SQUALLS AND BREEZES.SQUALLS AND BREEZES.
principal prize of $100 at the baby shows. Every mother thought her own baby the brightest and best, and confidently expected the capital prize.
For where was ever seen the motherWould give her baby for another?
For where was ever seen the motherWould give her baby for another?
For where was ever seen the motherWould give her baby for another?
Not foreseeing this when I first stepped into the expectant circle and announced in a matter of fact way that a committee of ladies had decided upon the baby of Mrs. So and So as entitled to the leading prize, I was ill-prepared for the storm of indignation that arose on every side. Ninety-nine disappointed, and as they thought, deeply injured, mothers made common cause and pronounced the successful little one the meanest, homeliest baby in the lot, and roundly abused me and my committee for our stupidity and partiality. “Very well, ladies,” said I in the first instance, “select a committee of your own and I will give another $100 prize to the baby you shall pronounce to be the best specimen.” This was only throwing oil upon flame; the ninety-nine confederates were deadly enemies from the moment and no new babies were presented in competition for the second prize. Thereafter, I took good care to send in a written report and did not attempt to announce the prize in person.
At the first exhibition of the kind, there was a vague, yet very current rumor, that in the haste of departure from the Museum several young mothers had exchanged babies (for the babies were nearly all of the same age and were generally dressed alike) and did not discover the mistake till they arrived home and some such conversation as this occurred between husband and wife:
“Did our baby take the prize?”
“No! the darling was cheated out of it.”
“Well, why didn’t you bring home the same baby you carried to the Museum?”
I am glad to say that I could not trace this cruel rumor to an authentic source.
In June 1843, a herd of yearling buffaloes was on exhibition in Boston. I bought the lot, brought them to New Jersey, hired the race course at Hoboken, chartered the ferry-boats for one day, and advertised that a hunter had arrived with a herd of buffaloes—I was careful not to state their age—and that August 31st there would be a “Grand Buffalo Hunt” on the Hoboken race course—all persons to be admitted free of charge.
The appointed day was warm and delightful, and no less than twenty-four thousand people crossed the North River in the ferry-boats to enjoy the cooling breeze and to see the “Grand Buffalo Hunt.” The hunter was dressed as an Indian, and mounted on horseback; he proceeded to show how the wild buffalo is captured with a lasso, but unfortunately the yearlings would not run till the crowd gave a great shout, expressive at once of derision and delight at the harmless humbug. This shout started the young animals into a weak gallop and the lasso was duly thrown over the head of the largest calf. The crowd roared with laughter, listened to my balcony band, which I also furnished “free,” and then started for New York, little dreaming who was the author of this sensation, or what was its object.
Mr. N. P. Willis, then editor of theHome Journal, wrote an article illustrating the perfect good nature with which the American public submit to a clever humbug. He said that he went to Hoboken to witness the Buffalo Hunt. It was nearly four o’clock when the boat leftthe foot of Barclay Street, and it was so densely crowded that many persons were obliged to stand on the railings and hold on to the awning posts. When they reached the Hoboken side a boat equally crowded was coming out of the slip. The passengers just arriving cried out to those who were coming away, “Is the Buffalo Hunt over?” To which came the reply, “Yes, and it was the biggest humbug you ever heard of!” Willis added that passengers on the boat with him instantly gave three cheers for the author of the humbug, whoever he might be.
After the public had enjoyed a laugh for several days over the Hoboken “Free Grand Buffalo Hunt,” I permitted it to be announced that the proprietor of the American Museum was responsible for the joke, thus using the buffalo hunt as a sky-rocket to attract public attention to my Museum. The object was accomplished and although some people cried out “humbug,” I had added to the notoriety which I so much wanted and I was satisfied. As for the cry of “humbug,” it never harmed me, and I was in the position of the actor who had much rather be roundly abused than not to be noticed at all. I ought to add, that the forty-eight thousand sixpences—the usual fare—received for ferry fares, less what I paid for the charter of the boats on that one day, more than remunerated me for the cost of the buffaloes and the expenses of the “hunt,” and the enormous gratuitous advertising of the Museum must also be placed to my credit.
With the same object—that is, advertising my Museum,—I purchased, for $500, in Cincinnati, Ohio, a “Woolly Horse” I found on exhibition in that city. It was a well formed, small sized horse, with no mane,and not a particle of hair on his tail, while his entire body and legs were covered with thick, fine hair or wool, which curled tight to his skin. This horse was foaled in Indiana, and was a remarkable freak of nature, and certainly a very curious looking animal.
I had not the remotest idea, when I bought this horse, what I should do with him; but when the news came that Colonel John C. Fremont (who was supposed to have been lost in the snows of the Rocky Mountains) was in safety, the “Woolly Horse” was exhibited in New York, and was widely advertised as a most remarkable animal that had been captured by the great explorer’s party in the passes of the Rocky Mountains. The exhibition met with only moderate success in New York, and in several Northern provincial towns, and the show would have fallen flat in Washington, had it not been for the over-zeal of Colonel Thomas H. Benton, then a United States Senator from Missouri. He went to the show, and then caused the arrest of my agent for obtaining twenty-five cents from him under “false pretences.” No mention had been made of this curious animal in any letter he had received from his son-in-law, Colonel John C. Fremont, and therefore the Woolly Horse had not been captured by any of Fremont’s party. The reasoning was hardly as sound as were most of the arguments of “Old Bullion,” and the case was dismissed. After a few days of merriment, public curiosity no longer turned in that direction, and the old horse was permitted to retire to private life. My object in the exhibition, however, was fully attained. When it was generally known that the proprietor of the American Museum was also the owner of the famous “Woolly Horse,” it caused yet more talk about meand my establishment, and visitors began to say that they would give more to see the proprietor of the Museum than to view the entire collection of curiosities. As for my ruse in advertising the “Woolly Horse” as having been captured by Fremont’s exploring party, of course the announcement neither added to nor took from the interest of the exhibition; but it arrested public attention, and it was the only feature of the show that I now care to forget.
It will be seen that very much of the success which attended my many years proprietorship of the American Museum was due to advertising, and especially to my odd methods of advertising. Always claiming that I had curiosities worth showing and worth seeing, and exhibited “dog cheap” at “twenty-five cents admission, children half price”—I studied ways to arrest public attention; to startle, to make people talk and wonder; in short, to let the world know that I had a Museum.
