_The Party Separates_ — _Harry Goes to the Battle-Ship_ — _The
Government Building_ — _The Convent and the Caravels_ — _The
Movable Sidewalk._
Sunday proved a welcome relief after the long journey of Saturday,
followed by the fête night at the Fair; and they were glad to begin the
busy week that was to follow with one restful day apart from bustle and
confusion.
At breakfast Monday morning, one of the dishes Mr. Douglass ordered was
steak; and, as he sawed through it, he remarked:
“This is tough!”
“But I thought you didn’t approve of slang?” Harry inquired, with an
air of grave interest.
“I wasn’t thinking so much of how I said it as of the fact,” Mr.
Douglass replied. “But the proverb says that ‘shoemakers’ children are
always the worst shod,’ and so we ought to expect poor beef in Chicago,
the great beef-market of the continent; but I don’t like to waste my
strength on mere beef while there is so much before us. What are your
plans?”
“If you don’t mind,” said Harry, after a moment’s pause, “I’m going to
ask you to let me ‘paddle my own canoe.’ It is hard for three to keep
together in a crowd.”
“That’s true,” Philip agreed; “and especially when one is near-sighted.
I think I tried to follow seven different wrong men yesterday.”
“Yes,” added Harry; “‘Follow my leader’ is a difficult game to play
when we are all leaders and followers at the same time.”
“All right,” the tutor said. “To-day, then, we will separate. I may not
go to the Fair at all, for I have several letters on my mind. Remember,
we came away on very short notice. What will you do, Philip?”
“Oh, I think I shall spend a long while in the Art Galleries. It’s a
good place to go to by one’s self, for two people seldom agree about
pictures—especially boys.”
So, after breakfast, Harry, with a proud feeling of being his own
master, set forth by himself. He had a very clear idea of what he
wished to do first. He meant to go to the model of a United States
man-of-war—the “Illinois.” He had read much about the White Squadron,
and felt that he would never have so good an opportunity to understand
just how a man-of-war was worked.
[Illustration: BUILDING THE BATTLE-SHIP. NOVEMBER, 1891.]
He had bought a guide-book to the Fair, and found that the route of the
launches would bring him quite near enough to the vessel. But in spite
of his singleness of purpose, his thoughts were distracted as soon as
he came near the entrance.
He noticed first the clicking of the turnstiles. They revolved so
continually, as people passed in, that Harry was reminded of the sound
of a watchman’s rattle. Next, he caught sight of a white-robed and
turbaned Turk standing in line at the “Workmen’s Gate,” as placidly as
if he were in his native Constantinople. Harry’s turn to enter at the
“Pay Gate” soon came, and he made his way toward the Court of Honor. As
he passed the great Liberty Bell, which was chiming musically, he read
upon it the words:
A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another.
He could not help remembering what followed the ringing of the original
Liberty Bell, and he hoped that this, its namesake, would bring peace
rather than war—a sober reflection that he recalled later in the day.
To the tune of “Hold the fort, for I am coming,” played by a peal
of musical bells,—very fittingly, he thought,—Harry began the quick
journey that ended when the little launch came to a landing called
“The Clambake.” When the man called out those words, Harry did not
budge; but when the man added, “Here’s where yer get off,” he rose and
abandoned the craft.
On the way there, Harry learned that the ducks in the Lagoon were
useful as well as pretty. The pilot said that two or three ducks would
do more toward keeping a pond wholesome than six or eight hard-working
men.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE-SHIP AS IT LOOKED IN JANUARY, 1892.]
He was too early to get upon the “Illinois,” and therefore turned back
to see the Viking ship. It was not far away; and just in front of it
were three armor-plates in which were the imprints left by the great
conical shot used in testing them.
Harry had read all about the old Northmen’s vessel, and ordinarily
could have spent hours in studying her mast, her one crossyard, her
awning, the shields along her side—but this was a land of wonders. He
looked at the boat only long enough to take a mental snap-shot that he
could develop at leisure, and then walked on toward the United States
Government Building, passing on his way a company of marines at drill.
But again he was diverted. He turned into the Weather Bureau, and was
glad he had done so, because of the wonderful series of photographs he
found on the walls. Lightning flashes in streaks and sheets, clouds
in storm and wind, moonlight and snow effects, were there, but in
impossible numbers. He sighed, wished that he had more leisure, and
left. This time he succeeded in getting to the rifled cannon in front
of the Government Building, but stopped only long enough to take a
sight over one of them.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE-SHIP ON DECORATION DAY, MAY 30, 1893.]
He tried to go regularly around the exhibits, but surrendered almost
at once. The Patent Office models discouraged him; but the Geological
Department!—the great transparent pictures in the windows convinced him
that he couldn’t (as he once heard a man say) “poss the impossible and
scrute the inscrutable.”
But he did notice some things.
