THE FÊTE OF THE AFTERNOON
I confess that up to this time I had experienced little interest in the
affair. After Valley Forge it was hard for an American soldier to admire
such boy's play, or to enter into the spirit of British fun making.
Besides the danger of my position, the fear of some slip of tongue
betraying me, the knowledge that I was in the very heart of the enemy's
camp, with grim, stern duties to perform and a return journey to
accomplish, kept me nerved to a point where I thought of little else than
my task. But now I dared not remain indifferent, and, indeed, the
enthusiasm of my companions became contagious, and I joined with them
eagerly, as they hurried forth to the best point of view. Once there the
sight revealed aroused me to an enthusiasm scarcely less than that of
those crowding about. Few, indeed, have ever witnessed so gorgeous a
spectacle as that river presented, and I have found many since who have
questioned my description. Yet I write down here only what I saw with my
own eyes, little understanding at the time its importance to my future
life.
Well out in the stream lay the vessels of war--the _Fanny_, _Roebuck_,
and _Vigilant_--together with a long line of transports, stretching as
far as the eye could see, flags flying, and decks crowded with
spectators. At the fore-mast head of the _Roebuck_ fluttered the
Admiral's flag, and the shoreline was jammed with soldiery, the varied
uniforms a maze of colors. The pageant came down with the tide, moving in
three divisions to the inspiring music of several bands, the oars of
galleys and barges keeping exact intervals. These were decked out with
all manner of colors and streamers, and above fluttered the division
flag. As they passed us, the officers beside me named the various
occupants, but I recall now only the first and last, because of my
interest in those aboard. In the leading galley were Sir William, Lord
Howe, Sir Henry Clinton, the officers of their suites, and some ladies.
Lord Howe was facing the other way, but I noticed that Clinton was short
and fat, with a full face and prominent nose. In the last of the boats
stood General Knyphausen, the Hessian commander, very much of a German in
appearance, not tall, but slender and straight. Between these were
flat-boats, covered with green cloth, loaded with ladies and gentlemen,
or else containing bands. Six barges, darting here and there, kept open
space amid the swarms of small boats. Everywhere the eye swept over a
riot of color, and the ear caught a babel of sound. As the last barge
glided by, the man next me growled in disgust:
"Those are lucky dogs off duty to-day." His eye caught mine. "Why don't
you go after them, Fortesque? There will be plenty of fun afoot yonder
where they land."
"Where is that?"
"At the old fort; follow the crowd, and you'll not go astray. Have you a
ticket?"
"Captain André honored me with one this morning."
"Then you are good for the first row. Don't miss it, man," with
enthusiasm. "'T will be such a sight as has not been witnessed since the
Field of the Cloth of Gold."
"A passage at arms, you mean?"
"Ay! as gorgeous as those of the old-time knights; a fair conceit as I
read the programme. I'd be there now but for the damned orders that hold
me here. If you ride hard you can make the spot before they come ashore."
There was no reason I should not go, and much in the glittering prospect
appealed to me. Five minutes later I was trotting out of the Yager camp,
pressing passage through the crowds, already headed southward, the
dragoon riding silently at my heels. Mounted men that day were few, and,
doubtless believing we were connected with the pageant, the jam sullenly
parted, and gave us opening, so we reached the site of the old fort as
the barges began discharging their occupants. A glance about, however,
convinced me as to where the lists were to be run, and I headed my horse
in that direction, anxious to gain some point of vantage, before the
throng poured in. Yet, Heaven knows, there were enough present even then,
the green sward overrun, and the few stands crowded. Quite a considerable
space, leading back from the river landing, had been roped off, and Light
Dragoons rode along the lines to keep out invaders; others guarded the
main platform until the more distinguished guests were seated. Few
Philadelphia residents were present, although I saw some black coats, the
crowd being mostly composed of soldiers bent upon frolic. In the occupied
stands, however, were loyalists in plenty, with a considerable sprinkling
of ladies, gaily attired. I saw all this while striving to spur my horse
forward toward where a band played "God save the King," but should have
failed to make it, had not Major O'Hara caught glimpse of my face above
the press. A moment he stared at me in perplexity, and then with a dab of
his spur forced the black horse he rode against the ropes.
