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CHAPTER XXXVI.
MORE ABOUT THE MUSEUM.

Table of Contents

ANOTHER RE-OPENING—A CHERRY-COLORED CAT—THE CAT LET OUT OF THE BAG—MY FIRST WHALING EXPEDITION—PLANS FOR CAPTURE—SUCCESS OF THE SCHEME—TRANSPORTING LIVING WHALES BY LAND—PUBLIC EXCITEMENT—THE GREAT TANK—SALT WATER PUMPED FROM THE BAY TO THE MUSEUM—MORE WHALES—EXPEDITION TO LABRADOR—THE FIRST HIPPOPOTAMUS IN AMERICA—TROPICAL FISH—COMMODORE NUTT AND HIS FIRST “ENGAGEMENT”—THE TWO DROMIOS—PRESIDENT LINCOLN SEES COMMODORE NUTT—WADING ASHORE—A QUESTION OF LEGS—SELF-DECEPTION—THE GOLDEN ANGEL FISH—ANNA SWAN, THE NOVA SCOTIA GIANTESS—THE TALLEST WOMAN IN THE WORLD—INDIAN CHIEFS—EXPEDITION TO CYPRUS—MY AGENT IN A PASHA’S HAREM.

On the 13th of October, 1860, the American Museum was the scene of another re-opening, which was, in fact, the commencement of the fall dramatic season, the summer months having been devoted to pantomime. A grand flourish of trumpets in the way of newspaper advertisements and flaming posters drew a crowded house. Among other attractions, it was announced that Mr. Barnum would introduce a mysterious novelty never before seen in that establishment. I appeared upon the stage behind a small table, in front of which was nailed a white sack, on which was inscribed, in large letters, “The cat let out of the bag.” I then stated that, having spent two of the summer months in the country, leaving the Museum in charge of Mr. Greenwood, he had purchased a curiosity with which he was not satisfied; but, for my part, I thought he had received his money’s worth, and I proposed to exhibit it to the audience, for the purpose of getting their opinion on the subject. I stated that a farmer came in from the country, and said he had got a “cherry-colored cat” at home which he would like to sell; that Mr. Greenwood gave him a writing promising to pay him twenty-five dollars for such a cat delivered in good health, provided it was not artificially colored; and that the cat was then in the bag in front of the table, ready for exhibition. Whereupon, my assistant drew from the bag a common black cat, and I informed the audience that when the farmer brought his “cherry-colored cat,” he quietly remarked to Mr. Greenwood, that, of course, he meant “a cat of the color of black cherries.” The laughter that followed this narration was uproarious, and the audience unanimously voted that the “cherry-colored cat,” all things considered, was well worth twenty-five dollars. The cat, adorned with a collar bearing the inscription, “The Cherry-colored Cat,” was then placed in the cage of the “Happy Family,” and the story getting into the newspapers, it became another advertisement of the Museum.

In 1861, I learned that some fishermen at the mouth of the St. Lawrence had succeeded in capturing a living white whale, and I was also informed that a whale of this kind, if placed in a box lined with sea-weed and partially filled with salt water, could be transported by land to a considerable distance, and be kept alive. It was simply necessary that an attendant, supplied with a barrel of salt water and a sponge, should keep the mouth and blow-hole of the whale constantly moist. It seemed incredible that a living whale could be “expressed” by railroad on a five days’ journey, and although I knew nothing of the white whale or its habits, since I had never seen one, I determined to experiment in that direction. Landsman as I was, I believed that I was quite as competent as a St. Lawrence fisherman to superintend the capture and transportation of a live white whale.

When I had fully made up my mind to attempt the task, I made every provision for the expedition, and took precaution against every conceivable contingency. I determined upon the capture and transport to my Museum of at least two living whales, and prepared in the basement of the building a brick and cement tank, forty feet long, and eighteen feet wide, for the reception of the marine monsters. When this was done, taking two trusty assistants, I started upon my whaling expedition. Going by rail to Quebec, and thence by the Grand Trunk Railroad, ninety miles, to Wells River, where I chartered a sloop to Elbow Island (Isle au Coudres), in the St. Lawrence River, and found the place populated by Canadian French people of the most ignorant and dirty description. They were hospitable, but frightfully filthy, and they gained their livelihood by farming and fishing. Immense quantities of maple-sugar are made there, and in exploring about the island, we saw hundreds of birch-bark buckets suspended to the trees to catch the sap. After numerous consultations, extending over three whole days, with a party of twenty-four fishermen, whose gibberish was almost as untranslatable as it was unbearable, I succeeded in contracting for their services to capture for me, alive and unharmed, a couple of white whales, scores of which could at all times be discovered by their “spouting” within sight of the island. I was to pay these men a stipulated price per day for their labor, and if they secured the whales, they were to have a liberal bonus.

The plan decided upon was to plant in the river a “kraal,” composed of stakes driven down in the form of a V, leaving the broad end open for the whales to enter. This was done in a shallow place, with the point of the kraal towards shore; and if by chance one or more whales should enter the trap at high water, my fishermen were to occupy the entrance with their boats, and keep up a tremendous splashing and noise till the tide receded, when the frightened whales would find themselves nearly “high and dry,” or with too little water to enable them to swim, and their capture would be the next thing in order. This was to be effected by securing a slip-noose of stout rope over their tails, and towing them to the sea-weed lined boxes in which they were to be transported to New York.

All this was simple enough “on paper”; but several days elapsed before a single spout was seen inside the kraal, though scores of whales were constantly around and near it. In time, it became exceedingly aggravating to see the whales glide so near the trap without going into it, and our patience was sorely tried. One day a whale actually went into the kraal, and the fishermen proposed to capture it; but I wanted another, and while we waited for number two to go in, number one knowing the proverb, probably, and having an eye to his own interests, went out. Two days afterwards, I was awakened at daylight by a great noise, and amid the clamor of many voices, I caught the cheering news that two whales were even then within the kraal, and hastily dressing myself, I took a boat for the exciting scene. The real difficulty, which was to get the whales into the trap, was now over, and the details of capture and transportation could safely be left to my trusty assistants and the fishermen. What they were to do until the tide went out and thereafter was once more fully explained; and after depositing money enough to pay the bill, if the capture was successful, I started at once for Quebec. There I learned by telegraph that both whales had been caught, boxed, and put on board sloop for the nearest point where they could be transhipped in the cars. I had made every arrangement with the railway officials, and had engaged a special car for the precious and curious freight.

Elated as I was at the result of this novel enterprise, I had no idea of hiding my light under a bushel, and I immediately wrote a full account of the expedition, its intention, and its success, for publication in the Quebec and Montreal newspapers. I also prepared a large number of brief notices which I left at every station on the line, instructing telegraph operators to “take off” all “whaling messages” that passed over the wires to New York, and to inform their fellow townsmen at what hour the whales would pass through each place. The result of these arrangements may be imagined; at every station crowds of people came to the cars to see the whales which were travelling by land to Barnum’s Museum, and those who did not see the monsters with their own eyes, at least saw some one who had seen them, and I thus secured a tremendous advertisement, seven hundred miles long, for the American Museum.

When I arrived in New York, a dozen despatches had come from the “whaling expedition,” and they continued to come every few hours. These I bulletined in front of the Museum and sent copies to the papers. The excitement was intense, and, when at last, these marine monsters arrived and were swimming in the tank that had been prepared for them, anxious thousands literally rushed to see the strangest curiosities ever exhibited in New York.

Thus was my first whaling expedition a great success; but I did not know how to feed or to take care of the monsters, and, moreover, they were in fresh water, and this, with the bad air in the basement, may have hastened their death, which occurred a few days after their arrival, but not before thousands of people had seen them. Not at all discouraged, I resolved to try again. My plan now was to connect the water of New York bay with the basement of the Museum by means of iron pipes under the street, and a steam engine on the dock to pump the water. This I actually did at a cost of several thousand dollars, with an extra thousand to the aldermanic “ring” for the privilege, and I constructed another tank in the second floor of the building. This tank was built of slate and French glass plates six feet long, five feet broad, and one inch thick, imported expressly for the purpose, and the tank, when completed, was twenty-four feet square, and cost $4,000. It was kept constantly supplied with what would be called Hibernically, “fresh” salt water, and inside of it I soon had two white whales, caught, as the first had been, hundreds of miles below Quebec, to which city they were carried by a sailing vessel, and from thence were brought by railway to New York.

Of this whole enterprise, I confess I was very proud that I had originated it and brought it to such successful conclusion. It was a very great sensation, and it added thousands of dollars to my treasury. The whales, however, soon died—their sudden and immense popularity was too much for them—and I then despatched agents to the coast of Labrador, and not many weeks thereafter I had two more live whales disporting themselves in my monster aquarium. Certain envious people started the report that my whales were only porpoises, but this petty malice was turned to good account, for Professor Agassiz, of Harvard University, came to see them, and gave me a certificate that they were genuine white whales, and this indorsement I published far and wide.

The tank which I had built in the basement served for a yet more interesting exhibition. On the 12th of August, 1861, I began to exhibit the first and only genuine hippopotamus that had ever been seen in America, and for several weeks the Museum was thronged by the curious who came to see the monster. I advertised him extensively and ingeniously, as “the great behemoth of the Scriptures,” giving a full description of the animal and his habits, and thousands of cultivated people, biblical students, and others, were attracted to this novel exhibition. There was quite as much excitement in the city over this wonder in the animal creation as there was in London when the first hippopotamus was placed in the zoölogical collection in Regent’s Park.

Having a stream of salt water at my command at every high tide, I was enabled to make splendid additions to the beautiful aquarium, which I was the first to introduce into this country. I not only procured living sharks, porpoises, sea horses, and many rare fish from the sea in the vicinity of New York, but in the summer of 1861, I despatched a fishing smack and crew to the Island of Bermuda and its neighborhood, whence they brought scores of specimens of the beautiful “angel fish,” and numerous other tropical fish of brilliant colors and unique forms. These fish were a great attraction to all classes, and especially to naturalists and others, who commended me for serving the ends of science as well as amusement. But as cold weather approached, these tropical fish began to die, and before the following spring, they were all gone. I, therefore, replenished this portion of my aquaria during the summer, and for several summers in succession, by sending a special vessel to the Gulf for specimens. These operations were very expensive, but I really did not care for the cost, if I could only secure valuable attractions.

In the same year, I bought out the Aquarial Gardens in Boston, and soon after removed the collection to the Museum. I had now the finest assemblage of fresh as well as salt water fish ever exhibited, and with a standing offer of one hundred dollars for every living brook-trout, weighing four pounds or more, which might be brought to me, I soon had three or four of these beauties, which trout-fishermen from all parts of the country came to New York to see. But the trout department of my Museum required so much care, and was attended with such constant risks, that I finally gave it up.

In December, 1861, I made one of my most “palpable hits.” I was visited at the Museum by a most remarkable dwarf, who was a sharp, intelligent little fellow, with a deal of drollery and wit. He had a splendid head, was perfectly formed, was very attractive, and, in short, for a “showman,” he was a perfect treasure. His name, he told me, was George Washington Morrison Nutt, and his father was Major Rodnia Nutt, a substantial farmer, of Manchester, New Hampshire. I was not long in despatching an efficient agent to Manchester, and in overcoming the competition with other showmen who were equally eager to secure this extraordinary pigmy. The terms upon which I engaged him for three years were so large that he was christened the $30,000 Nutt; I, in the mean time, conferring upon him the title of Commodore. As soon as I engaged him, placards, posters and the columns of the newspapers proclaimed the presence of “Commodore Nutt,” at the Museum. I also procured for the Commodore a pair of Shetland ponies, miniature coachman and footman, in livery, gold-mounted harness and an elegant little carriage, which, when closed, represented a gigantic English walnut. The little Commodore attracted great attention and grew rapidly in public favor. General Tom Thumb was then travelling in the South and West. For some years he had not been exhibited in New York, and during these years he had increased considerably in rotundity and had changed much in his general appearance. It was a singular fact, however, that Commodore Nutt was almost a fac-simile of General Tom Thumb, as he looked half-a-dozen years before. Consequently, very many of my patrons, not making allowance for the time which had elapsed since they had last seen the General, declared that I was trying to play “Mrs. Gamp” with my “Mrs. Harris”; that there was, in fact, no such person as “Commodore Nutt”; and that I was exhibiting my old friend Tom Thumb under a new name. The mistake was very natural, and to me it was very laughable, for the more I tried to convince people of their error, the more they winked and looked wise, and said, “It’s pretty well done, but you can’t take me in.”

Commodore Nutt enjoyed the joke very much. He would sometimes half admit the deception, simply to add to the bewilderment of the doubting portion of my visitors. After he had been in the Museum a few weeks, I took the Commodore to Bridgeport to spend a couple of days by way of relaxation. Many of the citizens of Bridgeport, who had known Tom Thumb from his birth, would salute the Commodore as the General Tom Thumb. The little fellow would return these salutes, for he delighted in keeping up the illusion.

