In no place did extremes ever meet in a more practical sense than in the American Museum. Commodore Nutt was the shortest of men; and at the same time the Museum contained the tallest of women. Her name was Anna Swan, and she came from Nova Scotia. Barnum first heard of her through a Quaker, who was visiting the Museum. This visitor came to Barnum's office, and told him of a wonderful girl, only seventeen years old, who lived near him at Pictou. Barnum soon sent an agent up there, who brought the young lady back to New York. She was an intelligent girl, and, despite her enormous stature, was decidedly good-looking. For a long time she was a leading attraction at Barnum's Museum, and afterwards went to England and attracted great attention there.
For many years Barnum had been in the habit of engaging parties of American Indians from the far West to exhibit at the Museum. He had also sent several parties of them to Europe, where they were regarded as extraordinary 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, Barnum succeeded in inducing the interpreter to bring them to New York, and to pass some days at the 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, Barnum took them upon the stage and personally introduced them to the public. The Indians liked this attention from him, as they had been informed that he was the proprietor of the great establishment in which they were invited and honored guests. His 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 on the stage, Barnum 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 Barnum 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 he took them to ride in Central Park, and through different portions of the city. At every street-corner which they 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, after each of these outside visits Barnum 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 him as their host, they did not hesitate to trespass upon his hospitality. Whenever their eyes rested upon a glittering shell among his specimens of conchology, especially if it had several brilliant colors, one would take off his coat, another his shirt, and insist that he should exchange the shell for the garment. When he declined the exchange, but on the contrary presented the coveted article, he soon found he had established a dangerous precedent. Immediately they all commenced to beg for everything in the vast collection which they happened to take a liking to. This cost Barnum many valuable specimens, and often "put him to his trumps" for an excuse to avoid giving them things which he 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 the cases of antique armor. He was delighted with it, and declared he must have it. Barnum tried all sorts of excuses to prevent his getting it, for it had cost 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 said 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. Barnum remained inexorable until the chief finally brought a new buckskin Indian suit, which he insisted upon exchanging. Barnum then felt compelled to accept his proposal; and never did anyone see a man more delighted than the Indian 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, bloodthirsty 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 Barnum, and although not speaking or understanding a word of our language, would try to convince him that he loved him dearly.
In exhibiting these Indian warriors on the stage, Barnum explained to the large audiences the names and characteristics of each. When he came to Yellow Bear he would pat him familiarly upon the shoulder, which always caused him to look up with a pleasant smile, while he softly stroked Barnum's arm with his right hand in the most loving manner. Knowing that he could not understand a word he said, Barnum pretended to be complimenting him to the audience, while he was really saying something like the following: