BARNUM'S PARTNERSHIP WITH THE FAMOUS BEAR HUNTER--FOOLING HIM
WITH THE "GOLDEN PIGEONS"--ADAMS EARNS $500 AT DESPERATE
COST--TRICKING BARNUM OUT OF A FINE HUNTING SUIT--PROSPERITY OF
THE MUSEUM--VISIT OF THE PRINCE OF WALES.
The famous old American Museum was now the centre of Barnum's
interests, and he devoted himself to its development with such
energy as never before. His enterprise in securing new
curiosities, and his skill in presenting them to the public in
the most attractive light, surpassed all previous efforts. To his
office, as to their Mecca, flocked all the "freaks" of the land,
and all who possessed any objects of rare or marvelous nature.
Foremost among these visitors was one veteran frontiersman, who
had attained--and well deserved--much fame as a fighter of the
most savage wild beasts. His name was James C. Adams, but he was
universally known as "Grizzly Adams," from the fact that he had
captured a great many grizzly bears at the risk and cost of
fearful encounters and perils. He was brave, and with his bravery
there was enough of the romantic in his nature to make him a real
hero. For many years a hunter and trapper in the Rocky and Sierra
Nevada Mountains, he acquired a recklessness, which, added to his
natural invincible courage, rendered him one of the most striking
men of the age, and he was emphatically a man of pluck. A month
after Barnum had re-purchased the Museum, Adams arrived in New
York with his famous collection of California animals, captured
by himself, consisting of twenty or thirty immense grizzly bears,
at the head of which stood "Old Samson," together with several
wolves, half a dozen different species of California bears,
California lions, tigers, buffalo, elk, and "Old Neptune," the
great sea-lion from the Pacific.
Old Adams had trained all these monsters so that with him they
were as docile as kittens, though many of the most ferocious
among them would attack a stranger without hesitation, if he came
within their grasp. In fact, the training of these animals was no
fool's play, as Old Adams learned to his cost, for the terrific
blows which he received from time to time, while teaching them
"docility," finally cost him his life.
Adams called on Barnum immediately on his arrival in New York. He
was dressed in his hunter's suit of buckskin, trimmed with the
skins and bordered with the hanging tails of small Rocky Mountain
animals; his cap consisting of the skin of a wolf's head and
shoulders, from which depended several tails, and under which
appeared his stiff bushy, gray hair and his long, white, grizzly
beard; in fact, Old Adams was quite as much of a show as his
beasts. They had come around Cape Horn on the clipper ship
"Golden Fleece," and a sea voyage of three and a half months had
probably not added much to the beauty or neat appearance of the
old bear-hunter. During their conversation Grizzly Adams took off
his cap, and showed Barnum the top of his head. His skull was
literally broken in. It had, on various occasions, been struck by
the fearful paws of his grizzly students; and the last blow, from
the bear called "General Fremont," had laid open his brain so
that its workings were plainly visible. Barnum remarked that he
thought it was a dangerous wound and might possibly prove fatal.
"Yes," replied Adams, "that will fix me out. It had nearly
healed; but old Fremont opened it for me, for the third or fourth
time, before I left California, and he did his business so
thoroughly, I'm a used-up man. However, I reckon I may live six
months or a year yet." This was spoken as coolly as if he had
been talking about the life of a dog.
This extraordinary man had come to see Barnum about the
"California Menagerie," of which he, Adams, was the owner. Barnum
had shortly before, however, purchased one-half interest in it
from a man who had claimed to be Adams's equal partner. This
Adams disputed, declaring that he had merely borrowed from the
man some money on the security of the show, that the man was not
his partner, and that he had no right to sell one-half or any
portion of the menagerie. As a matter of fact, however, the man
did have a bill of sale for one-half of the show, and Adams was
soon convinced that Barnum's purchase was entirely legitimate.
The result was that Barnum and Adams formed a regular
partnership, the former to attend to all business affairs, the
latter to exhibit the animals. The show was opened in a huge
canvas tent on Broadway, at the corner of Thirteenth Street.
