Chapter IX: Introduction (7)

“You stick feathers all ’round your hat, and you make a fire and roast potatoes, and yell and eat the potatoes. That boy is a mighty nice feller. I told him I was stoppin’ with you and goin’ to have a dandy time. I guess he don’t know you very well. I told him I thought you was kinder hard to git acquainted with. He said we’d git our feathers out o’ his hen-yard, and I thought p’r’aps I might bring the potatoes. Do you think you could let me have two potatoes? I won’t eat quite so much next time.”

Miss Lucinda drew a long breath. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll let you have the potatoes.”

“Now that’s real nice. I told him I thought you’d be willin’.”

As soon as dinner was over Miss Lucinda brought the two potatoes from the cellar, but the boy did not go at once; he sat on a chair in the kitchen, and watched her brisk movements as she cleared the table and made ready to wash the dishes.

“Say, you’re awful smart, ain’t you?” he asked after a moment of observation, and Miss Tarbox, somewhat overwhelmed did not reply.

He placed his elbow on his round knee and his chin on his small hand and stared a few moments in silence.

“It looks awful kinder nice the way you hold up your head. Now, my aunt, she kinder slumps along. She’s a real nice woman, you know, but she don’t look’s though she had much gumption.”

Another silence.

“Say, what kin I do?” he asked next.

“Mercy on us!” ejaculated Miss Lucinda, “don’t ask me. I thought you were going to roast potatoes.”

“I thought p’r’aps you might be kinder lonesome all alone, and I’d jest as soon help you wash up. I’m useter it. I kin make beds and sweep and wash dishes and do lots o’ things. Try me and see.”

“Thank you, I can get along very well; you needn’t help,” Miss Lucinda said in grim accents of dismissal but the boy did not move.

“I s’pose you’re pretty busy,” he ventured presently.

“Well, yes, rather,” Miss Lucinda answered shortly.

“Do you usually have a real good time Fourth o’ July?” he went on.

Miss Lucinda gasped. “Well, no. I can’t say I do,” she answered in mournful truthfulness.

“Now that’s funny,” the boy said, in a surprised tone. “Seem’s though the country’d be an awful nice place to have a good time in, Fourth o’ July. Mebbe it’s ’cause you never had nobody to cel’brate with; but you will this year. You’ll have a real nice time, too; I always enjoy Fourth o’ July.”

Miss Lucinda gave a feeble sigh. “What do you usually do Fourth o’ July?” she asked, with the desire to learn her coming fate.

“Well, last year I had one bunch o’ firecrackers that got fired off the very first thing. I thought mebbe this year I’d earn ’nough money to buy two bunches; d’you think I could?”

“Well, really, I don’t know,” Miss Lucinda said.

“And last year I went to see the percession, and the crowd jammed me, and I didn’t see nothin’; but this year they’re goin’ to have a percession out here, and that feller asked me to be in it. D’you suppose I could?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Lucinda answered again.

“They’re goin’ to have reg’lar uniforms, red, white, and blue”—evidently the boy took this as half consent—“and it’s goin’ to be jest great. I s’pose it’d be a good deal o’ trouble to make me a uniform, seein’s you’re so busy?”

“A soldier suit? Dear me, yes, I should say so!” There was no doubt now in Miss Lucinda’s tones.

The boy drew a deep breath as he rose to go. “All right,” he said cheerfully, “I’ll tell the fellers; p’r’aps they’ll let me march, jest the same.”

When supper-time came and Miss Lucinda rang her bell again out the door, she saw the boy coming along the path from the barn, helping Joshua, the man-of-all-work, bring in the brimming pail of milk.

“Supper is ready,” Miss Lucinda said, and this time the boy washed his hands without special order.

“Say,” he cried, waving the roller, “Josh’s goin’ to teach me how to milk, and you won’t have to hire him any more. I kin do everything’s well as not, can’t I, Josh?” But Joshua had, fortunately, gone and did not hear this threat to usurp his position.

“Well, you do have orful good meals,” he said, sitting down opposite Miss Lucinda’s handsome, severe figure. “I’m orful hungry, but I did have the dandiest time to-day you ever heard of. The potatoes didn’t roast very well, but the fire burned like fun. My Jiminy—”

“James!” called Miss Lucinda in an awful voice.

James opened his innocent eyes and looked at her, then fell to eating with renewed vigor, and it was some time before he mustered courage to finish his recital.

But when he came out into the kitchen and watched her moving back and forth in the dusky light, Miss Lucinda somehow felt herself moved to open conversation.

“You didn’t eat so very much for supper, James.”

“No, marm,” James answered promptly. “Don’t you remember them potatoes? I was a-payin’ for ’em.”

“Mercy on us!” cried Miss Lucinda, and she went to the dining-room and brought from the table the currant pie, of which the boy, to Miss Lucinda’s amazement, had eaten only two pieces.

He ate the third generous slice she gave him, and again sat still, watching her with round, admiring eyes as she moved about.

“I think it’s about time for you to go to bed now, James,” his guardian said presently, and James rose promptly.

“Would you mind calling me Jim? It sounds kinder homesick to be called James,” he said, with sudden wistfulness engendered, even in his boyish spirit, by the shadows and the newness of the place.

“Good-night, Jim,” Miss Lucinda responded; but Jim still stood looking at her with serious eyes.

“My aunt useter kiss me good-night. You don’t exactly look like the kissin’ kind, and I ain’t neither, but—but I didn’t know, seein’ ’s you’re so good to me, but—p’r’aps”—he flushed and shifted himself from one foot to the other.

Miss Lucinda flushed, too, and looked greatly embarrassed, but hers was no stony heart to refuse so gallant a suitor; she stooped and kissed him awkwardly and flutteringly somewhere upon his forehead or hair; but when she would have felt her duty over, he suddenly seized her in an impetuous hug. He went upstairs quickly, and Miss Lucinda sat down in her little rocking-chair with hot, red cheeks, and something deeper than embarrassment brought a new light into her clear eyes.

“I think he tries hard to be a good boy,” Miss Lucinda said to the minister when he next called, “but he does a great many things that are rather startling, and now and then he says something he oughtn’t to.”

“Yes?” the minister said, in kindly interest.

“The very first day he got here, he swore at the table.” The minister looked horrified. “Of course I spoke of it right off and he hasn’t done it again. He was kind of excited about playing Indian, and I don’t suppose he really meant it; he said”—the minister reddened and looked away, and Miss Lucinda flushed—“he said ‘Jiminy.’” The minister drew out his handkerchief and coughed slightly. “But, as I say, he hasn’t said anything since, and I think I could get along very well if Fourth of July wasn’t coming so soon. But what do you think? He wants a soldier suit, and firecrackers, and all sorts of things. If only he hadn’t come till after the Fourth! I never did approve of it. I always did think it was a heathenish holiday,” and Miss Lucinda broke off feelingly.

After the minister had gone Miss Lucinda started to go to the village store. Jim usually did the errands, but this was something that had been overlooked, and he was at play, out of calling distance.

On Miss Lucinda’s return, as she came through the lane by a shorter road, she heard voices in the field beyond; the speakers were hidden by a hedge, but she recognized the tones as Jim’s and his playfellow’s across the street.

“Say, can’t you march?” said a wheedling voice.

“No, I guess not,” Jim’s voice answered, a trifle dolefully.

“Why not? Won’t she make you a suit?”

There was a little pause before Jim answered: “Well, I don’t know’s I care ’bout marchin’.”

“H’m! you needn’t say that. It’s cause that stingy old maid won’t make you anything to wear, I know.”

There was a sudden movement on the other side of the hedge. “You call her a stingy old maid again and you’ll see! She’s a handsome lady, she is, and it ain’t none o’ your business if I don’t want to march.”

“H’m! you needn’t git on your ear so dreadful quick. I wouldn’t stand up for anybody that only let me earn money enough to buy two bunches of firecrackers. Why, I’ve got two packages! A great Fourth o’ July you’ll have!”

“I’ve got some more money, but I ain’t goin’ to buy firecrackers; I’m savin’ it for a s’prise. Say, look-a-here, you see, Miss Tibbox ain’t never had a boy ’round, an’ she don’t understand ’bout Fourth o’ July, that’s all.”

Miss Lucinda did not wait to hear the answer, but went swiftly back to the village.

The night before the Fourth, as Jim was going to bed, Miss Lucinda said: “Ain’t you going to march with the boys to-morrow, Jim?”

Jim shook his head and looked at her solemnly. “I ain’t got no suit. The fellers won’t let you march without one. Never mind, I’ve given up lots of things. My aunt wa’nt much of a hand for doin’ things, you know.”

Jim had never asked Miss Lucinda to kiss him good-night since that first time, when he felt so markedly homesick, and certainly she would never have offered to kiss him, so she merely said, as he took his light to go upstairs, “Good-night, Jim.”

But she sat down in her rocking-chair, quite near the dining-room door, with an expectant listening expression on her face. Suddenly there arose a great commotion above, and Jim came tumbling down the stairs with wild shrieks of delight.

“Oh, my gracious! oh, my gracious!” he cried. “Look-a-here, did you do it? Ain’t they butes? I kin march now, can’t I? Oh, my Jimi—my gracious, my gracious!” And he danced about the room, first on one foot and then on the other, waving in one hand a wonderful pair of red, white, and blue trousers, in the other a similarly gorgeous jacket.

Miss Lucinda was really frightened; she was not used to such demonstrations of joy. But Jim stopped his dancing presently, and, throwing his cherished outfit on the floor, he embraced her rapturously, until she gravely extricated herself.

“I’m glad you like it, Jim,” she said a little stiffly.

“Like it!” Jim shrieked, throwing himself about in another wild pantomime. “Like it! Oh, my gracious, I’m ’fraid I shall bust!”

“I think you had better go to bed now,” Miss Lucinda said, after a pause.

Jim gathered up his suit and looked at her anxiously. “Should you mind if I was to git up dreadful early, if I didn’t wake you up?” he asked.

And Miss Lucinda, to her own amazement, found herself replying: “Well, no; but don’t get up too early.”

And after Jim was asleep, and it was time for her to retire, she went softly into his room to lay two packages of firecrackers on the chair beside the gay garments.

Poor Miss Lucinda hid her head under the bed-clothes during the night, and when there came an extra loud explosion thought of Jim. But at breakfast-time he turned up safe and smiling.

“I never had sech a good time in all my life before. Say, Miss Tibbox, did you mean all those firecrackers for me? Well, if you ain’t the nicest woman in the world! I’ve got a s’prise for you, too. Just you wait and see!” and he nodded mysteriously across the table at Miss Lucinda, who felt a vague misgiving.

“Why didn’t you wear your soldier suit?” she asked.

Jim beamed upon her. “Why, I’m a-savin’ it. We don’t march till ten o’clock. You don’t know how much nicer it is to be in a percession than jest to look at it. I wish you could march, too,” he added politely. “But you’ll come out on the piazza and watch us go by, won’t you?”

