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looking folk traveled aimlessly up and down Fourth and Sixth Avenues, hoping perhaps at the last minute to find a place from which they might see the tips of the marching flags, if nothing more. Half-way down the side streets the stoops of the houses and the railings were pre-empted. Where the old St. Luke's Hospital had stood, a great pile of scaffolding rose to the height of a threestory building. On this one stand twentyeight hundred people could be seated. The front of the reservoir at Forty-second Street was half hid in the National colors that stood out well against the moving green of its vine-clad surface. At the center of the great Pylon towers a huge gilt eagle spread its wings. The police, by this time, had begun their labors. The crowds had commenced to swerve and sway and occasionally break through and fill the Avenue. The bell of the ambulance had already begun its whiring clangor. Occasionally the shrieks of a frightened woman would ring out, and children would be lifted above the crowd to keep them from the crush. Belated ticket-holders fought their way to the entrances of the stands. At many places it looked as if some calamity might take place, and the police, scenting danger, had flocked there to stand it off. They were working like rescuers along the lines of the human dikes to prevent the leaks that might presage the on-rush. But the crowd was good-natured. It took the pushing and proddings without display of anger. Occasionally a man would break out from the line and endeavor to force his way to some forbidden spot. A halfscore might follow him, and then the fun began-if fun it might be called for the burly policemen shuttlecocked them from one to another, hurled them back and pushed them into place. It was impossible to get down the Avenue to reach the place where I intended to view the parade, the big grand stand at the Arch-for by good fortune I had secured a position among the elect of the day, the tribe of Tammany. Crossing Thirty-fourth Street, where the "court of honor" began, into Madison Avenue, it took me a full ten minutes to get through the block, and there the sight was almost a sad one. People who had despaired of ever securing a position crowded the
doorsteps, waiting disconsolately. A German with his family had opened his lunch-basket and made a table of a broad stone railing. Two little boys in cheap sailor suits, one labeled "Hobson" and the other bearing on his cap the Admiral's name, were weeping woefully as they tugged along on either side of a palefaced woman who was evidently heading homeward. She was trying her best to persuade them that the parade had gone by! Poor little chaps! I would have given up my ticket to have helped them if I could. Almost every one I passed wore the National colors or badges with the Admiral's features; all were out to get a glimpse of the owner of them.
Crossing Madison Square, it was the same tale. The huge wooden erections shut out the view of the Avenue; the side streets adjoining them were jammed like the Black Hole of Calcutta. Reaching the entrance to the stand for which I had a reserved seat, I perceived that a hundred angry people were standing there arguing with the policemen who were on guard. The stand was closed! Early in the morning the Tammany "pull" had been worked to its utmost. The chosen seats had been filled with privileged interlopers.
"I worked on that Arch for three weeks," said a man, bitterly, "and here I am with my wife and two tickets, and they won't let me in." "It's a shame," cried the crowd. "We all here have tickets, and they won't let us through."
The barricade was high and strong, the policemen were numerous and large. I showed my ticket to an officer.
"I can't let youse in," said he; "the inspector has closed it up-them's orders! The seats is all took long ago."
I looked back at the unhappy people on the park benches, and the disconsolate tide that wandered across the downtrodden grass. I looked longingly up at the tree-tops filled with boys and men, and then I realized how bitter it is to be shut out; but, "nothing venture, nothing win," said I to myself, and, making a quick spring to the top of the high fence, I managed to tumble over it, while three big policemen made wild and futile grabs for my coat-tails. I almost fell on top of a fat sergeant on the other side. He looked at
me with some astonishment, but said nothing, nor did he have time, for, seeing the success that I had made, the crowd charged the barrier, and the sergeant and his men on the inside were called to the aid of the bluecoats beyond. Not a man got over! All were beaten back, and I climbed the steps and reached the open space above.
