Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-06-28
THE FOURTH IN OLD SALEM
By J. G. O'MAHONEY
builders have ira
dition to combat,
and the invidious
cOnDariSOns of the

and the 1nv1dlOuS
comparisons of the
oldest inhabitant to face.
On the morning of the third of July,
Salem becomes the Mecca of all the ven
ders of the surrounding district, with
their peanut stands, hand organs, gas
balloons, COW bells, tin horns, and all
other imaginable instruments of bedlam.
The influx also includes Bostonians,
Harvard students, and would be Bohemi-
ans in quest of new form of pleasure.
All during the afternoon little knots of
visitors may be seen climbing the steep
approaches of the hill, to inspect the
enormous pile which has been standing
completed now for a week or more. The
noise centers round the historic Witch
House on Essex-st A continuous racket
is kept up, which increases as the day
grows older, releasing hundreds of men
and boys from the workshops and fac
tories. At nine o'clock the streets of the
town are deserted.
Climax of the Day
FINALLY, if we fall in line and follow
the throng. jostling along slowly but
good naturally, blowing horns in Our
ears and setting off giant crackers at our
heels, we reach the gates. The sound of
d OAHU SIccCS US lIlOlSIl1lCty CuIOuSu
the din, and if we push close enough we
hear the strains of America" or "Hia-
watha," or some other later and more
ephemeral popular song. The crowd be-
gins to spread out here and there in the
grass. There is no illumination now ex-
cept the moon in the clear sky above,
and the sudden flicker of matches or the
glimmer of cigars and punk sticks among
the crowd.
Eleven o'clock comes, and every eye
is bent on the tall shadow on the top of
Gallows Hill. Its base is roped off and
guarded, and no one but the favored few
is allowed to approach. Only lantern
or two may be seen moving about inside
the lines Everyone is waiting for the
last stroke of twelve. The atmosphere
seems charged with suppressed excite
ment. 1t is five minutes to twelve! One
of the lanterns begins to move up through
the center of the stack. We can see it
through the chinks, climbing higher and
higher.
The lantern has reached the uttermost
barrel. The tension is unbroken, save for
the clicking of revolvers on every side.
Suddenly vast sheet of flame envelops
the tip of the spire. A deep sigh seems
to go forth from the hills, and instantly
the air is filled with the rattle and bang
of firearms in a wild salute Little
tongues of fire are 1eaping from the
mouths of thousand revolvers. Oyama
and his victorious battalions could hardly
manufacture more noise than do these
erstwhile silent Salernites when that
flame bursts forth
Hardly minute has passed. 1t seems
as though the flag has been forgotten and
that it will perish. A cry, half earnest,
half hypocritical, resounds: Save the
flag! Save the f1ag!" And year in and
year out, in the same way, figure ap-
and snatches the flag from seeming inev-
liable destruction.
The crowd fingers while the bonfire
burns away like a mighty candle in the
hand of Jove. Nero fiddled to no grander
sight. But it passes in a few hours, and
the next day nothing remains but heap
of s1noldering ashes.