THE TRIENNIAL CONCLAVE AT ST. LOUIS.
Reaching San Francisco in season to witness the encampment of the
Grand Army of the Republic, I was quite as fortunate in getting
to St. Louis on the eve of the triennial conclave of the Knights
Templars. Intending at first to make a stay in the city of but a few
days, various causes induced me to lengthen the visit to nearly or
quite two weeks, and the chief reason for this was the kind invitation
of A. W. Sumner, now proprietor of the St. Louis Stoneware Company,
but once an old schoolmate of mine, to remain with him while waiting
for my bicycle to be repaired. He and I had not met since we both
attended Rev. Mr. Hall's School at Ellington, Conn., nearly twenty
years since, and after "Hello, Poggy," and "Hello, Bubby," had come
to our lips spontaneously, we talked over and looked back to the time
we spent in Ellington with very much the same feelings, I think,
that Nicholas Nickleby had when he recalled his experiences under
Squeer's at Dotheboy's Hall. Still we bear no ill will against the
apple-trees in the rear of the school-house, but think it doubtful if
those trees themselves have borne anything since, after furnishing
so many switches to be used for our moral welfare and physical
uplifting. But these reflections were soon forgotten in the noise
and excitement of the week.
The Charity Concert at the fair grounds, the proceeds of which were for
the benefit of the widows and orphans of Masons, was a great success
money-wise, but hardly from any other point of view. The immense
band-stand was built on the inside of the mile track so far out into
the field that the music could scarcely be heard on the grand-stand,
which, by the way, is probably the largest and finest one in the
country, and after the first number had been played the majority of
the eight or ten thousand people who had paid a dollar for a seat,
in addition to the fifty cents admission fee, on the grand-stand,
left it in disgust and gathered out in the field where something of
the music could be heard, besides the cannon accompaniment, if that
part can be called music at all. Seats were provided for twice the
number of musicians that could finally be persuaded to participate,
for many union musicians refused to play in a concert with non-union
musicians, and so there were many vacant chairs among the performers.
Into one of these seats a press committee's badge made way for me, and
there the noise during the anvil chorus was fairly deafening. Before
the piece was played Gilmore came over to the anvils on one side of
the stand, and rather sternly placed the men, who wore white shirts
instead of the customary red ones, in a different position from the
one they had taken, but as if to soften his orders he said, smiling,
"You are to strike first, you know, but you will do it all right,
I guess." During the performance, as one set of musicians would play
too loud, or too soft, or too slow, or too fast, Gilmore would look
sharply at them, and raise his eyebrows almost to the top of his head,
and when the fifty anvils came in, and the cannons went off, both at
first in poor time, it seemed as if he would fly all to pieces, he
had so much to see to, but after a few beats, and after bending his
body sidewise, almost double, and sweeping his arms from above his
head down to the floor, he had the thousand performers all playing
in very good time. The effect upon the great audience was shown by
the way they cheered at the end, and even Gilmore seemed to be well
pleased, for he cried "bravo," and bowed to his musicians before he
turned about and acknowledged the applause of his audience. When some
one of his performers, carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment,
proposed "three cheers for Gilmore," he had to fairly yell "hold on,
hold on," in order to be heard, and by features and gesture frowned
down and nipped in the bud the proposed compliment.
The gate receipts show there were one hundred and twenty-five
thousand people in attendance, and of this number I did not see one
drunken person. Actually, I have been, many a time, to a county
fair in Connecticut where there were not one-hundredth part as
many persons present, and have seen decidedly more disturbance and
drunkenness. Undoubtedly there were some among this great number who
were not sober, but I did not happen to see them and I was around a
good deal. It was beer, beer everywhere, and everybody drank it, nicely
dressed and otherwise fine appearing women ordering their beer brought
to them on the grand-stand fully as freely as the men. One hundred and
fifty waiters were kept busy all day on the grand-stand alone. Coffee,
lemonade, and soda could be had at exorbitant prices, but the price of
beer was restricted to five cents a glass by the Brewer's Association.
And in addition to the fact that beer drinking was a question of
economy, there was still greater influence brought to bear in favor
of beer. It was a very warm day, many were overcome by the heat, but
there was no place where one could get a glass of water. I went from
one end of the fair-grounds to the other in search of it, and finally
was obliged to drink from the end of an iron pipe where they water
horses. Water, evidently, is not used here as a beverage. They tell of
a Missourian who was knocked off a ferry-boat into the water and was
rescued after being in great danger of his life and was asked if he
was much hurt, "No," he replied, "thank God, I don't think a drop of
water got into my mouth." This is a chestnut out here. Has it got East?
Some of the members of the Womans' Christian Temperance Union in the
Eastern cities, who do such a grand good thing by freely furnishing
ice-water to the thirsty crowd at all such out-door public gatherings,
might suggest the idea to some of the members of the society in
this city with good results. Still, notwithstanding the fact that
saloons here keep open day and night, seven days in the week, the
number of arrests for drunkenness last year was a little less than
forty-two hundred, which is not one per cent. of the present estimated
population of the city. It would be interesting to compare this with
the percentage of drunkenness in Eastern cities. Here the license
fee is $600, and the more I can learn of the practical workings of
high license in these Western States, the more I am impressed with
the belief that high license must for a long time precede prohibition
in large cities, in order to insure any practical, good results.
