Rand, McNally & Co.’s
New Indexed
Miniature Guide Map
of the
World’s Columbian
Exposition
at
Chicago, 1893.
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THE WHITE CITY.
THE CENTURY
WORLD’S FAIR BOOK
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
BEING THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY AND PHILIP
WITH THEIR TUTOR, MR. DOUGLASS
AT THE WORLD’S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION
BY
TUDOR JENKS
WITH OFF-HAND SKETCHES BY HARRY
AND SNAP-SHOTS BY PHILIP
AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY BETTER-KNOWN ARTISTS
AND REPRODUCTIONS OF MANY PHOTOGRAPHS
THE CENTURY CO., NEW YORK
Copyright, 1893, by The Century Co.
THE DE VINNE PRESS.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
| PAGE | ||
|---|---|---|
| [I] | Started by Cable — The Journey by Sleeper — Arrival in Chicago — Finding Rooms — The Fair at Last! | 1 |
| [II] | The Fête Night — Rainbow Fountains — The Search-lights — On the Lake — The Fireworks — Passing a Wreck — Diving in the Grand Basin | 17 |
| [III] | The Party Separates — Harry Goes to the Battle-ship — The Government Building — The Convent and the Caravels — The Movable Sidewalk | 31 |
| [IV] | Harry Returns to the Hotel — Philip Tells of his Blunder — The Anthropological Building — The Log Cabin — The Alaskan Village — The Old Whaling-ship “Progress” — A Sleepy Audience — Plans | 43 |
| [V] | A Place where Visitors were Scarce — The Rolling-chairs and Guides — Mistaken Kindness — Entering the Plaisance — The Javanese Village — Snap-shots — Cairo Street — The Card-writer — The Soudanese Baby | 55 |
| [VI] | The Midway Plaisance Visit Continued — Lunch at Old Vienna — The Ferris Wheel — The Ice Railway — The Moorish Palace — The Animal Show | 71 |
| [VII] | Harry Gets a Camera — The State and National Buildings — The Eskimo Village — Snap-shots Out of Doors — A Passing Glance at Horticultural Hall — Doing their Best | 85 |
| [VIII] | What People Said — The Children’s Building — The Woman’s Building — The Poor Boys’ Expensive Lunch — The Life-saving Drill | 99 |
| [IX] | The Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building — A Rainy Day — A Systematic Start — “Irish Day” — Harry Strikes — Some Minor Exhibits — The Few Things They Saw — The Elevator to the Roof | 113 |
| [X] | Philip at the Art Galleries — The Usual Discouragement — Walking Home — The “Santa Maria” under Sail | 127 |
| [XI] | Going after Letters — The Agricultural Building — Machinery Hall — Lunch at the Hotel — Harry’s Proposal — Buffalo Bill’s Great Show | 141 |
| [XII] | The Tally-ho — How it Dashed Along — The Parks Along the Lake — Chicago — The Auditorium and Other Sky-dwellers — The Whaleback | 155 |
| [XIII] | Philip’s Day — Visits the Photographic Dark-room — The Fisheries Building — The Aquaria — Fishing Methods — The Government Building — The Japanese Tea-house | 171 |
| [XIV] | The Convent of La Rábida — Old Books and Charts — Paintings — A Fortunate Glimpse of the “Santa Maria” — Portraits of Columbus — The Cliff-Dwellers — Cheap Souvenirs — World’s Fairs in General | 187 |
| [XV] | The Electricity Building — Small Beginnings — A New Souvenir — The Curious Exhibits — Telephones and Colored Lights — The Telautograph — Telegraphy — Mines and Mining — A Puzzled Guard | 197 |
| [XVI] | The “Golden Doorway” — Transportation Building — An Endless Array — Bicycles, Boats, and Bullock-wagons — The Annex — The Railroad Exhibits | 209 |
| [XVII] | A Rainy Day — The Plaisance Again — The Glass-works — The German Village — The Irish Village — Farewell to the Phantom City | 221 |
| [XVIII] | Packing for Home — A Glimpse of Niagara — Philip Tells His Adventure — Foiling a Clever Swindler — A Convincing Exposure | 231 |
| [XIX] | Mr. Douglass has a Remarkable Experience | 239 |
PORTION OF FRIEZE, HORTICULTURAL HALL.
PEDIMENT OF WOMAN’S BUILDING.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VIEW FROM THE FERRIS WHEEL.
THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.
HARRY AND PHILIP AT THE FAIR
CHAPTER I
Started by Cable — The Journey by Sleeper — Arrival in Chicago — Finding Rooms — The Fair at Last!
HERE ARE THE
TICKETS.
“MR. DOUGLASS wants to see you, Master Harry,” said the maid, coming to the door of the boys’ room.
“What’s he found out now, I wonder?” said Harry to Philip, in a low tone. “I don’t remember anything I have done lately.”
“He’s in a hurry, too,” said the girl, closing the door.
Harry ran down to Mr. Douglass’s room on the first floor. The two boys were beginning their preparation for college, and were living in a suburb of New York city with their tutor, Mr. Douglass, a college graduate, and a man of about thirty-five. Harry’s father, Mr. Blake, was abroad on railroad business, and did not expect to return for some months. Philip was Harry’s cousin, but the two boys were very unlike in disposition—as will be seen. Their bringing up may have been responsible for some of the differences in traits and character, for Harry was a city boy, while his cousin was country-bred.
When Harry knocked at the door of Mr. Douglass’s study, he knew by the tutor’s tone in inviting him in that the teacher had not called him simply for a trivial reprimand. It was certainly something serious; perhaps news from Harry’s father and mother.
“Sit down, Harry,” said the tutor,—“and don’t be worried,” he added, seeing how solemn the boy looked. “I have had a message by cable from your father; but it’s good news, not bad. Read it.”
He handed Harry the despatch. It read:
Take Hal and Phil to Fair. My expense. Letter to Chicago. See Farwell about money and tickets.
“Rather sudden, isn’t it?” said Mr. Douglass, smiling.
THE FOUNDATION OF THE MANUFACTURES
“Yes,” said Harry, “but—immense! Don’t you think so?”
“I’m glad to go,” the tutor said. “It seems to me that a visit to the Fair is worth more than all the studying here you boys could do in twice the time you’ll spend there; and it’s a lucky opportunity for me.”
“Then you’ll go?” said Harry, to whom the news seemed a bit of fairy story come true, with the Atlantic cable for a magic wand.
“Of course,” answered the tutor. “The only thing that surprises me is the quickness of your father’s decision.”
“That’s just like him,” said Harry. “He’s a railroad man, you know, and they always go at high pressure. Why, he’d rather talk by telephone, even when he can’t get anything but a buzz and a squeak on the wire, than send a messenger who’d get there in half the time.”
“But has he said anything about sending you before?”
“No. The fact is, people abroad are slow to know what a whacker this Fair is! They think it’s a mere foreign exposition. Father’s just found out that Uncle Sam has covered himself with glory, and now he wants Phil and me to see the bird from beak to claws—the whole American Eagle.”
“But sha’n’t we have trouble about tickets?” asked Mr. Douglass.
“No,” said Harry. “Father’s a railroad man. That’s what ‘See Farwell’ means. You let me go to see him. He’s the general manager, or some high-cockalorum. He’ll see us through by daylight.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Douglass, “I’m just as glad to go as you are. Philip and I will attend to the packing, and you shall go to New York this afternoon and see Mr. Farwell. Now you can tell Philip about it.”
AND LIBERAL ARTS BUILDING.
Harry ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him, but Mr. Douglass only laughed. Perhaps he would have slammed it, too, if he’d been in the boy’s place.
“Well?” said Philip, looking up from the Xenophon he was translating.
“Thanks be to Christopher Columbus!” said Harry, with a jig-step.
“Has he done anything new?” Philip asked, looking over his spectacles.
“I guess not,” said Harry, “but we’re going to the Fair.”
“How can we?” Philip asked.
Harry threw the cable despatch down upon the table, and turned to get his hat. Philip read the telegram, carefully wiped his glasses, rose, put the Xenophon into its place upon his book-shelves, and said:
“Xenophon will have to attend to his own parasangs for a while.”
“You pack up for me, and I’ll see to the railroad-tickets,” said Harry. “I have just about time to catch the train for New York.”
That was a hard and busy day for all three of the party. Perhaps Harry’s share was the easiest, for, by showing his father’s despatch to Mr. Farwell, he had everything made easy for him. Still, even influence might not have secured them places except for the aid of chance. It happened that a prominent man had, at the last moment, to give up a section in the Wagner sleeper, and this was turned over to Harry. So, late in the afternoon the boy came back with what he called “three gilt-edged accordion-pleated tickets.”
Meanwhile Mr. Douglass and Philip had put into three traveling-bags as much as six would hold, and the party went to bed early to get a good rest before the long journey.
A WILDERNESS OF IRON.—BUILDING MACHINERY HALL.
Next day at nearly half-past four the three travelers walked through the passageway at the Grand Central Depot, had their tickets punched,—and Philip noticed that the man at the gate kept tally on a printed list of the numbers of different tickets presented,—and entered the mahogany and blue-plush Wagner cars.
In a few minutes some one said quietly: “All right,” and the train gently moved out.
“I can remember,” said Mr. Douglass, “when a train started with a shock like a Japanese earthquake. Now this seemed to glide out as if saying, ‘Oh, by the way, I think I’ll go to Chicago!’”
Harry laughed. “Yes,” he said, “and how little fuss there is about it. Why, abroad, I remember that they had first a bell, then a yell, then a scream, then the steam!”
As the train passed through the long tunnel just after leaving the station, Mr. Douglass remarked:
“How monotonous those dark arches of brickwork are!”
“Yes,” said Philip, “they should have a set of frescos put in them.”
“But no one could see the pictures,” said Mr. Douglass, “we pass them so fast.”
“That’s true,” said Harry, with a pretended sigh; “but they might have to be instantaneous photographs.”
Philip looked puzzled for a minute and then laughed. After they left the tunnel, they passed through the suburbs of New York, entered a narrow cut that turned westward, and were soon sailing along the Hudson River—or so it seemed. There was no shore visible beside them, except for an occasional tumble-down dock, and beyond lay the river—a soft, gray expanse relieved against the Palisades, and later against more distant purple hills. It was a rest for their eyes to see only an occasional sloop breaking the long stretch of water, and the noise of the train was lessened because there was nothing to echo back the sounds from the river.
Mr. Douglass found his pleasure in the scenery, the widenings of the river, the soft outlines of the hills, the long reflection of the setting sun. But the boys cared more to see the passengers.
“Isn’t it funny,” said Philip, “how Americans take things as a matter of course? I really believe that if the train was a sort of Jules Verne unlimited express for the planet Mars, the people would all look placid and read the evening papers.”
“Of course,” said Harry. “What else can they do? Would you expect me to go forward and say: ‘Dear Mr. Engineer, but do you really think you know what all these brass and steel things are? Don’t you feel scared? Won’t you lie down awhile on the coal, while I run the engine for you?’”