Going into a crowded barber-shop one morning with the little Commodore, we met my friend Mr. Gideon Thompson, who was sitting there, and who called out:

“Good morning, Charley; how are you? When did you get home?”

“I’m quite well, thank you, and I arrived last night,” responded the Commodore, with due gravity.

“I’ve got a horse now that will beat yours,” said Mr. Thompson.

“He must be pretty fast, then.”

“Well, Charley, I’ll drive out by your mother’s the first fine day, and give you a trial.”

“All right,” said little Nutt, “but you had better not wager too much on your fast horse, for you know mine is some pumpkins.”

“Well, Uncle Gid.,” I exclaimed, “you are ‘had’ this time; this little gentleman is not General Tom Thumb, but Commodore Nutt.”

“What!” roared friend Gid.; “do you think I am an infernal fool? Why, I knew Charley Stratton years before you ever saw him, didn’t I, General?”

No one in the room suspected that my little friend was any other than General Tom Thumb, till Mr. William Bassett, the General’s brother-in-law, came in and remarked the “wonderful resemblance to our little Charley, as he looked years ago.”

“Is not this the General?” inquired half a dozen astonished men, who were speedily assured he was not, but was quite another person. This gave rise to a proposition to exhibit the Commodore to the General’s mother, and a coach was procured, and Mr. Bassett, the Commodore, and I went to Mrs. Stratton’s house. When we arrived, the Commodore shouted out:

“How are you, mother?”

But the mother, of all persons in Bridgeport, was not to be deceived, though she expressed her astonishment at the very striking likeness the Commodore bore to her son as he once looked. Mrs. Bassett concurred in the testimony and said the Commodore looked so much like her brother that she was loth to let him go. It is no wonder that other people were deceived by the resemblance.

It was evident that here was an opportunity to turn all doubts into hard cash by simply bringing the two dwarf Dromios together, and showing them on the same platform. I therefore induced Tom Thumb to bring his Western engagements to a close, and to appear for four weeks, beginning with August 11, 1862, in my Museum. Announcements headed “The Two Dromios,” and “Two Smallest Men, and Greatest Curiosities Living,” as I expected, drew large crowds to see them, and many came especially to solve their doubts with regard to the genuineness of the “Nutt.” But here I was considerably nonplussed, for astonishing as it may seem, the doubts of many of the visitors were confirmed! The sharp people who were determined “not to be humbugged, anyhow,” still declared that Commodore Nutt was General Tom Thumb, and that the little fellow whom I was trying to pass off as Tom Thumb, was no more like the General than he was like the man in the Moon. It is very amusing to see how people will sometimes deceive themselves by being too incredulous.

As an illustration—the “Australian Golden Pigeons” which deceived Old Adams were the occasion of another ludicrous incident. A shrewd lady, one of my neighbors in Connecticut, was visiting the Museum, and after inspecting the “Golden Angel Fish” swimming in one of the aquaria, she abruptly addressed me:

“You can’t humbug me, Mr. Barnum; that fish is painted!”

“Nonsense!” said I, with a laugh; “the thing is impossible.”

“I don’t care, I know it is painted; it is as plain as can be.”

“But, my dear Mrs. H., paint would not adhere to a fish in the water; and if it would, it would kill him.”

She left the Museum not more than half convinced, and in the afternoon of the same day I met her in the California Menagerie. She knew I was part proprietor in the establishment, and seeing me in conversation with Old Adams, she came to me, her eyes glistening with excitement, and exclaimed—

“Oh, Mr. Barnum, I never saw anything so beautiful as those elegant “Golden Pigeons”; you must give me some of their eggs for my own pigeons to hatch; I should prize them beyond measure.”

“Oh, you don’t want ‘Golden Pigeons,’ ” I said; “they are painted.”

“No, they are not painted,” said she, with a laugh, “but I half think the ‘Angel Fish’ is.”

I could scarcely control my laughter as I explained: “Now, Mrs. H., I never spoil a good joke, even when the exposure betrays a Museum secret. I assure you, upon honor, that the “Australian Golden Pigeons,” as they are labelled, are really painted; I bought them for the sole purpose of giving Old Adams a lesson; in their natural state they are nothing more than common white ruff-neck pigeons.” She was convinced, and to this day she blushes whenever any allusion is made to the “Angel Fish” or the “Golden Pigeons.”

