AT THE FOOT OF THE LADDER.
DISGUST AT THE TRAVELLING BUSINESS--ADVERTISING FOR AN
ASSOCIATE--RUSH OF THE MILLION-MAKERS--COUNTERFEITERS, CHEATS AND
QUACKS--A NEW BUSINESS--SWINDLED BY MY PARTNER--DIAMOND THE
DANCER--A NEW COMPANY--DESERTIONS--SUCCESSES AT NEW ORLEANS--TYRONE
POWER AND FANNY ELLSLER--IN JAIL AGAIN--BACK TO NEW YORK--ACTING AS
A BOOK AGENT--LEASING VAUXHALL--FROM HAND TO MOUTH--DETERMINATION
TO MAKE MONEY--FORTUNE OPENING HER DOOR--THE AMERICAN MUSEUM FOR
SALE--NEGOTIATIONS FOR THE PURCHASE--HOPES AND DISAPPOINTMENTS--THE
TRAIN LAID--SMASHING A RIVAL COMPANY.
I have said that the show business has as many grades of dignity as
trade, which ranges all the way from the mammoth wholesale establishment
down to the corner stand. The itinerant amusement business is at the
bottom of the ladder. I had begun there, but I had no wish to stay
there; in fact, I was thoroughly disgusted with the trade of a
travelling showman, and although I felt that I could succeed in that
line, yet I always regarded it, not as an end, but as a means to
something better.
Longing now for some permanent respectable business, I advertised for a
partner, stating that I had $2,500 to invest and would add my
unremitting personal attention to the capital and the business. This
advertisement gave me an altogether new insight into human nature.
Whoever wishes to know how some people live, or want to live, let him
advertise for a partner, at the same time stating that he has a large or
small capital to invest. I was flooded with answers to my advertisements
and received no less than ninety-three different propositions for the
use of my capital. Of these, at least one-third were from porter-house
keepers. Brokers, pawnbrokers, lottery-policy dealers, patent medicine
men, inventors, and others also made application. Some of my
correspondents declined to specifically state the nature of their
business, but they promised to open the door to untold wealth.
I had interviews with some of these mysterious million-makers. One of
them was a counterfeiter, who, after much hesitation and pledges of
secrecy showed me some counterfeit coin and bank notes; he wanted $2,500
to purchase paper and ink and to prepare new dies, and he actually
proposed that I should join him in the business which promised, he
declared, a safe and rich harvest. Another sedate individual, dressed in
Quaker costume, wanted me to join him in an oat speculation. By buying a
horse and wagon and by selling oats, bought at wholesale, in bags, he
thought a good business could be done, especially as people would not be
particular to measure after a Quaker.
“Do you mean to cheat in measuring your oats?” I asked.
“O, I should probably make them hold out,” he answered, with a leer.
One application came from a Pearl street wool merchant, who failed a
month afterwards. Then came a “perpetual motion” man who had a
fortune-making machine, in which I discovered a main-spring slyly hid in
a hollow post, the spring making perpetual motion--till it ran down.
Finally, I went into partnership with a German, named Proler, who was a
manufacturer of paste-blacking, water-proof paste for leather, Cologne
water and bear’s grease. We took the store No. 101½ Bowery, at a rent
(including the dwelling) of $600 per annum, and opened a large
manufactory of the above articles. Proler manufactured and sold the
goods at wholesale in Boston, Charleston, Cleveland, and various other
parts of the country. I kept the accounts, and attended to sales in the
store, wholesale and retail. For a while the business seemed to
prosper--at least till my capital was absorbed and notes for stock began
to fall due, with nothing to meet them, since we had sold our goods on
long credits. In January, 1840, I dissolved partnership with Proler, he
buying the entire interest for $2,600 on credit, and then running away
to Rotterdam without paying his note, and leaving me nothing but a few
recipes. Proler was a good-looking, plausible, promising--scamp.
During my connection with Proler, I became acquainted with a remarkable
young dancer named John Diamond. He was one of the first and best of the
numerous negro and “break-down” dancers who have since surprised and
amused the public, and I entered into an engagement with his father for
his services, putting Diamond in the hands of an agent, as I did not
wish to appear in the transaction. In the spring of 1840, I hired and
opened the Vauxhall Garden saloon, in New York, and gave a variety of
performances, including singing, dancing, Yankee stories, etc. In this
saloon Miss Mary Taylor, afterwards so celebrated as an actress and
singer, made her first appearance on the stage. The enterprise, however,
did not meet my expectation and I relinquished it in August.
