Experiences of a Bandmaster | Page 5

Laurie," "My Old Kentucky Home," etc., and never did
the familiar melodies sound so grandly beautiful.
The influence of music to quiet disorder and to allay fear is quite as
potent as its power to excite and to stir enthusiasm. A case in point
happened at the St. Louis Exposition, where my band was giving a
series of concerts. There was an enormous audience in the music hall
when, in the middle of the programme, every electric light suddenly
went out, leaving the house in complete darkness.
A succession of sharp cries from women, the hasty shuffling of feet,
and the nervous tension manifest in every one, gave proof that a panic
was probably imminent. I called softly to the band, "Yankee Doodle!"
and the men quickly responded by playing the good old tune from
memory in the darkness, quickly following it with "Dixie" on my
orders. The audience began to quiet down, and some scattering
applause gave assurance that the excitement was abating.
"The Star-Spangled Banner" still further restored confidence, and when
we played "Oh Dear, What Can the Matter Be?" and "Wait Till The
Clouds Roll By," every one was laughing and making the best of the
gloom. In a short time the gas was turned on, and the concert proceeded
with adequate lighting.

In the desire to do especial honor to a certain foreign representative
during the World's Fair, I had a particular piece of music in which he
was interested arranged for my band, and agreed to play it at a specified
concert. The music was given to a member of the band with
instructions to copy the parts and deliver them at the band-stand.
The foreign gentleman was present at the concert with a large party of
friends, whom he had invited to hear this particular piece of music.
When the librarian asked the musician for the parts, he could not find
them, and a search high and low for the missing music was without
avail. Much to my chagrin, it was necessary to omit the number and
send explanations and regrets to the dignitary whom it was designed to
honor.
At the end of the concert, when the men were packing to go home, the
player found the missing band parts stuck in the bell of his instrument,
where he had placed them for safe-keeping.
In a little Michigan town my band was booked for an afternoon concert,
and on our arrival the local manager assured us that we should have a
good house, although there was no advance sale. He explained this by
saying that the townspeople did not like to buy their tickets until the
last minute.
The theatre was on the second floor of the town hall, the ground floor
being given over to the fire department, the especial pride of the
community. Twenty minutes before the concert a large crowd had
gathered round the box-office to buy tickets when the fire-alarm
sounded, and the entire population promptly deserted the muse of
music and escorted the engine and hose-cart to the scene of action,
leaving the band absolutely without an audience.

A Tuneful Locomotive.
Once when we were playing during warm weather in a theatre situated
near a railroad, the windows were left open for ventilation. The band
was rendering a Wagner selection, and at the climax was playing with
increasing force. The last note to be played was a unison B flat, and as I
gave the sign to the musicians to play as strong as possible the volume
of sound that followed fairly astonished me. I had never heard fifty men
play with such force before and could not account for it, but the
explanation soon became manifest. As the band ceased playing, the

same note continued in the blast of a passing locomotive that had
opportunely chimed in with us in unison.
The Marine Band was once doing escort duty on Pennsylvania Avenue
in Washington to a body of citizen soldiery returning from camp. It was
at night and the parade was preceded by a wagon-load of fireworks
which were to be discharged at appropriate intervals along the line of
march.
By some accident or design the entire load of pyrotechnics was
simultaneously ignited, and the street immediately filled with a perfect
fusillade of rockets and Roman candles.
A stampede followed and the parade faded away. I stood my ground
until my eye-glasses were knocked off, and then I groped my way to
the sidewalk. When the confusion had subsided, all that could be
discovered of my band was the drum-major in front and the
bass-drummer in the rear rank. Their comrades had fled, but these men
were good soldiers, and having received no orders to disperse had stood
their ground manfully.

A Tale of the White House