“THE FLICKERING.” ... HOW IT DIMMED AND HOW IT BRIGHTENED.
[Illustration]
Father Time seemed to be the only Philadelphian who did not deviate from
his ordinary course of life during the Exhibition months. He continued
sowing and reaping as usual; cutting the blooming flowers from the stem
of the year, and counting the sands which carried with them into
oblivion, gradually but surely, exhibition, visitors, commissioners, and
restaurant keepers. But though his children were unable to prolong a
single passing moment, they managed to crowd into each day as much
novelty and excitement as would ordinarily suffice for a twelvemonth,
and they got the better of the old man in this way.
To attempt a record of one tithe of the many occurrences deserving
immortalization at our hands, would be to meet with failure as complete
as that which attended the experiment of Mr. Charles Airy, of Georgia,
with his flying-machine, upon the third day of June, 1876.
This young man had communicated with that eminent scientist, Mayor
Stokley, about a year previous to the attempt. The Mayor, who delights
in encouraging genius of all kinds, promised his countenance to a trial
trip of the machine at Philadelphia during the Centennial year.
“I will go with you,” he promised, “I, myself, will ascend with you into
the illimitable ether; together will we make the attempt, together will
we share the glory.”
This fact becoming known, Messrs. Daniel Dougherty and George Francis
Childs, anxious to imitate so noble an example, entered their names,
too, upon the ship’s books for the voyage. Airy was happy, and his
happiness became delirious joy when, a week previous to the date of
departure, he received another application worded as follows:--
[SOARING GENIUS.]
“I long to soar above this world of trials. False outwardness weighs
upon my heart; the scent of earth smothers the zephyrean impulses of
my soul. Take me with you. Yon, yon, into that blissful atmospheric
belt where hay-fevers are unknown.
“Confidingly yours,
“H. W. B.”
The report of the coming trial of this air-ship spread rapidly
throughout the land. Scientific men, railroad agents, and rapid transit
speculators arrived in flocks and examined and re-examined the various
rods, wires, screws, governors, pistons, cogs, gauges, and cranks. The
newspapers, too, were lavish with preparatory puffs. Fate willed,
however, that they should not be strong enough to blow success.
The machine was constructed in the shape of an American eagle with
outstretched wings. A neat little boudoir was fitted up for passengers
between the ribs, and a refrigerator for provisions was suspended from
the beak.
The eventful morning arrived and saw an immense concourse of people at
the foot of Sawyer’s Observatory, from the summit of which the
experimental flight was to be made at 10 o’clock precisely. At that hour
the inventor was on hand, attired in pink tights and spangles. A note
was handed to him by Mr. Sawyer; he read it aloud to the assemblage--
[HE COMETH NOT.]
“MY DEAR AIRY: I am unable to rise even from my bed, so of course
can’t go up with you to-day. The doctor has just examined my silvery
tongue, and bids me stay at home. He thinks I have been high enough
this week, and says, jocosely, having been on a lark I had better
‘shoot the eagle.’ I lie here as I write you this note. Better luck
next time.
“DOUGHERTY.”
Airy was disappointed, and his countenance grew longer when a second
note quickly followed the first:--
“Sad and broken are my spirits. I am out of heart to-day, for my hope
of flying with you has itself just flown away. My young man has left
the office, gone to meet his brother Jim, I must take the
advertisements, hitherto received by him. Were I not tied to my
Ledger--free upon my native wilds, naught but death could keep me from
you.
“Ever yours,
“GEORGE FRANCIS CHILDS.”
“Never mind,” sighed Airy, “as long as Stokley sticks by me, I don’t
care.” But alas, the hour for starting came and passed, and Stokley put
in no appearance. Another hour winged its silent flight, and the people
below grew impatient. Thirty minutes more, and the Mayor was still among
the wanting. Twelve o’clock pealed simultaneously from the restaurant
clocks, always half an hour fast, and the inventor had sadly made up his
mind to start alone, when a figure waving a red handkerchief appeared
upon the brow of George’s Hill. “Ah,” shouted Airy, “Stokley at last--I
knew he’d come.”
The figure hurried on, but soon those upon the Observatory could see
that it was not the Mayor. ’Twas a more ponderous form, bare-headed,
with a wealth of silver locks floating in the wind.
“Wait for me,” it cried, “oh wait for me, I pray!” and ten minutes later
the great Plymouth preacher stood grasping Airy by the hand.
“Let smiles, like summer buds, adorn the pastures of thy face--I’m
here!”