About this time, I engaged a band of Indians from Iowa. They had never seen a railroad or steamboat until they saw them on the route from Iowa to New York. Of course they were wild and had but faint ideas of civilization. The party comprised large and noble specimens of the untutored savage, as well as several very beautiful squaws, with two or three interesting “papooses.” They lived and lodged in a large room on the top floor of the Museum, and cooked their own victuals in their own way. They gave their war-dances on the stage in the Lecture Room with great vigor and enthusiasm, much to the satisfaction of the audiences. But these wild Indians seemed to consider their dances as realities. Hence when they gave a realWar Dance, it was dangerous for any parties, except their manager and interpreter, to be on the stage, for the moment they had finished their war dance, they began to leap and peer about behind the scenes in search of victims for their tomahawks and scalping knives! Indeed, lest in these frenzied moments they might make a dash at the orchestra or the audience, we had a high rope barrier placed between them and the savages on the front of the stage.
After they had been a week in the Museum, I proposed a change of performance for the week following, by introducing new dances. Among these was the Indian Wedding Dance. At that time I printed but one set of posters (large bills) per week, so that whatever was announced for Monday, was repeated every day and evening during that week. Before the Wedding Dance came off on Monday afternoon, I was informed that I was to provide a large new red woollen blanket, at a cost of ten dollars, for the bridegroom to present to the father of the bride. I ordered the purchase to be made; but was considerably taken aback, when I was informed that I must have another new blanket for the evening, inasmuch as the savage old Indian Chief, father-in-law to the bridegroom, would not consent to his daughter’s being approached with the Wedding Dance unless he had his blanket present.
I undertook to explain to the chief, through the interpreter, that this was only a “make believe” wedding; but the old savage shrugged his shoulders, and gave such a terrific “Ugh!” that I was glad to make my peace by ordering another blanket. As we gave two performances per day, I was out of pocket $120 for twelve “wedding blankets,” that week.
One of the beautiful squaws named Do-humme died in the Museum. She had been a great favorite with many ladies,—among whom I can especially name Mrs. C. M. Sawyer, wife of the Rev. Dr. T. J. Sawyer. Do-humme was buried on the border of Sylvan Water, at Greenwood Cemetery, where a small monument, erected by her friends, designates her last resting place.
The poor Indians were very sorrowful for many days, and desired to get back again to their western wilds. The father and the betrothed of Do-humme cooked various dishes of food and placed them upon the roof of the Museum, where they believed the spirit of their departed friend came daily for its supply; and these dishes were renewed every morning during the stay of the Indians at the Museum.
It was sometimes very amusing to hear the remarks of strangers who came to visit my Museum. One afternoon a prim maiden lady from Portland, Maine, walked into my private office, where I was busily engaged in writing, and taking a seat on the sofa she asked:
“Is this Mr. Barnum?”
“It is,” I replied.
“Is this Mr. P. T. Barnum, the proprietor of the Museum?” she asked.
“The same,” was my answer.
“Why, really, Mr. Barnum,” she continued, “you look much like other common folks, after all.”
I remarked that I presumed I did; but I could not help it, and I hoped she was not disappointed at my appearance.
“Oh, no,” she said; “I suppose I have no right to be disappointed, but I have read and heard so much about you and your Museum that I was quite prepared to be astonished.”
I asked her if she had been through the establishment.
“I have,” she replied; “I came in immediately after breakfast; I have been here ever since, and, I can say I think with the Queen of Sheba, that ‘the half had not been told me.’ But, Mr. Barnum,” she, continued, “I have long felt a desire to see you; I wanted to attend when you lectured on temperance in Portland, but I had a severe cold and could not go out.”
“Do you like my collection as well as you do the one in the Boston Museum?” I asked.
“Dear me! Mr. Barnum,” said she, “I never went to any Museum before, nor to any place of amusement or public entertainment, excepting our school exhibitions; and I have sometimes felt that they even may be wicked, for some parts of the dialogues seemed frivolous; but I have heard so much of your ‘moral drama’ and the great good you are doing for the rising generation that I thought I must come here and see for myself.”
“We represent the pathetic story of ‘Charlotte Temple’ in the Lecture Room to-day,” I remarked, with an inward chuckle at the peculiarities of my singular visitor, who, although she was nearly fifty years of age, had probably never been in an audience of a hundred persons, unless it might be at a school exhibition, or in Sunday school, or in church.
“Indeed! I am quite familiar with the sad history of Miss Temple, and I think I can derive great consolation from witnessing the representation of the touching story.”
At this moment the gong sounded to announce the opening of the Lecture Room, and the crowd passed onin haste to secure seats. My spinster visitor sprang to her feet and anxiously inquired:
“Are the services about to commence?”
“Yes,” I replied, “the congregation is now going up.”
She marched along with the crowd as demurely as if she was going to a funeral. After she was seated, I watched her, and in the course of the play I noticed that she was several times so much overcome as to be moved to tears. She was very much affected, and when the “services” were over, without seeking another interview with me, she went silently and tearfully away.
One day, two city boys who had thoroughly explored the wonders of the Museum, on their way out passed the open door of my private office, and seeing me sitting there, one of them exclaimed to his companion:
“There! That’s Mr. Barnum.”
“No! is it?” asked the other, and then with his mind full of the glories of the stuffed gander-skins, and other wealth which had been displayed to his wondering eyes in the establishment, he summed up his views of the vastness and value of the whole collection, and its fortunate proprietor in a single sentence:
“Well, he’s an awful rich old cuss, ain’t he!”
Those boys evidently took a strictly financial view of the establishment.
PEALE’S MUSEUM—MYSTERIOUS MESMERISM—YANKEE HILL—HENRY BENNETT—THE RIVAL MUSEUMS—THE ORPHEAN AND ORPHAN FAMILIES—THE FUDGEE MERMAID—BUYING OUT MY RIVAL—RUNNING OPPOSITION TO MYSELF—ABOLISHING THEATRICAL NUISANCES—NO CHECKS AND NO BAR—THE MUSEUM MY MANIA—MY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH CHARLES S. STRATTON—GENERAL TOM THUMB IN NEW YORK—RE-ENGAGEMENT—AN APT PUPIL—FREE FROM DEBT—THE PROFITS OF TWO YEARS—IN SEARCH OF A NEW FIELD—STARTING FOR LIVERPOOL—THE GOOD SHIP “YORKSHIRE”—MY PARTY—ESCORT TO SANDY HOOK—THE VOYAGE—A TOBACCO TRICK—A BRAGGING JOHN BULL OUTWITTED—ARRIVAL AT LIVERPOOL—A GENTLEMAN BEGGAR—MADAME CELESTE—CHEAP DWARFS—TWO-PENNY SHOWS—EXHIBITION OF GENERAL TOM THUMB IN LIVERPOOL—FIRST-CLASS ENGAGEMENT FOR LONDON.
