Chapter LIII: Appendix: Rest Only Found in Action (1)

A NEW EXPERIENCE--“DOING NOTHING” A FAILURE--EXCITEMENT
DEMANDED-VISIT OF ENGLISH FRIENDS--I SHOW THEM OUR COUNTRY--NIAGARA
FALLS--WE VISIT CUBA--NEW ORLEANS--MAMMOTH
CAVE--WASHINGTON--“CASTLE THUNDER”--TRIP TO CALIFORNIA--SALT LAKE
CITY--I OFFER BRIGHAM YOUNG TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS TO “SHOW”
HIM “DOWN EAST”--AM “INTERVIEWED” AT SACRAMENTO AND SAN
FRANCISCO--THE CHINESE--SEA LIONS--THE GEYSERS--MARIPOSA--THE BIG
TREES--INSPIRATION POINT--YOSEMITE VALLEY--THE REMARKABLE TOWN OF
GREELEY, IN COLORADO--QUEBEC--SAGINAW RIVER--SARATOGA--ALICE
CARY--WILD BUFFALO HUNT IN KANSAS--MY GREAT TRAVELLING SHOW--THE
WINTER EXHIBITION IN NEW YORK--THE EMPIRE RINK--SUCCESS OF THE
SHOW--OPINIONS OF THE PRESS--CURIOSITIES FROM CALIFORNIA--MY
IMITATORS--ATTEMPTS TO DECEIVE AND SWINDLE THE PUBLIC.

Every one knows the story of the Emperor Charles the Fifth. His ambition gratified to satiety in the conquest of kingdoms, and the firm establishment of his empire, he craved rest. He abdicated his throne, “retired from business,” content to live on his laurels in the peaceful shades of the Cloister at Yustee. The tradition is that here he forgot the world without, withdrew in thought as in person from the cares and turmoils of state, and found rest and cheerfulness by alternating his devotions with the tinkering of clocks. Perhaps every one is not so familiar with the somewhat recent correction by Mr. Stirling of this romantic story. In fact, the Emperor was never so restless as when he was taking rest; was never so full of the perplexities of empire as when, in “due form,” he had shaken them off. In the Cloister he was the same man that he was in the Camp and the Court, and when he sought to repress his energies, they simply tormented him.

Not denying that my egotism is equal to a good deal, I must beg my readers not to suppose that I assume for my own history a very extended similarity to that of the greatest monarch of his time. In fact, the points of difference are quite as striking as those of resemblance. It is true, we both tried the “clock business;” but I must claim that my tinkering in that way throws that of the Emperor entirely in the shade. I was not, however, fool enough to go into a cloister. Let not an illustration any more than a parable “run on all fours.” But I want a royal illustration; and the history of Charles the Fifth, in the particular of abdicating for rest, I find very pertinent to my own experience. I took a formal, and as I then supposed, a last adieu of my readers on my fifty-ninth birth-day. I was, as I had flattered myself, through with travel, with adventure, and with business, save so far as the care of my competence would require my attention. My book closed without a suspicion that in any subsequent edition “more of the same sort” would make possible an ADDITIONAL CHAPTER. It is with a sense of surprise, and withal a feeling akin to the ludicrous, that in this new edition, I cannot bring my career up to my sixty-second year, without filling a few more pages, in their contents not unlike in kind to those which make the bulk of my book.

As stated on page 768, my final retirement from the managerial profession closed with the destruction of my Museum by fire, March 3, 1868. But when I wrote that sentence I had not learned by a three years’ cessation of business, how utterly fruitless it is to attempt to chain down energies which are peculiar to my nature. No man not similarly situated can imagine the _ennui_ which seizes such a nature after it has lain dormant for a few months. Having “nothing to do,” I thought at first was a very pleasant, as it was to me an entirely new sensation.

“I would like to call on you in the summer, if you have any leisure, in Bridgeport,” said an old friend.

“I am a man of leisure and thankful that I have nothing to do; so you cannot call amiss,” I replied with an immense degree of self-satisfaction.

“Where is your office down-town when you live in New York?” asked another friend.

“I have no office,” I proudly replied. “I have done work enough, and shall play the rest of my life. I don’t go down-town once a week; but I ride in the Park every day, and am at home much of my time.”

I am afraid that I chuckled often, when I saw rich merchants and bankers driving to their offices on a stormy morning, while I, looking complacently from the window of my cozy library, said to myself, “Let it snow and blow, there’s nothing to call _me_ out to-day.” But Nature _will_ assert herself. Reading is pleasant as a pastime; writing without any special purpose soon tires; a game of chess will answer as a condiment; lectures, concerts, operas, and dinner parties are well enough in their way; but to a robust, healthy man of forty years’ active _business_ life, something else is needed to satisfy. Sometimes like the truant school-boy I found all my friends engaged, and I had no play-mate. I began to fill my house with visitors, and yet frequently we spent evenings quite alone. Without really perceiving what the matter was, time hung on my hands, and I was ready to lecture gratuitously for every charitable cause that I could benefit.

Then I, who had travelled so many years, that almost all cities seemed to me as the same old brick and mortar, began now to think I would like to travel. In the autumn of 1869, after my family had moved for the winter from Bridgeport to our New York residence, an English friend came with his eldest daughter to America especially to visit me. This friend was Mr. John Fish, and he is an old friend of the reader also, for he is the enterprising cotton-mill proprietor, of Bury, England, fully described in chapter xxxii of this book, in which he is mentioned as “Mr. Wilson.” When I was writing that chapter, I had no authority to append his real name to the faithful photograph of the man; but Mr. Fish gives me his consent to use it now. I need not say how pleased I was to see my friend, and how happy I was to show a representative Englishman whatever was worth seeing in the metropolis and elsewhere in the United States.

