Rodney, the Ranger Part 30

CHAPTER XXVII

A BLENDED ROSE

For weeks the Quaker City girls had been looking forward with much antic.i.p.ation and great eagerness to the eighteenth day of May, 1778.

On that day there was to be a most wonderful, grand and gorgeous pageant in honour of the Howes.

There was much chirping and fluttering those evenings in the homes of the s.h.i.+ppens, the Chews, the Achmutys, the Redmans, and others. In the midst of all this lived Elizabeth Danesford, and a very lively part of it she was.

Among all the Philadelphia beauties--and none in all this great land or the lands across the seas could excel them--Lisbeth was a peeress.

About her shrine could be found as many wors.h.i.+ppers as any of the charming queens could boast. Scions of Britain's aristocracy, favoured with a glimpse from under her dark lashes, forgot their other duties and waited upon her whims. And she, Tory though she was, delighted in seeing the haughty bend the knee to a girl from the Old Dominion.

And that graceful fellow, Andre, who had a knack for rhyme, a little skill with the brush, and could design a lady's costume with even better success than he could pen a verse, ah, he was in his seventh heaven! Time enough to sorrow bye and bye when he should step from a cart with a rope about his neck, all because of Benedict Arnold.

There was a triumphal arch erected in honour of Lord Howe, and another in honour of his brother, the general. There were pavilions to build around the arena in which gaily attired knights, mounted on richly caparisoned steeds, were to contend, knights in white and knights in black, and their reward the favours to be bestowed by the fair damsels of the "Blended Rose" or "The Burning Mountain." And there were men and women no doubt--usually there are--who would have sold their immortal souls rather than have missed an invitation to attend.

Never before had America witnessed such a brave display, the parade of floats upon the river, the fireworks, the tournaments, the dazzling costumes, the sumptuous banquet and the brilliant ball to conclude it all; and then that beautiful Italian name, "Mischianza," the t.i.tle by which it should be known to future generations.

The sun was winking at the closed curtains of Lisbeth's room the next morning as she stood before her mirror for a farewell glance at her splendid attire, and that towering head-dress flas.h.i.+ng with jewels over which the hair-dresser had worked long and marvellously. The face was fresh, the beautiful eyes undimmed, the eyes of a conqueror, flas.h.i.+ng as she recalled Lord Howe bending low over her fair hand with unmistakable admiration in his face.

While she thus admired herself, the drums were beating and the soldiers were marching out of the city to capture Lafayette, who, it was thought, would make a suitable decoration for the glory of the Howes. Really they should take away with them something in the way of glory other than memories of an idle winter amid Philadelphia's hospitality, and of the pomp and beauty of the "Mischianza." But the poor soldiers came marching back without their prize, while the ladies were yet talking of the fete, their costumes and their conquests. Yet, as we have learned, the soldiers, missing their prize, did bring back a meagre harvest for the maw of the Provost Prison, and of that Rodney Allison was a part.

What of the poor fellow we left moaning in delirium, and Lawrence Enderwood, doing his best to quiet his friend, while he inwardly raged at their jailer's brutality? He was a very sick lad, as Lawrence could see by the morning light filtering through the dirt of the windows.

"He'll not last long in this den; they die like flies. I know, for I've seen 'em," said a haggard prisoner, who had entered the prison a hale, l.u.s.ty man and was now a tottering skeleton.

Helpless to aid his friend, and forced to sit idly by and see him suffer and die, Lawrence Enderwood buried his face in his hands.

"General Howe well might know this be no place for women."

The gruff, surly tone of Cunningham was answered by one as sweet as the note of a song bird.

"But, Captain, he surely might know it would be a better place for human beings if it were."

Lawrence lifted his head and his eyes lighted, as well they might, for the girl was a refres.h.i.+ng picture.

"You are right, Miss Danesford. General Howe not only might, he ought to know about this villainous place."

"Ah, Mr. Enderwood--pardon, that epaulette declares you are a captain and the red facings of your blue coat indicate that you lead Virginians. Possibly, however, the Mister to you is of more value than the t.i.tle of captain, since your General Was.h.i.+ngton has made himself famous with the British as a plain 'Mister.'"

