“Mars, conquest plumed, the Cyprian queen disarms:
And victors, vanquished, yield to Beauty’s charms.
Here then the laurel, here the palm we yield,
And all the trophies of the tilted field;
Here Whites and Blacks, with blended homage, pay
To each device the honors of the day.
Hard were the task and impious to decide,
Where all are fairest, which the fairer side.
Enough for us if by such sports we strove
To grace this feast of military love
And, joining in the wish of every heart,
Honor’d the friend and leader ere we part.”
From the Gentleman’s Magazine of 1778.
If we could by any means turn back, for a moment, to certain May days more than a hundred years ago, and enter one of the stately old Philadelphia mansions in the eastern portion of our city, then the court end of the town, what a gay scene would meet our eyes! Fair ladies gathered in the spacious rooms, in their quaint but becoming old-time dress, bending over brocades, laces, and ribbons, busied in consulting upon and improvising ravishing costumes, in which to grace the splendid fête to be given to General Sir William Howe, by the officers of the British army, previous to his departure for England. This army then held possession of Penn’s “faire greene country towne,” and had been busy during the past winter, in lieu of more warlike employment, in introducing among its inhabitants many of the amusements, follies, and vices of Old World courts. The Quaker City had, at the pleasure of her conqueror, doffed her sober drab and appeared in festal array; for, like the Babylonian victors of old, they that wasted her required of her mirth. The best that the city afforded was at the disposal of the enemy, who seem to have spent their days in feasting and merry-making, while Washington and his army endured all the hardships of the severe winter of 1777-78 upon the bleak hillsides of Valley Forge. Dancing assemblies, theatrical entertainments, and various gayeties marked the advent of the British in Philadelphia, all of which formed a fitting prelude to the full-blown glories of the Meschianza, which burst upon the admiring inhabitants on that last-century May day.
It must be remembered, in looking back upon these times, that most of our aristocratic citizens were descended from old English stock, and, with an inherent loyalty to the monarchy under which they had prospered, were still content to avow themselves subjects of King George, or, as Graydon puts it, “stuck to their ease and Madeira,” declaring themselves neutral, which rendered the lessons taught by these gay, pleasure-loving British officers easy ones, learned with few grimaces. Thus, although there were many sober Friends who cast indignant side-glances at the elaborate preparations in progress for this brilliant fête, and many hearts which beat in sympathy with the patriot cause and could ill brook the thought of such frivolity in the midst of the stern realities of war, there was still a large class which entered with spirit into a festivity which was openly denounced by British journals of the day as ill-timed and absurd, given, as it was, in honor of a commander whose errors had well-nigh cost him his cause, and who was severely censured for these months of inactivity and trifling which his officers now proceeded to commemorate. Howe was, notwithstanding his faults and failures, sincerely beloved by his officers, who resolved to give him this entertainment that, as they phrased it, their “sentiments might be more universally and unequivocally known.”
Major André, who took a leading part in the preparations for the Meschianza, composed some verses in Sir William’s praise, to be repeated during the pageant; but, with a modesty that has not always been attributed to him, he set them aside. The last stanza of this strain proves to us how readily this child of monarchy, poet though he was, had learned to cry, “The King is dead. Long live the King!” Howe being at this very time superseded by Clinton, André writes:
“On Hudson’s banks the sure presage we read,—
Of other triumphs to our arms decreed:
Nor fear but equal honors shall repay
Each hardy deed where Clinton leads the way.”
André indulged in some bold flights of fancy in these verses, such as the following:
“Veterans appeared who never knew to yield
When Howe and glory led them to the field.”
Which are in sharp contrast with the effusions of a Jerseyman of the time, who, with more truth and less sentiment, wrote:
“Threat’ning to drive us from the hill,
Sir William marched to attack our men,
But finding that we all stood still,
Sir William he—marched back again.”
The day appointed for the Meschianza was the 18th of May. Cards of invitation were sent out and tickets of admission given. The latter are thus described by a Whig lady: “On the top is the crest of the Howe arms, with vive vale (live and farewell). To the sun setting in the sea the other motto refers, and bears this translation: ‘He shines as he sets, but shall rise again more luminous.’ General Howe being recalled is the setting sun; while ploughing the ocean he is obscured, but shall, on his return, and giving an account of his heroic deeds, rise again with redoubled lustre. The wreath of laurel encompassing the whole, encircling the arms, completes, I think, the burlesque.”
