MY FIRST TRAVELLING COMPANY.
THREE MEALS AND LODGING IN ONE HOUR--TURNING THE TABLES ON
TURNER--A SON AS OLD AS HIS FATHER--LEAVING THE CIRCUS WITH TWELVE
HUNDRED DOLLARS--MY FIRST TRAVELLING COMPANY--PREACHING TO THE
PEOPLE--APPEARING AS A NEGRO MINSTREL--THREATENED WITH
ASSASSINATION--ESCAPES FROM DANGER--TEMPERANCE--REPORT OF MY ARREST
FOR MURDER--RE-ENFORCING MY COMPANY--“BARNUM’S GRAND SCIENTIFIC AND
MUSICAL THEATRE”--OUTWITTING A SHERIFF--“LADY HAYES’S” MANSION AND
PLANTATION--A BRILLIANT AUDIENCE--BASS DRUM SOLO--CROSSING THE
INDIAN NATION--JOE PENTLAND AS A SAVAGE--TERROR AND FLIGHT OF
VIVALLA--A NONPLUSSED LEGERDEMAIN PERFORMER--A MALE
EGG-LAYER--DISBANDING MY COMPANY--A NEW PARTNERSHIP--PUBLIC
LECTURING--DIFFICULTY WITH A DROVER--THE STEAMBOAT “CERES”--SUDDEN
MARRIAGE ON BOARD--MOBBED IN LOUISIANA--ARRIVAL AT NEW ORLEANS.
An amusing incident occurred when we were at Hanover Court House, in
Virginia. It rained so heavily that we could not perform there and
Turner decided to start for Richmond immediately after dinner, when he
was informed by the landlord that as our agent had engaged three meals
and lodging for the whole company, the entire bill must be paid whether
we went then, or next morning. No compromise could be effected with the
stubborn landlord and so Turner proceeded to get the worth of his money
as follows:
He ordered dinner at twelve o’clock, which was duly prepared and eaten.
The table was cleared and re-set for supper at half-past twelve. At one
o’clock we all went to bed, every man carrying a lighted candle to his
room. There were thirty-six of us and we all undressed and tumbled into
bed as if we were going to stay all night. In half an hour we rose and
went down to the hot breakfast which Turner had demanded and which we
found smoking on the table. Turner was very grave, the landlord was
exceedingly angry, and the rest of us were convulsed with laughter at
the absurdity of the whole proceeding. We disposed of our breakfast as
if we had eaten nothing for ten hours and then started for Richmond with
the satisfaction that we fairly settled with our unreasonable landlord.
At Richmond, after performances were over one night, I managed to
partially pay Turner for his Avery trick. A dozen or more of us were
enjoying ourselves in the sitting room of the hotel, telling stories and
singing songs, when some of the company proposed sundry amusing
arithmetical questions, followed by one from Turner, which was readily
solved. Hoping to catch Turner I then proposed the following problem:
“Suppose a man is thirty years of age and he has a child one year of
age; he is thirty times older than his child. When the child is thirty
years old, the father, being sixty, is only twice as old as his child.
When the child is sixty the father is ninety, and therefore only
one-third older than the child. When the child is ninety the father is
one hundred and twenty, and therefore only one-fourth older than the
child. Thus you see, the child is gradually but surely gaining on the
parent, and as he certainly continues to come nearer and nearer, in time
he must overtake him. The question therefore is, suppose it was possible
for them to live long enough, how old would the father be when the child
overtook him and became of the same age?”
The company generally saw the catch; but Turner was very much interested
in the problem, and although he admitted he knew nothing about
arithmetic he was convinced that as the son was gradually gaining on the
father he must reach him if there was time enough--say, a thousand
years, or so--for the race. But an old gentleman gravely remarked that
the idea of a son becoming as old as his father while both were living
was simply nonsense, and he offered to bet a dozen of champagne that the
thing was impossible, even “in figures.” Turner, who was a betting man,
and who thought the problem might be proved, accepted the wager; but he
was soon convinced that however much the boy might relatively gain upon
his father, there would always be thirty years difference in their ages.
The champagne cost him $25, and he failed to see the fun of my
arithmetic, though at last he acknowledged that it was a fair offset to
the Avery trick.
