You 'll hear that all day long.
But there isn't much going on before the excursion trains come in. Then
things begin to hop. The grand marshal and his aides gallop through
the streets as if they were going for the doctor. The trains of ten and
fifteen coaches pile up in the railroad yard, and the yardmaster nearly
goes out of his mind. People are so anxious to get out of the cars, in
which they have been packed and jammed for hours, that they don't mind
a little thing like being run over by a switching engine. Every platform
is just one solid chunk of summer hats and babies and red shirts and
alto horns. They have been nearly five hours coming fifty miles. Stopped
at every station and sidetracked for all the regular trains. Such a
time! Lots of fun, though. The fellows got out and pulled flowers, and
seed cucumbers, and things and threw them at folks. You never saw such
cut-ups as they are. Pretty good singers, too. Good part of the way,
they sung “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean,” and “How Can I Bear to Leave
Thee,” nice and slow, you know, a good deal of tenor and not much bass,
and plenty of these “minor chords.” (Yes, I know, some people call them
“barber-shop chords,” but I think “minor” is a nicer name.)
The band played “Hiawatha” eighteen times. One old fellow got on at
Huntsville, and he says, to Joe Bangs (that's the leader), “Shay,” he
says, “play 'Turkey in er Straw,' won't you? Aw, go on. Play it. Thass
goof feller. Go on.”
Joe, he never heard of the tune. Don't you know it? Goes like this: ...
No, that ain't it. That's “Gray Eagle.” Funny, I can't think how that
tune starts. Well, no matter. They played an arrangement that had “Old
Zip Coon” in it.
“Naw,” he says, “tha' ain' it 't all. Go on. Play it. Play 'Turkey in
er Straw.' Ah, ye don't know it. Thass reason. Betch don' know it. Don'
know 'Turkey in er Straw!' Ho! Caw seff ml-m' sishn. Ho! You--you--you
ain' no m'sishn. You--you you're zis bluff.” Only about half-past eight,
too. Think of that! So early in the morning. Ah me! That's one of the
sad features of such an occasion.
If there is anything more magnificent than a firemen's parade, I don't
know what it is. The varnished woodwork on the apparatus looks as if it
had just come out of the shop and every bit of bright work glitters fit
to strike you blind. You take, now, a nice hose-reel painted white and
striped into panels with a fine red line, every other panel fruits and
flowers, and every other panel a piece of looking-glass shaped like a
cut of pie and; I tell you, it looks gay. That's what it does. It looks
gay. Some of the hook-and-ladder trucks are just one mass of
golden-rod and hydrangeas, and some of them are all fixed with this
red-white-and-blue paper rope, sort of chenille effect, or more like a
feather boa. Everybody has on white cotton gloves, and those entitled to
carry speaking trumpets have bouquets in the bells of them, salvias, and
golden-rod, and nasturtiums, and marigolds, and all such.
The Wapatomicas always have a dog up on top of their wagon. First off,
you would think it didn't help out much, it is such a forlorn looking
little fice; but this dog, I want you to know, waked up the folks late
one night, 'way 'long about ten or eleven o'clock, barking at a fire.
Saved the town, as you might say. And after that, the fire-boys took him
for a mascot. I guess he didn't belong to anybody before. And another
wagon has a chair on it, and in that chair the cutest little girl you
almost eyer saw, hair all frizzed at the ends, and a wide blue sash and
her white frock starched as stiff as a milk-pail. Everybody says: “Aw,
ain't she just too sweet?”
The Caledonias have tried to make quite a splurge this year. They walk
four abreast, with their arms locked, and their white gloves on each
other's shoulders. Their truck has on it what they call “an allegorical
figure.” There is a kind of a business (looks to me like it is the axle
and wheels of a toy wagon, stood up on end and covered with white paper
muslin and a string tied around the middle) that is supposed to be an
hour-glass. Then there is a scythe covered with cotton batting, and then
a man in a bath-robe (I saw the figure of the goods when the wind blew
it open) also covered with white cotton batting. The man has a wig and
beard of wicking. First, I thought it was Santa Claus, and then I saw
the scythe and knew it must be old Father Time. The hour-glass puzzled
me no little though. The man has cotton batting wings. One of them is
a little wabbly, but what can you expect from Caledonia? They're always
trying to butt the bull off the bridge. They're jealous of our town. Oh,
they stooped to all the mean, underhanded tricks you ever heard of to
get the canning factory to go to their place instead of here. But we
know a thing or two ourselves. Yes, we got the canning factory, all
right, all right.
