3. CHAPTER III.
BUSINESS LIFE.
REMOVAL TO BROOKLYN — SMALLPOX — GOES HOME TO RECOVER HIS
HEALTH — RENEWED ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE PRETTY TAILORESS,
FIRST INDEPENDENT BUSINESS VENTURE — RESIDENCE IN NEW YORK
— RETURN TO BETHEL — ANECDOTES.
In the fall of 1826, Oliver Taylor, who had removed
from Danbury to Brooklyn, induced Barnum
to leave Grassy Plain, offering him a clerkship in his
grocery store, which offer was accepted, and before
long the young man was intrusted with the purchasing
of all goods for the store. He bought for cash,
going into lower New York in search of the cheapest
market, frequenting auction sales of merchandise,
and often entering into combines with other grocers
to bid off large lots, which were afterward divided
between them. Thus they were enabled to buy at
a much lower rate than if the goods had passed
through the hands of wholesale dealers, and
Barnum's reputation for business tact and shrewdness
increased.
The following summer he was taken ill with
smallpox, and during his long confinement to the
house his stock of ready money became sadly diminished.
As soon as he was able to travel he went
home to recover his strength, and while there had
the happiness of renewing the acquaintance, so
pleasantly begun, with the pretty tailoress, Charity
Hallett.
His health fully restored he returned to Brooklyn,
but not to his old position. Pleasant as that had
been, it no longer contented the restless, ambitious
Barnum. He opened a "porter-home,'' but sold out
a few months later, at a good profit, and took another
clerkship, this time at 29 Peck Slip, New York,
in the store of a certain David Thorp. He lived in
his employer's family, with which he was a great
favorite, and where he had frequent opportunities of
meeting old friends, for Mr. Thorp's place was a
great resort for Bethel and Danbury hatters and
combmakers.
At this time Barnum formed his first taste for the
theatre. He went to the play regularly and soon
set up for a critic. It was his one dissipation, however.
A more moral young fellow never existed; he
read his Bible and went to church as regularly as
ever, and to the day of his death was wont to declare
that he owed all that was good in his character to his
early observance of Sunday.
In the winter of 1898 his grandfather offered to
him, rent free, his carriage-house, which was situated
on the main street, if he would come back to
Bethel. The young man's capital was one hundred
and twenty dollars; fifty of this was spent in fixing
up his store, and the remainder he invested in a
stock of fruit and confectionery. Having arranged
with fruit dealers of his acquaintance in New York
to receive his orders, he opened his store on the first
of May — in those times known as "training day.''
The first day was so successful that long before
noon the proprietor was obliged to call in one of
his old schoolmates to assist in waiting on customers.
The total receipts were sixty-three dollars, which
sum was promptly invested in a stock of fancy goods
— pocket-books, combs, knives, rings, beads, etc.
Business was good all summer, and in the fall
oysters were added to the list of attractions. The
old grandfather was delighted at the success of the
scheme, and after a while induced Barnum to take
an agency for lottery tickets on a commission of ten
per cent. Lotteries in those days were looked upon
as thoroughly respectable, and the profit gained
from the sale of the tickets was regarded as perfectly
legitimate by the agent; his views on the subject
changed very materially later on.
The store soon became the great village resort,
the centre of all discussions and the scene of many
practical jokes.
The following scene, related by Barnum himself,
makes a chapter in the history of Connecticut, as
the State was when "blue laws'' were something
more than a dead letter:
"To swear in those days was according to custom,
but contrary to law. A person from New York
State, whom I will call Crofut, who was a frequent
visitor at my store, was equally noted for his self-will
and his really terrible profanity. One day he
was in my little establishment engaged in conversation
when Nathan Seelye, Esq., one of our village
justices of the peace, and a man of strict religious
principles, came in, and hearing Crofut's profane
language he told him he considered it his duty to
fine him one dollar for swearing.
"Crofut responded immediately with an oath, that
he did not care a d — — n for the Connecticut blue
laws.
" `That will make two dollars,' said Mr. Seelye.
"This brought forth another oath.
" `Three dollars,' said the sturdy justice.
"Nothing but oaths were given in reply, until
Esquire Seelye declared the damage to the Connecticut
laws to amount to fifteen dollars.
"Crofut took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed
it to the justice of the peace, with an oath.