“Nonsense!” said Philip, laughing. “But they might show some interest.”
“They do,” said Harry; “but that’s not what I’m thinking of. I’m thinking I’ll be a civil engineer.”
“Why?” said Philip.
“Just think,” Harry answered, pointing from the car window, “what a good time they must have had laying out this road! Why, it was just a camping-out frolic, that’s all it was.”
ONE OF THE DECORATORS AT WORK.
“Didn’t you hear the waiter say dinner was ready?” said Mr. Douglass.
“No,” said Philip; “but I knew it ought to be, if they care for the feelings of their passengers. Where is the dining-car?”
“At the end of the train,” said Mr. Douglass. “Come, we’ll walk through.”
So, in single file (“like cannibals on the trail of a missionary,” Harry said), they passed from car to car. The cars were connected by vestibules—collapsible passageways, folding like an accordion—and it was not necessary to go outside at all. The train was an unbroken hallway.
“It is much like a long, narrow New York flat,” said Philip. “People who live in flats must feel perfectly at home when they travel in these cars.”
They found the dining-car very pretty and comfortable. Along one side were tables where two could sit, face to face. On the opposite side of the aisle the tables accommodated four. The boys and their tutor took one of the larger tables. The bill of fare was that of a well-appointed hotel or restaurant,—soup, fish, entrées, joint, and dessert,—and it was difficult to realize that they were eating while covering many miles an hour; in fact, the only circumstance that was a reminder of the journeying was a slight rim around the edge of the table to keep the dishes from traveling too.
MAKING “STAFF.”
“It is strange,” said Mr. Douglass, “how people have learned to eat dishes in a certain order, such as you see on a bill of fare. Probably this order of eating is the result of tens of millions of experiments, and therefore the best way.”
THE “COURT OF HONOR” AS IT LOOKED IN JUNE, 1892.
“The best for us,” said Philip; “but how about the Chinese?”
Mr. Douglass had to confess himself the objection well taken.
“I believe the Chinese were created to be the exceptions to all rules,” he said.
The dining-car had an easy, swaying motion that was very pleasant, and altogether the dinner was a most welcome change from the ordinary routine of a railway journey.
As the boys walked back to their own section, Philip noticed a little clock set into the woodwork at one end of the smoking-car. He was surprised to see that it had two hour-hands, one red and one black.
He pointed it out to Mr. Douglass, who told him that the clock indicated both New York and Chicago times—which differ by an hour, one following what is called “Eastern,” the other “Central” time.
By the time they were again settled in their places it was dark outside; and, as Philip poetically said, they seemed to be “boring a hole through a big dark.” One of the colored porters looked curiously at Philip, as if he had overheard this remark without understanding its poetical bearing.
“He thinks you are a Western desperado!” said Harry, with a grin.
“Boys,” said Mr. Douglass, “the porters will soon make up the beds, and I want you to see how ingeniously everything is arranged.”
Here is what the porter did:
He stood straddling on two seats, turned a handle in the top of a panel, and pulled down the upper berth. It moved on hinges, and was supported after the manner of a book-shelf by two chains that ran on spring pulleys.
Then he fastened two strong wire ropes from the upper to the lower berths.
“What’s that for?” asked Harry.
“To prevent passengers from being smashed flat by the shutting up of the berth,” Philip answered, after a moment’s puzzling over the question.
“You can have the upper berth, Philip,” said Harry, impressively. “It’s better ventilated than the lower, they say; but I don’t mind that.”
Meanwhile the porter took from the upper berth two pieces of mahogany, cut to almost fill the space between the tops of the seats and the side roofs of the car. The edges were grooved, and slid along upon and closely fitted the top of the seat and a molding on the roof. These side-pieces were next fastened by a brass bolt pushed up from the end of the seat-back.
Then the bed-clothing (kept by day in the lower seats and behind the upper panel) was spread on the upper berth, and the mattress of the lower berth was made up from the seat-cushions, supported upon short slats set from seat to seat.
While the beds were being made, the boys were amused to see some ladies laughing at the man’s method of getting the clothes and pillows into place. A woman seems to coax the bed into shape, but a man bullies it into submission.
“They think it’s funny to see him make a bed,” said Harry, in an undertone; “but if they were to try to throw a stone, or bait a fish-hook, I guess the darky would have a right to smile some too.”
To finish his work, the porter hung a thick pair of curtains on hooks along a horizontal pole, and then affixed a long plush strip to which were fastened large gilt figures four inches high—the number of the section.
“It would be fun to change the numbers around,” remarked Harry, pensively. “Then nobody would know who he was when he got up. But perhaps it would make a boy unpopular if he was caught at it.”
“YO’ SECTION
READY, SAH!”
Mr. Douglass admitted that it might.
As the porter made up their own section, Harry pulled out his sketch-book and made a little picture of him.
“It’s hard times on the railroad now,” he remarked, as he finished the sketch. “See how short they have to make the porters’ jackets! But it must save starch!”
The boys had wondered how the people would get to bed, but there seemed no difficulty about it. As for our boys, who had the upper berth, one by one they took off their shoes, coats and vests, etc., and then climbed behind the curtains, where they put their pajamas over their underclothes.
After they were in bed, they talked but little, for they were tired.
“This rocking makes me drowsy,” Philip said; “it’s like a cradle.”
“Yes,” Harry answered, as the car lurched a little—“a cradle rocked by a mother with the St. Vitus’s dance!”
While going to sleep, the boys were puzzled to account for the strange noises made by the train. At times it seemed to have run over a china-shop, and at other times the train rumbled hoarsely, as if it were running over the top of an enormous bass-drum.
Soon the great train was transporting two boys who were fast asleep in Section No. 12; they woke fitfully during the night, but only vaguely remembered where they were, until the cold light of morning was reflected from the top of the car.
Dressing was more difficult than going to bed, but by a combination of patience and gymnastics Harry and Philip were soon able to take places in the line that led to the wash-room. Thence, later, they came forth ready for breakfast (for which they had to “line up” again), and another all-day ride.
THE OPENING OF THE FAIR, MAY 1, 1893.—THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES SPEAKING.
At breakfast, the next table to them was occupied by a gentleman named Phinney, and his son. Harry knew the son slightly, having once been his schoolmate. Young Phinney was making a second visit to the Fair, and he told Harry that on the former trip the train had run around Niagara Falls in such a way as to give the passengers an opportunity to view them.
GROUND PLAN OF THE WORLD’S FAIR GROUNDS.
Live-Stock Exhibit Building.
Railway Approach.
Galleries of Fine Art.
Machinery Hall, 17 1-2 Acres.
Administration Building.
Illinois State Building.
Assembly Hall and Annex to Agricultural Building.
Fountain.
Transportation Exhibit, 18 2-3 Acres.
Horticultural Hall, 6 1-2 Acres.
Villages of all Nations.
Women’s Building.
State Buildings and Buildings of Foreign Governments.
63 Acres reserved for Live-Stock Exhibit.
Hall of Mines and Mining, 8 3-4 Acres.
Forestry Building, 2 1-2 Acres.
Electrical Building, 9 3-4 Acres.
United States Government Building.
Dairy Building, 3-4 Acre.
Sawmills.
Agricultural Building, 15 Acres.
Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building, 44 Acres.
Casino and Pier.
Fisheries Building and Deep-Sea Aquaria, 3 Acres.
U. S. Naval Exhibit.
The train had stopped there for five minutes, and they had climbed down near the rapids to a point where there was an excellent view of “the great cataract”—so young Phinney called it. He gave the boys some pictures showing the falls, and indeed there was a picture of the falls upon the side of the breakfast bill of fare.
During the forenoon the train was passing through Canada—the boys’ impression of that country being a succession of flat fields, ragged woods, sheep, swine, and a few pretty, long-tailed ponies grazing upon browning turf. Philip said that it was like “the Adirondacks spread flat by a giantess’s rolling-pin.”
At Windsor the train, separated into sections, was run upon a ferry-boat (upon which one small room was marked “U. S. Customs”) and carried over to Detroit. Here Mr. Douglass made the boys laugh by suddenly jumping back from the window. He had been startled by a large round brush that was poked against the window from outside to dust it.
From Detroit the train ran through Michigan—mainly through a flat country of rich farming land. Philip, who had never been West, was much surprised at the uninterrupted stretches of level ground. Mr. Douglass asked him what he thought of the region. Philip adjusted his glasses and replied slowly: “Well, it’s fine for the farmers, but it is no place for speaking William Tell’s piece about ‘Ye crags and peaks, I’m with you once again!’”
“You must not forget, though,” said Mr. Douglass, “that it is the rich farming lands that really underlie America’s prosperity. When you see the Fair, you will understand better what a rich nation we are; but without our great wheat-lands we should, like England, be dependent upon commerce for our very existence.”
The boys were much less talkative as the train neared Chicago. They were somewhat tired, and were also thinking of the amount of walking and sight-seeing that was before them.
All at once, at about half-past five, New York time (for the travelers had not yet changed their watches to an hour earlier), Mr. Douglass pointed out of the right-hand forward window. Both boys looked. There, in the distance, rose above the city houses a gilded dome, and from the opposite car-window they saw just afterward a spider-web structure.
“I know it!” Philip sang out; “that’s the Administration Building. But what is the other?”
“The Ferris Wheel,” answered Harry.
“Yes,” said the tutor, “we are going to leave the car not far from the Plaisance gate.”
“Sixtieth street next!” cried the brakeman.
“Come, we get out here. It’s nearest the grounds, and I have been told it is wise to lodge as near as possible.”
When the cars stopped, the party descended upon a platform with “rails to the right of them, rails to the left of them,” and trains and crowds in all directions. Mr. Douglass led the way out into the huddled settlement of apartment-houses, hotels, and lodgings that has sprung into existence around Jackson Park, the Fair Grounds.
Then began their search for rooms. At first it seemed discouraging; neatness outside was not always a sign of what to expect inside. They labored up-stairs and down again several times. At one attractive private house they entered, expecting quiet, homelike rooms. In the tiny parlor they found five cots set “cheek by jowl” as close as they could be jammed. They smiled at this, but found the rest of the rooms as fully utilized. Mr. Douglass made some objection, and was told by the self-possessed landlady that “some very fine gentlemen thought her fifty-cent beds were very elegant.” At another house they were passing, a boy who couldn’t have been over five years old rushed out like a little Indian on the warpath, crying, “Hi! You lookin’ fer rooms?” Amused at the little fellow’s enterprise, our travelers followed him, the boy going forward on his sturdy little legs, and crying, “Hi, there, Mama! Here’s roomers! I got you some roomers!”
“HI, THERE, MAMA!
HERE’S ROOMERS!”
But unfortunately the boy proved more attractive than the rooms. After a long walk, but without going far from the Fair Grounds, they took rooms at a very good hotel. The price was high, perhaps, but reasonable considering the advantages and the demand for lodgings. They took two rooms, one with a double bed for the boys, the other a single room for the tutor.
