The Bow of Orange Ribbon: A Romance of New York

by Amelia E. Barr

Every one was watching him with admiration. Never in his uniform had he appeared so like a soldier as he did at that hour in his citizen coat and breeches of wine-coloured velvet, his black silk stockings and gold-buckled shoes. His spirits were infectious: Bram had already come into thorough sympathy with him, and grown almost gay in his company; Joris felt his heart beat to the joy and hope in his young comrades. All alike had recognized that the fight was inevitable, and that it would be well done if it were soon done.

But events cannot be driven by wishes: many things had to be settled before a movement forward could be made. Joris had his store to let, and the stock and good-will to dispose of. Horses and accoutrements must be bought, uniforms made; and every day this charge increased: for, as soon as Van Heemskirk's intention to go to the front was known, a large number of young men from the best Dutch families were eager to enlist under him.

Hyde's time was spent as a recruiting-officer. His old quarters, the "King's Arms," were of course closed to him; but there was a famous tavern on Water Street, shaded by a great horse-chestnut tree, and there the patriots were always welcome. There, also, the news of all political events was in some mysterious way sure to be first received. In company with Willet, Sears, and McDougall, Hyde might be seen under the chestnut-tree every day, enlisting men, or organizing the "Liberty Regiment" then raising.

From the first, his valorous temper, his singleness of purpose, his military skill in handling troops, and his fine appearance and manners, had given him influence and authority. He soon, also, gained a wonderful power over Bram; and even the temperate wisdom and fine patience of Joris gradually kindled, until the man was at white heat all through. Every day's events fanned the temper of the city, although it was soon evident that the first fighting would be done in the vicinity of Boston.

For, three weeks after that memorable April Sunday, Congress, in session at Philadelphia, had recognized the men in camp there as a Continental army, the nucleus of the troops that were to be raised for the defence of the country, and had commissioned Colonel Washington as commander-in-chief to direct their operations. Then every heart was in a state of the greatest expectation and excitement. No one remembered at that hour that the little army was without organization or discipline, most of its officers incompetent to command, its troops altogether unused to obey, and in the field without enlistment. Their few pieces of cannon were old and of various sizes, and scarce any one understood their service. There was no siege-train and no ordnance stores. There was no military chest, and nothing worthy the name of a commissariat. Yet every one was sure that some bold stroke would be struck, and the war speedily terminated in victory and independence.

So New York was in the buoyant spirits of a young man rejoicing to run a race. The armourers, the saddlers, and the smiths were busy day and night; weapons were in every hand, the look of apprehended triumph on every face. In June the Van Heemskirk troops were ready to leave for Boston—nearly six hundred young men, full of pure purpose and brave thoughts, and with all their illusions and enthusiasms undimmed.

The day before their departure, they escorted Van Heemskirk to his house. Lysbet and Katherine saw them coming, and fell weeping on each other's necks—tears that were both joyful and sorrowful, the expression of mingled love and patriotism and grief. It would have been hard to find a nobler-looking leader than Joris. Age had but added dignity to his fine bulk. His large, fair face was serene and confident. And the bright young lads who followed him looked like his sons, for most of them strongly resembled him in person; and any one might have been sure, even if the roll had not shown it, that they were Van Brunts and Van Ripers and Van Rensselaers, Roosevelts, Westervelts, and Terhunes.

They had a very handsome uniform, and there had been no uncertainty or dispute about it. Blue, with orange trimmings, carried the question without one dissenting voice. Blue had been for centuries the colour of opposition to tyranny. The Scotch Covenanters chose it because the Lord ordered the children of Israel to wear a ribbon of blue that they might "look upon it, and remember all the commandments of the Lord, and do them; and seek not after their own heart and their own eyes, and be holy unto their God." (Num. xv. 38.) Into their cities of refuge in Holland, the Covenanters carried their sacred colour; and the Dutch Calvinists soon blended the blue of their faith with the orange of their patriotism. Very early in the American struggle, blue became the typical colour of freedom; and when Van Heemskirk's men chose the blue and orange for their uniform, they selected the colours which had already been famous on many a battle-field of freedom.

Katherine and Lysbet had made the flag of the new regiment—an orange flag, with a cluster of twelve blue stars above the word liberty. It was Lysbet's hands that gave it to them. They stood in a body around the open door of the Van Heemskirk house; and the pretty old lady kissed it, and handed it with wet eyes to the colour-sergeant. Katherine stood by Lysbet's side. They were both dressed as for a festival, and their faces were full of tender love and lofty enthusiasm. To Joris and his men they represented the womanhood dear to each individual heart. Lysbet's white hair and white cap and pale-tinted face was "the mother's face;" and Katherine, in her brilliant beauty, her smiles and tears, her shining silks and glancing jewels, was the lovely substitute for many a precious sister and many a darling lady-love. But few words were said. Lysbet and Katherine could but stand and gaze as heads were bared, and the orange folds flung to the wind, and the inspiring word liberty saluted with bright, upturned faces and a ringing shout of welcome.

Such a lovely day it was—a perfect June day; doors and windows were wide open; a fresh wind blowing, a hundred blended scents from the garden were in the air; and there was a sunshine that warmed everything to the core. If there were tears in the hearts of the women, they put them back with smiles and hopeful words, and praises of the gallant men who were to fight a noble fight under the banner their fingers had fashioned.