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

    P T B

APPENDIX II

Written up to February, 1873

A REMARKABLE CAMPAIGN

RECORD OF EVENTS – IMMENSE BUSINESS – RETROGRADING NOT MY NATURE – TREASURER’S REPORT – SURPRISED AT LAST – EXCITEMENT IN THE RURAL DISTRICTS – CAMPING OUT – “SEEING BARNUM” – AN “INCIDENT OF TRAVEL” – DOWN THE BANK – A TERRIBLE NIGHT – A TEMPERANCE CREW – CLOSE OF THE TENTING SEASON – WESTWARD HO! – FREE LECTURES – WALDEMERE – A FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLAR DOOR-YARD – VISIT OF HORACE GREELEY – TRIP TO COLORADO – MY NEW ENTERPRISE – FOURTEENTH STREET HIPPODROME – GRAND OPENING – A BRILLIANT AUDIENCE – DEPARTURE FOR THE SOUTH – NEW ORLEANS IN WINTER – NEWS OF THE CONFLAGRATION – “BUSINESS BEFORE PLEASURE” – EN ROUTE FOR HOME – SPEECH AT THE ACADEMY – SEASON OF 1873 – CONCLUSION.

READERS of the preceding pages will expect in this Appendix a brief resumé of events relating to my Great Travelling World’s Fair for the season of 1872. Connected as I have been with so many gigantic undertakings, and the subject of so many and varied experiences, it can hardly be thought strange if I have taught myself not to be surprised at anything in the way of business results. The idea of attempting to transport by rail any company or combination requiring sixty-five cars – to be moved daily from point to point – was an experiment of such magnitude that railroad companies could not supply my demands, and I was compelled to purchase and own all the cars. Up to this time in life, my record is clear for never retrograding after once embarking in any undertaking, and I did not propose to establish a contrary precedent at this late day, so, at the appointed time, the great combination moved westward by rail: The result is known. It visited the States of New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, District of Columbia, Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan. In order to exhibit only in large towns, it was frequently necessary to travel one hundred miles in a single night, arriving in season to give three exhibitions and the usual street pageant at 8 o’clock A.M. By means of cheap excursion trains, thousands of strangers attended daily from along the lines of the various railroads, for a distance of fifty, seventy-five and even a hundred miles. Other thousands came in wagons, on horse-back and by every means of conveyance that could be pressed into service, until by 10 o’clock – the hour for the morning exhibition – the streets, sidewalks and stores were filled with strangers. It was universally conceded that the money invested by these country customers, who took this opportunity to visit the town and make purchases, exceeded by many thousands of dollars the amount I took away. Indeed, my own expenditures at each point where we exhibited, averaged one-half my gross receipts.

Some idea of the excitement throughout the country, may be formed from the fact that, upon arriving at daylight, we usually found wagon loads of rural strangers – men, women and children – who had come in during the night, and “pitched camp.” They had arrived at a most unseasonable hour for pleasure, but this nocturnal experience was no barrier when they had the ultimatum of “seeing Barnum.” Notwithstanding our transportation was necessarily done at night, under all the disadvantages of darkness and usually by three trains, it is gratifying to look back upon the great railroad campaign of 1872 as entirely free from serious accident. A few minor casualties occurred. At 1 o’clock on the morning of June 8, several of our cars and cages were precipitated down an embankment at Erie, Penn., by the gross carelessness of a switchman, and the utter recklessness of two locomotive engineers. The accident resulted in no loss of life, but the crushed cages, the roaring of the animals, the general excitement, coupled with the fact that the night was one of Egyptian darkness, all combined to form an “incident of travel” long to be remembered. It is also a source of satisfaction to record that nothing like riotous conduct, quarreling or disturbing elements of any nature have annoyed us during the tenting season. I attribute this to one fact, viz., that my employees are teetotalers and of gentlemanly behavior; that they fully appreciate the wisdom of my forty years’ motto – “We Study to Please” – and consequently make every effort to preserve decorum, and make visitors as happy as possible during the few hours they are with us.

