The evening it was presented the automobiles which usually furnished the lights were not there. The hilly roads prevented their coming down into the valley. Some other kind of light had had to be found. One day during the week a fourteen-year-old boy had been seen scratching a match on the edge of a tin can cover. When asked what made the flame he said it was pitch. After a few trials as to its light power, the lads were sent up into the woods to get all they could find. They brought back large quantities. Chunks of pitch as large as your fists were placed on flat pieces of limestone near the altar. These natural footlights with a huge bonfire furnished all the light necessary for the production. A small organ, about the size of three suit-cases placed on top of each other, was used for the musical effects. The audience was made up of about a hundred and twenty-five country people. They were seated on peach crates, buggy seats, camp stools, horse blankets, and checkered bed quilts.
The evening the festival was presented was an ideal one. The air was cool and crisp. The stars were out. In the distance Opequan Creek could be heard. The scene was a most impressive one. Evergreen boughs laid on the ground in the form of a circle separated the audience from those who took part in the play. At the right and up the hill a little way the organ could be heard at intervals. The most beautiful part of it all was near the end of the festival when the reflection of the lights on the flat stones showed the ensemble of the characters. They were kneeling in the Garden of Freedom with their hands outstretched toward the Altar of Liberty singing—
“Our fathers’ God, to Thee,
Author of Liberty
To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!”
The effect was thrilling. In a valley in the foothills of West Virginia a group of country people were not only finding themselves, but they were also expressing a great American ideal.