He sketched the skull of the _Dinoceras mirabile_ (and copied the name,
too), because he was sure that it was the very ugliest thing in the
world. He walked around a section of the big tree from California. He
really studied a few life-like and life-size groups showing Indians
at work, and wished sincerely that he were Methuselah, and that the
Fair would last all his days. It was a petrified Wild West show. He
said they were splendid, to a gray-bearded Westerner, who replied
emphatically:
“They are _so_—and I have been used to the scoundrels all my life!”
[Illustration: THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT BUILDING.]
Harry sketched a queer Indian “priest-clown’s” head. At first he felt a
little afraid to bring out his book and pencil; but he found out that
every one had more to do than watch a boy drawing, and before the day
was over he drew whatever he chose, entirely forgetting the crowd.
Different things attracted different people. He heard one
farmer-looking man say: “My stars, Ma! Look-a here!” and expected to
see a marvel. He found only some stuffed chickens. Probably the farmer
had never seen fowls stuffed unroasted.
But when he came to the War Department collection he gave up skipping.
He _had_ to see that. Just at the entrance was a splendid bust of
General Sheridan, the face wearing the expression the general must
have had when he said at Winchester, “Turn around, boys! We’re going
back!” Against the windows were more fine transparencies, and the
whole floor-space was filled with everything having to do with war
and soldiers. Small arms, from a brass blunderbuss to the latest
breech-loader—yes, and to the earliest, for there was one Chinese
breech-loader of the 14th century.
[Illustration: THE VIKING SHIP.]
“Instead of trying to get up new things,” said Harry, half aloud, “we
ought to go to China and study ancient history.”
Harry had a feeling of discouragement in spite of his interest. He had
always entertained a vague idea that some day he might give his mind to
it and make a big invention—a phonograph or a flying railway, or some
little thing like that; but now, when he saw how everything seemed to
have been done, and done better than he could have dreamed of—well, he
said to himself, “This Fair has spoiled one great inventor, for I would
not dare to think there was anything new!”
But then he caught sight of a picture called the “March of Time,”
—representing a great procession of soldiers, of generals and
veterans,—which restored his good spirits, for right in front, “leading
the whole crowd,” was a row of rollicking small boys. He was grateful
to the artist.
One stand of arms showed muskets—relics of the Civil War—injured by
bullets. Into one of them a Confederate bullet had entered to stop a
forthcoming shot, and, meeting, they had burst open the barrel. Another
had been split into ribbons at the muzzle. There were also relics of
the Custer massacre, and a gun recaptured from an Indian after he had
tastefully ornamented it with brass-headed nails.
The less bloody side of battle was recalled by General Thomas’s “office
wagon,” the side of which formed a desk when lowered, and revealed some
very neat pigeonholes for papers, pens, and red tape. Uniforms and
equipment, models of pontoons, artillery, a model of undermining, one
by one each claimed the hasty glance that was all any visitor had to
spare. A longer look was claimed by an oil painting showing Lieutenant
Lockwood’s observation of the “Farthest North.”
Then Harry returned to the Rotunda, and executed a rapid circular
movement, hasty, but full of reverence, toward the cases of
Revolutionary and Colonial relics—portraits on ivory, letters, flags,
snuff-boxes—an endless array of antiquities. Harry was glad to see one
miniature, excellently painted, by Major André; for up to that day he
had not thought much of the unfortunate major’s drawing, having seen
only the well-known “sketch of himself” in pen and ink. Washington’s
diary was another thing the boy found very interesting: as he said,
it was “neat as wax and right as a trivet.” Harry wondered whether it
wouldn’t be fun to keep a diary. This reminded him of the flight of
time, and, looking at his watch, he set his face once more toward the
“Illinois,” for it was after half-past ten.
Many were going that way—and, indeed, in every other. Two small boys
who, in sailor suits, strode along the pier like two pygmy admirals,
gave him another subject for his sketch-book; but they were but atoms
in a long procession, for there was no cessation in the coming and
going of visitors all the time he was on the vessel.
[Illustration: TWO LITTLE TARS GOING TO SEE THE MODEL OF A MAN-OF-WAR.]
He went at once below decks, and came plump up against an ice-machine—
“to keep the men cool while in action,” he heard a young fellow say.
Around the bulkheads were draped flags of all nations, and here and
there were hung mess-lockers,—shelves behind wire gratings,—hammocks,
neatly varnished kegs for stores, and everything Jack afloat could
desire. Upon the lower deck also were glass cases protecting exquisite
models of the new cruisers and battle-ships.
“Now, if they’ll give me just one of those as my share,” said Harry,
“I’ll go home contented. Anyway, I think I will go to Annapolis and
become an officer in the navy.”
As if to answer this thought, he came next to the room where the work
of the cadets was shown. The splicing, the foot-ball statistics,
the fencing foils and masks, were welcomed; but the tables full of
text-books and the neat drawings on the walls spoke so plainly of hard
study and long hours of work that Harry’s determination was somewhat
shaken. And, indeed, before he had left the Government Building, a
soldier of the regular army, guarding some exhibits, had said to him,
“The time for war is over.” The man seemed to speak seriously, and then
it was that Harry recalled the new Liberty Bell and its inscription.
War was not all uniforms and parading.
