Through Colonial Doorways

by Anne Hollingsworth Wharton

The knights’ ladies passed under the arch after the knights, who dismounted and joined them, all proceeding together along a broad avenue, brilliantly decorated, to another arch of the same size and elegance as the first, this in honor of Sir William Howe. “Upon passing this second arch,” our journalist tells us, “we entered a beautiful Flower-Garden and up a Gravel Court, ascended a flight of Steps which conducted us into the House, at the door of which we were received by the Managers of the Meschianza,—namely, Sir John Wrottesley, Sir Henry Calder, Colonel O’Hara, and Colonel Montrésor.” André mentions the same, except that he substitutes Major Gardiner for Sir Henry Calder.

Two folding-doors were opened, and the company was ushered into a large hall, brilliantly lighted, where tea, coffee, and cakes were served, and where the knights upon bended knee received the favors due them from their respective ladies. This scene must have been one of the most graceful and charming of the whole pageant, and had it not been for the remembrance of that dear Honora whose miniature he always wore, André certainly could not have remained insensible to the manifold attractions of Miss Peggy Chew, who now rewarded him for having “perilled life and limb” in her service, and whose praises are thus sung by Mr. Joseph Shippen:

“With either Chew such beauties dwell,
Such charms by each are shared,
No critic’s judging eye can tell
Which merits most regard.
“’Tis far beyond the painter’s skill
To set their charms to view;
As far beyond the poet’s quill
To give the praise that’s due.”

Amid blushes, soft whisperings, and compliments such as the gentlemen of that time were skilled in paying, the fair ones bestowed their gracious favors; after which the company entered another hall, elaborately decorated and hung with eighty-five mirrors, decked with rose-pink silk ribbons and artificial flowers. In this ball-room, whose walls were pale blue and rose-pink, with panels on which were dropping festoons of flowers, “when the company was come up,” says our authority, quaintly, “the Dulcineas danced first with the knights, and then with the squires, and after them the rest of the company danced.”

At half-past ten o’clock the windows were thrown open to enable the guests to enjoy the magnificent fireworks on the lawn, when the triumphal arch near the house appeared brilliantly illuminated, Fame blowing from her trumpet these words: “Tes Lauriers sont immortels,”—meaning Sir William’s.

About this time Captain Allan McLane, with a company of infantry and Clow’s dragoons, was endeavoring to win for himself immortal laurels by firing the abatis at the north of the city, which connected the line of the British redoubts. When the flames reddened the sky the ladies, doubtless, clapped their hands with delight, wondering at the beauty of the illumination, which illusion was encouraged by the officers; and later, when the roll-call was sounded along the line and the guns of the redoubts fired, the guests were assured that this was all a part of the celebration, and the dancing continued. Although McLane did not succeed in breaking up the party, as he had hoped, he gave the British officers a fright, which must have considerably marred the enjoyment of the evening for them. The dragoons sent in pursuit of the incendiaries did not succeed in overtaking them, as they found a refuge among the hills of the Wissahickon.

“After the fireworks the company returned, some to dancing and others to a Faro-bank, which was opened by three German officers in one of the Parlours. The Company continued dancing and playing until twelve o’clock, when we were called to Supper, and two folding-doors at the end of the hall being thrown open, we entered a room two hundred feet long by forty wide. The Floor was covered with painted Canvas, and the roof and sides adorned with paintings and ornamented with fifty large mirrors. From the roof hung twelve Lustres, with twenty Spermaceti candles in each. In this room were two Tables, reaching from one end to the other. On the two tables were fifty large, elegant pyramids, with Jellies, Syllabub, Cakes, and Sweetmeats.” Beside this there were various substantials, soup being mentioned as the only viand served hot.

Major André, after describing the decorations of this supper-room, says that “there were four hundred and thirty covers, twelve hundred dishes, and twenty-four black slaves in Oriental dresses, with silver collars and bracelets, ranged in two lines, and bending to the ground as the general and admiral approached the saloon; all these, forming together the most brilliant assemblage of gay objects, and appearing at once as we entered by an easy descent, exhibited a coup-d’œil beyond description magnificent.”

Toward the end of supper, the herald of the Blended Rose, in his habit of ceremony, attended by his trumpeters, entered the saloon and proclaimed the King’s health, the Queen’s, and that of the royal family. After the toast to the King, all the company rose and sang “God Save the King,” which must have been a very trying moment to those Whig ladies present, who through all the enjoyment of the day were doubtless considerably pricked in their consciences. More loyal toasts followed, to the army and navy, their commanders, and finally to the ladies and their knights, the ladies’ toast being: “The Founder of the Feast.”

We are pained to read that some of the gentlemen, among them one of the same party as our quaint journalist, were so ungallant as to remain at table, declaring their intention of devoting the night to Bacchus,—alas for Venus! The guests did not disperse until dawn began to redden the eastern sky, and some tarried until the sun was up.