" `Sixteen dollars,' said Mr. Seelye, counting out
four dollars to hand to Mr. Crofut as his change.
" `Oh, keep it, keep it,' said Crofut, `I don't want
any change; I'll d — — n soon swear out the balance.'
He did so, after which he was more circumspect in
his conversation, remarking that twenty dollars a
day for swearing was about as much as he could
stand.''
About this time Barnum appeared, on at least one
occasion, in the role of lawyer. A man charged with
assault and battery was brought before the justice
of the peace, Barnum's grandfather, for trial. A
medical student, Newton by name, had volunteered
to defend the prisoner, and Mr. Couch, the grand
juryman, in irony, offered Phineas a dollar to
represent the State. The court was crowded. The
guilt of the prisoner was established beyond a doubt,
but Newton, undaunted, rose to make his speech. It
consisted of a flood of invective against the grand
juryman, Couch; the court listened for five minutes,
and then interrupted a magnificent burst of eloquence
by informing the speaker that Mr. Couch
was not the plaintiff in the case at all.
"Not the plaintiff!'' stammered Newton; "well,
then, your honor, who is?''
"The State of Connecticut,'' was the answer.
The young man dropped into his seat, speechless,
and the prosecuting attorney arose and in an elaborate
speech declared the guilt of the prisoner shown
beyond question, adding that he was astonished that
both the prisoner and his counsel had not pleaded
guilty at once. In the midst of his soarings the
grandfather interrupted with —
"Young man, will you have the kindness to inform
the court which side you represent — the plaintiff or
the defendant?''
The orator stared helplessly at the justice for a
moment, and then sat down. Amid peals of laughter
from the spectators the prisoner was bound over
to the county court for trial.
But Phineas did not often come out so ingloriously
in encounters with his grandfather. The old
gentleman was always ready to lend his grandson
any of his turnouts except one, and this one Phineas
especially desired one day for a sleighing party, in
which he was to escort the fair Charity Hallett. So
he boldly went to the grandfather and asked if he
might take Arabian and the new sleigh.
"Oh, yes,'' said the old man, jokingly, "if you
have twenty dollars in your pocket.''
"Really?''
"Yes, really.''
Whereupon Phineas showed the money, and putting
it back in his pocket, remarked, "You see; I am
much obliged for the sleigh.''
Of course, the grandfather had meant to ask an
impossible price for the horse and sleigh; but being
caught up so suddenly, there was nothing to do but
to consent, and Phineas and "Chairy'' had the finest
turnout of the party.
There was a young fellow in the town, Jack Mallett,
whose education was rather deficient, and who had
been somewhat unsuccessfully paying his addresses
to a fair but hard-hearted maiden, named Lucretia.
One Sunday evening she cruelly refused to accept
his escort after church, and added insult to injury
by walking off before his very eyes with another
man. Accordingly, he determined to write her a
letter of remonstrance, and enlisted the aid of Phineas
and another young blade known as "Bill'' Shepherd.
The joint effort of the three resulted in the
following:
"BETHEL, — — , 18 — .
"MISS LUCRETIA: I write this to ask an explanation
of your conduct in giving me the mitten on
Sunday night last. If you think, madam, that you
can trifle with my affections, and turn me off for
every little whipper-snapper that you can pick up,
you will find yourself considerably mistaken. [We
read thus far to Mallett, and it met his approval.
He said he liked the idea of calling her "madam,''
for he thought it sounded so "distant,'' it would hurt
her feelings very much. The term "little whipper-snapper''
also delighted him. He said he guessed
that would make her feel cheap. Shepherd and myself
were not quite so sure of its aptitude, since the
chap who succeeded in capturing Lucretia, on the
occasion alluded to, was a head and shoulders taller
than Mallett. However, we did not intimate our
thoughts to Mallett, and he desired us to "go ahead
and give her another dose.''] You don't know
me, madam, if you think you can snap me up in this
way. I wish you to understand that I can have the
company of girls as much above you as the sun is
above the earth, and I won't stand any of your impudent
nonsense no how. [This was duly read and
approved. "Now,'' said Mallett, "try to touch her
feelings. Remind her of the pleasant hours we have
spent together;'' and we continued as follows:] My
dear Lucretia, when I think of the many pleasant
hours we have spent together — of the delightful
walks which we have had on moonlight evenings to
Fenner's Rocks, Chestnut Ridge, Grassy Plain, Wild
Cat and Puppy Town — of the strolls which we have
taken upon Shelter Rocks, Cedar Hill — the visits
we have made to Old Lane, Wolfpits, Toad Hole
and Plum Trees
[1] — when all these things come rushing
on my mind, and when; my dear girl, I remember
how often you have told me that you loved me better
than anybody else, and I assured you that my feelings
were the same as yours, it almost breaks my
heart to think of last Sunday night. ["Can't you
stick in some affecting poetry here?'' said Mallett.