What was to be done next? I dreaded resuming the life of an itinerant
showman, but funds were low, I had a family to care for, and as nothing
better presented I made up my mind to endure the vexations and
uncertainties of a tour in the West and South. I collected a company,
consisting of Mr. C. D. Jenkins, an excellent singer and delineator of
Yankee and other characters; Master John Diamond, the dancer; Francis
Lynch, an orphan vagabond, fourteen years old, whom I picked up at Troy,
and a fiddler. My brother-in-law, Mr. John Hallett, preceded us as agent
and advertiser, and our route passed through Buffalo, Toronto, Detroit,
Chicago, Ottawa, Springfield, the intermediate places, and St. Louis,
where I took the steamboat for New Orleans with a company reduced by
desertions to Master Diamond and the fiddler.
Arriving in New Orleans, January 2, 1841, I had but $100 in my purse,
and I had started from New York four months before with quite as much in
my pocket. Excepting some small remittances to my family I had made
nothing more than current expenses; and, when I had been in New Orleans
a fortnight, funds were so low that I was obliged to pledge my watch as
security for my board bill. But on the 16th, I received from the St.
Charles Theatre $500 as my half share of Diamond’s benefit; the next
night I had $50; and the third night $479 was my share of the proceeds
of a grand dancing match at the theatre between Diamond and a negro
dancer from Kentucky. Subsequent engagements at Vicksburg and Jackson
were not so successful, but returning to New Orleans we again succeeded
admirably and afterwards at Mobile. Diamond, however, after extorting
considerable sums of money from me, finally ran away, and, March 12th, I
started homeward by way of the Mississippi and the Ohio.
While I was in New Orleans I made the acquaintance of that genial man,
Tyrone Power, who was just concluding an engagement at the St. Charles
Theatre. In bidding me farewell, he wished me every success and hoped we
should meet again. Alas, poor Power! All the world knows how he set sail
from our shores, and he and his ship were never seen again. Fanny
Ellsler was also in New Orleans, and when I saw seats in the dress
circle sold at an average of four dollars and one-half, I gave her
agent, Chevalier Henry Wyckoff, great credit for exciting public
enthusiasm to the highest pitch and I thought the prices enormous. I did
not dream then that, within twelve years, I should be selling tickets in
the same city for full five times that sum.
At Pittsburg, where I arrived March 30th, I learned that Jenkins, who
had enticed Francis Lynch away from me at St. Louis, was exhibiting him
at the Museum under the name of “Master Diamond,” and visiting the
performance, the next day I wrote Jenkins an ironical review for which
he threatened suit and he actually instigated R. W. Lindsay, from whom I
hired Joice Heth in Philadelphia in 1835, and whom I had not seen since,
though he was then residing in Pittsburg, to sue me for a pipe of brandy
which, it was pretended, was promised in addition to the money paid him.
I was required to give bonds of $500, which, as I was among strangers, I
could not immediately procure, and I was accordingly thrown into jail
till four o’clock in the afternoon, when I was liberated. The next day I
caused the arrest of Jenkins for trespass in assuming Master Diamond’s
name and reputation for Master Lynch, and he was sent to jail till four
o’clock in the afternoon. Each having had his turn at this amusement, we
adjourned our controversy to New York where I beat him. As for Lindsay,
I heard nothing more of his claim or him till twelve years afterwards
when he called on me in Boston with an apology. He was very poor and I
was highly prosperous, and I may add that Lindsay did not lack a friend.
I arrived in New York, April 23rd, 1841, after an absence of eight
months; finding my family in good health, I resolved once more that I
would never again be an itinerant showman. Three days afterwards I
contracted with Robert Sears, the publisher, for five hundred copies of
“Sears’ Pictorial Illustrations of the Bible,” at $500, and accepting
the United States agency, I opened an office, May 10th, at the corner of
Beekman and Nassau Streets, the site of the present Nassau Bank. I had
had a limited experience with that book in this way: When I was in
Pittsburg, an acquaintance, Mr. C. D. Harker, was complaining that he
had nothing to do, when I picked up a New York paper and saw the
advertisement of “Sears’s Pictorial Illustrations of the Bible, price $2
a copy.” Mr. Harker thought he could get subscribers, and I bought him a
specimen copy, agreeing to furnish him with as many as he wanted at
$1.37½ a copy, though I had never before seen the work and did not know
the wholesale price. The result was that he obtained eighty subscribers
in two days, and made $50. My own venture in the work was not so
successful; I advertised largely, had plenty of agents, and, in six
months, sold thousands of copies; but irresponsible agents used up all
my profits and my capital.