And Miss Lucinda promised to be on the spot.

If Jim had never passed another such day, it was as wholly unprecedented in Miss Lucinda Tarbox’s calendar. Jim marched by the house as proud as a peacock in his new soldier suit, and raised a cheer to Miss Lucinda so loud and hearty that she retired blushing into the house. Then after dinner there was nothing for Miss Lucinda but to come out on the piazza and watch Jim fire off some of his crackers; and there the poor lady sat cringing and shrinking and trying to smile each time Jim would shout, “That’s the loudest of all!”

But the climax of the day was reached when Jim brought the minister home to supper. How it happened that the minister appeared upon the scene at tea-time, Miss Lucinda could not understand; but when he arrived, and Jim whispered in a loud aside, “I thought p’r’aps he might stay to supper,” there was no alternative but a cordial invitation, which the minister accepted promptly. Miss Lucinda likewise never knew the remarks with which Jim escorted the minister to the house. “She’s the very nicest woman in the world,” he told the minister, “and I think she thinks you’re a pretty nice sort of a chap.” The minister never repeated these compliments of Jim’s to Miss Lucinda.

After tea, Jim’s secret was revealed; he had invested the larger part of his small earnings in fireworks, which he was quite sure Miss Lucinda would enjoy, and he had invited the minister to supper that he might help him set them off. So Miss Lucinda came out on the porch in the darkness, and the minister and Jim paraded about in the neat little garden in front, and proceeded to diminish Jim’s purchases. Presently the minister came up on the piazza and sat down beside Miss Lucinda, for the remaining fireworks could easily be disposed of by Jim. But just as the minister was considering whether the time was propitious for an advancement of his own interests, there came a sudden sharp cry from Miss Lucinda, and he turned to see a line of flame running about the paper belt of the gallant little showman. The minister was quick in his movements, and was down the path and had Jim in his arms and the fire smothered in a few moments, while Miss Lucinda was by his side, sobbing and bending over Jim’s little form.

“Oh, let me see him,” she cried; “the dear child! Is he hurt very badly?”

Jim wriggled a little in the minister’s arms, and opening his eyes, smiled on her. “Now don’t you worry,” he said cheerily, “I ain’t hurt.”

“But I’m ’fraid I’ve spoilt my suit,” he added when the minister had placed him on the lounge in Miss Lucinda’s little sitting-room.

“Oh, never mind the suit!” Miss Lucinda cried, and Jim looked up at her in reproachful surprise.

But it was quite true that he was not hurt, though rather weak from the fright, and presently he came out again, between the minister and Miss Lucinda, to sit on the piazza and watch the neighbors’ fireworks.

Jim, on the little stool at Miss Lucinda’s feet, leaned his head against her knee. “I don’t care, it’s been a fine Fourth o’ July,” he murmured.

“So it has,” echoed the minister; “don’t you think so, Lucinda?” But Miss Lucinda’s only answer was a blush and a consenting silence.

“Do you mind now if I call you aunt?” Jim’s voice asked.

Miss Lucinda laid her hand gently on Jim’s head. “No, dear,” she said softly; “no.”

“You might call me uncle,” suggested the minister.

Jim nodded brightly. “All right,” he said promptly; “then we’ll be a reg’lar family.”

And the new uncle and aunt smiled in the darkness.

VIII

THE NEW FOURTH

OUR BARBAROUS FOURTH

BY MRS. ISAAC L. RICE

(From _The Century Magazine_, June, 1908.)

In his first book, Marcus Aurelius gratefully acknowledges his obligation to Sextus of Chæronea for having taught him to “express approbation without noisy display.” Alas! in all the centuries which have elapsed since the time of this emperor-philosopher, we have not yet learned to appreciate the wisdom of his counsel; and every holiday, in our country, at least, is made the occasion of a strident outburst of hoodlumism. Hallowe’en, Election Day, Christmas, New Year’s, Inauguration Day, and Fourth of July, each witnesses our thoroughfares thronged with shouting and disorderly crowds, provided with every noisy device from the tin trumpet to the dangerous pistol, while shrieks of whistles shrill maddeningly above the street clamor and the booming of bells. Accidents occur, the sick are made worse by these frenzied demonstrations, and the young fail to appreciate the significance of the day which is being so unbeautifully celebrated.

Of all these “noise-fests,” the most shocking is the Fourth of July, and its grim statistics probably furnish a sadder commentary on human folly than that afforded by any other celebration in the world.

I often wonder what would be the emotions of a stranger, quite ignorant of our institutions, if he arrived in our country—“God’s Country,” as we affectionately call it—just before midsummer, and glanced over our great newspapers. After reading some items, such as the following, would he be apt to await a great and glorious anniversary, or the advent of a day of strife and terror?

The horrible Fourth will soon be here.... In all the big cities
the Fourth of July is now looked forward to with apprehension
and looked back upon with a shudder, and even with horror.

Or,

The Board of Health has established supply stations of tetanus
antitoxin throughout the city. The National Volunteer Emergency
Service has established field dressing stations in the thickly
populated sections. The hospitals also expect their usual busy
day.

And then he would read head-lines like these:

THE NATIONAL BATTLE-FIELD
CARNAGE BEGINS ON HOLIDAY EVE
BLOODIEST FOURTH YET
DEATHS AND INJURIES IN FOURTH OF JULY’S WAKE

After our stranger had grasped the fact that this was not the record of a battle or other public calamity, but merely some details regarding the manner in which a great nation commemorates the most solemn event in its history, I doubt whether he would have an exalted opinion of a people who could desecrate so noble a memory by so barbarous an observance.

