Struggles amd Triumphs: or, Forty Years' Recollections of P.T. Barnum

“A joke!” exclaimed Dibble, in surprise. “Have you no Russia, then?”

“My name is Jerusha, and so is my daughter’s,” said Mrs. Wheeler, “and that, I suppose, is what he meant by telling you about old and young Rushia.”

Mr. Dibble bolted through the door without another word and made directly for our store. “You young scamp!” said he as he entered; “what did you mean by sending me over there to buy Russia?”

“I did not send you to buy Rushia; I supposed you were either a bachelor or widower and wanted to marry Rushia,” I replied, with a serious countenance.

“You lie, you young dog, and you know it; but never mind, I’ll pay you off some day”; and taking his furs, he departed with less ill-humor than could have been expected under the circumstances.

Among our customers were three or four old Revolutionary pensioners, who traded out the amounts of their pensions before they were due, leaving their papers as security. One of these pensioners was old Bevans, commonly known as “Uncle Bibbins,” a man who loved his glass and was very prone to relate romantic Revolutionary anecdotes and adventures, in which he, of course, was conspicuous. At one time he was in our debt, and though we held his pension papers, it would be three months before the money could be drawn. It was desirable to get him away for that length of time, and we hinted to him that it would be pleasant to make a visit to Guilford, where he had relations, but he would not go. Finally, I hit upon a plan which “moved” him.

A journeyman hatter, named Benton, who was fond of a practical joke, was let into the secret, and was persuaded to call “Uncle Bibbins” a coward, to tell him that he had been wounded in the back, and thus to provoke a duel, which he did, and at my suggestion “Uncle Bibbins” challenged Benton to fight him with musket and ball at a distance of twenty yards. The challenge was accepted, I was chosen second by “Uncle Bibbins,” and the duel was to come off immediately. My principal, taking me aside, begged me to put nothing in the guns but blank cartridges. I assured him it should be so, and therefore that he might feel perfectly safe. This gave the old man extra courage; he declared that he had not been so long in bloody battles “for nothing,” and that he would put a bullet through Benton’s heart at the first shot.

The ground was measured in the lot at the rear of our store, and the principals and seconds took their places. At the word given both parties fired. “Uncle Bibbins,” of course, escaped unhurt, but Benton leaped several feet into the air, and fell upon the ground with a dreadful yell, as if he had been really shot. “Uncle Bibbins” was frightened. As his second, I ran to him, told him I had neglected to extract the bullet from his gun (which was literally true, as there was no bullet in it to extract), and he supposed, of course, he had killed his adversary. I then whispered to him to go immediately to Guilford, to keep quiet, and he should hear from me as soon as it would be safe to do so. He started up the street on a run, and immediately quit the town for Guilford, where he kept himself quiet until it was time for him to return and sign his papers. I then wrote him that “he could return in safety; that his adversary had recovered from his wound, and now forgave him all, as he felt himself much to blame for having insulted a man of his known courage.”

“Uncle Bibbins” returned, signed the papers, and we obtained the pension money. A few days thereafter he met Benton.

“My brave old friend,” said Benton, “I forgive you my terrible wound and long confinement on the brink of the grave, and I beg you to forgive me also. I insulted you without a cause.”

“I forgive you freely,” said “Uncle Bibbins”; “but,” he added, “you must be careful next time how you insult a dead shot.”

Benton promised to be more circumspect in future, and “Uncle Bibbins” supposed to the day of his death that the duel, wound, danger, and all, were matters of fact.

CHAPTER III.

IN BUSINESS FOR MYSELF

MY CLERKSHIP IN BROOKLYN – UNEASINESS AND DISSATISFACTION – THE SMALL POX – GOING HOME TO RECRUIT – “CHAIRY” HALLETT AGAIN – BACK TO BROOKLYN – OPENING A PORTER-HOUSE – SELLING OUT – MY CLERKSHIP IN NEW YORK – MY HABITS – OBSERVANCE OF SUNDAY – IN BETHEL ONCE MORE – BEGINNING BUSINESS ON MY OWN ACCOUNT – OPENING DAY – LARGE SALES AND GREAT PROFITS – THE LOTTERY BUSINESS – VIEWS THEREON – ABOUT A POCKET-BOOK – WITS AND WAGS – SWEARING OUT A FINE – FIRST APPEARANCE AT THE BAR – SECURING “ARABIAN” – A MODEL LOVE-LETTER.

Mr. Oliver Taylor removed from Danbury to Brooklyn, Long Island, where he kept a grocery store and also had a large comb factory and a comb store in New York. In the fall of 1826 he offered me a situation as clerk in his Brooklyn store, and I accepted it. I soon became conversant with the routine of my employer’s business and before long he entrusted to me the purchasing of all goods for his store. I bought for cash entirely, going into the lower part of New York City in search of the cheapest market for groceries, often attending auctions of teas, sugars, molasses, etc., watching the sales, noting prices and buyers, and frequently combining with other grocers to bid off large lots, which we subsequently divided, giving each of us the quantity wanted at a lower rate than if the goods had passed into other hands, compelling us to pay another profit.

Situated as I was, and well treated as I was by my employer, who manifested great interest in me, still I was dissatisfied. A salary was not sufficient for me. My disposition was of that speculative character which refused to be satisfied unless I was engaged in some business where my profits might be enhanced, or, at least, made to depend upon my energy, perseverance, attention to business, tact, and “calculation.” Accordingly, as I had no opportunity to speculate on my own account, I became uneasy, and, young as I was, I began to talk of setting up for myself; for, although I had no capital, several men of means had offered to furnish the money and join me in business. I was in that uneasy, transitory state between boyhood and manhood when I had unbounded confidence in my own abilities, and yet needed a discreet counsellor, adviser and friend.

In the following summer, 1827, I was taken down with the small-pox and was confined to the house for several months. This sickness made a sad inroad upon my means. When I was sufficiently recovered, I started for home to recruit, taking passage on board a sloop for Norwalk, but the remaining passengers were so frightened at the appearance of my face, which still bore the marks of the disease, that I was obliged to go ashore again, which I did, stopping at Holt’s, in Fulton Street, going to Norwalk by steamboat next morning, and arriving at Bethel in the afternoon.

During my convalescence at my mother’s house, I visited my old friends and neighbors and had the opportunity to slightly renew my acquaintance with the attractive tailoress, “Chairy” Hallett. A month afterwards, I returned to Brooklyn, where I gave Mr. Taylor notice of my desire to leave his employment; and I then opened a porter-house on my own account. In a few months I sold out to good advantage and accepted a favorable offer to engage as clerk in a similar establishment, kept by Mr. David Thorp, 29 Peck Slip, New York. It was a great resort for Danbury and Bethel comb makers and hatters and I thus had frequent opportunities of seeing and hearing from my fellow-townsmen. I lived in Mr. Thorp’s family and was kindly treated. I was often permitted to visit the theatre with friends who came to New York, and, as I had considerable taste for the drama, I soon became, in my own opinion, a discriminating critic – nor did I fail to exhibit my powers to my Connecticut friends who accompanied me to the play. Let me gratefully add that my habits were not bad. Though I sold liquors to others, I do not think I ever drank a pint of liquor, wine, or cordials before I was twenty-two years of age. I always had a Bible, which I frequently read, and I attended church regularly. These habits, so far as they go, are in the right direction, and I am thankful to-day that they characterized my early youth. However worthy or unworthy may have been my later years, I know that I owe much of the better part of my nature to my youthful regard for Sunday and its institutions – a regard, I trust, still strong in my character.

In February, 1828, I returned to Bethel and opened a retail fruit and confectionery store in a part of my grandfather’s carriage-house, which was situated on the main street, and which was offered to me rent free if I would return to my native village and establish some sort of business. This beginning of business on my own account was an eventful era in my life. My total capital was one hundred and twenty dollars, fifty of which I had expended in fitting up the store, and the remaining seventy dollars purchased my stock in trade. I had arranged with fruit dealers whom I knew in New York, to receive my orders, and I decided to open my establishment on the first Monday in May – our “general training” day.

It was a “red letter” day for me. The village was crowded with people from the surrounding region and the novelty of my little shop attracted attention. Long before noon I was obliged to call in one of my old schoolmates to assist in waiting upon my numerous customers and when I closed at night I had the satisfaction of reckoning up sixty-three dollars as my day’s receipts. Nor, although I had received the entire cost of my goods, less seven dollars, did the stock seem seriously diminished; showing that my profits had been large. I need not say how much gratified I was with the result of this first day’s experiment. The store was a fixed fact. I went to New York and expended all my money in a stock of fancy goods, such as pocket-books, combs, beads, rings, pocket-knives, and a few toys. These, with fruit, nuts, etc., made the business good through the summer, and in the fall I added stewed oysters to the inducements.