PEALE’S MUSEUM—MYSTERIOUS MESMERISM—YANKEE HILL—HENRY BENNETT—THE RIVAL MUSEUMS—THE ORPHEAN AND ORPHAN FAMILIES—THE FUDGEE MERMAID—BUYING OUT MY RIVAL—RUNNING OPPOSITION TO MYSELF—ABOLISHING THEATRICAL NUISANCES—NO CHECKS AND NO BAR—THE MUSEUM MY MANIA—MY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH CHARLES S. STRATTON—GENERAL TOM THUMB IN NEW YORK—RE-ENGAGEMENT—AN APT PUPIL—FREE FROM DEBT—THE PROFITS OF TWO YEARS—IN SEARCH OF A NEW FIELD—STARTING FOR LIVERPOOL—THE GOOD SHIP “YORKSHIRE”—MY PARTY—ESCORT TO SANDY HOOK—THE VOYAGE—A TOBACCO TRICK—A BRAGGING JOHN BULL OUTWITTED—ARRIVAL AT LIVERPOOL—A GENTLEMAN BEGGAR—MADAME CELESTE—CHEAP DWARFS—TWO-PENNY SHOWS—EXHIBITION OF GENERAL TOM THUMB IN LIVERPOOL—FIRST-CLASS ENGAGEMENT FOR LONDON.
THEpresident and directors of the “New York Museum Company” not only failed to buy the American Museum as they confidently expected to do, but, after my newspaper squib war and my purchase of the Museum, they found it utterly impossible to sell their stock. By some arrangement, the particulars of which I do not remember, if, indeed, I ever cared to know them, Mr. Peale was conducting Peale’s Museum which he claimed was a more “scientific” establishment than mine, and he pretended to appeal to a higher class of patrons. Mesmerism was one of his scientific attractions, and he had a subject upon whom he operated at times with the greatest seeming success, and fairly astonished his audiences. But there were times when the subject was wholly unimpressible and then those who had paid their money to see the woman put into the mesmeric state cried out “humbug,” and the reputation of the establishment seriously suffered.
It devolved upon me to open a rival mesmeric performance, and accordingly I engaged a bright little girl who was exceedingly susceptible to such mesmeric influences as I could induce. That is, she learned her lesson thoroughly, and when I had apparently put her to sleep with a few passes and stood behind her, she seemed to be duly “impressed” as I desired; raised her hands as I willed; fell from her chair to the floor; and if I put candy or tobacco into my mouth, she was duly delighted or disgusted. She never failed in these routine performances. Strange to say, believers in mesmerism used to witness her performances with the greatest pleasure and adduce them as positive proofs that there was something in mesmerism, and they applauded tremendously—up to a certain point.
That point was reached, when leaving the girl “asleep,” I called up some one in the audience, promising to put him “in the same state” within five minutes, or forfeit fifty dollars. Of course, all my “passes” would not put any man in the mesmeric state; at the end of three minutes he was as wide awake as ever.
“Never mind,” I would say, looking at my watch; “I have two minutes more, and meantime, to show that a person in this state is utterly insensible to pain, I propose to cut off one of the fingers of the little girl who is still asleep.” I would then take out my knife and feel of the edge, and when I turned around to the girl whom I left on the chair she had fled behind the scenes to the intense amusement of the greater part of the audience and to the amazement of the mesmerists who were present.
“Why! where’s my little girl?” I asked with feigned astonishment.
“Oh! she ran away when you began to talk about cutting off fingers.”
“Then she was wide awake, was she?”
“Of course she was, all the time.”
“I suppose so; and, my dear sir, I promised that you should be ‘in the same state’ at the end of five minutes, and as I believe you are so, I do not forfeit fifty dollars.”
I kept up this performance for several weeks, till I quite killed Peale’s “genuine” mesmerism in the rival establishment. After Peale, “Yankee” Hill undertook the management of that Museum, but in a little while he failed. It was then let to Henry Bennett, who reduced the entrance price to one shilling,—a half price which led me to characterize his concern as “cheap and nasty,”—and he began a serious rivalry with my Museum. His main reliances were burlesques and caricatures of whatever novelties I was exhibiting; thus, when I advertised an able company of vocalists, well-known as the Orphean Family, Bennett announced the “Orphan Family;” my Fejee Mermaid he offset with a figure made of a monkey and codfish joined together and called the “Fudg-ee Mermaid.” These things created some laughter at my expense, but they also served to advertise my Museum.
When the novelty of this opposition died away, Bennett did a decidedly losing business. I used to send a man with a shilling to his place every night and I knew exactly how much he was doing and what were his receipts. The holidays were coming and might tide him over a day or two, but he was at the very bottom and I said to him, one day:
“Bennett, if you can keep open one week after New Year’s I will give you a hundred dollars.”
He made every effort to win the money, and even went to the landlord and offered him the entire receipts for a week if he would only let him stay there; but he would not do it, and the day after New Year’s, January 2, 1843, Bennett shut up shop, having lost his last dollar and even failing to secure the handsome premium I offered him.
The entire collection fell into the hands of the landlord for arrearages of rent, and I privately purchased it for $7,000 cash, hired the building, and secretly engaged Bennett as my agent. We ran a very spirited opposition for a long time and abused each other terribly in public. It was very amusing when actors and performers failed to make terms with one of us and went to the other, carrying from one to the other the price each was willing to pay for an engagement. We thus used to hear extraordinary stories about each other’s “liberal terms,” but between the two we managed to secure such persons as we wanted at about the rates at which their services were really worth. While these people were thus running from one manager to the other, supposing we were rivals, Bennett said to me one day:
“You and I are like a pair of shears; we seem to cut each other, but we only cut what comes between.”
I ran my opposition long enough to beat myself. It answered every purpose, however, in awakening public attention to my Museum, and was an advantage in preventing others from starting a genuine opposition. At the end of six months, the whole establishment, including the splendid gallery of American portraits, was removed to the American Museum and I immediately advertised the great card of a “Double attraction” and “Two Museums in One,” without extra charge.
A Museum proper obviously depends for patronage largely upon country people who visit the city with a worthy curiosity to see the novelties of the town. As I had opened a dramatic entertainment in connection with my curiosities, it was clear that I must adapt my stage to the wants of my country customers. While I was disposed to amuse my provincial patrons, I was determined that there should be nothing in my establishment, where many of my visitors would derive their first impressions of city life, that could contaminate or corrupt them. At this period, it was customary to tolerate very considerable license on the stage. Things were said and done and permitted in theatres that elsewhere would have been pronounced highly improper. The public seemed to demand these things, and it is an axiom in political economy, that the demand must regulate the supply. But I determined, at the start, that, let the demand be what it might, the Museum dramatic entertainments should be unexceptionable on the score of morality.