There was a bustle in the crowd, and the people cheered and cheered
again, when it became evident that the wonderful machine was soon to
move. The passenger was handed into the boudoir, and the inventor,
getting astride of the metallic bird, tucked his coat tails beneath its
sacred wings. The excitement below was intense.
“I will wait five minutes more for Stokley,” said Mr. Airy; “he will be
so disappointed if he finds I have started without him.”
Suddenly the telegraphic wires attached to the bird’s tail began to
work;--a message from Stokley at last.
“Can’t come; wife won’t let me--_bon voyage_--Bill.”
“Let go the ropes,” shouted Airy.
The strings were cut from the eagle’s talons, and the great machine with
a rush and a flutter, rose majestically five hundred feet in the air,
and--majestically staid there. Then the intrepid rider began hunting for
the screw designed to effect a downward motion, and the passenger in the
boudoir began to look pale and anxious. The crowd below saw a little man
frantically jerking at wires and springs, turning screws and varying
gauges, and a metallic eagle stationery in the air above them.
[YE GALLANT TAR AND HIS MORTAR.]
The inventor’s exertions were in vain; the machine wouldn’t go up and
wouldn’t come down. There hung the noble bird with its noble freight,
like Mahomet’s coffin, ’twixt earth and heaven. Night fell and the eagle
didn’t. The pale moon rose up slowly and calmly, she looked down, and
her man seemed to be laughing at the unfortunate aeronauts. A week
passed, and the refrigerator being empty, it was dropped from the bird’s
beak in the hope of effecting a change of position;--but all in vain.
That machine became an object of exclusive interest, and hundreds of
plans were devised for reaching it, but without avail. Mortars were
brought from the Navy Yard and provisions were shot up to the inventor,
and bouquets and slippers to his companion. A loaf of rye bread hit the
proud American eagle in the eye, and a veal cutlet knocked out the
passenger’s front teeth. On the twelfth day of their elevation, a rope
two miles long, manufactured expressly for the purpose, was tied around
the body of a young porker. Piggy was then shot up from a mortar aimed
by Mr. A. E. Borie, whose experience as Secretary of the Navy made him
best fitted for the delicate and important task. The choice was well
made; the porker landed in the passenger’s lap and was clasped to his
bosom in a convulsive embrace. Then a discussion arose in the air ship
as to which of the twain should be first lowered. A penny was tossed,
and of course the passenger won. The haggard inventor sighed and
submitted to the decree of fate. But the moment the great preacher was
out of the machine, while he yet dangled in air, it collapsed, and
before the pitying and astounded crowd could utter the cry which rose to
its lips, the wonderful aerial ship was a ton of old metal and straps,
strewed about the Centennial grounds. The passenger came down, as he
does all things, gracefully, and was caught in the outstretched arms of
a delegation of his flock. Mr. Airy was shipped back to Georgia in
sunburnt sections, just as he was found, a leg to-day, a thumb
to-morrow, and a nose next week. They were still receiving small
consignments of him at headquarters at last accounts. Coroner’s
verdict:--“Too much gas in the balloon to allow it to come down, and not
enough to carry it up higher.”
This failure cast a gloom over the exhibition, which was not dispelled
until the 21st day of the month, when the great “cricket match” was
inaugurated.
This was an interesting occasion, long anticipated in sporting circles.
The celebrated “Newhall Eleven” was to be pitted against the “All Comers
Eleven,” for the championship of America, a silver belt and a tin water
vessel in the shape of a pocket flask.
The game was called at five o’clock in the morning, upon the
International cricket ground in the rear of Horticultural Hall. The
“Newhall Eleven” was sent to the bat, Hen and Bill having charge of the
wickets, with Herb Meade and Pop Beer attending to the bowls.
[SINGLES, DOUBLES, AND TRIPLETS.]
Henry began by drawing his leg for one, and continued this surgical
operation by drawing his arm for another one, which made two. Bill
started off and lost his stump, which was picked up by Pop Beer, who
regretted to find it out. Pete Newhall then came in. By a hit to square
leg he made four, and by a miss to round leg, six. The game now became
exciting. Three leg bails and two leg byes were scored on Herb Meade,
who after following with two wides and one narrow, was relieved by Joe
Large. He began with a maiden who brought in a single, double, and
triplets in quick succession. Hen Newhall was caught out by Beer, and
his brother Tim came to the scratch confident and fresh as a daisy. He
gave evidence of careful training, and got in a good cut with his pocket
knife. He followed this with a drive through the park, after which
several more maidens were gallantly picked up by Messrs. Outerbridge and
Wirebridge, when, the crowd being asleep, the continuation of the game
was postponed until the next day.