After enjoying the Christmas and New Year’s festivities in New York; taking numerous drives in our beautiful Central Park, including several sleigh-rides, which, to them, were real novelties; going the rounds of the metropolitan amusements; and “doing” the city in general and in detail, my English friends wanted to see more of the “New World,” and I was just in the humor to act as the exhibitor. In fact, I now resumed my old business of systematically organizing an extensive travelling expedition, and, almost unconsciously, became a showman of “natural curiosities” on a most magnificent scale.

We first went to Niagara Falls, going by the Hudson River and Central Railroads; and returned by way of the Erie. I saw these scenes through the eyes of my English friends, and took a special pleasure in witnessing their surprise and delight. As they extolled the beautiful Hudson, that stream looked lovelier than ever; the Catskill Mountains were higher to me than ever before; for the same reason Albany, Syracuse, and Rochester were more lively than usual; the mammoth International Hotel at Niagara Falls looked capacious enough to bag the entire islands of Great Britain; and the immense Cataract seemed large enough to drown all the inhabitants thereof. The Palace cars of the Erie Railroad astonished my friends and gave me great satisfaction. The contagion of their enthusiasm opened my eyes to marvels in spectacles which I had long dismissed as commonplace.

They wanted to go to Cuba. I had been there twice; yet I readily agreed to accompany them. We took steamer from New York in January, 1870. We had a smooth, pleasant voyage, and did not even know when we passed Cape Hatteras. In three days we had doffed all winter clothing and arrayed ourselves in white linen. Three weeks were most truly enjoyed among the novel scenes of Havana and the peculiar attractions of Mantanzas,--including a visit to the new and beautiful Cave a few miles from that city. We made a charming visit to a coffee plantation and orange orchard; another to a sugar plantation, where my English friends, as well as myself, were shocked to see the negro slaves, male and female, boys and girls, cutting and carrying the sugar cane under the lash of the mounted, booted, and spurred Spanish overseer.

But riding in our charming volantes from that plantation to the exceedingly beautiful valley of the Yumurri caused us almost to forget the sad scene we had witnessed. We all agreed as we stood on the east side of this almost celestial valley and witnessed the sun dropping behind the hill, on whose summit the royal palms were holding up their beautiful plumes, that the valley below, interspersed with its cottages and streamlets, and its rich tropical trees, shrubs and flowers, was a scene of surpassing loveliness; and I was not surprised to see the tears of joy and gratitude roll down the cheeks of the young English lady. I enjoyed the scene hugely; but as one evidence that this pleasure was derived from the enjoyment it afforded my trans-Atlantic friends, I will say that when I was in Cuba with Jenny Lind in 1851, I witnessed the same scene without emotion, so absorbed was I in business at that time. And this is a fitting opportunity for saying that in order to enjoy travelling, and indeed almost anything else, it is of the very first importance that it be done without care and with congenial companions.

We feasted upon oranges, pine apples, bananas, and other tropical fruits, and enjoyed the warm, mild days. The enjoyment was no doubt enhanced or at least better appreciated, by our reading of the freezing condition of our New York friends. The quaint buildings, and the novel manners and customs of a nation speaking a different language from our own, of course are interesting for a short time.

We went to New Orleans by steamer. We stopped a few days at the St. Charles Hotel; “did” the city; and then took passage for Memphis on a steamer which was so capacious and commodious that my English friends declared that people at “home” would scarce believe it was a steamer. A few days sail up the broad Mississippi was a real treat. The conversations which my English friend held with the Southern planters, and their manumitted slaves, caused him to somewhat change his opinions in regard to the merits of our late civil war.

From Memphis we went by rail to the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky; thence to Louisville, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Harrisburgh, Baltimore and Washington. A few days’ sojourn at the best hotel in the world, “The Arlington,” a visit to all the attractions in and around our national Capital including attendance at Mrs. President Grant’s levee and a talk with the President, and with numerous Senators and Members of Congress, terminated our visit. We then proceeded to Richmond; for my friend Fish had a great desire to see the Confederate Capital, and especially Libby Prison, and “Castle Thunder.” He was almost indignant when he discovered that the latter institution was a tobacco warehouse, instead of being a great castellated fortress, such as his imagination had pictured it. From Richmond we visited Baltimore and Philadelphia, and returned to New York.

In April we made up a small, congenial party of ladies and gentlemen, and visited California _via_ the Union and Central Pacific Railroads. And here let me say that this trip is one of the most delightful I ever made. The Pullman Palace Cars are so convenient and comfortable that ladies and gentlemen can make the trip to California, a distance of 3,000 miles, with no more real fatigue than they will experience in their own drawing rooms. They can dress in _dishabille_, read, lounge, write, converse, play a social game, sleep, or do what they choose, while a great portion of the route affords a constant succession of novel and delightful scenes, to be witnessed nowhere else on the face of the earth. I say emphatically, that for every person who can afford it, the trip to California is one that ought by all means to be made. Like a thing of beauty it will prove “a joy forever.”

