4 The Fashion of New York

Culverhouse and I stood for awhile in the street admiring this noble mansion, which is yet pointed out to all who visit in New York. I do not believe the colonies could boast another of such stately proportions, with its three imposing stories, its noble portico, with fluted columns and other embellishments of the architectural art. The three long rows of windows were flashing with lights. The carriages of our aristocracy were arriving already. The link boys were in the streets with their flaming torches, shouting to each other and conveying the commands of their masters. A great display they made, too, for we had a very rich, proud, and powerful aristocracy. In truth, it was charged against us in the New York colony then that, while we pretended to freedom and democratic equality, we had transplanted the feudal system of Europe, and cherished it full as warmly as it was cherished in its ancient seats. But it is not for me to discuss the question here.

Presently a noble white chariot drawn by four great black horses drove up with a mighty clatter of hoofs and rattle of wheels. Mr. James de Lancey, the Lieutenant Governor of our colony, a very great man, and his family alighted from it and entered the house. Another chariot, containing Mr. Oliver de Lancey, his brother, and his family, followed speedily. Then came their great rivals, the Livingstons, our city being divided into two camps, the de Lancey camp and the Livingston camp, and after them our treasurer, Abraham de Peyster, who, I verily believe, made the noblest and most sumptuous show of them all. His coach was trimmed in silver, with the family arms very conspicuous upon it, and was drawn by four spirited and beautifully matched grays. There were four servants in attendance, each wearing a blue coat lined with yellow, with yellow cuffs and yellow small clothes. The buttons were of plain velvet, but the buttonholes were beautifully worked in yellow.

I would have liked to ask Culverhouse if he had seen any more sumptuous equipage in London, but I thought it better taste not to do so.

Then came the Philipses and the Van Courtlandts and the Beekmans and the Wattses and the Coldens and the Alexanders and the Roosevelts and the Lispenards and the Nicollses and so many others that I can not tell of them all, merely adding again for the benefit of strangers that we had an aristocracy which, time and place considered, was quite the equal of any in the world.

“Look! look!” exclaimed Culverhouse suddenly. “See, ’tis the Queen of France!”

The light-blue chariot of Mr. Archibald Kennedy, drawn by four matched sorrels, had just stopped before the door. Mr. Kennedy had sprung out, and with bared head was assisting Mlle. de St. Maur to alight. I understood at once what Culverhouse meant when he exclaimed, “The Queen of France!”

Mlle. Louise was arrayed in her finest, which was very fine indeed, and for the moment my eyes were dazzled by the splendor of her toilet and the striking contrast of her deep blue eyes and shining black hair. She bore herself, too, with a dignity equal to her beauty, and this dignity, verging upon haughtiness, was quite natural in one among a strange and hostile people.

Behind her came the seigneur, glittering in the lace and gold of a colonel of France, with his cocked and plumed hat on his head, and splendid medals and orders upon his breast. With his brown, leathery, and Indianlike face, he looked very strange, and yet very imposing, in such brilliant garb. He was as stiff as a ramrod, and his failure to express any emotion whatsoever increased the resemblance of his face to that of the red warrior.

“Why, how did they come here?” I asked Culverhouse in some surprise.

“Why shouldn’t they come?” replied he. “The seigneur is here upon official and important business. It is natural that he should be the guest of Mr. Kennedy, with whom he has had commercial dealings before the war, and it was the courtesy of one nation to another to invite them to this ball.”

A restive horse attached to another carriage pressed very close to mademoiselle. I was glad of the opportunity, and I sprang forward, pulling the horse back with one hand and sweeping my hat off with the other, while I made a very low bow.

Mlle. de St. Maur recognized me upon the instant, much to my joy.

“I have to thank you twice to-day. Lieutenant Charteris,” she said with a very bright smile.

Then the Kennedy party went into the house, and Culverhouse and I soon followed.

The ball was given for the honor and entertainment of our commander in chief, and all the officers and persons of distinction in the town were invited. Our commercial people in New York had accumulated much store of wealth, and they were not reluctant to give evidence of it. In truth, they would be anxious, the feminine portion of them in particular, to make a goodly show before our cousins from England.