The fitting celebration of Independence Day is a question on which patriotic Americans are separated into two widely divergent parties, one claiming that it ought to be observed as noisily as possible, the other believing that our national birthday is too glorious an occasion to be marred by din and disorder. Of course we know that even among those who favor a boisterous observance there are many who cannot tolerate it themselves, and escape to the country in order to avoid the tortures of the “awful Fourth”; just as we know that a large proportion of the noise-makers, including the small boy and the big boy, too, is heedless, if not ignorant, of all that our holiday stands for, and thinks of it only as a time when clamor may reign unrestrained.[17]

The figures which indicate the price that we pay for each of our yearly celebrations are so appalling that one would suppose a knowledge of them would be the most powerful deterrent to our annual massacre. This, unfortunately, is not the case. For the past five years, the _Journal of the American Medical Association_ has endeavored to collect statistics setting forth what the celebration of the Fourth costs in life and human usefulness; and although these are admittedly incomplete,—compiled, as they are, almost entirely from newspaper reports instead of from records of hospitals, dispensaries, and physicians,—they form the gravest possible arraignment of the recklessness which is willing to pay such a price for a “jolly day.” They show that during the celebration of five national birthdays, from 1903 to 1907 inclusive, eleven hundred and fifty-three persons were killed, and twenty-one thousand five hundred and twenty were injured! Of the injured, eighty-eight suffered total, and three hundred and eighty-nine partial, blindness; three hundred and eight persons lost arms, legs, or hands, and one thousand and sixty-seven lost one or more fingers. But these figures, startling as they are, convey only a faint idea of the suffering, both physical and mental, which went to swell the total cost of these five holidays; in this we must also include the weeks and often months of anguish of the injured, the suspense of entire families while the fate of some loved one hung in the balance, the horror of a future of sightless years, the pinching poverty now the lot of many because of the death or maiming of the breadwinner.

But putting aside the question of fatalities, of invalidism, of blindness, of penury, the effect on the sick of a long continuance of explosive noises, varying in intensity for days, or even weeks, and deafening for twenty-four hours at least, merits serious consideration. That the return of our “glorious Fourth” is looked forward to with dread by our hospital-sick, as well as by those who are concerned in their care, was made pathetically clear to me last summer when I interviewed the superintendents of almost all our municipal institutions. One and all deplored the needless suffering inflicted on their patients by our barbarous manner of celebration, and begged me to bring the matter to the attention of the Police Department.[18]

In this connection, a letter from Dr. Thomas Darlington, Commissioner of Health, is of interest:

I agree entirely with you in regard to the serious injury
inflicted upon patients in the hospitals occasioned by the
common practice of exploding firecrackers and torpedoes in the
immediate vicinity.

Professor William Hanna Thomson took the same stand when he stated:

I rejoice to hear that your Society for the Suppression of
Unnecessary Noise proposes to have measures taken to lessen the
explosions of firecrackers and firearms in the neighborhood
of our city hospitals on the Fourth of July. Such noises are
particularly injurious, both from their nature and their being
of an unusual kind, to patients with any high fever, such as
typhoid, and it will be a great service to humanity to have
them suppressed, if not altogether, as most sane people will
acknowledge, yet at least near institutions harboring a variety
of patients.

One feature of our celebration which has not yet been touched upon is the cost. Last year, New York City boasted of an outlay of four million dollars, while the country as a whole burned up the huge sum of twenty million dollars in fireworks. Finally, we must add the vast sum lost by conflagrations before we are in a position to realize the whole price that we pay for our day of jollity.

It is interesting to remark how strongly the press is beginning to voice its protest against our “noise-fest”—a protest now largely seconded by public opinion, although a few years ago it would have been regarded as woefully unpatriotic. Here are a few excerpts gathered last July from widely scattered papers, which are unanimous in decrying our present-day observance:

The most ridiculous and senseless celebration of any great
national event.—_New York Commercial._

What the connection is between explosives and patriotism, no
one has ever undertaken to describe.—_Utica Press._

The people must be educated to appreciate the folly of dynamite
as a factor in patriotism.—_Chicago Daily Tribune._

Time to consider how our annual worship of the God of Noise is
to be abolished. This blatant and death-dealing Divinity long
ago usurped the shrine occupied by Patriotism. Every year we
carry and lay on his bloody altars human sacrifices, like the
tribute of maidens to the Minotaur—only they are mostly boys.
And so, year after year, the “Glorious Fourth” becomes more and
more a dread festival of blood and fire and noise, of death and
mayhem.—_Minneapolis Journal._

The traditional gunpowder and dynamite orgies of Independence
Day are wrong. Firearms and explosives have no place in any
sane scheme of city life.—_Cleveland Plain Dealer._

The day on which human folly too frequently runs amuck....
That the achievement of our national independence, brought
about through the necessary spilling of great quantities of
blood, should be commemorated by the very general loss of
life and limb is as unnecessary as it is deplorable.—_Union_
(Manchester, N. H.).

Americans are realizing that noises, maimed and wounded
children, and big conflagrations should not be the sequence of
the Nation’s birthday.—_Toledo Blade._

What ought to be the most enjoyable day in the calendar, is
made a day of general carnage and a day toward which adults
look forward with dread and whose passing they look back upon
with a sense of mighty relief.—_Pioneer Press_ (St. Paul,
Minn.).

It is the money burned up in useless and dangerous explosives
that is wasted, serving no better purpose than to leave the
city with a headache the morning after.—_Republic_ (St. Louis).

