In order to keep the thousands of musicians together in the performance, Gilmore had speaking tubes attached to his music stand through which he gave orders to his various assistant leaders throughout the band and chorus. Beside these tubes were telegraph keys to control the electrified cannon out in the park.
Finally all the arrangements were completed. Gilmore, returning home at midnight June 14, told his wife, “When I even think of tomorrow I can find no words to express my feelings.” Mrs. Gilmore gave him this cheery reply. “... Only two things will afterwards be spoken of as wonderful and miraculous—one is the Creation, the other, your Peace Jubilee.”
At three o’clock on the afternoon of June 15, the doors of the great auditorium were closed. The vast audience, thousands upon thousands, filled the great building from the floor to the roof. The singers, ten thousand of them, were seated on the stage. The one thousand men in the orchestra sat in their places with every instrument tuned in readiness.
The aged Edward Everett Hale offered the opening prayer. After the mayor’s too lengthy address which very few could hear, the concert master, Carl Rosa came on the stage to join the orchestra. Following him, amid great applause came the world’s most noted violinist, Ole Bull, to be the first violin in the orchestra.
Gilmore entered last, wildly cheered. He mounted the high stand. Bowing to the audience his voice trembled with emotion as he uttered a few words of welcome, ending with, “To One alone, the Omnipotent God, all honor, all glory and all praise are due.” He was a striking figure, tall and slender. His face, framed in his black sideburns and distinctive goatee, was pale from excitement. Large, star-shaped, gold studs glittered in the snowy shirtfront of his immaculate costume. Every eye was fixed upon the graceful erect leader. With his hands held straight before him his baton in his right, suddenly the baton was lifted high, then in a forceful swoop, signalled the opening down beat. Band, organ, chorus, all burst forth together in an ecstasy of harmony in the grand old hymn, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.
The entire audience went wild and their applause lasted for an unbelievable time. Gilmore, trembling and shaken, although filled with triumph, bowed and hurried from the stage.
The program proceeded in its regular order. Julius Eichberg took his place on the stand to conduct Wagner’s Tannhäuser by the band.
The most spectacular number, The Anvil Chorus from Verdi’s Il Trovatore, had to be repeated at every day’s program by the request of the audience. No one present could ever forget the parade of the Boston Firemen down the aisle to the stage.
When the time came for The Anvil Chorus which Gilmore always directed, he whistled through the tubes, snapped down his upraised hands, and every instrument instantly woke into sound. The clanging anvils shot flaming sparks as the firemen struck their rhythmic blows. At the grand climax the telegraph keys let loose the ear-shattering blasts of the cannon in a magnificent fortissimo. (Gilmore was the first bandleader to fire a cannon by electricity.)
The vast audience was completely carried away by the marvelous voice of the singer, Parepa-Rosa. She created a tremendous sensation by her singing of the Star-Spangled Banner. Dressed in glistening white silk with large buttons of red, white and blue, and diamonds sparkling in her dark hair, she was magnificent. The newspapers gave her great praise. “... Her voice ringing like a trumpet-call above the noise of a thousand instruments, ten thousand voices, the roaring organ, the big drum and the artillery.”