[Illustration: THE CARAVEL “SANTA MARIA.” The Model of the Flagship of
Columbus.]
The captain’s room and office were most attractive, except that a set
of the “Encyclopædia Britannica” seemed out of its element—a British
book with a Latin name hardly rhymed with a United States man-of-war.
A courteous officer on the “Illinois” told Harry that people’s
questions were at times hard to answer. “One man,” he said, “looked
long at the Howell torpedo, read the labels, and with keen interest
wanted to know whether it wasn’t a flying machine!”
Harry thought that he might have been told that it was a machine to
make other machines fly; but he didn’t interrupt the officer, who gave
him a clear explanation of a life-buoy hanging in the cabin.
While ascending to the upper deck, he heard a woman say, “Oh, is there
another story?” and wished Rudyard Kipling had been there to tell
her that it was _quite_ another story. But he made his way to the
conning-tower, paying heed to the admonition of a mischievous boy who
said, “Push, but don’t shove.”
The conning-tower was hardly big enough to lose one’s temper in, but
gave the commanding officer full view of his surroundings through tiny
slits cut through the solid steel. Electric buttons were convenient to
push when he wished the guns, rifles, torpedoes, and other assistants
to do the rest.
Leaving the vessel, Harry was again launched back to the other end of
the grounds, landing at the Agricultural Building. He passed through
this great show-house with his eyes well restrained, but did notice
some birds flying about under the lofty roof. He wondered if they had
come to study the best methods of securing a living at the farmers’
expense, and hoped rather that they wished to know what harmful insects
it was best for them to destroy.
After eating lunch at a table in the open air near by, Harry boarded
Columbus’s “Santa Maria.” Coming directly from a modern cruiser,
the quaint little cockle-shell was a pathetic witness to the great
discoverer’s hardships. Harry went into the forecastle, looked at the
queer old galley, the swivel-gun, the anchors, and wished that he
had been aboard the original on that first westward trip. The modern
vessels were scientific, correct, and fine, of course; but somehow
Harry would rather have sailed the ocean blue in the days when the
galley-fires flared fitfully on these pictured sails.
[Illustration: “GUARDING” THE “NIÑA.”]
He skipped the “Pinta” and “Niña,” sketching from the shore a sailor on
the latter who was “guarding” the little vessel, only reflecting that
those on the biggest vessel were better off than their fellows in these
two, and went over to the Convent de la Rábida. Harry thought everybody
knew about that building; but he met a group of three men, one of whom
asked in all earnestness, “That hain’t the Fisheries Buildin’, is it?”
Then the boy remembered how amused the great Napoleon was when they
brought to his court a man who had never heard of him, of the Empire,
or of the Revolution! Harry wondered whether there might not be in the
Fair Grounds a few who hardly recalled having heard of a man named
Columbus.
Inside the convent were old charts, pictures, and manuscripts, to which
Harry gave but a passing glance. But the open court inside at once gave
him a sense of antiquity, and the tropical plants recalled thoughts of
distant lands, until he caught sight of a tired man worrying a piece of
mince-pie for lunch. He started to go out, and only paused before an
old globe whereon the lands were full of odd pictures.
[Illustration: THE NEW “SANTA MARIA” CROSSING THE OCEAN.]
“Geography must have been like a book of fairy-stories then,” he
thought as he left the convent door and came face to face with to-day.
Oh, but he was tired! His legs ached, his back was lame, and he felt
like the deacon’s “one-hoss shay”—as if he might give out “all at once
and nothing first.” Seeing in the distance the movable sidewalk, it
occurred to him that it was a good place for resting.
The convent had been a little depressing. Others felt the same effect,
for he heard one woman say, “I’m glad I’m not a monk”—and then, after a
reflective pause—“nor a nun.”
As he approached the traveling platform that ran on wheels far out
along a pier, this cry met him:
“This way for the movable sidewalk! An all-day ride for five cents—the
cheapest thing on the grounds!”
It was irresistible. Harry stepped on the slower platform, then to the
quicker one, and dropped into a seat. It proved an excellent change.
Out he glided upon the long pier, rested and cooled by the breeze
and by the sight of the placid waters, now an opaline green in the
afternoon light. Harry thought less of the scene than of his muscles.
“If I wanted to make money at this Fair,” he said, “I would put on sale
a patent back-rest and double-back-action support; and after the Fair
it could be sold to farmers for weeding.”
Harry made the round trip, and got off nearly where he started. He
did not wish to go back to the hotel, but he could not really enjoy
anything more, though so long as he could walk he wanted to see, see,
see. Nor was it all seeing; a blind man would have enjoyed that day,
so many funny remarks were made, so much music was in the air. Bands
played, wheels whirled, people chatted, laughed, and exclaimed.
Everybody seemed happy, perhaps because with all the sight-seeing there
went plenty of enjoyable exercise in the clear, bracing September air.
As for Harry, he returned to the hotel healthily weary, but not
exhausted.
[Illustration: THE CARAVEL “NIÑA.”]
[Illustration: “CHOLLY” SPEECHLESS.]