Did you notice how neat and trim our boys looked? None of this flub-dub
of scarlet shirts with a big white monogram on the breast, or these
fawn-colored suits with querlycues of braid all over. They spot very
easily. And did you notice how the Caledonias had long, lean men
walking with short, fat men, and nobody keeping step? Our boys were all
carefully graded and matched, and their dark blue uniforms with just the
neat nickel badge, I think, presented the best appearance of all. And
I'll tell you another thing. They'll put it all over the Caledonias this
afternoon. They won't let 'em get a smell.
Don't you like the fife-and-drum corps? The fifes set my teeth on edge,
but I could follow the drums all day with their:
Tucket a brum, brum brum-brum, tuck-all de brum
Tucket a brum-brum, tuck-all de brum-brum-brum
Tucket a blip-blip-blip-blip, tucka tuck-all de brum,
Tucket a brum-brum, tuck-all de brum-brum-brum!
Part of the time the drummers click their sticks together instead of
hitting the drum-head. That's what makes it sound so nice. I wish I
could play the snare-drum.
In the Mechanicsburg band is a boy about fourteen years old, a muscular,
sturdy chunk of a lad. He walks with his heels down, his calves bulged
out behind, his head up, and the regular, proper swagger of a bandsman.
He hasn't any uniform, but he's all right. He plays a solo B part, and
he and the other solo cornet spell each other. On the repeat of every
strain my boy rests, and rubs his lips with his forefinger, while he
looks at the populace with bright, expectant eyes. When he blows, he
scowls, and brings the cushion of muscle on the point of his chin clear
up to his under lip, and he draws his breath through the corners of his
mouth. He's the real thing. Bright boy, too, I judge, the kind that has
a quick answer for everybody, like: “Aw, go chase yerself,” or “Go on,
yeh big stiff.” Watch him on the countermarch when they pass the Radnor
cornet band. The Radnors broke up the Mechanicsburg band last year
and they're going to try to do it again this year. The musicians blow
themselves the color of a huckleberry, and the drummers grit their
teeth, and try to pound holes in their sheep-skins. Aha! It's the Radnor
band got rattled in its time this year. Went all to pieces. The boy
snatches, a rest. “Yah!” he squawks. “Didge ever get left?” and picks up
the tune again. I wish I could play the cornet. Wouldn't play solo B or
I wouldn't play any--Ooooooooh! Did you see that? Took that stick by the
other end from the knob and slung it away, 'way up in the air, whirling
like sixty, and caught it when it came down and never missed a step.
Look at him juggle it from hand to hand, over his shoulder, and behind
his back, and under one leg, whirling so fast that you can hardly see
it, and all in perfect step. Whope! I thought he was going to drop it
that time but he didn't. That's something you don't see in the cities.
There, all the drum-major does with his stick is just to point it the
way the band is to go. I like our fashion the best. Geeminentally! Look
at that! I bet it went up in the air forty feet if it went an inch. I
wish I was a drummajor. I guess I'd sooner be a drum-major than anything
else. Oh, well, detective--that's different.
Let's go farther along. Don't get too near the judges' stand. I know.
It's the best place to see the finish of an event, but I've been to
Firemen's Tournament before. You let me pick out the seats. Up close to
the judges' stand is all right till you come to the “wet races.” What?
Oh, you wait and see. Fun? Well, I should say so. Hope they'll clear all
those boys off the rail. Here! Get down off that rail. Think we can see
through you? You're thin, but you're not thin enough for that. Yes, I
mean you, and don't you give me any of your impudence either. Look at
those women out there. Right spang in the way of the scraper. Isn't
that a woman all over? A woman and a hen, I don't know which is--Well,
hel-lo! Where'd you come from? How's all the folks? Where's Lizzie?
Didn't she come with you? Aw, isn't that too bad? Scalding hot! Ts! Ts!