With wonderful unanimity the public and the press acknowledged that I exhibited much more than I advertised, and that no combination of exhibitions that ever travelled had shown a tithe of the instructive and amusing novelties that I had gathered together. This universal commendation is, to me, the most gratifying feature of the campaign, for not being compelled to do business merely for the sake of profit, my highest enjoyment is to delight my patrons. The entire six months’ receipts of the Great Travelling World’s Fair exceeded one million dollars. The expenses of 156 days were nearly $5,000 per day, making about $780,000, besides the interest on a million dollars capital, and the wear and tear of the whole establishment. Although these daily expenses were more than double the receipts of any other show ever organized in any country, the financial result surprised every one, and even I, who had anticipated so much, was a little “set back” when my treasurer made his final report. It will be remembered that it was the year of a heated presidential campaign, when factional strife and political ambition might be expected to monopolize public attention to the serious detriment of amusements generally. I think I may with truth say that no other man in America would have dared to assume such risk. All well known showmen agree that without my name, which is recognized as the synonym of “Old Reliable – always giving my patrons thrice the worth of their money,” the enormous outlay I incurred would have swamped any other proprietor of this vast collection of novelties, requiring the services of 1,000 men and 300 horses. The tenting season proper, closed at Detroit October 30th, when we were patronized by the largest concourse of people ever assembled in the State of Michigan.

During this season of unparalleled prosperity, I made it my custom to be present at all large cities and prominent points, and superintend in person the gigantic combination. Frequently I was invited by leaders in the temperance cause or by the “Young Men’s Christian Associations” to lecture on temperance, which invitation I accepted when in my power, but always upon conditions that the lecture should be free and open to all. As a matter of fact I may be permitted to say that upon these occasions more people were turned away than gained admission, but whether these crowds were attracted by an interest in the temperance cause, or from a desire to get a glimpse of the old showman, I have never been fully satisfied. My manager and assistants insist that the latter is true, and that my free lectures, especially in the large cities, result to my pecuniary disadvantage, as fully satisfying many who otherwise would patronize the exhibition to gratify their curiosity. However, as our immense pavilions are always crowded, I can see no real cause for complaint. At my stage of life I confess to a deeper interest in the noble cause of temperance than I ever had in the largest audience ever assembled under canvas. If but one-half the people who have signed the pledge at these lectures keep it through life, I shall feel that my labors in this direction will not have been devoid of valuable and beneficent results.

Early in the presidential canvass I published a general invitation offering the free use of my immense Hippodrome pavilion to either of the great political parties, for holding mass meetings. No building in the West would accommodate the masses seeking admission upon these occasions, and “open air” gatherings were at a discount, even with enthusiastic politicians. My immense circus canvas had a seating capacity of 12,000, and was proof against ordinary storms. My offer gave the free use of this immense tent between the hours of 4 and 6 P.M. The invitation was accepted in some instances where the exhibition and the political gathering were billed for the same day.

When not with the company I spent most of my time at my ideal home – Waldemere. To me who have travelled so far and seen so much, and whose life seems destined to be an eventful one, this delightful summer retreat is invested with new charms at each successive visit. The beautiful groves seem still more beautiful, the foliage more green, the entire scenery more picturesque and the broad expanse of water – with the Long Island shore visible in the mazy background – sparkles in the sunlight with additional brilliancy. Possibly my affection for Waldemere is due in some degree to the fact that I can here look upon thriving shade trees and spacious drives of my own creation, and that wherever art has beautified nature, it has but utilized plans and carried out suggestions of my own. In 1871 I attached to Waldemere a new building for a library. Its architecture was so beautiful and unlike the main edifice that after expending $10,000 on it, I was obliged to lay out $30,000 on the house to make it “correspond!” It was the old story of the man’s new sofa over again. When the building was enlarged, the lawn on the east side appeared too narrow, so I purchased a slip of land (seven acres) on that side for $50,000. The land is worth it for building lots at present prices, but I could not help half agreeing with a neighboring farmer who said, “well, that Barnum is the queerest man I ever saw. He’s gone and spent $50,000 for a little potato patch to put on his door-yard.” The past season my summer home was made still more attractive by the frequent presence of distinguished personal friends, whom I took delight in entertaining. Their sojourn I endeavored to make agreeable, and in after years their recollections of Waldemere will, I trust, be pleasing reminiscences of a quiet visit and unfeigned hospitality. In August I received a visit from my esteemed friend, the late Horace Greeley. Mine was one of the few private residences he visited during the campaign, and the last, I think, which he sought for relaxation or pleasure. I have every reason to believe that he spoke the true sentiment of his heart when he assured me of his enjoyment while at my house, and never did a careworn journalist, and him too the very central figure of a heated political campaign, stand more in need of repose and perfect freedom from mental excitement than did Mr. Greeley at this time. I arranged an old-fashioned clam bake, at which were present congenial spirits from home and abroad. Mr. Greeley laid aside all restraint. He mingled freely with the guests, and his native genial humor and ready wit contributed greatly to the enjoyment. The keenest observer could have detected nothing like care or anxiety upon his countenance, and the stranger would have pointed him out as a quiet farmer enjoying a day at the sea-side.

