University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

Thaunus.

For a tournament of gallant knights, in the
presence of their fair ladies, to have terminated
without bloodshed, or disaster of some
kind, would have been altogether out of keeping.
It would have betokened a sad degeneracy
in the heroism, whatever improvement it
might have indicated in the courtesy, of modern
chivalry. The occurrences, therefore, related
at the close of the last chapter, unexpected,
and, to a few individuals, painful as they
were, did not long interrupt the general hilarity
of the company. On the contrary, it
gave a characteristic piquancy to the scene,
throwing over it an air of romantic fierceness,
without which many would have pronounced
it a dull spectacle, altogether unworthy of the
genius of knighthood.

Fortunate events, therefore, having so far
preserved the character of the fete, and rendered
it satisfactory to all, its projectors highly delighted
with their success, diffused their good

humour throughout the company, and proceeded,
with elated spirits, to the remaining parts
of the entertainments.

Accordingly, as soon as Sir Robert Radnor
was removed, and Captain Harris's mysterious
disorder had disappeared, the marshals arranged
the company into proper order for proceeding
to the festal halls. The knights having
dismounted and sent away their horses,
conducted their ladies, moving to the sounds
of sweet music, towards the mansion. They
passed, walking on handsome carpets, and the
rest of the company following in regular procession,
under the triumphal arch of Admiral
Lord Howe, through the western gate into the
garden in front of the house. Thence they
proceeded up a flight of steps into the great
hall, where the ladies being placed on elevated
seats, conferred their rewards on their respective
knights, who received them kneeling, and
with fervent expressions of gratitude and everlasting
devotion to the fair donors. The champion
of Harriet Lewis being absent, his squire
received the guerdon from her with the expression
of suitable thanks, in his stead. The article
thus presented was a magnificent broach
of peculiar construction, which had that morning
been given to her by her father for this purpose,
and to which reference will again be made.

In this spacious hall and the four adjoining

rooms where the company were now assembled,
and which were splendidly decorated,
the walls being painted in imitation of Siena
marble, enclosing festoons of white marble,
refreshments of tea, lemonade, wine, &c. were
distributed among the guests. After partaking
of these, they were ushered up stairs, to an
extensive ball-room, radiant and gay with costly
effulgence. Its walls were painted in a
light and elegant slyle, and hung over with
eighty-five large mirrors, bedecked with a profusion
of bright ribbons and gaudy flowers.
Thirty-four splendid branches were prepared,
when night should come, to banish her shades, and
pour out a stream of radiance that should amply
compensate the want of day. On the same floor
were drawing rooms decorated and lighted in
the style of the ball-room, and containing side-boards
loaded with every species of luxury.

Soon the musicians poured forth their mirthstirring
strains, and the knights, with their ladies,
commenced, amidst a scene of enchanting
beauty, the exhilarating joyousness of the dance,
which, for many hours, animated the gay and
the gallant,

At length, about 10 o'clock, a pause in the
buoyant mirth took place, and the entertainment
was diversified by the opening of the

windows, and the presentation to the admiring
spectators, of a splendid display of fire-works,
sporting and wreathing their spiral forms in
the field of the late tournament. These had
been planned, with great care and skill, by the
chief of the engineers. They consisted of
twenty different sets of displays, chiefly radiating,
in the innumerable figures they assumed,
around the triumphal arches which were momentarily
changed, as if by magic, into a brilliant
succession of interesting shapes and devices.

At the hour of twelve, supper was announced,
and instantly two large folding doors, before
concealed, sprung open, and displayed to
view, a magnificent saloon, constructed for the
occasion, amidst the trees and shrubberies of
an extensive garden behind the house. This
romantic apartment was two hundred and ten
feet long, forty wide, and twenty-two high.
On each side were three alcoves in which were
contained side-boards and shelves loaded with
provisions, wine, and all the luxuries of the
costly feast.

