_Going after Letters_ — _The Agricultural Building_ —
_Machinery Hall_ — _Lunch at the Hotel_ — _Harry’s Proposal_ —
_Buffalo Bill’s Great Show._
[Illustration]
On Saturday, Philip had heard that for five dollars he could secure
permission to use his kodak for a week, and by going to the office of
the official photographer on that day and paying the necessary amount,
he was able to dismiss from his mind any anxiety about carrying his
camera. So on Monday the two boys and Mr. Douglass entered the grounds,
fully equipped with note-book, sketch-book, and camera.
Hitherto Philip had been asked but once to exhibit the license, but
this time he was challenged by one of the ticket-takers, who shouted
to another, “Hi, Jack, here’s a kodak!” But, as it turned out, neither
ticket-taker cared to examine the card, and Philip merely waved it,
saying, “It’s all right.”
The day was too rainy to risk taking snap-shots, and Philip carried the
camera during the forenoon only, and was glad to leave it behind at the
hotel when he returned to lunch.
They had down on the list for this day a trip to Chicago; but had asked
to have the date of their tickets for the coach changed when they
saw the sky was gloomy and overcast. Instead of going into the city,
therefore, they resolved to give their morning to the Agricultural and
the Machinery Buildings. They walked first to the Manufactures Building
to get letters, and took a launch back again. While waiting for the
boat they had some conversation with the man at the landing, and were
surprised to learn that each of the launches cost more than three
thousand dollars—the high price being paid mainly for the machinery.
[Illustration: THE AGRICULTURAL BUILDING—TOWARD EVENING.]
Landing at the Agricultural Building, they were glad to escape the
rain—a thunderstorm—by entering at the main door. The exhibits seemed
to be arranged according to nationalities, the first one they came
upon being that of Porto Rico; and the boys were really surprised,
upon exploring their minds, to find out how little they knew about
Porto Rico. Mr. Douglass knew a little more: he told them it was an
island—one of the Greater Antilles—and belonged to Spain; but there he
came to a sudden stop, and directed the boys’ attention to a miniature
fort in which bottles of wine served as guns. Having to that extent
improved their knowledge of Porto Rico, they moved on a few steps, and
seemed to have walked into a cigar-box. The odor was explained when
they saw before them Cuba’s display, which was not unlike that of a
prosperous tobacconist. British Guiana did not repel them, though a
woman cried out, “Oh, alligators and snakes!” as she turned hastily
away. She was followed by two more of the less timid sort, one of whom
said resolutely, “Come in. I want to see this alligator. I never saw
one in my life”; to which her companion replied, “Well, gaze on him;
there he is!”
“You might think, boys,” said Mr. Douglass, as the boys smiled at this
dialogue, “that such people got no good from coming to the Fair. But
I think such a conclusion would be a mistake. The foolish chatter we
hear has little to do with what people are really thinking. They cannot
help picking up clearer ideas of the world and its inhabitants as they
go through these buildings. Where one sees fruits and grains, it means
that this or the other country has orchards and farms. We thus get rid
of many a foolish mental picture. We cease to imagine that all the
Chinese are continually flying kites and smoking opium, or that all
Spaniards are eternally strumming guitars in the sunshine. You may not
think you have such foolish ideas, but you will probably find yourself
entertaining notions quite as absurd. I only say this because we hear
so much trivial chatter that you might be misled by it.”
“Well, Mr. Douglass,” Harry answered, “I have seen plenty of men, and
women too, who are taking the Fair almost too seriously. And even the
most foolish must find a great deal that makes him think. I know I
do. Now, for instance, look at that figure”; and Harry pointed to the
model of a negro workman that made part of the exhibit labeled “British
Guiana.”
“I saw him,” said Mr. Douglass, “and I noticed how his leather sandals
have absurd twirls and coils of leather thongs about them. The rest of
his dress is very ordinary.”
“Those are just what I mean,” said Harry. “I said to myself, at first
glance, that those twisted rolls of leather were silly ornaments, and
showed that the man was a savage in civilized clothes. Then I wondered
whether they hadn’t some use, and—”
[Illustration: AGRICULTURAL BUILDING, NORTH FRONT, SEEN FROM THE GRAND
BASIN.]
“I see,” said Mr. Douglass, interrupting.
“Well, I don’t,” Philip declared.
“Suppose he should break a sandal-string,” said Harry, eagerly; “don’t
you understand that he could just untwist one of those coils, just as a
violin-player unwinds a little more of his E string?”
“Yes, of course,” Philip said; “and that is the most convenient way for
him to carry the strings.”
“I have little doubt that the coils came from that necessity for
mending,” Mr. Douglass remarked; “but probably the dandies exaggerated
the coils. This idea of yours, Harry, reminds me of an article by
Remington, the artist. It was written to show that good sense dictated
the whole costume of the Western cowboy. I kept it, and will show it
to you.”
