The Life of P.T. Barnum. P.T. Barnum
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frightened me. I started towards the door quite chop-fallen.
“You will find the saddle and bridle on the stairs,” called out Uncle Sam. The hint was sufficient, and I rode his horse to “town.”
On one occasion Uncle Sam and my uncle Edward Taylor were mowing for Phineas Judd. Mr. Judd visited the meadow several times in the course of the day, and seemed dissatisfied with the labor. In the afternoon he complained that they had not cut as much grass as he expected they would in the same space of time.
“I don’t care any thing about you, Phin,” said Uncle Sam. “I have worked as fast as I am going to do, and faster than you should expect men to work on New England rum.”
“New England rum!” exclaimed Mr. Judd, with surprise. “It is good Santa Cruz.”
“It is the meanest kind of New England rum, Phin, and you know it – real white-face,” said Uncle Sam.
“You are certainly mistaken, Mr. Taylor,” said Mr. Judd, in a tone which showed his feelings were injured. “I told the boy to get the best kind of Santa Cruz rum.”
“No, you didn’t. You told him to get New England rum, and you know it,” said Uncle Sam.
Mr. Judd called up the boy. “What kind of rum did you tell Mr. Weed you wanted?” said Mr. Judd, addressing the boy.
“The best Santa Cruz,” was the reply.
“There,” said Mr. Judd triumphantly, “now you see it is just as I told you, Mr. Taylor.”
“It’s New England rum, and you know it,” replied Uncle Sam, and then addressing my uncle Edward, he said: “Come, Ed, let us take another drink of ‘white-face’ and go on with our mowing.”
They did so, and Mr. Judd left the field with downcast countenance. When he had got out of hearing, my uncle Edward said:
“Uncle Sam, is that really New England rum?”
“No, it is as good Santa Cruz as ever was tasted, but I thought I’d pay Phin for his grumbling,” said the ever contrary Uncle Sam.
“You do like to be contrary,” responded uncle Ed.
“I always was on the contrary side, and I always mean to be,” replied the eccentric old man.
A religious revival took place in Bethel. As is generally the case on these exciting occasions, many persons were awakened, became converted, and joined the church. One man was taken into the church who was not overstocked with brains. When he joined the church one of the deacons, addressing him, said:
“Brother P—, from this time we shall all look to you as one of the pillars of the church.”
Poor P—, looking around and noticing the columns which supported the gallery, not doubting that he was to be placed in a similar position as a “pillar,” burst into tears, exclaiming, “That burthen will be greater than I can bear.”
Another half-witted man was determined to join the church, but not being wanted, he was told that “the church was full.” He then applied for the first vacancy, and waited a long time in patience for death to make a removal, so that he could be admitted.
One old man, who was quite stubborn in his religious notions, attended all the meetings, but was not converted. The village clergyman took that opportunity to urge him to come to the anxious seat – but the old man replied:
“You know my sentiments on this subject, for I have frequently argued points of theology with you. You are welcome to your opinion, I have mine. We don’t agree.”
The next day the clergyman mentioned the old man’s case to one of the Revivalist ministers.
“Oh,” he replied, “that man evidently needs some sound arguments. Introduce me to him, and if his heart don’t become softened I am mistaken.”
The introduction was made, and the clerical stranger said to the old man:
“Have you any objections to listening to some arguments which I desire to offer in favor of your being converted and joining the church?”
“Not at all,” was the reply.
The clergyman then commenced his argument, which lasted three-quarters of an hour. The old man listened attentively.
“Now,” says the clergyman, “what do you think about joining the church?”
“Oh, I suppose it’s well enough for some folks, but I have got so old, it is hardly worth pottering about,” was the curious reply.
As Danbury lies twenty miles from the sea-board, we had no fish market there, but a good substitute was found in numerous fish peddlers, who brought clams, oysters, scallops, and all kinds of fish and samphire in its season from Bridgeport, Norwalk, etc., and sold the same from house to house in such quantities as might be wanted. These peddlers usually each made several trips per week, so that although we were situated inland, we could usually obtain a daily supply of fresh fish. My grandfather, who took great pride in excelling his neighbors in any thing he undertook, made a standing offer of one dollar for the first fresh shad that was brought to our village each season. As customers usually were willing to buy shad only when they were sufficiently plenty to retail at twenty-five cents each, my grandfather was sure to receive his “first shad” annually a week or two before any others were seen in that market. One season, as usual, the itinerant fish merchant coming into Bethel with a load of “porgies,” clams and fresh cod, brought the prize shad and received his dollar. My grandfather invited several of the neighbors to breakfast with him the next morning, and placed his shad in cold water upon his back piazza. Captain Noah Ferry, a precious wag, managed to steal it just in the dusk of the evening and conveyed it to his own house. The neighbors were as usual gathered at the store in the evening. My grandfather countermanded his invitations, and complained bitterly that the shad had been stolen. He could not help thinking that a dog had done it, and concluded that it was destroyed. The neighbors, most of whom were in the secret, pretended to sympathize with the loser.
“Never mind, Phin,” said Captain Noah, “you must be more careful next time and put your fish out of the reach of dogs. As it is, you probably have made no provision for breakfast, so I invite you and Ben and Dr. Haight to come over and breakfast with me. I shall have a nice loin of veal cooked in a new style, which I am sure will please you.”
The invitation was accepted, and Noah purchased a quart of Santa Cruz rum, at the same time enjoining ’Squire Hoyt to be sure and bring over some fresh tanzy in the morning for bitters.
The guests arrived at an early hour, and after a brief social chat, breakfast was announced. Instead of veal, a splendid shad, hot, well buttered, and bearing the marks of the gridiron, appeared upon the table. My grandfather perceiving the joke, and waiting for the hearty “haw-haw” of his neighbors to cease, merely remarked, “Well, Noah, I always suspected you were a thief, and now I am sure of it.” Another laugh from the company gave an additional zest to their appetite, and the “first shad of the season” was soon numbered among the things that were.
The following spring, my grandfather’s prize shad was stolen by a dog. Somewhat more than half of the tit-bit was, however, redeemed from the thief, and put into a pan of clean water on the back piazza. By ’cute management of its owner, Ferry stole the precious morsel, and invited a company to breakfast, as before, without specifying the viands. My grandfather purposely arrived at too late an hour to participate in the luxury. Ferry expressed regret, “for,” said he, “we had the first shad of the season.” When the facts came out, he was thoroughly chop-fallen, and it was long before he forgave the practical joke.
As before stated, my grandfather had a great desire to excel. On his farm he had a particular meadow of ten acres which every season he would have cut, dried, and put into the barn in a single day, merely that he could brag of doing what no one else did. Of course he hired extra help for that purpose. In the year 1820 he was appointed deputy marshal for taking the census in that part of the county. True to his natural characteristics, he was determined