Dragoons rode along the lines to keep out invaders; others guarded the
main platform until the more distinguished guests were seated. Few
Philadelphia residents were present, although I saw some black coats, the
crowd being mostly composed of soldiers bent upon frolic. In the occupied
stands, however, were loyalists in plenty, with a considerable sprinkling
of ladies, gaily attired. I saw all this while striving to spur my horse
forward toward where a band played "God save the King," but should have
failed to make it, had not Major O'Hara caught glimpse of my face above
the press. A moment he stared at me in perplexity, and then with a dab of
his spur forced the black horse he rode against the ropes.

"Damn me if I knew you, Fortesque," he exclaimed cordially. "But come on
through; there's a gate yonder. Fall back now, lads, and let the officer
pass. That's it; ride 'em down if they won't make way. Here's a spot
where you can see the whole field from the saddle."

I was somewhat to the right of the big stand, the restive heels of my
horse keeping the crowd away, and with a clear view as far as the river
bank. O'Hara was too busy to stop long, but I was not sorry, as there was
sufficient occurring to rivet attention. It was, maybe, four hundred
yards down a gentle slope to the water's edge, where the line was
forming. This passageway was lined with onlookers, held back by numerous
guards, while to my left extended a square lawn, perhaps one hundred and
fifty yards each way, surrounded by a double rank of grenadiers, the
bayonets gleaming on their guns. This open space was equipped with
everything needed for the coming tourney, and on three sides were tiers
of raised seats. I had barely observed all this when the guns of the
_Roebuck_, echoed by those of the _Vigilant_, began to boom a salute, and
the head of the column of marchers began slowly mounting the slope. All
the bands of the garrison were in front, followed by the managers, richly