[Illustration]
Liberia displayed various native products, and fine works in metal and
straw and leather, but the party did not see anything to warrant a long
stay; Mexico had so arranged her exhibits that they reminded one of
a grocery kept by a neat but eccentric grocer; but wherever the flag
of Japan was displayed, the boys never grudged time for examination.
That artistic little nation can always teach a lesson to natives of
the young Occident. Even in their display of food-stuffs, the boys
found the pickle-jars, saké-kegs, and some boxes worth looking at. In
fact, Harry was so pleased with these artistic groceries that his
sketch-book came out at once. The pickle-jar was covered with white
paper draped in graceful lines and tied down with a twisted purple cord
and tassels! The saké-keg and the box also showed the same wish to
please the eye and satisfy the needs of each article; and as for some
larger jars, they were dressed as richly as a ball-room belle. They
left the domains of the white flag and red disk with some instruction
in the art of “framing” groceries.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE PANELS (“SUMMER”) IN THE PORTICO OF THE
AGRICULTURAL BUILDING. PAINTED BY GEORGE W. MAYNARD.]
Whenever the party first entered one of the exhibition buildings,
they examined the earlier booths somewhat carefully; but a sense of
losing time soon made them hurry on. So it was then. They walked on by
many a fine arrangement of food-products—notably those of the Western
grain-producing States. They admired the taste and skill that had
utilized glass tubes full of grains as columns, and corn on the cob
as a building material. Mr. Douglass said that much foolish criticism
had been evoked by these booths, but that a sight of the structures
themselves called for approval rather than fault-finding. They
particularly admired the displays of Wisconsin, Nebraska, Iowa, and
Ohio, in which both the general effect and the bits of color decoration
showed good taste and much constructive skill.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Harry, “to come upon a Greek temple
built exclusively of old shoes.”
Here they were stopped by a bit of fun. A bright-faced young woman
was throwing little tin forks out among the crowd; these tin forks
advertised a brand of sardines, and were made in the shape of a little
fish, the tail reaching to the tines of the fork. Picking up the forks,
the boys naturally went to see the exhibit, and were invited to take a
sardine, free, from an open box. They declined, but others were not
so lucky. One old man eagerly plunged his fork into the box only to
discover that the fish were painted tin. He fled into the crowd while
the bystanders laughed at him. This device certainly attracted plenty
of attention, but whether it was wise was doubtful.
[Illustration: GREAT CENTRAL PORCH OF AGRICULTURAL BUILDING.]
They finished the aisle they were in, and crossed to another, which
they walked down, having gone up the first.
In the Greek exhibit they saw some tobacco labeled as from Thermopylæ,
which at the moment seemed incongruous; but reflection showed that
Thermopylæ must be something beside a battle-field. Louisiana had
built herself an Egyptian temple of sugar-cane, and again Harry made
a sketch, for he found the effect very pleasing. Passing a number of
other booths, they at last came to the agricultural implements, and
found that there was more to know than shovel, spade, and hoe, or even
plow and harrow. They frankly confessed ignorance of the mechanism and
purpose of most of the nickel-plated apparatus, and concluded that in
their present state of ignorance time spent here would be wasted. They
did smile, however, at seeing a harvesting-machine labeled: “The judges
ordered this harvester to be tried in a field of standing grain. It is
a little disfigured, but still in the ring.”
A sign revealing the location of the “Sandwich Manufacturing Co.”
somehow reminded them that they must see something of Machinery Hall
before lunch, and they started toward that building, passing on their
way a “prairie-breaking plow”—a rude but enormous implement that had
been used with a team of six or eight oxen in first turning up the new
Western soil.
As they were coming out, they paused, even in the rain, to admire
the fine proportions of the Agricultural Building; its dignified
portico, the fine groups and single statues that adorned its principal
features,—such as Martiny’s “Abundance,” for example, and the signs
of the zodiac, and the great corridors that unite Agricultural and
Machinery Halls.
[Illustration: PORTICO OF THE AGRICULTURAL BUILDING.]
Upon entering Machinery Hall, and finding that they could not give
anything like adequate time to it, they went at once to the gallery
and waited for the traveling-crane. There are three of these, each
originally used for putting in place the heavy exhibits; they run upon
great girders supported from the floor upon uprights similar to those
upholding an elevated railroad. Moved by electricity, they traverse
the whole length of the building and then return, carrying passengers
twenty or thirty feet above the crowded floors and at an excellent
height to permit of overlooking the show.
They had to wait a little while, but soon the great floating beam of
iron came against the edge of the gallery, almost as lightly as a bit
of thistle-down, and they entered at one end and sat down upon chairs
ranged along the front edge. The crane carried them to the other end
and back again for ten cents, and without effort they had at least a
glance at all the exhibits in that part of the Hall—thus obtaining, no
doubt, a better idea of what there was in the building than could have
been secured in a long walk below.
