REST, BUT NOT RUST.
SALE OF THE MUSEUM COLLECTION--SUPPLEMENTARY PROCEEDINGS OF MY
CREDITORS--EXAMINATIONS IN COURT--BARNUM AS A BAR
TENDER--PERSECUTION--THE SUMMER SEASON ON LONG ISLAND--THE MUSEUM
MAN ON SHOW--CHARLES HOWELL--A GREAT NATURAL CURIOSITY--VALUE OF A
HONK--PROPOSING TO BUY IT--A BLACK WHALE PAYS MY SUMMER’S BOARD--A
TURN IN THE TIDE--THE WHEELER AND WILSON SEWING MACHINE
COMPANY--THEIR REMOVAL TO EAST BRIDGEPORT--THE TERRY AND BARNUM
CLOCK FACTORY OCCUPIED--NEW CITY PROPERTY LOOKING UP--A LOAN OF
$5,000--THE CAUSE OF MY RUIN PROMISES TO BE MY REDEMPTION--SETTING
SAIL FOR ENGLAND--GENERAL TOM THUMB--LITTLE CORDELIA HOWARD.
In the summer of 1855, previous to my financial troubles, feeling that I
was independent and could retire from active business, I sold the
American Museum collection and good will to Messrs. John Greenwood,
Junior, and Henry D. Butler. They paid me double the amount the
collection had originally cost, giving me notes for nearly the entire
amount secured by a chattel mortgage, and hired the premises from my
wife, who owned the Museum property lease, and on which, by the
agreement of Messrs. Greenwood and Butler, she realized a profit of
$19,000 a year. The chattel mortgage of Messrs. Greenwood and Butler,
was, of course, turned over to the New York assignee with the other
property.
And now there came to me a new sensation which was at times terribly
depressing and annoying. My wides-pread reputation for shrewdness as a
showman had induced the general belief that my means were still ample,
and certain outside creditors who had bought my clock notes at a
tremendous discount and entirely on speculation, made up their minds
that they must be paid at once without waiting for the slow process of
the sale of my property by the assignees.
They therefore took what are termed “supplementary proceedings,” which
enabled them to haul me any day before a judge for the purpose, as they
phrased it, of “putting Barnum through a course of sprouts,” and which
meant an examination of the debtor under oath, compelling him to
disclose everything with regard to his property, his present means of
living, and so on.
I repeatedly answered all questions on these points; and reports of the
daily examinations were published. Still another and another, and yet
another creditor would haul me up; and his attorney would ask me the
same questions which had already been answered and published half a
dozen times. This persistent and unnecessary annoyance created
considerable sympathy for me, which was not only expressed by letters I
received daily from various parts of the country, but the public press,
with now and then an exception, took my part, and even the Judges,
before whom I appeared, said to me on more than one occasion, that as
men they sincerely pitied me, but as judges of course they must
administer the law. After a while, however, the judges ruled that I need
not answer any question propounded to me by an attorney, if I had
already answered the same question to some other attorney in a previous
examination in behalf of other creditors. In fact, one of the judges, on
one occasion, said pretty sharply to an examining attorney:
“This, sir, has become simply a case of persecution. Mr. Barnum has many
times answered every question that can properly be put to him to elicit
the desired information; and I think it is time to stop these
examinations. I advise him to not answer one interrogatory which he has
replied to under any previous inquiries.”
These things gave me some heart, so that at last, I went up to the
“sprouts” with less reluctance, and began to try to pay off my
persecutors in their own coin.
On one occasion, a dwarfish little lawyer, who reminded me of “Quilp,”
commenced his examination in behalf of a note-shaver who held a thousand
dollar note, which it seemed he had bought for seven hundred dollars.
After the oath had been administered the little “limb of the law”
arranged his pen, ink and paper, and in a loud voice, and with a most
peremptory and supercilious air, asked:
“What is your name, sir?”
I answered him, and his next question, given in a louder and more
peremptory tone, was:
“What is your business?”
“Attending bar,” I meekly replied.
“Attending bar!” he echoed, with an appearance of much surprise;
“Attending bar! Why, don’t you profess to be a temperance man--a
teetotaler?”
“I do,” I replied.
“And yet, sir, do you have the audacity to assert that you peddle rum
all day, and drink none yourself?”
“I doubt whether that is a relevant question,” I said in a low tone of
voice.