Gladly they dropped the satchels that had made their muscles ache, and after leaving the keys of their rooms with the hotel clerk, they set forth for their first visit to the Fair. In order that guests should not forget to leave their keys, each was inserted at right angles into a nickel-plated strip of metal far too long to go comfortably into the pocket even of an absent-minded German professor.
“One advantage of being in a hotel,” said Mr. Douglass, as they walked toward the entrance of the grounds, “is the fact that on rainy, disagreeable days we can get meals there if we choose. It is not always pleasant to have to hunt breakfast through the rain. But usually we shall dine where we happen to be in the grounds; there are restaurants of all sorts near the exhibits, from a lunch-counter up.”
Along the sidewalk that led from their hotel to the entrance were dining-rooms, street-peddlers’ counters, peddlers with trays—all meant as inducements to leave money in the great Western metropolis. One thing the boys found very amusing was an Italian bootblack’s stand surrounded on three sides by a blue mosquito-netting.
“If it had been on all sides,” said Harry, “I could have understood it, because it might be a fly-discourager. But now I think it must be only a way of attracting attention.”
They had arrived, luckily, on a “fête night.” Though tired and hungry, they all agreed that it would never do not to take advantage of so excellent a chance to secure a favorable first impression. So they bought tickets at a little wooden booth, and, entering a turnstile one by one, were at last in the great White City.
HERE WE ARE!
ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.
CHAPTER II
The Fête Night — Rainbow Fountains — The Search-lights — On the Lake — The Fireworks — Passing a Wreck — Diving in the Grand Basin.
“Well,” remarked Harry, as the wicket turned and let him into the grounds, “if any one wishes to take down what I said on entering the grounds, he can write down these thrilling words: ‘Here we are at last!’”
“We won’t try to do more than get a general idea of things to-night,” said Mr. Douglass. “We shall find claims upon our eyesight at every step. But what a crowd!”
The crowd was certainly enormous. At first most of the people seemed to be coming out, but this idea was a mistake. It came from the fact that those going the same way as our party attracted their attention less than those whom they met and had to pass.
A TICKET OF ADMISSION.
They walked between the Pennsylvania Railroad exhibit and the Transportation Building, and entered the Administration Building, which seemed the natural gateway to the Court of Honor and its Basin—always the central point of interest. The paving seemed to be a composition not unlike the “staff” that furnished the material for the great buildings, the balustrades, the statues, and the fountains. It was just at dusk, and the light was soft and pleasant to the eyes. Once in the Administration Building, all our sight-seers threw back their heads and gazed up within the dim and distant dome enriched by its beautiful frescos.
INTERIOR OF THE DOME OF THE
ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.
“I have heard,” said the tutor, who felt bound to serve as guide so far as his experience would warrant, “that people are unable to understand the vastness of St. Peter’s dome at Rome. This dome is even higher, and so I feel sure that, large as it seems to us, our ideas of it fall far below the reality. However, we shall see this many times. Let us go on through, and see the Court of Honor.”
Leaving by the east portal, the three came out upon the broad plaza that fronts the basin. By this time the sky was a deep, dark blue, and every outline of the superb group of buildings was sharply relieved.
For a while the three stood silent. There was nothing to say; but each of them felt that the work of men’s hands—of the human imagination—had never come so near to rivaling Nature’s inimitable glories. The full moon stood high above the buildings at their right, but even her serenity could not make the great White City seem petty.
The boys knew no words to express what they felt. They only knew that in their lives they had never been so impressed except when gazing upon a glorious sunset, an awe-inspiring thunderstorm, or the unmeasured expanse of the ocean.
Philip was the first to speak.
“Must it be taken down? Why couldn’t they leave it? It is—unearthly!”
“Boys,” said Mr. Douglass, “I don’t preach to you often, and certainly there is no need of it now. But, at one time or another, each of us has tried to imagine what Heaven could be like. When we see this,” and he looked reverently about him, “and remember that this is man’s work, we can see how incapable we are of rising to a conception of what Heaven might be.”
A GROUP OF STATUARY ON THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING, “THE GLORIFICATION OF WAR.”
But their rhapsodies could not last long in such a pushing and thronging time. People brushed against them, talking and laughing; the rolling-chairs zigzagged in and out, finding passageway where none appeared; distant bands were playing, and all about them was the living murmur of humanity. Groups were sitting upon every available space: tired mothers with children, young men chatting, and serious-faced country people plodded silently along amid their gayer neighbors.
THE GREAT FOUNTAIN, “THE TRIUMPH OF THE REPUBLIC.”
Designed and modeled by Frederick MacMonnies. This picture drawn by Mrs. MacMonnies.
For a time the three wandered almost without purpose; then, reaching the further end of the Basin, they looked back at the superb MacMonnies Fountain—the galley that bore the proudly poised figure of Progress.
Opposite, and facing the fountain, rose the massive but perhaps less expressive statue of the Republic. Though the boys were speechless with admiration, delight, and wonder, they found—as others have done—that fine sights do not satisfy the appetite any better than fine words butter parsnips. So Harry turned to Mr. Douglass, saying, “Mr. Douglass, don’t you hear the dinner-horn? It seems to me that I do.”
A NEARER VIEW OF THE FOUNTAIN.
“All right,” he answered; “let us go over to the Casino restaurant and have a comfortable dinner; but first suppose we stop a moment for a look into the Electricity Building. I saw by a program posted up near the entrance that it is open to-night.”