We went from Richmond to Petersburg, and from that place to Warrenton,
North Carolina, where, October 30th, my engagement expired with a profit
to myself of $1,200. I now separated from the circus company, taking
Vivalla, James Sanford, (a negro singer and dancer,) several musicians,
horses, wagons, and a small canvas tent with which I intended to begin a
travelling exhibition of my own. My company started and Turner took me
on the way in his own carriage some twenty miles. We parted reluctantly
and my friend wished me every success in my new venture.
On Saturday, November 12, 1836, we halted at Rocky Mount Falls, North
Carolina, and on my way to the Baptist Church, Sunday morning, I noticed
a stand and benches in a grove near by, and determined to speak to the
people if I was permitted. The landlord who was with me said that the
congregation, coming from a distance to attend a single service, would
be very glad to hear a stranger and I accordingly asked the venerable
clergyman to announce that after service I would speak for half an hour
in the grove. Learning that I was not a clergyman, he declined to give
the notice, but said that he had no objection to my making the
announcement, which I did, and the congregation, numbering about three
hundred, promptly came to hear me.
I told them I was not a preacher and had very little experience in
public speaking; but I felt a deep interest in matters of morality and
religion, and would attempt, in a plain way, to set before them the
duties and privileges of man. I appealed to every man’s experience,
observation and reason, to confirm the Bible doctrine of wretchedness in
vice and happiness in virtue. We cannot violate the laws of God with
impunity, and he will not keep back the wages of well-doing. The outside
show of things is of very small account. We must look to realities and
not to appearances. “Diamonds may glitter on a vicious breast,” but “the
soul’s calm sunshine and the heart-felt joy is virtue’s prize.” The
rogue, the passionate man, the drunkard, are not to be envied even at
the best, and a conscience hardened by sin is the most sorrowful
possession we can think of. I went on in this way, with some scriptural
quotations and familiar illustrations, for three-quarters of an hour. At
the close of my address several persons took me by the hand, expressing
themselves as greatly pleased and desiring to know my name; and I went
away with the feeling that possibly I might have done some good in the
beautiful grove on that charming Sunday morning.
When we were at Camden, South Carolina, Sanford suddenly left me, and as
I had advertised negro songs and none of my company was competent to
fill Sanford’s place, not to disappoint my audience, I blacked myself
and sung the advertised songs, “Zip Coon,” etc., and to my surprise was
much applauded, while two of the songs were encored. One evening after
singing my songs I heard a disturbance outside the tent and going to the
spot found a person disputing with my men. I took part on the side of
the men, when the person who was quarrelling with them drew a pistol and
exclaiming, “you black scoundrel! how dare you use such language to a
white man,” he proceeded to cock it. I saw that he thought I was a negro
and meant to blow my brains out. Quick as thought I rolled my sleeve up,
showed my skin, and said, “I am as white as you are, sir.” He dropped
his pistol in positive fright and begged my pardon. My presence of mind
saved me.
On four different occasions in my life I have had a loaded pistol
pointed at my head and each time I have escaped death by what seemed a
miracle. I have also often been in deadly peril by accidents, and when I
think of these things I realize my indebtedness to an all-protecting
Providence. Reviewing my career, too, and considering the kind of
company I kept for years and the associations with which I was
surrounded and connected, I am surprised as well as grateful that I was
not ruined. I honestly believe that I owe my preservation from the
degradation of living and dying a loafer and a vagabond, to the single
fact that I was never addicted to strong drink. To be sure, I have in
times past drank liquor, but I have generally wholly abstained from
intoxicating beverages, and for more than twenty years past, I am glad
to say, I have been a strict “teetotaller.”
At Camden I lost one of my musicians, a Scotchman named Cochran, who was
arrested for advising the negro barber who was shaving him to run away
to the Free States or to Canada. I made every effort to effect Cochran’s
release, but he was imprisoned more than six months.
While I was away from home I generally wrote twice a week to my family
and received letters nearly as often from my wife. One of her letters,
which I received in Columbia, South Carolina, informed me it was
currently reported in Connecticut that I was under sentence of death in
Canada for murder! The story grew out of a rumor about a difficulty in
Canada between some rowdies and a circus company--not Turner’s,--for we
met his troupe at Columbia, December 5, 1836. That company was then to
be disbanded and I bought four horses and two wagons and hired Joe
Pentland and Robert White to join my company. White, as a negro-singer,
would relieve me from that roll, and Pentland, besides being a capital
clown, was celebrated as a ventriloquist, comic singer, balancer, and
legerdemain performer. My re-enforced exhibition was called “Barnum’s
Grand Scientific and Musical Theatre.”
