I had heard that Sir William Howe was of sybaritic temperament. What we
had seen on the occasion of our first interview with him indicated the
truth of this report, and the sight that burst upon us when we entered
the apartments where his banquet of state was served was indubitable
confirmation. There was such a confusion of soft carpets and silken
hangings and glittering glass and other adornments of luxury that for a
few moments both Marcel and I were quite dazzled and overpowered.
"I would like to turn about twenty of our starving soldiers loose here
with liberty to do their will for a half-hour," Marcel whispered to me.
I smiled at the thought of the mighty wreckage and despoiling that would
ensue. But Vivian and Blake were coming to greet us, and soon we were
strolling about with them. We rendered our respects again to Sir
William, who received us with kindly courtesy. He was in the full blaze
of his most splendid and brilliant uniform, with a gold-hilted sword
hanging by his side, and I have rarely seen a more bravely adorned
figure.
"Suppose we get a glass of wine," said Blake, after we had performed our
duty to our host and commander-in-chief.
We made assent, and he led the way to a smaller room, where there was
spread a fine array of bottles and glasses. An attendant hastened to
fill the glasses for us, and when he handed mine to me I recognized the
face of the man Waters. Perhaps it was my imagination again, but his
eyes seemed to dwell upon me for a moment with a look of suspicion or
knowledge. But it was only for a moment, and then his face became as
blank and stupid as that of a well-trained attendant ought to be. But
the feeling of alarm was aroused in me as it had been aroused the night
before, and I drank off the wine at a draught to steady my nerves and to
still my fears. It had the effect desired: my blood grew warm in my
veins again. Then I saw how foolish I had been. The imagination loves to
trick us, and if ever we give it any vantage it will treat us in
precisely the same way again.
Waters was asking me in the most respectful tone for the privilege of
refilling my glass, but I declined, and passed on with my friends. I
determined to say nothing to Marcel about this second alarm that Waters
had given me, for I knew that his volatile Southern temperament had long
since thrown off the effects of what he might have felt the previous
night, and he would only laugh at me.
Marcel and the two Englishmen said by and by that they wanted another
glass of wine, and decided to return to the room in search of it. I
wished to keep my head cool, and declined to go with them.
"Very well," said Vivian. "Take care of yourself, and we will rejoin you
presently."
So they left me; and I was not ill content to be alone,--that is, in so
far as one can be alone in the midst of a crowd,--as I wished to look on
and to note well, since I apprehended that in the course of our
adventure we would need a great store of knowledge as well as tact. I
was thinking such thoughts, and meanwhile failing to look about me with
the acuteness that I had intended, when I turned an angle of the hall
and barely saved myself from a collision with the most beautiful young
woman I had ever seen. Startled by my absence of mind and awkwardness,
she stepped back with a little cry, while I stammered out some sort of
an apology, though all the while I kept my eyes upon her face, which was
of that clear, fine, and expressive type that I so much admire. The
slight look of annoyance appearing at first in her eyes passed away. I
suppose it was my look of admiration that placated her, for I have heard
old men who know much of women say that no one of them is so good or so
indifferent as not to be pleased by evident admiration. A half-dozen
brilliantly uniformed officers were around her, and one of them--Catron
it was--stepped forward.
"Miss Desmond," he said with easy grace, "permit me to introduce to you
the valiant Lieutenant Melville, who is one of the heroes of yesterday's
encounter with the rebel band, of which you perhaps have
heard.--Lieutenant Melville, make obeisance to Miss Desmond, our fairest
and most faithful ally."
So this was the woman. As traitorous as she was fair! The apostate
daughter of a patriot father! Not all her beauty--and I was fain to
confess to myself that it was great--could prevent the anger from
rising within me.
But I concealed my feelings and made a most lowly obeisance.
"You are just from England, I hear, Lieutenant Melville," she said. "Ah,
that is a happy land! There the king's subjects are loyal and devoted to
his welfare, while this wretched country is rent by treason and war."
Her words increased my anger.
"Miss Desmond," I said, "I am a soldier of his Majesty King George, and
hope to serve him well, but I can condemn the rebels as rebels only and
not as men also. I hear that Mr. Washington and many of his officers
are, aside from their lack of loyalty, most worthy persons."
These words had a bold sound, but I had determined to adopt such a
course, as I believed it would come nearer to allaying suspicion than
any over-warm espousal of Britain's cause. This in truth seemed to be
the case, for two or three of the officers murmured approval of my
words.
"You seem to be as frank as you are bold," said Miss Desmond, coldly.
"But perhaps it would be wise for you to keep these opinions from Sir
William Howe."
