Life of Hon. Phineas T. Barnum [34]
out to the letter.
The morning dawned, and the crowds on Broadway were admiring the display, when two representatives of the baffled vestry rushed into the office and demanded that the ropes be taken down. "The Church of St. Paul's, where Washington worshiped, attached to a Museum! Sacrilege!"
Barnum assumed a conciliatory tone, reminding them that he always stopped his band playing during their week-day services, and suggesting the fairness of the obligation being made mutual.
"If those flags are not down in ten minutes," cried one of the vestrymen, "I will cut them down."
Then Barnum sprang to his feet and exclaimed loudly enough for the crowd to hear:
"Well, Mister, I should just like to see you dare to cut down the American flag on the Fourth of July; you must be a 'Britisher' to make such a threat as that; but I'll show you a thousand pairs of Yankee hands in two minutes, if you dare to attempt to take down the Stars and Stripes on this great birthday of American freedom!"
"What's that John Bull a-saying?" asked a brawny fellow, placing himself in front of the irate vestryman. "Look here, old fellow," he continued, "if you want to save a whole bone in your body, you had better slope, and never dare to talk again about hauling down the American flag in the city of New York."
Throngs of excited, exasperated men crowded around, and the vestryman, seeing the effect of the ruse, smiled faintly and said, "Oh, of course it is all right," and he and his companion quietly edged out of the crowd.
By one o'clock that day, the Museum was so densely packed that no more visitors could be admitted, and the proprietor saw with despair the crowds being turned away from the door. Rushing down-stairs, he directed the carpenter to cut down the partition and floor in the rear and to put in a temporary flight of stairs. The egress was ready by three o'clock, and people poured out into Ann Street, while the crowd from Broadway poured in. After that, the egress was always ready on holidays. One of Barnum's most amusing reminiscences related to this egress.
"Early in the following March I received notice from some of the Irish population that they meant to visit me in great numbers on 'St. Patrick's day in the morning.' 'All right,' said I to my carpenter, 'get your egress ready for March 17th;' and I added, to my assistant manager: 'If there is much of a crowd, don't let a single person pass out at the front, even if it were St. Patrick himself; put every man out through the egress in the rear.' The day came, and before noon we were caught in the same dilemma as we were on the Fourth of July; the Museum was jammed, and the sale of tickets was stopped. I went to the egress and asked the sentinel how many hundreds had passed out?
" 'Hundreds,' he replied, 'why only three persons have gone out by this way, and they came back, saying that it was a mistake and begging to be let in again.'
" 'What does this mean?' I inquired; 'surely thousands of people have been all over the Museum since they came in.'
" 'Certainly,' was the reply; 'but after they have gone from one saloon to another, and have been on every floor, even to the roof, they come down and travel the same route over again.'
"At this time I espied a tall Irish woman with two good-sized children whom I had happened to notice when they came in early in the morning.
" 'Step this way, madam,' said I, politely; 'you will never be able to get into the street by the front door without crushing these dear children. We have opened a large egress here, and you can thus pass by these rear stairs into Ann Street, and thus avoid all danger.'
" 'Sure,' replied the woman, indignantly, 'an' I'm not going out at all, at all, nor the children either, for we've brought our dinners and we are going to stay all day.'
"Further investigation showed that pretty much all of the visitors had brought their dinners with the evident intention of literally 'making a day of it.' No one expected to go home till night; the building was overcrowded, and hundreds were waiting
The morning dawned, and the crowds on Broadway were admiring the display, when two representatives of the baffled vestry rushed into the office and demanded that the ropes be taken down. "The Church of St. Paul's, where Washington worshiped, attached to a Museum! Sacrilege!"
Barnum assumed a conciliatory tone, reminding them that he always stopped his band playing during their week-day services, and suggesting the fairness of the obligation being made mutual.
"If those flags are not down in ten minutes," cried one of the vestrymen, "I will cut them down."
Then Barnum sprang to his feet and exclaimed loudly enough for the crowd to hear:
"Well, Mister, I should just like to see you dare to cut down the American flag on the Fourth of July; you must be a 'Britisher' to make such a threat as that; but I'll show you a thousand pairs of Yankee hands in two minutes, if you dare to attempt to take down the Stars and Stripes on this great birthday of American freedom!"
"What's that John Bull a-saying?" asked a brawny fellow, placing himself in front of the irate vestryman. "Look here, old fellow," he continued, "if you want to save a whole bone in your body, you had better slope, and never dare to talk again about hauling down the American flag in the city of New York."
Throngs of excited, exasperated men crowded around, and the vestryman, seeing the effect of the ruse, smiled faintly and said, "Oh, of course it is all right," and he and his companion quietly edged out of the crowd.
By one o'clock that day, the Museum was so densely packed that no more visitors could be admitted, and the proprietor saw with despair the crowds being turned away from the door. Rushing down-stairs, he directed the carpenter to cut down the partition and floor in the rear and to put in a temporary flight of stairs. The egress was ready by three o'clock, and people poured out into Ann Street, while the crowd from Broadway poured in. After that, the egress was always ready on holidays. One of Barnum's most amusing reminiscences related to this egress.
"Early in the following March I received notice from some of the Irish population that they meant to visit me in great numbers on 'St. Patrick's day in the morning.' 'All right,' said I to my carpenter, 'get your egress ready for March 17th;' and I added, to my assistant manager: 'If there is much of a crowd, don't let a single person pass out at the front, even if it were St. Patrick himself; put every man out through the egress in the rear.' The day came, and before noon we were caught in the same dilemma as we were on the Fourth of July; the Museum was jammed, and the sale of tickets was stopped. I went to the egress and asked the sentinel how many hundreds had passed out?
" 'Hundreds,' he replied, 'why only three persons have gone out by this way, and they came back, saying that it was a mistake and begging to be let in again.'
" 'What does this mean?' I inquired; 'surely thousands of people have been all over the Museum since they came in.'
" 'Certainly,' was the reply; 'but after they have gone from one saloon to another, and have been on every floor, even to the roof, they come down and travel the same route over again.'
"At this time I espied a tall Irish woman with two good-sized children whom I had happened to notice when they came in early in the morning.
" 'Step this way, madam,' said I, politely; 'you will never be able to get into the street by the front door without crushing these dear children. We have opened a large egress here, and you can thus pass by these rear stairs into Ann Street, and thus avoid all danger.'
" 'Sure,' replied the woman, indignantly, 'an' I'm not going out at all, at all, nor the children either, for we've brought our dinners and we are going to stay all day.'
"Further investigation showed that pretty much all of the visitors had brought their dinners with the evident intention of literally 'making a day of it.' No one expected to go home till night; the building was overcrowded, and hundreds were waiting