In 1862, I sent the Commodore to Washington, and joining him there, I received an invitation from President Lincoln to call at the White House with my little friend. Arriving at the appointed hour I was informed that the President was in a special cabinet meeting, but that he had left word if I called to be shown in to him with the Commodore. These were dark days in the rebellion and I felt that my visit, if not ill-timed, must at all events be brief. When we were admitted Mr. Lincoln received us cordially, and introduced us to the members of the cabinet. When Mr. Chase was introduced as the Secretary of the Treasury, the little Commodore remarked:

“I suppose you are the gentleman who is spending so much of Uncle Sam’s money?”

“No, indeed,” said Secretary of War Stanton, very promptly: “I am spending the money.”

“Well,” said Commodore Nutt, “it is in a good cause, anyhow, and I guess it will come out all right.”

His apt remark created much amusement. Mr. Lincoln then bent down his long, lank body, and taking Nutt by the hand, he said:

“Commodore, permit me to give you a parting word of advice. When you are in command of your fleet, if you find yourself in danger of being taken prisoner, I advise you to wade ashore.”

The Commodore found the laugh was against him, but placing himself at the side of the President, and gradually raising his eyes up the whole length of Mr. Lincoln’s very long legs, he replied:

“I guess Mr. President, you could do that better than I could.”

Commodore Nutt and the Nova Scotia giantess, Anna Swan, illustrate the old proverb sufficiently to show how extremes occasionally met in my Museum. He was the shortest of men and she was the tallest of women. I first heard of her through a quaker who came into my office one day and told me of a wonderful girl, seventeen years of age, who resided near him at Pictou, Nova Scotia, and who was probably the tallest girl in the world. I asked him to obtain her exact height, on his return home, which he did and sent it to me, and I at once sent an agent who in due time came back with Anna Swan. She was an intelligent and by no means ill-looking girl, and during the long period while she was in my employ she was visited by thousands of persons. After the burning of my second Museum, she went to England where she attracted great attention.

For many years I had been in the habit of engaging parties of American Indians from the far West to exhibit at the Museum, and had sent two or more Indian companies to Europe, where they were regarded as very great “curiosities.” In 1864, ten or twelve chiefs of as many different tribes, visited the President of the United States at Washington. By a pretty liberal outlay of money, I succeeded in inducing the interpreter to bring them to New York, and to pass some days at my Museum. Of course, getting these Indians to dance, or to give any illustration of their games or pastimes, was out of the question. They were real chiefs of powerful tribes, and would no more have consented to give an exhibition of themselves than the Chief Magistrate of our own nation would have done. Their interpreter could not therefore promise that they would remain at the Museum for any definite time; “for,” said he, “you can only keep them just so long as they suppose all your patrons come to pay them visits of honor. If they suspected that your Museum was a place where people paid for entering,” he continued, “you could not keep them a moment after the discovery.”

On their arrival at the Museum, therefore, I took them upon the stage and personally introduced them to the public. The Indians liked this attention from me, as they had been informed that I was the proprietor of the great establishment in which they were invited and honored guests. My patrons were of course pleased to see these old chiefs, as they knew they were the “real thing,” and several of them were known to the public, either as being friendly or cruel to the whites. After one or two appearances upon the stage, I took them in carriages and visited the Mayor of New York in the Governor’s room at the City Hall. Here the Mayor made them a speech of welcome, which being interpreted to the savages was responded to by a speech from one of the chiefs, in which he thanked the great “Father” of the city for his pleasant words, and for his kindness in pointing out the portraits of his predecessors hanging on the walls of the Governor’s room.

On another occasion, I took them by special invitation to visit one of the large public schools up town. The teachers were pleased to see them, and arranged an exhibition of special exercises by the scholars, which they thought would be most likely to gratify their barbaric visitors. At the close of these exercises, one old chief arose, and simply said, “This is all new to us. We are mere unlearned sons of the forest, and cannot understand what we have seen and heard.”

On other occasions, I took them to ride in Central Park, and through different portions of the city. At every street corner which we passed, they would express their astonishment to each other, at seeing the long rows of houses which extended both ways on either side of each cross-street. Of course, between each of these outside visits I would return with them to the Museum, and secure two or three appearances upon the stage to receive the people who had there congregated “to do them honor.”

