PUTTING A PICKPOCKET ON EXHIBITION--TRAVELLING INCOGNITO--THE
PEQUONNOCK BANK--THE NEW YORK CRYSTAL PALACE--A POEM ON AN
INCIDENT AT IRANISTAN.
In the summer of 1853 Alfred Bunn, formerly manager of Drury Lane
Theatre, London, arrived in Boston. He was then one of the most
notable figures in the theatrical world. It was he who had made
the first engagement with Jenny Lind to appear in London. She had
been induced to break this engagement, however, through the
solicitations of Mr. Lumley, of Her Majesty's Theatre, with the
result that Mr. Lumley had to pay to Mr. Bunn heavy damages for
the breach of contract. Barnum and Bunn had never met, though
they knew each other well by reputation, and indeed Bunn labored
under the delusion that he had met Barnum, for soon after his
arrival he hastened to New York and entered Barnum's private
office at the Museum with the exclamation, "Well, Barnum, do you
remember me?"
Barnum was confident that he had never seen him before, and
indeed did not really know who he was. But, quick as a flash, he
thought that the ex-manager of Drury Lane must be the only living
Englishman with presumption enough to accost him in this way. So
he answered without hesitation, "Why, this is Mr. Bunn, isn't
it?"
"Ah, my boy," said Bunn, slapping him familiarly on the back, "I
thought you would remember me. Well, Barnum, how have you been
since I last saw you?"
Barnum replied in a manner that encouraged his impression that
they were old acquaintances, and during the next two hours they
had much gossip about men and affairs in London. Bunn called upon
Barnum several times after that, and probably never realized that
Barnum really had been in London two or three years without
making his acquaintance. When Barnum went to London again in 1858
he renewed his acquaintance with Bunn and they became great
chums.
The years 1851, 1852 and 1853 were mostly spent at Bridgeport,
with frequent visits to New York of a day or two each. In the
last-named year he resigned the office of President of the
Fairfield County Agricultural Society, but in accepting his
resignation the society insisted that it should not go into
effect until after the annual fair of 1854 His administration of
the affairs of the society had been very successful, especially
in relation to the fairs and cattle shows.
The manner in which Barnum turned every circumstance to account
in the interest of these fairs is well shown in his dealings with
a pickpocket at the fair of 1853. The man was caught in the act
of taking a pocket-book from a country farmer, and on arrest was
found to be a notorious English thief. He had already victimized
many other visitors to the fair, and there was almost a state of
panic among the visitors. The fair was to close the next day.
Early the next morning the thief was taken before a justice,
legally examined, and was bound over for trial. Barnum then
obtained consent from the Sheriff that the fellow should be put
on the fair grounds, for the purpose of giving those who had been
robbed an opportunity of identifying him. For this purpose he was
handcuffed and placed in a conspicuous position, where of course
he was "the observed of all observers." Then Barnum papered the
country round about with handbills, stating that, for the last
day of the fair, the managers had secured an extraordinary
attraction. They would, he said, exhibit, safely handcuffed, and
without extra charge, a live pickpocket, who had on the day
preceding been caught in the act of robbing an honest farmer.
Crowds of people rushed in to see the show, parents for miles
around brought their children to see the awful example of
iniquity, and great was the profit to the treasury of the fair.
At the close of his presidency in 1854 Barnum was asked to
deliver the opening speech at the County Fair at Stamford. He did
so, delivering simply a portion of his lecture on "The Philosophy
of Humbug." The next morning, as he was being shaved in the
village barber's shop, which was at the time crowded with
customers, the ticket-seller to the fair came in. Here is
Barnum's own account of what followed:
"What kind of a house did you have last night?" asked one of the
gentlemen in waiting.
"Oh, first-rate, of course. Barnum always draws a crowd," was the
reply of the ticket-seller, to whom I was not known.
Most of the gentlemen present, however, knew me, and they found
much difficulty in restraining their laughter.
"Did Barnum make a good speech?" I asked.
