Dolly’s quick ear caught the ringing words. “Oh, Cousin Ned,� she cried, “I saw Jacky Van Arsdale on the Bowling Green. Don’t you remember how he climbed the greased pole at Clermont, in the May merrying?� and with that she sped across the parade and through the gateway, returning soon with a stout sailor-boy of fifteen. “Now tell the Colonel you’ll try it, Jacky.�
“Go it, Jack!� shouted Cousin Ned. “I’ll make the gold jacobus two if you but reeve the halyards.�
“I want no money for the job, Master Livingston,� said the sailor-lad. “I’ll do it if I can for Mistress Dolly’s sake.�
Jack was an expert climber, but if any of my boy readers think it a simple thing to “shin up� a greased pole, just let them try it once—and fail.
Jack Van Arsdale tried it manfully once, twice, thrice, and each time came slipping down covered with slush and shame. And all the watchers in the boats off-shore joined in a chorus of laughs and jeers. Jack shook his fist at them angrily. “I’ll fix ’em yet,� he said. “If ye’ll but saw me up some cleats, and give me hammer and nails, I’ll run that flag to the top in spite of all the Tories from ’Sopus to Sandy Hook!�
Ready hands and willing feet came to the assistance of the plucky lad. Some ran swiftly to Mr. Goelet’s, “the iron-monger’s� in Hanover Square, and brought quickly back “a hand-saw, hatchet, hammer, gimlets, and nails�; others drew a long board to the bastion, and while one sawed the board into lengths, another split the strips into cleats, others bored the nail-holes, and soon young Jack had material enough.
Then, tying the halyards around his waist, and filling his jacket pockets with cleats and nails, he worked his way up the flag-pole, nailing and climbing as he went. And now he reaches the top, now the halyards are reeved, and as the beautiful flag goes fluttering up the staff a mighty cheer is heard, and a round of thirteen guns salutes the stars and stripes and the brave sailor-boy who did the gallant deed!
From the city streets came the roll and rumble of distant drums, and Dolly and her two companions, following the excited crowd, hastened across Hanover Square, and from an excellent outlook in the Fly Market watched the whole grand procession as it wound down Queen (now Pearl) Street, making its triumphal entry into the welcoming city. First came a corps of dragoons, then followed the advance-guard of light infantry and a corps of artillery, then more light infantry, a battalion of Massachusetts troops, and the rear-guard. As the veterans, with their soiled and faded uniforms, filed past, Dolly could not help contrasting them with the brilliant appearance of the British troops she had seen in the fort. “Their clothes do look worn and rusty,� she said. “But then,� she added, with beaming eyes, “they are our soldiers, and that is everything.�
And now she hears “a great hozaing all down the Fly,� as one record queerly puts it, and as the shouts increase, she sees a throng of horsemen, where, escorted by Captain Delavan’s “West Chester Light Horse,� ride the heroes of that happy hour, General George Washington and Governor George Clinton. Dolly added her clear little treble to the loud huzzas as the famous commander-in-chief rode down the echoing street. Behind their excellencies came other officials, dignitaries, army officers, and files of citizens, on horseback and afoot, many of the latter returning to dismantled and ruined homes after nearly eight years of exile.
But Dolly did not wait to see the whole procession. She had spied her father in the line of mounted citizens and flying across Queen Street, and around by Golden Hill (near Maiden Lane), where the first blood of the Revolution was spilled, she hurried down the Broad Way, so as to reach Mr. Cape’s tavern before their excellencies arrived.