The din ... is hideously vulgar and utterly uncivilized ...
discreditable to those who make it and to the civil authorities
who permit it.—_Evening Wisconsin_ (Milwaukee).

I fain would haul down the red flag of our modern Fourth of
July and, in its place, run up the flag of peace, quietude,
rest, contentment, and personal safety.—_Life_ (New York).

The total results of our last “jolly celebration” of
Independence Day were 164 killed and 4,249 injured, many of
them being maimed for life! Is this method of celebration
really worth while?—_Journal Amer. Med. Assn._ (Chicago).

How can any satisfaction be taken in the perversion of a
holiday to purposes of disorder and destruction, and how can
any pride be felt in methods of observance which inevitably
condemn hundreds—if not thousands—to be shot, burned, maimed,
and otherwise disfigured and tortured in propitiation of the
great god of senseless uproar?—_New York Tribune._

As for those who are in favor of continuing our present mode of celebration, I can find but one who has written openly in its defense, and even then there is a suspicion that the article is ironical.

It is better to shock the sensitive nerves of a few grown
people than to have the boys and girls grow up molly-coddles,
with the fear of gunpowder in their hearts and no appreciation
of a boisterous holiday, rich in patriotic appeal, and full of
the “rough house” spirit of healthy Americanism.

This, if seriously meant, reaches the height of absurdity; for if there is one thing of which little children should have a wholesome dread, it is gunpowder, and I know of no other country in which such a weapon is put into the hands of babes.

It is customary with us to excuse ourselves for Fourth of July accidents by putting all the blame on the small boy. This, however, seems scarcely fair. The blame for much of the annual massacre rests not upon the careless small boy, but upon the careless big parent who places in his hand the instrument of destruction. And an even greater share of the blame is due to public apathy, which not only allows the annual suspension of sane and safe ordinances regulating the use of firearms and explosives, but also permits the disorderly few to injure the health and disturb the repose of the orderly many.

As proving that noise is the great desideratum in fireworks, a few extracts from various catalogues will prove interesting. Here, for instance, is a piece the figures of which, according to the thrilling description, move about “whistling and screaming in fantastic, wild, unearthly furore, terminating with a fusillading report,” and another which bursts “with terrific reports that can be heard for miles,” while a third explodes “with reports equal to six- and twelve-pound cannons,” and a fourth like “an imitation rapid-fire Gatling-gun.” An appreciative testimonial lauds a “Salute of LYDDITE SHELLS, nothing giving such a tremendous report having ever before been heard in our celebration,” while other goods are emphatically praised as being “loudest and best,” or “big in noise.” One particular piece is noticeable because it consists of a string of fifty thousand firecrackers. As corroborative of all this, which tends to show that noise is what is desired above all else in fireworks, comes this published interview with a dealer, which is certainly illuminating:

The exploding cane is always a winner so long as it is not
suppressed by the police. Blank cartridges come up at the
head of the list. Nothing gives a celebrator so much pleasure
as flourishing a pistol and shooting several times in rapid
succession. There is just one thing that determines the
efficiency of any contrivance designed for celebrating the
Fourth, and that is, the volume of sound it makes. For that
reason the cannon firecrackers are popular, and always will
remain so.

This, then, is what excites the patriotic fervor of the partisans of a strident Fourth, though it does seem as if their enthusiasm would be somewhat lessened in placing side by side with the above this extract from the _Journal of the American Medical Association_, which considers the causative factors of the aftermath of last Independence Day:

Of the 102 deaths aside from tetanus, gunshot wounds caused
twenty, giant crackers caused thirteen, and thirteen deaths
were due to explosions of powder, torpedoes and dynamite. Ten
deaths were due to falls or runaways caused by firecrackers....
The limit of tolerance is reached, however, when we know that
thirty-one persons were burned to death.... The principal cause
of the most mutilating wounds is by far the giant cracker....
This year 1,489 injuries, including thirteen deaths and eight
cases of lockjaw, were due to the giant cracker.

It is a reflection scarcely calculated to gratify our national pride that the United States is the only civilized country which observes the greatest of its fête-days in such an uncivilized fashion. Our sister republics, France, Switzerland, and Brazil, rejoice full as heartily as we over their national birthdays, but they celebrate them in a sane, safe, wholesome, and happy way, and not in our barbarous manner. As regards the observance of the French fête, July 14th, Marcel Prévost, the eminent writer, has kindly described it for me in the following letter:

The fête of July 14th is, above all, in France, a day of
popular rejoicing; politics do not enter into it. It affords
an opportunity of illuminating the town-halls and public
buildings, and of indulging in the pleasure of dancing in the
open air. In a word, it is a huge kermess. It has always taken
place in order and tranquillity. Accidents are rare, even in
Paris. And since the review at Longchamps has humanely been
arranged to take place at nine in the morning, instead of
at noon, the troops do not run the risk of sunstroke, which
sometimes saddened the early fêtes of July 14th.

The following touchingly beautiful account of the observance of Switzerland’s birthday was sent me by Dr. Eugène Richard, Member of the Council of State:

Year by year the people of Switzerland keep the anniversary
of 1291, which was in real truth the foundation of the
Confederation. Does that treaty—founded by the inhabitants of
the Forest Cantons, borrowing from justice her most equitable
principles (even down to that of arbitration between states),
and guaranteed by the rigid energy of its signers—receive a
commemoration worthy of its splendid simplicity?

No clamorous ceremony, to drown the voices of the past, instead
of blending with them. We give proof of our remembrance of
the First of August by a few brief manifestations during the
closing hours of the day.

