The Tournament at Cherrystone as Witnessed by Mr. Simon

Brave Knights and Fair Ladies

Dear Jeems: The tournament at Cherrystone in the County of Northampton, on the Eastern Shore of Virginia, on the 10th day of November instant, actually transpired. I would have written to you about it before, but I have not been quite well. A very little of a good thing will go a good way with me now. It was different when I was young. The steamer N. P. Banks seemed glad to leave her wharf and point her nozzle in the direction of the promised land. She snorted and pranced over the rippling water like a nautical war-horse that smelleth the battle afar off. The Banks is a prudent and safe boat, and never sacrifices comfort to speed. But she arrived in good time, at the scene of great events in a staunch and seaworthy condition. I shall always entertain a strong affection for the Banks.

We are nearly of the same age, and have been intimate friends for more than half a century. Both of us have moved slowly through the world without serious accident or disaster, and with help of Providence we shall keep on moving until we are compelled to stop. In some future moment of inspiration, I purpose to hand the names of Captain Patrick McCarrick, John Trower and the N. P. Banks, down to posterity in immortal verse. Neither shall the names of Aunt Patsy, Robert and Sam, be ruthlessly consigned to oblivion. The field of knightly combat was a lovely cow pasture, belonging to Mr. Kimberly, the present Governor of Cherrystone, whose headquarters are at Old Point Comfort. The Governor, himself, honored the occasion with his cheerful presence, surrounded by his staff, improvised from the passengers of the N. P. Banks. The arrangements for the tilt were admirable, and everything was lovely: from the blue sunny sky and balmy air to the evergeen pines that skirted the yet verdant landscape. The limpid waves of Cherrystone creek, fresh and sparkling from the Chesapeake, laved the sandy shore with murmuring sound. The knights drew up in solemn grandeur to hear the charge delivered by Mr. Edgar J. Spady, the Commonwealth's Attorney for the county of Northampton. They doffed their helmets and sat astride their pawing and impatient steeds, like men upon the verge of some grand enterprise. The speech of the orator to the knights was eloquent, thrilling and appropriate. He spoke of the chivalry of the olden times, and made no allusion to the Moffett Punch Bill. He exhorted them to go it with looseness, and advised the successful knight to transform the girl he loved the best into the Queen of Love and Beauty. He reminded them of old Mrs. Grachi, who, when asked for her jewels, pointed proudly to her sons. He gave them the latest news from Ivanhoe, Cedrick the Saxon, the Lady Rowena and the fair Rebecca. Loud and continuous cheers rent the air as the orator gracefully subsided into a sea of glory. It was like the sharp shock of an incipient earthquake, from Cherrystone to Magothy bay. The tilting began with skill, enthusiasm and awful determination. I could not learn the war-names of the many valiant knights that entered the list. They were something fewer than one hundred in number, and all rejoiced in the distinguished patronymic of Nottingham. Indeed, all the persons I saw at the tournament, natives of the county, bore that name. Those who were not Nottingham were Goffigan. All of them are mighty nice people. The Nottingham family is so numerous that there are not enough christian names on the Eastern Shore to go round. They have to import christian names, and after they are all exhausted they resort to descriptive prefixions to the same names. If one of the Williams is distinguished for loquacity, they call him "Chatter Bill." You will hear of "Long John," "Johnny Short," "Red-faced Bob," "Lean David," "Pussy Joe," "Cross-eyed Jimmy," and a thousand other similar pet names. All understand who are meant by such appellations, and the surname of the family seems to be kept exclusively for the use of strangers, and for purposes of presentation or introduction at social gatherings. The successful knights were Mr. Loyd Nottingham, Mr. Edward Nottingham and Mr. Everett Nottingham. They took the honors in the order named. The others, without exception, rode and tilted splendidly, but, of course, all could not win the honors. The manner in which Loyd Nottingham took all the rings at each tilt was the perfection of chivalry. His beautiful charger moved with the speed and steadiness of a meteor between the serried ranks of spectators, arranged on either side, while neither horse nor rider diverted his eagle glance from the object of attack. They saw not the fluttering of snowy cambric, and were deaf to the loud hurrahs that made the welkin ring. Each knew full well what his mission was, and he went for the blood-red ring with a cool head and an iron nerve. Such riding and tilting was never seen off the Eastern Shore. For the riding of horses the Eastern Shore boys shame the Mamalukes, and in the sailing of a canoe, any one of them can beat a Cape Cod fisherman out of his waterproof boots. The beauty at the tournament more than equalled the chivalry in quality, and much surpassed it in quantity. I think it must have puzzled the brave knights to choose the Queen and Maids of Honor, where none were less than beautiful.