"Damn me if I knew you, Fortesque," he exclaimed cordially. "But come on
through; there's a gate yonder. Fall back now, lads, and let the officer
pass. That's it; ride 'em down if they won't make way. Here's a spot
where you can see the whole field from the saddle."
I was somewhat to the right of the big stand, the restive heels of my
horse keeping the crowd away, and with a clear view as far as the river
bank. O'Hara was too busy to stop long, but I was not sorry, as there was
sufficient occurring to rivet attention. It was, maybe, four hundred
yards down a gentle slope to the water's edge, where the line was
forming. This passageway was lined with onlookers, held back by numerous
guards, while to my left extended a square lawn, perhaps one hundred and
fifty yards each way, surrounded by a double rank of grenadiers, the
bayonets gleaming on their guns. This open space was equipped with
everything needed for the coming tourney, and on three sides were tiers
of raised seats. I had barely observed all this when the guns of the
_Roebuck_, echoed by those of the _Vigilant_, began to boom a salute, and
the head of the column of marchers began slowly mounting the slope. All
the bands of the garrison were in front, followed by the managers, richly
attired, with badges of blue and white ribbon on their breasts. Behind
these appeared, in full dress uniform, gleaming with decorations and
medals, the three specially honored guests, the two generals and the
admiral, the others of the gay party following two by two in long,
interesting procession. The costumes worn were as varied as those of a
masquerade, representing all the changes since the days of chivalry. The
whole line glowed with color, and gleamed with steel.
Like some great serpent, glittering in the sun, this procession passed
under the triumphal arches, and disappeared as its members took
prescribed positions on the stands, or in the pavilions bordering the
field of contest. As thus arranged the grouping of colors was most
brilliant. In the front of each pavilion were seven young ladies, attired
picturesquely in Turkish costume, wearing in their turbans those favors
with which they meant to reward the knights contending in their honor.
Behind these, and occupying all the upper seats, were the maidens
representing the two divisions of the day's sports--ladies of the Blended
Rose, and ladies of the Burning Mountain. The first wore a white silk,
called a polonaise, forming a flowing robe, open to the waist; the pink
sash was six inches wide, and filled with spangles; the shoes and
stockings were also spangled, and, above all, arose a towering
head-dress, filled with a profusion of pearls and jewels; the veil was
spangled, and edged with silver lace. The ladies of the Burning Mountain
were similarly dressed, except that they wore white sashes, edged with
black, and all their trimmings were of that color. As the veils were
thrown back, and I looked on the bright, animated faces, I thought I had
never before seen such an array of beauty. From the crowd surging around
I heard name after name mentioned, as famous Philadelphia belles were
pointed out, not a few familiar to me, through remembrance of our own
former occupancy of the city--Miss Craig, the Misses Chew, Miss Redmond,
Miss Bond, the Misses Shippen, and others, all of loyalist families, yet
content to play the game of hearts with both armies. Even as I gazed upon
that galaxy of beauty, half angry that Americans should take part in such
a spectacle of British triumph, the field was cleared for the lists, and
a sound of trumpets came to us from a distance.
Out into the opening rode the contending knights, attended by esquires on
foot, dressed in ancient habits of white and red silk, and mounted on
gray horses. From the other direction appeared their opponents, in black
and orange, riding black steeds, while to the centre advanced the herald
loudly proclaiming the challenge. I knew not who they all were, but they
made a gallant show, and I overheard many a name spoken of soldiers met
in battle--Lord Cathcart, Captain André, Major Tarlton, Captain Scott.