As they regarded me as their host, they did not hesitate to trespass upon my hospitality. Whenever their eyes rested upon a glittering shell among my specimens of conchology, especially if it had several brilliant colors, one would take off his coat, another his shirt, and insist that I should exchange my shell for their garment. When I declined the exchange, but on the contrary presented them with the coveted article, I soon found I had established a dangerous precedent. Immediately, they all commenced to beg for everything in my vast collection, which they happened to take a liking to. This cost me many valuable specimens, and often “put me to my trumps” for an excuse to avoid giving them things which I could not part with.

The chief of one of the tribes one day discovered an ancient shirt of chain-mail which hung in one of my cases of antique armor. He was delighted with it, and declared he must have it. I tried all sorts of excuses to prevent his getting it, for it had cost me a hundred dollars and was a great curiosity. But the old man’s eyes glistened, and he would not take “no” for an answer. “The Utes have killed my little child,” he told me through the interpreter; and now he must have this steel shirt to protect himself; and when he returned to the Rocky Mountains he would have his revenge. I remained inexorable until he finally brought me a new buckskin Indian suit, which he insisted upon exchanging. I felt compelled to accept his proposal; and never did I see a man more delighted than he seemed to be when he took the mailed shirt into his hands. He fairly jumped up and down with joy. He ran to his lodging room, and soon appeared again with the coveted armor upon his body, and marched down one of the main halls of the Museum, with folded arms, and head erect, occasionally patting his breast with his right hand, as much as to say, “now, Mr. Ute, look sharp, for I will soon be on the war path!”

Among these Indians were War Bonnet, Lean Bear, and Hand-in-the-water, chiefs of the Cheyennes; Yellow Buffalo, of the Kiowas; Yellow Bear, of the same tribe; Jacob, of the Caddos; and White Bull, of the Apaches. The little wiry chief known as Yellow Bear had killed many whites as they had travelled through the “far West.” He was a sly, treacherous, blood-thirsty savage, who would think no more of scalping a family of women and children, than a butcher would of wringing the neck of a chicken. But now he was on a mission to the “Great Father” at Washington, seeking for presents and favors for his tribe, and he pretended to be exceedingly meek and humble, and continually urged the interpreter to announce him as a “great friend to the white man.” He would fawn about me, and although not speaking or understanding a word of our language, would try to convince me that he loved me dearly.

In exhibiting these Indian warriors on the stage, I explained to the large audiences the names and characteristics of each. When I came to Yellow Bear I would pat him familiarly upon the shoulder, which always caused him to look up to me with a pleasant smile, while he softly stroked down my arm with his right hand in the most loving manner. Knowing that he could not understand a word I said, I pretended to be complimenting him to the audience, while I was really saying something like the following:

“This little Indian, ladies and gentlemen, is Yellow Bear, chief of the Kiowas. He has killed, no doubt, scores of white persons, and he is probably the meanest, black-hearted rascal that lives in the far West.” Here I patted him on the head, and he, supposing I was sounding his praises, would smile, fawn upon me, and stroke my arm, while I continued: “If the blood-thirsty little villain understood what I was saying, he would kill me in a moment; but as he thinks I am complimenting him, I can safely state the truth to you, that he is a lying, thieving, treacherous, murderous monster. He has tortured to death poor, unprotected women, murdered their husbands, brained their helpless little ones; and he would gladly do the same to you or to me, if he thought he could escape punishment. This is but a faint description of the character of Yellow Bear.” Here I gave him another patronizing pat on the head, and he, with a pleasant smile, bowed to the audience, as much as to say that my words were quite true, and that he thanked me very much for the high encomiums I had so generously heaped upon him.

After they had been about a week at the Museum, one of the chiefs discovered that visitors paid money for entering. This information he soon communicated to the other chiefs, and I heard an immediate murmur of discontent. Their eyes were opened, and no power could induce them to appear again upon the stage. Their dignity had been offended, and their wild, flashing eyes were anything but agreeable. Indeed, I hardly felt safe in their presence, and it was with a feeling of relief that I witnessed their departure for Washington the next morning.

