The Life of P.T. Barnum

CHAPTER IV (#ulink_b0b7e0df-5269-56cd-8659-85189300e5d1)

Anecdotes with an Episode (#ulink_b0b7e0df-5269-56cd-8659-85189300e5d1)

My Grandfather’s Voyage – A Stray Clergyman – The Beard Question – A Quandary – The Whiskers Doomed – Half-shaved – The Razor Overboard – Indian File – Unique Procession – The Joke kept up – Christian’s Death-bed – The Irishman’s Dog – Clinching the Bargain – The Trick discovered – Mrs. O’Brien consoled – Blue-Laws – The Stage Agent – Dodging the Deacons – Stretching the Legs – Jehu’s Consternation – A Dry Season – The Miller’s Trial – The Verdict – Old Bob – Bob in the Bogs – The Rider afoot – A Slave for Life – Marking the Value.

DANBURY and Bethel were and still are manufacturing villages. Hats and combs were the principal articles of manufacture. The hatters and comb-makers had occasion to go to New York every spring and fall, and they generally managed to go in parties, frequently taking in a few “outsiders” who merely wished to visit the city for the fun of the thing. They usually took passage on board a sloop at Norwalk, and the length of their passage depended entirely upon the state of the wind. Sometimes the run would be made in eight hours, and at other times nearly as many days were required. It however made little difference with the passengers. They went in for “a spree,” and were sure to have a jolly time whether on land or water. They were all fond of practical jokes, and before starting they usually entered into a solemn compact, that any man who got angry at a practical joke should forfeit and pay the sum of twenty dollars. This agreement frequently saved much trouble, for occasionally an unexpected and rather severe trick would be played off, and sadly chafe the temper of the victim.

Upon one of these occasions a party of fourteen men started from Bethel on a Monday morning for New York. Among the number were my grandfather, Capt. Noah Ferry, Benjamin Hoyt, Esq., Uncle Samuel Taylor, (as he was called by everybody,) Eleazer Taylor, and Charles Dart. Most of these were proverbial jokers, and it was doubly necessary to adopt the stipulation in regard to the control of temper. It was therefore done in writing, duly signed.

They arrived at Norwalk Monday afternoon. The sloop set sail the same evening, with a fair prospect of reaching New York early the next morning. Several strangers took passage at Norwalk, among the rest a clergyman. He soon found himself in jolly company, and attempted to keep aloof. But they informed him it was no use, they expected to reach New York the next morning, and were determined to “make a night of it,” so he might as well render himself agreeable, for sleep was out of the question. His “Reverence” remonstrated at first, and talked about “his rights,” but he soon learned that he was in a company where the rights of “the majority” were in the ascendant; so he put a smooth face upon affairs, and making up his mind not to retire that night, he soon engaged in conversation with several of his fellow-passengers.

The clergyman was a slim spare man, standing over six feet high in his stockings, light complexion, sandy hair, and wearing a huge pair of reddish-brown whiskers. Some of the passengers joked him upon the superfluity of hair upon his face, but he replied that nature had placed it there, and although he thought proper, in accordance with modern custom, to shave off a portion of his beard, he considered it neither unmanly nor unclerical to wear whiskers. It seemed to be conceded that the clergyman had the best of the argument, and the subject was changed.

Expectation of a speedy run to New York was most sadly disappointed. The vessel appeared scarcely to move, and through long weary hours of day and night, there was not a ripple on the surface of the water. Nevertheless there was merriment on board the sloop, each voyager contributing good-humor to beguile the tediousness of time.

Friday morning came, but the calm continued. Five days from home, and no prospect of reaching New York! We may judge the appearance of the beards of the passengers. There was but one razor in the company; it was owned by my grandfather – and he refused to use it, or to suffer it to be used. “We shall all be shaved in New York,” said he.

On Saturday morning “all hands” appeared upon deck – and the sloop was becalmed opposite Sawpitts! (now Port Chester.)

This tried the patience of the passengers sadly.

“I expected to start for home to-day,” said one.

“I supposed all my combs would have been sold at auction on Wednesday, and yet here they are on board,” said another.

“I intended to have sold my hats surely this week, for I have a note to pay in New Haven on Monday,” added a third.

“I have an appointment to preach in New York this evening and to-morrow,” said the clergyman, whose huge sandy whiskers overshadowed a face now completely covered with a bright red beard a quarter of an inch long.

“Well, there is no use crying, gentlemen,” replied the captain; “it is lucky for us that we have chickens and eggs on freight, or we might have to be put upon allowance.”

After breakfast the passengers, who now began to look like barbarians, again solicited the loan of my grandfather’s razor.