I have already mentioned some of the immediate reforms I made in the abuses of the stage. I went farther, and, at the risk of some pecuniary sacrifice, I abolished what was common enough in other theatres, even the most “respectable,” and was generally known as the “third tier.” Nor was a bar permitted on my premises. To be sure, I had no power to prevent my patrons from going out between the acts and getting liquor if they chose to do so, and I gave checks, as is done in other theatres, and some of my city customers availed themselves of the opportunity to go out for drinks and return again. Practically, then, it was much the same as if I had kept a bar in the Museum, and soI abolished the check business. There was great reason to apprehend that such a course would rob me of the patronage of a considerable class of play-goers, but I rigidly adhered to the new rule, and what I may have lost in money, I more than gained in the greater decorum which characterized my audiences.
The Museum became a mania with me and I made everything possible subservient to it. On the eve of elections, rival politicians would ask me for whom I was going to vote, and my answer invariably was, “I vote for the American Museum.” In fact, at that time, I cared very little about politics, and a great deal about my business. Meanwhile the Museum prospered wonderfully, and everything I attempted or engaged in seemed at the outset an assured success.
The giants whom I exhibited from time to time were always literally great features in my establishment, and they oftentimes afforded me, as well as my patrons, food for much amusement as well as wonder. The Quaker giant, Hales, was quite a wag in his way. He went once to see the new house of an acquaintance who had suddenly become rich, but who was a very ignorant man. When he came back he described the wonders of the mansion and said that the proud proprietor showed him everything from basement to attic; “parlors, bed-rooms, dining room, and,” said Hales, “what he called his ‘study’—meaning, I suppose, the place where he intends to study his spelling-book!”
I had at one time two famous men, the French giant, M. Bihin, a very slim man, and the Arabian giant, Colonel Goshen. These men generally got on together very well, though, of course, each was jealous of theother, and of the attention the rival received, or the notice he attracted. One day they quarrelled, and a lively interchange of compliments ensued, the Arabian calling the Frenchman a “Shanghai,” and receiving in return the epithet of “Nigger.” From words both were eager to proceed to blows, and both ran to my collection of arms, one seizing the club with which Captain Cook or any other man might have been killed, if it were judiciously wielded, and the other laying hands on a sword of the terrific size which is supposed to have been conventional in the days of the Crusades. The preparations for a deadly encounter, and the high words of the contending parties brought a dozen of the Museumattachesto the spot, and these men threw themselves between the gigantic combatants. Hearing the disturbance, I ran from my private office to the duelling ground, and said:
“Look here! This is all right; if you want to fight each other, maiming and perhaps killing one or both of you, that is your affair; but my interest lies here—you are both under engagement to me, and if this duel is to come off, I and the public have a right to participate. It must be duly advertised, and must take place on the stage of the Lecture Room. No performance of yours would be a greater attraction, and if you kill each other, our engagement can end with your duel.”
This proposition, made in apparent earnest, so delighted the giants that they at once burst into a laugh, shook hands, and quarrelled no more.
I now come to the details of one of the most interesting, as well as successful, of all the show enterprises in which I have engaged—one which not only taxed all my ingenuity and industry, but which gave unqualified
BATTLE OF THE GIANTS.BATTLE OF THE GIANTS.
delight to thousands of people on two continents and put enormous sums of money into many pockets besides my own.
In November, 1842, I was in Albany on business, and as the Hudson River was frozen over, I returned to New York by the Housatonic Railroad, stopping one night at Bridgeport, Connecticut, with my brother, Philo F. Barnum, who at that time kept the Franklin Hotel. I had heard of a remarkably small child in Bridgeport, and, at my request, my brother brought him to the hotel. He was not two feet high; he weighed less than sixteen pounds, and was the smallest child I ever saw that could walk alone; but he was a perfectly formed, bright-eyed little fellow, with light hair and ruddy cheeks and he enjoyed the best of health. He was exceedingly bashful, but after some coaxing he was induced to talk with me, and he told me that he was the son of Sherwood E. Stratton, and that his own name was Charles S. Stratton. After seeing him and talking with him, I at once determined to secure his services from his parents and to exhibit him in public.
But as he was only five years of age, to exhibit him as a “dwarf” might provoke the inquiry “How do you know he is a dwarf?” Some liberty might be taken with the facts, but even with this license, I felt that the venture was only an experiment, and I engaged him for four weeks at three dollars a week, with all travelling and boarding charges for himself and his mother at my expense. They came to New York, Thanksgiving day, December 8, 1842, and Mrs. Stratton was greatly surprised to see her son announced on my Museum bills as “General Tom Thumb.”
I took the greatest pains to educate and train mydiminutive prodigy, devoting many hours to the task by day and by night, and I was very successful, for he was an apt pupil with a great deal of native talent, and a keen sense of the ludicrous. He made rapid progress in preparing himself for such performances as I wished him to undertake and he became very much attached to his teacher.
When the four weeks expired, I re-engaged him for one year at seven dollars a week, with a gratuity of fifty dollars at the end of the engagement, and the privilege of exhibiting him anywhere in the United States, in which event his parents were to accompany him and I was to pay all travelling expenses. He speedily became a public favorite, and, long before the year was out, I voluntarily increased his weekly salary to twenty-five dollars, and he fairly earned it. Sometimes I exhibited him for several weeks in succession at the Museum, and when I wished to introduce other novelties I sent him to different towns and cities, accompanied by my friend, Mr. Fordyce Hitchcock, and the fame of General Tom Thumb soon spread throughout the country.
Two years had now elapsed since I bought the Museum and I had long since paid for the entire establishment from the profits; I had bought out my only rival; I was free from debt, and had a handsome surplus in the treasury. The business had long ceased to be an experiment; it was an established success and was in such perfect running order, that it could safely be committed to the management of trustworthy and tried agents.
Accordingly, looking for a new field for my individual efforts, I entered into an agreement for GeneralTom Thumb’s services for another year, at fifty dollars a week and all expenses, with the privilege of exhibiting him in Europe. I proposed to test the curiosity of men and women on the other side of the Atlantic. Much as I hoped for success, in my most sanguine moods, I could not anticipate the half of what was in store for me; I did not foresee nor dream that I was shortly to be brought in close contact with kings, queens, lords and illustrious commoners, and that such association, by means of my exhibition, would afterwards introduce me to the great public and the public’s money, which was to fill my coffers. Or, if I saw some such future, it was dreamily, dimly, and with half-opened eyes, as the man saw the “trees walking.”
After arranging my business affairs for a long absence, and making every preparation for an extended foreign tour, on Thursday, January 18, 1844, I went on board the new and fine sailing ship “Yorkshire,” Captain D. G. Bailey, bound for Liverpool. Our party included General Tom Thumb, his parents, his tutor, and Professor Guillaudeu, the French naturalist. We were accompanied by several personal friends, and the City Brass Band kindly volunteered to escort us to Sandy Hook.