The names by which this fête is known, Meschianza and Mischianza, are derived from two Italian words,—mescere, to mix, and mischiare, to mingle. Thus the entertainment, so varied in its nature, has been named a mixture and a medley with equal propriety. We have adopted the spelling of the original invitations, one of which lies before us, and reads thus:
The Favor of your meeting the Subscribers to the Meschianza at Knight’s Wharf, near Pool’s Bridge, to-morrow, at half-past three, is Desired.
[SIGNED] HENRY CALDER.
Sunday, 17th May.
MISS CLIFTON.
Knight’s wharf was at the edge of Green Street, in the Northern Liberties; Poole’s bridge crossed Pegg’s Run at Front Street, and was named after one Poole, a Friend, whose mansion lay quite near.
It is curious to notice that this invitation to Miss Eleanor Clifton, whose portrait proclaims her one of the beauties of the period, is dated but one day in advance of the fête, which would lead us to fear that this lady was tempted to commit the sin of sewing at her ball-dress on a Sunday, like that unfortunate damsel of Queen Elizabeth’s time whom Mrs. Jarley holds up as a waxen warning to all Sabbath-breakers, had we not good reason to infer that a verbal invitation had been given long before.
The preparations for this magnificent entertainment, the erection of the numerous and vast pavilions around the old Wharton mansion, and their decoration by André, Delancey, and all the other gallant officers who took part in the affair, were doubtless the talk of the town for weeks. Yards and yards of painting must have been executed by the indefatigable André, as the ceilings, sides, and decorations of the long pavilions, designed for the supper- and ball-rooms, were to a great extent the work of his hands. Here he used unsparingly the pencil that had made its virgin essay on the features of lovely, unrequiting Honora Sneyd, lingering, with true artistic fervor, over festoons of roses and bouquets of drooping flowers.
The owner of this property was dubbed by his contemporaries “Duke Wharton,” in consequence of the extreme haughtiness of his bearing and, it is said, from the following circumstance: “One winter’s day, when the sidewalks were rendered dangerously slippery from the accumulated ice upon them, Mr. Wharton, while attempting to make his usual dignified progress over the uncertain footing, was suddenly tripped up, and would have measured his length upon the pavement, had not a jovial Hibernian, passing at the moment, stretched forth a friendly hand to his aid, crying out, ‘God save my Lord the Duke!’” Another amusing passage of compliments, this time with Sir William Draper, is related by Graydon: “Sir William, observing that Mr. Wharton entered the room hat in hand, and remained uncovered, begged, as it was contrary to the custom of his Society to do so, that the Quaker gentleman would dispense with this unnecessary mark of respect. But the ‘Duke,’ feeling his pride piqued at the supposition that he would uncover to Sir William or any other man, replied, with entire sang-froid, that he had uncovered for his own comfort, the day being warm, and that whenever he found it convenient he would resume his hat.” These and other stories, all indicating a pride that seems to have been considered commendable in those days, repeated with embellishments, doubtless added to the merriment of many convivial after-dinner gatherings, and passing from mouth to mouth, served to establish the reputation and title of this old Quaker gentleman, whose death occurred more than a year previous to the British occupation of Philadelphia.[2] The fact that Walnut Grove was a country-seat, and in all probability used by the Wharton family only during the summer months, may account for the British officers having entire possession of the premises in the spring of ’78, while its size and situation made it an appropriate place in which to hold their revels. Surrounded by broad lawns and lofty trees, situated at some distance west of the Delaware River, at what is now Fifth Street near Washington Avenue, Walnut Grove was then considered quite a rural residence. It has long since disappeared, the encroaching streets of a busy city having rendered almost traditional the theatre of this gay and brilliant scene, although there were those still living, on the anniversary of the festival in 1878, who recalled the old brick house as it stood in Colonial times, and one who slid down the balusters of the stairway in boyish frolic, with never a thought of all the gay and gallant throng which once passed over the stairs and down the broad hall to the sound of music, merry jests, courtly compliments, and rippling laughter.
