P.T. Barnum - The Life of P.T. Barnum

“In whetstones at fifty cents each, which will take just six dozen,” replied the doctor gravely, at the same time commencing to count back one half of his purchase.

The peddler looked astonished for a moment, and then bursting into what is termed “a horse laugh,” he exclaimed, “Took in, by hokey! Here, doctor, take this dollar for your trouble (handing him the money); give me back my truck, and I’ll acknowledge for ever that you are too sharp for a tin peddler!”

The doctor accepted the proposed compromise, and was never troubled by that peddler again.

In those days politics ran high. There were but two parties, Democrats and Federalists. On one election day it was known that in Danbury the vote would be a very close one. Every voter was brought out. Wagons were sent into all parts of the town to bring in the “lame, halt, and blind” to cast their votes. The excitement was at its height, when a slovenly fellow who had just voted was heard to whisper to a friend, “I have voted once, and I would go and vote again if I thought the moderator would not know me.”

“Go and wash your face, and nobody would know you again,” said uncle Jabez Taylor, who happened to overhear the remark, and who was on the opposite political side.

My uncle, Colonel Starr Barnum, who is still living, was always famous for a dry joke. On one occasion he and my grandfather engaged in a dispute about the church. My grandfather had contributed largely towards building the Bethel “meeting-house,” and twenty years afterwards, when he invited a clergyman of his own particular belief to preach there, the use of the house was refused him. He was indignant, and in this conversation with my uncle he became much excited, and said “the church might go to the devil.”

“Come, come, my dear fellow; you are going a little too fast, my dear fellow,” said the Colonel; “it don’t happen to be your business to be sending folks to the devil in that way. You are a little too fast, my dear fellow.”

The expression, “my dear fellow,” was a favorite one with my uncle, and was used on all occasions.

In the course of their conversation the belligerents disputed about an ox-chain. Each claimed it as his own. Finally my grandfather seized it, and declaring that it was his, said that no person should have it without a law-suit.

“Take it and go to the devil with it,” said the Colonel in a rage.

“Come, come, my dear fellow,” said a neighbor who had heard all their conversation; “you are a little too fast, my dear fellow. You must not send Uncle Phin to the devil in that way, my dear fellow.”

My uncle saw the force of the remark, and merely replied with a smile, “You must remember, my dear fellow, that he was sending a whole church to the devil, when I was sending only one man there. That, I take it, is a very different thing, my dear fellow.”

The old Colonel, now over seventy years of age, still resides in Bethel. I called on him a few days since. He is quite infirm, but retains his vivacity in a great degree. I spent half an hour with him in talking over old times, and when about to leave, I said, “Uncle Starr, I want to come up and spend several days with you. I am collating facts for my autobiography, and I have no doubt you could remind me of many things that I would like to put into my book.”

“I guess I could remind you of many things that you would not like to put in your book,” grunted the old Colonel with a chuckle, which showed his love of the humorous to be as strong as ever.

My grandfather one day had a cord of hickory wood lying in front of his door. As he and ’Squire Ben Hoyt stood near it, a wood-chopper came along with an axe in his hand. Always ready for a joke, my grandfather said, “Ben, how long do you think it would take me to cut up that load of wood in suitable lengths for my fire-place?”

“I should think about five hours,” said Ben.

“I think I could do it in four hours and a half,” said my grandfather.

“Doubtful,” said Ben; “hickory is very hard wood.”

“I could do it in four hours,” said the wood-chopper.

“I don’t believe it,” said Ben Hoyt.

“I do,” replied my grandfather.

“I don’t think any man could cut that wood in four hours,” said ’Squire Ben, confidently.

“Well, I’ll bet you a quart of rum this man can do it,” said my grandfather.

“I will bet he can’t,” replied Ben, who now saw the joke.

The wood-chopper took off his coat and inquired the time of day

“Just nine o’clock,” said my grandfather, looking through the window at his clock.

“Ten, eleven, twelve, one; if I get it chopped by one o’clock, you win your bet,” said the wood-chopper, addressing my grandfather.

“Yes,” was the response from both the bettors.

At it he went, and the chips flew thick and fast.

“I shall surely win the bet,” said my grandfather.

“I don’t believe it yet,” said Esquire Hoyt.

Several of the neighbors came around, and learning the state of the case, made various remarks regarding the probable result. Streams of perspiration ran down the wood-chopper’s face, as he kept his axe moving with the regularity of a trip-hammer. My grandfather, to stimulate the zealous wood-cutter, gave him a glass of Santa Cruz and water. At eleven o’clock evidently more than half the wood-pile was cut. My grandfather expressed himself satisfied that he would win the bet.

Esquire Hoyt, on the contrary, insisted that the wood-chopper would soon begin to lag, and that he would give out before the wood was finished. These remarks, which of course were intended for the wood-cutter’s ear, had the desired effect. The perspiration continued to flow, but the strength and vigor of the wood-cutter’s arms exhibited no relaxation. The neighbors cheered him. His pile of wood was fast diminishing. It was half-past twelve, and only a few sticks were left. All at once a thought struck the wood-chopper. He stopped for a moment, and resting on his axe addressed my grandfather.

“Look here, who is going to pay me for cutting this wood?” said he.

“Oh, I don’t know any thing about that,” said my grandfather, with great gravity.

“Thunder! You don’t expect I’m going to cut a cord of wood for nothing, do you?” exclaimed the wood-chopper indignantly.

“That’s no business of mine,” said my grandfather; “but really I hope you won’t waste your time now, or I shall lose my bet.”

“Go to blazes with your bet!” was the savage reply, and the wood-cutter threw his axe upon the ground.

The by-standers all joined in a hearty laugh, which increased the anger of the victim. They went to dinner, and when they returned he was sitting on the pile of wood, muttering vengeance against the whole village. After teasing him for an hour or two, my grandfather paid his demands.

The wood-chopper taking the money said: “That’s all right, but I guess I shall know who employs me before I chop the next cord of wood.”

An old gentleman lived in Bethel whom I will call “Uncle Reese.” He was an habitual snuff-taker. He always carried a “bean” in his box, which, he insisted, imparted a much improved flavor to the snuff. “Uncle Reese” peddled clams, fish, etc., on the road from Norwalk to Danbury. On one occasion my grandfather, who was also a snuff-taker, borrowed the bean from him for a few days. In the mean time the borrower whittled a piece of pine into the exact shape of the bean, and then taking it to a neighboring hat shop dropped it into the dye kettle, and thus colored it so that it was almost a fac-simile of the original bean. When Uncle Reese called for his treasure, my grandfather took from his snuff-box its wooden representative, and handed it over with many thanks.