In order to show how bewildering were the displays, here is a list
that Philip made while Waiting for the crane to move. It shows only
what he could easily make out from the extreme end of the hall. There
were machines relating to hot baths, candy, lubrication, ice-cream,
smokeless furnaces, rock-drills, galvanizing, window-washing, and
baking.
[Illustration: THE CONNECTING SCREEN OF CORRIDORS BETWEEN THE MACHINERY
AND AGRICULTURAL BUILDINGS.]
They found the ride cooling and breezy, and saw enough to greatly
interest them on all parts of the floor. The enormous printing-presses
were especially “impressive,” as Harry put it, and one press was
printing colored illustrations of the World’s Fair buildings. Besides,
they noticed many looms, sewing-machines, a spool-cotton exhibit,
dyeing works, glove-making- and washing-machines—each something novel
or interesting. They attempted to see all they could, and keep eyes and
brains active; but Harry said it reminded him of the small darkey who
“slipped back two steps for every one he took forward”; for they missed
two exhibits by pausing to examine any one. They had meant to take a
ride upon the other crane; but when they saw there were three, they
agreed, as usual, to be content with a half-seen show, and departed
from the grounds, going back to their hotel for lunch.
The dining-room, so crowded at breakfast- and dinner-time, was almost
deserted at noon; and they found they could talk over their plans with
perfect freedom.
Mr. Douglass and Philip made several proposals: the Art Galleries;
another visit to Machinery Hall; more State buildings; the
Anthropological Building—an inexhaustible resource. But Harry shook his
head at each suggestion, until at last Philip said:
“It’s plain that you have a plan of your own, and I’ve a good mind to
veto it anyway. What is it?”
[Illustration: FIGURE IN WINDOW-FRAME OF MACHINERY HALL.]
“I have wasted my time very patiently with you this morning,” Harry
said gravely, “because I suppose we ought to ‘do’ the Fair. But I
remember that the English poet said, ‘The correct thing for man to
study is man.’ See? Now, we have been looking at staff and iron and
steel and corn and wheat and bottles and strings and other precious
metals all these hours. I have gone through it, though the buzzing and
rattling and thumping and worrying were decidedly unpleasant. Now I
want to study man. There is near this hotel, I have learned by careful
study of bill-posters’ literature, a gentleman who was a member of the
legislature, etc., etc.,—but who is known among us boys by the name of
Bison William.”
“I have heard of him,” said Mr. Douglass, with a grave face.
“Who has not?” said Harry, enthusiastically.
“He is now conducting an educational exhibit near here, where one may
see various nations at their sports and pastimes. And, gentlemen of
the jury, what I say is: Let the machinery whirl, and let us devote
ourselves to the Wild West Show. What do you say?”
“I’d like to go,” said Philip; “but I wish it was a better day for
taking pictures.”
“I’m willing,” said Mr. Douglass. “I saw the show some years ago in New
York, and it was well worth seeing. I am not sure that a whole day of
systematic sight-seeing at the Fair is not a little too much when one
is busy at it for a week or two at a time. Where is it?”
[Illustration: MACHINERY HALL.]
[Illustration: A SUGGESTION OF THE “WILD WEST.” Remington’s Famous
Picture, “A Bucking Bronco.”]
“Just around the corner,” Harry answered. “And Phinney says it is twice
as good as it used to be.”
A short walk from the hotel brought them to the grounds, a great square
open space around which were seats like those upon base-ball grounds.
They bought tickets for the grand stand, and gazed expectant upon a sea
of mud. The sign said “Rain or Shine,” and rain it was: no drizzle, but
a pelting downpour that roared upon the roofs overhead. Boys walked to
and fro, one crying, “Sour crystallized lemonade-drops—souvenir in
every package,” and the other, “Peanuts!—are five cents!”
[Illustration: AN ABORIGINAL.]
The rain plashed in the puddles upon the arena, and the boys were
not sorry; it was a new sensation to see a performance in the rain.
A band played loud enough to be heard nearly to the Rocky Mountains,
a man in a very broad-brimmed felt hat mounted a rostrum imitating a
boulder, put on a rubber coat, and, when the band was hushed, began a
speech at the top of his lungs,—so loud that he hadn’t breath for more
than a word or two at a time. He said, “Ladies—and—gentlemen:—From
time—to—time, I shall—announce—the nature—of the—display,” and so on.
One seldom hears so forcible an oration.
He announced one by one the bands of Indians, their chiefs, the white
men, their captains or leaders, and each of the items upon the program.
But his shouts can be omitted with the assurance that he did his level
best. One example will be enough.
“The Arapahoes!”
