Our Show / A Humorous Account of the International Exposition in Honor of the Centennial Anniversary of American Independence, from Inception to Completion, Including Description of Buildings, Biographies of Managers, Receptions of Foreign Dignitaries, Opening Ceremonies, Poem, Oration, Amusing Survey of All Departments, Incidents, Etc., Etc.

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.

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. YE GALLANT TAR
AND HIS MORTAR.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.

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 SINGLES, DOUBLES,
AND TRIPLETS.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.

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.

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 DIN
OF WAR.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.

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. THE COMBAT DEEPENS—
ON, YE BRAVES!This was the signal for the fray. Drums were beat, trumpets sounded; the crowd applauded, children shrieked, women fainted, and amid all the din,—

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.

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!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.

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.

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,A GOOD
TURN. 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.

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—
HEREDITARY TALENT.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.