When our party arrived at San Francisco, they all agreed in saying that if they were compelled to return home the next day, they should feel that they were well paid for their journey. In view of the strange and interesting scenes we witnessed in Salt Lake City,--a place in many respects unlike any other in the world; and in fresh remembrance of the wild, bold, rocky mountain scenery, the vast plains, the wild antelope, buffalo, and wolves, the mining districts, the curious snow sheds, and many other scenes and peculiar things brought to our notice,--I think my friends were right in their conclusions.

We took our journey leisurely. I lectured in Council Bluffs, in Omaha, and in Salt Lake City. We stopped several days in this celebrated Mormon city; and as I wished without prejudice to examine into the habits, customs, and opinions of the Mormons, we put up at the Townsend House--a very excellent hotel kept by Mr. Townsend, a New England Mormon with three or more wives. One of the principal Mormons, an Alderman and an Apostle, had visited me in New York. He devoted his time to our party for several successive days; and through his courtesy and influence we were furnished facilities for obtaining information that not one stranger in a thousand ever enjoys. We not only visited the Tabernacle and all the institutions, civil and religious, but were introduced into the families of several of the dignitaries. In turn, we were visited at our hotel by all the principal church officers. Without stopping to discuss their great error--a plurality of wives,--I must say that all of our party agreed that the Mormons of Salt Lake City were an industrious, quiet, seemingly conscientious, peaceable, God-fearing people. A serious defection has taken place in their church. The portion called the “Liberals” have renounced polygamy for the future; and this example, together with their rejection of certain theological superstitions, is giving them great influence and respect. This branch of the Mormons is growing rapidly; and I have no doubt that their influence, aided by the great influx of Gentiles caused by the Pacific Railroad, will soon serve in exterminating the plurality wife system--unless, unhappily, fanatics and fools give this system renewed strength by recklessly persecuting its devotees to martyrdom.

I lectured in the Salt Lake Theatre--a large and commodious building belonging to the Mormons. A dozen or so of Brigham Young’s wives, and scores of his children, were among the audience. As I came out of the theatre one of the Apostles introduced me to five of his wives in succession! The Mormon wives whom I visited in company of their husbands, expressed themselves pleased with their positions; but I confess I doubt their sincerity on this point. All with whom our party conversed (and some of our ladies talked with these Mormon wives in secret), expressed their solemn conviction, that polygamy was the only true domestic system sanctioned by the Almighty, although they confessed they wished it was right for a man to have but one wife.

I was introduced by her father to a girl of seventeen, named Barnum. The old man was an original Mormon. He had moved from Illinois with Brigham Young and his disciples, when they were driven out and compelled to make that wonderful and fearful journey over the plains. The daughter was born in Salt Lake City, and of course knew nothing of any other religion. I asked her laughingly if she expected to have the fifth part of a man for her husband?

“I expect I shall. I believe it is right,” she replied.

My apostolic friend took me to Brigham Young’s house early in the morning. Mr. Young had gone to Ogden to accompany some Bishops whom he was sending abroad. I left my card with his Secretary, and said I would call at four o’clock. But before noon a servant from President Young brought a message for me to call on him at one o’clock. At the hour designated I called with my friends. Brigham Young was standing in front of one of his houses--the “Bee Hive,” in which was his reception room. He received us with a smile and invited us to enter. He was very sociable, asked us many questions, and promptly answered ours. Finally he said with a chuckle:

“Barnum, what will you give to exhibit me in New York and the Eastern cities?”

“Well, Mr. President,” I replied, “I’ll give you half the receipts, which I will guarantee shall be $200,000 per year, for I consider you the best show in America.”

“Why did you not secure me some years ago when I was of no consequence?” he continued.

“Because, you would not have ‘drawn’ at that time,” I answered.

Brigham smiled and said, “I would like right well to spend a few hours with you, if you could come when I am disengaged.” I thanked him, and told him I guessed I should enjoy it; but visitors were crowding into his reception room, and we withdrew.

I subsequently met him in the street driving his favorite pair of mules attached to a nice carriage. He raised his hat and bowed, which salutation I, of course, returned. I hope that Brigham’s declining years will prompt him to receive a new “revelation,” commanding a discontinuance of the wife plurality feature of the Mormon religion.

Arriving at Sacramento, where the train stopped for half an hour, I was “interviewed” for the first time in my life by a newspaper reporter. On the same evening, in the excellent Cosmopolitan Hotel, in San Francisco, I was again “interviewed” by the chief editor of a morning paper, accompanied by his reporter. By this time I had become accustomed to this business, and when the gentlemen informed me they wanted to interview me, I asked them to be seated, pulled up an extra chair, on which to rest my feet, and said:

“Go ahead, gentlemen; I am ready.”

Well, they did “go ahead,” asking me every conceivable question, on every conceivable subject. I felt jolly and “spread myself.” The consequence was, three columns of “Barnum Interviewed” appeared next morning with a “To be continued” at the bottom; and the succeeding morning appeared three columns more. This conspicuous advertisement prepared the way for a lecture I gave in Pratt’s large hall, which was well attended.

It took us a week to “do” San Francisco, with its suburbs, including Oakland, Woodward’s celebrated and beautiful Gardens, and “Seal Rock.” When I saw that small rocky island lying only ten rods off, covered with sea lions weighing from eight hundred to two thousand pounds, the “show fever” began to rise. I offered fifty thousand dollars to have ten of the large sea lions delivered to me alive in New York, so that I could fence in a bit of the East River near Jones’ Wood, and give such an exhibition to citizens and strangers in that city. I little thought at that time that I should subsequently expend half that sum in procuring these marine monsters and transport them through the country in huge water-tanks as a small item in a mammoth travelling show.