A gate is unbarred, yells break through, and helter-skelter come a
troop of almost naked savages painted and bedecked, riding their
ponies at a run. They draw up before the grand stand.
“Their chief!”
A single Indian comes flying across the field lashing his running pony,
and draws up before his band.
Then, in order, come other tribes until a motley, bright-colored
rank of mounted warriors are ranged all along the front of the
field. Then French cavalry ride in with similar heralding, except
that the color-bearer is announced separately and the band plays the
Marseillaise. German lancers follow to the tune of “Die Wacht am
Rhine,” and after them, Mexicans, American cowboys, British Lancers,
and Cossacks perched on high saddles. The Indians are holding their
shields above their heads to protect themselves from the rain. Now
Arabs come, and two women riders; an old guide, gray-bearded and
dressed in fringed buckskins; United States cavalrymen, riding upon
gray horses; and at last, cheered even more than the Stars and Stripes,
there gallops to the head of that great array an honorable gentleman,
of whom Harry remarks: “That is Biffalo Bull himself—and a fine-looking
man he is!”
At a signal from the scout the whole cavalcade springs into life
and rapid motion. The plain is dotted with horsemen dressed in gay
uniforms; and just then the sun breaks out to brighten the scene,
and a rainbow is seen above the right-hand portion of the grounds as
the riders follow one another out. It was certainly a brilliant and
cheerful pageant.
A well-known markswoman runs over the liquid mud, making swimming
motions with her arms, and taking up a gun breaks clay pigeons and
glass balls as fast as they can be supplied by the attendants. Fancy
shooting follows, and, making a miss, the woman walks around the table
where the guns are resting. This whimsical performance makes the people
laugh.
[Illustration]
Several usual features follow. A race between riders of different
nations; the “pony express,” an exhibition of rapid shifting from one
horse to another; an emigrant-train attacked by Indians, but saved
by the blank cartridges of the Hon. Mr. Cody and his rough-riding
friends; and then come Syrians and Arabians in wonderful feats of
balancing, juggling, and pyramid-grouping. In this last act one of the
men supported nine others in the air—a weight of perhaps twelve hundred
pounds.
“And yet,” Harry remarked, “some men find it hard to support a small
family.”
Always interesting, the thick mud made the show funny as well. It was
hard for men and horses to secure a foothold: Syrian acrobats stopped
to wash their muddy hands in almost equally muddy water; some of the
fierce horses were compelled to drop almost into a walk instead of
running madly across the arena; when a marksman wished to lie down in
order to shoot from that position, it required careful search to find
firm ground for his blanket; the men who built themselves into pyramids
bedaubed one another until their dresses were mud-color instead of
crimson; and all through the long, delightful program the sticky mud
took a prominent part in amusing the spectators.
When “Old John Nelson” rode up near where the boys sat, and delivered
the mail from the old original Deadwood coach, he hurled it off with
the regulation speech, “Here’s the Deadwood mail,” and then added,
winking to Harry, “A little damp, too; but never mind!” The same genial
old guide, who was lying lazily across the coach roof, raised himself
coolly as the scouts cried, “Indians! Indians!” and again grinning at
the boys, remarked in a low tone, “Going to be Indians, eh? Then I’ll
get up!”
[Illustration: A COW-BOY.]
This by-play delighted the boys; but best of all was “Custer’s Last
Charge.”
First came the Indians, and encamped far away across the plain. A
scout followed; discovered them with plenty of gestures to let the
audience into the secret; reconnoitered them over the imitation rock;
rode off to tell “Custer” and his staff—mainly buglers—of the great
find; brought back the general, who gazed meaningly at the red villains
through a warlike night-glass, and then all the white men retired for
reinforcements.
Coming back, the cavalrymen charged fiercely on the Indians, fired off
several dollars’ worth of gunpowder, and disappeared behind a curtain.
Mournful music indicated the terrible fate of the cavalrymen.
During the whole afternoon the boys sat beside a boy from Chicago who
told them many particulars about the show and the riders. He said he
had seen the performance four or five times, but seemed nevertheless to
enjoy it. Harry learned that the young Chicagoan sometimes came to New
York city, and gave the boy his address, inviting him to call.
It began to rain again as they went home, but it was only a short
distance to the hotel, and they went straight to that goal in spite of
a most pressing invitation to “Take supper here now for twenty-five
cents, and go home by the light of the moon!”
Harry was rather silent on the way home, but showed the course of his
thoughts by remarking: “I think perhaps I will give up being anything
too civilized; I’m going to ask my father to buy me a ranch far out
West.”
“I wonder,” said Mr. Douglass, “whether the young Indians who come to
the Fair with the Indian schools ever go to see the Wild West Show?”
[Illustration: A CHICAGO STREET.]
[Illustration: FORT DEARBORN. (CHICAGO, 1804–1816.)]