Although not much of a politician I have my political preferences. Mr. Greeley was my life-long personal friend. I gave him my support. Once I ventured my opinion that his election was doubtful. He replied that a more important result than his election would be, that, running upon so liberal a platform as that adopted at Cincinnati, would compel all parties to recognize a higher standard regarding public justice and the rights of others. “My chief concern,” he added, “is to do nothing in this canvass that I shall look back upon with an unapproving conscience.”

In October I visited Colorado accompanied by my English friend John Fish, and a Bridgeport gentleman who has an interest with me in a stock-raising ranche in the southern part of that Territory. We took the Kansas Pacific Railroad to Denver, seeing many thousands of wild buffalo – our train sometimes being stopped to let them pass. The weather was delightful. We spent several days in the new and flourishing town of Greeley. I gave a temperance lecture there; also at Denver. At the latter city, in the course of my remarks, I told them I never saw so many disappointed people as at Denver. The large audience looked surprised, but were relieved when I added, “half the inhabitants came invalids from the East, expecting to die, and they find they cannot do it. Your charming climate will not permit it!” And it is a fact. I am charmed with Colorado, the scenery and delightful air, and particularly would I recommend as a place of residence to those who can afford it, the lively, thriving city of Denver. To those who have their fortunes yet to make, I say “go to Greeley.”

We took the narrow gauge road from Denver to Pueblo, stopping at Colorado Springs and the “Garden of the gods.” The novel scenery here amply paid us for our visit. From Pueblo I proceeded forty miles by carriage to our cattle ranche, and spent a couple of days there very pleasantly. We have several thousand head of cattle there, which thrive through the winter without hay or fodder of any kind.

At the close in Detroit of the great Western railroad tour, I equipped and started South a Museum, Menagerie and Circus, which, while it made no perceptible diminution in the main body, was still the largest and most complete travelling expedition ever seen in the Southern States. Louisville was designated as the rendezvous and point of consolidation of the various departments, and the new expedition gave its initial exhibition in the Falls City, November 4th. Much of the menagerie consisted of animals of which I owned the duplicate, and hence could easily spare them without injuring the variety in my zoölogical collection. I was aware also that many of the rare specimens would thrive better in a warmer climate, and as the expense of procuring them had been enormous, I coupled my humanitarian feelings with my pecuniary interests and sent them South.

And now in this routine of events for 1872, I record one important project with mingled feelings of pleasure and pain. In August I purchased of Mr. L. B. Lent the building and lease in Fourteenth street, New York, known as the Hippotheatron. One purpose was to open a Museum, Menagerie and Hippodrome that would give employment to two hundred of my people who otherwise would be idle during the winter. Another and main object was to take the inaugural steps toward the foundation of a permanent establishment, where the higher order of arenic entertainments could be witnessed under all the advantages of a thoroughly equipped, refined and moral dramatic entertainment. My project combined not only a circus, but a museum of the world’s wonders and a menagerie that should equal in extent and variety the great zoölogical collection of London. I realized the importance of an establishment in New York where old and young could seek innocent amusement, and where Christian parents could take their children and feel that the exhibition contributed not only to their enjoyment but to their instruction. The press generally had kindly acknowledged the success of my efforts in bringing the modern arena up to its proper standard among the fashionable amusements of the day. By divesting the ring of all objectionable features, and securing the highest talent of both hemispheres, my circus had become popularized among the better classes, for whose good opinion it has ever been my fortune to cater. At an expense of $60,000 I enlarged and remodeled the building, so as to admit my valuable collection of animals, museum of life-size automatons, and living curiosities. The entire edifice was so thoroughly built over as to leave but little to remind the visitor of the original structure. The amphitheatre had a seating capacity of 2,800. It consisted of parquette and balcony, each completely encircling the ring, and the former luxuriously fitted up with cushioned arm-chairs and sofa seats. The grand opening took place Monday evening, November 18th. In theatrical parlance, the house was crowded from “pit to dome.” The leading citizens of the metropolis were present, many of whom on that occasion patronized an equestrian entertainment for the first time. Viewed from the center of the ring, the vast amphitheatre presented a scene of bewildering beauty. The dazzling lights, the delightful music of the orchestra, the gorgeous surroundings, and the brilliant audience – filling the numerous circles of seats which rose one above another to the most remote outskirts of the building – all formed a picture so unlike anything ever before seen in New York, as to bring out detailed and eulogistic editorials from the press of the following morning. Being recognized among the audience, I was called into the ring, when I briefly thanked my friends for their generous appreciation. From this date the establishment was open daily from 11 A.M. to 10 P.M., with hippodrome performances afternoon and evening.