Some time previously, in Raleigh, North Carolina, I had sold one-half of
my establishment to a man, whom I will call Henry, who now acted as
treasurer and ticket-taker. At Augusta, Georgia, the sheriff served a
writ upon this Henry for a debt of $500. As Henry had $600 of the
company’s money in his possession, I immediately procured a bill of sale
of all his property in the exhibition and returned to the theatre where
Henry’s creditor and the creditor’s lawyer were waiting for me. They
demanded the keys of the stable so as to levy on the horses and wagons.
I begged delay till I could see Henry, and they consented. Henry was
anxious to cheat his creditor and he at once signed the bill of sale. I
returned and informed the creditor that Henry refused to pay or
compromise the claim. The sheriff then demanded the keys of the stable
door to attach Henry’s interest in the property. “Not yet,” said I,
showing a bill of sale, “you see I am in full possession of the property
as entire owner. You confess that you have not yet levied on it, and if
you touch my property, you do it at your peril.”
They were very much taken aback and the sheriff immediately conveyed
Henry to prison. The next day I learned that Henry owed his creditors
thirteen hundred dollars and that he had agreed when the Saturday
evening performance was ended to hand over five hundred dollars (company
money) and a bill of sale of his interest, in consideration of which one
of the horses was to be ready for him to run away with, leaving me in
the lurch! Learning this, I had very little sympathy for Henry and my
next step was to secure the five hundred dollars he had secreted.
Vivalla had obtained it from him to keep it from the sheriff; I received
it from Vivalla, on Henry’s order, as a supposed means of procuring bail
for him on Monday morning. I then paid the creditor the full amount
obtained from Henry as the price of his half interest in the exhibition
and received in return an assignment of five hundred dollars of the
creditor’s claims and a guaranty that I should not be troubled by my
late partner on that score. Thus, promptness of action and good luck
relieved me from one of the most unpleasant positions in which I had
ever been placed.
While travelling with our teams and show through a desolate part of
Georgia, our advertiser, who was in advance of the party, finding the
route, on one occasion, too long for us to reach a town at night,
arranged with a poor widow woman named Hayes to furnish us with meals
and let us lodge in her hut and out-houses. It was a beggarly place,
belonging to one of the poorest of “poor whites.” Our horses were to
stand out all night, and a farmer, six miles distant, was to bring a
load of provender on the day of our arrival. Bills were then posted
announcing a performance under a canvas tent near Widow Hayes’s, for, as
a show was a rarity in that region, it was conjectured that a hundred or
more small farmers and “poor whites” might be assembled and that the
receipts would cover the expenses.
Meanwhile, our advertiser, who was quite a wag, wrote back informing us
of the difficulties of reaching a town on that part of our route and
stating that he had made arrangements for us to stay over night on the
plantation of “Lady Hayes,” and that although the country was sparsely
settled, we could doubtless give a profitable performance to a fair
audience.
Anticipating a fine time on this noble “plantation,” we started at four
o’clock in the morning so as to arrive at one o’clock, thus avoiding the
heat of the afternoon. Towards noon we came to a small river where some
men, whom we afterwards discovered to be down-east Yankees, from Maine,
were repairing a bridge. Every flooring plank had been taken up and it
was impossible for our teams to cross. “Could the bridge be fixed so
that we could go over?” I inquired; “No; it would take half a day, and
meantime if we must cross, there was a place about sixteen miles down
the river where we could get over.” “But we can’t go so far as that; we
are under engagement to perform on Lady Hayes’s place to-night and we
must cross here. Fix the bridge and we will pay you handsomely.”
They wanted no money, but if we would give them some tickets to our show
they thought they might do something for us. I gladly consented and in
fifteen minutes we crossed that bridge. The cunning rascals had seen our
posters and knew we were coming; so they had taken up the planks of the
bridge and had hidden them till they had levied upon us for tickets,
when the floor was re-laid in a quarter of an hour. We laughed heartily
at the trick and were very glad to cross so cheaply.
Towards dinner time, we began to look out for the grand mansion of “Lady
Hayes,” and seeing nothing but little huts we quietly pursued our
journey. At one o’clock--the time when we should have arrived at our
destination--I became impatient and riding up to a poverty-stricken
hovel and seeing a ragged, barefooted old woman, with her sleeves rolled
up to her shoulders, who was washing clothes in front of the door, I
inquired--
“Hallo! can you tell me where Lady Hayes lives?”