"He has not yet asked me for my opinions," I replied; then adding as an
apology for the rudeness, "but if any one could convert me by argument
to the belief that the morals of the rebels are as bad as their
politics, it would be Miss Desmond."
"Then," she said, somewhat irrelevantly, "you do not believe that all
these men should be hanged when the rebellion is crushed?"
"Miss Desmond," I replied, "you cannot hang an entire nation."
"Fie! fie!" broke in Catron, "to talk of such a gruesome subject at such
a time! Melville, acknowledge yourself one of Miss Desmond's subjects,
and come with us."
"I yield willingly to such overwhelming odds," I said.
"You are just in time," said Catron, "for here comes Belfort, who is
even more fierce against the rebels than Miss Desmond."
Belfort saluted Miss Desmond in his most courtly manner, but was chary
of politeness to the remainder of us. It was evident that he wished to
assume a certain proprietorship over Miss Desmond, but the gay crowd
around her was not willing to submit to that, and Miss Desmond herself
would not have allowed such cool appropriation. So among us we made
Belfort fight for his ground, and, though it is wrong, perhaps, to
confess it, I extracted much enjoyment from his scarce-concealed spleen.
In this pleasant exercise we were presently aided by Marcel, who saw how
matters stood as soon as he joined us, and turned all the shafts of his
sharp wit upon Belfort.
But these passages at arms were soon broken up, as the time for the
banquet arrived. The largest room in the house was set apart for the
feasting, and the great table which ran almost its full length supported
an array of gold and silver plate of a splendor and quality that I had
never seen before. In the adjoining chambers were stationed two of the
regimental bands, the one to play while the other rested. Scores of wax
candles in magnificent candelabra shed a brilliant light over gold and
silver plate and the gorgeous uniforms of the gathering guests. Of a
truth the British army lived well. How could we blame our ragged and
starving men for leaving us sometimes?
Sir William, as a matter of course, presided, with the general officers
on either side of him. But a seat or two away from him was a large man
in civilian's dress. This man was of a noble but worn countenance, and I
guessed at once that he was John Desmond. I soon found that I was right,
and I wondered why Sir William had brought him to the banquet, but
supposed it was for his daughter's sake.
Miss Desmond was near the upper end of the table, with Belfort by her
side. Nor was she the only beauty at the banquet, as the wives and
daughters of our rich Philadelphians were very partial to the British,
whose triumph in America they considered certain. This fact was not a
matter of pleasure and encouragement to good patriots.
I would have liked to be near Miss Desmond, as I wished to draw her out
further in regard to her political principles. I did not understand why
an American woman could be so bitter against the best of her countrymen,
and moreover there is a certain pleasure in opposition. We soon grow
tired of people who always agree with us. But it was not my fortune to
be near enough to converse with her. Nevertheless I could watch the
changing expression of her brilliant countenance.
The viands and the liquors were of surpassing quality, and under their
satisfying influence the dinner proceeded smoothly. There was much talk,
mostly of the war and its progress, and everybody was in fine feather.
Despite the late successes of the Americans in the North, there seemed
to be no one present who did not anticipate the speedy and complete
triumph of the British arms.
"Sir William expects to be made a marquis at least," said Blake, who was
one of my neighbors, to me, "and if he should take Mr. Washington he
would deserve it."
"Of a certainty he would deserve it if he should do that," I said.
Miss Desmond was talking with great animation to some officers of high
rank, but my attention presently wandered from her to her father, and
was held there by his square, strong, Quakerish face and moody look.
This man wore the appearance of a prisoner rather than that of a guest,
and replied but curtly to the questions addressed to him, even when Sir
William himself was the questioner. I was near enough to hear some of
these questions and replies.
"It is a gay and festal scene, is it not, Mr. Desmond?" said Sir
William. "It seems to me that the pinched condition of the rebels, of
which we hear so much, would contrast greatly with this."
"You speak truly, Sir William," said Mr. Desmond, "but you do not say in
whose favor the contrast would be."
I inwardly rejoiced at the bold and blunt reply, but Sir William only
smiled. In truth I soon saw that he and some of the high officers around
him had set out to badger the old Philadelphian, which I deemed to be a
most ungallant thing, as he was wholly in their power.
"Mr. Desmond still feels some lingering sympathy for his misguided
countrymen," said a general. "But perhaps it is as well that he does, is
it not, Sir William? they will need it."
"It is a characteristic of my countrymen to show patience and endurance
in adversity," said Mr. Desmond, proudly.
"Let us attribute that to their British blood," said Sir William.
"And the bad qualities that they show," added a colonel, "we will
attribute to their American birth."
"If you will pardon me for making the observation, gentlemen," said Mr.