On December 16th, four weeks after the inauguration of the new Fourteenth street building, I started for New Orleans, to visit my southern show. I found the Crescent City luxuriating in its usual winter rains, and paddling through its regular rations of mud and slush – happy in its very dreariness. The contentment of the native population of New Orleans reaches the sublime. The average citizen accepts rain and its kindred elements as special attractions indigenous to that climate; and unless the levee breaks and the turbulent Mississippi overflows the city, they see no occasion to murmur. During the brief intervals of sunshine I rode through the principal streets, met several old acquaintances, and renewed friendships formed many years ago. Changes I found, it is true, but they are changes resulting from nature rather than from human hands. The ravages of time and natural decay seem to offset all the thrift of which New Orleans can boast. No Northerner – no matter how frequent his visits – fulfills his destiny until he drives to the suburbs and plucks his fill of oranges. Upon the occasion of my visit political dissensions monopolized public attention. What with the continual skirmishing between the municipal, State and general governments, the city was in a most disagreeable turmoil; and one retired at night quite uncertain as to what administration would be in power in the morning. Once I had occasion to inquire for the governor’s address, and my companion innocently asked, “Which one?” Compared to the civic and military imbroglio in New Orleans in December, the political situation of Mexico was one of placid serenity.

It was while quietly seated at the breakfast table, at the St. Louis Hotel, in the Crescent City, on Tuesday, December 24th, that the waiter handed me a telegram. I had been reading in the morning papers of the flooding of my show grounds on Canal street, and of the change of location my manager had been forced to make. These annoyances had prepared me when I read the despatch to fully appreciate Longfellow’s words,

“So disasters come not singly.”

It was as follows:

    New York, Dec. 24.

To P. T. Barnum, New Orleans:

About 4 A.M. fire discovered in boiler-room of circus building; everything destroyed except 2 elephants, 1 camel.

    S. H. Hurd, Treasurer.

Calling for pen, ink and paper, I then and there cabled my European agents to send duplicates of all animals lost, with positive instructions to have everything shipped in season to reach New York by the middle of March. They were further directed to procure at any cost specimens never seen in America, and through sub-agents to purchase and forward curiosities – animate and inanimate – from all parts of the globe. Cable dispatches were also sent to the celebrated inventors and manufacturers of automatons, in Paris, to lose no time in making and purchasing everything new and wonderful in the way of mechanical effects. This feature of my great exhibition had proved so attractive that I determined at once not only to duplicate it, but to enlarge this department to double its original size. I then dispatched the following to my son-in-law:

    New Orleans, Dec. 24.

To S. H. Hurd, New York:

Tell editors I have cabled European agents to expend half million dollars for extra attractions; will have new and more attractive travelling show than ever early in April.

    P. T. Barnum.

These details attended to, I could see no further occasion for delaying breakfast and taking a calm view of the situation.

The total destruction of this beautiful building and its valuable contents, was an item of news for which I was ill prepared, and the extent of which calamity I could scarcely comprehend. I could realize in a measure a vast conflagration, with its excitement and contingent incidents, but I could not think without a shudder of the terrible sufferings of one hundred wild beasts, in their frantic, howling efforts to escape the flames. For a moment I was disposed to censure my agents and employees for permitting such a wholesale destruction of these poor animals. Then I remembered the reliable men I employed, and could not but feel assured that everything in their power had been done. The four beautiful giraffes – the only ones in the United States, and which alone cost $80,000 – were lost in the general sacrifice. I learned afterwards that every effort was made to rescue them, but the poor innocent pets were utterly paralyzed with fear, and could not be made to move, even after the lattice inclosure had been torn away. Had they escaped the burning building, the terrible cold night would doubtless have killed them before they could have been sheltered from the weather. No pecuniary compensation could satisfy me for the loss of these and many other rare animals.

Returning to New York I learned that my loss on building and property amounted to the neighborhood of $300,000. To meet this I held insurance polices to the amount of $90,000. My equestrian company, in which I took great pride, and which I had hoped to give employment during the winter, was of course left idle until the opening of the summer season. The members lost their entire wardrobe, a loss of which can only be appreciated by professionals. I was pleased to see a disposition manifested to render them some assistance, and encouraged it so far as lay in my power. A benefit was arranged under the auspices of the Equestrian Benevolent Association of the United States. The order has for its object the relief of unfortunate members, and, as in the present case, its broad mantle of charity includes worthy professionals not members of the Association. The affair came off at the Academy of Music, Tuesday, January 7, 1873, afternoon and evening. Many stars in the Equestrian, Dramatic and Musical firmament volunteered for the occasion, and the two entertainments were largely attended. Being called upon to “define my position,” I stepped upon the stage and made a few off-hand remarks, which were reported in the morning papers as follows:

Ladies and Gentlemen: I have catered for so many years for the amusement of the public, that the beneficiaries on this occasion seem to have thought that the showman himself ought to be a part of the show; and, at their request, I come before you. I sincerely thank you, in their behalf, for your patronage on this occasion. How much they need your substantial sympathy, the ashes across the street can tell you more eloquently than human tongue could utter. Those ashes are the remnants of “all the worldly goods” of some who appeal to you to-day.