"I did not hear it. I was out in the ticket-office. I guess it
was pretty good, for I never heard so much laughing as there was
all through his speech. But it makes no difference whether it was
good or not," continued the ticket-seller, "the people will go to
see Barnum."
"Barnum must be a curious chap," I remarked.
"Well, I guess he is up to all the dodges."
"Do you know him?" I asked.
"Not personally," he replied; "but I always get into the Museum
for nothing. I know the doorkeeper, and he slips me in free."
"Barnum would not like that, probably, if he knew it," I
remarked.
"But it happens he don't know it," replied the ticket-seller, in
great glee.
"Barnum was on the cars the other day, on his way to Bridgeport,"
said I, "and I heard one of the passengers blowing him up
terribly as a humbug. He was addressing Barnum at the time, but
did not know him. Barnum joined in lustily, and indorsed
everything the man said. When the passenger learned whom he had
been addressing, I should think he must have felt rather flat."
"I should think so, too," said the ticket-seller.
This was too much, and we all indulged in a burst of laughter;
still the ticket-seller suspected nothing. After I had left the
shop, the barber told him who I was. I called into the
ticket-office on business several times during the day, but the
poor ticket-seller kept his face turned from me, and appeared so
chapfallen that I did not pretend to recognize him as the hero of
the joke in the barber's shop.
There were many incidents similar to the foregoing in Barnum's
career. One occurred on board a steamboat, going from New York to
Bridgeport. As they entered the harbor of the latter city a
stranger asked the great showman to point out "Barnum's house"
from the deck. Barnum did so, and then another bystander
remarked, "I know all about that house, for I did a lot of
painting there for several months while Barnum was in Europe." He
went on to say that it was the meanest and worst contrived house
he ever saw, and added, "It will cost old Barnum a mint of money
and not be worth two cents after it is finished." "I suppose from
that that old Barnum didn't pay you very punctually," observed
Barnum himself. "Oh, yes; he pays promptly every Saturday night,"
said the other; "there's no trouble about that. He has made half
a million by exhibiting a little boy whom he took from Bridgeport
and whom we never thought any great shakes until Barnum took him
and trained him."
Presently one of the other passengers told this man who Barnum
was, and nothing more was seen of him.
On another occasion, says Barnum, I went to Boston by the Fall
River route. Arriving before sunrise, I found but one carriage at
the depot. I immediately engaged it, and, giving the driver the
check for my baggage, told him to take me directly to the Revere
House, as I was in great haste, and enjoined him to take in no
other passengers, and I would pay his demands. He promised
compliance with my wishes, but soon afterwards appeared with a
gentleman, two ladies, and several children, whom he crowded into
the carriage with me, and, placing their trunks on the
baggage-rack, started off. I thought there was no use in
grumbling, and consoled myself with the reflection that the
Revere House was not far away. He drove up one street and down
another for what seemed to me a very long time, but I was wedged
in so closely that I could not see what route he was taking.
After half an hour's drive he halted, and I found we were at the
Lowell Railway Depot. Here my fellow-passengers alighted, and
after a long delay the driver delivered their baggage, received
his fare, and was about closing the carriage door preparatory to
starting again. I was so thoroughly vexed at the shameful manner
in which he had treated me, that I remarked:
"Perhaps you had better wait till the Lowell train arrives; you
may possibly get another load of passengers. Of course my
convenience is of no consequence. I suppose if you land me at the
Revere House any time this week, it will be as much as I have a
right to expect."
"I beg your pardon," he replied, "but that was Barnum and his
family. He was very anxious to get here in time for the first
train, so I stuck him for $2, and now I'll carry you to the
Revere House free."
"What Barnum is it?" I asked.
"The Museum and Jenny Lind man," he replied.
The compliment and the shave both having been intended for me, I
was of course mollified, and replied, "You are mistaken, my
friend, _I_ am Barnum."
"Coachee" was thunderstruck, and offered all sorts of apologies.
