“Can’t come; wife won’t let me—bon voyage—Bill.”
“Let go the ropes,” shouted Airy.
The strings were cut from the eagle’s talons, and the great machine with a rush and a flutter, rose majestically five hundred feet in the air, and—majestically staid there. Then the intrepid rider began hunting for the screw designed to effect a downward motion, and the passenger in the boudoir began to look pale and anxious. The crowd below saw a little man frantically jerking at wires and springs, turning screws and varying gauges, and a metallic eagle stationery in the air above them.
The inventor’s exertions were in vain; the machine wouldn’t go up and wouldn’t come down. There hung the noble bird with its noble freight, like Mahomet’s coffin, ’twixt earth and heaven. Night fell and the eagle didn’t. The pale moon rose up slowly and calmly, she looked down, and her man seemed to be laughing at the unfortunate aeronauts. A week passed, and the refrigerator being empty, it was dropped from the bird’s beak in the hope of effecting a change of position;—but all in vain. That machine became an object of exclusive interest, and hundreds of plans were devised for reaching it, but without avail. YE GALLANT TAR
AND HIS MORTAR.Mortars were brought from the Navy Yard and provisions were shot up to the inventor, and bouquets and slippers to his companion. A loaf of rye bread hit the proud American eagle in the eye, and a veal cutlet knocked out the passenger’s front teeth. On the twelfth day of their elevation, a rope two miles long, manufactured expressly for the purpose, was tied around the body of a young porker. Piggy was then shot up from a mortar aimed by Mr. A. E. Borie, whose experience as Secretary of the Navy made him best fitted for the delicate and important task. The choice was well made; the porker landed in the passenger’s lap and was clasped to his bosom in a convulsive embrace. Then a discussion arose in the air ship as to which of the twain should be first lowered. A penny was tossed, and of course the passenger won. The haggard inventor sighed and submitted to the decree of fate. But the moment the great preacher was out of the machine, while he yet dangled in air, it collapsed, and before the pitying and astounded crowd could utter the cry which rose to its lips, the wonderful aerial ship was a ton of old metal and straps, strewed about the Centennial grounds. The passenger came down, as he does all things, gracefully, and was caught in the outstretched arms of a delegation of his flock. Mr. Airy was shipped back to Georgia in sunburnt sections, just as he was found, a leg to-day, a thumb to-morrow, and a nose next week. They were still receiving small consignments of him at headquarters at last accounts. Coroner’s verdict:—“Too much gas in the balloon to allow it to come down, and not enough to carry it up higher.”
This failure cast a gloom over the exhibition, which was not dispelled until the 21st day of the month, when the great “cricket match” was inaugurated.
This was an interesting occasion, long anticipated in sporting circles. The celebrated “Newhall Eleven” was to be pitted against the “All Comers Eleven,” for the championship of America, a silver belt and a tin water vessel in the shape of a pocket flask.
The game was called at five o’clock in the morning, upon the International cricket ground in the rear of Horticultural Hall. The “Newhall Eleven” was sent to the bat, Hen and Bill having charge of the wickets, with Herb Meade and Pop Beer attending to the bowls.
Henry began by drawing his leg for one, and continued this surgical operation by drawing his arm for another one, which made two. Bill started off and lost his stump, which was picked up by Pop Beer, who regretted to find it out. Pete Newhall then came in. By a hit to square leg he made four, and by a miss to round leg, six. The game now became exciting. Three leg bails and two leg byes were scored on Herb Meade, who after following with two wides and one narrow, was relieved by Joe Large. He began with a maiden who brought in a SINGLES, DOUBLES,
AND TRIPLETS.single, double, and triplets in quick succession. Hen Newhall was caught out by Beer, and his brother Tim came to the scratch confident and fresh as a daisy. He gave evidence of careful training, and got in a good cut with his pocket knife. He followed this with a drive through the park, after which several more maidens were gallantly picked up by Messrs. Outerbridge and Wirebridge, when, the crowd being asleep, the continuation of the game was postponed until the next day.
Tim Newhall retired gracefully on a squirmer, and Ike came in on a check, opening with a splendid hit under the ropes beyond the bottle holder, scoring four. Joe Large here burnt his fingers on a hot liner, and Ike, by a hit between long leg and short leg, scored another two. The bowlers were then changed for Messrs. Caldwell and Calledill, and the game proceeded.
The Newhall Eleven continued gallivanting among maidens and wides and byes, until they had scored 202, when the selected eleven went in. They could do nothing, however, against the heavy Newhall bowling. Large, Small, and Medium went out in one, two, three, order. Caldwell caught a ball between his teeth and held it there while he made twenty-three runs, winning the tin flask for the best individual score, but beyond this the play was weak.