Ts! Seems as if they made preserving kettles apurpose so's they'd tip
up when you go to pour anything.... Why, I guess we can. Move over a
little, Charley. Can you squeeze in? That's all right. Pretty thick
around here, isn't it? There's the band starting up. About time, I
think. Teedle-eedle umtum, teedle-eedle, um-tum. “Hiawatha,” of course.
What other tune is there on earth? I've got so I know almost all of it.
First is--let me see the program. First is what Mat. King calls “the
juveline contest.” It says here: “Run with truck carrying three ladders
one hundred yards. Take fifteen-foot ladder from truck, raise it against
structure”--that's the judges' stand--“and boy ascend. Time to be taken
when climber grasps top rung of ladder.” They're off. That pistol-shot
started them. Why can't people sit down? See just as well if they did.
New Berlin's, I guess. Pretty good. He's hanging out the slate with the
time on it. Eighteen and four-fifths. Oh, no, never in the world. Here's
the Mt. Victory boys. See that light-haired boy. Go it, towhead! Ah,
they've got the ladder crooked. Eighteen. That's not so bad .... Oh,
quit your fooling. He's nothing of the kind. Honestly? What! that old
skeezicks? Who to, for pity's sake? Well, I thought he was a confirmed
old bachelor, if anybody ever was. Well, sir, that just goes to show
that any man, I don't care who he is, can get married if he--Who were
those? Are those the Caledonia juveniles? I don't think much of 'em, do
you? Seventeen and two-fifths. I wouldn't have thought it. So their team
gets the first prize. Well, we weren't in that.
What's next? “First prize, silver water-set, donated by Hon. William
Krouse.” Since when did old Bill Krouse get to be “Honorable?” Yes,
well, don't talk to me about Bill Krouse. I know him and his whole
connection and there isn't an honest hair--“Association trophy will
also be competed for.” Oh, that's the goldlined loving cup we saw in the
window. Our boys have won it twice and the Caledonias have won it twice.
If we get it this time, it will be ours for keeps. “Run with truck one
hundred and fifty yards; take twenty-five foot ladder,” and so forth
and so forth, Dan O'Brien's the boy for scaling ladders. He was going to
enlist in the Boer War, he hates the English so. Down on them the worst
way. And say, what do you think? Last year, at Caledonia, he won the
first prize for individual ladder scaling. And what do you suppose the
first prize was? A picture of Queen Victoria. Isn't that Caledonia all
over? there's a kind of rivalry between our boys and the Caledonias.
Here they come now. Those are the Caledonian. Tell by the truck .... Do
you think so? I don't think they're anything so very much. Nix. You'll
never do it. Look at the way they run with their heads up. That shows
they're all winded. Look at the clumsy way they got the ladder off the
wagon. Blap! The judge thought it was coming through the boards on him.
Oh, pretty good, pretty good, but you just wait till you see our boys.
Look at the fool hanging there on the ladder waiting till the time is
announced. Isn't that Caledonia all over? Yah! Come down! Come down!
What is it? Twenty-five seconds. What's the record? Twenty-four and
four-fifths? Oh, well, it isn't so bad for Caledonia, but you just
what our boys do. Hear those yaps from Caledonia yell! If there's
anything I despise it is for a man to whoop and holler and make a public
spectacle of himself. Who's this? Oh, the Radnors. They're out of it.
Look at them. Pulling every which way. That ladder's too straight up
and down. Twenty-seven and two-fifths. What did I tell you?... What time
does your train go? Well, why don't you and your wife come take supper
with us? Why didn't you look us up noon-time?... I could have told you
better than that. (They went to the Ladies' Aid dinner.) Well, we shan't
have much, I expect, but we'll try and scrape up something more
filling than layer-cake. The idea of expecting to feed hungry people
on layer-cake! It's an imposition.... I didn't notice which one it
was. Doesn't matter any way. Only twenty-eight. Ah, here are our boys.
They've got blue silk running-breeches on. Well, maybe it is sateen. Let
the women folks alone for knowing sateen from silk a mile off. How much
a yard did you say it was? Notice the way they start with their hands
on the ground, just like the pictures on the sporting page of the Sunday
newspapers. Here they come. Oh, I hope they'll win. That's Charley
Rodehaver in front. Run! Oh, why don't you run? Come on! Come on!