It is said that there were not many ladies with the British officers in Philadelphia, most of them having left their wives in New York; so, there being few authorities to consult about the prevailing fashions at the court of the beautiful Austrian or the less beautiful Queen Charlotte, our young ladies were forced to rely upon their own ingenuity in the arrangement of their toilets. Those chosen to be knights’ ladies were assisted by the taste and skill of André, whose water-color design for the costume of the ladies of the Blended Rose is still preserved, representing a curious combination of Oriental and Parisian styles, its flowing tunic over full Turkish trousers being topped by the high coiffure of the day. Miss Peggy Shippen’s portrait[3] represents her in this head-dress, and in a letter written to her in August, 1779, André playfully alludes to his millinery experience gained during preparations for the fête:
“You know the Mesquianza made me a complete milliner. Should you not have received supplies for your fullest equipment from that department, I shall be glad to enter into the whole details of cap-wire, needles, gauze, &c., and, to the best of my abilities, render you in these trifles services from which I hope you would infer a zeal to be further employed.”
A rash offer, it seems to us, for what knight, be he never so bold, would be willing to enter into all the intricacies and mysteries of a modern feminine toilet? And those of the days of powder, patch, and high befeathered coiffure were certainly not less bewildering to the minds of the uninitiated.
Although from various sources we learn that André took an active part in the preparations for the Meschianza, out of doors as well as among laces and silks in fair ladies’ boudoirs, Mr. Sargent tells us that Burgoyne[4] was the conductor of the elegant affair, which was on the plan of a fête champêtre given by Lord Derby, June, 1774, on the occasion of Lord Stanley’s marriage with the Duke of Hamilton’s daughter. Only about fifty young Philadelphia ladies were present at the Meschianza; but if we are to credit history and the gossip of the day, the destruction wrought by their charms upon the hearts of the British officers must have been equal to that to have been expected from twice their number, for all authorities unite in telling us that the ladies of this city were justly celebrated for their beauty, of a certain grand and noble type. Watson says that most of the American gentlemen who took part in the Meschianza were “aged non-combatants,” the young men of the city being Whigs, and generally, be it said to their credit, with Washington’s army at Valley Forge.
There seems to be no doubt that a number of Whig ladies graced this entertainment, and one of them, herself, describes the affair in glowing colors. What shall we say for the erring fair ones? That they were young, beautiful, anxious to see and perhaps to be seen. Shall we, standing amid the lights and shadows of another century, be severe in our judgment upon these fair, curious Eves of a hundred years ago? They had read of grand doings among court ladies and gentlemen in the exaggerated and stilted romances of the day, until their foolish hearts were in an eager flutter of anticipation and delight. The whole town was talking about the projected fête; the young officers were constantly passing to and fro busied with the arrangements; so grand a sight might never again dawn upon the Philadelphia world. Thus reasoning, and dropping the while a tear for the braves at Valley Forge, these inconsistent Whig ladies yielded.
From the windows of some dwellings belonging to Friends—opposed in principle to such scenes of gayety and dissipation—eyes as eager as any looked forth upon the busy scene of preparation, like doves from behind imprisoning bars. Sweet young Quakeresses, gentle-eyed as the dove and gentle-voiced, that gay land of enchantment down the river—a seeming Elysium—is not for you! How they must have longed to go—sitting by the fireside, like so many Cinderellas, watching their happy sisters start off bravely attired to the ball! To them, alas! came no fairy godmother, so they reluctantly folded their soft wings and stayed at home.
In a little, old, commonplace-book found in a house in Southwark, and now in the possession of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, among extracts from various authors—some in English, some in Latin, proving the unknown writer to have been a person of taste and culture—is a description of the Meschianza penned by an eyewitness. With the exception of the well-known account of the fête given by Major André in a letter to a friend in England, this is the most detailed recital that we have encountered. Opening the yellowed pages, we read:
“Agreeable to an invitation of the managers of the Meschianza, Dr. M., Mr. F., and myself went up about four o’clock in the afternoon, in Mr. F.’s Coach, to Knight’s wharf, where we found most of the company in the Boats. Some of these were on the water in the galley with Lord Howe, among them Mrs. Chew, Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Worrell, Mrs. Coxe, Miss Chew, Miss Auchmuty, Miss Redman, Miss Franks, &c., General Howe, Sir Henry Clinton, Lord Rawdon, &c.; and General Knyphausen and his attendants were in another Galley. We continued waiting on the water for the rest of the company near half an Hour, when, a Signal being given from the ‘Vigilant,’ we began to move in three divisions, a Galley and ten flatboats in each division. In the first was General Knyphausen, &c., in the third British and German officers, and in the middle, Lord General Howe, &c.—with three Barges, in each of which were bands of music playing.”
