the hardy Colonists had
been for years waging a warfare, now to end in victory. Between the
ships and the landing-place of old Fort George, that then stood where
now extends the green sward of the Battery park, a fleet of long-boats
was actively plying; the long, swinging strokes of the blue-clad
sailors stamping them as men-o'-war's men beyond doubt. The
landing-place was thronged with troops, whose glistening muskets,
scarlet coats, gold trimmings, and waving plumes contrasted
beautifully with the bright blue jackets of the sailors, as file after
file of the soldiers boarded the boats, and were rowed away to the
waiting ships. The troops drawn up on the shore formed long lines of
scarlet against the green background of the bastions of Fort George.
The men standing at rest talked loudly to each other of the coming
voyage, and now and again shouted fiercely at some soberly clad
citizen who strolled too near the warlike ranks; for had not all the
sturdy citizens of New York come down to see the hated British
evacuate the city, forced out by the troops of Gen. Washington (plain
_Mr._ Washington, the British liked to call him)? The ragged gamins
scurried here and there, yelling ribald jests at the departing
soldiers; and the scarlet-coated troopers had hard work keeping down
their rising anger, as suggestive cries of "boiled lobsters" rose on
every side. Even the staid citizens could hardly conceal their
exultation, as they thought that with those soldiers departed forever
the rule of Great Britain over the Colonies. It was a quaint-looking
crowd that had gathered that day, at the end of the little town. The
sturdy mechanics and laborers, who were most numerous, were dressed in
tight leather or yellow buckskin breeches, checked shirts, and flaming
red flannel jackets. Their heads were covered with rusty felt hats,
cocked up at the sides into a triangular shape, and decorated with
feathers or bright buckles. On their feet were heavy leathern shoes,
fastened with huge brass buckles that covered the entire instep. Here
and there in the crowd stood a prosperous merchant or man of fashion,
whose garb, if less rough than that of his humbler fellow-citizen, was
no less odd and picturesque. At first sight, an observer might think
that all the men of New York were white-haired; but a closer
examination would show that the natural color of the hair was hid by
dense layers of white powder. The hair was done up in a short cue tied
by