Come on! Come on! COME ON! COME ON! COME O--O-oh! See Dan skip up that
ladder! Go it, Dan! Go it, old boy! Hooray-ay! Hooray-ay, ay! What's the
time? Twenty-four! Twenty--four flat! BROKE THE RECORD! Hooray-ay-ay!
Where's Caledonia now? Where's Caledonia now? Oh, I'm so glad our boys
won. There goes the Caledonia chief. I'll bet he feels like thirty
cents, Spanish. Ya-a-a-ah! Ya-a-a-ah! Where's Caledonia now? They can't
beat that, the other fellows can't, and it's our trophy for keeps....
Oh, some crank in the next row. “Wouldn't I please sit down and not
obstruct the view.” Guess he comes from Caledonia. Looks like it. You
stand up, too, why don't you? Those planks are terribly hard.... I
didn't notice. Yes, that wasn't so bad. Twenty-five and two-fifths. But
it's our trophy. There goes Dan now. Hey, Dan! Good boy, Dan! Wave your
handkerchief at him. Hooray-ay-ay! Good boy, Dan!
Next is a wet race. Now look out. Let's see what the program says: “Run
seventy-five yards to structure, on top of which an empty barrel has
been placed with spout outlet near top. Barrel to be filled with water
by means of buckets from reservoir”--That big tin-lined box opposite
is the reservoir. They are filling it now with a hose attached to the
water-plug yonder--“until water issues from spout.” What are they all
laughing at? Which one? Oh, but isn't she mad? Talk about a wet hen.
Why, Charley, the hose got away from the man that was filling the
reservoir and the lady was splashed. Why don't you use your eyes and see
what's going on and not be bothering me to tell you? Ip! There it goes
again. Oh, ho! ho! ho! hee! hee! didn't I tell you it would be fun? See
it run out of his sleeves.... I always get to coughing when I laugh as
hard as that. Oh, dear me! Makes the tears come.
These are the fellows from Luxora. Oh, the clumsy things! Let the ladder
get away from them, and it fell and hit that man in the second row right
on the head. Hope it didn't hurt him much. See 'em scurry with the water
buckets. Aw, get a move on! Get a move! Why, what makes them so slow?
“Water, water!” Well, I should think as much. Not for themselves though.
Those fellows at the bottom of the ladder are catching it, aren't they?
Oh, pshaw, they don't mind it. They get it worse than that at a real
fire when they aren't half so well fixed for it. Why, is there no bottom
to that barrel at all? Why, look!... Say, the judge forgot to close the
valve. There's a hose connected with the bottom of the barrel to run the
water off after each trial and he's forgotten to--... Well, isn't that
too bad! All that work for nothing. I suppose they'll let them try
it over again.... That man must have got a pretty hard rap. They're
carrying him out. His head's all bloody.... Wapatomicas, I guess. Yes,
Wapatomicas. I hope the valve's closed this time. Whope! did you see
that? One fellow got hit with a water bucket and it was about half-full.
It's running out of the spout. Yes, and it's falling on those people
right where you wanted to sit. Hear the girls squeal. Talk about your
fun. I don't want any better fun than this. Look at 'em come down the
ladder just holding the sides with their hands. They couldn't do that if
the ladder was dry.
Ah, here's our crowd. Come on! Come on! Come on! COME ON! Oh, don't be
so slow with those buckets! Aren't they fine? Say, they don't care if
they do spill a drop or two. Why. Why, what are they coming down for?
It isn't running out of the spout yet. Come back! COME BACK! Oh, pshaw!
Just threw it away by being in too much of a hurry. That judge looks
funny, doesn't he, with a rubber overcoat on and the sun shining? See,
he's telling them: “One bucket more.” They'll let 'em have another
trial, of course.... No? Oh, that's an outrage. That' s not fair. The
Caledonias will get it now.... Yes, sir, they did get it. Oh, well,
accidents will happen. What? “Where's Caledonia now?” Well, they got it
by a fluke. What say?... Well only for--Oh, pshaw! Now, don't tell
me that because I was there and--Well, I say they didn't .... I know
better, they didn't.... Oh, shut up. You don't know what you're talking
about. I tell you--Now, Mary, don't you interfere. I'm not quarreling.