A lady in Philadelphia at this time who attended the Meschianza, although she declares herself a noted Whig, thus describes this portion of the entertainment in a letter addressed to Mrs. Colonel Theodorick Bland, in Virginia:
“On the back of the ticket, you observe, we are to attend at Knight’s wharf (you remember Pool’s bridge near Kensington). Thither we accordingly repaired in carriages at the appointed hour of three, where we found a vast number of boats, barges, and galleys to receive us, all adorned with small colors or jacks of different colors. On a signal from the ‘Vigilant’ we all embarked, forming lines, with all the music belonging to the army in the centre. The ladies interspersed in the different boats (the seats of which were covered with green cloth) with the red coats, colors flying, music playing, etc., you may easily suppose formed a very gay and grand appearance; nor were the shore and houses, lined with spectators, any bad object to those in the regatta (the water party so called). We were obliged to row gently on account of the galley sailing slow.
“The armed ship—the ‘Fanny’—was drawn into the stream and decorated in the most beautiful manner with the colors of every Court or State streaming; amidst the number, the thirteen stripes waved with as much elegance, and as gracefully sported with the gentle zephyrs, as any of the number. After passing the above ship we reached the ‘Roebuck,’ whose men were all fixed on her yards and gave us three cheers as we passed, and as soon as we had got to a distance not to be incommoded by the smoke she fired a salute and was answered by several other vessels in the harbor. At length we reached the place of destination (after lying awhile on our oars) opposite the ‘Roebuck,’ the music playing ‘God Save the King.’”
The regatta which headed the programme of the Meschianza was suggested by a similar pageant on the Thames, June 23, 1775, and, being a novelty even in old England, it is not strange that it should have set provincial Philadelphia astir, nor that six barges were needed to keep at a distance the numerous boats, filled with eager spectators, that crowded the Delaware on the day of the entertainment, when:
“There in the broad, clear afternoon,
With myriad oars, and all in tune,
A swarm of barges moved away
In all their grand regatta pride.”
We doubt whether those who disapproved of the whole affair—the Quakers, Whigs, and many sensible Tories—could forbear casting furtive glances toward that fairy procession, which, Read says,—
“Like tropic isles of flowery light,
Unmoored by some enchanter’s might,
O’erflowed with music, floated down
Before the wharf-assembled town.”
Thus this gay and brilliant fleet proceeded down the river with flying colors, while the band played stirring English airs, amid the soft breezes and under the perfect skies of an old-time May day, until they arrived opposite the scene of the festivity, where everything was in readiness for joust and revelry. Salutes were fired by the “Roebuck” as soon as General Howe stepped on shore, which were echoed by the “Vigilant” and several smaller vessels up and down the river.
“The fleet at the wharves,” says our journalist, “consisting of about three hundred sail, adorned with colors, and together with the procession, exhibited a very grand and pleasing appearance.” Very grand it must have been to see those knights, ladies, and officers, in their rich costumes, leaving behind them the gay scene on the river, and walking between two files of grenadiers up the avenue toward the house! The bravest display of the kind that the New World could afford, for Philadelphia then excelled all the other Colonial cities in size, culture, and importance; and here, beside the flower of the English army, were met some of the most beautiful women of the day.
Passing up this avenue, the company entered a lawn, four hundred yards on every side, where all was prepared for the exhibition of a tournament according to the laws of ancient chivalry. Here were two pavilions, with rows of benches rising one above the other; on the front row of each were placed seven of the principal young ladies of the county, arrayed in white Poland dresses of Mantua with long sleeves, a gauze turban spangled, and sashes round the waist. Seven of them wore pink sashes with silver spangles, and the others white with gold spangles. All bore in their turbans favors destined for their respective knights. Those who wore pink and white were called the Ladies of the Blended Rose, and were Miss Auchmuty, Miss Peggy Chew, Miss Janet Craig, Miss Nancy Redman, Miss Nancy White, Miss Williamina Bond, and Miss Shippen. Lord Cathcart, who led the Knights of the Blended Rose in Miss Auchmuty’s honor, appeared upon a superb charger. Two young black slaves, with sashes of blue and white silk, wearing large silver clasps round their necks and arms, their breasts and shoulders bare, held his stirrups. On his right hand walked Captain Hazard, and on his left Captain Brownlow, his two esquires, the one bearing his lance, the other his shield. His device was Cupid riding on a Lion; the motto, “Surmounted by Love.”
