"I drink to the speedy destruction of the army of Sir William Howe and
of all the other armies of the oppressor in America, even as the army of
Burgoyne was destroyed."
These and other toasts were accompanied by great applause; and when
there was some subsidence of the noise, Sir William, whose face, through
overmuch drinking, was now a fine mottle of red and purple, turned
towards Mr. Desmond and exclaimed,--
"We have had loyal and heartfelt expressions for our king and country,
but they have all come from Britain. His Majesty has other subjects who
owe him allegiance. I call upon my guest, the loyal Mr. Desmond of the
good city of Philadelphia, to propound a toast for us. Fill up your
glasses, gentlemen. We await your sentiments, Mr. Desmond."
The noise of the talk ceased at once, for I think all were surprised at
this request from Sir William, knowing as they did that Mr. Desmond
thought not much of their cause. I wondered how the old merchant would
evade the matter, and looked at his daughter, who was watching his face
with evident anxiety. But Mr. Desmond, though the traces of anger were
still visible on his countenance, seemed to be in no state of
perplexity. He rose promptly to his feet with a full glass in his hand,
and said, in a voice that was very firm and clear,--
"Yes, gentlemen, you shall have a toast from a loyal American, loyal to
what is right. I drink to the health of General Washington, the best and
the greatest of men, and likewise to the health of his gallant and
devoted soldiers."
So saying, and before a hand could be lifted to stop him, he raised the
glass to his lips and emptied it at a draught, I and many others doing
likewise, I because it was a toast that I liked, and the others because
it was the wine that they liked, and they seized the opportunity to
drink it before their dazed brains comprehended the nature of the toast.
Replacing the glass upon the table, Mr. Desmond looked defiantly about
him. For a moment there was the heavy hush which so often succeeds
impressive events, and then the company burst into a confused and angry
clamor. One officer, who had been performing most notably at the
wine-cup, leaned over, his face quite gray with passion, and would have
struck at the daring speaker, but another less heated seized him and
threw him not lightly back into his seat. Sir William turned furiously
upon the old man and exclaimed,--
"How dare you, sir, how dare you speak thus in my presence and in the
presence of all these gentlemen, loyal subjects of the king?"
"Sir William," said a clear voice, "you must not forget that you asked
him for a toast. I say it with all due respect; but you knew his
principles, and perhaps you could not have expected anything else. Let
his daughter plead for his forgiveness, Sir William."
Miss Desmond was standing. One hand rested upon the table in front of
her, the other was slightly raised. Her eyes were aflame, her attitude
was that of fearlessness. Above her white brow shone the black masses of
her hair like a coronet, and a ruby placed there gathered the light and
flashed it back in a thousand rays. Tory and traitor though she was, she
seemed to me then as noble as she was beautiful.
"I need no defence," said Mr. Desmond, rising; "at least not from my own
daughter."
She flushed deeply at the rebuke, but she went on nevertheless.
"Sir William," she said, "remember that this was said at a banquet where
much wine has been drunk, and under provocation."
"Sir William must yield to her," said Blake to me.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because it is as she says," he replied. "Bear in mind the place and
the incitement. Sir William brought the retort upon himself. If he
punishes the old rebel, the report of this is sure to get back to
England, and see what a reflection it would be upon the dignity and duty
of the commander-in-chief. High though his favor be, the king and the
ministers are but ill pleased with Sir William's conduct of the war, and
the tale of such an incident as this would do him much hurt in their
esteem."
It was even as Blake said. Sir William hesitated. Moreover, I am not
loath to relate that many of the British officers were ruled by a spirit
of gallantry and fair play. They crowded around Sir William and told him
to let the matter pass as a jest. I suspect he was glad of their
interference, because he soon yielded.
"Since the daughter pleads for the father's forgiveness, it shall even
be awarded to her," he said. "To beauty and loyalty we could forgive
greater sins."
Miss Desmond bowed, but the frown gathered more deeply on the old
patriot's face.
"I admire his spirit," said Blake, "but I would that it were displayed
on the right side. It is such stubborn men as he that make this country
so hard to conquer."
"There are many such," I said, and I spoke with more knowledge than
Blake suspected.
"I doubt it not," he replied.
The banquet proceeded, but all the spirit and zest had gone out of it,
and very soon it ended, as in truth it was time it should. When we
withdrew from the apartment, I came near to Miss Desmond. She had
thrown a rich cloak over her shoulders in preparation for her departure,
and some traces of excitement or other emotion were still visible on her
face. Belfort was standing near. The man was always hovering about her.
"Lieutenant Melville," said Miss Desmond, "you are only a short time in
this country, but you find that strange things happen here."
"Not so strange, perhaps, as interesting," I replied. "However much I
may condemn your father's sentiments, Miss Desmond, I would be a churl
in truth to refuse admiration for the boldness and spirit with which
they have been expressed to-night."
I spoke my opinion thus, knowing that she had the events of the evening
in mind. But she turned upon me sharply.
"If it is unwise in my father to speak such sentiments so openly, it is
still more unwise in you to commend him for them, as he is an American
and may have some excuse, while you are an Englishman and can have
none," she said.
Then she turned away with Belfort, who took her triumphantly to her
father.
"Chester," said Marcel, when we were back in our quarters and were
sleepily going to bed, "the old Desmond hath a temper of which I
approve, and his daughter is fair, very fair."
"But she has the tongue of a shrew," I said.
"I am not sorry for that," he replied, "for she may exercise it on that
fellow Belfort when she is Madame Belfort."
"Marcel," said I, after a silence of some minutes, "do you not think our
position is growing more dangerous every hour? Suppose Sir William
detects us."
"Sir William," said Marcel, half asleep, "is not a great general, but
his wine is good, very good, and there was a noble supply of it."