Chapter II

THE STORY OF THE OPENING OF THE WORLD’S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION.

A single member of the Folk Lore Society was in Chicago at the opening of the Exposition. He returned a few days after the event. It was one of the plans of this Society to have its members give accounts of the new places they visited, and a meeting was called on the return of this fortunate member to hear him relate the story of the May Day opening of the Fair.

The story[2] increased the interest among the members in Mr. Marlowe’s visit. What suggestions might not Mr. Marlowe have to make?

[2] This account was written by Mr. C. A. Stephens for the “Youth’s Companion.”

MAY DAY AT THE WORLD’S FAIR.

It was almost twelve o’clock on the opening day of the World’s
Fair. President Cleveland was on the grand stand in front of the
Administration Building. The triumphant Columbian March had been
rendered by the great orchestra; the director-general had given
his admirable address; the ode and prophecy had been read, and the
President was making his brief speech of the opening hour.

“Look sharp! He will touch the button in a moment more! Watch for the
flags and the fountains!”

Massed before the platform, and extending away down the grand square
toward the Peristyle, still streaming in through the broad courts,
thronging the immense façades and capacious balconies of the mighty
buildings, and even perched by scores and by hundreds on the lofty
battlements and amidst the huge statuary groups of the roofs, were
wellnigh four hundred thousand people.

It was a vast oceanic crowd, gathered from every land and nation of
the globe to celebrate the inaugural day of the Columbian Exposition.

Turks, Arabs, Singhalese, and Malays; Algerians, Dahometans,
Coreans, Samoans, Egyptians, and Eskimos, as well as Japanese,
French, Germans, Spaniards, and Russians, were represented and mixed
throughout that great throng, to which also were added a hundred or
more painted and feathered Sioux Indians.

These last, in fact, were the only true, original Americans present,
for in one sense all others are immigrants.

Although the preparations had been delayed by a long, cold, driving
rainstorm, word had gone abroad that on Monday, May first, the
World’s Fair would be opened, and foul weather did not keep the
people at home.

When the President arrived, shortly before eleven o’clock, the sun,
for the first time in several days, broke through the dark, low-lying
clouds; but trailing fogs still half veiled the domes, towers, and
finials of the gigantic buildings. Never, as it seemed to those
who have marked their progress toward completion, had these huge
structures looked so enormous, as now that their foundations were
encompassed and blackened by the innumerable multitudes, while their
domes and roofs were looming, half concealed, in the mist-clouds.

The magnitude of the grand square and the vastness of the assemblage
alike defied the power of the human voice to fill or reach. The
prayer and the ode were heard by but few. But the voice of the
President was stronger, and audible farther; and when, advancing,
amidst a tremendous outburst of cheers, he began his short address,
the opening sentence, admirable in its simple modesty, “I am here,
my fellow-citizens, to join in the congratulations which befit this
occasion,” penetrated to a greater distance, and stimulated remote
areas of the throng to try to approach nearer and hear more.

The pressure of these converging masses of humanity soon began to
be felt alarmingly by the central concourse, directly in front of
the platform. The lines of stalwart guards, although aided and
re-enforced by platoons of United States infantry, were powerless
to withstand this immense inward movement. Guards and soldiers
were pushed aside, and borne on by the resistless pressure. Their
brandished swords and shouts appeared not to be noticed or heeded;
and for a time it seemed as if hundreds, perhaps thousands, would be
borne down and crushed under foot.

Many women fainted, and were supported bodily by those near them; nor
could the Red Cross chairs gain access, for a time, to take them away
to the emergency hospitals.

The crowd swayed to and fro, oscillating rhythmically, and displaying
within itself currents and counter-currents of human beings which
met and mutually checked each other. At last, as if from restored
equilibrium, the tumult ceased.

By good fortune no one had been seriously injured; but the spectacle
of resistless might, presented by this movement of three hundred
thousands of people, will not soon be forgotten by those who
witnessed it from the platform.

From here and there in the great tract of human heads and faces,
bursts of cheering rose at intervals, and were responded to from
opposite quarters; and it was amidst such scenes as these that the
President finished his speech and advanced to the little triple dais
of oak and velvet, draped with the national colors, and pressed the
electric key, or “button,” by means of which the great Allis engine
in Machinery Hall was set in motion.

The same key also gave the signal to all the flagmen, fountain-men,
cannoneers, and boatmen on the lagoons, to enact their parts in the
great programme of display.

But louder even than the artillery salutes and the shrieking of
steam whistles was the mighty roar of applause from the multitude.
It was, in truth, _vox populi_: the voice of the people in their
united might. Then for a few moments a kind of silence fell, and the
great sea of faces was seen to be rapt and intent on the brilliant
spectacle of the unfurling flags, and leaping white jets and
spray-bursts from the fountains.

On the instant, at the touch of the button, the great buildings
turned suddenly resplendent with gay colors: the flags, ensigns,
streamers, gonfalons, and emblems of all nations. In a moment the
stately “white city of palaces” had grown deliriously gay with bright
bunting; and on the lagoons swiftly propelled gondolas, in Venetian
red and blue, mingled with the even brighter-hued electric launches.

And over all—a curious, pleasing feature of the hour—wheeled hundreds
of white gulls, visitors from the great lake just outside, whose
peculiar wild cries blended with the human acclamations.

The President had spoken, and had opened the Exposition. The brief
ceremonies were over, and the mighty concourse in Administration
Square melted away, in streamlets and groups, for a day of
sight-seeing in the grounds.

Many made their way to the Manufactures Building, to behold the
largest edifice in the world, and also in the hope of gaining another
glimpse of the President and Cabinet, who were soon to proceed
thither in company with the Duke of Veragua, a direct descendant, in
the eleventh generation, of Christopher Columbus.

Almost as many more turned toward Machinery Hall, to see the huge
engines and dynamos which had been so recently set in motion. The
rest distributed themselves in many directions through the grounds.

Then indeed it was apparent that half a million of people may be
present at the Exposition without crowding or mutual inconvenience.
From many points of view, in fact, no one would now have suspected
that an unusual number of visitors were on the grounds. The great
squares, plazas, avenues, courts, and interspaces swallowed them up,
and if one may use the expression, gaped for more.

Eighty thousand may visit the Manufactures Building at one time.
Agricultural Building has room for thirty thousand, Machinery Hall
for as many more, and so on of all the other great structures. A
million of people may be present at the Fair on a single day without
serious obstruction to sight-seeing.

The four hundred thousand or more who attended the May-day opening
were a remarkably quiet and orderly assemblage. Very few dissensions
or disturbances of any kind occurred. Few rogues were present, so far
as known; if present, they contented themselves with sight-seeing.
But one pickpocket attempted to ply his vocation, and he was detected
in the act.

After the opening exercises, the great assemblage gave an observer
the impression of being unusually silent, as if awed by the grandeur
and magnitude of the buildings. On every hand people were seen to be
gazing in absorbed contemplation. Foreigners present remarked this
silence of the people with surprise, it was so unlike the vivacious
chatter of a European crowd. Americans are unemotional, irresponsive,
stupid, they exclaimed.

They failed to understand the American type of mind. Our people were
beholding, intelligently comparing, estimating, _thinking_; and one
who really thinks is not apt to chatter. These silent gazers were
taking in the height, breadth, beauty, and magnificent variety of the
great Exposition,—taking it in and storing it away for future use.