Very different was Macpherson's description of the last ball at General Tryon's; he could tell all its details--the reception of the company with kettle drums and trumpets--the splendid furniture of his residence, its tapestries, carpets, and silk hangings--the music, the dancing, the feasting--the fine dressing of both men and women--all these things he described with delightful enthusiasm and a little pleasant mimicry. And when Madame asked after her acquaintances, Macpherson could tell her what poplins and lutestrings, and lace and jewels they wore. Moreover, he knew what grand dames crowded William Street in the mornings and afternoons, and what merchants had the largest display of the fashions and luxuries of Europe. "John Ambler," he said, "is now showing a most extraordinary cargo of English silks and laces, and fine broadcloths, taken by one of Dirk Vandercliff's privateers. Really, Madame, the goods are worth looking at. I assure you our beauties lack nothing that Europe can produce." "Yes, there is one thing the privateers canna furnish you, and that is fuel. You shivered all last winter in your splendid rooms," said the Elder. "True," replied Macpherson. "The cold was frightful, and though General Clinton issued one proclamation after another to the farmers of Long Island to send in their wood, they did not do it." "Why should they?" asked Madame. "On the King's service, Madame," answered the young man with a final air. "Vera good," retorted Madame; "but if the King wanted my forest trees for naething, I should say, 'your Majesty has plenty o' soldiers wi' little to do; let them go and cut what they want.' They wouldna waste it if they had it to cut. But the wastrie in everything is simply sinful, and I canna think where the Blacks and Vanderlanes, and all the other 'Vans' you name--and whom I never heard tell of in our kirk--get the money." "Privateering!" said Macpherson with a gay laugh. "Who would not be a roving privateer? I have myself longings for the life. I have thoughts of joining Vandercliff's fleet." "You are just leeing, young man," interrupted Madame. "It would be a thing impossible. The Macphersons have nae salt water in their blood. Could you fling awa' your tartans for a sailor's tarry coat and breeches? How would you look if you did? And you would feel worse than you looked." Macpherson glanced at his garb with a smile of satisfaction. "I am a Macpherson," he answered, proudly, "and I would not change the colors of my regiment for a royal mantle; but privateering is no small temptation. On the deck of a privateer you may pick up gold and silver." "That is not very far from the truth," said Neil. "In the first year of the war the rebel privateers took two hundred and fifty West Indiamen, valued at nearly two millions of pounds, and Mr. Morris complained that the Eastern states cared for nothing but privateering."