THE GREAT DAY
From far off came a sound of popping and snapping,--some boy, unable to
wait, was trying a few fire-crackers. It still lacked a day or two of
the Fourth of July, and the strain was telling on us.
A door that was slammed or a whip that was cracked took on a new
significance, while the fish-pedlers' horns seemed to have an
altogether unusual note.
Underneath my bed was a box containing fifteen bunches of
fire-crackers, ordinary size; three bunches of cannon crackers; two
single gigantic fellows; and some sticks of slow-match. There were also
the five boxes of Ajax torpedoes, twisted tight in their red paper,
and slumbering now in sawdust, but all ready to explode delightfully
when the time came.
Jimmy Toppan had taken the wrappers from his fire-crackers, and
separated the crackers. Slowly and painfully he had disentangled the
fuses which some Chinese workman had skilfully braided together. It had
taken a whole afternoon to do it, but now he had no one knew how many
thousands of crackers, neatly piled in a large cigar-box.
He was prepared for the morning of the Fourth, when he could sit
down in some convenient place,--the curb-stone, for instance, with a
stick of lighted slow-match in one hand, and the cigar-box full of
fire-crackers beside him.
Then, with due deliberation, he could choose a fire-cracker, bring the
glowing end of the slow-match to the fuse of the cracker, throw the
latter into the street as soon as it began to spit out sparks, and wait
ecstatically for the explosion.
As soon as this had occurred he could repeat the whole operation,--for
hours.
Untangling the fire-crackers had pulled the fuses out of some of them.
These unfortunates were carefully put aside for "cat and dog fights."
There were one or two green fire-crackers in every bunch, and
occasionally a _yellow_ one. These he herded by themselves, for use at
especially important moments. That they make a louder noise than the
red ones is a scientific fact well known to all experts.
I had not separated my crackers. It was a joy I decided to defer until
the great day. There was a pleasure in seeing the bunches intact, and
in observing the red wrappers with their gorgeous gilt dragons. You
could smell the gunpowdery smell as well as if the packages had been
opened. But I counted those eighteen bunches of crackers every night
and every morning, and sometimes during the day. And I had broken the
top of one of the torpedo boxes and explored with my fingers in the
sawdust.
There were twelve fat torpedoes in the box, and five boxes, and that
made--that made--(oh! Mr. Colburn!) it made sixty! yes, sixty great,
big, lovely torpedoes. Sixty beautiful bangs!
But one must be careful with torpedoes. They must be fired with care,
one at a time, for the proper enjoyment of them. There had been
accidents,--I had seen one the year before. Little Larry Paine had
fired all his crackers before ten o'clock in the morning. He went
into the house to get the last of his stock of explosives,--a box of
torpedoes. The sawdust had been taken out, and he came forth again
with a dozen torpedoes loose in the box. As he reached the sidewalk the
box slipped, and fell on the bricks with one terrifying crash. All the
torpedoes had gone off together.
It was magnificent, but it was not war. It filled us with joy, but it
filled Larry with woe. He lifted up his voice and mourned because they
were not. With loud wails he retreated into the house, and his agonized
family knew no peace for an hour.
"My brother Billy's goin' to the bonfire at midnight," announced Ed
Mason, conscious of the glory reflected upon him by this fact.
But I was not to be outdone.
"Poo! that's nothin'. _My_ brother's goin' to stay up _all_ night; he
an' Phil Coombs an' Arthur Monroe are goin' to sleep in Arthur Monroe's
barn an' they're goin' to the bonfire an' they ain't goin' to bed at
all. Last Fourth he nearly got arrested for ringin' the High School
bell!"
I was determined to leave Ed Mason not a leg to stand on.
"Well," he remarked weakly, "I'm goin' to get up at half-past three,
anyway."
He had me there. I had parental permission to get up at four o'clock,
and I had not expected to be surpassed in this important achievement by
my own familiar friend.
It rankled with me all day, and in the evening I laid the case before
my father and mother. For the honor of the family, as well as for my
own self-respect, I simply had to get up at half-past three.
They were in doubt. It was going to be a long and exciting day for
me. Aside from the exertion of firing my own supply of crackers and
torpedoes, I was going at noon to see "Gunner Hunt" fire his annual
salute at the foot of River Street. Then there was the flag-raising
on the mall at two o'clock, and the fireworks at March's Hill in the
evening.
But they finally consented, and once more I could look Ed Mason in the
face.
When the evening of the 3d of July came, I went cheerfully to bed at
seven o'clock, in order to prepare for the labors of the next day.
I counted my fire-crackers, and found their number complete. It was
rather hard to get to sleep on account of the uproarious sounds from
Main Street,--cannon crackers, muskets, revolvers, cow-bells, and
horns. But finally I dropped off,--only to be disturbed by a dream
that Auntie Merrill had come into the room and was making a raid on my
fire-crackers.
It was a hideous nightmare,--she vanished out the door with her arms
full of my precious possessions, and I could not do a thing to stop
her. When I woke I had to get up and count those fire-crackers again.
Then I climbed back in bed once more and listened to the distant noise.
Somebody came down our street, dragging a string of cow-bells. The
national holiday was being celebrated with diligence.
Suddenly it struck me that perhaps the morning had already come. In a
panic I jumped up, lighted a match, and looked at the clock. It was
eight o'clock,--I had been asleep less than an hour. Listening at the
open window I could hear my family talking in the garden below. I
remembered that I was to meet Ed Mason and Jimmy Toppan in that garden
at half-past three, and that I had better get to sleep again.