On the morning of opening, a band of music preceded a procession
of animal cages down Broadway and up the Bowery, old Adams,
dressed in his hunting costume, heading the line, with a platform
wagon on which were placed three immense grizzly bears, two of
which he held by chains, while he was mounted on the back of the
largest grizzly, which stood in the centre and was not secured in
any manner whatever. This was the bear known as "General
Fremont," and so docile had he become that Adams said he had used
him as a pack-bear, to carry his cooking and hunting apparatus
through the mountains for six months, and had ridden him hundreds
of miles. But apparently docile as were many of these animals,
there was not one among them that would not occasionally give
Adams a sly blow or a sly bite when a good chance offered; hence
old Adams was but a wreck of his former self, and expressed
pretty nearly the truth when he said:
"Mr. Barnum, I am not the man I was five years ago. Then I felt
able to stand the hug of any grizzly living, and was always glad
to encounter, single handed, any sort of an animal that dared
present himself. But I have been beaten to a jelly, torn almost
limb from limb, and nearly chawed up and spit out by these
treacherous grizzly bears. However, I am good for a few months
yet, and by that time I hope we shall gain enough to make my old
woman comfortable, for I have been absent from her some years."
His wife came from Massachusetts to New York and nursed him. Dr.
Johns dressed his wounds every day, and not only told Adams he
could never recover, but assured his friends that probably a very
few weeks would lay him in his grave. But Adams was as firm as
adamant and as resolute as a lion. Among the thousands who saw
him dressed in his grotesque hunter's suit, and witnessed the
seeming vigor with which he "performed" the savage monsters,
beating and whipping them into apparently the most perfect
docility, probably not one suspected that this rough,
fierce-looking, powerful semi-savage, as he appeared to be, was
suffering intense pain from his broken skull and fevered system,
and that nothing kept him from stretching himself on his
death-bed but his most indomitable and extraordinary will.
Adams was an inveterate story-teller, and often "drew the long
bow" with daring hand. He loved to astonish people with
extraordinary tales, which were sheer inventions, but which no
one could disprove. He pretended, too, to have been everywhere
and to have seen everything. This weakness made him good game for
Barnum, who determined to expose his foibles to him at the first
opportunity. The opportunity soon came. One day, amid the
innumerable caravan of cranks that moved to the weird realm of
Barnum's wonder-house, there appeared a fat, stolid German,
carrying in his hand a small basket, which he guarded with
jealous care.
"I have come," he said, "to see if you would not like some golden
pigeons to buy?"
"Yes," Barnum replied, "I would like a flock of golden pigeons,
if I could buy them for their weight in silver; for there are no
'golden pigeons' in existence, unless they are made from the pure
metal."
"You shall some golden pigeons alive see," he replied, at the
same time entering the office, and closing the door after him. He
then removed the lid from the basket, and sure enough, there were
snugly ensconced a pair of beautiful, living ruff-necked pigeons,
as yellow as saffron, and as bright as a double-eagle fresh from
the Mint.
Barnum was somewhat staggered at this sight, and quickly asked
the man where those birds came from. A dull, lazy smile crawled
over the sober face of the German visitor, as he replied in a
slow, guttural tone of voice:
"What you think yourself?"
Catching his meaning, Barnum quickly replied:
"I think it is a humbug."
"Of course, I know you will so say; because you 'forstha' such
things; so I shall not try to humbug you; I have them myself
colored."
It then came out that the man was a chemist, and that he had
invented a process by which he could dye the feathers of living
birds any color he pleased, retaining at the same time all the
natural gloss of the plumage. Barnum at once closed a bargain
with him for the birds, for ten dollars, and then put them in his
"Happy Family" at the Museum. He marked them "Golden Pigeons,
from California," and then gleefully awaited Adams' next visit,
feeling sure that the old fellow would be completely taken in.
Sure enough, next morning Adams came along, saw the pigeons,
looked at them earnestly for a few minutes, and then went
straight to the office.
"Mr. Barnum," said he, "you must let me have those California
pigeons."
"I can't spare them," said Barnum.
"But you must spare them. All the birds and animals from
California ought to be together. You own half of my California
menagerie, and you must lend me those pigeons."
"Mr. Adams, they are too rare and valuable a bird to be hawked
about in that manner."
