After the opera was over we started for San Francisco.
On reaching Ogden early in the morning I received a telegram from San Francisco notifying Mdme. Patti's arrival there, but adding that she would not come out in Semiramide in conjunction with Mdme. Scalchi, though that was the opera announced for my opening night. La Diva wanted a night entirely to herself.
As every seat had been sold for the first performance, and places were at a high premium, I did not see how it was possible to make any alteration in the bill. I therefore declined. Towards the latter part of the following day, at Winnemucca, I got another telegram saying that Mdme. Patti would appear in Il Barbiere. This I declined, knowing that opera to be, in America at least, most unattractive. Nearly at every station did I receive telegrams, some of which I answered. At last I effected a kind of compromise by substituting Linda. This change caused me a loss of some £600 or £800.
On the road I had received a telegram from my auctioneer, the famous Joe Eldridge, desiring to know if he should reserve any seats or offer the whole to the public. I replied that not a single seat was to be reserved; he was to sell all. He took me at my word, and the following day I received a telegram that not only had he sold the whole of the pit and dress circle and boxes, but also the whole of the gallery for every night of the season, and that the premiums on the tickets alone amounted to something like £15,000 for the two weeks' season; and, although over 3,000 tickets of admission for every night of the whole season had been sold, the demand, instead of abating, kept on increasing. In many cases as much as 150 dollars per seat premium had been paid. The sale altogether surpassed that of the previous year.
I was afterwards informed by an eye-witness of the indefatigable exertions Joe Eldridge had gone through on the day of the auction. On entering the orchestra he first of all gave a graphic description of each of the different prime donne who were to take part in the season's performances, explaining also the enormous value the tickets would reach as soon as the whole of the Company arrived. He then, feeling warm, took off his hat. After a few lots had been sold he removed his cravat, afterwards his coat, followed later by his waistcoat and his shirt-collar, which he threw off into the stalls. Then, as the business became more exciting, off went his braces. Afterwards he loosened his shirt, tucking up both sleeves; and he was in a state of semi-nudity before he got rid of the last lot.
On leaving the theatre after the sale this highly esteemed gentleman, I regret to say, was attacked by pneumonia, which carried him off in a few hours. His death was a sad shock to all, for he was a general favourite.
The San Francisco Daily Report wrote on the subject:—
"Joe Eldridge arrived in San Francisco in 1849, and after visiting various parts of the State returned to San Francisco, in the house of Newhall and Co. About this time he lost his right leg in a very remarkable manner. He was in the habit of signalling each sale by a hearty slap of his hand on his right thigh at the word 'gone.' The constant concussion brought on a cancer, and the leg had to be amputated. This misfortune, which would have depressed most men, more or less, for the rest of their lives, had no effect on his energy or his high spirits. He was a most charitable man, and beloved by all who knew him, being one of the founders of Mill's Seminary, whilst he was a pillar of strength at Dr. Stone's first Congregational Church."
One word as to Joe Eldridge's method of doing business. No one could get such prices as he obtained; and these he often secured by pretending to have heard bids which had never been made.
"Nine dollars," an intending purchaser would say.