“Oh, a LOT of people WE never heard of before – the shoemaker and
horse-doctor and knife-grinder kind, you know – clodhoppers from
goodness knows where that never handled a sword or fired a shot in
their lives – but the soldiership was in them, though they never
had a chance to show it. But here they take their right place, and
Caesar and Napoleon and Alexander have to take a back seat. The
greatest military genius our world ever produced was a brick-layer
from somewhere back of Boston – died during the Revolution – by the
name of Absalom Jones. Wherever he goes, crowds flock to see him.
You see, everybody knows that if he had had a chance he would have
shown the world some generalship that would have made all
generalship before look like child’s play and ‘prentice work. But
he never got a chance; he tried heaps of times to enlist as a
private, but he had lost both thumbs and a couple of front teeth,
and the recruiting sergeant wouldn’t pass him. However, as I say,
everybody knows, now, what he WOULD have been, – and so they flock
by the million to get a glimpse of him whenever they hear he is
going to be anywhere. Caesar, and Hannibal, and Alexander, and
Napoleon are all on his staff, and ever so many more great
generals; but the public hardly care to look at THEM when HE is
around. Boom! There goes another salute. The barkeeper’s off
quarantine now.”
Sandy and I put on our things. Then we made a wish, and in a
second we were at the reception-place. We stood on the edge of the
ocean of space, and looked out over the dimness, but couldn’t make
out anything. Close by us was the Grand Stand – tier on tier of
dim thrones rising up toward the zenith. From each side of it
spread away the tiers of seats for the general public. They spread
away for leagues and leagues – you couldn’t see the ends. They
were empty and still, and hadn’t a cheerful look, but looked
dreary, like a theatre before anybody comes – gas turned down.
Sandy says, –
“We’ll sit down here and wait. We’ll see the head of the
procession come in sight away off yonder pretty soon, now.”
Says I, –
“It’s pretty lonesome, Sandy; I reckon there’s a hitch somewheres.
Nobody but just you and me – it ain’t much of a display for the
barkeeper.”
“Don’t you fret, it’s all right. There’ll be one more gun-fire –
then you’ll see.
In a little while we noticed a sort of a lightish flush, away off
on the horizon.
“Head of the torchlight procession,” says Sandy.
It spread, and got lighter and brighter: soon it had a strong
glare like a locomotive headlight; it kept on getting brighter and
brighter till it was like the sun peeping above the horizon-line at
sea – the big red rays shot high up into the sky.
“Keep your eyes on the Grand Stand and the miles of seats – sharp!”
says Sandy, “and listen for the gun-fire.”
Just then it burst out, “Boom-boom-boom!” like a million
thunderstorms in one, and made the whole heavens rock. Then there
was a sudden and awful glare of light all about us, and in that
very instant every one of the millions of seats was occupied, and
as far as you could see, in both directions, was just a solid pack
of people, and the place was all splendidly lit up! It was enough
to take a body’s breath away. Sandy says, –
“That is the way we do it here. No time fooled away; nobody
straggling in after the curtain’s up. Wishing is quicker work than
travelling. A quarter of a second ago these folks were millions of
miles from here. When they heard the last signal, all they had to
do was to wish, and here they are.”
The prodigious choir struck up, –
We long to hear thy voice,
To see thee face to face.
It was noble music, but the uneducated chipped in and spoilt it,
just as the congregations used to do on earth.