But the racing is not the sole attraction, as is evidenced by the crowds surrounding the refreshment booths and side tents, where for a small fee one may see the Fat Woman, the Skeleton Man, or the Double-Headed Boy; or listen to the colored minstrels who charm the soul with plantation melodies; or have his fortune told in the gypsy tent by a dark-eyed maid in gorgeous attire, who will tell of a wonderful future which is “sure to come true.” Or you may have your photograph taken on the spot, and finished while you wait. Here is a phonograph representing a variety entertainment, and the little group around it are laughing heartily at the jokes of the “funny man,” the ventriloquist, and the story-teller. Here are fine bands of musicians, and dozens of oddities, and curious tricksters: and the whole forms one grand panorama of human life, the counterpart of which is to be seen nowhere else in the world.
At five o’clock, the horses are harnessed to our tally-ho, and with smiling but dusty and sunburned faces we bid farewell to the scene of gayety and start for home. Every road and byway in the surrounding country is swarming with people, and the scale of pleasure, disappointment, grief, hilarity and fatigue is reflected in the countenances of riders and pedestrians. Here is a group, overheated, weary, dejected, trudging slowly along the way, interchanging scarcely a word with each other: here a merry party, filled with life, singing, laughing, recounting the events of the day, as they wander on, arm in arm. Now a little lame boy smiles in our faces from the tiny cart which his sister pushes cheerily forward, and now a gay belle dashes by in a carriage drawn by fast horses, holding the ribbons and whip in correct style, while her companion leans back, indolently enjoying the situation.
The countenances of the men tell various tales, as the triumphs or failures of the day are expressed in their faces. Some few wear a stolid, impassive air, while others talk, talk, talk, as though they have never had an opportunity till now. As we ride along amid the stupendous throngs, many thoughts are aroused, and many a picture is put away in the recesses of memory to be brought forth and pondered over on a future day.
With the shades of night the curtain falls upon a scene of such magnitude that the brain is weary of contemplating it, and is glad to find temporary forgetfulness in “tired nature’s sweet restorer.” And so ends the great Derby Day.
| “The chalky cliffs of Dover.” (See page 83.) |
Scenes in the Gay Capital.