“I will appeal to his honor the judge, if you don’t answer it
instantly,” said Quilp in great glee.
“I attend bar, and yet never drink intoxicating liquors,” I replied.
“Where do you attend bar, and for whom?” was the next question.
“I attend the bar of this court, nearly every day, for the benefit of
two-penny, would-be lawyers and their greedy clients,” I answered.
A loud tittering in the vicinity only added to the vexation which was
already visible on the countenance of my interrogator, and he soon
brought his examination to a close.
On another occasion, a young lawyer was pushing his inquiries to a great
length, when, in a half laughing, apologetic tone, he said:
“You see, Mr. Barnum, I am searching after the small things; I am
willing to take even the crumbs which fall from the rich man’s table!”
“Which are you, Lazarus, or one of the dogs?” I asked.
“I guess a blood-hound would not smell out much on this trail,” he said
good-naturedly, adding that he had no more questions to ask.
I still continued to receive many offers of pecuniary assistance, which,
whenever proposed in the form of a gift, I invariably refused. In a
number of instances, personal friends tendered me their checks for $500,
$1,000, and other sums, but I always responded in substance: “Oh, no, I
thank you; I do not need it; my wife has considerable property, besides
a large income from her Museum lease. I want for nothing; I do not owe a
dollar for personal obligations that is not already secured, and when
the clock creditors have fully investigated and thought over the matter,
I think they will be content to divide my property among themselves and
let me up.”
Just after my failure, and on account of the ill-health of my wife, I
spent a portion of the summer with my family in the farmhouse of Mr.
Charles Howell, at Westhampton, on Long Island. The place is a mile west
of Quogue, and was then called “Ketchebonneck.” The thrifty and
intelligent farmers of the neighborhood were in the habit of taking
summer boarders, and the place had become a favorite resort. Mr.
Howell’s farm lay close upon the ocean and I found the residence a cool
and delightful one. Surf bathing, fishing, shooting and fine roads for
driving made the season pass pleasantly and the respite from active life
and immediate annoyance from my financial troubles was a very great
benefit to me.
Our landlord was an eccentric character, who took great pleasure in
showing me to his friends and neighbors as “the Museum man,” and
consequently, as a great curiosity; for in his estimation, the American
Museum was chief among the institutions of New York. He was in a habit
of gathering shells and such rarities as came within his reach, which he
took to the city and disposed of at the Museum. He often spoke of
certain phenomena in his neighborhood, which he thought would take well
with the public, if they were properly brought out. One day he said:
“Mr. Barnum, I am going to Moriches this morning, and I want you to go
along with me and see a great curiosity there is there.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“It is a man who has got a natural ‘honk’” replied Howell, “and it is
worth fifty dollars a year to him.”
“A what?” I inquired.
“A honk! a honk! a perfectly natural honk! he makes fifty dollars a year
out of it,” Howell reiterated.
I could not comprehend what a “honk” was, but concluded that if it was
worth fifty dollars a year among the Long Island fishermen and farmers
who could hardly be expected to pay much for mere sight-seeing, it would
be much more valuable to exhibit in the Museum. So I remarked that as I
was authorized by Messrs. Greenwood and Butler to purchase curiosities
for them, I would go with him and buy the honk from its possessor if I
could get it at a reasonable price.
“Buy it!” exclaimed Howell; “I guess you can’t buy it! You don’t seem to
understand me; the man has got a natural honk, I tell you; that is, he
honks exactly like a wild goose; when flocks are flying over he goes out
and honks and the geese, supposing that some goose has settled and is
honking for the rest of the flock to come down and feed, all fly towards
the ground and he ‘lets into ’em’ with his gun, thus killing a great
many, and in this way his honk is worth fifty dollars a year to him, and
perhaps more.”
I decided not to attempt to buy the “honk,” but my eagerness to do so
and my entire ignorance of the character of the curiosity furnished food
for laughter to Howell and his neighbors for a long time.
One morning we discovered that the waves had thrown upon the beach a
young black whale some twelve feet long. It was dead, but the fish was
hard and fresh and I bought it for a few dollars from the men who had
taken possession of it. I sent it at once to the Museum, where it was
exhibited in a huge refrigerator for a few days, creating considerable
excitement, the general public considering it “a big thing on ice,” and
the managers gave me a share of the profits, which amounted to a
sufficient sum to pay the entire board bill of my family for the season.
This incident both amused and amazed my Long Island landlord. “Well, I
declare,” said he, “that beats all; you are the luckiest man I ever
heard of. Here you come and board for four months with your family, and
when your time is nearly up, and you are getting ready to leave, out
rolls a black whale on our beach, a thing never heard of before in this
vicinity, and you take that whale and pay your whole bill with it! I
wonder if that ain’t ‘providential’? Why, that beats the ‘natural honk’
all to pieces!” This was followed by such a laugh as only Charles Howell
could give, and like one of his peculiar sneezes, it resounded, echoed,
and re-echoed through the whole neighborhood.
Soon after my return to New York, something occurred which I foresaw, I
thought, at the time, was likely indirectly to lead me out of the
wilderness into a clear field again, and, indeed, it eventually did so.
Strange to say, my new city which had been my ruin was to be my
redemption, and dear East Bridgeport which plunged me into the slough
was to bring me out again. “Dear” as the place had literally proved to
me, it was to be yet dearer, in another and better sense, hereafter.
The now gigantic Wheeler & Wilson Sewing Machine Company was then doing
a comparatively small, yet rapidly growing business at Watertown,
Connecticut. The Terry & Barnum clock factory was standing idle, almost
worthless, in East Bridgeport, and Wheeler & Wilson saw in the empty
building, the situation, the ease of communication with New York, and
other advantages, precisely what they wanted, provided they could
procure the premises at a rate which would compensate them for the
expense and trouble of removing their establishment from Watertown. It
is enough to say here, that the clock factory was sold for a trifle and
the Wheeler & Wilson Company moved into it and speedily enlarged it. I
felt then that this was providential; the fact that the empty building
could be cheaply purchased was the main motive for the removal of this
Watertown enterprise to East Bridgeport, and was one of the first
indications that my failure might prove a “blessing in disguise.” It was
a fresh impulse towards the building up of the new city and the
consequent increase of the value of the land belonging to my estate.
Many persons did not see these things in the same light in which they
were presented to me, but I had so long pondered upon the various means
which were to make the new city prosperous, that I was quick to catch
any indication which promised benefit to East Bridgeport.
This important movement of the Wheeler and Wilson Company gave me the
greatest hope, and moreover, Mr. Wheeler kindly offered me a loan of
$5,000, without security, and as I was anxious to have it used in
purchasing the East Bridgeport property, when sold at public auction by
my assignees, and also in taking up such clock notes as could be bought
at a reasonable percentage, I accepted the offer and borrowed the
$5,000. This sum, with many thousand dollars more belonging to my wife,
was devoted to these purposes.
It seemed as if I had now got hold of the thread which would eventually
lead me out of the labyrinth of financial difficulty in which the Jerome
entanglement had involved me. Though the new plan promised relief, and
actually did succeed, even beyond my most sanguine expectations,
eventually putting more money into my pocket than the Jerome
complication had taken out--yet I also foresaw that the process would
necessarily be very slow. In fact, two years afterwards I had made very
little progress. But I concluded to let the new venture work out itself
and it would go on as well without my personal presence and attention,
perhaps even better. Growing trees, money at interest, and rapidly
rising real estate, work for their owners all night as well as all day,
Sundays included, and when the proprietors are asleep or away, and with
the design of coöperating in the new accumulation and of saving
something to add to the amount, I made up my mind to go to Europe again.
I was anxious for a change of scene and for active employment, and
equally desirous of getting away from the immediate pressure of troubles
which no effort on my part could then remove. While my affairs were
working out themselves in their own way and in the speediest manner
possible, I might be doing something for myself and for my family.
Accordingly, leaving all my business affairs at home in the hands of my
friends, early in 1857 I set sail once more for England, taking with me
General Tom Thumb, and also little Cordelia Howard and her parents. This
young girl had attained an extended reputation for her artistic
personation of “Little Eva,” in the play of “Uncle Tom,” and she
displayed a precocious talent in her rendering of other juvenile
characters. With these attractions, and with what else I might be able
to do myself, I determined to make as much money as I could, intending
to remit the same to my wife’s friends, for the purpose of repurchasing
a portion of my estate, when it was offered at auction, and of redeeming
such of the clock notes as could be obtained at reasonable rates.