The Ladies of the Burning Mountain, whose dress was white and gold, and whose chief was Captain Watson, superbly mounted, and arrayed in a magnificent suit of black and orange silk, were Miss Rebecca Franks, in whose honor Captain Watson appeared, with the motto “Love and Glory,” Miss Sarah Shippen, Miss P. Shippen, Miss Becky Bond, Miss Becky Redman, Miss Sally Chew, and Miss Williamina Smith.
In all descriptions of the Meschianza related by eye-witnesses, the Shippen sisters are spoken of as having taken a prominent part in the entertainment. Only within a few years has a letter from a member of the family controverted this statement, in the following terms:
“The young ladies [the daughters of Chief Justice Edward Shippen] had been invited and had arranged to go [to the Meschianza]; their names were upon the programmes, and their dresses actually prepared; but at the last moment their father was visited by some of his friends, prominent members of the Society of Friends, who persuaded him that it would be by no means seemly that his daughters should appear in public in the Turkish dresses designed for the occasion. Consequently, although they are said to have been in a dancing fury, they were obliged to stay away. This same story has, I know, come down independently through several branches of the family, and was told to me repeatedly, the last time not more than two years ago, by an old lady of the family, who was a niece of Mrs. Arnold and her sisters, and who has since died.”[5]
Major André includes the Shippens in his description of the entertainment printed in the Gentleman’s Magazine in August, 1778. The discrepancy between his statement and the family letters can be accounted for only upon the supposition that, like the modern reporter, André sent off his copy before the ball had taken place; or perhaps the “dancing fury” of his daughters had such an effect upon the Chief Justice that, at the last moment, the girls were allowed to go.
Beautiful, brilliant, and fascinating, full of spirit and gayety, the toast of the British officers, Miss Peggy Shippen seems so much a part of the Meschianza that we incline to the latter theory, being almost as unwilling to spare her and her sisters from the ranks of beauty as were the gallant young officers who were prepared to do battle in their honor.
As soon as the fair ladies were seated upon the benches prepared for them, the crowd on the left gave way, and the Knights of the Blended Rose appeared mounted on white steeds elegantly caparisoned and covered with white satin ornamented with pink roses. “These knights,” says our journalist, “were dressed in white and pink satin, with hats of pink silk, the brims of which were covered with white feathers. Each knight had his squire on foot, dressed also in white and pink, with the addition of a cloak of white silk. Every squire carried a spear and shield, each of which had a different device and motto.”
The knights, having all ridden around the lists and saluted the ladies, sent their herald, with two trumpeters, to the Dulcineas with this message: “The Knights of the Blended Rose, by me their herald, proclaim and assert that the ladies of the Blended Rose excel in wit, beauty, and every other accomplishment all other ladies in the world, and if any knight or knights shall be so hardy as to deny this, they are determined to support their assertion by deeds of arms, agreeable to the laws of ancient chivalry.”
The trumpets then sounded, and the herald returned to the knights, who rode by, saluted the Dulcineas, and took their places on the left hand, about one hundred yards distant.
The crowd opening on the other side, a herald in orange and black, with a picture of a burning mountain on his back, rode forward to assure the fair ones of the Burning Mountain that their claims to wit, beauty, and all other charms, par excellence, should be vindicated by the knights whose colors they wore, “against the false and vainglorious assertions of the Knights of the Blended Rose.”
The field marshal, Major Gwynne, now gave the signal, upon which a glove was thrown down by the chief of the White Knights, which was picked up by the esquire of the chief of the Black Knights; the trumpet sounded, and the fight was on, under the fire of many bright eyes from the pavilions where the Queens of Beauty were seated.
Lances were shivered, pistols fired, and finally, in the midst of an engagement with broadswords, Major Gwynne rode in between the combatants, declaring that the ladies were abundantly satisfied with the proofs of valor and devotion displayed by their respective knights. These fell back, and, joining their companies, passed on, the White Knights to the left, the Black to the right, saluting their ladies when they reached the pavilions, after which they passed through the triumphal arch, in honor of Lord Howe, and ranged themselves on either side. This arch was elegantly painted with naval ornaments. At the top was a figure representing Neptune, with his trident and a ship. In the interior were the attributes of that god. On each side of the arch was placed a sailor, with his sword drawn. Lord Howe being an admiral in the service, these emblems were most appropriate.
