“How much does he eat in a day?”
“Oh,” I replied carelessly, “not more than a quarter of a ton of hay and three or four bushels of oats.”
“Exactly,” said Thompson, his eyes glistening with delight; “that is just about what I expected. He can’t draw so much as two pair of my oxen can, and he costs more than a dozen pair.”
“You are mistaken, friend Thompson,” I replied with much gravity; “that elephant is a powerful animal; he can draw more than forty yoke of oxen, and he pays me well for bringing him here.”
“Forty yoke of oxen!” contemptuously replied the old farmer; “I don’t want to tell you I doubt your word, but I would just like to know what he can draw.”
“He can draw the attention of twenty millions of American citizens to Barnum’s Museum,” I replied.
“Oh, you can make him pay in that way, of course,” responded the old farmer.
“None but a greenhorn could ever have expected he would pay in any other way,” I replied.
The old man gave a hearty laugh, and said, “Well, I give it up. I have been a farmer thirty-five years, and I have only just discovered that an elephant is a very useful and profitable animal on a farm—provided the farmer also owns a museum.”
In 1851 I became a part owner of the steamship “North America.” Our intention in buying it was to run it to Ireland as a passenger and freight ship. The project was, however, abandoned, and Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt bought one half of the steamer, while the other half was owned by three persons, of whom I was one. The steamer was sent around Cape Horn to San Francisco, and was put into the Vanderbilt line.