“No, gentlemen,” he replied; “I insist that shaving is unhealthy and contrary to nature, and I am determined neither to shave myself nor loan my razor until we reach New York.”

Night came, and yet no wind. Sunday morning found them in the same position. Their patience was well nigh exhausted, but after breakfast a slight ripple appeared. It gradually increased, and the passengers were soon delighted in seeing the anchor weighed and the sails again set. The sloop glided finely through the water, and smiles of satisfaction forced themselves through the swamps of bristles which covered the faces of the passengers.

“What time shall we reach New York if this breeze continues?” was the anxious inquiry of half a dozen passengers.

“About two o’clock this afternoon,” replied the good-natured captain, who now felt assured that no calm would further blight his prospects.

“Alas! that will be too late to get shaved,” exclaimed several voices – “the barber shops close at twelve.”

“And I shall barely be in time to preach my afternoon sermon,” responded the red-bearded clergyman. “Mr. Taylor, do be so kind as to loan me your shaving utensils,” he continued, addressing my grandfather.

The old gentleman then went to his trunk, and unlocking it, he drew forth his razor, lather-box and strop. The passengers pressed around him, as all were now doubly anxious for a chance to shave themselves.

“Now, gentlemen,” said my grandfather, “I will be fair with you. I did not intend to lend my razor, but as we shall arrive too late for the barbers, you shall all use it. But it is evident we cannot all have time to be shaved with one razor before we reach New York, and as it would be hard for half of us to walk on shore with clean faces, and leave the rest on board waiting for their turn to shave themselves, I have hit upon a plan which I am sure you will all say is just and equitable.”

“What is it?” was the anxious inquiry.

“It is that each man shall shave one half of his face, and pass the razor over to the next, and when we are all half shaved we shall go on in rotation and shave the other half.”

They all agreed to this except the clergyman. He objected to appearing so ridiculous upon the Lord’s day, whereupon several declared that any man with such enormous reddish whiskers must necessarily always look ridiculous, and they insisted that if the clergyman used the razor at all he should shave off his whiskers.

My grandfather assented to this proposal, and said: “Now, gentlemen, as I own the razor, I will begin, and as our reverend friend is in a hurry he shall be next – but off shall come one of his whiskers on the first turn, or he positively shall not use my razor at all.”

The clergyman seeing there was no use in parleying, reluctantly agreed to the proposition.

In the course of ten minutes one side of my grandfather’s face and chin, in a straight line from the middle of his nose, was shaved as close as the back of his hand, while the other looked like a thick brush fence in a country swamp. The passengers burst into a roar of laughter in which the clergyman irresistibly joined, and my grandfather handed the razor to the clerical gentleman.

The clergyman had already well lathered one half of his face and passed the brush to the next customer. In a short time the razor had performed its work, and the clergyman was denuded of one whisker. The left side of his face was as naked as that of an infant, while from the other cheek four inches of a huge red whisker stood out in powerful contrast. Nothing more ludicrous could well be conceived. A deafening burst of laughter ensued, and the poor clergyman slunk quietly away to wait an hour until his turn should arrive to shave the other portion of his face.

The next man went through the same operation, and all the rest followed; a new laugh breaking forth as each customer handed over the razor to the next in turn. In the course of an hour and a quarter every passenger on board was half shaved. It was then proposed that all should go upon deck and take a drink before operations were commenced on the other side of their faces. When they all gathered upon the deck the scene was most ludicrous. The whole party burst again into loud merriment, each man being convulsed by the ridiculous appearance of the rest.

“Now, gentlemen,” said my grandfather, “I will go into the cabin and shave off the other side. You can all remain on deck. As soon as I have finished I will come up and give the clergyman the next chance.”

“You must hurry or you will not all be finished when we arrive,” remarked the captain, “for we shall touch Peck Slip wharf in half an hour.”

My grandfather entered the cabin, and in ten minutes he appeared upon deck razor in hand. He was smoothly shaved.

“Now,” said the clergyman, “it is my turn.”

“Certainly,” said my grandfather. “You are next, but wait a moment, let me draw the razor across the strop once or twice.”

Putting his foot upon the side rail of the deck and placing one end of the strop upon his leg, he drew the razor several times across it. Then as if by mistake the razor flew from his hand, and dropped into the water! My grandfather with well-feigned surprise exclaimed in a voice of terror, “Good heavens! the razor has fallen overboard!”

