daily growing more incompatible, and Davis hinted that he
knew a way by which the King’s treasury would be richer by $50,000.
The prime minister was anxious for the details, but Davis allowed
several weeks of economic worry to pass, in order that the prime
minister might become frantically interested. Meanwhile, he met King
Theebaw several times in audiences, and the King was delighted with
Davis’s American vivacity. Davis learned about the court that the prime
minister was beginning to abandon the interests of the King, who was
headed for ruin, and was thinking of his own pocket, and one day Davis
bluntly offered the prime minister $75,000 for one of the Sacred White
Elephants. The prime minister answered that he valued his life at more
than $75,000, and Davis changed the subject for several weeks. Finally
the prime minister was persuaded that a Sacred White Elephant could be
smuggled out of Burmah without any hint of his part in the transaction.
Davis and Gaylord chartered a wheel steamer at Rangoon and hired
fifteen Mohammedans as their crew, for Mohammedans laugh at the
sanctity of the White Elephant. The distance from the royal stables
to the wharf was three-quarters of a mile. A docile white elephant
was chosen, and he was painted red and blue to disguise him. The real
Sacred White Elephant is not white, but a pinkish gray, differing only
slightly in color from the ordinary elephant, and often distinguishable
only by a few pink spots. The Sacred White Elephant was covered with
trappings and embroidered cloths. When night came, the animal, whose
name was Toung Taloung, was led through the streets to the wheel
steamer. It was then a comparatively simple and safe matter to get him
to Liverpool, and thence to New York.
While the Sacred White Elephant was en route to New York, Barnum, his
partners, and his press agents made preparations for his enthusiastic
reception. A prize of $500 was offered for the best poem commemorating
the arrival in this country of the first Sacred White Elephant to be
seen by profane eyes. This was the method of publicity Barnum had found
so efficacious in the matter of Jenny Lind. The $500 were finally
divided among three of the competitors, and one of the successful poets
was Joaquin Miller, the poet of the Sierras, who apparently needed $500
in a hurry. His contribution read:
THE SACRED WHITE ELEPHANT--TOUNG TALOUNG
By JOAQUIN MILLER
For fifty years good Barnum bought
God’s wondrous creatures every one;
And last, impossible! he sought
To buy the “sun spots” of the sun--
The Sacred Elephant! as soon
Could silver buy the silver moon.
’Twas daring much to gain the prize
Where kings had failed, and more than bold,
And doubtful Europe rubbed her eyes
To see him scatter heaps of gold!
But Barnum gold, and Barnum grit,
And Barnum wit accomplished it.
Salaam! And welcome from Siam,
O sun-crowned of the Orient!
The people cry, from pine to palm,
Thrice welcome to the Occident!
Cry, mottled Monarch of Siam--
Salaam! Salaam! Salaam! Salaam!
They see the storied East in thee,
See vast processions, kneeling priests,
Proud tents beneath the banyan-tree,
Swift chariot wheels, great kingly beasts--
Triumphant Alexanders drawn!
Against the golden door of dawn;
But see! thy temples wrapt in mold,
For all their glorious, ancient years!
Thy people prone, thy priests in gold--
A land of tyranny and tears.
And this the lesson, royal beast,
God recks not pagod: beast or priest.
We both have much to learn, no doubt,
Beneath the bright path of the sun
Where all the nights are blotted out,
And all thy days are blent as one,
You little dreamed the world was best
And wisest as you rounded west.
But welcome to the Christian’s West,
From land of dreams to land of deed.
You teach us much. Yet it were best
You pack this in your trunk to read
To tyrants on returning East:
_We worship neither man nor beast_.
Another contribution, which did not win a prize, but which delighted
Barnum by its “originality and naïveté,” is worth reprinting:
THE WHITE ELEPHANT
By HELEN CONWAY
Columbia sat in most royal state,
Beside the Atlantic’s open gate.
Columbia fair! Columbia great!
But wealth and power hold secret stings;
Tho’ proud of her state and envied by kings
She humanly longed for impossible things.