The old woman raised her head, which was covered with tangled locks and
matted hair, and exclaimed--
“Hey?”
“No, Hayes, Lady Hayes; where is her plantation?”
“This is the place,” she answered; “I’m Widder Hayes and you are all to
stay here to-night.”
We could not believe our ears or eyes; but after putting the dirty old
woman through a severe cross-examination she finally produced a
contract, signed by our advertiser, agreeing for board and lodging for
the company and we found ourselves booked for the night. It appeared
that our advertiser could find no better quarters in that forlorn
section and he had indulged in a joke at our expense by exciting our
appetites and imaginations in anticipation of the luxuries we should
find in the magnificent mansion of “Lady Hayes.”
Joe Pentland grumbled, Bob White indulged in some very strong language,
and Signor Vivalla laughed. He had travelled with his monkey and organ
in Italy and could put up with any fare that offered. I took the
disappointment philosophically, simply remarking that we must make the
best of it and compensate ourselves when we reached a town next day.
When the old woman called us to dinner we crept into her hut and found
that she had improvised benches at her table by placing boards upon the
only four chairs in her possession, and at that, some of us were obliged
to stand. The dinner consisted of a piece of boiled smoked bacon, a
large dish of “greens,” and corn bread. Three plates, two knives, and
three forks made up the entire table furniture and compelled a resort to
our jack-knives. “A short horse is soon curried,” and dinner was
speedily despatched. It did not seem possible for an audience to
assemble in that forsaken quarter, and we concluded not to take the
canvas tent out of the wagon.
By three o’clock, however, at least fifty persons had arrived on the
ground to attend the night show and they reported “more a coming.”
Accordingly we put up the tent and arranged our small stage and
curtains, preparing seats for two hundred people. Those who had already
arrived were mostly women, many of them from sixteen to twenty years
old--poor, thin, sallow-faced creatures, wretchedly clad, some of them
engaged in smoking pipes, while the rest were chewing snuff. This latter
process was new to me; each chewer was provided with a short stick,
softened at one end, by chewing it, and this stick was occasionally
dipped into a snuff box and then stuck into the mouth, from whence it
protruded like a cigar. The technical term for the proceeding is
“snuff-dipping.”
Before night, stragglers had brought the number of people on Lady Hayes’
plantation up to one hundred, and soon after dark, we opened our
exhibition to an audience of about two hundred. The men were a pale,
haggard set of uncombed, uncouth creatures, whose constantly-moving jaws
and the streams of colored saliva exuding from the corners of their
mouths indicated that they were confirmed tobacco chewers. I never saw a
more stupid and brutish assemblage of human beings. The performance
delighted them; Pentland’s sleight-of-hand tricks astonished them and
led them to declare that he must be in league with the evil one; Signor
Vivalla’s ball-tossing and plate spinning elicited their loudest
applause; and Bob White’s negro songs and break-downs made them fairly
scream with laughter.
At last, the performance terminated and Pentland stepped forward and
delivered the closing address, which he had repeated, word for word, a
hundred times, and which was precisely as follows:
“Ladies and Gentlemen: The entertainments of the evening have now come
to a conclusion, and, we hope, to your general satisfaction.”
But now came a dilemma; the meaning of this announcement was quite
above the comprehension of the audience; they had not the remotest idea
that the performance was finished, and they sat like statues.
With a hearty laugh at Pentland I told him that his language was not
understood in this locality and that he must try again. He was
chagrined, and declared that he would not say another word. Little
Vivalla laughed, danced around like a monkey, and said, in his broken
English:
“Ah, ha! Signor Pentland; you no speak good Eenglish, hah! These
educated peoples no understand you, eh? By gar what d----d fools. Ah,
Signor Barnum, let me speaks to them; I will make them jump double
queek.”
I quite enjoyed the fun and said, “Well, Signor, go ahead.”
The little Italian jumped upon the stage and with a broad grimace and
tremendous gesture exclaimed--
“Eet is feenish!”
He then retired behind the curtain, but, of course, the audience did not
understand that he had told them the performance was finished. No one
would have understood him. Hence, the spectators sat still, wondering
what would come next. “By gar,” said Vivalla, losing his temper, “I will
give them a hint,” and he loosened the cord and down fell the curtain on
one side of the stage.
