black ribbons, and on top of all rested a three-cornered cocked
hat, heavily laced with gold or silver braid. The coat was
light-colored, with a profusion of silver buttons, stamped with the
wearer's monogram, decorating the front. Over the shoulders hung a
short cape. The knee-breeches, marvellously tight, ended at the tops
of gaudy striped stockings, which in turn disappeared in the recesses
of pointed shoes adorned with gleaming buckles. The broad cuffs of the
coat-sleeves were heavily laden with lead, to keep them in proper
position.

[Illustration: Derelict.]

Such were the characteristics of the crowd that had assembled that day
to witness the closing scene of British domination in America. Even as
they stood there, they heard, faintly rising on the autumnal air, the
sound of the fife and drum, as the American troops came marching down
into the city, from their camp at the upper end of the island. And, as
the last boat-load of grenadiers pushes off from the shore, the crowd,
no longer restrained by the glittering bayonets, rushes down to the
water's edge, and hurls taunts and gibes after the retreating boats,
until the grizzled old soldiers curse the "Yankee rebels" fiercely,
under their mustaches, and beg the officers to give them a volley.

Now the advance guard of the little American army, with fifes
shrilling out the notes of "Yankee Doodle," comes marching down to the
fort. No gay trappings, scarlet or gold lace about these soldiers, but
ragged suits of homespun and homely flint-lock muskets, whose barrels
are better burnished within than without. They march quickly to the
water-front, and halt. The captain looks at the British squadron, now
getting under way, and then, with true soldierly instinct, flashes a
glance to the top of the flagstaff in the centre of the fort. His brow
contracts, he stamps his foot, and the soldiers and citizens who have
followed his glance break out into a cry of rage that rings far out
over the placid waters of the bay, and makes the tough old British
veterans chuckle grimly over the success of their little joke upon the
Yankees; for there, high above the heads of the wrathful crowd,
flaunting its scarlet folds over the roofs of the liberated city,
floats proudly the BRITISH FLAG.

"Tear it down!" The cry rises hoarsely from a thousand throats; and
the Colonial officer springs with glittering sword to cut the
halliards, but finds them cut away already, and the flag nailed to t