Several immense sea lions and barking seals have also been captured by my agents at Alaska and are added to the “innumerable caravan.” Some of these marine monsters weigh a thousand pounds each, and each consumes from sixty to a hundred pounds of fish per day. It is very curious to see them floundering in and out of the immense water tanks in which I transport them through the country. Their tremendous roar may often be heard the distance of a mile.
Among my equestrian novelties is an Italian goat taught in Europe to ride on horseback, leap through hoops and over banners, alighting on his feet on the back of the horse while at full speed. I named him “Alexis” in honor of the Russian Prince. He appeared at Niblo’s Garden, New York, in February, and created much enthusiasm.
Numerous artists in different parts of Europe have been engaged all winter in making for my show extraordinary musical and other automatons and moving tableaux, so marvelous in their construction as to seem enchanted or to be possessed of life.
But perhaps the most rare and curious addition to my great show, and certainly the most difficult to obtain, is a company of four wild Fiji cannibals! I have tried in vain for years to secure specimens of these “man-eaters.” At last the opportunity came. Three of these cannibals having fallen into the hands of their Royal enemy, who was about to execute, and perhaps to eat them, the missionaries and my agent prevailed upon the copper-colored king to accept a large sum in gold on condition of his majesty’s granting them a reprieve and leave of absence to America for three years, my agent also leaving a large sum with the American Consul to be forfeited if they were not returned within the time stipulated. Accompanying them is a half-civilized cannibal woman, converted and educated by the Methodist missionaries. She reads fluently and very pleasantly from the Bible printed in the Fijian language, and she already exerts a powerful moral influence over these savages. They take a lively interest in hearing her read the history of our Saviour. They earnestly declare their convictions that eating human flesh is wrong, and faithfully promise never again to attempt it. They are intelligent and docile. Their characteristic war dances and rude marches, as well as their representations of cannibal manners and customs, are peculiarly interesting and instructive. It is perhaps needless to add that the bonds for their return will be forfeited. They are already learning to speak and read our language, and I hope soon to put them in the way of being converted to Christianity, even if by so doing the title of “Missionary” be added to the many already given me by the public.
The following happy hit is from the pen of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher as it appeared in that excellent paper of which he is editor, the N.Y. Christian Union of :
“Should not a paternal government set some limit to the enterprise of Brother Barnum; with reference, at least, to the considerations of public safety? Here, upon our desk, lies an indication of his last perilous venture. He invites us ‘and one friend’—no conditions as to ‘condition’ specified—to a private exhibition of four living cannibals, which he has obtained from the Fiji Islands, for his travelling show. We have beaten up, in this office, among the lean and tough, and those most easily spared in an emergency, for volunteers to visit the Anthropophagi, and report; but never has the retiring and self-distrustful disposition of our employees been more signally displayed. This establishment was not represented at that exposition. If Barnum had remembered to specify the ‘Feeding-time,’ we might have dropped in, in a friendly way, at some other period of the day.”
I may add that at the above exhibition several editors brought their daughters. These blooming young ladies refused to sit on the front seat, in the fear of being eaten; but I remarked that there was more danger of some of the young gentlemen swallowing them alive, than there was from the cannibals. The belles subsided and were safe.
And now comes a joke so huge and ludicrous that I laugh over it daily, although there is a serious aspect to it. Every shipment of curiosities that has arrived from abroad this winter has served to put my worthy manager Coup in great agony.
“I tell you, Mr. Barnum, you are getting this show too big,” has been repeated by my perplexed manager a hundred times since New Year’s.
“Never mind,” I reply, “we ought to have a big show—the public expect it, and will appreciate it.”
“So here must go six thousand dollars more for a giraffe wagon and the horses to draw it,” says Coup, “and this makes more than seventy additional horses that your importations since last fall have rendered necessary.”
“Well, friend Coup, we have the only giraffe in America,” I replied.
“Yes, sir, that is all very well, but no country can support such an expensive show as you are putting on the road.”
And that is poor Coup’s doleful complaint continually.
But now comes a more serious side, and here is where the joke comes in. I had wintered about five hundred horses, and was preparing to add at least another hundred to my retinue. I induced my son-in-law, Mr. S. H. Hurd,