My grandfather, who was much interested in my success, advised me to take an agency for the sale of lottery tickets, on commission. In those days, the lottery was not deemed objectionable on the score of morality. Very worthy people invested in such schemes without a thought of evil, and then, as now, churches even got up lotteries, with this difference – that then they were called lotteries, and now they go under some other name. While I am very glad that an improved public sentiment denounces the lottery in general as an illegitimate means of getting money, and while I do not see how any one, especially in or near a New England State, can engage in a lottery without feeling a reproach which no pecuniary return can compensate; yet I cannot now accuse myself for having been lured into a business which was then sanctioned by good Christian people, who now join with me in reprobating enterprises they once encouraged. But as public sentiment was forty years ago, I obtained an agency to sell lottery tickets on a commission of ten per cent, and this business, in connection with my little store, made my profits quite satisfactory.

I used to have some curious customers. On one occasion a young man called on me and selected a pocket-book which pleased him, asking me to give him credit for a few weeks. I told him that if he wanted any article of necessity in my line, I should not object to trust him for a short time, but it struck me that a pocket-book was a decided superfluity for a man who had no money; I therefore declined to trust him as I did not see the necessity for his possessing such an article till he had something to put into it. Later in life I have been credited with the utterance of some sagacious remarks, but this with regard to the pocket-book, trivial as the matter is in itself, seems to me quite as deserving of note as any of my ideas which have created more sensation.

My store had much to do in giving shape to my future character as well as career, in that it became a favorite resort; the theatre of village talk, and the scene of many practical jokes. For any excess of the jocose element in my character, part of the blame must attach to my early surroundings as a village clerk and merchant. In that true resort of village wits and wags, the country store, fun, pure and simple, will be sure to find the surface. My Bethel store was the scene of many most amusing incidents, in some of which I was an immediate participant, though in many, of course, I was only a listener or spectator.

The following scene makes a chapter in the history of Connecticut, as the State was when “blue-laws” were something more than a dead letter. To swear in those days was according to custom, but contrary to law. A person from New York State, whom I will call Crofut, who was a frequent visitor at my store, was a man of property, and equally noted for his self-will and his really terrible profanity. One day he was in my little establishment engaged in conversation, when Nathan Seelye, Esq., one of our village justices of the peace, and a man of strict religious principles, came in, and hearing Crofut’s profane language he told him he considered it his duty to fine him one dollar for swearing.

Crofut responded immediately with an oath, that he did not care a d – n for the Connecticut blue-laws.

“That will make two dollars,” said Mr. Seelye.

This brought forth another oath.

“Three dollars,” said the sturdy justice.

Nothing but oaths were given in reply, until Esquire Seelye declared the damage to the Connecticut laws to amount to fifteen dollars.

Crofut took out a twenty-dollar bill, and handed it to the justice of the peace, with an oath.

“Sixteen dollars,” said Mr. Seelye, counting out four dollars to hand to Mr. Crofut, as his change.

“Oh, keep it, keep it,” said Crofut, “I don’t want any change, I’ll d – d soon swear out the balance.” He did so, after which he was more circumspect in his conversation, remarking that twenty dollars a day for swearing was about as much as he could stand.

On another occasion, a man arrested for assault and battery was to be tried before my grandfather; who was a justice of the peace. A young medical student named Newton, volunteered to defend the prisoner, and Mr. Couch, the grand-juryman, came to me and said that as the prisoner had engaged a pettifogger, the State ought to have some one to represent its interests and he would give me a dollar to present the case. I accepted the fee and proposition. The fame of the “eminent counsel” on both sides drew quite a crowd to hear the case. As for the case itself, it was useless to argue it, for the guilt of the prisoner was established by evidence of half a dozen witnesses. However, Newton was bound to display himself, and so, rising with much dignity, he addressed my grandfather with, “May it please the honorable court,” etc., proceeding with a mixture of poetry and invective against Couch, the grand-juryman whom he assumed to be the vindictive plaintiff in this case. After alluding to him as such for the twentieth time, my grandfather stopped Newton in the midst of his splendid peroration and informed him that Mr. Couch was not the plaintiff in the case.

“Not the plaintiff! Then may it please your honor I should like to know who is the plaintiff?” inquired Newton.

He was quietly informed that the State of Connecticut was the plaintiff, whereupon Newton dropped into his seat as if he had been shot. Thereupon, I rose with great confidence, and speaking from my notes, proceeded to show the guilt of the prisoner from the evidence; that there was no discrepancy in the testimony; that none of the witnesses had been impeached; that no defence had been offered; that I was astonished at the audacity of both counsel and prisoner in not pleading guilty at once; and then, soaring aloft on general principles, I began to look about for a safe place to alight, when my grandfather interrupted me with —

“Young man, will you have the kindness to inform the court which side you are pleading for – the plaintiff or the defendant?”

It was my turn to drop, which I did amid a shout of laughter from every corner of the court-room. Newton, who had been very downcast, looked up with a broad grin and the two “eminent counsel” sneaked out of the room in company, while the prisoner was bound over to the next County Court for trial.

While my business in Bethel continued to increase beyond my expectations, I was also happy in believing that my suit with the fair tailoress, Charity Hallett, was duly progressing. Of all the young people with whom I associated in our parties, picnics, and sleigh-rides, she stood highest in my estimation and continued to improve upon acquaintance.

How I managed at one of our sleigh rides is worth narrating. My grandfather would, at any time, let me have a horse and sleigh, always excepting his new sleigh, the finest in the village, and a favorite horse called “Arabian.” I especially coveted this turnout for one of our parties, knowing that I could eclipse all my comrades, and so I asked grandfather if I could have “Arabian” and the new sleigh.

“Yes, if you have twenty dollars in your pocket,” was the reply.

I immediately showed the money, and, putting it back in my pocket, said with a laugh: “you see I have the money. I am much obliged to you; I suppose I can have ‘Arab’ and the new sleigh?”

Of course, he meant to deny me by making what he thought to be an impossible condition, to wit: that I should hire the team, at a good round price, if I had it at all, but I had caught him so suddenly that he was compelled to consent, and “Chairy” and I had the crack team of the party.

There was a young apprentice to the tailoring trade in Bethel, whom I will call John Mallett, whose education had been much neglected, and who had been paying his addresses to a certain “Lucretia” for some six months, with a strong probability of being jilted at last. On a Sunday evening she had declined to take his arm, accepting instead the arm of the next man who offered, and Mallett determined to demand an explanation. He accordingly came to me the Saturday evening following, asking me, when I had closed my store, to write a strong and remonstratory “love-letter” for him. I asked Bill Shepard, who was present, to remain and assist, and, in due time, the joint efforts of Shepard, Mallett, and myself resulted in the following production. I give the letter as an illustrative chapter in real life. In novels such correspondence is usually presented in elaborate rhetoric, with studied elegance of phrase. But the true language of the heart is always nearly the same in all time and in all tongues, and when the blood is up the writer is far more intent upon the matter than the manner, and aims to be forcible rather than elegant. The subjoined letter is certainly not after the manner of Chesterfield, but it is such a letter as a disappointed lover, spurred by

The green-eyed monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on,

frequently indites. With a demand from Mallett that we should begin in strong terms, and Shepard acting as scribe, we concocted the following:

    Bethel, – , 18 – .

Miss Lucretia, – I write this to ask an explanation of your conduct in giving me the mitten on Sunday night last. If you think, madam, that you can trifle with my affections, and turn me off for every little whipper-snapper that you can pick up, you will find yourself considerably mistaken. [We read thus far to Mallett, and it met his approval. He said he liked the idea of calling her “madam,” for he thought it sounded so “distant,” it would hurt her feelings very much. The term “little whipper-snapper” also delighted him. He said he guessed that would make her feel cheap. Shepard and myself were not quite so sure of its aptitude, since the chap who succeeded in capturing Lucretia, on the occasion alluded to, was a head and shoulders taller than Mallett. However, we did not intimate our thoughts to Mallett, and he desired us to “go ahead and give her another dose.”] You don’t know me, madam, if you think you can snap me up in this way. I wish you to understand that I can have the company of girls as much above you as the sun is above the earth, and I won’t stand any of your impudent nonsense no how. [This was duly read and approved. “Now,” said Mallett, “try to touch her feelings. Remind her of the pleasant hours we have spent together”; and we continued as follows: ] My dear Lucretia, when I think of the many pleasant hours we have spent together – of the delightful walks which we have had on moonlight evenings to Fenner’s Rocks, Chestnut Ridge, Grassy Plains, Wildcat, and Puppy-town – of the strolls which we have taken upon Shelter Rocks, Cedar Hill – the visits we have made to Old Lane, Wolfpits, Toad-hole and Plum-trees[1 - These were the euphonious names of localities in the vicinity of Bethel.]– when all these things come rushing on my mind, and when, my dear girl, I remember how often you have told me that you loved me better than anybody else, and I assured you my feelings were the same as yours, it almost breaks my heart to think of last Sunday night. [“Can’t you stick in some affecting poetry here?” said Mallett. Shepard could not recollect any to the point, nor could I, but as the exigency of the case seemed to require it, we concluded to manufacture a verse or two, which we did as follows:]

Lucretia, dear, what have I done,
That you should use me thus and so,
To take the arm of Tom Beers’ son,