My name has been so long associated with mirthful incidents that I presume many persons do not suppose I am susceptible of sorrowful, or even sentimental emotions; but when the bell of the steamer that towed our ship down the bay announced the hour of separation, and then followed the hastily-spoken words of farewell, and the parting grasp of friendly hands, I confess that I was very much in the “melting mood,” and when the band played “Home, Sweet Home,” I was moved to tears.
A voyage to Liverpool is now an old, familiar story, and I abstain from entering into details, though I have abundant material respecting my own experiences of my first sea-voyage in the first two of a series of one hundred letters which I wrote in Europe as correspondent of the New YorkAtlas. But some of the incidents and adventures of my voyage on the “Yorkshire” are worth transcribing in these pages of my personal history.
Occasional calms and adverse winds protracted our passage to nineteen days, but a better ship and a more competent captain never sailed. I was entirely exempt from sea-sickness, and enjoyed the voyage very much. Good fellowship prevailed among the passengers, the time passed rapidly, and we had a good deal of fun on board.
Several of the passengers were English merchants from Canada and one of the number, who reckoned himself “A, No. 1,” and often hinted that he was too ‘cute for any Yankee, boasted so much of his shrewdness that a Yankee friend of mine confederated with me to test it. I thought of an old trick and arranged with my friend to try it on the boastful John Bull. Coming out of my state-room, with my hand to my face, and apparently in great pain, I asked my fellow passengers what was good for the tooth-ache. My friend and confederate recommended heating tobacco, and holding it to my face. I therefore borrowed a little tobacco, and putting it in a paper of a peculiar color, placed it on the stove to warm. I then retired for a few minutes, during which time the Yankee proposed playing a trick on me by emptying the tobacco, and filling the paper with ashes, which our smart Englishmanthought would be a very fine joke, and he himself made the substitution, putting ashes into the paper and throwing the tobacco into the fire.
I soon reappeared and gravely placed the paper to my face to the great amusement of the passengers and walked up and down the cabin as if I was suffering terribly. At the further end of the cabin I slyly exchanged the paper for another in my pocket of the same color and containing tobacco and then walked back again a picture of misery. Whereupon, the Merry Englishman cried out:
“Mr. Barnum, what have you got in that paper?”
“Tobacco,” I replied.
“What will you bet it is tobacco?” said the Englishman.
“Oh, don’t bother me,” said I; “my tooth pains me sadly; I know it is tobacco, for I put it there myself.”
“I’ll bet you a dozen of champagne that it is not tobacco,” said the Englishman.
“Nonsense,” I replied, “I will not bet, for it would not be fair; I know it is tobacco.”
“I’ll bet you fifty dollars it is not,” said John Bull, and he counted ten sovereigns upon the table.
“I’ll not bet the money,” I replied, “for I tell you I know it is tobacco; I placed it there myself.”
“You dare not bet!” he rejoined.
At last, merely to accommodate him, I bet a dozen of champagne. The Englishman fairly jumped with delight, and roared out:
“Open the paper! open the paper!”
The passengers crowded round the table in great glee to see me open the paper, for all but the Yankee thought I was taken in. I quietly opened the paper, and remarked:
“There, I told you it was tobacco—how foolish you were to suppose it was not—for, as I told you, I put it there myself.”
The passengers, my confederate excepted, were amazed and the Englishman was absolutely astounded. It was the biter bitten. But he told the steward to bring the champagne, and turning to my confederate who had so effectually assisted in “selling” him, he pronounced the affair “a contemptible Yankee trick.” It was several days before he recovered his good humor, but he joined at last with the rest of us in laughing at the joke, and we heard no more about his extraordinary shrewdness.
On our arrival at Liverpool, quite a crowd had assembled at the dock to see Tom Thumb, for it had been previously announced that he would arrive in the “Yorkshire,” but his mother managed to smuggle him ashore unnoticed, for she carried him, as if he was an infant, in her arms. We went to the Waterloo Hotel, and, after an excellent dinner, walked out to take a look at the town. While I was viewing the Nelson monument a venerable looking, well-dressed old gentleman volunteered to explain to me the different devices and inscriptions. I looked upon him as a disinterested and attentive man of means who was anxious to assist a stranger and to show his courtesy; but when I gave him a parting bow of thanks, half ashamed that I had so trespassed on his kindness, he put out the hand of a beggar and said that he would be thankful for any remuneration I saw fit to bestow upon him for his trouble. I was certainly astonished, and I thrust a shilling into his hand and walked rapidly away.
In the evening of the same day, a tall, raw-bonedman came to the hotel and introduced himself to me as a brother Yankee, who would be happy in pointing out the many wonders in Liverpool that a stranger would be pleased to see.
I asked him how long he had been in Liverpool, and he replied, “Nearly a week.” I declined his proffered services abruptly, remarking that if he had been there only a week, I probably knew as much about England as he did.
“Oh,” said he, “you are mistaken. I have been in England before, though never till recently in Liverpool.”
“What part of England?” I inquired.
“Opposite Niagara Falls,” he replied; “I spent several days there with the British soldiers.”
I laughed in his face, and reminded him that England did not lie opposite Niagara Falls. The impudent fellow was confused for a moment, and then triumphantly exclaimed:
“I didn’t mean England. I know what country it is as well as you do.”
“Well, what country is it?” I asked, quite assured that he did not know.
“Great Britain, of course,” he replied.
It is needless to add that the honor of his company as a guide in Liverpool was declined, and he went off apparently in a huff because his abilities were not appreciated.
Later in the evening, the proprietor of a cheap wax-works show, at three ha’ pence admission, called upon me. He had heard of the arrival of the great American curiosity, and he seized the earliest opportunity to make the General and myself the magnificent offer often dollars a week if we would join ourselves to his already remarkable and attractive exhibition. I could not but think, that dwarfs must be literally at a “low figure” in England, and my prospects were gloomy indeed. I was a stranger in the land; my letters of introduction had not been delivered; beyond my own little circle, I had not seen a friendly face, nor heard a familiar voice. I was “blue,” homesick, almost in despair. Next morning, there came a ray of sunshine in the following note:
“MadameCelestepresents her compliments to Mr. Barnum, and begs to say that her private box is quite at his service, any night, for himself and friends.“Theatre Royal, Williamson Square.”
“MadameCelestepresents her compliments to Mr. Barnum, and begs to say that her private box is quite at his service, any night, for himself and friends.
“Theatre Royal, Williamson Square.”
This polite invitation was thankfully accepted, and we went to the theatre that evening. Our party, including the General, who was partly concealed by his tutor’s cloak, occupied Celeste’s box, and in the box adjoining sat an English lady and gentleman whose appearance indicated respectability, intelligence and wealth. The General’s interest in the performance attracted their attention, and the lady remarked to me:
“What an intelligent-looking child you have! He appears to take quite an interest in the stage.”