Lovers a many had fair Miss C.,
But none so dauntless as Pee Tee Bee,
Who brought many treasures from land and sea.
She summoned him near and she said with a sigh:
“Is it true there’s a token which gold may not buy--
And has love no device with which to reply?
“Since Helen eloped with the son of Priam
Never was woman unhappy as I am.
Unless you can bring from the far land of Siam.
“The ‘Rose of the East,’ an elephant white,
Great ‘Toung Taloung,’ so rare a sight!
Oh! deny me not, mine own true knight.
“To this sacred beast they bow the knee
With as great devotion, far over the sea,
As we worship the dollars in our country.”
“Oh, bethink yourself,” cried brave Pee Tee Bee,
Of the elephants _now_ on your hands, Miss C.
Pray, have you forgotten the ‘heathen Chinee’?
“And Patrick and Norah will stay a long while,
They have come with their _trunk_ from the Emerald Isle.
And Indians and Mormons your leisure beguile.”
But Columbia bowed her beautiful head:
“These bring me but sorrow,” she mournfully said;
“Now, listen to me: tho’ I never may wed,
“I will give to that knight my most radiant smile,
Who captures this treasure through danger and trial,
And children and poor men will bless him the while.”
Then up rose the knight without a regret--
“’Tis the hardest task she has given me yet,
But I vow she shall have this rare white pet.”
What magic he used--the means or the way--
A mysterious problem remaineth to-day;
But the elephant came without any delay.
And Columbia smiled on Pee Tee Bee,
As she had not smiled since she took tea
In Boston Harbor with one J. B.
When Toung Taloung arrived in New York in March, 1884, Barnum and
the patrons of his show were astonished that he was not a milk
white in color. He looked very much like any elephant, and the only
distinguishing marks of his sacred value were several leprous-like
pink spots in various places about the ears. Barnum and his partners
made the best of the situation, and insisted in their advertising that
the Sacred White Elephant was not supposed to be white. They obtained
excellent testimonials to the genuineness of their article. General
Daniel B. Sickles, one time Minister of the United States to Siam,
was a member of the welcome party to Toung Taloung, and he pronounced
the elephant to be the best specimen of Sacred White Elephant he had
ever seen. Similar endorsements were also obtained from Colonel Thomas
W. Knox, the only American to whom the King of Siam had presented
the Order of the White Elephant, and from Mr. David Ker, Siamese
correspondent of the _New York Times_.
Accompanying the Sacred White Elephant were two alleged Burmese, Bo
Tchoo and Ba Tchoo, but their names sound somewhat like publicity
Burmese. The following certificate was printed in all the newspapers
and exhibited with the Sacred White Elephant:
“In the year 1245, month of Tasoung Mong, 5th increase at Mandalay.
I, Moung Thee, Second Minister of Royal Elephants, do hereby
certify that the Elephant named ‘Toung Tylongu’ is the specie of
White (Sacred) Elephant, and possesses the qualities and attributes
of such. By Order of
“HPOUNG-DAW-GYEE HPAYAH
“(King and Lord of all White Elephants)
“(Signed) MOUNG THEE
“Second Minister of Royal Elephants.
“W. MALING, Translator.”
Some have said that this Sacred White Elephant of Barnum’s was a
sand-papered and scrubbed elephant of ordinary profane habits, who
was painted. But it is more probable that Barnum was fooled by his
conception of a Sacred White Elephant as really white, and that his
agents thought that a genuine Sacred White Elephant would have enough
publicity value, even if the color was not up to expectations. The
elephant did have great publicity value, but as a curiosity he did
not last long. Most people who visited the Barnum & Bailey circus
were disappointed when they did not see a cream-white elephant, and
Toung Taloung was subsequently returned to the circus winter quarters
at Bridgeport, where he perished in the fire that destroyed those
buildings in 1887.