Shepherd could not recollect any to the point, nor
could I; but as the exigency of the case seemed to
require it, we concluded to manufacture a verse or
two, which we did, as follows:]
Lucretia, dear, what have I done,
That you should use me thus and so,
To take the arm of Tom Beers' son,
And let your dearest true love go?
Miserable fate, to lose you now,
And tear this bleeding heart asunder!
Will you forget your tender vow?
I can't believe it — no, by thunder.
[Mallett did not like the word "thunder,'' but
being informed that no other word could be substituted
without destroying both rhyme and reason, he
consented that it should remain, provided we added
two more stanzas of a softer nature; something, he
said, that would make the tears come, if possible,
We then ground out the following:]
Lucretia, dear, do write to Jack,
And say with Beers you are not smitten;
And thus to me in love come back,
And give all other boys the mitten.
Do this, Lucretia, and till death
I'll love you to intense distraction;
I'll spend for you my every breath,
And we will live in satisfaction.
["That will do very well,'' said Mallett. "Now I
guess you had better blow her up a little more.'' We
obeyed orders as follows:] It makes me mad to
think what a fool I was to give you that finger-ring
and bosom-pin, and spend so much time in your
company, just to be flirted and bamboozled as I was
on Sunday night last. If you continue this course
of conduct, we part forever, and I will thank you to
send back that jewelry. I would sooner see it
crushed under my feet than worn by a person who
abused me as you have done. I shall despise you
forever if you don't change your conduct towards
me, and send me a letter of apology on Monday
next. I shall not go to meeting to-morrow, for I
would scorn to sit in the same meeting-house with
you until I have an explanation of your conduct.
If you allow any young man to go home with you
to-morrow night, I shall know it, for you will be
watched, ["There,'' said Mallett, "that is pretty
strong. Now, I guess, you had better touch her
feelings once more, and wind up the letter.'' We
proceeded as follows:] My sweet girl, if you only
knew the sleepless nights which I have spent during
the present week, the torments and sufferings which
I endure on your account; if you could but realize
that I regard the world as less than nothing without
you, I am certain you would pity me. A homely cot
and a crust of bread with my adorable Lucretia
would be a paradise, where a palace without you
would be a hades. ["What in thunder is hades?''
inquired Jack. We explained. He considered the
figure rather bold, and requested us to close as soon
as possible.] Now, dearest, in bidding you adieu,
I implore you to reflect on our past enjoyments, look
forward with pleasure to our future happy meetings,
and rely upon your affectionate Jack in storm or
calm, in sickness, distress or want, for all these will
be powerless to change my love. I hope to hear
from you on Monday next, and, if favorable, I shall
be happy to call on you the same evening, when in
ecstatic joy we will laugh at the past, hope for the
future, and draw consolation from the fact that "the
course of true love never did run smooth.'' This
from your disconsolate but still hoping lover and
admirer,
"JACK MALLETT.
"P. S. — On reflection I have concluded to go to
meeting to-morrow. If all is well, hold your pocket-handkerchief
in your left hand as you stand up to
sing with the choir — in which case I shall expect the
pleasure of giving you my arm to-morrow night.
"J. M.''
The effect of this letter upon Lucretia was not as
favorable as could have been desired. She declined
to remove her handkerchief from her right hand, and
she returned the "ring and bosom-pin'' to her
disconsolate admirer, while, not many months after,
Mallett's rival led Lucretia to the altar. As for
Mallett's agreement to pay Shepherd and Barnum
five pounds of carpet-rags and twelve yards of broadcloth
"lists'' for their services, owing to his ill success,
they compromised for one-half the amount.
[[1]]
These were the euphonious names of localities in the vicinity of Bethel.