This national solemnity, surprising as it may seem, finds no
place in the list of legal holidays. No one interrupts his
daily tasks, for such was the way with the men of 1291, who,
returning to their homes, took up again the care of their herds.

As night descends, the bells on all the churches are set
to pealing in a sublime concert of gratitude, rising with
penetrating poetry through the serenity and softness of a
summer night. Shortly afterward bonfires are kindled along
the heights. Here and there will be a modest illumination or
rare display of fireworks. Occasionally an orator reminds the
people of the significance of their rejoicing and holds up for
imitation the character of our ancestors.

Whoever witnesses this spectacle realizes the strength and the
sincerity of a patriotism that, without clamor or ostentation,
draws fresh life by reverting to its original sources.
Switzerland lives in the heart of her citizens. A noisy
demonstration would take from us the benefit of a thoughtful
mood.

In order to produce an impression both profound and salutary,
national celebrations must needs have a pervading tranquillity,
which enhances their dignity, and leads mankind to earnest
thought.

According to a very charming letter from his Excellency, Señor Joaquin Nabuco, Brazilian Ambassador, it appears that although his countrymen do not observe their festivals with that calm, patriotic fervor which characterizes the Swiss, and although they rejoice in noise as well as in color, there is nothing to show that their holidays are marred by that disorder and by those horrible lists of casualties and accidents which disgrace the celebration of our great anniversary.

The following delightful description of Germany’s greatest festival, the Emperor’s birthday, has been given me by Professor Hugo Münsterberg of Harvard University:

When I look backward to my boyhood days in Germany and ask
myself from what sources my young patriotism was steadily
supplied, I cannot value highly enough the influence of the
patriotic celebrations in my school and my native town. The
dearest memory belongs to the Emperor’s birthday. I know quite
well that the present Emperor was born in January; but when I
hear the word “Emperor’s birthday,” it still always awakes in
me first the date of the 22d of March—the old Emperor’s day.

Long before, the school planned everything for the grand
day; patriotic and religious music, songs and patriotic
declamations by the younger pupils, short dramatic plays
with motives from German history, given by the older boys,
and always an enthusiastic oration by one of the teachers.
In Sunday clothes we gathered in the school; everything was
decorated with flowers and garlands and flags, and the whole
school continuously, year by year, was lifted up in a common
pride and enthusiasm. Two or three of the happiest morning
hours were devoted to the celebration, and the jubilant hurrah
for the beloved Emperor at the end of the historic oration was
the only sound of the day.

Then we streamed out into the decorated streets, enjoyed
the picturesque parades and went to the concert at the
market-place, where patriotic marches kindled our youthful
emotions. The afternoon belonged to parties at home, where
school friends gathered and enjoyed their games with a historic
flavor and the chocolate with a patriotic abundance of cakes.
Quiet, mellow days they were, and any loud noise would have
appeared to us boys as a desecration of the festivity; and yet
the loyalty which I stored up in those March days of my boyhood
still supplies me amply when I have, year for year on the 27th
of January, to make my Emperor’s birthday orations to the
German-Americans.

An interesting account of the manner in which Japan celebrates her fêtes was kindly written for me by his Excellency Viscount Aoki, recently Japanese Ambassador to the United States:

In Japan we have three great national holidays. They are
November 3d, the present Emperor’s birthday; New Year’s Day;
and February 11th, the Day of the Accession of the Emperor
Jimmu, the first ruler of the Empire of Japan.

An illustration of the Emperor’s birthday celebration in
Japan will be sufficient to give a general idea as to how
our national holidays are celebrated at home, for there is
little difference in the way of its celebration between the
above-named three holidays, except in minor details:

On the Emperor’s birthday all offices, schools, banks, and
large business houses are closed. The national flag is hoisted
on all public buildings, schools, and on most of the private
houses all over the country. High dignitaries, both civil and
military, who are present in the capital, proceed to the Palace
of Tokio to present before the throne their congratulations
for the occasion, while those in the country and abroad send
their congratulatory messages by mail through the Minister for
the Imperial Household. In every school all over the country
the day is observed in a form appropriate to the occasion.
One hundred and one salutes are fired from every fort in the
empire. The imperial review of the army is in regular order
of the celebration of the day, when hundreds of thousands of
the enthusiastic public gather around the drill-ground and all
along the imperial route to cheer their august and beloved
sovereign and to witness the glorious military parade of the
day, while all of his Majesty’s ships fire twenty-one salutes
(otherwise known as the national salute) and appear in full
dress. The Emperor entertains in the palace at breakfast all
the foreign representatives and high dignitaries of the empire.

And now let us listen to what some of our prominent Americans, whose patriotism none can assail, have to say about our present-day observance. First “Mark Twain,” in whose heart of hearts the small boy is enshrined, and who certainly would not needlessly curtail even one of his little pleasures. Does he approve of our day of “burning” patriotism? No; for he has written to me:

I am with you sincerely in your crusade against the bedlam
frenzies of the Fourth of July.

And William Dean Howells:

I am glad that you have added to your noble and beneficent
ambition to suppress all unnecessary noises the wish especially
to deal with the barbarous and obstreperous celebration of
the Fourth of July. I am sure that Confucius did not invent
gunpowder, and that it was not Chinese _wisdom_ which gave us
firecrackers. Until we cease to glorify our national birthday
like a nation of lawless boys we shall have no right to claim
that we have come of age, and the civilized world must regard
us as savages until we stop behaving like them.

