They passed that word from the nearest, standing by the bulletin, to the farther circles, and in five minutes the crowd knew it by heart. On the Commons the drums were beating, the cannons firing, and people shouting themselves hoarse.
Mr. Adams went around to the Royall house, and that looked like a hotel on a gala day, and was nearly as full of people. The treaty had been signed on Christmas Eve. The President had now to issue a decree suspending hostilities. But one of the most brilliant battles had been fought on the 8th of January at New Orleans, under General Jackson—a farewell shot.
For a week no one could think or talk of anything else. Then the official accounts having been received from Washington, there were plans for a grand procession. An oratorio was given at the Stone Chapel in the morning. Madam Royall had managed to obtain seats for Mr. Winthrop and Doris with her party. The church was crowded. American and British officers in full uniform were side by side,—as happy to be at peace as the rulers themselves,—chatting cordially with each other.
The State House was decorated with transparencies, and there were to be fireworks in the evening. The procession marched around the Common, with the different trades drawn on sleds. Printers struck off hand-bills with the word "Peace!" printed on them and distributed them among the crowd. The carpenters were erecting a Temple of Peace. The papermakers had long strips of red, white, and blue: every trade had hit upon some signification of the general joy.
Uncle Win sent Cato round for Mercy and Warren Leverett to come to tea, and then they went out to see the illumination and the fireworks. Old Boston had suffered a great deal from the war, and her rejoicing was as broad as her sorrow had been deep.
As if that was not enough, there was to be a grand Peace Ball. The gentry did not so often patronize public balls, but this was an exception. Uncle Winthrop procured a ticket for Warren and his wife. Mrs. Gilman was shocked, and Mercy like a modern woman declared she had nothing to wear. But Aunt Priscilla brought out her last remnant of gorgeousness, a gray satin that looked very youthful draped with sheer white.
"I feel just as if I was going to be married over again," Mercy declared laughingly; and Warren said she had never looked so beautiful.
Uncle Winthrop left Doris' adornments to Madam Royall and Mrs. Chapman. She and Eudora had the same kind of gowns—sheer, dotted muslin trimmed with rows of white satin ribbon, and the bodice with frills of lace and bows of ribbon.
The hairdresser did her hair in a multitude of puffs and curls that made her look quite like a young lady. She was still very slim, but growing tall rapidly. In fact, as Uncle Winthrop looked at her he realized that she could not always remain a little girl.
Concert Hall was brilliantly illuminated and decorated with flags and flowers. A platform surrounded the floor, and many people preferred to be spectators or just join in the march. There were some naval as well as military officers, and Doris kept a sharp watch, for it almost seemed as if she might come upon Cary. Oh, where would he hear the declaration of peace!