When I entered the ballroom I saw that I would have no cause to feel shame for our Americans. They wore costumes brilliant in color and of the latest mode, many of them having been brought over from London at great cost especially for such grand routs as this.

Standing stiffly erect just under one of the wax candles was Mr. Arthur, looking very prim and precise. His eyes met mine, but he took no notice of me beyond a slight nod. I replied with a nod equally indifferent. I looked about me for Marion, and did not see her; but my attention was attracted at that moment by a great bustle at the door. Important personages were entering, and the military band, loaned by the earl himself, and stationed in the next room, began to play a most inspiriting tune.

It was the earl, accompanied by Sir Charles Hardy and a numerous staff, who was entering. He was much more composed and dignified than when I had seen him before, and conducted himself with graciousness and tact. The occasion and the surroundings were congenial. At one end of the room was a dais, bearing a fanciful resemblance to a throne. To this the earl was conducted, and, sitting there, he received the addresses and the homage of those who sought his acquaintance or favor. Among the latter, I am bound to confess, were some of our own people. Millwood, the fat contractor, who had made such great sums by furnishing short supplies at long prices to the army, was there, bowing and smirking as if the hinges of his knees had been freshly oiled and he were the most honest man in the room.

“It is your turn, Charteris,” said Culverhouse, thrusting a very sharp elbow into my side, “to make apologies for your countryman. I think of the two I would prefer the earl.”

I had small relish for his gibe, and, not knowing how to retort, I devoted myself to the more grateful task of joining the ladies.

Other rooms connecting with the ballroom had been prepared for the guests, and they were at liberty to wander through them as they chose. There was much to see. The grand staircase, with its hand rails and banisters of mahogany, was a noble specimen of art. In the great dining room was the finest display of silver plate in all the colonies, and I heard long after, when the King wanted to tax the colonies and they pleaded poverty, that some of the English officers who had been present cited this very display of plate, and said few noblemen in England were rich enough to show its equal.

In the most secluded of the rooms I saw Marion, talking to Spencer. She arose at once, and introduced me to Captain Gerald Spencer, who had arrived but a short while ago from Europe to join the army. We bowed as if we had never met before. In truth, ours had been but a brief and unpleasant coffeehouse acquaintance.

“Captain Spencer brings some letters from very good friends of my father in England, and, as Lieutenant Charteris is my father’s particular friend also, it is well that you should meet and know each other,” she said.

Spencer began to talk about the latest fripperies in London, in which Marion seemed to be much interested. I was taken at a great disadvantage. I had no natural turn for such subjects, and, besides, I had never been in London in my life. I endeavored to bring the talk back to matters nearer home, and even mentioned the war, but Marion struck me on the arm with her fan, and said in a slightly vexed tone:

“Do not mention the war to-night, Lieutenant Charteris. Why do we come to the ball but to escape from the talk about this fighting.”

“The lady is right. Lieutenant Charteris,” said Spencer; “we will restrain our warlike inclinations until we meet the French.”

I had blundered, and, making my apologies, I left them. So I soon found myself again in the company of Culverhouse, and shortly afterward saw Mr. Arthur talking with an appearance of great friendliness and favor to Spencer.

“Tell me something about him,” I said to Culverhouse, inclining my head in the direction of Spencer. I felt that I had a certain guardianship over Marion, inasmuch as we had been playmates and were akin.

“There is not enough to make a long tale,” he said. “I’ve had some slight acquaintance with him in England, and, so far as I know, he’s a decent sort of chap, though what you Americans call stiff. He is of a very old and high family in England.”

“Indeed! From what royal mistress is he descended?”

“You are jealous. Spencer is to be a baronet when his old unmarried uncle dies, but the estates are not large. Mr. Arthur fancies him, and perhaps the maiden, too.”

The band was now playing music for the dance. Some new dances had been brought up lately from the Virginia province that had been received with great favor in New York. I thought at first I would ask Marion to be my partner for one of them, as Spencer’s manner had incensed me a bit, but I concluded that I would ask somebody else. The next moment I saw her dancing with the earl himself.

In truth, Marion was not much in my mind just then, and I began to look for the one who was. Presently I saw her black hair, in which was thrust a lily of France, shining between the brown and yellow heads of our own fair New York girls. I was just in time, for they had begun a most unfair attack upon her, saying that neither Quebec nor Montreal could present such an array of fine men and beautiful women as that now present.

“Mlle. de St. Maur will not yield to our claims, Lieutenant Charteris,” said Miss Mary Colden to me as I approached.

“Nor should she,” said I, with a gallantry intended for Mlle. Louise’s ear. “The lily of France is always triumphant.”

Then I carried her off to the dance, she smiling her thanks to me and I hugely delighted with myself. More than once in the dance I met Marion’s eyes, and I saw a peculiar smile there which made me flush a little. I thought she might be piqued a bit, for a woman likes to have many lovers on her string.

The earl was in high good humor, all the ill temper I had seen in him when he was in the barge having departed. His partner’s beauty and grace could not fail to make an impression upon him, and his manner was of the courtliest. No doubt the war and its responsibilities had disappeared entirely from his mind. A little later, when I was compelled to yield mademoiselle to another colonial officer and I was standing alone, some one tapped me on the arm; I looked around and beheld the glum face of Martin Groot.

Martin had arrayed himself in something like festive style in deference to the occasion, but his countenance was as morose and his temper as irascible as ever.

“I wonder if Montcalm is engaged in the same business just now?” he said, looking sourly at the earl.

His remark seemed apt, and I suggested that Montcalm was probably dancing to another sort of music, and that we would have to pay for his fiddler.

“And he will continue to present his bills to us for payment,” said Groot, “so long as the English send over gallants like that earl there to command us. Pah! Are we children to stand this?”

I suggested that we were not altogether without blame ourselves, and I made instance of Millwood, the contractor, and others, all of whom were present that evening, basking in the sunshine of our provincial court.

“It is true,” said the glowering Martin. “What a pity Montcalm could not catch every one of them, and send them off to France!—that is, the dishonest ones; for I am in the army supply business myself, and they hurt my trade.”

Then he passed on to pour his complaints into the ears of others who he knew would not repeat his censorious remarks.

As I had no partner for the next dance, I sought the seigneur, and exerted myself that I might be agreeable to him. I found him to be a man of most courtly breeding. Nothing in his manner indicated his knowledge that he was upon the enemy’s ground, and for a quarter of an hour he talked to me of the Old World and told me incidents of the court of France. But ours was a shifting crowd. Every one in his turn gave way to some one else, and presently I found myself again with Culverhouse. He advised me to go into one of the side rooms and partake of a famous brew prepared by our host, who was renowned throughout the colony for his splendid entertainments. The advice seemed palatable, and we wandered off in search of the boasted decoction.

We found a lively group around the punchbowl. They were mostly young officers, British and American both. Some of them we knew, and they greeted us with much applause, I drank a glass to the toast of our military success, and it put much heart into me.

“Here comes a new officer!” exclaimed our Scotch friend, young Graham, who had been no enemy to the punch. “But I wonder what army he belongs to. By my faith, he must be a general at the very least!” He pointed to the door, and there was a great outburst of laughter from the group. But Culverhouse pinched my arm in his surprise, which, however, did not exceed mine.

The boy who had laughed at the earl’s mishap, looking longer and lanker than ever in the bright light, stalked solemnly into the room. He was not disturbed one whit by the derisive laughter that saluted him. He looked about him, but there was no trace of expression on his face. We might have been a thousand miles away, so far as his eye denoted anything.

“Well, general,” cried Graham, “is there anything we can do for you? Have you any commands for us, or do you wish to lead us immediately against the French?”

The boy looked at Graham, and then his eyes passed on to the others.

“Come! come!” cried Graham, “we all know the respect that is due to your Highness, but you know our martial character also, and we beseech you to break our suspense and tell us if the danger be pressing.”

“I’m looking for the Earl of Loudoun,” said the boy, “an’ you ain’t him.”

“Nothing less than the earl himself will content the general!” exclaimed Graham, flushing a little when the officers laughed at the boy’s remark. “That’s right, general; don’t forfeit your dignity by discussing deep affairs with mere captains and lieutenants. But I fear much that the earl will not be accessible just now, even to so great a personage as your Highness. His occupation at this moment is too pleasurable for us to interrupt it.”

“I want to see the Earl of Loudoun,” repeated the boy in the same expressionless tone.

“I’m afraid your Highness will have to wait or ask one of us to take your message,” said Graham. “Would you condescend to divulge its import to one of us?”

“I must tell it to the Earl of Loudoun himself,” said the boy. “That’s who I was to give it to, an’ I won’t give it to nobody else.”

“A determined character, I see,” said Graham. “Well, determination is the quality such important personages as your Highness need most. Doubtless your Highness is worried by great responsibilities, and a little of this noble brew will relieve you of your cares. Drink a toast with us, general.”

“I don’t care if I do,” said the boy, turning his gaze upon the great punchbowl. “That looks pretty good for a dry throat.”

“A most miraculous cure for all such,” said Graham. “Brother officers and gentlemen, join us in a toast to our new and distinguished comrade!”

The glasses were filled, and then in a twinkling each was emptied. The boy drained his at a draught. Then he handed it back to Graham, and said in his unchanging drawl:

“That was pretty good, an’ no mistake. Fill it up ag’in, stranger.”

Graham obeyed willingly. The boy drank the glassful again, and winked not an eye. Nor did the slightest flush come into his face.

“You are worthy to be an officer indeed,” said Graham, tendering him a third glassful. I saw that Graham’s plan was to get him into a state of intoxication, in order that this country lad might make mirth for some idle officers. I felt like interfering, but there was such a chorus of approval around Graham that I hung back.

“Take another,” said Graham.

“I don’t care,” said the boy, “if you fellows will drink with me. It’s not manners to drink by yourself.”

The officers drank with him, but when he had drained a fourth glass too, they could not bear him company any longer. Their eyes were sparkling and their faces flushed, but his countenance was unchanged. When he put down his glass the last time, he looked stolidly around and again repeated:

“I want to see the Earl of Loudoun.”

“You can’t,” said Graham.

“I’ve got to see him,” said the boy. “I’ve got to see the earl himself, an’ I’m not goin’ away till I’ve seen him.”

He spoke in such a positive manner that his words made some impression.

“He may really have a message of importance,” said a major, who was the eldest and staidest of the party. “I think I shall tell the earl of him.”

He left the room to find the earl, and Culverhouse and I, led by curiosity, followed to see to what end the matter would come.

We found the earl in the same high humor. One of the dances had just come to a conclusion, and he was sitting on his makeshift throne surrounded by a worshipful party, in which were Mr. Arthur and Millwood, the sleek contractor. The major approached him, and saluted in a military manner.

“What is it, Calthorpe?” asked the earl goodhumoredly. “Why do you pull a long face on a night of gayety like this?”

“I have a message, your lordship,” said the major, bowing deeply, “or rather there is some one without who insists that he has a message for you of such importance that he will deliver it to you only.”

“Business?” said the earl, frowning. “I do not care to turn my mind to such discussions to-night. It would not be gallant or courteous to our host. Let these matters wait until to-morrow.”

“But the messenger is marked by such eccentricities of person, and seemed so earnest of manner, that I felt it my duty to come to you and tell you of him,” said Major Calthorpe.

“Of a queer cast, is he?” said the earl, showing some curiosity. “Tell me of this person whose affairs are of such importance that the world must cease to roll until he describes them.”

The major gave an account of the boy and his actions. This piqued the earl’s curiosity, and he gave order that the messenger be brought before him. The major returned in a moment with the lad, followed by a crowd of officers.

The earl fell to laughing as soon as he saw the messenger, whom he did not recognize, for he had seen him but faintly at the water side.

“You are right, major,” he said; “he is a person of some eccentricities of manner and appearance. I am glad that you brought him. We may have something amusing here.—What is your name, my lad?”

“Zebedee Crane,” replied the boy, not seeming to be in the least dazzled by the lights and the people in their splendid apparel.

“The last name befits you if the first does not,” said the earl, still laughing. “Where do you live?”

“Up the Mohawk Valley, when I’m to home,” replied the boy.

“Evidently you are not ‘to home’ now,” said the earl, and all the sycophants laughed. “You are not familiar with such sights as this, are you?”

The earl had taken wine in the course of the evening, and was bent upon sport. But Zebedee Crane’s face remained stolid. He replied merely that it was all mighty fine.

“Wouldn’t you like to be an officer like these gentlemen here,” asked the earl, “and dance with us to-night?”

“I didn’t come here for that,” said the boy. “I came to see the Earl of Loudoun.”

“Well, what is this matter which is of such weight that you can tell it to me alone?” said the earl in some vexation at the unconscious rebuke of his childishness.

“Are you the Earl of Loudoun?” asked the boy cautiously.

“I am,” said the earl. “I think that some of my friends here can vouch for my identity.”

“In good truth we can,” said Mr. Arthur pompously.—“Boy, this is the Earl of Loudoun, commander in chief of the royal forces in America.” “Then,” said Zebedee, “if you are the Earl of Loudoun, I’ve brought news from General Webb for you.”

The earl uttered an exclamation, and there was a murmur of voices and moving of feet in the crowd which had gathered around to see the sport with the boy. All of them had been infected by Loudoun’s sanguine predictions of news from Webb that he had avenged William Henry and chased Montcalm back into Canada.

“Then you may be a more welcome messenger than I thought,” said the earl. “What fine victory has Webb gained for us? What noble revenge has he taken for the disaster at William Henry?”

“I don’t know anythin’ about victories and revenges,” said Zeb, “but they say Webb ain’t overfond of fightin’. Anyhow, he’s quit, nearly all his army has gone home, an’ Montcalm and his Indians are marchin’ on Albany they say, and maybe they’ll be here in New York, too, pretty soon.”

“What!” exclaimed Loudoun, pallor replacing the flush on his cheek. “What do you say? It’s a lie!” “’Tain’t no lie either,” said Zebedee calmly. “Leastways when I left I saw the troops goin’ home, whole companies an’ regiments of ’em, an’ I saw the settlers in wagons, on horses, and walkin’, goin’ to Albany as fast as they could to save their scalps from Montcalm’s men.”

The band had begun to play again, and some of the partners were taking their places for the dance.

“Stop that noise!” said the earl angrily, and in a moment we heard only the heavy breathing of people dreading to hear evil news.

“I don’t believe this,” began the earl in a high voice; “it is all a lie, the concoction of a weak-minded boy. I’ll have you whipped in the stocks, sir, for bringing such falsehoods here!”

“’Tain’t worth while,” said Zebedee, undisturbed. “I’m the messenger of General Webb himself. Here’s his letter for you, tellin’ all that’s been done, I guess.”

He thrust his hand into his coat and drew out a piece of paper. The earl read it, and his chin dropped. There was no need then for him to read it to us.

As we stood there in the ballroom, Martin Groot thrust his grim face in between Culverhouse and me, and said:

“Montcalm knows how to make fine music, too, but his tunes are not like ours.”

There was a great hum in the ballroom at this disastrous news, following so closely upon the capture of William Henry and the massacre of our people there. The thing was on everybody’s tongue, and even in the presence of the earl himself many bitter words were said about his slothfulness and incompetency, which had left all our border open to the inroads of the French and the scalping knives of their savage allies. And there was terror, too, among the women, who expected to hear next that Albany had fallen and Montcalm with a great army was in full march on New York.

“The English will redeem themselves,” I heard Governor de Lancey say to a group of men in the corner of the room.

“Perhaps,” replied William Livingston curtly, “but how will that bring back to life the scores of Americans who are perishing daily under the Indian tomahawk?”

These two men were ever on opposite sides, and each strove, like a feudal baron, to be the ruler of New York. Most all have heard the old story how they met one day in the street and Governor de Lancey said to Mr. Livingston:

“Will, you would be the cleverest fellow if you were only one of us.”

“I will try to be a clever fellow and not be one of you,” replied Mr. Livingston.

Which, I take it, caused no increase of good feeling between them. At any rate, on this evening they stood staring in icy fashion at each other, as they must have stared then. I have only to shut my eyes now and see them as they appeared that night—Mr. Livingston, but little more than thirty, tall, very thin, and graceful, with a keen knife-blade face; Governor de Lancey, older, broader, heavier, and perhaps more imposing; both in powdered wigs, velvet coats, great embroidered ruffles, short breeches, silk stockings of the finest quality, and shoes with great gold buckles; very presentable both of them.

Perhaps they thought it undignified to wage a controversy there and then, and they walked away in opposite directions.

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