“Pardon me, madam,” said I, “this is not a child. This is General Tom Thumb.”
“Indeed!” they exclaimed. They had seen the announcements of our visit and were greatly gratified at an interview with the pigmy prodigy. They at once advised me in the most complimentary and urgent manner to take the General to Manchester, where they resided, assuring me that an exhibition in that place would be highly remunerative. I thanked my newfriends for their counsel and encouragement, and ventured to ask them what price they would recommend me to charge for admission.
“The General is so decidedly a curiosity,” said the lady, “that I think you might put it as high as tuppence!” (two-pence.)
She was, however, promptly interrupted by her husband, who was evidently the economist of the family: “I am sure you would not succeed at that price,” said he; “you should put admission at one penny, for that is the usual price for seeing giants and dwarfs in England.”
This was worse than the ten dollars a week offer of the wax-works proprietor, but I promptly answered “Never shall the price be less than one shilling sterling and some of the nobility and gentry of England will yet pay gold to see General Tom Thumb.”
My letters of introduction speedily brought me into friendly relations with many excellent families and I was induced to hire a hall and present the General to the public, for a short season, in Liverpool. I had intended to proceed directly to London and begin operations at “head-quarters,” that is, in Buckingham Palace, if possible; but I had been advised that the royal family was in mourning for the death of Prince Albert’s father, and would not permit the approach of any entertainments.
Meanwhile confidential letters from London informed me that Mr. Maddox, Manager of Princess’s Theatre, was coming down to witness my exhibition, with a view to making an engagement. He came privately, but I was fully informed as to his presence and object. A friend pointed him out to me in the hall, and whenI stepped up to him, and called him by name, he was “taken all aback,” and avowed his purpose in visiting Liverpool. An interview resulted in an engagement of the General for three nights at Princess’s Theatre. I was unwilling to contract for a longer period, and even this short engagement, though on liberal terms, was acceded to only as a means of advertisement. So soon, therefore, as I could bring my short, but highly successful season in Liverpool to a close, we went to London.
ARRIVAL IN LONDON—THE GENERAL’S DEBUT IN THE PRINCESS’S THEATRE—ENORMOUS SUCCESS—MY MANSION AT THE WEST END—DAILY LEVEES FOR THE NOBILITY AND GENTRY—HON. EDWARD EVERETT—HIS INTEREST IN THE GENERAL—VISIT TO THE BARONESS ROTHSCHILD—OPENING IN EGYPTIAN HALL, PICCADILLY—MR. CHARLES MURRAY, MASTER OF THE QUEEN’S HOUSEHOLD—AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE BY COMMAND OF HER MAJESTY—A ROYAL RECEPTION—THE FAVORABLE IMPRESSION MADE BY THE GENERAL—AMUSING INCIDENTS OF THE VISIT—BACKING OUT—FIGHT WITH A POODLE—COURT JOURNAL NOTICE—SECOND VISIT TO THE QUEEN—THE PRINCE OF WALES AND PRINCESS ROYAL—THE QUEEN OF THE BELGIANS—THIRD VISIT TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE—KING LEOPOLD, OF BELGIUM—ASSURED SUCCESS—THE BRITISH PUBLIC EXCITED—EGYPTIAN HALL CROWDED—QUEEN DOWAGER ADELAIDE—THE GENERAL’S WATCH—NAPOLEON AND THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON—DISTINGUISHED FRIENDS.
ARRIVAL IN LONDON—THE GENERAL’S DEBUT IN THE PRINCESS’S THEATRE—ENORMOUS SUCCESS—MY MANSION AT THE WEST END—DAILY LEVEES FOR THE NOBILITY AND GENTRY—HON. EDWARD EVERETT—HIS INTEREST IN THE GENERAL—VISIT TO THE BARONESS ROTHSCHILD—OPENING IN EGYPTIAN HALL, PICCADILLY—MR. CHARLES MURRAY, MASTER OF THE QUEEN’S HOUSEHOLD—AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE BY COMMAND OF HER MAJESTY—A ROYAL RECEPTION—THE FAVORABLE IMPRESSION MADE BY THE GENERAL—AMUSING INCIDENTS OF THE VISIT—BACKING OUT—FIGHT WITH A POODLE—COURT JOURNAL NOTICE—SECOND VISIT TO THE QUEEN—THE PRINCE OF WALES AND PRINCESS ROYAL—THE QUEEN OF THE BELGIANS—THIRD VISIT TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE—KING LEOPOLD, OF BELGIUM—ASSURED SUCCESS—THE BRITISH PUBLIC EXCITED—EGYPTIAN HALL CROWDED—QUEEN DOWAGER ADELAIDE—THE GENERAL’S WATCH—NAPOLEON AND THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON—DISTINGUISHED FRIENDS.
IMMEDIATELYafter our arrival in London, the General came out at the Princess’s Theatre, and made so decided a “hit” that it was difficult to decide who was best pleased, the spectators, the manager, or myself. The spectators were delighted because they could not well help it; the manager was satisfied because he had coined money by the engagement; and I was greatly pleased because I now had a visible guaranty of success in London. I was offered far higher terms for a re-engagement, but my purpose had been already answered; the news was spread everywhere that General Tom Thumb, an unparalleled curiosity, was in the city; and it only remained for me to bring him before the public, on my own account and in my own time and way.
I took a furnished mansion in Grafton Street, Bond Street, West End, in the very centre of the most fashionablelocality. The house had previously been occupied for several years by Lord Talbot, and Lord Brougham and half a dozen families of the aristocracy and many of the gentry were my neighbors. From this magnificent mansion, I sent letters of invitation to the editors and several of the nobility, to visit the General. Most of them called, and were highly gratified. The word of approval was indeed so passed around in high circles, that uninvited parties drove to my door in crested carriages, and were not admitted.
This procedure, though in some measure a stroke of policy, was neither singular nor hazardous, under the circumstances. I had not yet announced a public exhibition, and as a private American gentleman, it became me to maintain the dignity of my position. I therefore instructed my liveried servant to deny admission to see my “ward,” excepting to persons who brought cards of invitation. He did it in a proper manner, and no offence could be taken, though I was always particular to send an invitation immediately to such as had not been admitted.
During our first week in London, the Hon. Edward Everett, the American Minister, to whom I had letters of introduction, called and was highly pleased with his diminutive though renowned countryman. We dined with him the next day, by invitation, and his family loaded the young American with presents. Mr. Everett kindly promised to use influence at the Palace in person, with a view to having Tom Thumb introduced to Her Majesty Queen Victoria.
A few evenings afterwards the Baroness Rothschild sent her carriage for us. Her mansion is a noble structure in Piccadilly, surrounded by a high wall, throughthe gate of which our carriage was driven, and brought up in front of the main entrance. Here we were received by half a dozen servants, and were ushered up the broad flight of marble stairs to the drawing-room, where we met the Baroness and a party of twenty or more ladies and gentlemen. In this sumptuous mansion of the richest banker in the world, we spent about two hours, and when we took our leave a well-filled purse was quietly slipped into my hand. The golden shower had begun to fall, and that it was no dream was manifest from the fact that, very shortly afterwards, a visit to the mansion of Mr. Drummond, another eminent banker, came to the same golden conclusion.
I now engaged the “Egyptian Hall,” in Piccadilly, and the announcement of my unique exhibition was promptly answered by a rush of visitors, in which the wealth and fashion of London were liberally represented. I made these arrangements because I had little hope of being soon brought to the Queen’s presence, (for the reason before mentioned,) but Mr. Everett’s generous influence secured my object. I breakfasted at his house one morning, by invitation, in company with Mr. Charles Murray, an author of creditable repute, who held the office of Master of the Queen’s Household. In the course of conversation, Mr. Murray inquired as to my plans, and I informed him that I intended going to the Continent shortly, though I should be glad to remain if the General could have an interview with the Queen—adding that such an event would be of great consequence to me.
Mr. Murray kindly offered his good offices in the case, and the next day one of the Life Guards, a tall, noble-looking fellow, bedecked as became his station,brought me a note, conveying the Queen’s invitation to General Tom Thumb and his guardian, Mr. Barnum, to appear at Buckingham Palace on an evening specified. Special instructions were the same day orally given me by Mr. Murray, by Her Majesty’s command, to suffer the General to appear before her, as he would appear anywhere else, without any training in the use of the titles of royalty, as the Queen desired to see him act naturally and without restraint.
Determined to make the most of the occasion, I put a placard on the door of the Egyptian Hall: “Closed this evening, General Tom Thumb being at Buckingham Palace by command of Her Majesty.”
On arriving at the Palace, the Lord in Waiting put me “under drill” as to the manner and form in which I should conduct myself in the presence of royalty. I was to answer all questions by Her Majesty through him, and in no event to speak directly to the Queen. In leaving the royal presence I was to “back out,” keeping my face always towards Her Majesty, and the illustrious lord kindly gave me a specimen of that sort of backward locomotion. How far I profited by his instructions and example, will presently appear.
We were conducted through a long corridor to a broad flight of marble steps, which led to the Queen’s magnificent picture gallery, where Her Majesty and Prince Albert, the Duchess of Kent, and twenty or thirty of the nobility were awaiting our arrival. They were standing at the farther end of the room when the doors were thrown open, and the General walked in, looking like a wax doll gifted with the power of locomotion. Surprise and pleasure were depicted on the countenances of the royal circle at beholding thisremarkable specimen of humanity so much smaller than they had evidently expected to find him.
The General advanced with a firm step, and as he came within hailing distance made a very graceful bow, and exclaimed, “Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen!”
A burst of laughter followed this salutation. The Queen then took him by the hand, led him about the gallery, and asked him many questions, the answers to which kept the party in an uninterrupted strain of merriment. The General familiarly informed the Queen that her picture gallery was “first-rate,” and told her he should like to see the Prince of Wales. The Queen replied that the Prince had retired to rest, but that he should see him on some future occasion. The General then gave his songs, dances, and imitations, and after a conversation with Prince Albert and all present, which continued for more than an hour, we were permitted to depart.
Before describing the process and incidents of “backing out,” I must acknowledge how sadly I broke through the counsel of the Lord in Waiting. While Prince Albert and others were engaged with the General, the Queen was gathering information from me in regard to his history, etc. Two or three questions were put and answered through the process indicated in my drill. It was a round-about way of doing business not at all to my liking, and I suppose the Lord in Waiting was seriously shocked, if not outraged, when I entered directly into conversation with Her Majesty. She, however, seemed not disposed to check my boldness, for she immediately spoke directly to me in obtaining the information which she sought. I felt entirely atease in her presence, and could not avoid contrasting her sensible and amiable manners with the stiffness and formality of upstart gentility at home or abroad.
The Queen was modestly attired in plain black, and wore no ornaments. Indeed, surrounded as she was by ladies arrayed in the highest style of magnificence, their dresses sparkling with diamonds, she was the last person whom a stranger would have pointed out in that circle as the Queen of England.
The Lord in Waiting was perhaps mollified toward me when he saw me following his illustrious example in retiring from the royal presence. He was accustomed to the process, and therefore was able to keep somewhat ahead (or rather aback) of me, but even I stepped rather fast for the other member of the retiring party. We had a considerable distance to travel in that long gallery before reaching the door, and whenever the General found he was losing ground, he turned around and ran a few steps, then resumed the position of “backing out,” then turned around and ran, and so continued to alternate his methods of getting to the door, until the gallery fairly rang with the merriment of the royal spectators. It was really one of the richest scenes I ever saw; running, under the circumstances, was an offence sufficiently heinous to excite the indignation of the Queen’s favorite poodle-dog, and he vented his displeasure by barking so sharply as to startle the General from his propriety. He, however, recovered immediately, and with his little cane commenced an attack on the poodle, and a funny fight ensued, which renewed and increased the merriment of the royal party.
This was near the door of exit. We had scarcely passed into the ante-room, when one of the Queen’s attendants came to us with the expressed hope of Her Majesty that the General had sustained no damage—to which the Lord in Waiting playfully added, that in case of injury to so renowned a personage, he should fear a declaration of war by the United States!
The courtesies of the Palace were not yet exhausted, for we were escorted to an apartment in which refreshments had been provided for us. We did ample justice to the viands, though my mind was rather looking into the future than enjoying the present. I was anxious that the “Court Journal” of the ensuing day should contain more than a mere line in relation to the General’s interview with the Queen, and, on inquiry, I learned that the gentleman who had charge of that feature in the daily papers was then in the Palace. He was sent for by my solicitation, and promptly acceded to my request for such a notice as would attract attention. He even generously desired me to give him an outline of what I sought, and I was pleased to see afterwards, that he had inserted my noticeverbatim.
This notice of my visit to the Queen wonderfully increased the attraction of my exhibition and compelled me to obtain a more commodious hall for my exhibition. I accordingly removed to the larger room in the same building, for some time previously occupied by our countryman, Mr. Catlin, for his great Gallery of Portraits of American Indians and Indian Curiosities, all of which remained as an adornment.