The sides of this great saloon were decorated
with vine leaves, and chaplets of flowers and
ribbons, intermixed with fifty-six large pier
glasses, which, on each side reflected the gaudy
scene of festivity in the centre, so as to entertain
and bewilder the astonished spectator

with the view of three banquets in stead of
one. Three hundred wax-tapers, in silver candle-sticks,
placed along the tables; one hundred
and twelve variegated branches ranged around
the sides, two above each mirror; and eighteen
gorgeous lustres of twenty-four lights each hanging
from the ceiling, illuminated the magnificent
scene,

Twelve hundred dishes covered the sumptuous
tables, and the guests were attended by
fifty waiters, twenty-five of whom were black
slaves in oriental dresses, with collars of silver,
and bracelets of gold.

The number of guests who sat down to this
splendid banquet, were four hundred and fifty,
about one hundred and seventy of whom were
ladies, whose beauty, glowing amidst the effulgent
scene, gave them the appearance of so
many houries in Paradise.

At the close of the feast, a herald attended by
trumpeters entered, and announced as the first
toast—“The King and the Royal Family!”
which was drunk with cheers, followed by the
music of several bands playing the British national
anthem, “God save the king.” A succession
of toasts followed, announced by the
same herald, and honoured by a flourish of
trumpets, and the swelling pomp of animating

music.—The feast being finished, the guests
returned to the ball-room, and again drove
thought away in the joyous agitations of the
animating dance.

It was about three o'clock in the morning,
and none of the gay company seemed yet to
flag in their enjoyments, when a female figure
of remarkable exility, dressed in white, and
closely veiled, entered the splendid apartment.
One of the heralds approached to ascertain her
wishes.

“A boon! a boon!” she said, in tones so
ethereally sweet, that they interested every
auditor, “a boon, from your brave commander.”

“Ask it, fair damsel!” cried Howe, advancing
towards her.

“Permission, for but a few minutes, to tread
a simple measure, in the dance, with a gallant
knight in this assembly.”

“Right fair and romantic!” exclaimed the
jovial Howe. “Faith, this pleases me. It is
a fine incident.—Your request is granted, lady.
Choose your partner. Knights, stand forward!”

All the knights eagerly approached, anxious
to be selected on an occasion so remarkable,
except one, who, as if desirous to avoid observation,
remained aloof amidst the crowd. He
was one, on whose heart the stranger's voice
had, indeed, produced an impression quite different

from what it had communicated to the
rest of the company. To him, the tones,
though sweet, were unaccountably awful, and,
although it was in the midst of a numerous assembly
that he heard them, he feared to approach
the being by whom they were uttered.

The lady looked upon the knightly candidates
for her favour. “These are noble
knights,” said she. “But he with whom
alone I am to dance, comes not forward. Yet
my eye can reach him. Captain Harris, thou
art the man!”

The eyes of all were turned upon Harris,
and all wondered at his evident reluctance to
be seen.

“Sir Harris, forward, like a true knight, at
your lady's call!” cried Howe.

Harris obeyed. He felt ashamed that his
agitation had been observed; and he was resolved
not to appear afraid to accept a preference
which, by any other officer present, he
perceived, would have been considered a triumph.—Besides,
why should this unknown
lady cause him to feel disturbed? Her voice
and form, it is true, resembled those of the
awful spirit which, for many months, had
haunted him, and rendered his life miserable.
But her features were concealed, and it might
not be she. Nay, it was improbable that it
was she. Spirits are seldom, if ever, visible

to many individuals at the same time. But
this lady was seen at once by a whole assembly.

These thoughts, passing rapidly through his
mind, reassured him, and advancing with an
effort towards the stranger, he offered her his
hand, saying, “Fair madam, I am proud of
your preference, and am ready to obey all your
commands.”

She declined accepting his hand. “Approach
no nearer!” said she. “We dance together,
but we touch not.”

He acquiesced; for her voice had the power
of a spell upon his spirit.