As they came nearer, they found the crowd rapidly increasing in density; and when they entered, passing the heroic statue of Franklin, they found themselves entirely at the mercy of the moving throng of people. So thick were the sight-seers packed that the boys could see little except the great Edison Pillar, and that was visible only because it rose so high in air. While they watched the pillar, incrusted with incandescent lights, different colored bulbs sprang into glowing life or faded out, showing a kaleidoscope of patterns changing continually.
“We sha’n’t get any dinner if we don’t get out now,” said Philip, who was struggling to keep his eye-glasses from being displaced.
“Come, then,” said Harry; and they turned to stem the tide. For a time they made slight progress; but, luckily, a row of wheeling-chairs came charging slowly but firmly, cutting a path by gentle persistence. Falling in behind these pioneers, they succeeded in escaping to the open air, and then made their way to the Casino. Just before reaching this great restaurant, they saw the convent of La Rábida, which appeared between the Agricultural Building and the Casino.
“See!” said Philip. “There’s the model of the convent. Do you know what it reminds me of? It is like a little gray nun sitting demurely in the corner of a grand ball-room!”
And, indeed, the unpretending little building was a distinct rest to the eye, after the proud proportions of its surroundings. As the statues spoke of the future, the convent reminded one of the past.
Entering the Casino brought them back sharply to the present, with its needs and its inconveniences. The prosaic need for dinner was the first to be thought of, and, enormous as was the restaurant, the crowd that night filled every seat, and left plenty of stragglers to stand watchfully about, eager to fill themselves and any vacant chair.
“Boys,” said the tutor, sadly, “if we stand here an hour, it will be only a piece of luck if we find a place. Where shall we go?”
“I heard a man say that there was a lunch-counter in the southeastern corner of the Manufactures, etc., etc., Building,” said Harry. “This is no time for French bills of fare and finger-bowls. Come, let’s go over there.”
No one cared to argue the question, and, keeping the lake on their right, they crossed to the largest building, and found a primitive lunch-counter on the ground floor. Boys and rough-looking men, perched on high stools, shouted out orders to “girls” from eighteen to fifty years old.
“HE’S A COW-BOY.”
After waiting a few minutes, Mr. Douglass found a seat, which the boys insisted he should take, and a little later they found two together. The man who left the seat Harry crowded into had on a wide-brimmed felt hat, the edges of which had been perforated all around in openwork.
“He’s a cow-boy,” Harry whispered in delighted tones.
Meanwhile Philip was trying to attract the attention of the very stout and independent young girl who waited upon that section of the counter. He raised his hand, but she only sneered and remarked, “I see yer!” which brought a roar of laughter from some talkative customers. Soon, however, she condescended to turn an ear in the boys’ direction, and they succeeded in ordering two sandwiches and two cups of coffee. When they had finished, Harry said, “Phil, we’ll forgive the sandwiches for the sake of the coffee!”
THE GRAND BASIN FROM A BALCONY OF THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.
After this hasty supper, Mr. Douglass told them that there were two fine displays that evening—the electric fountains and fireworks on the lake-front.
“Let us see both,” said Harry. “There’s a place for launches down by the Basin, and the man was yelling out when I came by: ‘One launch is going to stay awhile in the Basin, and then going out into the lake,’—I think he said at half-past seven.”
Philip looked at his watch. “We’re too late by half an hour,” he said impatiently.
“Why, no, Philip,” said Mr. Douglass. “Our watches show New York time. We have half an hour to spare.”
“True,” answered the boy. “You are right. I had forgotten that; and, by the way, now is a good time to reset our watches.”
So they turned the hands back an hour, and felt thankful that another sixty minutes had been added to the evening.
THE PERISTYLE, EAST END OF THE COURT OF HONOR.
“Now,” said Mr. Douglass, “I have a popular motion to present. It is moved that we cease moving, and sit down for a while.”
“Seconded and carried!” cried Harry; “and, what’s more, I see some chairs”; and he pointed to a row that were strangely vacant, while all around were occupied. The boys walked toward them. Suddenly Harry, who was ahead, came back.
“I don’t care to sit down just now,” he said; and his companions, coming nearer, saw that the chairs were put over a great break in the pavement to warn people away. They turned to walk toward the boat-landing, and just then the electric fountains in the corners of the Basin nearest the Administration Building began to play. Two foamy domes mounted upward, and were magically tinted in fairy hues, changing and interchanging, rising and retiring, twisting, whirling, and falling in violet, sea-green, pink, purple—it was a tiny convention of tamed rainbows. And, meanwhile, from lofty towers great electric sunbeams fell upon the dome of the Administration Building, and created a cameo against the sky: upon the MacMonnies Fountain, giving it a transfigured snowy loveliness: upon one beautiful group after another, bringing them to vivid life. The beams were at times full of smoke and spray, that gave a shimmering motion to their light.
THE STATUE OF “THE REPUBLIC.”
“I have been to a circus,” said Harry, “where they had four rings going at once. That was bad; but this—this makes me wish I was a spider, with eyes all over me.”
“The extra legs would not come in badly, either,” said Philip, reflectively.
“Well said!” agreed Mr. Douglass. “Let us get into the little steamer; we can rest there.”
They made their way to the landing, bought tickets, stepped aboard just as the boat moved off, and were soon gliding gently out upon the Basin.
VIEW LOOKING NORTH FROM THE DOME OF THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING—JUST BEFORE SUNSET.
After a short delay to let the passengers view the fountains a little longer, the steamer sped under a bridge, through the great arch of the Peristyle, and made out into the open lake.