I'm just telling this gentleman back of me that--Well, all right, if
you're going to cry. If there was any fouling done it was the Caledonias
that did it, though.
The next is where they “run three hundred feet from the judges' stand,
raise ladder, hose company to couple to hydrant, break coupling in hose
and put on nozzle, scale ladder, and fill twenty-five gallon barrel.”
Only the Caledonias, and our boys are entered in this. Now we'll see
which is the best. All right, Mary, I won't say a word.... Say, for
country-jakes, those Caledonias didn't do so badly. I give them that
much. Look at the water fly! I'll bet those folks near the judges' stand
wish they'd brought their umbrellas. Now you see why these are the best
seats, don't you? I told you I'd been to Firemen's Tournaments before.
What? You'll have to talk louder than that if you want me to hear with
all this noise.... Oh, that'll be all right. They'll be so hungry they
won't notice it.
Here, be careful how you wabble that hose around. Good thing they turned
the water off at the plug just when they did or we'd have been--Here's
our company. Where's Caledonia now? Eh? Pretty work! Pretty work! Say,
do you know that hose full of water's heavy? Now watch Riley. Riley's
the one that's got the nozzle. Always up to some monkeyshine. Ah!
See him? See him? Oh, is n't he soaking them? Oh-ho! Ho! Ho! ha! ha!
hee-hee! Yip.
Blame clumsy fool!... P-too! Yes, in my mouth and in my ears and down
the back of my neck. All over. Running out of my sleeves. Everything
I got on is just ruined. Completely ruined. Come on. Let's go home.
There's nothing more to see, much. Aw, come on. Well, stay if you want
to, but I'm going home, and get some dry clothes on me. You get me to go
to another Firemen's Tournament and you'll know it. Look at that monkey
from Caledonia laughing at me. For half a cent I'd go up and smack his
face for him.... Aw, let up on your “Where's Caledonia now?” Give us a
rest. Well, are you coming, you folks?... Kind of a fizzle this year,
wasn't it?
However, after supper, with dry clothes on, it isn't so bad. The streets
are packed. All the firemen are parading and shouting: “Who? Who? Who
are we?” The Caledonias got one more prize than our boys. Well, why
shouldn't they? Entered in three more events. I don't see as that's
anything to brag of or to carry brooms about. All the fife-and-drum
corps are out, and the bands are all playing “Hiawatha” at once, but
not together. Not all either. There's one band in front of Hofmeyer's
playing “Oh, Happy Day! That Fixed my Choce.” That's funny: to play a
hymn-tune in front of a beer-saloon. Hofmeyer seems to think it's all
right. He's inviting them in to have something. “Took the hint?” I don't
understand.... Oh, is that so? I didn't know there were other words to
that tune.
See that woman with four little ones. Her husband's carrying two more.
“I want to go howm. Why cain't we gow howm? I do' want to gow howm
pretty soon. I want to gow na-ow!” Eh, Mary, how would you like to lug
them around all day and then stand up in the cars all the way home?
Well, good-by. Hope you had a nice time. Give my regards to all the
folks. Don't be in such a rush, my friend.... Oh, did you see? It must
be the man that got hit on the head with the ladder. Taking him home on
a stretcher. Gee! That's tough. Skull fractured, eh? Dear! Dear! I
hear they have been keeping company a long time, and were to have been
married soon. No wonder she cried and took on so. Poor girl! Yes, it's
the women that suffer .... Oh, quite a day for accidents. I didn't mind,
though, after I had changed my clothes. I took some quinine, and I
guess I'll be all right. Lucky you got a seat. Well, you're off at last.
Good-by. Remember me to all. Good-by.
Well, thank goodness, that's over. Another ten minutes of them and
wouldn't have--Well, Mary, what else could I do but ask them home after
he told me what they didn't have to eat at the Ladies' Aid?... It was
all right. Plenty good enough. Better than they have at home and I'll
bet on it. The table looked beautiful. I'm glad the Tournament doesn't
come but once a year. I'm about ready to drop.