My western tour was delightful; indeed it was almost an ovation. I found, in fact, that when I had strayed so far from home, the curiosity exhibitor himself became quite a curiosity. On several occasions, in Iowa, I was introduced to ladies and gentlemen who had driven thirty miles in carriages to hear me. I insisted, however, that it was more to see than to hear; and I asked them if that was not really the case. In several instances they answered in the affirmative. In fact, one quaint old lady said: “Why, to tell you the truth, Mr. Barnum, we have read so much about you, and your Museum and your queer carryings-on, that we were not quite sure but you had horns and cloven feet, and so we came to satisfy our curiosity; but, la, me! I don’t see but what you look a good deal like other folks, after all.”
While at the West, I visited my sister, Mrs. Minerva Drew, and her family, at Bristol, Wisconsin, where they reside on a farm which I presented to her about twenty years ago. Her children having grown up and married, all except her son, Fairchild B. Drew, who had just attained his majority, his father (Ezekiel Drew) wished to retain his services on the farm. Fairchild, however, felt that the farm was not quite large enough for his aspirations. I found also that he coveted a neighboring farm, which, with its stock, was for sale for less than five thousand dollars. I bought it for him, on condition that he should continue the care of the old farm, and that the two should be worked together. I trust that the arrangement will prove beneficial to all concerned; for there is great pleasure in helping others who try to help themselves; without such effort on their part, all good offices in their favor are thrown away,—it is simply attempting to make a sieve hold water.
On my tour, in attempting to make the connection from Cleveland, Ohio, to Fort Wayne, Indiana, via Toledo, I arrived at the latter city at one o’clock, P.M., which was about two hours too late to catch the train in time for the hour announced for my lecture that evening. I went to Mr. Andrews, the superintendent of the Toledo, Wabash and Western Railway, and told him I wanted to hire a locomotive and car to run to Fort Wayne, as I must be there at eight o’clock at night.
“It is an impossibility,” said Mr. Andrews; “the distance is ninety-four miles, and no train leaves here till morning. The road is much occupied by freight trains, and we never run extra trains in this part of the country, unless the necessity is imperative.”
I suppose I looked astonished, as well as chagrined. I knew that if I missed lecturing in Fort Wayne that evening, I could not appoint another time for that purpose, for every night was engaged during the next two months. I also felt that a large number of persons in Fort Wayne would be disappointed, and I grew desperate. Drawing my wallet from my pocket, I said:
“I will give two hundred dollars, and even more, if you say so, to be put into Fort Wayne before eight o’clock to-night; and, really, I hope you will accommodate me.”
The superintendent looked me thoroughly over in half a minute, and I fancied he had come to the conclusion that I was a burglar, a counterfeiter, or something worse, fleeing from justice. My surmise was confirmed, when he slowly remarked:
“Your business must be very pressing, sir.”
“It is indeed,” I replied; “I am Barnum, the museum man, and am engaged to speak in Fort Wayne to-night.”
He evidently did not catch the whole of my response, for he immediately said: