Kitabı oku: «Struggles amd Triumphs: or, Forty Years' Recollections of P.T. Barnum», sayfa 14

CHAPTER XV.
RETURN TO AMERICA

THE WIZARD OF THE NORTH – A JUGGLER BEATEN AT HIS OWN TRICKS – SECOND VISIT TO THE UNITED STATES – REVEREND DOCTOR ROBERT BAIRD – CAPTAIN JUDKINS THREATENS TO PUT ME IN IRONS – VIEWS WITH REGARD TO SECTS – A WICKED WOMAN – THE SIMPSONS IN EUROPE – REMINISCENCES OF TRAVEL – SAUCE AND “SASS” – TEA TOO SWEET – A UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE – ROAST DUCK – SNOW IN AUGUST – TALES OF TRAVELLERS – SIMPSON NOT TO BE TAKEN IN – HOLLANDERS IN BRUSSELS – WHERE ALL THE DUTCHMEN COME FROM – THREE YEARS IN EUROPE – WARM PERSONAL FRIENDS – DOCTOR C. S. BREWSTER – HENRY SUMNER – GEORGE SAND – LORENZO DRAPER – GEORGE P. PUTNAM – OUR LAST PERFORMANCE IN DUBLIN – DANIEL O’CONNELL – END OF OUR TOUR – DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA – ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK.

WHILE I was at Aberdeen, in Scotland, I met Anderson, the “Wizard of the North.” I had known him for a long time, and we were on familiar terms. The General’s exhibitions were to close on Saturday night, and Anderson was to open in the same hall on Monday evening. He came to our exhibition, and at the close we went to the hotel together to get a little supper. After supper we were having some fun and jokes together, when it occurred to Anderson to introduce me to several persons who were sitting in the room, as the “Wizard of the North,” at the same time asking me about my tricks and my forthcoming exhibition. He kept this up so persistently that some of our friends who were present, declared that Anderson was “too much for me,” and, meanwhile, fresh introductions to strangers who came in, had made me pretty generally known in that circle as the “Wizard of the North,” who was to astonish the town in the following week. I accepted the situation at last, and said:

“Well, gentlemen, as I perform here for the first time, on Monday evening, I like to be liberal, and I should be very happy to give orders of admission to those of you who will attend my exhibition.”

The applications for orders were quite general, and I had written thirty or forty, when Anderson, who saw that I was in a fair way of filling his house with “dead-heads,” cried out —

“Hold on! I am the ‘Wizard of the North.’ I’ll stand the orders already given, but not another one.”

Our friends, including the “Wizard” himself, began to think that I had rather the best of the joke.

During our three years’ stay abroad, I made a second hasty visit to America, leaving the General in England in the hands of my agents. I took passage from Liverpool on board a Cunard steamer, commanded by Captain Judkins. One of my fellow passengers was the celebrated divine, Robert Baird. I had known him as the author of an octavo volume, “Religion in America”; and while that work had impressed me as exhibiting great ability and an outspoken honesty of purpose, it had also given me the notion that its author must be very rigid and intolerant as a sectarian. Still I was happy to make his acquaintance on board the steamship, and soon regarded with favor the venerable Presbyterian divine.

Dr. Baird had been for some time a missionary in Sweden. He was now paying a visit to his native land. I found him a shrewd, well-informed Christian gentleman, and I took much pleasure in hearing him converse. One night it was storming furiously. The waves, rolling high, afforded a sight of awful grandeur, to witness which I was tempted to put on a pea-jacket, go upon the deck, and lash myself to the side of the ship. After I had been there nearly an hour, wrapt in meditation and wonder, not unmixed with awe, Dr. Baird came up in the darkness, feeling his way cautiously along the deck. As he came where I was, I hailed him; and he asked what I was doing so long up there.

“Listening to the preaching, Doctor,” I replied; “and I think it beats even yours, although I have never had the pleasure of hearing you.”

“Ah!” he replied, “none of us can preach like this. How humble and insignificant we all feel in the presence of such a display of the Almighty power; and how grateful we should be to remember that infinite love guides this power.”

The Sunday following, divine service was held as usual in the large after cabin. Of course it was the Episcopal form of worship. The captain conducted the services, assisted by the clerk and the ship’s surgeon. A dozen or two of the sailors, shaved, washed, and neatly dressed, were marched into the cabin by the mate; most of the passengers were also present.