And one of our poets:

It is good news that you are turning your attention to the
subject of the irrational manner in which Americans celebrate
their independence. I am sure you will not merely advocate the
suppression of meaningless noise, and that you will indicate
such fêtes, ceremonies, pageants, and celebrations in general
as are rational and instructive; also, that you will hint at a
broader and more inspiring use of the day than either arousing
old and debasing international enmities or the display of
indecent self-glorification.

As to the suppression of Fourth of July noise, with its dangers
to nerve, limb, and life, the whole sensible population will
wish you a continuance of that success which has followed your
efforts on a narrower scale in the metropolis. I am reminded
that in the sweet and peaceful valley from which I write the
national holiday is looked forward to with apprehension, on
account of the dreadful, sleep-scattering noises of the night
and dawn before. On the Fourth, why should we not have music
instead of noise, art, instead of gunpowder? Every community
in the United States will have occasion to bless your name and
memory if you can do something substantial toward making more
quiet and more ennobling the anniversary of the day that gave
the Republic birth.

Here, too, is a letter from Dr. Weir Mitchell:

If anything can be done to lessen the noise of the Fourth of
July celebrations, it will also be efficient in lessening the
amount of injuries inflicted by the desire of man and boy to
make meaningless noises. Not only does it leave the Fourth of
July as an annually recurrent unpleasant memory, but there
is the same absurd tendency to extend the nuisance of noises
into other days. Thus at present in this city, and I presume
elsewhere, the first of the year is ushered in by a vast chorus
of idiotic noises produced by steam-whistles, firecrackers, and
horns, accompanied by a solemn bell-ringing, such as in old
times called those who watched for the coming of the New Year
to prayer.

That our Commissioner of Health fully recognizes the necessity of bringing about a saner mode of celebration is shown by the following letter:

Your plan to include, as part of the activities of the Society
for the Suppression of Unnecessary Noise, the question of a
more sensible celebration of the Fourth of July, meets with
my most hearty approval. The long list of killed and wounded,
which comes as the result of what should be a day of patriotic
inspiration, is certainly appalling, and indicative of how far
we have strayed from its true spirit.

Your efforts to induce the people of this country to
celebrate its most joyous anniversary in a manner fitting and
appropriate, provide an object which should enlist the sympathy
and coöperation of all who have the welfare of their country at
heart.

And finally ... I offer this letter from the Hon. Henry L. West, Commissioner of the District of Columbia, which shows that even officialdom is willing to risk the charge of lack of patriotism, if by so doing our boys and girls may be saved from the horrors of a day of catastrophes:

I am thoroughly in sympathy with any movement which will result
in decreasing the habit of carelessly using gunpowder on the
Fourth of July and which will also result in a more quiet
celebration of the day.

In Washington the authorities have already taken a step in the
right direction in forbidding the explosion of the so-called
giant firecrackers, nor is it allowable to place torpedoes on
the street railway tracks.

I believe that the Fourth of July can be celebrated with as
much patriotism and more sanity if the wanton use of gunpowder
on that day is condemned.

And now, before taking up the question of what might be suggested as a more reverent and appropriate mode of honoring our day of days, let us look back a hundred years or so, and see how our first national birthdays were kept. Here it is encouraging to learn that nothing resembling in the least our wild orgy of noise was dreamed of. Indeed, had such a suggestion been breathed to the sons and daughters of our Revolutionary heroes, they would probably have felt that the plan savored more of China, the land of noise and the home of the firecracker, than of their own country, and have been profoundly shocked at the mere idea that such an anniversary could receive so murderous a recognition. A glance over the time-yellowed pages of the _Evening Post_, printed more than a century ago, or those of the _New York Packet_, which was old when the _Post_ was young, shows how differently the Fourth was observed by those who had seen burst into full flower that glorious patriotism which had given it birth. The proclamations, announcements, poems, and advertisements which appeared in those July days of long ago are touching in their patriotic, though grandiloquent, fervor. Here, for instance, is a bit from an announcement of the Tammany Association which appeared in the “Season of Fruit, Year of the Discovery, 310” (July 1):

Brothers. This Day, like the Sun which illuminates it, sheds
a bright and diffusive luster, and welcomes all to partake of
its radiance. Once it witnessed the blood-stained field, the
plundered town, the ravaged coast, the sinking warrior, the
defenseless town, the despondency of our Guardian Genius. But
the Great Spirit watched over the western clime, and now its
approach is hailed with the incense of Peace; and the veteran
rejoices in his scars, the hoary chief and his patriot sons
assemble with congratulations where once the noise of battle
was heard, and the Eagle towers aloft majestic and unawed.

In these days the celebration began with unfurling the flag, a salute of thirteen guns and ringing of church-bells, followed by a procession and exchange of courtesies between the Governor and the President. Then came the march to church, where odes, addresses, anthems, and orations were in order with, of course, the reading of the Declaration of Independence. Next, luncheon, with more salutes and bell-ringing and then, evening having come, performances in theaters and gardens and the meeting of various patriotic societies. Everything connected with the performances was patriotically reminiscent. In the gardens, transparencies and fireworks portrayed temples of immortality, obelisks of heroes, and figures of Justice, Fidelity, Fame, and Piety, all radiantly intermingled with shining pictures of Washington and of the Arms of the United States, with its brilliant stars, while at the theater, patriotic plays were given, such as “Bunker Hill” or the “Death of Warren and the Glory of Columbia” or the “Retrospect of the American Revolution.” This all refers to New York, but it is probable that virtually the same observance obtained in other large cities.