Within a few feet rose the beautiful arch, with its well-modeled classical figures. The Avenue was swept and clean as a ball-room floor: the thousands that filled the st inds were raising a great clatter of voices. Waiters were passing up and down the aisles, carrying trays of drink and food. Down at the corner of Twenty-third Street, and up at Twenty
THE OLYMPIA'S CREW
fifth, the police were fighting the multitude. The swaying, moving mass of men and women, as I looked down upon them, looked like teeming animalcules beneath the microscope. They clung together around one lamp-post like a hive of swarming bees, Men were cursing there and women were shrieking, but the people on the stands were seated in comfort; and surely there would have been room, standing room at least, for all of those outside. But, as I said before, I was among the elect. Without the aid of an usher, I found my seat. It was occupied by a large man with a black mustache and a cigar. I spoke to a policeman standing in the aisle. He leaned down and whispered confidentially.
"I can't move him," he said, politely and with some deprecation. 66 He's a friend of Alderman -; that's him sitting next. But," he added, I'll call an usher and get you another seat."
I thanked him and waited. The usher proved to be a decent fellow, and in a few minutes I was comfortable. When once seated, I looked about me.
Opposite was the stand from which the Admiral was to review the passing regiments. The front was decked with a bank of flowers. A hundred policemen stood on guard before it. When one looked away from the struggling mass at the street corners, the scene was one of order and discipline, and a beautiful sight. High in the sky floated long lines of kites; a homing pennant, two hundred feet in length, fluttered and whipped from the shining line of piano wire up in midair. The minutes sped by. There was so much to hear and to see that I could hardly realize that I had been seated an hour when the cry arose that the Admiral was coming! The people broke away from the policemen at the corner and filled in for a block the sidewalks that had been kept open. But at last they were in control again, for the reserves were ordered out to meet them. And now, headed by three files of mounted police, the guests in carriages hove in sight, coming down the Avenue. On the box of Admiral Dewey's open carriage, drawn by four horses, sat a trim jacky. It was the same lad who had accompanied him at Gibraltar; and as the carriage came to a halt, he jumped to the ground nimbly and
opened the door. When it was seen that it was really the Admiral, the cheering rose, shrieks and shouts of welcome, and the handsome officer bowed his acknowledgments as he took his seat. More open vehicles of all kinds, barouches, landaus, and victorias, followed, bearing the city's guests; and as the officers were recognized they were cheered in turn. One of the admirals came in for a shower of flowers-Admiral Schley it was. Admiral Sampson, grave, quiet, and dignified, the man whose worth is known by the service and recognized more by the Government than by the news-reading public, descended and took his seat with out much demonstration. Our visiting yachtsman rode with the grizzled Chief of the Wigwam. He looked pleased and affable. But at last the motley procession of moth-eaten equipages and seedy horses
had gone by, and down the Avenue came the first marching music, Sousa's great band of one hundred and fifty pieces-a great, welling, thrilling march they played!
"Here come the Olympia's lads," was the shout, and, led by the marines, the crew came tramping on. And now a strange thing happened.