Those who have witnessed this service, as conducted by Captain Judkins, need not be reminded that he does it much as he performs his duties on deck. He speaks as one having authority; and a listener could hardly help feeling that there would be some danger of a “row” if the petitions (made as a sort of command) were not speedily answered.

After dinner I asked Dr. Baird if he would be willing to preach to the passengers in the forward cabin. He said he would cheerfully do so if it was desired. I mentioned it to the passengers, and there was a generally-expressed wish among them that he should preach. I went into the forward cabin, and requested the steward to arrange the chairs and tables properly for religious service. He replied that I must first get the captain’s consent. Of course, I thought this was a mere matter of form; so I went to the captain’s office, and said:

“Captain, the passengers desire to have Dr. Baird conduct a religious service in the forward cabin. I suppose there is no objection.”

“Decidedly there is,” replied the captain, gruffly; “and it will not be permitted.”

“Why not?” I asked, in astonishment.

“It is against the rules of the ship.”

“What! to have religious services on board?”

“There have been religious services once to-day, and that is enough. If the passengers do not think that is good enough, let them go without,” was the captain’s hasty and austere reply.

“Captain,” I replied, “do you pretend to say you will not allow a respectable and well-known clergyman to offer a prayer and hold religious services on board your ship at the request of your passengers?”

“That, sir, is exactly what I say. So, now, let me hear no more about it.”

By this time a dozen passengers were crowding around his door, and expressing their surprise at his conduct. I was indignant, and used sharp language.

“Well,” said I, “this is the most contemptible thing I ever heard of on the part of the owners of a public

passenger ship. Their meanness ought to be published far and wide.”

“You had better ‘shut up,’ ” said Captain Judkins, with great sternness.

“I will not ‘shut up,’ ” I replied; “for this thing is perfectly outrageous. In that out-of-the-way forward cabin, you allow, on week days, gambling, swearing, smoking and singing, till late at night; and yet on Sunday you have the impudence to deny the privilege of a prayer-meeting, conducted by a gray-haired and respected minister of the gospel. It is simply infamous!”

Captain Judkins turned red in the face; and, no doubt feeling that he was “monarch of all he surveyed,” exclaimed, in a loud voice:

“If you repeat such language, I will put you in irons.”

“Do it, if you dare,” said I, feeling my indignation rising rapidly. “I dare and defy you to put your finger on me. I would like to sail into New York Harbor in handcuffs, on board a British ship, for the terrible crime of asking that religious worship may be permitted on board. So you may try it as soon as you please; and, when we get to New York, I’ll show you a touch of Yankee ideas of religious intolerance.”

The captain made no reply; and, at the request of friends, I walked to another part of the ship. I told the Doctor how the matter stood, and then, laughingly, said to him:

“Doctor, it may be dangerous for you to tell of this incident when you get on shore; for it would be a pretty strong draught upon the credulity of many of my countrymen if they were told that my zeal to hear an Orthodox minister preach was so great that it came near getting me into solitary confinement. But I am not prejudiced, and I like fair play.”

The old Doctor replied: “Well, you have not lost much; and, if the rules of this ship are so stringent, I suppose we must submit.”

The captain and myself had no further intercourse for five or six days; not until a few hours before our arrival in New York. Being at dinner, he sent his champagne bottle to me, and asked to “drink my health,” at the same time stating that he hoped no ill-feeling would be carried ashore. I was not then, as I am now, a teetotaler; so I accepted the proffered truce, and I regret that I must add I “washed down” my wrath in a bottle of Heidsick – a poor example, which I hope never to repeat. We have frequently met since, and always with friendly greetings; but I have ever felt that his manners were unnecessarily coarse and offensive in carrying out an arbitrary and bigoted rule of the steamship company.

Though I have never lacked definite opinions, or hesitated to exhibit decided preferences in regard to the different religious creeds, I have never been so sectarian as to imagine that any one of the denominations is without any truth, or exists for no good purpose. On the contrary, I hold that every faith has somewhat of truth; and that each sect, in its way, does a work which perhaps no one of the other sects can do as well. I was strongly confirmed in this general belief by an impromptu utterance of Dr. Baird, during one of our conversations, which, under the circumstances, was not a little amusing, as it certainly evinced a good deal of insight into human nature. It is well known that the old Doctor was very rigid in his theological views, and in his career never spared either the Methodists or the people of the so-called liberal opinions. During our passage across the Atlantic, we very naturally had considerable tilting in regard to opinions which divided us, though in a thoroughly good-natured way. At last I recalled the case of a woman, somewhat noted among her neighbors for coarseness of speech, including profanity, making her altogether such a person as needed the refining influence of religious teaching. Describing the very unpromising condition of this woman, I said:

“Well, Doctor, if you can do anything with your creed to improve that woman, I should be glad to see you undertake the job.”

I was at once struck with the business air in which he considered the exigencies of what was undoubtedly a hard case. It was clear that he had dropped the character of the sectarian, and was taking a common-sense view of the problem. The problem was soon solved, and he replied:

“Mr. Barnum, it is of no use for you, with your opinions, to attempt to do anything for that sort of a person; and it is equally useless for me, with my views, to attempt it either. But, if you could contrive a way to set some fiery, rousing Methodist to work upon her, why, he is just the man to do it!”

There were a number of pretty wild young men among our passengers, and on several occasions they tried their wits upon Dr. Baird. But he was a man of sterling common sense, and with that, very quick at repartee; and they never made anything out of him. On one occasion, at dinner, they were in great glee, and, for a “lark,” they sent him their champagne bottle to drink a glass of wine with them. They, of course, supposed he was a teetotaler, as, indeed, I believe he was; but when the waiter handed him the bottle, he quietly poured a spoonful or two into his glass, and, gracefully bowing to the young gentlemen, placed it to his lips, but not tasting it. Of course, they could say nothing.

Early one morning, several of these youths came upon deck, and, meeting the Doctor there, one of them exclaimed:

“It is cold as hell this morning, ain’t it, Doctor?”

“I am unable to state the exact height of the thermometer in that locality,” said he, gravely; “but I am afraid you will know all about it some time, if you are not careful.”

The laugh was decidedly against the young man; but one of his companions, who thought considerably of himself, seemed anxious to take up the cudgel, and he remarked:

“Dr. Baird, your brother clergymen are making a great ado in New York about the state of crime there; and they have got a smelling-committee, who go about and smell out all filthy places there, and report them to the public. Indeed, they do say that several of the clergy, and some laymen of the Arthur Tappan stripe, have got a book in which they have written down a list of all the bad houses in New York. I should like to see that book. Ha! ha! I wonder if they have really got one?”

“I don’t know how that is,” replied Doctor Baird; “but,” casting his eyes heavenward, “I can assure you there is a book in which all such places are recorded, as well as the names of those who occupy or visit them; and in due time it will be opened to public gaze.”

The young man looked cowed, and extending his hand to Doctor Baird, said:

“Sir, I confess I have made too light of a serious matter. I sincerely beg your pardon, if I have offended you.”

“You have not offended me,” said the Doctor, with a benignant smile; “but I am rejoiced to perceive that you have offended your own sense of propriety and morality. I trust you will not forget it.”

This was the last attempt on board that ship to try a lance with Doctor Baird.

Several years later, when I was engaged in the Jenny Lind enterprise, Doctor Baird called upon me. Having been so long a missionary in Sweden, the native land of the great songstress, he had a special desire to make her acquaintance and listen to her singing. I introduced him to her, and gave him the entrée to her concerts. He improved the opportunity, and he also made frequent calls upon her. She became much interested in him. Indeed, on several occasions she contributed liberally to the charitable institutions he had recommended to her favorable notice.

During my residence in London I made the acquaintance of an American, whom I will call Simpson, and his wife. They had originally been poor, and accustomed to pretty low society. Their opportunities for education had been limited, and they were what we should term vulgar, ignorant, common people. But by a turn of Fortune’s wheel they became suddenly rich, and like some other fools who know nothing of their own country, they must rush to make the tour of Europe.

Mr. Simpson was an ignorant, good-natured fellow, fond of sporting large amounts of jewelry; was very social with Englishmen; always bragging of our “glorious country”; and was particularly given to boasting that he was once poor and now he was rich. Whenever he met Americans he was delighted, and insisted on the privilege of “standing treats” to all around, familiarly slapping on the back, and treating as an old chum, any American gentleman, however refined, whom he might come in contact with.

Mrs. Simpson was a coarse woman, yet always studying politeness, and particularly the proper pronunciation of words. She was ever trying to appear refined; and she prided herself upon understanding all the rules of etiquette and fashion. She was continually purchasing new dresses and fashionable articles of apparel. She loaded herself down with diamonds and tawdry jewelry, and would frequently appear in the streets with six or eight different dresses in a day. But, strange to say, with all her pride and vanity with regard to being considered the perfection of refinement, she had an awful habit of using profane language! She really seemed to think this an evidence of good breeding. Perhaps she thought it a luxury which rich people were entitled to enjoy. This peculiarity occasionally led to most ludicrous scenes.

The Simpsons were from New England; and in their conversation they had the nasal Yankee twang, and the peculiar pronunciation of the illiterate class of the New England people.

Those who have heard John E. Owens in “Solon Shingle,” are aware that preserved fruits are in New England called “sauce,” by the vulgar pronounced “sass.” But when Mrs. Simpson heard the word in England pronounced sauce, she was very anxious that John, her husband, should adopt the new pronunciation. He tried hard to learn, but would frequently forget himself and say “sass.” Mrs. Simpson would lose her patience on such occasions, and reprove her husband sharply. Indeed, if he escaped without receiving some profane epithet from the lips of his would-be fashionable wife, it was a wonder.

On one occasion I happened to meet them at dinner with an English family in London, to whom I had, in the way of business, introduced them a few weeks previously. We had scarcely taken our seats at the table before Simpson happened to discover a dish of sweetmeats at the further corner of the table. Turning to the servant he said:

“Please pass me that sass.”

Mrs. Simpson’s eyes flashed indignantly, and she angrily exclaimed, almost in a scream:

“Say sauce; don’t say ‘sass.’ I’d rather hear you say h – l a d – d sight!”

That our English hostess was amazed and shocked it is needless to say, although she preserved her equanimity better than could be expected. As for myself, I confess I could not refrain from laughing, which, of course, served only to increase the wrath of Mrs. Simpson.

Fourteen years subsequent to this event, I called on this English lady in company with an American friend. In the course of conversation, I happened to ask her if she remembered about Mrs. Simpson’s “sass.” She took from a drawer her memorandum book, and showed us the above expression verbatim, which, she said, she wrote down the same day it was uttered; and she added she had never been able to think of it since without laughing.

I met Simpson and his wife at a hotel in Marseilles, France, in the summer of 1845. Mrs. Simpson said she and Simpson had almost determined not to go to France at all when they “heard it was necessary to hire an interpreter to tell what folks said.” Said she, “I told Simpson I didn’t want to go among a set of folks who were such cussed fools they couldn’t speak English! But of course we must go to France just for the speech of the people when we get home, so here we are. For my part,” she continued, “I speak English to these Frenchmen anyhow, and if they can’t understand me they can go without understanding. The other morning, I told the waiter my tea was too sweet. I found afterwards that too sweet (toute de suite) was French for ‘very quick.’ ”

“ ‘Oui, madame,’ he replied, ‘oui, oui, que voulez vous?’ (what will you have?)”

“ ‘Too sweet, too sweet,’ I repeated, ‘too sweet, too sweet.’ Then I pointed to my tea, and said again, ‘Too sweet, d – n your stupid head, can’t you understand too sweet?’ The fool jumped around like a hen with her head cut off, and kept saying, ‘Oui, oui, madame, too sweet, qu’est ceque c’est? (What is it?)’ Finally an English gentleman asked me what was the matter, and when I told him, he explained by telling me that too sweet (toute de suite) in French meant quick, very quick, and that was what made the stupid waiter jump around so.”

“But d – n the French waiters,” she continued, “I have got quit of them finally, for I have found out a language we both understand.

“The same day my tea was too sweet, Simpson was out at dinner time; and I went to the table alone. I called for soup, and the sap-heads brought me some sort of preserves. I then called for fish, and the fools could not understand me. Then I said, ‘Bring me some chicken,’ and d – n ’em, they danced about in a quandary till I thought I should starve to death. But finally I thought of roast duck. I am dreadfully fond of duck, and I knew they always had stuffed ducks at dinner time. So I called to the waiter once more, and pointed to my plate and said, ‘quack, quack, quack, now do you understand?’ and the fool began to laugh, and said, ‘Oui, madame, oui, oui,’ and off he ran, and soon brought me the nicest piece of duck you ever saw. So now every day at dinner, I say ‘quack, quack,’ and I always get some first-rate duck.”

I congratulated her on having discovered a universal language.

The same day, I met a young Englishman in the hotel, who had been travelling in Spain. During our conversation we were summoned to dinner. At the table d’hote, Simpson happened to be seated exactly opposite us. As we continued our conversation, Simpson heard it, and his attention was particularly arrested – it being something of a novelty to meet a stranger in these parts, who spoke our native tongue. The English gentleman mentioned that he ascended the Pyrenees the week previous.

“I should like to have been with you,” I remarked, “but I am almost too fat and lazy to climb high mountains. I suppose you found it pretty hard work.”

“Yes, we had to rough it some; we encountered considerable snow,” he replied.

“Snow!” exclaimed Simpson, in astonishment.

The Englishman looked with surprise at this interruption; for he did not know Simpson, nor had he ever heard him speak before. However, he quietly replied, “Yes, sir, snow.”

“Not by a d – d sight, you didn’t,” replied Simpson, emphatically. “That wont go down. Snow in August wont do. I have seen snow myself in Connecticut, the last of September, but it wont do in August, by a thundering sight.”

The Englishman sprang to his feet, but I hit him a nudge, and said, “It is all right. Excuse me; let me introduce my friend, Mr. Simpson, from America. He has travelled some, and it is pretty hard to take him in with big stories.”

He comprehended the matter instantly and sat down.

“Yes, sir,” remarked Simpson, “I have heard travellers before, but August is a leetle too early for snow.”

“But suppose I should say it was not this year’s snow?” said the Englishman, who was ready now to carry on the joke.

“Worse and worse,” exclaimed Simpson, with a triumphant laugh; “if it would not melt in August, when in thunder would it melt! You might as well say it would lay all the year round.”

“I give it up,” said the Englishman, “you are too sharp for me.”

Simpson was delighted, and took special pains for several days to inform the interpreters in the neighboring hotels and billiard saloons, that he had “took down” an impudent John Bull, who had tried to stuff him with the idea that he had seen snow in August.

I met the Simpsons afterwards in Brussels, and the head of the family, who had heard nothing but French spoken, outside of his own circle, for a long time, called me in great glee to the door, to see and hear some Dutchmen, who were conversing together in the street.

“There!” exclaimed Simpson, “those fellows are Dutchmen; I know by their talk.”

“Very well,” said I, “how far do you suppose those Dutchmen are from their native place?”

“Why,” replied Simpson, “I suppose they came from Western Pennsylvania; that’s where I have always seen ’em.”

With the exception of the brief time passed in making two short visits to America, I had now passed three years with General Tom Thumb in Great Britain and on the Continent. The entire period had been a season of unbroken pleasure and profit. I had immensely enlarged my business experiences and had made money and many friends. Among those to whom I am indebted for special courtesies while I was abroad are Dr. C. S. Brewster, whose prosperous professional career in Russia and France is well known, and Henry Sumner, Esq., who occupied a high position in the social and literary circles of Paris and who introduced me to George Sand and to many other distinguished persons. To both these gentlemen, as well as to Mr. John Nimmo, an English gentleman connected with Galignani’s Messenger, Mr. Lorenzo Draper, the American Consul, and Mr. Dion Boucicault, I was largely indebted for attention. In London, two gentlemen especially merit my warm acknowledgments for many valuable favors. I refer to the late Thomas Brettell, publisher, Haymarket; and Mr. R. Fillingham, Jr., Fenchurch Street. I was also indebted to Mr. G. P. Putnam, at that time a London publisher, for much useful information.

We had visited nearly every city and town in France and Belgium, all the principal places in England and Scotland, besides going to Belfast and Dublin, in Ireland. I had several times met Daniel O’Connell in private life and in the Irish capital I heard him make an eloquent and powerful public Repeal speech in Conciliation Hall. In Dublin, after exhibiting a week in Rotunda Hall, our receipts on the last day were £261, or $1,305, and the General also received £50, or $250, for playing the same evening at the Theatre Royal. Thus closing a truly triumphant tour, we set sail for New York, arriving in February 1847.