But even expecting something of the kind, I was surprised at the
practical working of the prohibitory law in Kansas. At Elk Falls,
where I spent a couple of days so pleasantly with Mrs. Philleo,
the same crowd of loungers congregated about the drug stores that
are usually seen near the saloons, and upon inquiry, while waiting
in the drug store, I was told anyone could get liquor by signing a
blank statement. This statement is filled out by the druggist at his
leisure, and gives the name of the disease with which the person is
afflicted. The probate judge gets five cents each for recording these
statements which are sent to him by the druggists. As I sat there,
one poor sufferer passed out from behind the counter where he had
probably just disclosed to the druggist the nature of the terrible
disease from which he was undergoing inward torment, but which had as
yet only shown itself outwardly on the end of his nose. Drug stores
have increased three-fold in Elk Falls within a short time, and the
increase in other parts of the State is surprising. The probate office
has suddenly become a very lucrative position, and judging from the
records in this office, Kansas must be the most unhealthy place in
the country.
But to return from the subject of temperance to the Templars. For
several nights the city was beautifully illuminated in their honor. It
is impossible to give a good idea of the beautiful effect of the
numerous gas-jets used in the illumination. I counted the number of
gas-lights upon one of the arches, and found it had 346. Different
colored shades were used, and these arches, surmounted with small
pyramids of lights, were erected along three or four of the principal
streets at the intersection of every cross street. In addition to
these large arches were smaller ones extending along on the curbs. The
effect, for instance, at the corner of Washington avenue and Fourth
street, was like that produced in looking through an immense arbor
two or three miles long, completely covered with variegated colored
gas lights. Thirty-five thousand gas-jets were used in this manner.
The flambeau battalion paraded the streets on several evenings,
burning up a couple of thousand of dollars' worth of fireworks each
night, and sending off a dozen or so large rockets at a time, with
fine effect, as they marched along, colored lights and a shower of
Roman candles adding to the beautiful sight. The trades' display
parade was another occasion gotten up for the edification of the
visiting Knights, and included a parade of the fire department.
During a break in the procession, I had gone into the exposition
building to hear the "Poet and Peasant" rendered by Gilmore's band
as I never heard it before, when coming out and crossing over to
Franklin avenue, I found the street full of people, all apparently
waiting for something. Soon the bell of a fire engine was heard, and in
another instant four large gray horses on a keen run came rushing down
through the crowd drawing an engine finely decorated with flags and
bunting. The crowd opened barely wide enough for the engine to pass,
and closed up again, when another engine rushed down the street in
the same reckless manner, no one making the slightest effort to keep
the street clear. There was something exciting about the affair that
is relished by the average American, just as we enjoyed the way those
trains chased each other down the side of the mountain from Marshall
Pass, but it was dangerous business.
The prize drill of the different commanderies at the fair grounds, and
the street parade of the Knights Templar, was a very fine exhibition
of what degree of perfection in the different manoeuvers can be
attained by uniformed men outside of the regular army and State
militias. But with me there was something lacking in the procession
and the appearance of these bodies of fine looking men. The sight of
that procession of veterans in San Francisco was constantly coming
up in my mind, and in that there was a something decidedly lacking in
this. Here the white plumes, the showy uniforms, the costly banners,
the glistening jewels, the elegant regalia, the diamond studded
swords and crowns, all this beautiful display of costly equipments
to be seen on the streets and in the show-windows, certainly made
a finer appearance than anything to be seen at a veteran reunion,
but in it there was nothing to stir a man's soul. The sight of a
torn battle-flag is worth more to me than all the banners in any
Knight Templar's procession. The flag cost men's lives, and an
empty sleeve has more in it, so to speak, than the finest Knight
Templar's uniform in the procession, more of history, of patriotism,
and of true religion. "In Hoc Signo Vinces," "Christian Warriors,"
"Defenders of the Cross," and such mottoes, are here seen on all
sides, but "Gettysburg," "Appomattox," "Defenders of our country,"
are words that are more tangible, and have more meaning in them,
to the average patriot certainly.
But this is hardly a subject for a touring bicyclist to get warmed up
over. One of the greatest attractions in the city during this month
of festivities, is Gilmore's band at Music Hall in the exposition
building. The hall is truly what its name indicates. It is built
without boxes, and with the stage well out into the auditorium. The
auditorium is boarded up on the sides and overhead with narrow
beaded strips, which have the musical effect, I am told, of an
immense sounding board; and when Gilmore's sixty-five players are
all getting red in the face under his energetic leadership, the air
is so filled with music that, as has been said, one could cut the
music up in chunks and deliver it around the city for little private
serenades. Twice every afternoon and twice in the evening, this hall
is filled with four or five thousand visitors to the exposition, who
during the intermissions wander about the Machinery Hall and other
parts of the immense building. For twenty-five cents this exposition
is, as it ought to be, the most popular attraction in the West. It
is said, however, that, cheap as is the price of admission, over two
thousand dead-head tickets have been called for and issued. There is
always an army of applicants at headquarters, and the bald-headed
secretary seems to have his time thoroughly occupied in writing
passes for this omnipresent crowd. But he is an amiable person and
performs this unprofitable service with an alacrity and cheerfulness
which I have rarely observed in officials who possess the authority
to disburse free passes of any kind.