“Good, good,” cried out an enthusiastic “poor white,” giving his quid a
fresh roll to the other side of his mouth, “now we are going to have
something new.”
“I reckon they’s totin’ that plunder off to get ready for a dance,” said
a delicate “dipper,” making a lunge into her box for another mouthful of
the dust.
Things were becoming serious, and I saw that in order to get rid of
these people they must be addressed in plain language; so, walking upon
the stage, I simply said, making at the same time a motion for them to
go,--
“It is all over; no more performance; the show is out.”
This was understood, but they still stood upon the order of their going
and were loth to leave, especially as the, to them, extraordinary
announcements of Pentland and Vivalla had prepared them for something
fresh. Several days before, our band of musicians had left us, reducing
our orchestra to an organ and pipes, ground and blown by an Italian whom
we had picked up on the road. We had, in addition, a large bass drum,
with no one to beat it, and this drum was espied by some of the audience
in going out. Very soon I was waited upon by a masculine committee of
three, who informed me that “the young ladies were very anxious to hear
a tune on the big drum.” Pentland heard the request and replied, “I will
accommodate the young ladies,” and strapping on the drum he took a stick
in each hand and began to pound tremendously. Occasionally he would rap
the sticks together, toss one of them into the air, catching it as it
came down, and then pound away again like mad. In fact, he cut up all
sorts of pranks with that big drum and when he was tired out and
stopped, he was gratified at being told by the “young ladies” that they
had never heard a big drum before, but he “played it splendid,” and they
thought it was altogether the best part of the entire performance!
The next forenoon we arrived at Macon, and congratulated ourselves that
we had again reached the regions of civilization.
In going from Columbus, Georgia, to Montgomery, Alabama, we were obliged
to cross a thinly-settled, desolate tract, known as the “Indian Nation,”
and as several persons had been murdered by hostile Indians in that
region, it was deemed dangerous to travel the road without an escort.
Only the day before we started, the mail stage had been stopped and the
passengers murdered, the driver alone escaping. We were well armed,
however, and trusted that our numbers would present too formidable a
force to be attacked, though we dreaded to incur the risk. Vivalla alone
was fearless and was ready to encounter fifty Indians and drive them
into the swamp.
Accordingly, when we had safely passed over the entire route to within
fourteen miles of Montgomery, and were beyond the reach of danger, Joe
Pentland determined to test Vivalla’s bravery. He had secretly purchased
at Mount Megs, on the way, an old Indian dress with a fringed hunting
shirt and moccasins and these he put on, after coloring his face with
Spanish brown. Then, shouldering his musket he followed Vivalla and the
party and, approaching stealthily, leaped into their midst with a
tremendous whoop.
Vivalla’s companions were in the secret, and they instantly fled in all
directions. Vivalla himself ran like a deer and Pentland after him, gun
in hand and yelling horribly. After running a full mile the poor little
Italian, out of breath and frightened nearly to death, dropped on his
knees and begged for his life. The “Indian” levelled his gun at his
victim, but soon seemed to relent and signified that Vivalla should
turn his pockets inside out--which he did, producing and handing over a
purse, containing eleven dollars. The savage then marched Vivalla to an
oak and with a handkerchief tied him in the most approved Indian manner
to the tree, leaving him half dead with fright.
Pentland then joined us, and washing his face and changing his dress, we
all went to the relief of Vivalla. He was overjoyed to see us, and when
he was released his courage returned; he swore that after his companions
left him the Indian had been re-enforced by six more to whom, in default
of a gun or other means to defend himself, Vivalla had been compelled to
surrender. We pretended to believe his story for a week and then told
him the joke, which he refused to credit, and also declined to take the
money which Pentland offered to return, as it could not possibly be his
since seven Indians had taken his money. We had a great deal of fun over
Vivalla’s courage, but the matter made him so cross and surly that we
were finally obliged to drop it altogether. From that time forward,
however, Vivalla never boasted of his prowess.
We arrived at Montgomery, February 28th, 1837. Here I met Henry Hawley a
legerdemain performer, about forty-five years of age, but as he was
prematurely gray he looked at least seventy, and I sold him one-half of
my exhibition. He had a ready wit, a happy way of localizing his tricks,
was very popular in that part of the country, where he had been
performing for several years, and I never saw him nonplussed but once.