I lay in bed once more, trying not to hear the din. All at once I
became aware that some one--my father--was standing at the side of the
bed, shaking me.
"Sam! Sam! I thought you were going to get up. It's quarter of four."
"What?"
I jumped out, confused. There was a dim light outside,--not daylight,
by any means. I began to dress, and fumble for the fire-crackers.
Things seemed very different, somehow, from what I had expected.
As I went downstairs I heard my father say:--
"It's raining, I think,--put on your rubber coat."
Rain! How would the fire-crackers like that?
Outside I found Ed and Jimmy. They were rather silent, but inclined to
be contemptuous because I was late. They had been fiddling around in
the garden for some minutes, waiting for me. Jimmy had an umbrella,
and did not look very happy.
We went out to the front of the house, and sat down on the door-steps.
Jimmy had his box of fire-crackers (which he managed with difficulty on
account of the umbrella), while Ed Mason had his crackers in a canvas
bag. Owing to the breeze, which was rather brisk, we had some trouble
in lighting the slow-match. Just as we got it going the rain began to
fall in a smart shower.
There was nothing for it but to retreat inside the house once more.
This was a pretty sort of Fourth of July! The possibility of such an
inconsiderate act on the part of Heaven had never occurred to us. Could
it be that they did not know, up there, what day this was?
It was a little dull in the house. Jimmy and I both fell asleep, and
so, I think, did Ed Mason, though he denied it. Fortunately I found
some raspberry turnovers in the pantry, and they helped alleviate our
sufferings.
Shortly before breakfast the rain stopped, and the sun came feebly
out. We were soon in the street once more, creating a racket that left
nothing to be desired. Joe and Charley Carter joined us, and so did
Rob Currier and Peter Bailey. Peter had a revolver, and he scorned
fire-crackers. The Rev. Mr. Dimmick, who lived across the street, stood
on the steps of his dwelling and beamed upon us. He looked as if he
would like to celebrate, too.
Mr. Dimmick was a minister, which was too bad, because he was such a
good ball-player. Charley Carter had an enormous cannon cracker, and
when he started to touch it off, Mr. Dimmick called out:--
"Wait a minute,--you ought to have something to put over that,--a box,
or a can, or something."
"I wish I had!" said Charley; "let me take that cigar-box, Jimmy?"
"I've got just the thing," shouted the minister; "I'll get it."
And he vanished into the house. Presently he came out again with a
shining tin box. They lighted the cannon cracker, clapped the box over
it, and ran.
Bang! went the cracker, and the box shot straight up in the air.
"Jiminy!" said Joe Carter, "'twon't never come down!"
It looked as if it wouldn't. It went up above the houses, above the
trees, even. Then it started to fall, and as it did so a funny thing
happened. For the seams of the box had all been blown apart, and only
its swift upward rush had kept them together. As soon as it started on
its downward trip, they flew apart, and the box struck the earth, a
flat sheet of tin,--flat as a fritter.
Just then Mrs. Dimmick came to the door.
"James," she said, "I can't find my new cake tin,--have you seen it?"
"Er--oh, what, my dear? Yes, Harold has just strayed off,--up the
street, I think,--I'll find him all right."
And Mr. Dimmick hurried away.
We spent the morning, after breakfast, in the midst of a delicious
cloud of powder smoke. "Dynamite" crackers had not been invented then,
and nobody got hurt at all,--except Rob Currier, who burned his thumb
slightly on a piece of slow-match. Charley Carter's father, a man of
untold wealth, bought a dozen bunches of fire-crackers, and fired them
_a whole bunch at a time_!
We stood around in awe at the delightful noise and the princely
extravagance of it.
At noon all the church bells rang for an hour, and we went down to
the foot of River Street to hear "Gunner Hunt" and his assistants
fire a salute. Mr. Jones was there, leaning on his Napoleon cane, and
regarding the spectacle with a sarcastic grin. It probably seemed a
pretty small business to him, compared with his famous battle.
We had ice-cream for dinner, and strawberry shortcake, and ginger-ale.
There were other things,--lamb and green peas, I believe, in which the
grown-ups were interested.
In the afternoon we saw the flag-raising on the Mall. The Mayor made
a speech, and so did General Cogswell, but the speeches did not
appeal to us especially. Luckily a horse ran away, so we found some
entertainment. Then Dr. Macey treated us all to lemonade, and more
ice-cream.
If we had had any doubts of what the Mayor said about the Declaration
of Independence being the most important event in the history of
mankind, such doubts would have been removed.
In the evening, as soon as it began to get dark, we joined the crowds
wending down Elm Street toward March's Hill.
People who lived in that neighborhood, people whose back yards afforded
a good view of the fireworks, found themselves suddenly popular. It was
astonishing how many friends they had. Acquaintances whom they had not
seen for a year began to invade their gardens, shake hands cordially,
and show themselves perfectly willing to sit on their chairs and
camp-stools, or even their back door-steps.
The fireworks passed off in the usual blaze of glory, and about
half-past nine I walked wearily home with my father and mother. Even
then, we could see, through the trees of Elm Street, distant rockets
streaming up the sky, pausing for an instant, and then vanishing with a
far-off "T'lock!"
A shower of sparks hung for a while in the sky, disappeared, and left
all quiet and black, except for the twinkling stars.