THE BALL OF MY LORD HOWE
Many a night after that last parting I stood guard on that dreary
outpost, gazing out across the snow at the dim lights of the city far
to the eastward. Aye, for the city was gay that winter, gay with
parties and dances, balls and dinners, and the bells rang as merrily
as if we were not starving and dying out on the bleak, hillsides. Aye,
those old burghers were warm and comfortable as they sat by their
fires, with a glass of their wine or toddy at their side.
True, my Lord Howe ruled the city with an iron hand, but he was a
gallant gentleman, and his officers made good partners for their fair
daughters at the balls. They were handsome in their scarlet uniforms,
with their epaulets and their sabres, making, indeed, a very gallant
show, while those ragged patriots out upon the snow had not shoes to
their feet, and were altogether too disreputable to be admitted even
to the kitchens of their houses. Then, again, runs not the Quaker law,
"Thou shalt not fight"? And so the good old burghers threw another log
on the fire and sat down to enjoy the cheerful blaze.
The news came to us, sifted through the lines; we heard of their
dances and their balls, and everywhere we heard that Mistress Jean
Gordon was the belle of them all. The old Tory held high rank in the
counsels of Lord Howe, and the daughter, by her grace and beauty,
reigned it over the hearts of every gallant gentleman of his army.
We heard of her refusing my Lord Paulet and several other gentlemen,
noted among us for their hard fighting, whenever by chance we were
opposed to them. And I, standing guard on the outpost, chafed in vain
when I heard these tales, until one day chance decided me to risk all,
to see her once more with my own eyes, and perhaps speak to her.
There had been a skirmish on the outposts that day, and our men had
captured an English officer, a Captain of the line. He was a talkative
man, and while he was waiting to be sent to the rear as a prisoner we
entertained him at our mess table, and he in turn told us the news of
the town.
"That must be a wonderful country, what do you call it, that eastern
shore of yours?" said he, "if it contains any more beauties like
Mistress Jean Gordon."
"Ah, the Tory's daughter?"
"Yes. She is the reigning belle of the whole town, and all our fellows
are wild about her. I never saw so many fellows in love with one girl
before, but Farquharson seems to have the best of it, while Lord
Paulet stamps and swears."
Now, we were loyal Marylanders--loyal, at least, to her wit and
beauty, so then and there we proposed and drank the health of the Tory
maid, while Dick chimed in with the amendment, "May she never marry a
Britisher, but a patriot tried and true," at which our English Captain
good-naturedly protested; and while they drank the toast I made a vow
that ere a week was past I would be within that city.
Fortune came my way, for as I left the mess-room that night I ran
against Tom Jones of Cresap's old company of riflemen from the
mountains of the West, the most daring and desperate spy in all our
army. He was a man of powerful strength, as lithe and active as a
panther, while his face was as immovable as that of an Indian, with
never a sign thereon of the thoughts and passions of the man within.
He was clad for the moment in the dress of the riflemen, a full suit
of buckskin, leggings, hunting-shirt, and all, while carelessly thrown
across one arm was his rifle, and in his belt was sheathed the long
hunting-knife.
"Lieutenant," said he, "I expect to return through your lines
to-morrow night, so do not fire before you challenge."
"Come this way, Jones," said I, leading him aside from the others. "I
do not know which way you are going, but I want you to help me through
the lines into the city. Can you do so?"
"But, Lieutenant, they will be wanting to hang you if you are caught."
"I will take that risk. I must be in the city within a week."
Jones, like most great frontiersmen, was a man of quick decision and
few words.
"Meet me in an hour," said he, "at the Yellow Tavern."
An hour later found me at the tavern in full uniform, for it was the
only suit I possessed in which it would be possible to present myself
before a lady, so dilapidated, torn, and ragged was my wardrobe. But I
had a great storm-coat which hid the uniform and was an admirable
disguise.
The tavern was crowded. As I stood by the fire I did not at once
notice a quiet, unassuming traveller who had just entered, until he
brushed past my arm and whispered, "Follow me." I did so a few minutes
later, for it was Tom Jones, who looked for all the world as if he was
a quiet city merchant, born and bred within its limits. Yet you had
but to notice his walk, and you saw at once that he was a
mountaineer, for he threaded his way through the crowd as noiselessly
as he did among his native forests, where the crack of a dead twig
might mean his death by a hostile bullet.
I followed him out into the night, and a dark and dismal night it was;
the snow was falling heavily and you could not see three rods away.
"We will follow the pike," said he, "until we see their camp-fire.
They will not keep strict watch to-night, and we will have to keep in
touch with the landmarks."
We trudged along through the snow past the outpost where I had
commanded so many nights, keeping the vigils by the weary hours; then
we became more careful, as the Highland outpost was but a few yards
away.
"They will have their backs to the storm," said the spy, "and though
it is dangerous to go to the windward of a foe, yet he is not so apt
to hear us as he would be to see us if we tried the leeward side.
Those Highlanders have keen eyes."
So we flanked the outpost to the windward and passed them safely, and
then Jones led me by many little bypaths and lanes until we came to
the outskirts of the town. And though the guard at one time could have
touched us as they passed, so dense was the storm that never for a
moment was our safety jeoparded.
At last the houses became closer and we found ourselves in the town,
while every now and then a belated traveller met us, glanced our way
and passed on, for by now it was far into the night. But when we
reached the heart of the town, even at that hour, the streets became
filled with carriages, and we met many officers and gentlemen,
returning from a ball. My Lord Howe entertained that night, and it
was a sign of loyalty and good faith for every one to attend.
Though I became interested in seeing the muffled figures pass us, and
the carriages hurrying through the street, I grew uneasy as I saw that
Jones was making his way to the centre of the town, to the very door
of Lord Howe's mansion. At last I remonstrated with him, but Jones
growled in answer: "How can you throw the dogs off your track, if the
snow does not fill it, but by mixing it with other tracks?"
This was unanswerable. I followed him along the street until we were
among the crowd before Lord Howe's door.
It was a gay and brilliant scene, that ball of my Lord Howe, and
though it was near the end, the music of the dance still floated
through the wide entrance, while the figures of the dancers flitted
across the windows, which were ablaze with lights. The guests were
fast leaving; fair ladies and officers bravely uniformed were coming
down the steps. There was a calling of carriages and of names, the
slamming of doors and the muffled roll of the wheels as they drove
off. I was about to move on with Jones, when I heard the major-domo, a
sergeant of the guard, call out the carriage of Colonel Charles
Gordon, and then I would have drawn back, as I had been forced into
the front rank; for, though I knew that she must be at the ball, I had
not thought to be brought so suddenly face to face with her. But ere I
could do so, she came down the carpeted stairs leaning on her father's
arm, graceful and beautiful, while by her side walked Farquharson in
full Highland costume, eager and attentive. A smile was upon her lips
as she listened, and then her eyes met mine. Her face went pale, and
she was near fainting. Her father caught her as she slightly reeled,
and Farquharson looked fiercely around to see what the cause was. But
I was muffled up, and before he could demand the cause Mistress Jean
was eagerly declaring that it was a mere nothing; and, as if to prove
what she said was true, she hurried on to the carriage.
Farquharson leaned for a moment into the carriage to bid them
good-night, and then it rolled off into the darkness.