The Chinese quarters,--where were their shops, restaurants and laundries, their Joss House, and the Chinese Theatre,--gave us a new sensation, and were quite sufficient to quench a lingering desire I had long felt to visit China and Japan. The Chinese servants and laborers are diligent, peaceable, clean, and require no watching. When I remembered how many thousands of dollars I had paid to “eye servants” for not doing what I had hired them to do, I did not feel sorry that there was a prospect of the “Celestials” extending their travels to the Eastern States.

While I was in San Francisco, a German named Gabriel Kahn brought to me his little son--literally a little one, for he is a dwarf more diminutive in stature than General Tom Thumb was when I first found him. The parents of this liliputian were anxious that I should engage and exhibit him. Several showmen had made them very liberal offers, but they had set their hearts on having “Barnum” bring him out and present him to the public.

Of course I felt the compliment, but was inclined to say “no,” as I had given up the exhibition business and was a man of leisure. But the marvelous manikin was such a handsome, well-formed, intelligent little fellow, speaking fluently both English and German, and withal was so pert and so captivating, that I was induced to engage him for a term of years and gave him the soubriquet of “Admiral Dot.” Indeed he was but a “dot”--or as the New York _Evening Post_ put it, the small boy of the “period”--at any rate, in the matter of growth, at a very early age he came to a “full stop;” though further, in the matter of punctuation, he compels an “exclamation” on the part of all who see him, and occasions numerous “interrogations.”

I dressed the little fellow in the complete uniform of an Admiral, and invited the editors of the San Francisco journals and also a number of ladies and gentlemen to the parlors of the Cosmopolitan Hotel to visit him. All were astonished and delighted. The newspapers stated as “news” the facts, and gave interesting details with regard to Barnum’s “discovery” of this wonderful curiosity who had been living so long undiscovered under their very noses. It was the old story of Charles Stratton, (Tom Thumb,) of Bridgeport, over again, with a new liliputian and a new locality.

Meanwhile, I told the parents of the Admiral that personally I should not exhibit their son till I returned to New York; but advised them to give the San Franciscans the opportunity to see him during the remaining few weeks of my stay in the Golden State. My friend Woodward, of Woodward’s Gardens, engaged the Admiral for three weeks, duly advertising the curious discovery by Barnum of this valuable “nugget,” further stating that as he would depart for the East in three weeks the only opportunity for the San Francisco public to see him was then offered at the Gardens.

Immediately there was an immense _furore_--thousands of ladies and children, as well as men, daily thronged the Gardens, saw the little wonder, and purchased his _carte de visite_. During the short period he remained there, little “Dot,” as dots are apt to do, “made his mark,” pocketed more than a thousand dollars for himself, besides drawing more than twice that sum for Mr. Woodward. Moreover, the extended and enthusiastic notices of the entire San Francisco press gave the Admiral a prestige and start which would favorably introduce him wherever he might show himself throughout the United States. Thus originated the public exhibition of one of the handsomest, most accomplished, and most diminutive dwarfs of whom there is any history, and the fame of the little Admiral already is rapidly spreading all over the world.

Speaking of dwarfs, it may be mentioned here, that notwithstanding my announced retirement from public life I still retained business connections with my old friend, the well-known General Tom Thumb. In 1869, I joined that celebrated dwarf in a fresh enterprise which proposed an exhibition tour of him and a party of twelve, with a complete outfit, including a pair of ponies and a carriage, entirely around the world.

This party was made up of General Tom Thumb and his wife (formerly Lavinia Warren), Commodore Nutt and his brother Rodnia, Miss Minnie Warren, Mr. Sylvester Bleeker and his wife, and Mr. B. S. Kellogg, besides an advertising agent and musicians. Mr. Bleeker was the manager, and Mr. Kellogg acted as treasurer. In the Fall of 1869, this little company went by the Union Pacific Railway to San Francisco, stopping on the way to give exhibitions at Omaha, Denver, Salt Lake City, and other places on the route, with great success. In San Francisco Pratt’s Hall, which the company occupied, was crowded day and evening for several weeks. Every one went to see them. The exhibition was profusely hand-billed and posted in Chinese as well as in English, and crowds of Celestials went to see the smallest specimens of “Mellicans” known in that region, for Admiral Dot living in San Francisco had not then been “discovered” by Barnum.

After a prolonged and most profitable series of exhibitions in San Francisco, the company visited several leading towns in California and then started for Australia. On the way they stopped at the Sandwich Islands and exhibited in Honolulu. From there they went to Japan, exhibiting in Yeddo, Yokohama and other principle places, and afterwards at Canton and elsewhere in China. They next made the entire tour of Australia, drawing immense houses at Sydney, Melbourne, and in other towns, but they did not go to New Zealand. They then proceeded to the East Indies, giving exhibitions in the larger towns and cities, receiving marked attentions from Rajahs and other distinguished personages. Afterwards they went by the way of the Suez Canal to Egypt, and gave their entertainments at Cairo; and thence to Italy, exhibiting at all available points, and arrived in Great Britain in the summer of 1871. Notwithstanding the enormous expenses attending the transportation of this company around the world, it was one of the few instances of profitably “swinging round the circle.” The enterprise was a pecuniary success, and, of course, the opportunity for sight-seeing enjoyed by the little General and his party was fully appreciated. They travelled to see as well as to be seen. Fortunately they all preserved the best of health and met with no accident during the extended tour. My name did not publicly appear in connection with this enterprise--the exhibition was conducted under the auspices of “Thumb,” but I had a large “finger in the pie.” Mr. Sylvester Bleeker, the manager, wrote me from Dublin, December 6, 1871, a letter from which I extract the following:

“If any person will perform the feat of travelling with such a
company 48,946 miles, (29,900 miles by sea,) give 1,284
entertainments in 407 different cities and towns, in all climates
of the world, without losing a single day, or missing a single
performance through illness or accident, let him show his vouchers
and I will give him the belt.”