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.
Here I cannot forbear transcribing some verses written by a lady—Miss Hannah Griffitts—residing in Philadelphia at this time, in which, though an ardent loyalist, she, as a member of the Society of Friends, expressed her indignation against the whole affair. The poem is in answer to the question, “What is it?” and the Quaker lady’s reply rings forth with no uncertain sound.
“A shameful scene of dissipation,
The death of sense and reputation;
A deep degeneracy of nature,
A frolic ‘for the lush of satire.’
A feast of grandeur fit for kings,
Formed of the following empty things:
Ribbons and gewgaws, tints and tinsel,
To glow beneath the historic pencil;
(For what though reason now stands neuter,
How will it sparkle,—page the future?)
Heroes that will not bear inspection,
And glasses to affect reflection;
“Triumphant arches raised in blunders,
And true Don Quixotes made of wonders.
Laurels, instead of weeping willows,
To crown the bacchanalian fellows;
The sound of victory complete,
Loudly re-echoed from defeat;
The fair of vanity profound,
A madman’s dance,—a lover’s round.
“In short, it’s one clear contradiction
To every truth (except a fiction);
Condemned by wisdom’s silver rules,
The blush of sense and gaze of fools.
“But recollection’s pained to know
That ladies joined the frantic show;
When female prudence thus can fail,
It’s time the sex should wear the veil.”
So ended this afternoon and evening of brilliant and gorgeous pageantry, resembling more nearly a chapter from one of the richly-colored Eastern fairy-tales that delighted our childhood than a story of Colonial days, which was speedily followed by the sober realities of Sir William and Lord Howe’s return to England and by Clinton’s evacuation of Philadelphia.
It may be interesting to follow the fates of those gay beauties who held their brief, brilliant court through that spring afternoon, especially so to that much maligned class who study the science of love and courtship, crudely called match-makers.
Strange as it may seem, none of the queens of the Meschianza married their respective knights. Miss Janet Craig, whose knight was Lieutenant Bygrove, and who has described the whole scene as one of enchantment to her young mind, was never married.
The chief lady of the Knights of the Blended Rose, although spoken of frequently as an English girl, was the daughter of the Rev. Samuel Auchmuty, D.D., of Trinity Church, New York, a devoted loyalist. Miss Auchmuty was with her brother-in-law, Captain Montrésor, chief engineer of General Gage’s army at Boston, to whose skill the success of the fireworks at the Meschianza was largely due.
Williamina Smith, whose picture, with its bright eyes and tip-tilted nose, lies before us, had for her knight Major Tarleton, who appeared with the motto “Swift, vigilant, and bold.” He who was afterward the terror of the South is described as a fine, soldierly fellow of one-and-twenty, who, “when not riding races with Major Gwynne on the commons,” spent his time in making love to the ladies. Miss Smith became the wife of Charles Goldsborough, of Long Neck, Dorset County, Maryland.
The Misses Redman, so often mentioned among the belles of the time, were nieces of the famous Dr. John Redman. Miss Rebecca, whose knight was Monsieur Montluisant[6] (lieutenant of Hessian Chasseurs), with the emblem a sunflower turning to the sun, her motto “Je vise à vous,” is said to have been the Queen of the Meschianza, whom Watson describes, many years later, as old and blind, “fast waning from the things that be,” yet able to paint in vivid colors the occurrences of this day. She spoke of André as the life of the company. It is not strange that this brave young officer and elegant and accomplished gentleman, who added so much to the enjoyment of the loyalist ladies of Philadelphia during the British occupation, should have been long held by them in grateful remembrance. We know that he was on terms of intimate friendship with one of these sisters, as it was for her he wrote those tender, plaintive verses, commencing,—
“Return, enraptured hours,
When Delia’s heart was mine;
When she with wreaths of flowers
My temples would entwine.”
For her he cut silhouettes of mutual friends, and, on leaving the city, severed one of the buttons of his coat, which he playfully presented to her as a parting keepsake. Miss Rebecca Redman married Colonel Elisha Lawrence in December, 1779.
Miss Margaret Chew, in whose honor Major André appeared with the motto “No rival,” was married on the ninth anniversary of the Meschianza to Colonel John Eager Howard, of Maryland. The Howards of Belvidere are a well-known Baltimore family, and this young man filled a prominent place in the war of the Revolution. He was present at the battle of White Plains, distinguished himself at Germantown, where so many of our heroes strove in vain to turn the tide of battle, served under Gates in the South, and at the battle of Cowpens decided the fortunes of the day by a successful bayonet charge. At one time, it is said, he held in his hands the swords of seven British officers of the Seventy-First Regiment. After the war he was Governor of Maryland and filled other public offices of importance. Surely, in this case, “the brave deserved the fair.”
One of the most striking figures in this brilliant assemblage was Rebecca Franks, who was as celebrated for her ready wit as was Peggy Shippen for her exquisite beauty and grace. Handsome, witty, and an heiress, combining with these attractions that of being an ardent loyalist, it is not strange that Miss Franks was given a high place at the British revel. She won the affections of Colonel Sir Henry Johnson, who while in Philadelphia was quartered on Edward Penington, a leading Friend, living at the corner of Crown and Race Streets. The marriage took place January 17, 1782, and after the surrender of Yorktown Sir Henry and his bride sailed for England. Colonel Johnson was surprised at Stony Point on the night of July 15, 1779, by Wayne, and made prisoner with all his force. He afterwards distinguished himself in the Irish rebellion, and was created Baronet. Although Cornwallis speaks of Sir Henry as “a wrong-headed blockhead,” and thinks that he has been unduly praised, we are inclined to say that he who was willing to run the gauntlet of Miss Franks’s daring raillery must have been a brave man. She seems to have spared neither friend nor foe and her wit was always telling, whether flashing up in the quick rejoinder, “No; Britons, go home, you mean,” when Sir Henry Clinton ordered the band to play “Britons, Strike Home,” at a New York ball, or in her keen, sharp rebuff when Lieutenant-Colonel Jack Steward, of Maryland, after the evacuation of Philadelphia by the British, appeared before her in a fine suit of scarlet, saying, “I have adopted your colors, my Princess, the better to secure a courteous reception; deign to smile on a true knight.” To this speech Miss Franks made no reply, but, turning to the company who surrounded her, exclaimed, “How the ass glories in the lion’s skin!”
One of this lady’s pointed shafts was directed at General Charles Lee, and this time the daring beauty met her match, for he not only vindicated himself from her charge of having worn “green breeches patched with leather,” but in language more caustic than courtly alluded to her own Jewish ancestry. There is a flavor of the wit of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu and Walpole in these jokes; but they raised a great laugh at the time, and were perhaps of a sort to be better relished in Miss Franks’s future home than in America.
General Winfield Scott gives a description of an interview held with this lady at her residence, at Bath, when years had sadly impaired the beauty that had once captivated all hearts. A bright-eyed old lady in an easy-chair met Scott with an eager, kindly gaze and the query, “Is this the young rebel?” Such were her words, yet, before the conversation ended, Lady Johnson confessed that she had learned to glory in her rebel countrymen and wished that she had been a patriot, too. “Not that heaven had failed to bless her with a good husband, either,” she replied to Sir Henry’s gentle remonstrances.
When the Americans regained possession of Philadelphia an effort was made by the Whigs to exclude from their gatherings those ladies who had taken part in the Meschianza and other British entertainments.[7] With this object in view, a ball was given at the City Tavern “to the young ladies who had manifested their attachment to the cause of virtue and freedom by sacrificing every convenience to the love of their country.”[8] This sounded patriotic enough, but we learn that General Arnold soon after gave an entertainment at which the Tory ladies appeared in full force, which is not to be wondered at in view of the intelligence that Mrs. Robert Morris communicated to her mother about this time: “I must tell you that Cupid has given our little General a more mortal wound than all the hosts of Britons could, unless his present conduct can expiate for his past,—Miss Peggy Shippen is the fair one.”
With Cupid thus taking a hand in the game, and bringing to the feet of one of the brightest of the Tory belles the military commandant of Philadelphia, we can readily believe that General Wayne’s severe strictures upon the foolish fair fell upon unheeding ears:
“Tell those Philadelphia ladies, who attended Howe’s assemblies & levees,” he writes in July, 1778, “that the heavenly, sweet, pretty red-coats—the accomplished gentlemen of the guards & grenadiers have been humbled on the plains of Monmouth.
“The Knights of the Blended Roses and of the Burning Mount have resigned their laurels to Rebel officers, who will lay them at the feet of those virtuous daughters of America, who cheerfully gave up ease and affluence in a city, for liberty and peace of mind in a cottage.”[9]
