Part 16 (2/2)

Knowing now exactly where Philip was, we were able to send him speedy news of Cornelius's safety, and of the good health and good wishes of us all; and we got in reply a message full of thanks and of affectionate solicitude. The transfer of his troop to New Jersey soon removed the possibility of my meeting him.

In the following Summer (that of 1779), as I afterward learned, Captain Winwood and some of his men accompanied Major Lee's famous dragoons (dismounted for the occasion) to the nocturnal surprise and capture of our post at Paulus Hook, in New Jersey, opposite New York.

But he found no way of getting into the town to see us. And so I bring him to the Winter of 1779, when the main rebel camp was again at Morristown, and Philip stationed near Was.h.i.+ngton's headquarters. But meanwhile, in New York, in the previous Autumn some additional British troops had arrived from England; and one of these was Captain Falconer.

There was a ball one night at Captain Morris's country-house some eight or ten miles North of the town, which the rebel authorities had already declared confiscate, if I remember aright, but which, as it was upon the island of Manhattan and within our lines, yet remained in actual possession of the rightful owner. Here Was.h.i.+ngton (said to have been an unsuccessful suitor to Mrs. Morris when she was Miss Philipse) had quartered ere the British chased the rebels from the island of Manhattan; and here now were officers of our own in residence. 'Twas a fine, white house, distinguished by the n.o.ble columns of its Grecian front; from its height it overlooked the Hudson, the Harlem, the East River, the Sound, and miles upon miles of undulating land on every side.[4]

On this night the lights showed welcome from its many windows, open doors, and balconies, and from the coloured paper lanterns festooned upon its facade and strung aloft over its splendid lawn and gardens.

The house still stands, I hear, and is known as the Jumel Mansion, from the widow who lives there. But I'll warrant it presents no more such scenes as it offered that night, when the wealth and beauty of New York, the chivalry of the king's army, arrived at its broad pillared entrance by horse and by coach in a constant procession. In the great hall, and the adjacent rooms, the rays of countless candles fell upon brilliant uniforms, upon silk and velvet and brocade and broadcloth, upon powdered hair, and fans and furbelows, upon white necks and bosoms, and dazzling eyes, upon jewels and golden buckles and s.h.i.+ning sword-hilts.

We that entered from the Faringfield coach were Mrs. Faringfield and my mother, Margaret and f.a.n.n.y, Tom and myself. We had just received the greeting of our handsome hostess, and were pa.s.sing up the hall, when my eyes alighted upon the figure of an officer who stood alone, in an att.i.tude of pensive negligence, beside the mantelpiece. He was fully six feet tall, but possessed a carriage of grace and elegance, instead of the rigid erectness of so many of his comrades. He had a slender, finely cut, English face, a long but delicate chin, gray eyes of a beautiful clearness, slightly wavy hair that was now powdered, and the hands and legs of a gentleman.

”What a handsome fellow! Who is he?” whispered Margaret to f.a.n.n.y.

I glanced at her. Her eyes showed admiration--an expression I had never before seen in them. I looked back at the officer. He in turn had seen her. His face, from having worn a look half melancholy, half languid, had speedily become animated with interest. 'Twas as if each of these two superb creatures had unexpectedly fallen upon something they had scarce hoped to find in their present environment.

”A mighty pretty gentleman, indeed,” said my mother.

”Nay,” said Margaret, with a swift relapse into indifference, ”no such Adonis neither, on second view.”

But I saw that she turned the corner of her eye upon him at intervals as she moved forward, and that she was not sorry or annoyed to find that he kept his gaze boldly upon her all the while. Presently he looked about him, and singled out an acquaintance, to whom he made his way. Five minutes later he was being introduced, as Captain Falconer, to Mrs. Winwood.

”'Faith,” said he, in a courteous, subdued voice, after bowing very low, ”I did not think to find a lady so recently from St. James', in this place. One might swear, looking at you, madam, that this was Almack's.”

”Sir, you speak to one that never saw St. James' but in imagination,”

said Margaret, coolly. ”Sure one can be white, and moderately civil, and yet be of New York.”

”The deuce, madam! A native? You?”

”Ay, sir, of the aborigines; the daughter of a red Indian!”

”'Fore G.o.d, then, 'tis no wonder the American colonists make war upon the Indian race. Their wives and daughters urge 'em to it, out of jealousy of the red men's daughters.”

”Why, if they wished the red ladies exterminated, they couldn't do better than send a number of king's officers among 'em--famous lady-killers, I've heard.”

”Madam, I know naught of that; nor of the art of lady-killing itself, which I never desired to possess until this evening.”

The captain's eyes, so languid with melancholy or ennui a short while before, now had the glow of pre-determined conquest; his face shone with that resolve; and by this transformation, as well as by the inconsistency of his countenance with the soft tone and playful matter of his words, which inconsistency betrayed the gentleness to be a.s.sumed, I read the man through once for all: selfish, resolute, facile, versatile, able to act any part thoroughly and in a moment, constant to his object till it was won, then quick to leave it for another; unscrupulous, usually invincible, confident of his proven powers rather than vain of fancied ones; good-natured when not crossed, and with an irresistible charm of person and manner. And Margaret too--there was more and other meaning in her looks than in her light, ironical speeches.

He led her through two minuets that night, and was her partner in the Virginia reel (the name the Americans give the Sir Roger de Coverly); and his was the last face we saw at our coach window as we started homeward.

”You've made the rest of the army quite jealous of this new captain,”

growled Tom, as we rolled Southward over the stony Harlem road. ”The way Major Tarleton glared at him, would have set another man trembling.”

”Captain Falconer doesn't tremble so easily, I fancy,” said Margaret.

”And yet he's no marvel of a man, as I can see.”

<script>