While I am about it, I may as well confess my connection, _sub rosa_, with another little speculation during my three years’ “leisure.” I hired the well-known Siamese Twins, the giantess, Anna Swan, and a Circassian lady, and, in connection with Judge Ingalls, I sent them to Great Britain where, in all the principal places, and for about a year, their levees were continually crowded. In all probability the great success attending this enterprise was much enhanced, if not actually caused by extensive announcements in advance, that the main purpose of Chang-Eng’s visit to Europe was to consult the most eminent medical and surgical talent with regard to the safety of separating the twins.

Eminent surgeons in London and in Edinburgh examined these physiological phenomena and generally coincided in the declaration that their lives would be jeopardized and probably be forfeited if surgery should separate them. Of course, the “Reports” of these examinations were duly and officially made in all the leading medical and surgical journals, as well as the reports of lectures delivered by surgeons who had given their personal attention to the case of the twins, and these accounts in English and American journals were also translated and were widely circulated throughout Europe.

As “this establishment did not advertise in the New York _Herald_,” I was not a little amused to see several columns of editorial matter in that sheet published a few weeks before the Siamese Twins sailed for Europe, giving elaborate scientific reasons why no attempt to separate them should be made. I quite coincided with my quondam friend Bennett in his conclusions, as a proof of which I may state that I purchased and mailed marked copies of his editorial to all the leading newspapers and magazines abroad, in most of which the matter was republished, thereby affording the best of advertising and greatly increasing the receipts of the Twin treasury for many months.

But to return to my California trip. We visited “the Geysers,” and when we witnessed the bold mountain scenery through which we passed to get there, and then saw and heard the puffing, steaming, burning, bubbling acres of hot springs emitting liquids of a dozen different minerals, and of as many different colors, we said, “This would pay for coming all the way from New York, if we saw nothing else,”--and it would.

In returning from the Geysers to Calistoga we fell into the hands of the celebrated stage driver, Foss. He had been “laying” for me several days, and had said he would “give Barnum a specimen of stage driving that would astonish him.” He did it! Foss is by far the greatest stage driver of modern times. The way he handles the reins seems marvellous; and although he dashes his six-horse team, under full gallop, down the most precipitous mountain roads, making one’s hair continually to stand on end, his horses are as docile as lambs, and they know every tone of Foss’ voice and obey accordingly. I suppose that this New Hampshire Jehu is, after all, as safe a driver as ever held the ribbons.

Calistoga lies chiefly on made ground. Dig down five feet and you find water wherein an egg will boil hard in five minutes. A Japanese tea plantation is started here with prospects of success.

We devoted a fortnight to visiting the great Yo Semite Valley. We went by way of Mariposa where we saw the Mariposa grove of “big trees,” whence I sent to New York a piece of bark thirty-one inches thick! That bark was taken from a tree 102 feet in circumference, over three hundred feet high, and according to its annual layers, 837 years old. The Yo Semite has been so often and so well described that I shall not attempt a new description. Suffice it to say it is one of those great and real things in nature that goes in reality far beyond any previous conception. From the moment I got a bird’s eye view of this wonderful valley from “Inspiration Point,” until a week afterwards, when we mounted our horses to emerge from it, I could not help oft repeating, “Wonderful, wonderful, sublime, indescribable, incomprehensible; I never before saw anything so truly and appallingly grand; it pays me a hundred times over for visiting California.”

On returning to Stockton, I lectured for a Methodist church pursuant to agreement made to that effect when I left for the Yo Semite twelve days before.

On our return home we stopped at Cheyenne and took the Branch Railroad to Denver, Colorado, afterwards going fifty miles by stage to the mines at Georgetown, Golden City, Central City, and other notable places.

Returning from Denver, we stopped at the truly wonderful town of Greeley, where when we left home in April not ten persons resided, but where was now settled the “Union Colony.” This company then numbered six hundred. Greeley is now a city, two years old, containing thousands of inhabitants and increasing at a rate totally unexampled. There is no community of interests here except in such public works as the irrigating canals and the school-houses. Each inhabitant owns whatever lands and buildings he or she pays for; and real estate and other property rises in value according to the increase in the number of inhabitants. Here are millions of acres of rich valley land, which needed only the irrigation that the Cache de Poudre River is giving through the canals of the Union Colony. This model town of Greeley will ever have peace and prosperity within its borders; for no title can inhere to any land or building where intoxicating drinks are permitted to be sold. It is a “city of refuge” from the curse of strong drink; and to it for generations to come will whole families congregate as their paradise guarded by flaming swords of sobriety and order where they can live rationally, happily, and prosperously.