Such a picture of consternation as covered one half of all the passengers’ faces was never before witnessed. At first they were perfectly silent as if petrified with astonishment. But in a few minutes murmurs began to be heard and soon swelled into exclamations. “An infernal hog!” said one. “The meanest thing I ever knew,” remarked another. “He ought to be thrown overboard himself,” cried several others; but all remembered that every man who got angry was to pay a fine of twenty dollars, and they did not repeat their remarks. Presently all eyes were turned upon the clergyman. He was the most forlorn picture of despair that could be imagined.

“Oh, this is dreadful!” he drawled in a tone which seemed as it every word broke a heart-string.

This was too much, and the whole crowd broke into another roar. Tranquillity was restored! The joke, though a hard one, was swallowed. The sloop soon touched the dock. The half-shaved passengers now agreed that my grandfather, who was the only person on board who appeared like a civilized being, should take the lead for the Walton House in Franklin Square, and all the rest should follow in “Indian file.” He reminded them that they would excite much attention in the streets, and enjoined them not to smile. They agreed, and away they started. They attracted a crowd of persons before they reached the corner of Pearl street and Peck Slip, but they all marched with as much solemnity as if they were going to the grave. The door of the Walton House was open. Old Backus the landlord was quietly enjoying his cigar, while a dozen or two persons were engaged in reading the papers, etc. In marched the file of nondescripts with the rabble at their heels. Mr. Backus and his customers started to their feet in astonishment. My grandfather marched solemnly up to the bar – the passengers followed and formed double rows behind him. “Santa Cruz rum for nineteen,” exclaimed my grandfather to the barkeeper. The astonished liquor-seller produced bottles and tumblers in double quick time, and when Backus discovered that the nondescripts were old friends and customers, he was excited to uncontrollable merriment.

“What in the name of decency has happened,” he exclaimed, “that you should all appear here half shaved?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Backus,” said my grandfather, with apparent seriousness. “These gentlemen choose to wear their beards according to the prevailing fashion in the place they came from, and I think it is very hard that they should be stared at and insulted by you Yorkers because your fashion happens to differ a trifle from theirs.”

Backus half believed my grandfather in earnest, and the by-standers were quite convinced such was the fact, for not a smile appeared upon one of the half-shaved countenances.

After sitting a few minutes the passengers were shown to their rooms, and at tea-time every man appeared at the table precisely as they came from the sloop. The ladies looked astonished, the waiters winked and laughed, but the subjects of this merriment were as grave as judges. In the evening they maintained the same gravity in the bar-room, and at ten o’clock they retired to bed with all due solemnity. In the morning however, bright and early, they were in the barber’s shop undergoing an operation that soon placed them upon a footing with the rest of mankind.

It is hardly necessary to explain that the clergyman did not appear in that singular procession of Sunday afternoon. He tied a handkerchief over his face, and taking his valise in his hand, started for Market street, where it is presumed he found a good brother and a good razor in season to fill his appointment.

In the month of August, 1825, my maternal grandmother met with an accident which, although considered trivial at the time, resulted in her death. While walking in the garden she stepped upon the point of a rusty nail, which ran perhaps half an inch into her foot. It was immediately extracted, but the foot became swollen, and in a few days the most alarming symptoms were manifest. She was soon sensible that she was upon her death-bed, but she was a good Christian, and her approaching end had no terrors for her. The day before her departure, and while in the full possession of her faculties, she sent for all her grandchildren to take their final leave of her. I never can forget the sensations which I experienced when my turn came to approach her bed-side, and when, taking my hand in hers, she spoke to me of her approaching dissolution, of the joys of religion, the consoling reflections that a death-bed afforded those who could feel that they had tried to live good lives and be of benefit to their fellow-men. She besought me to think seriously of religion, to read my Bible often, to pray to our Father in heaven, to be regular in my attendance at church; to use no profane nor idle language, and especially to remember that I could in no way so effectually prove my love to God, as in loving all my fellow-beings. I was affected to tears, and promised to remember her counsel. When I received from her a farewell kiss, knowing that I should never behold her again alive, I was completely overcome, and however much I may have since departed from her injunctions, the impressions received at that death-bed scene have ever been vivid among my recollections, and I trust they have proved in some degree salutary. A more sincere Christian or a more exemplary woman than my grandmother I have never seen.

But my serious moods did not long remain undisturbed. One of the customers at our store was an Irishman named Peter O’Brien, a small farmer in one of the districts several miles north of Bethel. An Irishman in those days was a rarity in the interior of Connecticut, and the droll mother-wit, as well as the singular Irish bulls of Peter, gave him considerable celebrity in those parts.

On one occasion Peter visited the store to make some purchases, and one of our village wags perceiving a small dog in his wagon, and wishing to joke the Hibernian, asked O’Brien if the dog was for sale.