"A friend at the other depot told me that I had Mr. Barnum on
board," said he, "and I really supposed he meant the other man.
When I come to notice you, I perceive my mistake, but I hope you
will forgive me. I have carried you frequently before, and hope
you will give me your custom while you are in Boston. I never
will make such a mistake again."
The Pequonnock Bank of Bridgeport was organized in the spring of
1851. Barnum had no interest whatever in it, not holding a single
share of the stock. He was, however, unanimously elected
President of it. He accepted the office, but as he knew he could
not devote much time to it, requested that Mr. Hubbell, then
Mayor of Bridgeport, should be made Vice-President.
Mr. Barnum also invested $20,000, as special partner, in a
company for the publication of an illustrated weekly newspaper in
New York. This was The Illustrated News. The first number was
issued on the 1st of January, 1853, and within a month it had
seventy thousand circulation. Various complications arose, which
greatly annoyed Barnum, and at the end of the first year the
whole concern was sold out without loss.
He was earnestly urged, in February, 1854, to accept the
presidency of the Universal Exposition, which was held in New
York in the famous Crystal Palace. At first he positively
declined. But the matter was persistently urged upon him by many
influential gentlemen, who represented to him that the success of
the enterprise depended upon his acceptance of the position. The
result was that at last he did accept it, and he entered upon its
duties with all the vigor he could command. The concern was
almost bankrupt, and to save it from utter ruin Barnum advanced
large sums of money from his own purse. By this means and by
various other efforts, such as the re-inauguration, the famous
Jullien concerts, etc., here stored a semblance of prosperity.
But it was uphill work, and after a time he resigned the
presidency and abandoned the institution to its fate.
A little incident which occurred at Iranistan, in the winter of
1852, was observed by a lady from Philadelphia who was visiting
there at the time. She afterward made it the subject of a poem,
which Mr. Barnum prized highly. It was as follows:
WINTER BOUQUETS.
AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF AN AMERICAN CITIZEN.
The poor man's garden lifeless lay
Beneath a fall of snow;
But Art in costly greenhouses,
Keeps Summer in full glow.
And Taste paid gold for bright bouquets,
The parlor vase that drest,
That scented Fashion's gray boudoir,
Or bloomed on Beauty's breast.
A rich man sat beside the fire,
Within his sculptured halls;
Brave heart, clear head, and busy hand
Had reared those stately walls.
He to his gardener spake, and said
In tone of quiet glee--
"I want a hundred fine bouquets--
Canst make them, John, for me?
John's eyes became exceeding round,
This question when he heard;
He gazed upon his master,
And he answered not a word.
"Well, John," the rich man laughing said,
"If these too many be,
What sayest to half the number, man?
Canst fifty make for me?"
Now John prized every flower, as 'twere
A daughter or a son;
And thought, like Regan--"What the need
Of fifty, or of one?"
But, keeping back the thought, he said,
"I think, sir, that I might;
But it would leave my lady's flowers
In very ragged plight."
"Well, John, thy vegetable pets
Must needs respected be;
We'll halve the number once again--
Make twenty-five for me.
And hark ye, John, when they are made
Come up and let me know;
And I'll give thee a list of those
To whom the flowers must go,"
The twenty-five bouquets were made,
And round the village sent;
And to whom thinkest thou, my friend,
These floral jewels went?
Not to the beautiful and proud--
Not to the rich and gay--
Who, Dives-like, at Luxury's feast
Are seated every day.
An aged Pastor, on his desk
Saw those fair preachers stand;
A Widow wept upon the gift,
And blessed the giver's hand.
Where Poverty bent o'er her task,
They cheered the lonely room;
And round the bed where sickness lay,
They breathed Health's fresh perfume
Oh! kindly heart and open hand--
Those flowers in dust are trod,
But they bloom to weave a wreath for thee,
In the Paradise of God.
Sweet is the Minstrel's task, whose song
Of deeds like these may tell;
And long may he have power to give,
Who wields that Dower so well!