"Oh, don't be a fool," replied Adams. "Rare bird, indeed! Why,
they are just as common in California as any other pigeon! I
could have brought a hundred of them from San Francisco, if I had
thought of it."
"But why did you not think of it?" with a suppressed smile.
"Because they are so common there," said Adams. "I did not think
they would be any curiosity here."
Barnum was ready to burst with laughter to see how readily Adams
swallowed the bait, but, maintaining the most rigid gravity, he
replied:
"Oh! well, Mr. Adams, if they are really so common in California,
you had probably better take them, and you may write over and
have half a dozen pairs sent to me for the Museum."
A few weeks later Barnum, being in the California Menagerie,
noticed that something ailed the pigeons. They had a
sadly-mottled appearance. Their feathers had grown out, and they
were half white. Adams had not yet noticed it, being too busy
with his bears. But Barnum called him at once to the pigeon cage.
"Look here, Adams," he said, "I'm afraid you are going to lose
your Golden Pigeons. They must be very sick. Just see how pale
they look! Good thing they're so common in California, so you can
easily get some more, eh?"
Adams looked at them a moment in astonishment, then turning to
Barnum, and seeing that he could not suppress a smile, he
indignantly exclaimed:
"Blast the Golden Pigeons! You had better take them back to the
Museum. You can't humbug me with your painted pigeons!"
This was too much, and Barnum laughed till he cried, to witness
the mixed look of astonishment and vexation which marked the
grizzly features of old Adams.
After the exhibition on Thirteenth Street and Broadway had been
open six weeks, the doctor insisted that Adams should sell out
his share in the animals and settle up his worldly affairs, for
he assured him that he was growing weaker every day, and his
earthly existence must soon terminate. "I shall live a good deal
longer than you doctors think for," replied Adams, doggedly; and
then, seeming after all to realize the truth of the doctor's
assertion, he turned and said: "Well, Mr. Barnum, you must buy me
out."
A bargain was soon concluded. Arrangements had been made to
exhibit the bears in Connecticut and Massachusetts during the
summer, in connection with the Museum, and Adams insisted that
Barnum should engage him to travel for the season and manage the
bears. He offered to do it for $60 a week and expenses. Barnum
replied that he would gladly make such an arrangement, but he
feared Adams was not strong enough to stand it.
"You are growing weaker every day," he said; "and would better go
to your home and rest."
"What will you give me extra if I will travel and exhibit the
bears every day for ten weeks?" added old Adams, eagerly.
"Five hundred dollars."
"Done!" exclaimed Adams, "I will do it, so draw up an agreement
to that effect at once. But mind you, draw it payable to my wife,
for I may be too weak to attend to business after the ten weeks
are up, and if I perform my part of the contract, I want her to
get the $500 without any trouble."
Barnum drew up a contract to pay him $60 per week for his
services, and if he continued to exhibit the bears for ten
consecutive weeks, to hand him, or his wife, $500 extra.
"You have lost your $500!" exclaimed Adams on taking the
contract; "for I am bound to live and earn it."
"I hope you may, with all my heart, and a hundred years more if
you desire it," replied Barnum.
"Call me a fool if I don't earn the $500!" exclaimed Adams, with
a triumphant laugh.
The "show" started off in a few days, and at the end of a
fortnight Barnum met it at Hartford, Connecticut.
"Well" said he, "Adams, you seem to stand it pretty well. I hope
you and your wife are comfortable?"
"Yes," he replied with a laugh; "and you may as well try to be
comfortable, too, for your $500 is a goner."
"All right," Barnum replied, "I hope you will grow better every
day."
But the case was hopeless. Adams was dying. When Barnum met him
three weeks later at New Bedford his eyes were glassy and his
hands trembling, but his courage and will were strong as ever.
"This hot weather tells on me," he said, "but I'll last the ten
weeks and more, and get your $500."
Barnum urged him to quit work, to take half of the $500 and go
home. But, no. He would not listen to it. And he did actually
serve through the whole ten weeks, and got the $500; remarking,
as he pocketed the cash,
"Barnum, it's too bad you're a teetotaler, for I'd like to stand
treat with you on this."
