stood guard on that dreary
outpost, gazing out across the snow at the dim lights of the city far
to the eastward. Aye, for the city was gay that winter, gay with
parties and dances, balls and dinners, and the bells rang as merrily
as if we were not starving and dying out on the bleak, hillsides. Aye,
those old burghers were warm and comfortable as they sat by their
fires, with a glass of their wine or toddy at their side.

True, my Lord Howe ruled the city with an iron hand, but he was a
gallant gentleman, and his officers made good partners for their fair
daughters at the balls. They were handsome in their scarlet uniforms,
with their epaulets and their sabres, making, indeed, a very gallant
show, while those ragged patriots out upon the snow had not shoes to
their feet, and were altogether too disreputable to be admitted even
to the kitchens of their houses. Then, again, runs not the Quaker law,
"Thou shalt not fight"? And so the good old burghers threw another log
on the fire and sat down to enjoy the cheerful blaze.

The news came to us, sifted through the lines; we heard of their
dances and their balls, and everywhere we heard that Mistress Jean
Gordon was the belle of them all. The old Tory held high rank in the
counsels of Lord Howe, and the daughter, by her grace and beauty,
reigned it over the hearts of every gallant gentleman of his army.

We heard of her refusing my Lord Paulet and several other gentlemen,
noted among us for their hard fighting, whenever by chance we were
opposed to them. And I, standing guard on the outpost, chafed in vain
when I heard these tales, until one day chance decided me to risk all,
to see her once more with my own eyes, and perhaps speak to her.

There had been a skirmish on the outposts that day, and our men had
captured an English officer, a Captain of the line. He was a talkative
man, and while he was waiting to be sent to the rear as a prisoner we
entertained him at our mess table, and he in turn told us the news of
the town.

"That must be a wonderful country, what do you call it, that eastern
shore of yours?" said he, "if it contains any more beauties like
Mistress Jean Gordon."

"Ah, the Tory's daughter?"

"Yes. She is the reigning belle of the whole town, and all our fellows
are wild about her. I never saw so many fellows in love with one girl
before, but Farquharson seems to have the best of it, while Lord
Paulet stamps and swears."

Now, we were loyal Maryland