From Greeley we returned to New York, and my family removed to our Summer quarters in Bridgeport the last of June. Here we were visited by numerous noble friends. The late Alice Cary spent several weeks with us at Waldemere, and although her health was feeble she enjoyed the cool breezes as well as the fine drives, clam-bakes, etc., for which Bridgeport is specially renowned. Indeed, my own house was the last which this good and gifted lady ever entered except her own in New York, to which I accompanied her from Bridgeport. Her sister Phœbe, who so quickly followed Alice to the other world, was also my guest at Waldemere.

But the restless spirit of an energetic man of leisure prompted me again to travel. I went with friends to Montreal, Quebec, the Saginaw River, and the regions round about. Returning by way of Saratoga Springs, my English friends again had occasion to open their eyes at the large Union Hotel, and Congress Hall, where fifteen hundred persons dine at one time, and two thousand lodge under a single roof without crowding.

“Well, this is a big country, and you Americans do everything on a big scale, that’s a fact,” was the expression for the thousandth time of my Anglo-Saxon companions.

In September, I made up a party of ten, including my English friend, and we started for Kansas on a grand buffalo hunt. General Custar, commandant at Fort Hayes, was apprized in advance of our anticipated visit, and he received us like princes. He fitted out a company of fifty cavalry, furnishing us with horses, arms and ammunition. We were taken to an immense herd of buffaloes, quietly browsing on the open plain. We charged on them, and during an exciting chase of a couple of hours, we slew twenty immense bull buffaloes. We might have killed as many more had we not considered it wanton butchery.

My friend George A. Wells, of Bridgeport, who is a great hunter, was one of the party, and although he had slain two buffaloes, and had lost himself on the prairie, not only to his own dismay, but to the great terror for four mortal hours of all his companions, he was by no means satisfied. He wanted to camp out and hunt buffaloes for several days longer. Another Bridgeport huntsman, Mr. James Wilson, was of the same mind. But when the question was put to vote, my English friend, John Fish, who had made himself sore by hard riding; Mr. Charles B. Hotchkiss, a Bridgeport bank president, who was quite content with killing one buffalo; my right bower, David W. Sherwood, who with a single shot dropped an immense bull (as indeed he now and then has done with no other weapon than his tongue); David M. Read, a Bridgeport merchant; another Bridgeporter, Theodore W. Downs--each credited with one or two carcases on the field; and I who had brought down two and had half killed another buffalo,--all voted that we had done enough and were in favor of returning home. Whereupon Wells indignantly exclaimed:

“I was invited out here for a hunt, but you have made it a race.”

But every man had killed his buffalo, some had killed two, and we were satisfied. We had plenty of buffalo and antelope meat, and on the whole our ten days’ sport afforded another “sensation,”--a feeling so necessary to one in my state. But “sensations” cannot be made to order every day. I am, therefore, taught by an experience of three years’ “retirement” from business, that it is better to be moderately engaged in some legitimate occupation so long as health and energy permit. If a man is regularly in “harness,” though he may do but a small portion of the drawing, he will at least so far occupy his mind as not to need spasmodic excitements.

Hence, although my worldly possessions--trivial indeed in comparison with the wealth of some of America’s millionaires--were yet as ample as I cared to acquire, nevertheless from the very necessity of my active nature, in the Autumn of 1870 I began to prepare a great show enterprise, requiring five hundred men and horses to transport and conduct it through the country. Selecting as manager of this gigantic enterprise Mr. William C. Coup, whom I had favorably known for some years as a capital showman and a man of good judgment, integrity, and excellent executive ability, we spent several weeks in blocking out and perfecting our course of action. As one project after another, involving the outlay of thousands upon thousands of dollars, was laid before Manager Coup, he began to open his eyes pretty widely, and before we had been three weeks in consultation, he exclaimed:

“Why, Mr. Barnum, such a show as you are projecting after a while would ruin the richest man in America, for the expenses would double the receipts every day!”

I begged Mr. Coup not to be alarmed, reminding him that I was not wholly inexperienced in the show business, and that, in any event, I was to “foot the bills.” It is true that the enormous expense of this vast scheme involved a greater risk than any showman had ever before dared to assume. My main object in setting on foot this great travelling exhibition was to open a safety valve for my pent up energies, and I felt far more anxious to put before the public a grand and triumphant show than I did to add a penny to my competence.

When my plans were made public, the proprietors of the travelling shows throughout the country, with scarcely an exception, declared that my exhibition necessarily must prove a failure, for, they said, “No travelling show in the world ever took in one-half so much money per day as Barnum’s daily expenses will be.” I knew that this was nearly true; but in reply to their ill-omened prognostications, I only said: “Well, but you see, no show that has travelled ever drew out one-half of the people; I expect to attract all of them.” I confess I felt that my reputation for always giving my patrons more than their money’s worth, and also for scrupulously excluding from my exhibitions everything objectionable to the refined and moral, would inevitably draw out large numbers of people who are not in the habit of attending ordinary travelling shows. With these views, I had confidence in my undertaking from the start, and I expended money like water in order fully to carry out my intentions and desires.