For myself, I have been burned out so often, I am like the singer who was hissed on the stage; “Hiss away,” said he, “I am used to it.” My pecuniary loss is very serious, and occurring as it did, just before the holidays, it is all the more disastrous.

It may perhaps gratify my friends to know, however, that I am still enabled to invest another half million of dollars without disturbing my bank account. The public will have amusements, and they ought to be those of an elevating and an unobjectionable character. For many years it has been my pleasure to provide a class of instructive and amusing entertainments, to which a refined Christian mother can take her children with satisfaction.

I believe that no other man in America possesses the desire and facilities which I have in this direction. I have, therefore, taken steps, through all my agents in Europe and this country, which will enable me to put upon the road, early in April, the most gigantic and complete travelling museum, menagerie and hippodrome ever organized.

It has been asked whether I will build up a large museum and menagerie in New York. Well, I am now nearly sixty-three years of age. I can buy plenty of building sites and get plenty of leased lots for a new museum; but I cannot get a new lease of life.

Younger members of my family desire me to erect in this city an establishment worthy of New York and of myself. It will be no small undertaking; for if I erect such an establishment, it will possess novel and costly features never before attempted. I have it under consideration, and within a month shall determine whether or not I shall make another attempt; of one thing, however, you may be assured, ladies and gentlemen, although conflagrations may, for the present, disconcert my plans, yet while I have life and health no fire can burn nor water quench my ambition to gratify my patrons at whatever cost of money or of effort. I shall never lend my name where my labors and heart do not go with it, and the public shall never fail to find at any of my exhibitions their money’s worth ten times told.

The following paragraph from the New York Tribune of January 16, 1873, will give an inkling of what I am about, as I send these last pages to press:

BARNUM AND THE AUTOMATON TALKER

Mr. Phineas T. Barnum, the genial showman, contributes a good deal to our amusement, and all New Yorkers have a kindly side for him. Here is The Philadelphia Press’s account of his latest achievement:

“Early yesterday morning Prof. Faber received a call, at the Girard House, from the renowned showman, P. T. Barnum, who is now on a visit to Philadelphia in pursuit of wonders for his great travelling show. Within two hours Prof. Faber had given notice to the Emperor of Austria of his forfeiture of £200 for not exhibiting his talking machine at the Vienna Exposition next summer, and a contract was signed by Mr. Barnum, agreeing to pay $20,000 for the services of Mr. and Mrs. Faber and their wonderful automaton talker during the tenting season of 1873. No more marvelous exhibition was ever seen in a travelling tent. It is the most wonderful achievement of ingenuity that this age of new inventions has yet witnessed. Although it looks no more like a talking machine than an old-fashioned weaver’s loom, or a modern sewing machine, it converses plainly and distinctly in all languages, giving every intonation of the human voice to extraordinary perfection. Mr. Barnum says that 10,000,000 of visitors will hear this wonderful wooden conversationalist during the coming Summer.”

It is amusing to witness the difference in men’s dispositions. I arrived in New York from New Orleans the night before New Year’s, just a week after the fire. I found my manager, Mr. Coup, and my son-in-law, Mr. Hurd, in rather low spirits. I laughed at them and called them my deacons, but begged them not to go into mourning.

“It’s astonishing how you can laugh when you know our museum building and all of our rare animals are burned up, and we cannot get more in time for the spring show,” drawled the lugubrious Coup, in an injured tone.

“If the fire had waited ten days till the holidays were over, we should have been $50,000 dollars better off,” chimed in the chop-fallen Hurd.

“If the skies had fallen we should have caught larks,” I replied; “but as the skies did not fall, let us be content with what is still left us.”

“As for you, Coup,” I continued, “you talk about what we cannot do; now, have I not told you often enough, the word ‘can’t’ is not in my dictionary?”

“But you can’t help the fire, can you?” retorted Coup.

“I shall not try, but I can restore all it has destroyed, and much more,” I replied; “and I will do it within three months at furthest.”

“That is easier said than done,” responded Coup with a sigh.