When Adams set out on this last tour, Barnum had a fine new
hunting-suit made of beaver-skins. He had procured it for Herr
Driesbach, the animal tamer, whom he had engaged to take Adams'
place whenever the latter should give out. Adams had asked him to
loan him the suit, to wear occasionally when he had great
audiences, as his own suit was badly worn. Barnum did so; and at
the end of the engagement, as he received the $500, Adams said:
"Mr. Barnum, I suppose you are going to give me this new
hunting-dress."
"Oh, no," Barnum replied, "I got that for your successor, who
will exhibit the bears to-morrow, besides, you have no possible
use for it."
"Now, don't be mean, but lend me the dress, if you won't give it
to me, for I want to wear it home to my native village."
Barnum could not refuse the poor old man anything, and he
therefore replied:
"Well, Adams, I will lend you the dress, but you will send it
back to me?"
"Yes, when I have done with it," he replied, with an evident
chuckle of triumph.
Barnum thought, "he will soon be done with it," and replied:
"That's all right."
A new idea evidently struck Adams, for, with a brightening look
of satisfaction, he said:
"Now, Barnum, you have made a good thing out of the California
menagerie, and so have I; but you will make a heap more. So if
you won't give me this new hunter's dress, just draw a little
writing, and sign it, saying that I may wear it until I have done
with it."
Barnum knew that in a few days, at longest, he would be "done"
with this world altogether, and, to gratify him, he cheerfully
drew and signed the paper.
"Come, old Yankee, I've got you this time--see. if I hadn't!"
exclaimed Adams, with a broad grin, as he took the paper.
Barnum smiled, and said:
"All right, my dear fellow; the longer you live the better I
shall like it,"
They parted, and Adams went to Charlton, Worcester County,
Massachusetts, where his wife and daughter lived. He took at once
to his bed, and never rose from it again. The excitement had
passed away, and his vital energies could accomplish no more, The
fifth day after arriving home, the physician told him he could
not live until the next morning. He received the announcement in
perfect calmness, and with the most apparent indifference; then,
turning to his wife, with a smile he requested her to have him
buried in the new hunting-suit. "For," said he, "Barnum agreed to
let me have it until I have done with it, and I was determined to
fix his flint this time. He shall never see that dress again."
That dress was indeed the shroud in which he was entombed.
After Adams' death, Barnum incorporated the California Menagerie
with the American Museum, for a time, but afterward sold most of
the animals. The Museum was now most prosperous, and Barnum was
making steady progress toward paying off the debts that burdened
him.
In the fall of 1860 the Museum was visited by the Prince of Wales
and his suite, in response to an invitation from Barnum.
Unfortunately, Barnum himself had gone to Bridgeport that very
morning, the invitation not having been accepted until about an
hour before the visit. Mr. Greenwood, the manager, when he heard
that the Prince was coming, caused the performance in the
lecture-room to be commenced half an hour before the usual time,
so as to clear the floors of a portion of the crowd, in order
that he might have a better opportunity to examine the
curiosities. When the Prince arrived, there was a great crowd
outside the Museum, and hundreds more were soon added to the
numbers assembled within the building. He was received by Mr.
Greenwood, and immediately conducted to the second story, where
the first object of interest pointed out was the "What Is It?" in
which his Royal Highness manifested much curiosity. In compliance
with his wish, the keeper went through the regular account of the
animal. Here, also, the party were shown the Albino family,
concerning whom they made inquiries. The Siamese twins, the
sea-lions, and the seal were also pointed out, and some of the
animals were fed in the presence of the Prince at his own
request. He was conducted through the building, and his attention
was called to many objects of special interest. At the close of a
short visit, the Prince asked for Mr. Barnum, and regretted that
he had not an opportunity of seeing him also. "We have," he said,
"missed the most interesting feature of the establishment."
A few days later Barnum called on the Prince in Boston and was
cordially received. The Prince was much interested and amused at
Barnum's reminiscences of the visits to Buckingham Palace with
Tom Thumb. He told Barnum that he had been much pleased with the
Museum, and had left his autograph there as a memento of his
visit.