Previous business arrangements prevented my opening, at the first, in New York; but I did the next best thing by going to the next best place for the benefit and convenience of my numerous New York friends and patrons, and opened in Brooklyn April 10, 1871. At the outset the exhibition was truly a mammoth one. It embraced a museum, menagerie, caravan and hippodrome--all first-class and unsurpassed in previous shows--and Dan. Costello’s celebrated circus was added. It was an exhibition absolutely colossal, exhaustive, and bewilderingly various as the most liberal expenditure and years of experience could possibly make it. My motto through life has been: “Get the best, regardless of expense.” My aim was to combine in the several shows more startling and entirely novel wonders of creation than were ever before seen in one collection anywhere in the world, and to furnish my patrons with wholesome instruction and innocent amusement, without the taint of anything that should seem immoral or exceptionable. In all this I fully succeeded, and I declare with pride that this grand combination has proved to be the crowning success of my managerial life.

My canvas covered about three acres of ground, and would hold nearly ten thousand people, yet from the start in Brooklyn, and throughout the entire Summer tour, it was of daily occurrence that from one thousand to three thousand people were turned away. After an extraordinarily successful week in Brooklyn, I visited all the leading places in the immediate vicinity; then the principal towns in Connecticut; next through Rhode Island to Boston. How the great combination was received and appreciated in “the Athens of America” is well set forth in the following extracts from a two-column article in the Boston _Journal_:

The arrival in Boston last Monday of Barnum’s new enterprise,
comprising a museum, menagerie, caravan and hippodrome, to which is
gratuitously added Dan. Costello’s mammoth circus, has produced a
sensation in this city never before equalled by any amusement
enterprise known to New England. We have had our anniversaries,
reviews, parades, the Odd Fellows, and to-day shall have Fisk’s
famous “Ninth.” But after all, nothing seems to equal or eclipse
the great Barnum and his immense amusement enterprise, which is the
theme of universal comment and observation here, as elsewhere.
“Have you seen Barnum?” is the question that is heard in the
streets, counting houses, stores and shops, the public being as
anxious to see the veteran Show King as they are to visit his big
show. We confess that Barnum is a curiosity, and always has been
for the last thirty years, during which time he has figured
prominently before the American people, until the fame of him is as
familiar to both worlds as household words. Verily, who has not
heard of P. T. Barnum and the famous American Museum? We don’t mean
that as a specimen of the _genus homo_ Barnum is very different
from other specimens who have gained notoriety and success; but
simply as an embodiment of the very best representative type of a
shrewd, enterprising, wide awake American, who has achieved an
immense success in his specialty as the greatest amusement caterer
of the nineteenth century. Through two disastrous conflagrations
his immense museum collection in New York, however, the
accumulations of half a century, were in a single day almost
entirely swept out of existence. This was a serious loss to the
public, as it was to Mr. Barnum, although he is said to have taken
it as coolly and imperturbably as the apple woman round the corner
would the loss of a Roxbury russet. Already advancing in years, and
thinking, no doubt, he had served the public long enough, Mr.
Barnum concluded, after the loss of his museum, to retire
permanently from the show business, and, taking Horace Greeley’s
advice, go a fishing or seek the shades of a more quiet and private
life for the balance of his days. A man, however, like P. T.
Barnum, who has spent a whole life amid scenes of bustle and
excitement, with a constant tension of muscle and brain, catering
for the ever recurring demands of a curious public, naturally fond
of amusements, especially the marvellous and sensational, is rarely
satisfied to withdraw suddenly, like the tortoise, within his own
shell, and let the outside world “wag” without taking an active
interest in passing events. Thus Mr. Barnum’s retirement, although
surrounded by every luxury that money could furnish, became the
veriest prison to every element, nervous, physical and
intellectual, of his being, and it is no wonder, under these
circumstances, that he became absolutely “restive under rest.” His
ambition, like ancient “Utica,” he felt to be too much “pent up,”
and as “volcanoes bellow ere they disembogue,” so “smoke betrays
the wild consuming fire.” Like Dan. Costello’s famous gymnasts his
vaulting ambition has fairly o’erleapt itself, for by a single
bound he comes before the public in a new role, having on his hands
an “elephant” more ponderous and expensive to manage than the
famous quadruped that used to be seen “plowing” on his Bridgeport
farm, not for agricultural purposes exactly, but as a “rocket
thrown up to attract public attention to my Broadway American
Museum.” About a year ago Mr. Barnum, desirous to do good in his
day and generation, instituted and put on wheels his present
mammoth enterprise, at a cost of nearly three-quarters of a million
dollars, which has met with a success unparalleled in the annals of
the show business. This success is so sudden and complete as to
astonish everybody, and none more so than professionals themselves.
Knowing the interest the public feels in all that pertains to P. T.
Barnum, and especially his “last great effort,” (Barnum himself
calls it his last great “splurge,” which we readily grant in
deference to his known modesty,) we sent one of our reporters to
interview the whole affair, and as his injunctions were imperative
to “stick to facts” (_fiat justitia ruat codum_), our readers will
be able to judge of the big show as it appeared. One thing is very
evident. Since starting from New York, Barnum’s show has been
patronized by the largest concourse of people ever known in New
England. His transit across the country has been like “Sherman’s
March to the Sea,” while his entertainments have been visited by
the great masses, including eminent clergymen and their families,
and the most respectable of all persuasions--in fact, by everybody,
“without reference to race, color, or previous condition,” etc.
Barnum’s great procession, which made its first appearance in the
streets last Monday, is one of the grandest and most magnificent
pageants of the kind that ever appeared in Boston. The great
cortege is varied and almost interminable in length. The cages,
chariots, carriages and vans--no two being painted or finished
alike--are of unique workmanship, elaborate design and gorgeously
painted and gilded. The mottoes inscribed on the cages are
peculiarly curt and Barnamish. The massively carved chariot, called
the Temple of Juno, which, in construction, is somewhat telescopic,
that is, lets up and down to the extent of thirty feet or more, by
means of machinery, is of solid carved work, gilt all over with the
precious metals and studded profusely with plated mirrors, which
give to the tableau a truly gorgeous and magnificent effect. Upon
an elevated seat, just beneath a rich and unique oriental canopy of
the most elaborate finish, sits, in perfect nonchalance, the
representative Queen, surrounded by gods and goddesses in
mythological costume, giving a striking picture of an oriental
pageant, as seen in the days of the Roman Emperors. This gorgeous
car, built in London expressly for Barnum, is forty feet high, and
is rendered picturesque in effect by the team of elephants, camels
and dromedaries which lead or escort the van. The entire procession
is the longest and most varied ever witnessed here, and consisted
of about seventy cages, wagons and chariots, and 250 horses. But
let us follow this grand street demonstration to the grounds
selected for the great exposition, for we are a little anxious to
know what becomes of so many horses, wagons, housings, traps and
paraphernalia in general. The lot on which the three colossal tents
are pitched presents a really novel and interesting sight. From two
to three acres of land are required for all the purposes of
exhibition, hotel caravansary, ecurie, horse tents, etc.
Immediately after returning from the pageant the cages containing
the living wild animals, and all the museum curiosities, are driven
under the spacious tents and arranged in regular order, those
containing the animals being arranged in the caravan and menagerie,
while the others are classified in the museum department. The
horses are detached from the cages, dens and chariots by
experienced grooms and immediately removed to eight long rows of
horse tents, which are located in a separate lot, containing about
thirty horses each, these being principally draft and baggage
horses, as the ring stock is conveyed to hotel and livery stables.
Of the 245 people connected with this varied show, two-thirds were
employed in getting their breakfast. The establishment is equipped
with portable stoves and accomplished cooks. The meals are served
in large tents, and in this way all the attaches but the artists
are fed. Everything connected with the enterprise is first class--a
fact which strikes one, turn which way he will. Not only is
everything done for the comfort and convenience of the people
engaged with it, but the same thoughtfulness is manifested in
behalf of the horses, whether used for draught purposes, or as
accessories to the arenic performances. The tents in which the
horses are kept are large, and ample room is assigned each animal.
In fact they are complete stables with patent mangers and all the
modern stable appointments. The best rye straw is used for bedding,
and never were horses better provided with the little notions which
certainly contribute to their comfort, and which are probably in
exact accordance with a horse’s idea of good living. A veterinary
surgeon is regularly employed, and the health of the horses is, we
have reason to believe, much closer looked after than the health of
many people is by their family physician. The wagons used for the
conveyance of baggage when the company is moving are converted into
sleeping rooms at night, by letting down shelves, which, when
equipped with bedding and blankets form very comfortable berths.
Each wagon accommodates twelve persons. Another feature worthy of
notice is the manner in which the baggage is carried. If each
person carried a “Saratoga,” of course it would require some fifty
wagons to carry the trunks. To obviate this difficulty, the
clothing and other personal effects of the employees are kept in
one large wagon. The possessions of each one are numbered. This
wagon is in charge of a clerk, who has reduced his business to a
science, and with the same skill that a photographer picks out your
old “negative” from among a thousand others, when you order an
additional dozen _cartes de visite_, this gentleman can produce the
article called for at a moment’s notice. Having satisfied ourselves
that Barnum’s numerous employees know how to groom their stock, as
well as how to “keep a hotel,” we will now take our readers with us
to the great show, the doors of which are by this time opened (of
course they must buy their own tickets, for the management are not
in the habit of “papering” their house rather than play to empty
benches), and we shall see whether Phineas has kept faith with the
public, for we have a glimmering recollection that he promised not
long ago to make this last great effort the “crowning success of
his managerial life,” which we are of course bound to believe,
although we have also a sort of inquisitive penchant to “look for
the proofs.” Already the masses of curious sight-seers are
occupying every foot of available ground, the three ticket wagons
being literally besieged, from which the necessary cards of
admission are being rapidly distributed at fifty cents per head for
adults, children half price, and very soon the three colossal tents
are full to overflowing with anxious spectators. The first
impression that one receives on entering is that of bewilderment,
such is the magnitude, extent, variety and uniqueness of the
combination. Here in almost endless variety we see gathered
together from all parts of the earth a miniature representation of
the wonder world, that nobody but Barnum would ever have thought of
securing for a travelling exhibition.

Then follows in the same article a detailed account of the leading attractions, which want of space precludes me from copying. The notice concludes as follows:

With all these unique and bewildering attractions our faith has
been wonderfully increased, and we shall no longer doubt why it is
that P. T. Barnum is the happiest and most successful show
proprietor that ever came before the American public, and no man
more than he deserves, as he is constantly receiving, their
unstinted and unprecedented patronage. The great show is now on its
triumphant tour through Northern New England, and will no doubt be
visited by myriads everywhere, as it has been here and elsewhere.

From Boston my exhibition went through New Hampshire and into Maine as far as Waterville. Why the show did not go to towns beyond in the State is fully and amusingly explained in the following, which appeared in the New York _Tribune_, August 19, 1871:

BARNUM’S MENAGERIE AND CIRCUS.