stools behind it. But few marked the rowers, for in their midst, tall,
straight, and steadfast as a mast, stood one figure in a cloak, with
folded arms, high boots, and, under the turned-up hat, a noble
countenance, stern with indomitable courage. A sword glittered at
his side, and a banner waved over him, but his eye was fixed on
the distant shore, and he was evidently unconscious of the roaring
billows, the blocks of ice, the discouragement of his men, or the
danger and death that might await him. Napoleon crossing the
Alps was not half so sublime, and with one voice the audiencc
cried, ‘Washington crossing the Delaware!” while the band burst
forth with, “See, the conquering hero comes!” all out of tune, but
bound to play it or die in the attempt.
It would have been very successful if, all of a sudden, one of the
rowers had not “caught a crab” with disastrous consequences. The
oars were not moving, but a veteran, who looked very much like
Joe, dropped the one he held, and in trying to turn and pummel the
black-eyed warrior behind him, he tumbled off his seat, upsetting
two other men, and pulling the painted boat upon them as they lay
kicking in the cambric deep. Shouts of laughter greeted this
mishap, but George Washington never stirred. Grasping the
banner, he stood firm when all else went down in the general
wreck, and the icy waves engulfed his gallant crew, leaving him
erect amid a chaos of wildly tossing boots, entangled oars, and
red-faced victims. Such god-like dignity could not fail to impress
the frivolous crowd of laughers, and the curtain fell amid a round
of applause for him alone.
“Quite exciting, wasn’t it? Didn’t know Gus had so much presence
of mind,” said Mr. Burton, well pleased with his boy.
“If we did not know that Washington died in his bed, December
14, 1799, I should fear that we’d seen the last of him in that
shipwreck,” laughed an old gentleman, proud of his memory for
dates.
Much confusion reigned behind the scenes; Ralph was heard
scolding, and Joe set everyone off again by explaining, audibly,
that Grif tickled him, and he couldn’t stand it. A pretty,
old-fashioned picture of the “Daughters of Liberty” followed, for
the
girls were determined to do honor to the brave and patient women
who so nobly bore their part in the struggle, yet are usually
forgotten when those days are celebrated. The damsels were
charming in the big caps, flowered gowns, and high-heeled shoes
of their great-grandmothers, as they sat about a spider-legged table
talking over the tax, and pledging themselves to drink no more tea
till it was taken off. Molly was on her feet proposing, “Liberty
forever, and down with all tyrants,” to judge from her flashing eyes
as she held her egg-shell cup aloft, while the others lifted theirs to
drink the toast, and Merry, as hostess, sat with her hand on an
antique teapot, labelled “Sage,” ready to fill again when the
patriotic ladies were ready for a second “dish.”
This was much applauded, and the curtain went up again, for the
proud parents enjoyed seeing their pretty girls in the faded finery
of a hundred years ago. The band played “Auld Lang Syne,” as a
gentle hint that our fore-mothers should be remembered as well as
the fore-fathers.
It was evident that something very martial was to follow, for a
great tramping, clashing, and flying about took place behind the
scenes while the tea-party was going on. After some delay, “The
Surrender of Cornwallis” was presented in the most superb
manner, as you can believe when I tell you that the stage was
actually lined with a glittering array of Washington and his
generals, Lafayette, Kosciusko, Rochambeau and the rest, all in
astonishing uniforms, with swords which were evidently the pride
of their lives. Fife and drum struck up a march, and in came
Cornwallis, much cast down but full of manly resignation, as he
surrendered his sword, and stood aside with averted eyes while his
army marched past, piling their arms at the hero’s feet.
This scene was the delight of the boys, for the rifles of Company F