The Adam Forepaugh circus, one of the strongest rivals of Barnum &
Bailey, determined to have a Sacred White Elephant that would really
be white, but Adam Forepaugh did not trouble to send to Burmah or Siam
for his specimen. The elephant trainers prepared a white elephant by
the sacred use of sufficient paint, and with careful applications every
other day of a preparation that would not too easily wear off, a White
Elephant of Siam, but truly white, was with Adam Forepaugh’s show. Just
at this time the Prince of Siam was traveling in the United States, and
after much trouble he and his suite were persuaded to visit Forepaugh’s
circus and pass upon the elephant. There were no interpreters present.
When the Prince entered, Adam Forepaugh is said to have rushed up to
him, slapped him on the back cordially and vigorously, and said in
American: “There now, Prince, ain’t that the kind of elephants you
have in your country?” The Prince was too astonished, and his suite
too shocked, to deny anything, and they left the circus hurriedly.
Adam Forepaugh took this as a sign of unqualified approval, and he
advertised accordingly.
VI
The Barnum & Bailey show continued to increase in size each year, and
also to increase its receipts. Efforts were continued to supply more
startling novelties and larger performances. “Jo-Jo, the Dog-Faced
Russian Boy,” or “The Great Ethnological Congress of Strange Savage
Tribes,” were supplemented by other attractions each year. The
newspaper reviews of the progress of the circus through the country are
the panegyrics to a victorious army of entertainment. Every town of any
size throughout the East, South, and Middle West of the United States
soon had its “Barnum Day,” heralded weeks in advance by large bills
showing the satisfied smile of the veteran showman.
[Illustration: THE CAPTURE OF JO-JO, THE DOG-FACED BOY, IN SIBERIA BY
ONE OF BARNUM’S AGENTS
_From a circus bulletin_]
During one of the annual tours of the circus the press agent, one M. H.
Warner, kept a diary of events that gives the best possible impression
of the magnitude, crudity and diversity of the enterprise:
April 1 (in Madison Square Garden)--Instantaneous hit of the
Sylvesters and the Julians. Their first season with a circus. Mr.
P. T. Barnum receives an ovation.
April 2--Death of Lottie Stirk, of the Stirk family of Bicyclists.
Little Lottie was only eleven years of age at the time of her
suddenly taking off. She was a bright, pretty, fearless child and
her loss was a sad blow to the members of the Company, who had
christened her “The Pet of the Show.”
April 5--Henry Cooper, the giant, received the joyful tidings that
his wife had presented him with a seventeen pound boy.
April 14--Thousands turned away in the evening. Mr. P. T. Barnum
gives up his private box to a party of pleasure seekers.
April 26--Philadelphia--At the first performance of the Sylvesters,
Lola, one of the trio of mid-air performers, dislocated her
shoulder, and their thrilling trapeze act was taken from the bill.
Mr. Barnum refused an offer of $500 a performance, stating that the
Barnum show was strong enough without his presence.
Principal among the casualties in the ring during the week was a
severe tumble received by Mrs. Adam Forepaugh in the hippodrome
race, and an accident to the Decomas, who fell in their mid-air
bicycle act.
On Saturday, May 1, the menagerie was augmented by birth of a baby
dromedary.
Monday, May 3, Carlyle, Pa.--“Best street parade ever given,”
was the comment on all sides. Indians from the reservation and
the pupils of two female seminaries visit the show. The Gilfort
brothers capture the audience.
Wednesday, May 5, Hagerstown, Md.--Schools suspend and courts
adjourn on account of the show.
Thursday, May 6, Frederick, Md.--Splendid business. Detective
Cooper arrests a professional thief and monte man, and is
complimented by the local press. Trouble in the tiger cage comes
near causing Bockburn to lose his life. His bravery and presence of
mind comes to his rescue.
Monday, May 10, Washington, D. C.--Chinese Legation and Ministers
of foreign lands visit the performance in their native costumes.
Mr. P. T. Barnum is offered a place on the Exposition Grounds to
found the Barnum National Museum and Menagerie.
Tuesday, May 25, Cincinnati, Ohio--William Beecher called to his
home in Philadelphia by a telegram announcing the dangerous illness
of his mother.