"It must be very humiliating to their generals to be beaten by a plain 'Mister,' must it not? But I would not say unpleasant things, for verily your visit is most welcome, whether you came to see me or another."

"You, most a.s.suredly. Colonel Brent was boasting yesterday of having bagged a genuine militia captain from old Virginia, and, when he told me your name, I did not thank him for his exploit."

"Believe me, I greatly appreciate your kindness. Perhaps, having been so kind to a poor Virginia captain, you may come to speak of 'our'

Was.h.i.+ngton, for you are a daughter of Virginia."

Lisbeth appeared not to notice this allusion to her Tory principles, and exclaimed, as she looked with evident disgust at the squalid surroundings: "Why will men be so cruel to men? I will tell General Howe some truths that will cause his ears to burn, and--"

"And shut the door against your return. You see I am selfish enough to look for another visit, though this pestilent hole is no place for you to visit. Howe will do nothing. When he was in command at New York our men literally rotted in the foul prison hulks lying in the harbour. It is a cheap and an easy way for killing us off."

"Now, no lectures, Captain Enderwood. Howe shall know of this, and I believe will do something to improve it. Meanwhile, here is a little basket of food cooked by our old Nancy. You always praised Nancy's cooking when you came to 'The Hall' in the old days, so you are under obligations to eat every crumb of it, even if it isn't as good as the prison fare."

"Good as the prison fare! Why, the c.o.c.kroaches that crawl around here are literally starving. It's a marvel you got past old Cunningham with this basket. Nothing infuriates him so, and this morning I saw him knock on the floor a bowl of broth brought to one of the prisoners."

"Oh! I can't understand it."

"No, and you never will until you get better acquainted with men like Cunningham, which G.o.d forbid. But tell me about the 'Mis-er-'"

"'Mischianza?' Oh, it was the most delightful affair ever known. You should have seen it. The floats on the river, the parades, the arches, the battles between the knights and all! Well, Major Andre was a true prophet when he said no Roman fete would equal it. I simply can't find words to describe ever so little of it."

With you present I couldn't have realized its magnificence if I had seen it, was the thought in Enderwood's mind, but what he said was: "They tell me it was gorgeous, and you may say with the old Roman, er--how do those Latin words go? Anyhow it was to the effect that he'd been a part of the doings, quite a big part at that."

"I? Why, I was but a crumb at the banquet."

Ah, Lisbeth! Those flas.h.i.+ng eyes, that colour such as "blended rose"

never had, that lithe, rounded figure radiating vitality, bespeak too much of modesty in your words.

"Go on, Nat, old boy, faster! We must save the girl. Up and at 'em, Rangers! Cheated of promotion, and by a girl! Oh, Lisbeth, how could you do it! You knew I'd believe what you told me."

"Who is that?" The girl's face is pale and her voice trembles.

"Another victim. I was about to ask you, if possible, to have a doctor sent here. Cunningham refused it. You know him, surely you do. It's poor Rodney Allison. He'll not ride many more races, I'm thinking, such as the night he rode and overtook your horse and stopped it."

"Rodney! Don't you know me, your old playmate? Don't you know Lisbeth?

How hot his head is!"

The girl sat, as one dazed, with her cool hand on the lad's forehead.

He lay more quietly under her kindly touch.

"He hasn't got to suffer as long as the most of us. It will only be a question of a few days in this place," said Lawrence, bitterly.

Lisbeth looked up, and Lawrence saw that her eyes glittered and her face looked hard. She bade him adieu and was gone before he could say more.

"She come in like an angel o' mercy an' went out with a face like Jezebel's. Guess she was feared she mought ketch the fever," said one of the prisoners. Captain Enderwood swore at the poor old man, though the captain ever respected age and regarded profanity as the mark of a boor.

That night Rodney Allison slept in a clean bed in a neat room, with a doctor by his side and a nurse none other than Miss Danesford herself, while Captain Lawrence Enderwood, on parole, walked about the city and then took night watch at the side of his sick friend.

CHAPTER XXVIII

NEW VENTURES WITH OLD ACQUAINTANCES