Near the Tea-water Pump, (in Chatham street just above Pearl), where the citizens on foot had gathered to join the procession, Washington halted the column, while Gen. Knox and the officers of the Revolution drew out and, forming into line, marched down Chatham street, passing a body of the British troops which were still halting in the fields (now the City Hall Park); while Washington and the rest, turning down Pearl street, proceeded on to Wall street, and up Wall, then the seat of fashionable residences, to Broadway, where both companies again met, and while our troops in line fired a feu-de-joie, alighted at the popular tavern before mentioned, kept by John Cape, where now stands the Boreel Building.[3]
We must mention here, that when Gen. Knox reached the New Jail, then known as the Provost (and now the Hall of Records), Capt. Cunningham, the Provost Marshall, and his deputy and jailor Sergeant Keefe, both having held those positions during most of the war, and equally notorious for their brutal treatment of the American prisoners who were confined there, thought it about time to retreat; and quitting the jail, followed by the hangman in his yellow jacket, passed between a platoon of British soldiers and marched down Broadway, with the last detachment of their troops. When Sergeant Keefe was in the act of leaving the Provost, (says John Pintard), one of the few prisoners then in his custody for criminal offences, called out: "Sergeant, what is to become of us?" "You may all go to the devil together," was his surly reply, as he threw the bunch of keys on the floor behind him. "Thank you, Sergeant," was the cutting retort, "we have had too much of your company in this world, to wish to follow you to the next!" Another incident, which respected Cunningham, was witnessed (says Dr. Lossing), by the late Dr. Alexander Anderson. It was during the forenoon, that a tavern keeper in Murray street hung out the Stars and Stripes. Informed of it, thither hastened Cunningham, who with an oath, and in his imperious tone, exclaimed, "Take in that flag, the City is ours till noon." Suiting the action to the word, he tried to pull down the obnoxious ensign; but the landlady coming to the rescue, with broom in hand, dealt the Captain such lusty blows, as made the powder fly in clouds from his wig, and forced him to beat a retreat! The Provost Guard, and the Main Guard at the City Hall (Wall street, opposite Broad, where the U. S. Treasury stands), were the last to abandon their posts, and repair on shipboard.
The brief reception being over, at Cape's Tavern, (with presenting of addresses to Gen. Washington and Gov. Clinton), the cavalcade again formed, and marched to the Battery, to enact the last formality in re-possessing the City, which was to unfurl the American flag over Fort George.[5] A great concourse of people had assembled, not only to witness this ceremony, but to obtain a sight of the illustrious Washington and other great generals, who had so nobly defended our liberties.
But now a sight was presented, which, as soon as fully understood, drew forth from the astonished and incensed beholders execrations loud and deep. The royal ensign was still floating as usual over Fort George; the enemy having departed without striking their colors, though they had dismantled the fort and removed on shipboard all their stores and heavy ordnance, while other cannon lay dismounted under the walls as if thrown off in a spirit of wantonness. On a closer view it was found that the flag had been nailed to the staff, the halyards taken away, and the pole itself besmeared with grease; obviously to prevent or hinder the removal of the emblem of royalty, and the raising of the Stars and Stripes. Whether to escape the mortification of seeing our flag supplant the British standard, or to annoy and exasperate our people were the stronger impulse, it were hard to say. It was too serious for a joke, however, and the dilemma caused no little confusion. The artillery had taken a position on the Battery, the guns were unlimbered, and the gunners stood ready to salute our colors. But the grease baffled all attempts to shin up the staff. To cut the staff down and erect another would consume too much time. Impatient of delay, "three or four guns were fired with the colors on a pole before they were raised on the flagstaff."[6] But this expedient was premature and humiliating, while the hostile flag yet waved as if in defiance. The scene grew exciting: and now appeared another actor, hitherto looking on, but no idle observer of what was passing. He was a young man of medium height, whose ruddy honest face, tarpaulin cap and pea-jacket told his vocation. Born neither to fortune nor to fame, yet by his own merits and exertions he had won the regard of some in that assembly, having served under McClaughry, and Willett, and Weissenfels, as also the Clintons, to whom he had lived neighbor, within that patriotic circle in old Orange, where these were the guiding spirits, and every yeoman with them, shoulder to shoulder, in the common cause. As a subaltern officer he had made a good record during the war, and none present, however superior in station, had sustained a better character or exhibited a purer patriotism. This was John Van Arsdale, late a Sergeant in Capt. Hardenburgh's company of New York Levies. At nineteen years of age, quitting his father's vessel, where he had been bred a sailor, he enlisted in the Continental Army at the beginning of the war, and had served faithfully till its close. Suffering cold and hardship in the Canada expedition, wounded and taken prisoner at the battle of Fort Montgomery, he had languished weary months in New York dungeons, and in the foul hold of a British prisonship, and subsequently braved the perils of Indian warfare in several campaigns. And with such a record, where expect to find him but among his old compatriots, on this day of momentous import, when the struggles of seven years were to culminate in a final triumph.
Van Arsdale volunteered to climb the staff, though with little prospect of succeeding better than others, especially when after making an attempt, sailor fashion, he was unable to maintain his grasp upon the slippery pole. Now it was proposed to replace the cleats which had been knocked off; and persons ran in haste to Peter Goelet's hardware store, in Hanover Square, and returned with a saw, hatchet, gimlets, and nails. Then willing hands sawed pieces of board, split and bored cleats, and began to nail them on. By this means Van Arsdale got up a short distance, with a line to which our flag was attached; but just then, a ladder being brought to his assistance, he mounted still higher, then completed the ascent in the usual way, and reaching the top of the staff, tore down the British standard, and rove the new halyards by which the Star-spangled Banner was quickly run up by Lieut. Anthony Glean, and floated proudly, while the multitude gave vent to their joy in hearty cheers, and the artillery boomed forth a national salute of thirteen guns![7] On descending, Van Arsdale was warmly greeted by the overjoyed spectators, for the service he had rendered; but some one proposing a more substantial acknowledgement than mere applause, hats were passed around, and a considerable sum collected, nearly all within reach contributing, even to the Commander-in-Chief. Though taken quite aback, Van Arsdale modestly accepted the gift, with a protest at being rewarded for so trivial an act. But the contributors were of another opinion; he had accomplished what was thought impracticable, and the occasion and the emergency made his success peculiarly gratifying to all present. On returning home to his amiable Polly (they had been married short of six months), the story of "Evacuation Day," and the silver money which he poured into her lap, caused her to open her eyes, and fixed the circumstance indelibly in her memory!
But to return: during the scene on the Battery, which consumed full an hour, the last squads of the British were getting into their boats, while many others, filled with soldiers, rested on their oars between the shore and their ships, anchored in the North River. They kept silence during this time, and watched our efforts to hoist the colors (no doubt enjoying our embarrassment), but when our flag was run up and the salute fired, they rowed off to their shipping, which soon weighed anchor and proceeded down the bay.[8]
This scene over, the Commander-in-Chief and the general officers, accompanied Gov. Clinton to Fraunces' Tavern, also a popular resort, and which still stands on the corner of Pearl and Broad streets. Here the Governor gave a sumptuous dinner. The repast over, then came "the feast of reason and the flow of soul," when the sentiments dearest to those brave and loyal men found utterance in the following admirable toasts:
1. The United States of America.
2. His most Christian Majesty.
3. The United Netherlands.