Frank Morgan has his leg broken accidentally while skylarking with
some friends.
Saturday, May 29, Louisville, Ky.--Weather warm. Big business.
Capt. Cook Smith, the Kentucky giant, presented with a gold-headed
cane by the chief of police, John Whalan. [Dimensions of the cane
are not stated in the diary.]
Saturday, June 5, Evansville, Ky.--Weather warm. Magnificent
attendance. Robert Eddy, an attaché in the cook department,
accidentally killed by falling between the cars. His mangled
remains were sent to his former home in Chicago.
Monday, June 7, Vincennes, Ind.--The boys distinguished themselves
by assisting to extinguish a burning grist mill located near the
lot. They are thanked by the owner of the building.
Saturday, June 12, Dayton, Ohio.--Mr. Hyatt orders in the “red
seats” again and they are filled with well-pleased thousands.
Weather propitious. James E. Fay leaves to attend his grandmother’s
funeral. A 100-yard foot race between Joe Mayers and W. Spedden for
$5 a side is won by the latter.
Monday, June 14, Columbus, Ohio--Charles Rench, one of the
Stirk family, is surprised at the evening entertainment. He is
called before the vast audience and presented with a magnificent
gold-headed cane by his Columbus friends. Mr. Henshaw eloquently
made the presentation speech. George Sherer is injured while
unloading, his knee being thrown out of joint. The kind-hearted
drivers come to his rescue.
Saturday, June 19, Steubenville, Ohio--Good business to clear
weather. Dick Sands, the champion clog dancer, receives a slight
paralytic stroke and is carefully attended to by the ladies of the
dressing-room. Detective Cooper captures four notorious pickpockets.
Friday, June 25, Youngstown, Ohio--Rain in the afternoon and an
“adventure” with roughs in the evening prove that our canvasmen are
not afraid to “work.”
Monday, June 28, Mansfield, Ohio--Subscriptions amounting to $125
raised by canvasmen for a youth who was injured in the Youngstown
“adventure.” Reported death of a man alleged to have been in
the same. Subsequent investigations by coroner and detectives
exonerate our boys from all blame. Detective Cooper adds five more
crooks to his long list of “circus followers.”
Friday, July 2, Defiance, Ohio--Clever business. Weather clear.
Whitfield stricken with paralysis after the evening concert, and
carried to his birth in car 51.
Saturday, July 3, Toledo, Ohio--Whitfield’s condition pronounced
dangerous, his entire left side being helpless. He is visited
by all the company at the Oliver House, and attended by expert
physicians.
The Arabs celebrate a national feast after a fast of thirty days.
Sheriff, the priest of the tribe, officiates, and Ali Mohamed,
the interpreter, acts as host. Among the number of distinguished
invited guests are Mayor Moore, Manager Cooper, and the editors of
the local papers.
In the evening Miss Venoa receives an injury to her knee in the
ladies’ flat race, which brings to her assistance a doctor from
the audience, and firm friends from each dressing room. No bones
broken, but a vacation recommended.
Sunday, July 4, Detroit, Mich.--In the evening the company
assembled to witness a presentation to Mr. Edwin Fritz, the mail
agent of the show. It consisted of a neat uniform of blue, together
with a silver shield and badge, a present from his associates.
Monday, July 5, Detroit--The seventy-sixth anniversary of P. T.
Barnum’s birthday appropriately celebrated by the company and
congratulatory dispatches are sent to the great showman by all
interested in his success. During each performance the red, white,
and blue colors were worn by each actor and actress.
Saturday, July 17, South Bend, Ind.--The following married
gentlemen are made happy by the companionship of their genial
better halves: Messrs. Hager, Hyatt, Putnam, Newman, Coyle, Door,
and Detective Cooper.
Friday, July 30, Champagne, Ill.--Scorching weather does not
interfere with good business. After the day show the company in
two band wagons and carriages visit the grave of Frank Seymour,
a former member of Forepaugh’s band. Through the energies of Mr.