“Let your musicians play Lough Errock's
Side, first in slow, and, then in quick time,”
said she to one of the heralds, who stood near
her. “You know it was my father's favourite
air,” she added in a low voice intended for
Harris's ear only. He started. The words
sent a thrill of terror to his heart; for it informed
him, that this was, indeed, the dreaded
spectre of Mary Balantyne. The presence of
his gay companions, and the commencement of
the music, however, in some degree dissipated
his terror. The injunction also to avoid all
contact with his aerial partner assisted greatly
to support him through the fearful task he had
now to perform.

During the time the music played in slow

measure, the company was struck with the impressive
solemnity of the lady's movements,
which were also distinguished by a gracefulness
that extorted unanimous admiration. So
light and easy was she in her windings and
progressions, that she seemed to swim along,
rather than tread on the floor, and so accurate
in the formation of the figures of the dance,
that it might have been supposed, that she
made perfection in the accomplishments of the
ball-room, the chief study of her life. But,
when the sprightly strain commenced, the
spectators became really electrified with delight
at her performance. Her agility and
grace seemed truly preternatural. Harris was
the only individual who felt no astonishment.
He was, indeed, too much overawed to observe
her excellence. But had it been otherwise,
such excellence in the gracefulness and
agility of the dance, would have been only
what he had often rapturously witnessed in the
performances of Mary Balantyne, when, in the
days of her beauty and light-heartedness, she
threaded the mazy rounds with her joyous
companions on the banks of the Brandywine,
and excelled them all.

She had danced about five or six minutes, when,
on passing Harris in her course towards the
door, which was open on account of the warmth,
she, for an instant showed him her features by

a sudden movement of her veil, and disappeared
with the rapidity of a flash of lightning. A
shock went through his whole frame. He
staggered some distance, and then fell convulsively
on the floor.

For some minutes the surprise and confusion
in the ball-room was so great, that no one
thought of following the mysterious dancer.
Exclamations of “Wonderful! Who is she?
Who can she be? What has she done? What
is the matter with Captain Harris?” were freely
and abundantly interchanged. But no one
could answer questions which every one was
so eager to ask. All flocked towards Harris,
partly from sympathy for his distress, and
partly to obtain some explanation of the mystery.
It was some time before he recovered
sufficiently to converse in a rational manner,
and when he did so recover, he was either unable
or unwilling to throw any light on the
subject. Before he regained his self-command
he uttered several ejaculations relative to the
torments to which he was subjected by the
dreaded vision, which served only to increase
the perplexity and give a dark cast to the surmises
of the company.

On the restoration of his powers of reflection,
his mortification became extreme. He
dared not reveal the truth, and he was too
much perplexed to invent an explanatory statement
which might seem probable. Indeed, so

uncomfortable did he now feel, that, as soon
as the amusements of the company were resumed,
and attention began to be diverted from
him, he withdrew, for the purpose of returning
to his lodging, where he might, at least
for a season, be secure from witnessing the disgrace
or pity into which he conceived himself
to have fallen.

After the preceding mysterious adventure,
although the music and the dance were recommenced,
the hilarity was gone, and the enjoyment
could not be restored. The impression
made upon the minds of even the most unreflecting
of the company, by the singular conduct
of the strange lady—her informal and bold
self-introduction—her haughty and dictatorial
bearing—her wonderful dancing—her rapid
and unexpected disappearance—and the overpowering
effects of her proceedings upon the
mind of a reckless soldier like Harris,—all these
produced a seriousness of thought which no
attempt at the renewal of mirth could remove,
and which were felt by all present to be so
uncongenial with the gay and splendid scenes
which surrounded them, and the mirthful purpose
for which they were assembled, that, with
common consent, shortly after the departure
of Harris, they resolved to retire.

Thus terminated the brilliant feats and costly
entertainments of the memorable Meschi

anza of 1778, in Philadelphia. And thus
closed the greatest and last exhibition of romantic
grandeur, and extravagant folly, which
this fair City of Independence was ever to
witness under a foreign rule; for in one short
month afterwards, the gay soldiers of Britain
departed, and, with them, every vestige of foreign
authority, to return no more.