Let us now consider what might be substituted for our present-day mad and dangerous celebration, which serves only to keep in remembrance one feature of our great struggle, the cannonading and musketry-discharges which shook the country during the arduous days of its birth. I sincerely believe that our national birthday can be observed with heartfelt patriotic rejoicing, and yet without the slightest danger to life or limb, without any nerve-racking noise or display of hoodlumism, and without any of the extravagant outlay which has characterized our former celebrations. Flags can float, national music be played and sung in places now given over solely to the deafening din of cannon firecrackers, the Declaration of Independence be read at all of our public buildings, where inspiring addresses may also be made, and street-displays, such as processions with floats, beautiful as well as instructive, furnish delightful object-lessons of the greatest events in our history. Then, at night, we may have illuminations, both private and municipal, and displays of fireworks in open places, where the exhibitions can be conducted by experienced men, thus avoiding all danger of the shocking accidents which now sadden our celebration. Let us, on this day, forget the noise of battle and the passions of international strife, and remember only the wonderful spirit of sacrifice, and patriotism, and brotherhood which animated our Revolutionary heroes. Let us, who know what the day means, endeavor to make it both memorable and illuminating to those who do not, by opening the hearts of the children, of the poor and ignorant, of the distressed and disheartened alien within our gates, to at least a partial significance of what we honor in our glorious festival. Let us enter personally into the work, giving tender endeavor as well as means to the task of making the occasion the happiest of all the year to the ignorant and the wretched. Let us give them a day of liberty in the country or in the parks, where they will see our beautiful flag floating everywhere about them, and where their untrained ears will become accustomed to the ringing rhythm of our national melodies. Let us give them mementos of the Fourth, such as flags and pictures of our heroes and of those whom we love as well as honor. There let them listen to the story of the birth of our Republic, and have it told simply and, if necessary, in their own tongues, so that all can feel how great were those who made the country free, and how wonderful is the boon of liberty now extended to the oppressed of other countries.

A SAFE AND SANE FOURTH OF JULY

BY HENRY LITCHFIELD WEST

(From _The Forum_, August, 1909.)

A little more than a year ago the _Century Magazine_ contained a vigorous and convincing article by Mrs. Isaac L. Rice, entitled “Our Barbarous Fourth.” It was a protest against a condition of affairs in the United States which had long attracted attention but which no one, up to that time, had criticised in such emphatic terms. “The grim statistics of the Fourth of July,” said the article, “probably furnish a sadder commentary of human folly than that afforded by any other celebration in the world.”...

It is true that a few thoughtful people had in more or less nonchalant manner observed the terrible toll of death and injury which the evil celebration of the day demanded. Quite a number of newspapers—notably the _Chicago Tribune_—were questioning the wisdom of a method which in one day had resulted in the death of 164 people, and the injury of nearly 5,000. “How can any satisfaction,” asked the _New York Tribune_, “be taken in the perversion of a holiday to purposes of disorder and destruction, and how can any pride be felt in methods of observance which inevitably condemn hundreds—if not thousands—to be shot, burned, maimed, and otherwise disfigured and tortured in propitiation of the great god of senseless uproar?” The _St. Paul Pioneer Press_ deplored the fact that a day which ought to be the most enjoyable in the calendar had become a day of general carnage; while the _New York Commercial_ characterized the popular celebration as ridiculous and senseless.

Notwithstanding these occasional utterances of truth, which indicated a growing sentiment, the fact is, that at the time of the appearance of “Our Barbarous Fourth” there was only one city in the country wherein any curb had been placed upon the insensate and reckless custom of observing the Fourth of July with dynamite and gunpowder. The cemeteries and the hospitals were claiming their victims and yet no one in authority seemed courageous enough to call a halt for fear of being charged with lack of patriotism. I believe, however, that the article in question appeared at the psychological moment. It was so straightforward in its presentation of the facts, so earnest in its appeal and so logical in its assertion that there were numerous sensible ways of celebrating our national holiday, that it made a profound impression everywhere. At any rate, the fact is, that before that article appeared only one city in the country had prohibited the sale and explosion of fireworks, while within a short period after it had been printed the authorities in several cities took radical action along the lines therein suggested. It is no exaggeration to say that within the next ten years the old barbarous Fourth of July will have entirely disappeared, and it is also within the bounds of accurate statement to add that the one greatest individual factor in accomplishing the much-needed reform is the author of the _Century_ article.

All this is by way of preface to the fact that the experiment of a safe and sane Fourth of July was tried this year in the National Capital; and in the belief that its details will prove of general interest, they are herewith recorded. If, as now seems to be the case, we are on the verge of a revolution in the customs which have been in vogue for half a century, the methods by which the change is to be accomplished are not without their value and significance.

The celebration of the national holiday in the capital a year ago had been marked by so many accidents and fires that some protest against the indiscriminate use of fireworks was uttered, and the Commissioners who govern the city declared themselves in published interviews in favor of a safer and saner observance of the day. No definite action was taken, however, until last November, when the question became acute because hundreds of dealers in fireworks in the city were naturally anxious to know whether they would be permitted to handle explosives. Inquiry of other cities brought forth the fact that Cleveland had already enacted an ordinance forbidding the sale and discharge of fireworks, and a copy of this ordinance was secured. In Washington, as ought to be generally known, there is no common council or board of aldermen, but all regulations governing the municipality are promulgated by the three Commissioners under authority delegated to them by Congress. The question whether Washington should undertake the experiment of a non-explosive Fourth rested, therefore, with these three men, and it did not take them long to reach their conclusion. One of them had, more than a year previously, formally expressed his sympathy with the object sought to be attained by the opponents of the barbarous Fourth, and his colleagues were, happily, of the same opinion. In November, therefore, eight months before the arrival of the holiday, the following regulation was enacted: