Joscelyn Cheshire: A Story of Revolutionary Days in the Carolinas

by Sara Beaumont Kennedy

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE FETE AT PHILADELPHIA.

  "Drink to her that each loves best; And if you nurse a flame That's told but to her mutual breast, We will not ask her name." --CAMPBELL.

  The sixth day of May dawned clear at Valley Forge. In the crowded hutsand tents was an unusual stir, a brushing and repairing of raggeduniforms, and a burnishing of bayonets and sword-hilts. Then the buglessounded their stirring call, and the morning sun looked down upon thearmy drawn up in two lines upon the drill plateau. Richard, gazing downthe line in front of him, and knowing that the one in which he stood wasbut its ragged prototype, felt his heart swell with admiration and asickening pity; for everywhere were the marks of privation andstarvation. Only the faces, transfigured by the radiance of a new hope,told of the unconquered wills that lay dormant under the scars ofsuffering.

  Thus they heard the news for which they had been mustered intoline--France had acknowledged the independence of the colonies, andwould send them substantial martial aid. Franklin had won, and the_fleur-de-lys_ was to float beside the star-studded banner of the youngrepublic fighting for her life.

  When the proclamation was read, a salute of thirteen guns boomed out,each the symbolic voice of a State pledging allegiance to the newalliance. Down the lines went the rattle of musketry, and there rolledup a shout that filled the blue hollow of the sky with its hoarse echo.

  "Long live the king of France!"

  "Long live the new Republic!"

  "Hip--hip--huzza!"

  It was as if the prisoned joy of months had broken into song. Scars andtatters and hunger, pains and aching wounds were forgotten, and only theradiance of peace and freedom yet to come shone in the dazzled upturnedeyes.

  "Long live the lilies of France!"

  When it was all done Richard sat down to write by the light of a pineknot one of those letters that Joscelyn hated.

  "I am much grieved at the news of you in Betty's last letter. She says you daily draw upon yourself the disapproval of the townsfolk by your public rejoicing over news of any British success. This is not wise in you, for the people are in no temper to be mocked; and I feel my hands grow cold at the thought that some danger may come near you, and I too far away to stand between you and it! Go often to see my mother, both because she loves you and because the friendship of so good a patriot will be a safeguard in the community. Betty hath writ me so queer a page about trying to love my enemies, and her hope that I will look carefully at every man toward whom my gun is pointed so that I shoot not a neighbour, that I am at a loss to understand her meaning--unless, indeed, she hath been tainted by your Toryism. What think you hath come to the little minx?"

  She would not answer the epistle, of course--she never did; but it wassuch a relief to put his feelings into words. That she would be angry atsome of his words he knew, but it made him laugh to think of thedisdainful lips and flashing eyes.

  He must have laughed aloud, for a man stretched upon the ground suddenlyasked him what the joke was.

  "Oh, just a passing thought," Richard answered. "A man has to thinkfunny things to keep alive in this state of inactivity into which we arecalled."

  "You would like a little excitement?"

  "Indeed I should. 'Tis now six weeks since I came into camp, and onlythat one secret trip with you down the river has broken the monotony ofdrilling and mounting guard."

  The man, a Virginian named Dunn, one of the most daring and capablescouts of the army, smoked a moment in silence.

  "How would you like to witness the festivities in honour of General Howebefore he leaves Philadelphia?"

  Richard's eyes lit up. "Take me with you, Dunn!" he cried, with greateagerness.

  "H-u-s-h!" said Dunn. "Nothing is arranged yet; but there will be muchto learn of the enemy's intended movements, and when would there fall sofine a chance as these days of festivity when wine and tongues will bothrun free? If I can so fix it, you shall go with me; you suit me betterthan Price, for you are quicker to catch a cue. You have got just onefault for this kind of business--you are always so d--n sure of yourselfand your own powers; a little humility would improve you."

  Richard laughed and wrung his hand. "You can knock me down for aconceited coxcomb, only take me with you."

  For a few days the French alliance was the all-absorbing theme of talk;and La Fayette's laughing prophecy that France's recognition of arepublic would one day come home to her seemed, to these aroused sons ofLiberty, like an augury that the countries of the Old World would oneday follow in the paths their swords were blazing out--the paths thatlead over thrones and crowns to self-government. But Richard soon hadother things whereof to think. Dunn was planning his expedition into thelines of the enemy; but two weeks went by before he came to Richard'stent and beckoned him aside.

  "To-night at eight, by the pine tree down the road. I have spoken toyour captain, so there will be no hubbub about your absence. Bring noarms but your pistols."

  Under the young May moon Richard kept his tryst with the veteran scout,as eager as a lover to meet his mistress.

  "Sit down," said Dunn. "I shall tell you my mission, for I do not workby halves. Sometimes an assistant has to act on his own responsibility,and he spoils sport if he does not know the plan. First, we are to findout when the British are to move, what is their destination, and by whatroad they will go. If an attack is to be made before-hand on our camp,we must bring back the plans. If there is a chance for our men to strikea blow, we must know it."

  "And how are we to learn these things?"

  "By keeping our ears and eyes open and our wits sharpened. It willtake cool heads and steady nerves. We are to gain entrance into thecity as ordinary labourers. In this bundle are the necessary clothes.Circumstances must govern us after we are there. Now to get ready."

  It took but a few minutes to transform the soldiers into workmen, so faras dress makes a transformation. Leaving their uniforms in the hollowof a tree, where Dunn's man was to search for them, they mounted theirhorses and set off by an unused road toward the distant city. The directroute would have given them about twenty miles of travel, but thenumerous diversions they were obliged to make added a fourth of thatdistance to their journey, so there was a gray streak of dawn in thesky ahead of them when they drew rein at a lonely cabin on the edgeof a wood, beyond which were the cleared fields of a farm that skirtedthe city. On the door of this hut Dunn struck three sharp taps, thenone, then two. After the signal was repeated the door was cautiouslyopened by a man within, who, upon being assured of the identity of thenewcomers, bade them enter; and Richard found himself in an humble roomwhose rafters were hung with drying herbs that gave out a pungent odour.

  In a few words Dunn explained to the man, whom he called George,something of their purpose.

  "Well, I was expecting you. My vegetable cart starts in two hours; oneof you can go with me, the other must straggle on behind, for two wouldbe more than is safe with one cart. My daily pass allows me anassistant."

  "THUS THEY PASSED, WITH SMALL PARLEY, THE PICKET POSTS."]

  When their horses had been hidden in an out-house, Richard and Dunnthrew themselves down and slept heavily until the carter aroused them.The smell of breakfast, along with his eagerness for the comingadventure, made Richard quick to answer the summons, and in a short timethe three were on their way. It had been arranged that Richard, who knewnothing of the city, should go on with the carter, and that Dunn shouldtake his chances and follow. But in the public road, where other cartswere beginning to appear, they overtook a black-eyed lass carrying ahuge basket of eggs. It took but a few glances, flashed coquettishlyacross the road, to bring Richard to her side. There were some gallantspeeches, a protest that ended in a pouting laugh, and then the two wentdown the road like old friends, merry with the carelessness of youth,she swinging her hands idly, he carrying her basket. Thus they passed,with small parley, the picket posts, for th
e guards knew the girl whocame and went daily with her market wares.

  Once they were in the city, Richard bade adieu to his companion, and,after some little search, joined Dunn behind the market-house, thelatter having slipped in by an obscure alley. They soon knew from thetalk on the streets and the general air of bustle that the fete they hadcome to witness was to begin on the water, so they repaired to the pierabove the city and waited for a chance to slip into the crowd. Theopportunity came through a boatman, who wanted two men to help row hisbarge down to the appointed landing. They readily bargained to go, andtook their places in the boat, which was soon filled with a gay crowd ofladies and their escorts, all in gala humour and attire. Richard,sitting in front of Dunn, forgot all about his oar as he watched theflutter of the brilliant throng, the glowing faces, the flashing smiles.Never before had he seen so many magnificent costumes or such an arrayof masculine and feminine beauty. But there was one face that seemedstrangely familiar--a face with dark eyes and tropical colouring ofolive and carmine. Where had he seen it? Nowhere, he felt sure, for agirl like that was not to be forgotten. And yet his eyes went back toher as to a friend. Who, then, was it she resembled? He was searchinghis memory for a cue when suddenly something struck him sharply on thearm, and Dunn said in a whisper:--

  "Mind your oar and quit gaping that way; the whole company will benoticing it directly, and coming over to examine you, and that'll be apretty kettle of fish!"

  Richard picked up his oar quickly, ashamed of his defection; but for thelife of him he could not keep his eyes from the dark, vivacious faceacross the boat, until her escort, a splendidly dressed officer ofHowe's staff, laughed and said to her:--

  "I told you all hearts would be at your feet this day, and see, even theboatman over there is worshipping from afar."

  The half whisper reached Richard, and as the girl turned toward himtheir eyes met. She laughed, and then threw up her head with adisdainful toss, turning back to her companion. But the gesture hadcleared the doubt in Richard's mind. It was Mary Singleton over again,and the vivid likeness was to her. This must be her Philadelphia cousin,of whom he had often heard. She would know much of the plans of theBritish, for her father was an intimate of Howe, and she herself saidto be betrothed to his chief of staff. This much Richard rememberedfrom Joscelyn's talk, and glad he was to recall the idle chatterwhich at the time had bored him, since it kept him from more personalconversation. It was of Joscelyn and himself that he had always wantedto talk; but she had declared lightly that neither subject suited her,for her own charms were too patent to need comment, and his were too fewto bear exposure, and had gone on to tell him of the Singletons, whomshe knew through Mary's letters. A plan that seemed like the gauzy webof a fairy tale began to weave itself in Richard's mind as he bent tohis oar.

  The river was full of boats of every description, from barges like theone he was in, to giddy cockleshells that seemed a dare to Providenceas they careened and dipped and darted in and out among the largercraft, like monster dragonflies rather than conveyances for human beings.And each one, great and small, was packed from prow to stern with alaughing, singing crowd in festal array. As the gay fleet approachedthe appointed landing-place, it passed in line between two men-of-warstrung with flags and sun-kissed garlands; and then, amid the music ofhautboys, the braying of trumpets, and the booming of guns, the companylanded and proceeded to the grounds laid out for the tourney which wasto be the chief event of the day. It was a dazzling picture upon whichthe afternoon sun looked down. In the centre stretched the tourney ring,around which beautiful women, gorgeously gowned, sat on mimic thrones towatch their gallants--tricked out like knights of old--contend for thehonours. The multi-hued throng of spectators filled out the picturewhich had for its foreground the river with its decorated craft, and forits background the deep green of the forest, with the city's clusteredroofs to one side. Thousands of flags and garlands and streamers ofribbon tossed in the wind, while the music, like the invisible incenseof pleasure, drifted like the sunshine everywhere.

  And the man for whom this was all planned sat on his dais, theembodiment of soldierly bearing, of courtesy and gratification; for thissplendid demonstration told unequivocally the appreciation in which thearmy held him, notwithstanding the implied disapprobation of the homegovernment in so promptly accepting his resignation, tendered, no doubt,in an hour of chagrin and hurt pride at the strictures passed upon himat home.

  As soon as the barge was tied to its pier, Richard and Dunn mingled withthe throng, bent on seeing the sport. Richard longed to become a part ofthe merry-making, but knew he must be content to be a spectator. Helooked about carefully for the black-eyed girl, and finally located herthrough a remark overheard in the crowd:--

  "Mistress Singleton occupies the place of honour on the right of themaster of ceremonies."

  And when he had pushed his way farther on, he saw her. So he had beenright; this was Ellen Singleton, the _fiancee_ of Grant, one of the mostaccomplished officers under Howe. All the afternoon he lingered in hervicinity, but unable to advance in any way the mad scheme he had inmind. When darkness fell, the company repaired to the hall where thetourney victor crowned his queen, and the dancers took their places tospend the time until supper was announced. More than four hundred guestssat down to that table, over which twelve hundred waxen candles shedtheir radiance. As Richard leaned into one of the low windows, absorbedin the scene, he noticed that Grant was whispering earnestly to his faircompanion, and that she looked serious, even alarmed. Before he hadfinished wondering at the cause, some one touched him on the arm, and heturned to find Dunn at his elbow.

  "Hist!" said the latter; "something is afoot. Couriers have come, andGeneral Howe spoke with them apart in the anteroom, and you should haveseen his face light up as he listened. It is, of course, something aboutour troops. I heard La Fayette's name, but can get no particulars. Grantis leaving the table; keep him in sight if possible while I try thecouriers."

  Mistress Singleton also had risen, and was leaving the room on Grant'sarm. Quitting the window hastily, Richard was at the door when they cameout of the hall.

  "I must speak with you," Grant said earnestly, in a low tone, to thegirl on his arm. The lawn was practically deserted, and the mimicthrones erected for the tourney stood unoccupied in the blended lightof the moon and flambeaux. "The general's pavilion yonder is our bestplace. There are some ladies and gentlemen on the far side, but at thecorner, there where the shadow falls, no one is sitting. Come."

  He led her across the open space, and Richard saw them take their placesin the dim light, the girl's white dress marking the spot even fromwhere he stood. He followed slowly, not knowing what next to do, for hewas too new in the _role_ of scout to willingly play at eavesdropping,so he stood irresolutely near the pavilion watching the quiet couple atone side and the bevy of laughing revellers at the other. EvidentlyMistress Singleton was much agitated, for her hand rose in frequentgesture, and her voice was a trifle shrill. Presently two young men fromthe other party came down the pavilion steps, and one of them droppedhis long military cloak in the shadow at the end of the step, saying hewould find it again after the dance. Then they passed on. Behind themtwo soldiers came at quickstep, and Richard heard these words:--

  "Grant's division has the orders. Quick work of the whole crew ofrebels."

  In the light of the flambeaux at the banquet-hall door Richard saw Dunn,and hastened to join him. Putting together what they had gathered, theymade out that La Fayette had left Valley Forge with a body of troops,intending to do whatever mischief he might, but that his movement hadbeen discovered, and Howe was planning to capture his whole force, andGrant was to be detailed for the work. But what his course would be,when he would set out, and what force would be with him were things yetto learn. However, these were the very things La Fayette would want toknow. Dunn was waiting for Howe to leave the banquet-hall, so Richardwent back to his vigil near the pavilion. As he approached, Grant wascoming down the steps.

&
nbsp; "I shall not be gone twenty minutes. You are quite safe, for MistressHamlin is just behind you, and I'll send one of the officers to sit withyou. Wait for me, for it may be our last meeting."

  Evidently the girl consented, for she kept her place while he sprangdown the steps and strode toward the lighted hall.

  The wild plan Richard had cherished all day was to speak with this girlon equal terms. It might cost him his life, but a very dare-devil spiritof adventure took possession of him. Now was the hour of which he haddimly dreamed. He did not stop to think, but stooping into the shadow,he snatched up the long cloak lying there and wrapped it about him,turning up the collar jauntily. Then with his heart thumping against hisribs, but with a smile on his face, he came to the side of the stepsnearest the girl and went boldly up into the pavilion.