Ay! and they fought well that day, those White and Black Knights on the
mimic field, first charging together, shivering their spears; the second
and third encounters discharging pistols; and in the fourth attacking
with swords in most gallant combat. At last the two chiefs--Lord Cathcart
for the Whites, and Captain Watson, of the Guards, for the Blacks--were
alone contending furiously, when the marshal of the field rushed in
between, and struck up their weapons, declaring the contest done, the
honor of each side proven. As the company broke up, flowing forward to
the great house beyond, the vast crowd of onlookers burst through the
guard-lines, and, like a mighty torrent, swept over the field. It was a
wild, jubilant, yelling mass, so dense as to be irresistible, even those
of us on horseback being pressed forward, helpless chips on the stream.
I endeavored to press back, but my restive animal, startled by the dig of
the spur, the yells, the waving of arms, refused to face the tumult, and
whirled madly about. For a moment I all but lost control, yet, even as he
plunged rearing into the air, I saw before me the appealing face of a
woman. How she chanced to be there alone, in the path of that mob, I know
not; where her escort had disappeared, and how she had become separated
from her party, has never been made clear. But this I saw, even as I
struggled with the hard-mouthed brute under me--a slender, girlish figure
attired as a lady of the Blended Rose, a white, frightened face, arms
outstretched, and dark blue eyes beseeching help. Already the front of
the mob was upon her, unable to swerve aside because of the thousands
pushing behind. In another moment she would be underfoot, or hurled into
the air. Reckless of all else I dug in my spurs, yelling to the Light
Dragoon beside me, even as my horse leaped. I felt the crush of bodies,
hands gripped my legs; soldiers were hurled right and left, cursing as
they fell. I must have hurt some, but had no thought except to reach her
before it was too late. I was struck twice by missiles, yet burst
through, my horse, by this time, frenzied with fear. I scarcely know what
happened, or how it was accomplished--only I had the reins gripped in my
teeth, both my hands free. That instant I caught her; the next she was on
my arm, swung safely to the saddle, held to me with a grip of steel, the
animal dashing forward beneath his double burden into the open field.
Then the Dragoon, riding madly, gripped the bit, and the affair was over,
although we must have galloped a hundred yards before the trembling horse
was brought to a stand. Leaving him to the control of the soldier, I
sprang to the ground, bearing the lady with me. We were behind one of the
pavilions, facing the house, and she reeled as her feet touched the
earth, so that I held her from falling. Then her lashes lifted, and the
dark blue eyes looked into my face.
"You must pardon my roughness," I apologized, "but there was no time for
ceremony."
She smiled, a flood of color coming back into the clear cheeks, as she
drew slightly away.
"I appreciate that, sir," frankly, shaking out her ruffled skirts, "and
you have made knighthood real."
"Then," I ventured, "may I hope to receive the reward, fair lady?"
She laughed, a little tremor of nervousness in the sound, but her eyes
full of challenge.
"And what is that?"
"Your name; the hope of better acquaintance."
Her eyes swept my uniform questioningly.
"You are not of the garrison?"
"No; a courier just arrived from New York."
"Yet an officer; surely then you will be present to-night?"
"The privilege is mine; if sufficiently tempted I may attend."
"Tempted! How, sir?"
"By your pledging me a dance."
She laughed again, one hand grasping the long silken skirt.
"You ask much--my name, a better acquaintance, a dance--all this for
merely saving me from a mob. You are not a modest knight, I fear. Suppose
I refuse?"
"Then am I soldier enough to come unasked, and win my welcome."
"I thought as much," the long lashes opening up to me the depths of the
blue eyes. "I promise nothing then, nor forbid. But there is Captain
Grant seeking me. If I do not speak of gratitude, it is nevertheless in
my heart, sir," she swept me a curtsey, to which I bowed hat in hand,
"and now, _Au revoir_."
I stood as she left me, staring while she crossed the lawn and joined a
dark-faced officer of Rangers. Once she glanced back over her shoulder,
and then disappeared in the crowd of revellers.