In the spring of 1864, the United States Consul at Larnica, Island of Cyprus, Turkish Dominions, wrote me a letter, declaring that he and the English Consul, an American physician, resident in the island, and a large company of Europeans as well as natives, had seen the most remarkable object, no doubt, in the world,—a lusus naturæ, a feminine phenomenon. This woman was represented to have “four cornicles on her head, and one large horn, equal in size to an ordinary ram’s horn, growing out of the side of her head”; and the consistency of the horns was represented to be similar to that of cows’ or goats’ horns. This singular story continued: “These horns have been growing for ten or twelve years, and were carefully concealed by the woman until a few weeks since, when a vision appeared in the person of an old man, and warned her to remove the veil she wore, or God would punish her. She sent to the Greek priest (she being of that persuasion), and confessed to him, and was ordered to uncover her head, which she at once did.” She was subsequently seen by the entire population, and the French consul, in company with others, offered her fifty thousand piastres to go to Paris for exhibition. The English consul, I was further informed, had pronounced this woman to be “worth her weight in gold”; and I was assured that if I wished to add her to my “wonderful Museum, and present to the American public the most remarkable object yet exhibited,” I had only to “send an agent immediately to secure the prize.”

Informing myself of the trustworthiness of my correspondent (who also wrote a similar account to the New York Observer), I was not long in making up my mind to secure this freak of nature; and I despatched Mr. John Greenwood, Jr., in the steamer “City of Baltimore,” for Liverpool, April 30, 1864. He went to London and Paris, and thence to Marseilles, where he took a Syrian and Egyptian steamer to Palermo, and from thence proceeded to Cyprus. On arriving, if he could have seen the woman at once, he could have re-embarked on the steamer, which sailed again in a few hours for other islands; but unfortunately, the woman was a few miles in the interior, and poor Greenwood was detained a month on the island before he could take another steamer to get away. Worse yet, the woman, spite of the impression she had made upon so many and such respectable witnesses, was really no curiosity after all, as it proved upon examination, that her “horns” were not horns at all, but fleshy excrescences, which may have been singularly shaped tumors, or wens. It is needless to add that my agent did not engage her; and after a month of discomfort and hard living, he succeeded in getting away, and sailed for Constantinople, mainly to see what could be done in the way of securing one or more Circassian women for exhibition in my Museum.

On his way through the Mediterranean, he had the following adventure: On board the steamer, the harem of a Turkish Pasha occupied one side of the quarter deck, which was divided off from the rest by a hurdle fence run longitudinally through the middle of the deck. Greenwood was one day sitting in an easy chair with his back to these women and their attendants, when, feeling his chair move, he turned and saw one of the Pasha’s wives getting over the hurdle, and as there was scarcely room for her to squeeze herself between the chairs in which passengers were sitting, he moved his own chair out of the way and rising, offered his hand to assist the woman over the fence. She indignantly jumped back, and Greenwood was immediately seized by two of the Pasha’s attendants, violently shaken, and taken to task in Turkish for daring to offer to touch the hand of one of his Excellency’s women. Greenwood had that day formed the acquaintance of a fellow-passenger, a young Greek from Scio, who was going to Beyrout to act as clerk for a merchant in that place. He spoke good English, and seeing Greenwood in trouble among the Turks, and knowing that he could speak neither Greek nor Arabic, he went to the rescue, and demanded an explanation of the difficulty.

Upon hearing what was the trouble, he informed theturbulent fellows that Greenwood had no motive in his act beyond simple common courtesy. The prisoner, however, was still detained in the grasp of the Turks, till the will of the insulted Pasha could be known. On deck soon came the irate Pasha, in company with an old gentleman who was said to have been tutor, formerly, to the present Sultan of Turkey. When the two heard the charge and the explanation, and had consulted together a little while, Greenwood was released. But for the friendly interposition of the Greek, he might have been bastinadoed, or even bowstrung.

During the remainder of the voyage he was closely watched, but he was very careful to be guilty of no act of “politeness,” and he went on shore at Constantinople without so much as saying good-by to the Pasha. In Constantinople he had some very singular adventures. To carry out his purpose of getting access to the very interior of the slave-marts, he dressed himself in full Turkish costume, learned a few words and phrases which would be necessary in his assumed character as a slave-buyer, and, as the Turks are a notably reticent people, he succeeded very well in passing himself off for what he appeared, though he ran a risk of detection many times every day. In this manner, he saw a large number of Circassian girls and women, some of them the most beautiful beings he had ever seen, and after a month in Constantinople and in other Turkish cities, he sailed for Marseilles, then went to Paris, picking up many treasures for my Museum, and returned to New York, after a journey of 13,112 miles.

PREFACE.

CHAPTER XXXVI. MORE ABOUT THE MUSEUM.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
MORE ABOUT THE MUSEUM.