Perhaps the spectators were so curious to see them that they forgot, or perhaps all had their eyes upon the small, graymustached man across the Avenue; but there were no spontaneous shouts of applause; a few shouts here and there, some clapping of hands, but no loud cries of welcome, like the ones that had greeted the Admiral himself. Why was it? I couldn't tell. The officers had risen to their feet as the line appeared. Dewey stood there in silence. He was thoughtful as his men went past. These were
the brave fellows to whom he owed the day; these were the men that he had seen fighting behind their guns. His face bore an expression as if he were bidding them farewell. For three hours and more the saluting soldiers marched beneath the Arch. The West Pointers were followed by the Regulars. Great siege-guns and light artilery trundled by. Visiting regiments from the Southern and Western States came in for hearty greetings, but perhaps the loudest was given to a body of bronzed, sturdy fellows in blue shirts and khaki breeches-the Tenth Pennsylvania, just back from the war in the Philippines. Somehow it made the blood course warmly to see them. The brave men who had enlisted for one war and stayed on to fight another! There were partisans' shouts as favored regiments went by; the Governor of our own State received an ovation as he led his own division. The bands came quicker, some played the old familiar marching tunes, while two at least swung along to the air of "Onward, Christian Soldiers;" the Southerners played "Dixie." The Governor's Footguard of Connecticut, in their old Continental uniform, looked as if they had stepped out of the pages of past history, with their black gaiters, knee-breeches, and their bearskin busbies. The Volunteers and the Grand Army of the Republic followed in their turn, led by the gray, one-armed General. Their ranks grow thinner every year, but there were many there able to
fight again if need be. An old man was trundled along in a large perambulator. He waved his hat from where he lay beneath a covering blanket. Some one said that he had entered Mexico with General Scott! The young veterans of the war with Spain, in their stained and weatherbeaten uniform, reminded us how lately we had been in conflict.
The wind had blown up chill and strong from the west, the shadows lengthened, and many seats in the stands were vacant, but the show was not yet over. When the Admiral and his escort had started for the big hotel that has been aptly termed "an American invention for supplying exclusiveness to the masses," there was a rush made by the crowd; the police were swept away; down the Avenue, up the Avenue, from the side streets the people poured, to meet about the Arch. The glorious sunset sky lifted in the west, a half-light descended on the teeming street, the searchlights from the tops of the buildings played their rays upon the Arch. The tired crowd began to dwindle; two hours more, and save for the bunting and the decorations, the symptoms of the madness of the city were dying out. Small boys everywhere were gathering up bundles of wood, the flotsam and jetsam left on the sidewalks. The rush was made for the ferries and railway stations, and as I walked homeward up the Avenue the streetcleaners were loading wagons with the débris the hordes had left.
Meeting Dewey in Manila Bay
By Major-General Wesley Merritt, U.S.A.
AM asked to tell of my meeting with Admiral Dewey in Manila Bay; and while there is nothing dramatic to relate, the occasion was one of such comfort and pleasure that I have a vivid recollection of the incidents of that morning.
The transport Newport, carrying the Astor Battery, a battalion of the Third Artillery, and my staff, myself, and a million. and a half of treasure, had sailed from San Francisco on the 29th of June. On that morning, just before leaving, we received news that Admiral Camara was entering the Suez Canal, bound presumably for Manila, and his movements were therefore a matter of intense interest. If he should reach Manila and successfully attack Admiral Dewey, or if, avoiding Manila, he should send a ship to intercept us, our situation would be critical in the extreme. Four other ships followed a few days behind mine, carrying General McArthur's brigade, and not one of them could have made any resistance to the smallest gunboat. As it was impossible for the navy to furnish us an armed ship as escort, it was arranged that Admiral Dewey should send one to meet us at a point six hundred miles due east of Cape Engaño, the northeast point of Luzon, and consequently our ship was steered for that spot.
As we neared the looked-for place, there was much staring at the unbroken horizon and much speculation among the officers, which became more earnest as we continued along the due-west course without seeing any sign of a ship. Finally Luzon came in sight. The sea was like a mirror, the sky was cloudless, the air of peace was almost irritating; it gave us nothing on which to base a theory as to why we had not been met except the old, worn-out premises. I was not greatly worried, but, having had no news of any kind for nearly four weeks, and with so much at stake, it was only sensible to examine the possibilities; fortunately, this examination was always reassuring. I believed in the first place, that we could beat Camara to Manila, supposing he had been able to coal; and even were he to get there first, I felt convinced that Admiral Dewey would give such an account of himself that Camara would have precious little fight left in him.
Thinking thus, we steamed down the coast toward the entrance to Manila Bay. We could see Corregidor Island standing up like a sharp green crag at the entrance; we turned to the left and faced the wide channel. Still no sign of a ship. At last we were past the island, and the shipping