Tim Newhall retired gracefully on a squirmer, and Ike came in on a
check, opening with a splendid hit under the ropes beyond the bottle
holder, scoring four. Joe Large here burnt his fingers on a hot liner,
and Ike, by a hit between long leg and short leg, scored another two.
The bowlers were then changed for Messrs. Caldwell and Calledill, and
the game proceeded.
The Newhall Eleven continued gallivanting among maidens and wides and
byes, until they had scored 202, when the selected eleven went in. They
could do nothing, however, against the heavy Newhall bowling. Large,
Small, and Medium went out in one, two, three, order. Caldwell caught a
ball between his teeth and held it there while he made twenty-three
runs, winning the tin flask for the best individual score, but beyond
this the play was weak.
We shall not attempt a chemical analysis of the bowling, but merely give
the following record of runs, which contains all that is historical--the
result.
“_Newhall Eleven._”
RUNS.
George Newhall 20
Sam. Newhall 19
Hen Newhall 18
Bill Newhall 17
Ike Newhall 18
Tim Newhall 19
Pete Newhall 18
Bob Newhall 19
Dave Newhall 17
Ed. Newhall 17
Oldhall himself 20
---
Total 202
“_Selected Eleven._”
RUNS.
Joseph Large 0
Ephraim Small 0
Manassah Medium 0
John Outerbridge 15
Jim Innerbridge 14
Fred Wirebridge 13
Herb Meade 5
Pop Beer 4
Jake Caldwell 23
Moe Calledill 11
Abe Rooster 2
---
Total 87
In compliance with the request of the Executive Committee, this was the
only inning played. Too many foreign visitors lost their fortunes in
betting to admit of a continuance.
The day after this match things looked gloomy again. The Philadelphia
Rifle Club, designing to take part in the International Shooting Match
in September, went out to the Park to practise, taking the shield-like
boards containing the Park Regulations for targets. In seven minutes
four little children were shot dead. ’Tis true they were very little
children, and their parents had plenty more of the same kind at home;
still the occurrence was unpleasant. Fortunately the Park Commissioners
interfered with this mode of practising before any of the sign-boards
had been injured.
[THE DIN OF WAR.]
An American Camp Meeting and a Mock Battle were the other principal
novelties which filled out the programme of the week. We stayed away
from the camp-meeting on principle--they kept perpetually passing the
contribution box, so of course we know nothing of it, and were not
benefited by it. The mock battle, however, was entirely in our line. We
come from old Revolutionary stock. The powder box is among our earliest
recollections, and we cut our first teeth on bullets. A really
first-class mock battle thrills us to the core. We are ready to look on
at any time.
The militia encamped in the vicinity of Belmont, and formed during some
months of the Exposition, a most attractive feature. The boys, in neat
white tents, with carpeted floors, walnut furniture, and spring-chicken
breakfasts, endured all the luxuries of real camp-life. They were
compelled to rise at eight o’clock every morning, black their boots,
brush their hair, and prepare to meet their lady friends. At 2 P. M. the
roll was called, and every man was required to report for dinner; after
which, the army drove around the Park in carriages supplied by the
Commissioners. Foreign commanders of all grades and nationalities
pronounced them the cleanest, neatest, jauntiest lot of heroes they had
ever seen. Small wonder that the boys wanted a fight!
The battle was to be followed by a hop. Special invitations by Dreka, on
tinted paper adorned with suitable monograms, were sent to the lady
acquaintances of the warriors taking part. The ground was well sprinkled
with saw-dust for the convenience and protection of the dying and the
dead.
[THE COMBAT DEEPENS--ON, YE BRAVES!]
At eight A. M., the boys having risen an hour earlier than usual, Col.
R. Dale Benson entered the ring and rode around it three times at
break-neck speed, amid the tremendous plaudits of a tremendous crowd. In
one hand he carried the stars and stripes; in the other, his unsheathed
sword. His horse’s bridle he held between his teeth. With a final “HOUP
LA,” he vanished behind the screen. General Wagner, who commanded the
opposing party, then rode in, bowed to the audience, and placed a chip
of wood on his left shoulder. Benson returned, minus the flag, and
boldly knocked the chip off. This was the signal for the fray. Drums
were beat, trumpets sounded; the crowd applauded, children shrieked,
women fainted, and amid all the din,--
“Forth from the canvas tent,
Marched the First Regiment,”
while from the opposite side of the field, the Second Regiment and the
Jersey Blues approached, preceded by the West Point Drum Corps. Around
from the left wing, cautiously moving forward, came the Keystone
Battery, each swarthy gunner with a camelia in his button-hole, while
the City Troop, bouncing upon their martial steeds, came gaily from the
right. Suddenly their captain, Rogers, rushed to the centre of the
arena. He waved his sword on high.
“Forward, the _Light_ Brigade--Charge for the guns,” he said; and, quick
as thought, the swarthy gunners were flying like chaff before the wind.
And now broke out the dread roll of musketry, and the air was obscured
by the terrible smoke of war. The First Regiment fired four volleys in
quick succession, to make the smoke thick, and then fell flat to the
ground. Meantime, the Jersey Blues dashed forward with fixed bayonets to
recapture the battery and return it to the swarthy gunners, who were now
distributed around various parts of the Park. The nervous excitement
among the lookers-on became almost too great to bear. Don Carlos of
Spain, who was on the grand stand, pulled off his coat and was only
restrained from jumping into the ring through the exertions of General
Grant, whose own pulse was beating high.
The smoke cleared away, and then leapt into the _mêlée_ the star of the
entertainment, General Philip Sheridan, standing erect upon his
bare-backed steed. Shout upon shout greeted his appearance, and it was
fully five minutes before the audience would allow the battle to
proceed.
[WHOOP!]
The City Troop stood immovable before the gleaming bayonets of their
assailants; the First and Second Regiments popped away at each other
with blank cartridges, and General Sheridan, alone in the centre of the
field, uttered the wild blood-curdling whoop which he had learned from
the savages, and which stands him in such good service in his married
life. Few women could brave a whoop like that.
[Illustration]
Such was the position of the field, and victory seemed doubtful upon
which banner to perch.
“Surrender!” shouted the Captain of the Jersey Blues.
“Never!” thundered Rogers of the Troop.
“Whoop! whoop!” came thrillingly from the lungs of Sheridan.
“Advance in solid square and flank them on both ends,” commanded Benson
of the doughty First.
“Open ranks, trap them into your centre and then close about them,”
ordered Col. Neff, of the Invincible Second.
“Whoop! whoop! whoop!” yelled Little Phil.
“Hold one moment,” sounded a deep full voice above all the rest, the
voice of Sherman, the umpire; “who’s to win this battle? It’s past lunch
time and I should like the thing decided.”
At the word “lunch,” a change came o’er the scene.
“We surrender,” remarked Rogers.
“Whoop!” shouted Sheridan for the last time, and Col. Benson, mounting
one of the guns, crowed lustily. The warriors, covered with sawdust and
glory, then mingled with the crowd; and when we left the ladies were
busily engaged brushing the former from the uniforms of their favorites,
who were modestly receiving the latter in the congratulations of all
around them.
We didn’t wait for the hop, but learned that it was as satisfactory as
the military display.
And so passed the time until that day of days, the Fourth of July, 1876.
One hundred thousand Americans, who had not taken part in their
country’s first birth-day celebration, resolved to atone for that
neglect upon this occasion. Statues were to be unveiled, fountains
dedicated, salutes fired, and fireworks exploded. An enthusiastic
astronomer predicted that the sun would rise an hour earlier than the
regulation time for the season upon this great day and his augury proved
correct.
At four o’clock A. M. the Mayor of the city, who, with the members of
Councils, had slept upon the grounds, entered the Main Exhibition Hall,
read a few chapters of the Bible from the top of the southeastern tower,
and finished up with his usual proclamation forbidding the firing of
guns and pistols other than those specially ordered for the salutes. A
selected choir of mysterious pilgrims then sang a choice collection of
hymns.
At the conclusion of this religious exercise, free lunch and forty
thousand loaves of bread were distributed from the steps of Memorial
Hall. It was an imposing sight to behold the long line of visitors, who
were living here on the European plan, with their tin-pails and baskets,
waiting for the loaves and soup.
[A GOOD TURN.]
At seven o’clock the Liquor Dealers’ Protective Union proceeded to the
Catholic Temperance Fountain, and dedicated the same with appropriate
ceremonies. The president of the T. A. B.’s turned on the cock, and for
the first half hour the magnificent fountain spouted sparkling streams
of golden whisky, generously supplied as a pleasant surprise by the
Protective Union.
The statue of Christopher Columbus, the jolly salt previously mentioned
in this history, was next to be unveiled. It was serenaded by an
orchestra of eighty hand-organs, after which the Italian societies and
citizens were addressed in their native tongue by the Italian Minister
to the United States. He commenced, naturally, with a glowing eulogy
upon his immortal countryman--
“Sono rare e fugaci le occasioni grandi, ed è pudenza e magnanimita,
quando si offeriscono, l’accettarle,” said he, “and the noble man, whose
statue reared by loving hands now stands beneath that veil, took his
tide at its flood. Ill mondo è un bel libro, ma poco serve a chi non lo
sa leggere, but ’twas a book which was plain to him, a book which he had
read, an open page which he had studied.
“Ill sangue nobile è un accidente della fortuna; le azioni nobili
carratterizzano il grande. No title greeted his coming to the world, but
he left at his exit a name which still lives freshly on every tongue,
while hundreds of potentates and their titles are forever buried in
oblivion. Raise, raise the veil and let his features smile upon us.”
Amid cheers and _vivas_, the veil was raised; when lo--the committee had
made a mistake, and instead of Columbus, the statue of Religious Liberty
erected by the Jewish order of _B’nai B’rith_ was exposed to view. The
Italian minister was disgusted, and so were the Jewish lodges when they
arrived and found their statue already unveiled. They arranged matters
amicably, however, and started off with the sons of sunny Italy to
discover the great discoverer and let off their speeches at the base of
his monument. At ten o’clock there was a grand military review, of which
we will spare our readers the account, and at twelve precisely the
International Concert in the open air was inaugurated with a symphony by
twenty thousand string instruments. Most of the people thought the
musicians were just tuning up, so of course the symphony was a success.
At its conclusion an awful and unexpected sound startled the assemblage.
The earth trembled, and the towering trees bent their haughty heads to
earth. The Messrs. Krupp of Prussia, had fired off their mammoth gun. As
soon as the report reached police headquarters, a posse under command of
Chief Jones started for the grounds and arrested the Messrs. Krupp,
their engineers and firemen, for violating the Mayor’s proclamation.
They passed the remainder of the day in the cells at Fifth and Chestnut
Streets. After the excitement caused by this proceeding had subsided,
the concert was continued.
The national hymn of each country was rendered by its native artists in
appropriate costumes, all at the same time. The Mukdeesha Warblers from
the Eastern shore of Africa, made the most noise; and the English
singers in their affecting anthem “God shave the Queen,” made the most
music.
[FIREWORKS--HEREDITARY TALENT.]
It was four o’clock P. M. before the last howl died on the summer air,
and then the crowds began moving towards the “Grand Plaza.” Here the
display of fireworks was to take place under the direction of Professor
Jackson, son of the Professor Jackson who directed the famous fireworks
at New Orleans some years previously. One large piece was erected in
honor of each State in the Union, and one in honor of each Nation
represented in the Exposition. We make a few extracts from the programme
(printed on white satin) which was handed to each attendant at the
“Plaza,” young and old, rich and poor.
21. THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA:--A large Quaker with broad-brimmed hat in
blue and gold. His feet represent, respectively, Philadelphia and West
Philadelphia, with the Schuylkill River, at white heat, flowing between.
The tip of his hat typifies the State House steeple, and Seybert’s bell
will ring inside while the piece is burning.
40. THE EXHIBITION BUILDINGS:--Gold, silver, and currency flames, with
violet lights in relief. The commissioners in red, white, and blue, with
stars darting from their eyes, distributed judiciously through the
piece.
54. THE LION AND THE EAGLE LYING DOWN TOGETHER:--Symbolic of the peace
’twixt England and America. N.B. The Eagle is inside of the Lion.
72. PEARLS BEYOND PRICE:--A golden oyster opens and emits in order the
coats of arms of the thirteen original States.
84. A GOOD PUFF:--A mammoth cigar, which, shedding its outer wrapper,
will reveal the form and features of General Grant in blue blazes.
[GETTING HOME.]
At 5.15 o’clock, Professor Jackson thanked the Lord that all his
preparations were completed; at 5.20 the Lord responded with the
heaviest shower of rain witnessed since the deluge. It exceeded Mr.
Jackson’s usual showers, in the same proportion as this spectacular
effort was to have exceeded his former pyrotechnic exhibitions. The
fire-works were turned to water-works, and the crowd sadly and slowly
worked its passage home.