This was when he was performing on one occasion the well-known egg and
bag trick, which he did with his usual success, producing egg after egg
from the bag and
[Illustration: _THE COWARD AND THE “BRAVE.”_]
finally breaking one to show that they were genuine. “Now,” said Hawley,
“I will show you the old hen that laid them.” It happened, however, that
the negro boy to whom had been intrusted the duty of supplying the bag
had made a slight mistake which was manifest when Hawley triumphantly
produced, not “the old hen that laid the eggs,” but a rooster! The whole
audience was convulsed with laughter and the abashed Hawley retreated to
the dressing room cursing the stupidity of the black boy who had been
paid to put a hen in the bag.
After performing in different places in Alabama, Kentucky, and
Tennessee, we disbanded at Nashville in May, 1837, Vivalla going to New
York, where he performed on his own account for a while previous to
sailing for Cuba, Hawley staying in Tennessee to look after our horses
which had been turned out to grass, and I returning home to spend a few
weeks with my family.
Early in July, returning west with a new company of performers, I
rejoined Hawley and we began our campaign in Kentucky. We were not
successful; one of our small company was incompetent; another was
intemperate--both were dismissed; and our negro-singer was drowned in
the river at Frankfort. Funds were low and I was obliged to leave
pledges here and there, in payment for bills, which I afterwards
redeemed. Hawley and I dissolved in August and making a new partnership
with Z. Graves, I left him in charge of the establishment and went to
Tiffin, Ohio, where I re-engaged Joe Pentland, buying his horses and
wagons and taking him, with several musicians, to Kentucky.
During my short stay at Tiffin, a religious conversation at the hotel
introduced me to several gentlemen who requested me to lecture on the
subjects we had discussed, and I did so to a crowded audience in the
school-house Sunday afternoon and evening. At the solicitation of a
gentleman from Republic, I also delivered two lectures in that town on
the evenings of September 4th and 5th.
On our way to Kentucky, just before we reached Cincinnati, we met a
drove of hogs and one of the drivers making an insolent remark because
our wagons interfered with his swine, I replied in the same vein, when
he dismounted and pointing a pistol at my breast swore he would shoot me
if I did not apologize. I begged him to permit me to consult with a
friend in the next wagon, and the misunderstanding should be
satisfactorily settled. My friend was a loaded double-barreled gun which
I pointed at him and said:
“Now, sir, _you_ must apologize, for your brains are in danger. You drew
a weapon upon me for a trivial remark. You seem to hold human life at a
cheap price; and now, sir, you have the choice between a load of shot
and an apology.”
This led to an apology and a friendly conversation in which we both
agreed that many a life is sacrificed in sudden anger because one or
both of the contending parties carry deadly weapons.
In our subsequent southern tour we exhibited at Nashville (where I
visited General Jackson, at the Hermitage), Huntsville, Tuscaloosa,
Vicksburg and intermediate places, doing tolerably well. At Vicksburg we
sold all our land conveyances, excepting the band wagon and four horses,
bought the steamboat “Ceres” for six thousand dollars, hired the captain
and crew, and started down the river to exhibit at places on the way.
At Natchez our cook left us and in the search for another I found a
white widow who would go, only she expected to marry a painter. I called
on the painter who had not made up his mind whether to marry the widow
or not, but I told him if he would marry her the next morning I would
hire her at twenty-five dollars a month as cook, employ him at the same
wages as painter, with board for both, and a cash bonus of fifty
dollars. There was a wedding on board the next day and we had a good
cook and a good dinner.
During one of our evening performances at Francisville, Louisiana, a man
tried to pass me at the door of the tent, claiming that he had paid for
admittance. I refused him entrance; and as he was slightly intoxicated
he struck me with a slung shot, mashing my hat and grazing what
phrenologists call “the organ of caution.” He went away and soon
returned with a gang of armed and half-drunken companions who ordered us
to pack up our “traps and plunder” and to get on board our steamboat
within an hour. The big tent speedily came down. No one was permitted to
help us, but the company worked with a will and within five minutes of
the expiration of the hour we were on board and ready to leave. The
scamps who had caused our departure escorted us and our last load,
waving pine torches, and saluted us with a hurrah as we swung into the
stream.
The New Orleans papers of March 19, 1838, announced the arrival of the
“Steamer Ceres, Captain Barnum, with a theatrical company.” After a
week’s performances, we started for the Attakapas country. At Opelousas
we exchanged the steamer for sugar and molasses; our company was
disbanded, and I started for home, arriving in New York, June 4, 1838.