To their surprise, the boys found a heavy rolling “sea” on; but as soon as the fireworks began, they forgot all else. Rockets, bombs, showers of fire, floating lights—they came so rapidly that there was a continuous gleam of colored light reflected from the waves. Their launch rounded the fireworks station, and then came to a standstill not far from the Naval exhibit, the model man-of-war “Illinois.”
Soon some of the women passengers began to object to the rolling. One Boston woman said: “This is rough; I don’t like this at all”; but her bespectacled daughter remarked, as a great bomb of rosy light scattered in a rain of fire, “Well, I think it’s the smoothest thing I ever saw!” which bit of slang from the prim little Puritan was a great delight to the boys. And as the search-light suddenly sent its beams into a lady’s face, she nodded cordially, and said, as if meeting a friend, “How do you do?” Then, turning to her own party, added, “They’ve just found me.”
“THERE WAS ROOM FOR ANOTHER
BOY INSIDE,—AND HARRY
MADE A SKETCH OF IT.”
There were many little incidents that amused Harry exceedingly. One small boy, while boarding the boat, ingeniously contrived to knock his hat overboard; it was at once recovered,—a straw hat has no chance racing a steamboat,—but, like Mr. McGinty, was exceedingly moist. So the pilot went down a dark hatchway and fished out an official cap. The boy put it on. The effect was stunning,—there was room for another boy inside,—and Harry made a sketch of it.
But these trifles were only a relief from the grandeur of the display. Philip said it was the Grandest Grand Transformation Scene imaginable. After a “set piece” had been shown, there was a bombardment of “Fort McHenry,” as they called it—a ship and fort outlined in living fire:
“The rockets’ red glare,
Bombs bursting in air,”
and all the rest of a mimic war. Then, as the fort blew up, the Stars and Stripes flamed forth—“Old Glory”—in lines of light; and, far out upon the lake as they were, the rapturous cheering of the crowds came plainly to their ears.
“Benedict Arnold would never have made that awful break of his if he could have been here to-night,” said Harry, reflectively; then, as Philip began to speak, he said, “Yes, I know he couldn’t have been. Thanks.”
A VIEW FROM THE LION FOUNTAIN.
Looking toward the Grand Basin from a point between Machinery Hall and the Agricultural Building.
Another thing that added wonderfully to the effect of the fireworks was a calliope whistle on some yacht or tug. While the people cheered, the musical director of that steam-tug whistle performed on it with a master hand. It shrieked, it cheered, it yelled, it laughed—whatever song without words could be sung by a steam-whistle was performed with variations. And, queer enough, the effect was exceedingly pleasing. It somehow seemed in accord with the whole spirit of the fête. A bold, generous Western extravagance pervaded the whole affair.
On their way back, they suddenly saw before them a long black hulk. It proved, as they passed it, to be a large yacht lying upon her side, with the masts and yards extending out far over the dark waves.
“How did that happen?” Mr. Douglass asked the pilot, pointing to the wreck.
“It was a collision, sir,” replied the pilot; but he gave no particulars.
As the man seemed busy in guiding the swift little steamer, the tutor recalled the old adage about “not talking to the man at the wheel,” and asked no further questions.
But the sights of that marvelous American Thousand and One Nights combined were not yet over. As they entered the Basin, their steamer halted to enable them to witness a diving exhibition. On a floating tower stood a man in tights, so lighted up by an electric ray as to be clearly visible from every point around. Raising his hands above his head, he fell thirty-five feet or more into the water. Just as he reached the surface, his hands came swiftly together, and he sank like a plummet. In an instant he was up again, kicking a mass of gleaming spray into the air. Several more “followed their leader.”
EVENING ON THE CANAL.
It was a thrilling sight, and, on that cold night, chilled the spectators to the marrow.
As they walked along the edge of the Basin after leaving their launch, the boys greatly admired the statues of animals and men set up near the balustrade. There was a bull, several great bears, a farmer and a draft-horse, a bison (who seemed timid and dwarfed by his surroundings), and others, nearly all modeled with a massive effect that gave them wonderful dignity.
And still the crowd surged to and fro, but now with a decided tendency toward the outlets; the lights flashed and gleamed; the bands played, while the great moon sailed overhead as if it was all a fête to Diana.
Tired as they were when they reached the hotel, the boys could not refrain from talking over some of the principal things they had seen. They did not say much about the buildings, for they knew they should see them again; but they talked of the people, the fireworks, and such queer comments as they had overheard.
“I expected,” said Philip, “that we should see a great many foreigners—Turks, Swedes, Germans, all sorts. But I didn’t. I saw two or three fellows with fezzes on, but that was about all.”
“I noticed that, too,” Harry responded. “And I didn’t hear much but English spoken. It seems to me that Uncle Sam has done most of this thing himself, and that it’s mainly his own boys that are taking it in.”
“But it’s early days yet,” said Philip, with a prodigious yawn, “to make—aw!—comparisons.”
“That looks more like late hours than early days,” Harry suggested. “Let’s turn in.”
In a few minutes their clothes were on two chairs, and their heads were sunk into adjacent pillows.
VIEW FROM THE ISLAND AT NIGHT.
CHAPTER III
The Party Separates — Harry Goes to the Battle-Ship — The Government Building — The Convent and the Caravels — The Movable Sidewalk.
Sunday proved a welcome relief after the long journey of Saturday, followed by the fête night at the Fair; and they were glad to begin the busy week that was to follow with one restful day apart from bustle and confusion.
At breakfast Monday morning, one of the dishes Mr. Douglass ordered was steak; and, as he sawed through it, he remarked:
“This is tough!”