Desmond, with great dignity, "it was such attempts at discrimination,
such reflections upon the American birth of British subjects, that were
among the many causes of this present unfortunate war."
I would have applauded the stanch old merchant had I dared, and I
listened without any reproach of my conscience for more, but Sir
William's reply was lost amid a jangle of talk and the clinking of
glasses. Moreover, at that precise moment an insinuating voice at my
elbow asked me if I would have my wineglass filled again. There was a
familiar tone in the voice, and, turning my head slightly, I beheld the
leering visage of Waters. At least there seemed to me to be a leer upon
his face, though I am willing to admit that imagination may have played
a trick upon me.
Either this man was dogging me, or it was a curious chance that put him
so often at my elbow. But I preserved my equanimity and curtly ordered
him to fill my glass again. This he did, and then passed on about his
business, leaving me much vexed, and all the more so because I had lost
the thread of the most interesting dialogue between Mr. Desmond and the
British officers. Mr. Desmond's face was flushed, and there was a
sparkle in his eye that told of much anger.
"They're worrying the old rebel," said Blake to me, "but he has a stern
spirit, and, as he is aware that his opinions are known, it is not
likely that he will try to curry favor."
"It seems to me to be scarce fair to treat him thus," I said.
"Perhaps not," he replied, "but it is not so bad as it would appear, for
by my faith the old man has a sharp tongue and the spirit to use it."
"Do you have many such events as this in Philadelphia?" I asked, meaning
the banquet.
"We do not suffer from a lack of food and drink," replied Blake, with a
laugh, "and on the whole we manage to while away the hours in a
pleasurable manner. But we have a bit of the real military life now and
then also. For instance, the day we rescued you and Montague from the
rebels, we were out looking for that troublesome fellow Wildfoot and
his band. A loyal farmer brought us word that he was lying in the woods
within a few miles of the city."
"Did you find him?" I asked.
"No," said Blake, with an expression of disappointment, "but we found
where he had been, for every horse and cow of the aforesaid loyal farmer
had been carried off in his absence."
"It was not very far from serving him right," I said.
"From the standpoint of an American it was extremely even-handed
justice," said Blake.
Now, this Wildfoot was a most noted partisan or ranger who had come up
from Virginia, and, though I had not seen him yet, our army--and the
British army also, I doubt not--was filled with the tale of his deeds,
such as the cutting off of British scouting and skirmishing parties and
the taking of wagons loaded with provisions, which last were worth much
more to us than the taking of prisoners; for we could not eat the
prisoners, though I have seen the time when I was sorely tempted to do
so.
In consequence of these things, all patriotic Americans regarded
Wildfoot with pride and gratitude. But, as the tale went, I had been so
short a time in America it was not meet that I should know much about
him; so I requested Blake to enlighten my understanding on the point,
which he proceeded to do, and to my great delight, gave a most
marvellous account of the pestiferous fellow's misdeeds.
"He is here, there, and everywhere, chiefly everywhere," said Blake;
"and I must admit that so far his ways are past finding out. He is doing
more harm to us than a big battle lost. What is most annoying is the
fellow's impertinence. One afternoon he and his band rode up to the
river within full sight of the city and stopped a barge loaded with
soldiers. They could not carry off the men, but they took their muskets
and bayonets and all their ammunition, and, what is more, they got away
without a scratch."
I had heard of the deed. In truth, some of the muskets taken on that
occasion by Wildfoot and his men found their way to our regiment, where
they proved a most welcome and serviceable addition, for, as I have said
before, the British always arm and equip their soldiers well.
Blake was going into some further account of Wildfoot's exploits, when
he was interrupted by the toast. Very heavy inroads had been made upon
the wine supplied by his Majesty to his officers in America, and though
the guests were not so far advanced into a state of hilarity as to
render the absence of the ladies necessary, yet it was manifest that
their spirits were rising. It was in truth fit that the toast-making
should not be put off much longer, for, though the capacity of the
British stomach is one of the wonders of the world, there is a limit to
all things.
Sir William rose in a very stately manner, considering his deep
potations, and called for a toast to his Britannic Majesty.
"And may he soon triumph over his rebellious subjects here and wherever
else they choose to raise their heads!" said Sir William.
My glass had been filled before this toast by the ready Waters, as those
of all the others had been filled for them, and I was even compelled to
drink it. I looked across at Marcel and caught his eye. It twinkled with
humor. It was easy to see that he did not look at the matter in the same
serious light as I, and that reconciled me to it somewhat. But as I
swallowed the wine I changed the toast and said to myself,--
"Here is to the long life and success of General Washington and his
patriot army!"
This eased my conscience still further. Then there was another toast to
the "speedy destruction of Mr. Washington and his rebels."