“THE CRACKLING.” ... PREPARATIONS FOR THE BLAZE.
[Illustration]
The morning smiled bright, and the mist rose on high, and the lark
whistled “Hail Columbia” in the clear sky, on the tenth day of May,
1876, the day set apart for, and consecrated to, the opening of the
Centennial Exposition.
Old Probabilities himself was in the city, with his weather eye open.
Early in the morning he fixed the barometer in front of McAllister’s at
“set fair,” arranged the thermometer at 65°, and engaged a refreshing
southern breeze to be around lively during the entire day. After this he
ate his breakfast, enjoying a quiet conscience and a correspondingly
good appetite.
Shortly before daylight a very curious incident occurred--fortunately it
ended happily.
[OH SHAH, WHAT A FUSS!]
The Shah of Persia, his son John, and the Sultan of Turkey, arrived
together at Broad and Prime Street Depot. The city being weary of
receiving dignitaries, no official and but little private notice was
taken of their arrival. They jumped into a Union Line car. Unthinkingly,
the Sultan put a dollar bill into the “Slawson box,” and then demanded
his change from the conductor. Of course, the conductor was unable to
open the box, and refused to give it to him, telling him he deserved to
lose it for his stupidity. The Sultan became furious.
“My change,” he cried; “I want my change, and I’m going to have it;
seven cents for me, seven cents for the Shah, and four cents for little
Shah, that’s eighteen cents; give me eighty-two cents change. You can’t
cheat me, you swindling Americans!”
Again the conductor refused and remonstrated; the Sultan was perfectly
wild with rage; he drew his scimetar, and caught that conductor by the
throat, and there would certainly have been an immediate vacancy for a
conductor on the Union Line, had not Mr. McMichael been just then
returning from a late banquet. Mr. McMichael, being a sportsman, was
thoroughly conversant with wild turkey gobble; he smoothed matters over.
He refunded the eighty-two cents from his own pocket, took the Eastern
monarchs home with him, and afterwards secured them a bed in the coal
cellar of the House of Correction, apologizing to them because they were
obliged to share it with Mr. Carlyle, the English essayist.
[Illustration]
The Egyptian Sphynx, kindly loaned by the Khedive, also arrived in the
morning, and was at once placed in position on Belmont Avenue. We regret
being obliged to record the disgraceful fact, that it was entirely
carried away in small bits by relic fiends before night. The Khedive
immediately presented a bill of damages to the President, and levied on
the Exhibition buildings _in toto_, the Capitol at Washington, and Mayor
Stokley’s house on Broad Street. Happily the matter was amicably
settled. The President promised the Khedive that Congress should have a
new Sphynx made for him, a much better one than that destroyed, of
bronze, and with all modern improvements. The order was subsequently
given to Messrs. Robt. Wood & Co., of Philadelphia, and before the close
of the Exposition they shipped to Cairo a bronze Sphynx, which will
certainly add greatly to the attractions of the desert. We doubt not
that the Messrs. Wood will receive orders for bronze Pyramids, provided
they will take the old ones in part payment.
[Illustration: THE MODERN SPHYNX.]
[AND HIS RHYME, IT WAS CHIL-DLIKE AND BLAND.]
The proprietor of the _Public Ledger_ was so pleased with the Sphynx
which our Philadelphia firm turned out, that he immediately ordered a
duplicate for his back garden. He also composed the following touching
lines for the poet’s corner of his journal. A copy of them, translated
into Egyptian characters, was sent to the Eastern potentate with the
Sphynx:--
“Egypt had a little Sphynx,
It was her pride and wonder,
She sent it to Amerikay,
Where it was knocked to thunder.
This ’ffliction sore, poor Egypt bore,
Her grief seemed all in vain,
Till one as good was made by Wood,
And Egypt smiled again.
Gone to take the place of the
ORIGINAL ONE.”
The great feature of the day was
THE PROCESSION,
the march from Independence Square to the Exposition grounds. We shall
endeavor, in brief style, not to do justice to, but to give some slight
account of the grandest pageant which any nation has yet witnessed in
its midst.
[BENJAMIN’S COAT.]
The immense body, consisting of representative military from every
nation under the sun and in the shade, was divided into two hundred and
forty divisions, each with a commanding general and aids. General
Joseph E. Johnston, of Georgia, was to have been Grand Marshal. His
uncle Andrew being dead, unfortunately, he was obliged to have his only
military coat repaired by a tailor who was not punctual, and who failed
to express it to him in time. General Butler, of Massachusetts, however,
who happened to have two coats with him, very kindly loaned one to
Johnston, who appeared in the afternoon. Attached to the back of the
loaned garment was a neat show-card, bearing this inscription--
ANOTHER BRIDGE
ACROSS THE
BLOODY CHASM.
THE TRIBUTE OF
MASSACHUSETTS
TO
GEORGIA.
[Illustration]
The General was lustily cheered wherever he went, and General Butler was
the subject of more praise during this day, than during any portion of
his life subsequent to his occupation of New Orleans.
The position of honor, the First Division, was given to the Philadelphia
regiments by a unanimous vote of the generals of divisions.
Col. Hill and Dale Benson led off with his command, which appeared for
the first time in its new uniform. The immense black fur muffs, which
the members borrowed from their sisters and wore upon their heads, gave
them a very ferocious appearance, though most of their noses were
completely hidden from view. Company “C” attracted particular attention.
It had adopted a new “hop” for marching, which was both graceful and
unique, though evidently fatiguing.
The “State Fencibles” turned out in fine style. With their accustomed
liberality they presented arms to all the pretty girls they met on the
way. The “City Troop” brought up the rear of the division. These
warriors were arrayed in all their awful panoply of war--white ties and
white kid gloves, with gold _vinaigrettes_, containing salts and
extracts, dangling from their belts. Their horses were also supplied
with _vinaigrettes_, which they sniffed occasionally in lieu of their
usual odor--the smoke of battle. The Troop carried a magnificent banner,
inscribed--
FIRST IN PEACE--FIRST IN WAR--
AND
FIRST IN THE HEARTS OF THEIR
~Countrywomen~.
And, on the reverse side--
PRESENTED TO THE
CITY TROOP OF PHILADELPHIA
BY THEIR
LADY FRIENDS AND ADMIRERS,
AT THEIR
FIRST ANNUAL PICNIC,
SCHUYLKILL FALLS PARK, JULY 1, 1872.
The Pennsylvania Veterans, G. A. R., marched in the centre of the
Second Division, and a moving incident occurred as they passed by the
Mint near Broad Street.
The first distinguished warrior to appear was Colonel Mann, the hero of
~0007 fights, mounted upon the gallant steed which had borne him safely
through them all. Along the route, his iron front proudly erect, his
bronzed and battered features flushed with the nobility of a natural
pride, he was greeted by the enthusiastic cheers of the assembled
thousands. Maidens from beyond the seas--officers (no mean heroes
themselves) from the armies of the old world, joined in the gracious
tumult. One bald-headed veteran (a Marshal of the Windsor Castle Guards,
who had left a leg at Balaklava, an arm at Waterloo, an eye in the
Crimea, and who expected to distribute the rest of himself upon various
other battle-fields before he died) turned to the Chevalier De
Lafayette, who with Senator Sam Josephs occupied the barouche with him,
and asked--
“Who is passing, Chevalier, that the people appear so excited?”
“_Quely vous motre dio_, do you really not know?” exclaimed the
Chevalier, “Zat is, _graciosa poverisi_, zat is ze Kunel Mann,
_pardieu_, ze great Kunel Mann.”
[THE PET OF THE POPULACE.]
“What!” shouted the veteran, and pulling from his coat the diamond order
of “St. George and the Dragon fly” which blazed among an hundred others
upon his breast, he rose in his coach and flung it gracefully to the
Colonel, who caught it quite as gracefully upon the fly. At this moment
a great shout arose. The populace imagined that a shot had been fired at
the Colonel, that an attempt had been made to assassinate their pet
hero. The mob rushed for the carriage which contained the veteran, with
cries of “kill him,” etc. etc. The Colonel took in the situation at a
glance. Rising in his stirrups he spread wide his arms to show he was
uninjured.
“Hold,” he shouted, in that same voice of loud and deep toned beauty
which oft had brought the briny tears to eyes of hardened criminals in
the dock, “Hold; he is my friend: he has given me this badge (‘Cape May
diamonds,’ he added _sotto voce_); who touches a hair of his bald head,
dies like a dog--march on,” he said.
The cries for vengeance changed to wild cheers of joy, and the
procession moved on.
The Foreign Divisions followed the Pennsylvanians in rotation adopted by
lot. The Caledonian club was a marked feature of the English Division
among which it was numbered, being the only representation from
Scotland. The members appeared in full Highland costume, kilt, sash, and
checker-board stockings. The chiefs danced the Highland Fling all along
the route to the inspiring strains of the regimental bagpipes. The
company of Orangemen with their Lemon aids was also a part of this
division; they were commanded by Col. Terrence McDougall.
The brigade of French Chasseurs in the Fifth Division, commanded by
Marshal Benzine, presented a splendid appearance, and wore the strings
of doughnuts which were thrown around their shoulders with a truly
fascinating French _abandon_.
The “French Lancers,” in the same division, danced the quadrille named
after them at each lamp-post along the line.
A number of survivors of the late French war were carried along in Sedan
chairs. This must have been a sad sight for Frenchmen. We are not
Frenchmen.
The German Landsturm soldiers were artistically decorated with pretzels
and oranges. Their division was preceded by the Emperor William and his
family, drawn in one of the ambulances of the German Hospital, the
horses being appropriately decorated with German and American bunting.
The Austrian Grenadiers (division seventy), carried a miniature hydrant,
emblematic of temperance; also an open Bible on a velvet cushion.
The Centennial managers were somewhat annoyed by the appearance in line
of a commission from the African interior, which insisted on taking part
in the procession, or eating the Director General. They marched along in
their native costume, consisting of a skewer through their back hair.
[Illustration]
[GOSHORN’S NOBLE RESOLVE.]
Of course _they_ were not aware of anything out of the way in their get
up, but Mr. Goshorn said that rather than have the thing occur again, he
would sacrifice himself on the altar of propriety, and be eaten. His
brother commissioners encouraged him in this resolve.
Immediately after the Foreign Divisions, came the “National Centennial
Guards,” formed of companies from the thirteen original States. They
were headed by Generals Grant, Sherman, Butler, and Hartranft, and were
followed by the Centennial Commissioners in barouches.
The Commissioners were paired off with foreign civil dignitaries and
potentates. The Prince of Wales was inveigled into a carriage with two
of our city officials: he left for home next day. Queen Victoria (his
mother) enjoyed the society of the Chief of the Fire Department: she
remained until the close of the Exposition.
One carriage was cheered vociferously. It contained Vice-President
Wilson, Mr. Jefferson Davis, Simon Cameron, and Robert Toombs.
The American divisions, which included companies and regiments from
every State and city in the Union, succeeded the barouches. A great many
of these organizations brought their own bands with them, or as the
saying is, “blew their own horns,” but many others depended upon the
well-known musical resources of Philadelphia. They discovered that
delays were dangerous. They had to do the best they could.
The “Duquesne Greyhounds,” of Pittsburgh, were preceded by Signor
Maccaroni’s band--two harps and a female violinist, while the
“Charleston Fusileers” were obliged to fusileer to the strains of seven
jews-harps, kindly volunteered by juvenile American talent.
A noticeable company was the “Palmetto Guards,” of South Carolina,
dressed in dusters and straw hats, and bearing palm-leaf fans. The
“Ancient Artillery,” of Boston, thorough sons of guns, every man of
them, also attracted much attention. Their step was the Boston glide.
The “Norfolk Blues” and the “Virginia Carbuncles” entered upon the march
with highly polished rifles and well filled canteens. Their rifles were
still highly polished when the march was over.
The “Seventh Regiment,” of New York, composed entirely of officers, was
much applauded. Its discipline was apparent in its style of marching and
the waxed moustaches of its members.
The brigade of American Indians was under the command of General
Sheridan. The warriors were conveniently and economically uniformed in
blankets. Each chief had his initials plainly visible upon the corner of
his blanket. By a strange coincidence, almost a fatality, the initials
of the name of every man in the brigade were the same letters--U and S.
[Illustration]
[THE “LITTLE DEARS.”]
The “West Point Cadets” were also in line. They made a peaceful and
pleasing show with their little tin swords and wooden guns. They looked
very neat too, clean faces and well-brushed hair showing that they were
tenderly cared for. Their jackets were buttoned tight up to their necks.
The ladies were charmed with them, and “little dears,” “sweet, ain’t
they?” were the expressions heard on all sides. Much sympathy was
expressed for them on account of the great length of the route--entirely
too long for children to traverse. The cadets were to have remained
during two weeks of the Exposition, but they got to eating unripe
cherries from the trees in the Park, and falling into the Schuylkill
River, so the Commissioners were compelled to send them home.
The “Naval Cadets” were marshalled under Secretary Robeson. This old
salt was arrayed as Neptune, with a trident in his hand, and a crown of
real sea-shells upon his aged, weather-beaten brow. The cadets were
taken care of during their stay by a file of marines.
The procession started at 10 o’clock, and by two P. M. one-half of the
main body having passed the Continental Hotel, the head of the
procession reached Memorial Hall, while the tail was wagging here, there
and everywhere, about the sacred shadows of Independence Hall.
At Memorial Hall, amid the salvos of artillery, the pealings of bells,
and music of the band; the hymns of the singers, and the cheering of the
vast, innumerable multitude, the
CHAPLAIN OF THE UNITED STATES SENATE
ascended the decorated pulpit.
[SILENCE.]
Mayor Stokley stepped forward. Tear-drops glistened in his translucent
orbs. He raised his arm; his hand, so used to threaten and command,
implored silence. In a single moment the firing ceased, the bells pealed
no more; the last echoes of the hymns were carried heavenward upon the
gentle breeze; the people ceased shouting, and a holy, solemn silence
reigned supreme.