George Cann, a former friend of the deceased, the grave was found
and appropriate ceremonies were held. Prof. James Robinson’s
band played two solemn dirges. W. L. Marsh executed an artistic
solo on the 1st B♭ trombone, and Mr. James Bigger delivered an
appropriate eulogy. Cooper, the giant, who was also a friend of the
dead musician, arranges with the sexton to properly decorate the
neglected grave. This touching tribute to a brother professional
was favorably commented upon by the press of the surrounding
country.
Saturday, July 31, Bloomington, Ill.--After the day performance a
number of the gentlemen amused themselves at target shooting with
a toy rifle. During this innocent sport Abdellah Ben Said, the
manager of the Arabs, was accidentally shot in the neck by Orrin
Hollis, and subsequently taken to a hospital. All the doctors’
bills, the salary, and the board bill of Abdellah and his wife were
paid by Mr. Hollis. Firearms of all descriptions were prohibited in
the dressing room by Mr. Ducrow.
Sunday, Aug. 1, Peoria, Ill.--An anti-swearing society for 30 days
is organized. A fine of twenty-five cents for every naughty word
was imposed, and “finders were keepers.” Considerable merriment was
indulged in by the “can’t cuss club” during the day, and not a few
dollars changed hands.
Hassen Ali, one of the Arabs, is assaulted by roughs and in the
mêlée his hand broken.
Thursday, Aug. 5, Jacksonville, Ill.--Two clever houses to smiling
weather. Orrin Hollis receives word that Abdellah is rapidly
recovering. He wears his first smile since the accident.
Sunday, Aug. 15, Aurora, Ill.--At midnight a violent wind, rain,
and thunder storm sweeps over the city which totally demolishes the
menagerie and museum tents. The tempest continues for nearly two
hours and tests the bravery and skill of the employees of the lot.
Most all of the cages have to be chained to the ground, and the
elephants guarded rigidly.
During the progress of the tornado two whelp leopards were born.
R. H. King is held responsible for the following conundrum: “Why
was the storm like the city? Because it was a-roarer!” Chestnut
bells were rung.
A stampede of the little elephants is promptly nipped in the bud by
Mr. Frank Hyatt and C. F. Callahan.
At this juncture a word of praise should be extended to the
intrepid canvasmen who never deserted their posts, although danger
to life and limb threatened at every moment.
Thursday, Aug. 26, Oshkosh, Wis.--The events of this day are too
well known to those who peruse “Barnum’s Budget” to demand a
detailed account. Each has his or her individual views upon the
subject, and enough has been spoken and published about it. In
brief: An incipient riot was quelled by the clever management of
Mr. Hutchinson, several arrests were made and a number of attachés
discharged.
A celebrated linguist visits the dressing room and tests the memory
of Ali Mahomet, the Arabian interpreter, as to dead languages. Ali
comes off first best.
The Anti-Swearing society disband.
Mr. Cooper, the giant, receives the sad news of his infant child’s
death.[28]
For some reason, Bailey is never mentioned in this diary of the circus.
He may not have been present with the show during that season. But the
management of a troupe as large as the Greatest Show on Earth was a job
that P. T. Barnum never could have undertaken at his age. If Barnum had
not had the foresight to select Bailey as a partner, it is likely that
the present generation would never have known his name as a showman.
Bailey was able to cope with every calamity quickly and efficiently.
When the winter quarters were burned down on November 20, 1887, all the
animals were destroyed except thirty elephants and one lion. Bailey
ordered a new menagerie by cable, and in six hours he had purchased
enough animals to form a better menagerie than the one destroyed by
fire. The one lion who was saved was found by circus employees in a
barn near Bridgeport. He had been eating sheep, and when the farmer’s
wife heard a noise in the barn, she entered. What she saw in the dark
looked to her like a large dog, and she began to beat the animal with
a broom. The lion was busy with his meal, and he paid no attention to
the blows. When the circus employees arrived and told the farmer’s wife
what she had been beating, she fainted.