“But I thought you didn’t approve of slang?” Harry inquired, with an air of grave interest.
“I wasn’t thinking so much of how I said it as of the fact,” Mr. Douglass replied. “But the proverb says that ‘shoemakers’ children are always the worst shod,’ and so we ought to expect poor beef in Chicago, the great beef-market of the continent; but I don’t like to waste my strength on mere beef while there is so much before us. What are your plans?”
“If you don’t mind,” said Harry, after a moment’s pause, “I’m going to ask you to let me ‘paddle my own canoe.’ It is hard for three to keep together in a crowd.”
“That’s true,” Philip agreed; “and especially when one is near-sighted. I think I tried to follow seven different wrong men yesterday.”
“Yes,” added Harry; “‘Follow my leader’ is a difficult game to play when we are all leaders and followers at the same time.”
“All right,” the tutor said. “To-day, then, we will separate. I may not go to the Fair at all, for I have several letters on my mind. Remember, we came away on very short notice. What will you do, Philip?”
“Oh, I think I shall spend a long while in the Art Galleries. It’s a good place to go to by one’s self, for two people seldom agree about pictures—especially boys.”
So, after breakfast, Harry, with a proud feeling of being his own master, set forth by himself. He had a very clear idea of what he wished to do first. He meant to go to the model of a United States man-of-war—the “Illinois.” He had read much about the White Squadron, and felt that he would never have so good an opportunity to understand just how a man-of-war was worked.
BUILDING THE BATTLE-SHIP. NOVEMBER, 1891.
He had bought a guide-book to the Fair, and found that the route of the launches would bring him quite near enough to the vessel. But in spite of his singleness of purpose, his thoughts were distracted as soon as he came near the entrance.
He noticed first the clicking of the turnstiles. They revolved so continually, as people passed in, that Harry was reminded of the sound of a watchman’s rattle. Next, he caught sight of a white-robed and turbaned Turk standing in line at the “Workmen’s Gate,” as placidly as if he were in his native Constantinople. Harry’s turn to enter at the “Pay Gate” soon came, and he made his way toward the Court of Honor. As he passed the great Liberty Bell, which was chiming musically, he read upon it the words:
A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another.
He could not help remembering what followed the ringing of the original Liberty Bell, and he hoped that this, its namesake, would bring peace rather than war—a sober reflection that he recalled later in the day.
To the tune of “Hold the fort, for I am coming,” played by a peal of musical bells,—very fittingly, he thought,—Harry began the quick journey that ended when the little launch came to a landing called “The Clambake.” When the man called out those words, Harry did not budge; but when the man added, “Here’s where yer get off,” he rose and abandoned the craft.
On the way there, Harry learned that the ducks in the Lagoon were useful as well as pretty. The pilot said that two or three ducks would do more toward keeping a pond wholesome than six or eight hard-working men.
THE BATTLE-SHIP AS IT LOOKED IN JANUARY, 1892.
He was too early to get upon the “Illinois,” and therefore turned back to see the Viking ship. It was not far away; and just in front of it were three armor-plates in which were the imprints left by the great conical shot used in testing them.
Harry had read all about the old Northmen’s vessel, and ordinarily could have spent hours in studying her mast, her one crossyard, her awning, the shields along her side—but this was a land of wonders. He looked at the boat only long enough to take a mental snap-shot that he could develop at leisure, and then walked on toward the United States Government Building, passing on his way a company of marines at drill.
But again he was diverted. He turned into the Weather Bureau, and was glad he had done so, because of the wonderful series of photographs he found on the walls. Lightning flashes in streaks and sheets, clouds in storm and wind, moonlight and snow effects, were there, but in impossible numbers. He sighed, wished that he had more leisure, and left. This time he succeeded in getting to the rifled cannon in front of the Government Building, but stopped only long enough to take a sight over one of them.
THE BATTLE-SHIP ON DECORATION DAY, MAY 30, 1893.
He tried to go regularly around the exhibits, but surrendered almost at once. The Patent Office models discouraged him; but the Geological Department!—the great transparent pictures in the windows convinced him that he couldn’t (as he once heard a man say) “poss the impossible and scrute the inscrutable.”
But he did notice some things.
He sketched the skull of the Dinoceras mirabile (and copied the name, too), because he was sure that it was the very ugliest thing in the world. He walked around a section of the big tree from California. He really studied a few life-like and life-size groups showing Indians at work, and wished sincerely that he were Methuselah, and that the Fair would last all his days. It was a petrified Wild West show. He said they were splendid, to a gray-bearded Westerner, who replied emphatically:
“They are so—and I have been used to the scoundrels all my life!”
THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT BUILDING.
Harry sketched a queer Indian “priest-clown’s” head. At first he felt a little afraid to bring out his book and pencil; but he found out that every one had more to do than watch a boy drawing, and before the day was over he drew whatever he chose, entirely forgetting the crowd.
Different things attracted different people. He heard one farmer-looking man say: “My stars, Ma! Look-a here!” and expected to see a marvel. He found only some stuffed chickens. Probably the farmer had never seen fowls stuffed unroasted.
But when he came to the War Department collection he gave up skipping. He had to see that. Just at the entrance was a splendid bust of General Sheridan, the face wearing the expression the general must have had when he said at Winchester, “Turn around, boys! We’re going back!” Against the windows were more fine transparencies, and the whole floor-space was filled with everything having to do with war and soldiers. Small arms, from a brass blunderbuss to the latest breech-loader—yes, and to the earliest, for there was one Chinese breech-loader of the 14th century.