River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1885-10-01
The Panorama of the Battle of Gettys-
hurO

j
1t is fifty feet in height and four hundred |
feet in length. 1t is on exhibition in a |
building erected purposely on the corner |
of Wabash Avenue and Hubbard Court. |
The building is ninety-siX feet from |
ground to cupola, and has an inside cir |
conference of four hundred feet. The |
painting is stretched around the wall in
side this building, its ends meeting with
the utmost precision. But here we are
at the entrance, which is situated dag
onally to the4ntersection of the streets.
Entering we come to the ticket office,
and, having now purchased tickets, we
stand before two doors-the right hand
for entrance to, and the left hand for exit
from, the Panorama. We purchase q
pamphlet here which is a key to the
Panorama, and pass in and down dark
paSsage-way, thence up some spiral steps
emerging, with breathless amazement, in
the open air. apparently, on circular
platform at the top of little knoll which
is the center of an extensive landscape
with a horizon three to five miles away
in every direction Delightfully."- we re-
call our perusal of fairy tales; and the
transmission of people several hundred
miles III moment of time becomes
reality III ones own experience. Where
now are the busy, busting, crowded
streets! Where are the towering, I'M
posing structures of stone, iron and glass
that moment ago seemed to hem us IN!
Only a light umbrella-shaped canvas be-
tween us and the zenith. Only low
iron fence bounding this small platform
between us and the surrounding corn
fields, meadows, groves, orchards, gram
fields, ripe for the reaper, fences, gram
stacks, farm-houses, and roads narrowing
off into the distance, away, away; all this
we take in with startled establishment at
the first glimpse The next instant, a
closer view shows us that this rural scene
lacks its wonted tranquility and peaceful
ness. To the eve, on every hand, Is fear
full destruction of man and his works, by
man himself; fiends against tiends, fierce
rushing, leaping, falling, clashlng, eXplo-
sions, blood, smoke, and dust. But :
Where are our ears? Have they lost
their function? Is sound no more? No
deafening report accompanies the burst
ing of that magazine with its million
fragments, smoke, and dust, high III the
air. No thundeiings from those belchIng
cannon. No shrek escapes the bps OF
that wounded victim thrown violently
to the ground from that broken stretcher,
one of his carriers lying dead beside HIM.
1t is recorded that the voice OF Christ
went forth upon the tempest III rebuke
and command, and the waves became
still and the wind was hushed. Has the
voice of Jehovah passed in rebuke and
Almighty fiat over this scene of hellish
carnage, and fixed and stitfened in immu-
liability every movement, every muscle,
every breath, and every sound? That
soldier, with musket in hand, action,
fierce action, in every limb i'll every
nerve, revenge in his eye, curslng in his
mouth, one foot upon the stone wall, and
every muscle strained to plant the other
over and beyond ibid he hear above
the thunders of the Cannonade the sub
lime, the 0Wftd voice Of his Maker? And,
in the twinkling of an eye was his surg
ing blood concealed every slnew stltten-
ed, and every nerve palsIed? Ihat
smoke never lifts. That dust never set
ties. And though dead, sultry, and hot
as we feel the air to be, yet never a sol
der lifts his canteen to his parched lips.
Is the stormy voice of passion so ur-
gent and loud that natures normal needs
are crushed and voiceless? Sad, motion
less, almost breathless and spellbOund,
we stand gazing upon this fierce, deadly,
but soundIess and motlOnless struggle.
This silent battle rouses its counterpart III
our brain; and expectations and impulses
barely raise their heads before they are
brushed away by uncOmpromising rea
son. And though weak and tiny as flies
to Reasons strong arm, yet. sWarming as
flies in August, they are not easily van
pushed. In the midst of this deadly
strife stand we idle; for the firm COM
mands of reason hold us. Impulse is
born but Immediately strangled, to rush
to the rescue Of that dying head from the
hard, cold, stone wall. To wish for one
reviving zephyr from yonder deep shad-
oWy ravine, down which they say Rock
Creek runs, would be vain and foolish.
We must bear this sultIy heat until at
the call of our lamp its genius sets us
back in the streets of Chicago Those
leaves might move with just one little
breeze, but they don't. They cannot.
Not a blade of that grass lifts. Yet this
grass that grows right up this slope al
most to our feet is certainly bOnafide
grass whose painter is the sun. Reason,
herself now approves and coroborates;
but refuses to extend the same hand OF
fellowship to grass OF, apparently, the
same family 10 or 20 rods away; but, as
vet, offering only the objection of distance
with the recollection that, i'll spite of APP
pearances, we surely must be inside the
round building that we entered. Then
we determine to find the line between
Natures work and mans. Eureka
There it is. The lower edge of the can
vas or picture is apparently hidden down
at the roots of the real grass, and the
painted grass moves on and on, for 20 or
80 rods more, looking proudly and inno
Gently unconscious of any vile deceit.
Hold on! Mr.. Counterfeit for, after all,
you have a sneaking knowledge of guilt
shown in your slight, uery slight difference
of tint from the true grass. \ on may be
proud of your form, your shading and
your shadows, but that tell-tale tint just
whispers the truth and your character Is
known.
Now, moving around to where the cor
ner of the field of unreaped ripe wheat |
true wheat comes right up to the platform,
we are again successful i'll finding this
magicaliy concealed line, although the
breaking and tracking of this true wheat
exactly mated tie painted wheat in the
foreground where the artillery are haul
ing their caissons and cannons.
We follow our cIew and find this line
running through three stone walls, Pile
of decaying wood, through tree top
and between Il PROSTATE, hatleSs, dead
soldier and a real hat that you may see
has Just rolled of his head on to the true,
hard-trodden, foot-beaten, ground: and |
the real bayOnet lying there as if just
slipped from his nerveless fingers.
Finally, after much tracing of this line,
the eve becomes accustomed to measur-
ing and determining it's distance from the
platform, and Judges by distance whether
an object is solid reality or painted
counterfeit. Vain of our shreWdness we
rush on, ripe for the net laid for us on an
other plan. There are two real straw
stacks both built on the same radius OF
the circular plane of which the panora-
ma forms the periphery. Standing on
this same radius we see the top OF the
farther stack by looking across the top OF
the near one. This trained eye OF ours,
out with its rule and square decided that
that farther stack, notwithstanding ITS III
innate falthfulness to nature, must be, !
certainly must be, the work OF the painters
brush, for there absolutely Is not stand |
ing room for it within the unyleldlng CIR
Gle formed bv the solid walls of the build |
ing. TO obtain a view from different |
point we step few yards to the right, |
and 10 our eyes are opened, and we be- |
hold, with some modification, the mesh
es Of the net that has caught US.
The near stack was built so large on the |
near side that we naturally Judged that
its base would cover the whole OF the NM |
tied space, but this latter view shows the
farther stack with its base built into and |
under the near one, and its top 50 arttully |
leaned and formed as to give 1t the APP |
pearance of standing four or i've rods be- !
yQnd the near one Morals Nlpw q mat |
ter from every possible standpoint be-
fore passing judgment.