STRUGGLES FOR A LIVELIHOOD.
PLEASURE VISIT TO PHILADELPHIA--LIVING IN GRAND STYLE--THE BOTTOM
OF THE PILE--BORROWING MONEY--MY MARRIAGE--RETURN TO BETHEL--EARLY
MARRIAGES--MORE PRACTICAL JOKING--SECOND APPEARANCE AS
COUNSEL--GOING TO HOUSEKEEPING--SELLING BOOKS AT AUCTION--THE
“YELLOW STORE”--A NEW FIELD--“THE HERALD OF FREEDOM”--MY EDITORIAL
CAREER--LIBEL SUITS--FINED AND IMPRISONED--LIFE IN THE DANBURY
JAIL--CELEBRATION OF MY LIBERATION--POOR BUSINESS AND BAD
DEBTS--REMOVAL TO NEW YORK--SEEKING MY FORTUNE--“WANTS’, IN THE
“SUN”--WM. NIBLO--KEEPING A BOARDING-HOUSE--A WHOLE SHIRT ON MY
BACK.
During this season I made arrangements with Mr. Samuel Sherwood, of
Bridgeport, to go on an exploring expedition to Pittsburg, Pennsylvania,
where we understood there was a fine opening for a lottery office and
where we meant to try our fortunes, provided the prospects should equal
our expectations. We went to New York where I had an interview with Mr.
Dudley S. Gregory, the principal business man of Messrs. Yates and
McIntyre, who dissuaded me from going to Pittsburg, and offered me the
entire lottery agency for the State of Tennessee, if I would go to
Nashville and open an office. The offer was tempting, but the distance
was too far from a certain tailoress in Bethel.
As the Pittsburg trip was given up, Sherwood and I went to Philadelphia
for a pleasure excursion and put up at Congress Hall in Chestnut Street
where we lived in much grander style than we had been accustomed to. The
array of waiters and display of dishes were far ahead of our former
experiences and for a week we lived in clover. At the end of that time,
however, when we concluded to start for home, the amount of our hotel
bill astounded us. After paying it and securing tickets for New York,
our combined purses showed a balance of but twenty-seven cents.
Twenty-five cents of this sum went to the boot-black, and as our
breakfast was included in our bill we secured from the table a few
biscuits for our dinner on the way to New York.
Arriving in New York we carried our own baggage to Holt’s Hotel. The
next morning Sherwood obtained a couple of dollars from a friend, and
went to Newark and borrowed fifty dollars from his cousin, Dr. Sherwood,
loaning me one-half the sum. After a few days’ sojourn in the city we
returned home.
During our stay in New York, I derived considerable information from the
city managers with regard to the lottery business, and thereafter I
bought my tickets directly from the Connecticut lottery managers at what
was termed “the scheme price,” and also established agencies throughout
the country, selling considerable quantities of tickets at handsome
profits. My uncle, Alanson Taylor, joined me in the business, and, as we
sold several prizes, my office came to be considered “lucky,” and I
received orders from all parts of the country.
During this time I kept a close eye upon the attractive tailoress,
Charity Hallett, and in the summer of 1829 I asked her hand in marriage.
My suit was accepted, and the wedding day was appointed; I, meanwhile,
applying myself closely to business, and no one but the parties
immediately interested suspecting that the event was so near at hand.
Miss Hallett went to New York in October, ostensibly to visit her uncle,
Nathan Beers, who resided at No. 3 Allen Street. I followed in November,
pressed by the necessity of purchasing goods for my store; and the
evening after my arrival, November 8, 1829, the Rev. Dr. McAuley married
us in the presence of sundry friends and relatives of my wife, and I
became the husband of one of the best women in the world. In the course
of the week we went back to Bethel and took board in the family where
Charity Barnum as “Chairy” Hallett had previously resided.
I do not approve or recommend early marriages. The minds of men and
women taking so important a step in life should be somewhat matured, and
hasty marriages, especially marriages of boys and girls, have been the
cause of untold misery in many instances. But although I was only little
more than nineteen years old when I was married, I have always felt
assured that if I had waited twenty years longer I could not have found
another woman so well suited to my disposition and so admirable and
valuable in every character as a wife, a mother, and a friend.
My business occupations amply employed nearly all my time, yet so strong
was my love of fun that when the opportunity for a practical joke
presented itself, I could not resist the temptation. On one occasion I
engaged in the character of counsel to conduct a case for an Irish
peddler whose complaint was that one of our neighbors had turned him out
of his house and had otherwise abused him.
The court was just as “real” as the attorney,--no more,--and consisted
of three judges, one a mason, the second a butcher, and the third an
old gentleman of leisure who was an ex-justice of the peace. The
constable was of my own appointment, and my “writ” arrested the culprit
who had turned my client out of house and home. The court was convened,
but as the culprit did not appear, and as it seemed necessary that my
client should get testimonials as to his personal character; the court
adjourned nominally for one week, the client consenting to “stand treat”
to cover immediate expenses.
I supposed that this was the end of it. But at the time named for the
re-assembling of the “court,” a _real_ lawyer from Newtown put in an
appearance. He had been engaged by the Irishman to assist me in
conducting the case! I saw at once that the joke was likely to prove a
sorry one, and immediately notified the members of the “court,” who were
quite as much alarmed as I was at the serious turn the thing had taken.
I need not say that while the danger threatened we all took precious
good care to keep out of the way. However, the affair was explained to
Mr. Belden, the lawyer, who in turn set forth the matter to the client,
but not in such a manner as to soothe the anger so natural under the
circumstances--in fact, he advised the Irishman to get out of the place
as soon as possible. The Irishman threatened me and my “court” with
prosecution--a threat I really feared he would carry into execution, but
which, to the great peace of mind of myself and my companions, he
concluded not to follow up. Considering the vexation and annoyance of
this Irishman, it was a mitigation to know that he was the party in the
wrong and that he really deserved a severer punishment than my practical
joke had put upon him.
In the winter of 1829-30, my lottery business had so extended that I had
branch offices in Danbury, Norwalk, Stamford and Middletown, as well as
agencies in the small villages for thirty miles around Bethel. I had
also purchased from my grandfather three acres of land on which I built
a house and went to housekeeping. My lottery business, which was with a
few large customers, was so arranged that I could safely entrust it to
an agent, making it necessary for me to find some other field for my
individual enterprise.
So I tried my hand as an auctioneer in the book trade. I bought books at
the auctions and from dealers and publishers in New York, and took them
into the country, selling them at auction and doing tolerably well; only
at Litchfield, Connecticut, where there was then a law school. At
Newburgh, New York, several of my best books were stolen, and I quit the
business in disgust.
In July, 1831, my uncle, Alanson Taylor, and myself opened a country
store, in a building, which I had put up in Bethel in the previous
spring, and we stocked the “yellow store,” as it was called, with a full
assortment of groceries, hardware, crockery, and “notions”; but we were
not successful in the enterprise, and in October following, I bought out
my uncle’s interest and we dissolved partnership.
About this time, circumstances partly religious and partly political in
their character led me into still another field of enterprise which
honorably opened to me that notoriety of which in later life I surely
have had a surfeit. Considering my youth, this new enterprise reflected
credit upon my ability, as well as energy, and so I may be excused if I
now recur to it with something like pride.
In a period of strong political excitement, I wrote several
communications for the Danbury weekly paper, setting forth what I
conceived to be the dangers of a sectarian interference which was then
apparent in political affairs. The publication of these communications
was refused and I accordingly purchased a press and types, and October
19, 1831, I issued the first number of my own paper, _The Herald of
Freedom_.
I entered upon the editorship of this journal with all the vigor and
vehemence of youth. The boldness with which the paper was conducted soon
excited wide-spread attention and commanded a circulation which extended
beyond the immediate locality into nearly every State in the Union. But
lacking that experience which induces caution, and without the dread of
consequences, I frequently laid myself open to the charge of libel and
three times in three years I was prosecuted. A Danbury butcher, a
zealous politician, brought a civil suit against me for accusing him of
being a spy in a Democratic caucus. On the first trial the jury did not
agree, but after a second trial I was fined several hundred dollars.
Another libel suit against me was withdrawn and need not be mentioned
further. The third was sufficiently important to warrant the following
detail:
A criminal prosecution was brought against me for stating in my paper
that a man in Bethel, prominent in the church, had “been guilty of
taking _usury_ of an orphan boy,” and for severely commenting on the
fact in my editorial columns. When the case came to trial the truth of
my statement was substantially proved by
[Illustration: _MY DELIVERY FROM IMPRISONMENT_]
several witnesses and even by the prosecuting party. But “the greater
the truth, the greater the libel,” and then I had used the term “usury,”
instead of extortion, or note-shaving, or some other expression which
might have softened the verdict. The result was that I was sentenced to
pay a fine of one hundred dollars and to be imprisoned in the common
jail for sixty days.
The most comfortable provision was made for me in Danbury jail. My room
was papered and carpeted; I lived well; I was overwhelmed with the
constant visits of my friends; I edited my paper as usual and received
large accessions to my subscription list; and at the end of my sixty
days’ term the event was celebrated by a large concourse of people from
the surrounding country. The court room in which I was convicted was the
scene of the celebration. An ode, written for the occasion, was sung; an
eloquent oration on the freedom of the press was delivered; and several
hundred gentlemen afterwards partook of a sumptuous dinner followed by
appropriate toasts and speeches. Then came the triumphant part of the
ceremonial, which was reported in my paper of December 12, 1832, as
follows:
“P. T. BARNUM and the band of music took their seats in a coach
drawn by six horses, which had been prepared for the occasion. The
coach was preceded by forty horsemen, and a marshal, bearing the
national standard. Immediately in the rear of the coach was the
carriage of the Orator and the President of the day, followed by
the Committee of Arrangements and sixty carriages of citizens,
which joined in escorting the editor to his home in Bethel.
“When the procession commenced its march amidst the roar of cannon,
three cheers were given by several hundred citizens who did not
join in the procession. The band of music continued to play a
variety of national airs until their arrival in Bethel, (a distance
of three miles,) when they struck up the beautiful and appropriate
tune of ‘Home, Sweet Home!’ After giving three hearty cheers, the
procession returned to Danbury. The utmost harmony and unanimity of
feeling prevailed throughout the day, and we are happy to add that
no accident occurred to mar the festivities of the occasion.”
My editorial career was one of continual contest. I however published
the 160th number of _The Herald of Freedom_ in Danbury, November 5,
1834, after which my brother-in-law, John W. Amerman, issued the paper
for me at Norwalk till the following year, when the _Herald_ was sold to
Mr. George Taylor.
Meanwhile, I had taken Horace Fairchild into partnership in my
mercantile business, in 1831, and I had sold out to him and to a Mr.
Toucey, in 1833, they forming a partnership under the firm of Fairchild
& Co. So far as I was concerned my store was not a success. Ordinary
trade was too slow for me. I bought largely and in order to sell I was
compelled to give extensive credits. Hence I had an accumulation of bad
debts; and my old ledger presents a long series of accounts balanced by
“death,” by “running away,” by “failing,” and by other similarly
remunerative returns. I had expended money as freely as I had gained it,
for I had already learned that I could make money rapidly and in large
sums, when I set about it with a will, and hence I did not realize the
worth of what I seemed to gain so readily. I looked forward to a future
of saving when I should see the need of accumulation.
There was nothing more for me to do in Bethel; and in the winter of
1834-5, I removed my family to New York, where I hired a house in Hudson
Street. I had no pecuniary resources, excepting such as might be derived
from debts left for collection with my agent at Bethel, and I went to
the metropolis literally to seek my fortune. I hoped to secure a
situation in some mercantile house, not at a fixed salary, but so as to
derive such portion of the profits as might be due to my individual
tact, energy, and perseverance in the interests of the business. But I
could find no such position; my resources began to fail; my family were
in ill health; I must do something for a living; and so I acted as
“drummer” to several concerns which allowed me a small commission on
sales to customers of my introduction.
Every morning I used to look at the “wants” in the _Sun_ for something
that would suit me; and I had many a wildgoose chase in following up
those “wants.” In some instances success depended upon my advancing from
three hundred to five hundred dollars; in other cases a new patent
life-pill, or a self-acting mouse trap was to make my fortune. An
advertisement announcing “An immense speculation on a small capital!
$10,000 easily made in one year!” turned out to be an offer of Professor
Somebody at Scudder’s American Museum to sell a hydro-oxygen microscope,
offered to me at two thousand dollars--one thousand in cash and the
balance in sixty and ninety days, on good security,--and warranted to
secure an independence after a short public exhibition through the
country. If I had the desire to undertake this exhibition and
experiment, I had not the capital. Other and many similar temptations
were extended, but none of them seemed to open the door of fortune to
me.
The advertisement in the _Sun_, of Mr. William Niblo, of Niblo’s Garden,
for a barkeeper first brought me in contact with that gentlemanly and
justly-popular proprietor. He wanted a well-recommended, well-behaved,
trustworthy man to fill a vacant situation, but as he wished him to bind
himself to remain three years, I, who was only seeking the means of
temporary support, was precluded from accepting the position.
Nor did all my efforts secure a situation for me during the whole
winter; but, in the spring, I received several hundred dollars from my
agent in Bethel, and finding no better business, May 1, 1835, I opened a
small private boarding-house at No. 52 Frankfort Street. We soon had a
very good run of custom from our Connecticut acquaintances who had
occasion to visit New York, and as this business did not sufficiently
occupy my time, I bought an interest with Mr. John Moody in a grocery
store, No. 156 South Street.
Although the years of manhood brought cares, anxieties, and struggles
for a livelihood, they did not change my nature and the jocose element
was still an essential ingredient of my being. I loved fun, practical
fun, for itself and for the enjoyment which it brought. During the year,
I occasionally visited Bridgeport where I almost always found at the
hotel a noted joker, named Darrow, who spared neither friend nor foe in
his tricks. He was the life of the bar-room and would always try to
entrap some stranger in a bet and so win a treat for the company. He
made several ineffectual attempts upon me, and at last, one evening,
Darrow, who stuttered, made a final trial as follows: “Come, Barnum,
I’ll make you another proposition; I’ll bet you hain’t got a whole shirt
on your back.” The catch consists in the fact that generally only
one-half of that convenient garment is on the back; but I had
anticipated the proposition--in fact I had induced a friend, Mr. Hough,
to put Darrow up to the trick,--and had folded a shirt nicely upon my
back, securing it there with my suspenders. The bar-room was crowded
with customers who thought that if I made the bet I should be nicely
caught, and I made pretence of playing off and at the same time
stimulated Darrow to press the bet by saying:
“That is a foolish bet to make; I am sure my shirt is whole because it
is nearly new; but I don’t like to bet on such a subject.”
“A good reason why,” said Darrow, in great glee; “it’s ragged. Come,
I’ll bet you a treat for the whole company you hain’t got a whole shirt
on your b-b-b-back!”
“I’ll bet my shirt is cleaner than yours,” I replied.
“That’s nothing to do w-w-with the case; it’s ragged, and y-y-you know
it.”
“I know it is not,” I replied, with pretended anger, which caused the
crowd to laugh heartily.
“You poor ragged f-f-fellow, come down here from D-D-Danbury, I’m sorry
for you,” said Darrow tantalizingly.
“You would not pay if you lost,” I remarked.
“Here’s f-f-five dollars I’ll put in Captain Hinman’s (the landlord’s)
hands. Now b-b-bet if you dare, you ragged c-c-creature, you.”
I put five dollars in Captain Hinman’s hands, and told him to treat the
company from it if I lost the bet.
“Remember,” said Darrow, “I b-b-bet you hain’t got a whole shirt on your
b-b-back!”
“All right,” said I, taking off my coat and commencing to unbutton my
vest. The whole company, feeling sure that I was caught, began to laugh
heartily. Old Darrow fairly danced with delight, and as I laid my coat
on a chair he came running up in front of me, and slapping his hands
together, exclaimed:
“You needn’t t-t-take off any more c-c-c-clothes, for if it ain’t all on
your b-b-back, you’ve lost it.”
“If it is, I suppose you have!” I replied, pulling the whole shirt from
off my back!
Such a shriek of laughter as burst forth from the crowd I scarcely ever
heard, and certainly such a blank countenance as old Darrow exhibited it
would be hard to conceive. Seeing that he was most incontinently “done
for,” and perceiving that his neighbor Hough had helped to do it, he ran
up to him in great anger, and shaking his fist in his face, exclaimed:
“H-H-Hough, you infernal r-r-rascal, to go against your own n-n-neighbor
in favor of a D-D-Danbury man. I’ll pay you for that some time, you see
if I d-d-don’t.”
All hands went up to the bar and drank with a hearty good will, for it
was seldom that Darrow got taken in, and he was such an inveterate joker
they liked to see him paid in his own coin. Never till the day of his
death did he hear the last of the “whole shirt.”