On our second visit to the Queen, we were received in what is called the “Yellow Drawing-Room,” a magnificent apartment, surpassing in splendor and gorgeousness anything of the kind I had ever seen. It is on the north side of the gallery, and is entered from thatapartment. It was hung with drapery of rich yellow satin damask, the couches, sofas and chairs being covered with the same material. The vases, urns and ornaments were all of modern patterns, and the most exquisite workmanship. The room was panelled in gold, and the heavy cornices beautifully carved and gilt. The tables, pianos, etc., were mounted with gold, inlaid with pearl of various hues, and of the most elegant designs.
We were ushered into this gorgeous drawing-room before the Queen and royal circle had left the dining-room, and, as they approached, the General bowed respectfully, and remarked to Her Majesty “that he had seen her before,” adding, “I think this is a prettier room than the picture gallery; that chandelier is very fine.”
The Queen smilingly took him by the hand, and said she hoped he was very well.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, “I am first rate.”
“General,” continued the Queen, “this is the Prince of Wales.”
“How are you, Prince?” said the General, shaking him by the hand; and then standing beside the Prince, he remarked, “the Prince is taller than I am, but I feel as big as anybody”—upon which he strutted up and down the room as proud as a peacock, amid shouts of laughter from all present.
The Queen then introduced the Princess Royal, and the General immediately led her to his elegant little sofa, which we took with us, and with much politeness sat himself down beside her. Then, rising from his seat, he went through his various performances, and the Queen handed him an elegant and costly souvenir, which had been expressly made for him by her order—for which, he told her, “he was very much obliged, and would keep it as long as he lived.” The Queen of the Belgians, (daughter of Louis Philippe) was present on this occasion. She asked the General where he was going when he left London?
“To Paris,” he replied.
“Whom do you expect to see there?” she continued.
Of course all expected he would answer, “the King of the French,” but the little fellow replied:
“I shall see Monsieur Guillaudeu in Paris.”
The two Queens looked inquiringly to me, and when I informed them that M. Guillaudeu was my French naturalist, who had preceded me to Paris, they laughed most heartily.
On our third visit to Buckingham Palace, Leopold, King of the Belgians, was also present. He was highly pleased, and asked a multitude of questions. Queen Victoria desired the General to sing a song, and asked him what song he preferred to sing.
“Yankee Doodle,” was the prompt reply.
This answer was as unexpected to me as it was to the royal party. When the merriment it occasioned somewhat subsided, the Queen good-humoredly remarked, “That is a very pretty song, General. Sing it if you please.” The General complied, and soon afterwards we retired. I ought to add, that after each of our three visits to Buckingham Palace, a very handsome sum was sent to me, of course by the Queen’s command. This, however, was the smallest part of the advantage derived from these interviews, as will be at once apparent to all who consider the force of Court example in England.
The British public were now fairly excited. Notto have seen General Tom Thumb was decidedly unfashionable, and from March 20th until July 20th, the levees of the little General at Egyptian Hall were continually crowded, the receipts averaging during the whole period about five hundred dollars per day, and sometimes going considerably beyond that sum. At the fashionable hour, between fifty and sixty carriages of the nobility have been counted at one time standing in front of our exhibition rooms in Piccadilly.
Portraits of the little General were published in all the pictorial papers of the time. Polkas and quadrilles were named after him, and songs were sung in his praise. He was an almost constant theme for the LondonPunch, which served up the General and myself so daintily that it no doubt added vastly to our receipts.
Besides his three public performances per day, the little General attended from three to four private parties per week, for which we were paid eight to ten guineas each. Frequently we would visit two parties in the same evening, and the demand in that line was much greater than the supply. The Queen Dowager Adelaide requested the General’s attendance at Marlborough House one afternoon. He went in his court dress, consisting of a richly embroidered brown silk-velvet coat and short breeches, white satin vest with fancy-colored embroidery, white silk stockings and pumps, wig, bag-wig, cocked hat, and a dress sword.
“Why, General,” said the Queen Dowager, “I think you look very smart to-day.”
“I guess I do,” said the General complacently.
A large party of the nobility were present. The old Duke of Cambridge offered the little General a pinch ofsnuff, which, he declined. The General sang his songs, performed his dances, and cracked his jokes, to the great amusement and delight of the distinguished circle of visitors.
“Dear little General,” said the kind-hearted Queen, taking him upon her lap, “I see you have got no watch. Will you permit me to present you with a watch and chain?”
“I would like them very much,” replied the General, his eyes glistening with joy as he spoke.
“I will have them made expressly for you,” responded the Queen Dowager; and at the same moment she called a friend and desired him to see that the proper order was executed. A few weeks thereafter we were called again to Marlborough House. A number of the children of the nobility were present, as well as some of their parents. After passing a few compliments with the General, Queen Adelaide presented him with a beautiful little gold watch, placing the chain around his neck with her own hands. The little fellow was delighted, and scarcely knew how sufficiently to express his thanks. The good Queen gave him some excellent advice in regard to his morals, which he strictly promised to obey.
After giving his performances, we withdrew from the royal presence, and the elegant little watch presented by the hands of Her Majesty the Queen Dowager was not only duly heralded, but was also placed upon a pedestal in the hall of exhibition, together with the presents from Queen Victoria, and covered with a glass vase. These presents, to which were soon added an elegant gold snuff-box mounted with turquoise, presented by his Grace the Duke of Devonshire, and manyother costly gifts of the nobility and gentry, added greatly to the attractions of the exhibition. The Duke of Wellington called frequently to see the little General at his public levees. The first time he called, the General was personating Napoleon Bonaparte, marching up and down the platform, and apparently taking snuff in deep meditation. He was dressed in the well-known uniform of the Emperor. I introduced him to the “Iron Duke,” who inquired the subject of his meditations. “I was thinking of the loss of the battle of Waterloo,” was the little General’s immediate reply. This display of wit was chronicled throughout the country, and was of itself worth thousands of pounds to the exhibition.
While we were in London the Emperor Nicholas, of Russia, visited Queen Victoria, and I saw him on several public occasions. I was present at the grand review of troops in Windsor Park in honor of and before the Emperor of Russia and the King of Saxony.
General Tom Thumb had visited the King of Saxony and also Ibrahim Pacha who was then in London. At the different parties we attended, we met, in the course of the season, nearly all of the nobility. I do not believe that a single nobleman in England failed to see General Tom Thumb at his own house, at the house of a friend, or at the public levees at Egyptian Hall. The General was a decided pet with some of the first personages in the land, among whom may be mentioned Sir Robert and Lady Peel, the Duke and Duchess of Buckingham, Duke of Bedford, Duke of Devonshire, Count d’Orsay, Lady Blessington, Daniel O’Connell, Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence, Lord Chesterfield, Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Bates, of the firm of Baring Brothers &