While engaged in this business I once more leased Vauxhall saloon,
opening it June 14th, 1841, employing Mr. John Hallett, my
brother-in-law, as manager under my direction, and at the close of the
season, September 25th, we had cleared about two hundred dollars. This
sum was soon exhausted, and with my family on my hands and no employment
I was glad to do anything that would keep the wolf from the door. I
wrote advertisements and notices for the Bowery Amphitheatre, receiving
for the service four dollars a week, which I was very glad to get, and I
also wrote articles for the Sunday papers, deriving a fair remuneration
and managing to get a living. But I was at the bottom round of fortune’s
ladder, and it was necessary to make an effort which would raise me
above want.
I was specially stimulated to this effort by a letter which I received,
about this time, from my esteemed friend, Hon. Thomas T. Whittlesey, of
Danbury. He held a mortgage of five hundred dollars on a piece of
property I owned in that place, and, as he was convinced that I would
never lay up anything, he wrote me that I might as well pay him then as
ever. This letter made me resolve to live no longer from hand to mouth,
but to concentrate my energies upon laying up something for the future.
While I was forming this practical determination I was much nearer to
its realization than my most sanguine hopes could have predicted. The
road to fortune was close by. Without suspecting it, I was about to
enter upon an enterprise, which, while giving full scope for whatever
tact, industry and pluck I might possess, was to take me from the foot
of the ladder and place me many rounds above.
As outside clerk for the Bowery Amphitheatre I had casually learned that
the collection of curiosities comprising Scudder’s American Museum, at
the corner of Broadway and Ann Street, was for sale. It belonged to the
daughters of Mr. Scudder, and was conducted for their benefit by John
Furzman, under the authority of Mr. John Heath, administrator. The price
asked for the entire collection was fifteen thousand dollars. It had
cost its founder, Mr. Scudder, probably fifty thousand dollars, and from
the profits of the establishment he had been able to leave a large
competency to his children. The Museum, however, had been for several
years a losing concern, and the heirs were anxious to sell it. Looking
at this property, I thought I saw that energy, tact and liberality, were
only needed to make it a paying institution, and I determined to
purchase it if possible.
“You buy the American Museum!” said a friend, who knew the state of my
funds, “what do you intend buying it with?”
“Brass,” I replied, “for silver and gold have I none.”
The Museum building belonged to Mr. Francis W. Olmsted, a retired
merchant, to whom I wrote stating my desire to buy the collection, and
that although I had no means, if it could, be purchased upon reasonable
credit, I was confident that my tact and experience, added to a
determined devotion to business, would enable me to make the payments
when due. I therefore asked him to purchase the collection in his own
name; to give me a writing securing it to me provided I made the
payments punctually, including the rent of his building; to allow me
twelve dollars and a half a week on which to support my family; and if
at any time I failed to meet the instalment due, I would vacate the
premises and forfeit all that might have been paid to that date. “In
fact, Mr. Olmsted,” I continued in my earnestness, “you may bind me in
any way, and as tightly as you please--only give me a chance to dig out,
or scratch out, and I will do so or forfeit all the labor and trouble I
may have incurred.”
In reply to this letter, which I took to his house myself, he named an
hour when I could call on him, and as I was there at the exact moment,
he expressed himself pleased with my punctuality. He inquired closely as
to my habits and antecedents, and I frankly narrated my experiences as a
caterer for the public, mentioning my amusement ventures in Vauxhall
Garden, the circus, and in the exhibitions I had managed at the South
and West.
“Who are your references?” he inquired.
“Any man in my line,” I replied, “from Edmund Simpson, manager of the
Park Theatre, or William Niblo, to Messrs. Welch, June, Titus, Turner,
Angevine, or other circus or menagerie proprietors; also Moses Y. Beach,
of the New York _Sun_.
“Can you get any of them to call on me?” he continued.
I told him that I could, and the next day my friend Niblo rode down and
had an interview with Mr. Olmsted, while Mr. Beach and several other
gentlemen also called, and the following morning I waited upon him for
his decision.
“I don’t like your references, Mr. Barnum,” said Mr. Olmsted, abruptly,
as soon as I entered the room.
I was confused, and said “I regretted to hear it.”
“They all speak too well of you,” he added, laughing; “in fact they all
talk as if they were partners of yours, and intended to share the
profits.”
Nothing could have pleased me better. He then asked me what security I
could offer in case he concluded to make the purchase for me, and it was
finally agreed that, if he should do so, he should retain the property
till it was entirely paid for, and should also appoint a ticket-taker
and accountant (at my expense), who should render him a weekly
statement. I was further to take an apartment hitherto used as a
billiard room in an adjoining building, allowing therefor, $500 a year,
making a total rent of $3,000 per annum, on a lease of ten years. He
then told me to see the administrator and heirs of the estate, to get
their best terms, and to meet him on his return to town a week from that
time.
I at once saw Mr. John Heath, the administrator, and his price was
$15,000. I offered $10,000, payable in seven annual instalments, with
good security. After several interviews, it was finally agreed that I
should have it for $12,000, payable as above--possession to be given on
the 15th November. Mr. Olmsted assented to this, and a morning was
appointed to draw and sign the writings. Mr. Heath appeared, but said he
must decline proceeding any farther in my case, as he had sold the
collection to the directors of Peale’s Museum (an incorporated
institution), for $15,000, and had received $1,000 in advance.
I was shocked, and appealed to Mr. Heath’s honor. He said that he had
signed no writing with me; was in no way legally bound, and that it was
his duty to do the best he could for the heirs. Mr. Olmsted was sorry,
but could not help me; the new tenants would not require him to incur
any risk, and my matter was at an end.
Of course, I immediately informed myself as to the character of Peale’s
Museum company. It proved to be a band of speculators who had bought
Peale’s collection for a few thousand dollars, expecting to join the
American Museum with it, issue and sell stock to the amount of $50,000,
pocket $30,000 profits, and permit the stockholders to look out for
themselves.
I went immediately to several of the editors, including Major M. M.
Noah, M. Y. Beach, my good friends West, Herrick and Ropes, of the
_Atlas_, and others, and stated my grievances. “Now,” said I, “if you
will grant me the use of your columns, I’ll blow that speculation
sky-high.” They all consented, and I wrote a large number of squibs,
cautioning the public against buying the Museum stock, ridiculing the
idea of a board of broken-down bank directors engaging in the exhibition
of stuffed monkey and gander skins; appealing to the case of the
Zoölogical Institute, which had failed by adopting such a plan as the
one now proposed; and finally I told the public that such a speculation
would be infinitely more ridiculous than Dickens’s “Grand United
Metropolitan Hot Muffin and Crumpet-baking and Punctual Delivery
Company.”
The stock was as “dead as a herring!” I then went to Mr. Heath and asked
him when the directors were to pay the other $14,000. “On the 26th day
of December, or forfeit the $1,000 already paid,” was the reply. I
assured him that they would never pay it, that they could not raise it,
and that he would ultimately find himself with the Museum collection on
his hands, and if once I started off with an exhibition for the South, I
would not touch the Museum at _any_ price. “Now,” said I, “if you will
agree with me confidentially, that in case these gentlemen do not pay
you on the 26th of December, I may have it on the 27th for $12,000, I
will run the risk, and wait in this city until that date.” He readily
agreed to the proposition, but said he was sure they would not forfeit
their $1,000.
“Very well,” said I; “all I ask of you is, that this arrangement shall
not be mentioned.” He assented. “On the 27th day of December, at ten
o’clock A. M., I wish you to meet me in Mr. Olmsted’s apartments,
prepared to sign the writings, provided this incorporated company do not
pay you $14,000 on the 26th.” He agreed to this, and by my request put
it in writing.
From that moment I felt that the Museum was mine. I saw Mr. Olmsted, and
told him so. He promised secrecy, and agreed to sign the documents if
the other parties did not meet their engagement.
This was about November 15th, and I continued my shower of newspaper
squibs at the new company, which could not sell a dollar’s worth of its
stock. Meanwhile, if any one spoke to me about the Museum, I simply
replied that I had lost it.