CHAPTER VI.
IN THE FIELD.
The war was on. No longer was America composed of rebellious colonies. It was a country in arms.
The British troops had been withdrawn from the city of New York to Boston, upon the evacuation of which they had retired to Halifax. General Lee, of the Continental Army, had entered New York, and the streets were filled with motley groups of rustic soldiery. There was no uniform proscribed, and much discord prevailed amongst the rank and file. Here would be a company from Connecticut in threadbare homespun, and here a crack company from New York with red coats, much like the Lobster Backs themselves. Pennsylvania regiments and a few from New Jersey were clad in hunting-shirts and fringed leather gaiters. The officers knew little of military tactics, and drill-masters were in great demand.
On a certain day in the spring of '76 there was held a review of the patriot troops in the open common to the north of the city. At the order to present arms the muskets had snapped into position with a sound that brought a smile of pleasure to the face of the young Colonel who commanded a new regiment that held the right of line. Many of the officers and most of the privates were very young, scarcely more than boys.
Soon the group of officers approached. Their uniforms were almost as various as those of the newly enlisted troops. Some wore blue coats with yellow facings, buttoned tightly across the chest; others had gold embroidery, with torrents of lace pouring over their waistcoats and dangling from their wristbands. They scrutinized carefully the rather ragged line, and as the reviewing party came down the front they were now headed by a tall commanding figure, whose martial step and bearing proclaimed him to be a leader of men. He appeared to glance particularly at the faces in the ranks, but his eye took in every detail. He passed along slowly. Two whispered words came down before him, and passed from lip to lip—"General Washington!"
The Commander-in-Chief had stopped at New York on his way to obey the summons of Congress to come to Philadelphia.
The commanding presence asked questions of the men in the front rank as he proceeded.
"Your name, sir?"
"Jones."
"And your enlistment?"
"For three months, General."
"Three months?" the stern lips had repeated, and then the tall figure stopped again.
"Your name, sir?"
"Frothingham, your Excellency."
"A good patriot name," was the response, "Have you relatives in Boston?"
"No, General," answered George, the blood tingling to his fingers' tips. "My relatives are all in England, except an aunt and sister."
"Ah!" was the answer. The gray eyes had gleamed brightly. "Your enlistment, sir?"
"For the war, General."
"Your hand, my lad," said the Commander-in-Chief.
The butt of George's musket rang on the ground. George thought he had never grasped so large and firm a hand before.
"You are a soldier and a gentleman," said Washington, with a kindly smile. "We have need of such." He passed on.
At that moment a great surge of feeling came over the young soldier; his knees trembled with excitement. He would go to death for a man like this. Ah! if his brother William were only here beside him. Thinking of this brought back the old scenes at Stanham Mills. It seemed most strange that he should be standing with his musket at his side, armed and arrayed to fight the forces of the King. As these thoughts ran through his mind he was ordered to fall out and take a position as sentry at the edge of the green, where the crowd pressed close upon the group of officers. As he did so a familiar voice sounded behind him. Without turning he recognized that it was Carter's father speaking—Colonel Hewes—then a member of Washington's staff.
"We must be aggressive," said Colonel Hewes. "Take Canada, by Jove! Build a fleet and threaten the shores of England; not wait here as if we wished to parley."
"Your ideas are advanced, Colonel," replied another voice.
"Yes, that's what they said three years ago when I predicted this war—ay, and cast cannon and saved money for it," said Colonel Hewes, bitterly.
The two speakers passed out of hearing, and soon the order was given for the regiments to pass in review.
On they came; first his own, marching well and steadily. The chills of delight ran up and down George's spine; regiment after regiment, the country's bravest and best. Many hearts surged with pride that day. At last there came a company from New Jersey, and in front of it marched Carter Hewes, a Lieutenant's epaulet on his left shoulder.
It was some months now since the boys had seen one another, and in the mean time Carter had been at Bunker Hill, and had been promoted for bravery to be a Lieutenant at eighteen.
After the parade had been dismissed George sought the headquarters of the New Jersey regiment, eager to see his friend and hear the news. As he turned about a corner the pounding of hoofs was heard, and a cavalryman rushed by, his sword clanking against his horse's flanks. As he passed a group of officers seated on a porch, he drew up slightly.
"The British fleet has entered the Narrows," he called, and dashed along.
The booming of the guns was heard coming from the southward. Governor Tryon's floating fortress was hailing the new-comers.
Now the drums were rolling and despatches were being sent about the city. George gave up all idea of finding Carter that night, and hastened back to his command.
But the ships advanced no further than the lower bay, and there they came to anchor. The days went by and nothing of importance happened. Carter and George did not meet. The latter had been promoted to be a sergeant, however, and had been transferred to a New Jersey regiment.
The weather was insufferably hot. No one who dwelt in the city of New York could ever recall such heat as poured down upon the city during these days of anxious waiting. Hardly a breeze had stirred for a week, and the heated air shimmered and quivered in the glaring streets, and the dust raised by horses' hoofs or by a marching company hung in the air like smoke, until it settled without drifting to one side or the other.
More volunteers were being secured to swell the American forces every day, but they were mostly farmers who had enlisted for short terms of service, and to whom soldiering was a new trade.
Sergeant Frothingham was sick of the continuous drill, and was glad enough to be placed one day in charge of the sentries at the Kenedy House, Washington's headquarters, on the lower end of Broadway. This duty led to a decided break in the monotonous routine.
As he had posted the guards for the first time, a bugle sounded, and an aide-de-camp ran up the stone steps from the street. George, standing by the door, saluted, and the aide hurried inside the house.
The news he bore was of importance, for soon some of the best-equipped regiments marched out into Battery Green; they formed two lines that extended from the boat-landing to the doorsteps of the headquarters.
Before long Washington himself, accompanied by his staff, came out of the hallway; they stood so close that George could hear every word that passed.
"Present arms!" came the order down the two long lines that stretched to the sea-wall.
Up the alley thus formed came a group of officers, and in their midst walked one in a red coat.
"The emissary from Lord Howe down the bay," said some one in a low voice.
The officer in red came up the steps and uncovered. "I am Colonel Patterson, of Lord Howe's staff, and bear communication to you, sir, I believe," he said, addressing Washington.
The General took the big envelope, and looked at it carefully.
"This is addressed to George Washington, Esq., etcætera, etcætera," he said. "I cannot receive a letter from the King's commissioner, sir, addressed to me as a private person when it relates to my public station." All this was spoken in a firm, even tone, without a trace of anger.
"Allow me to explain its contents," said the British officer, impressed.
"It is merely an intimation that pardon will be granted if arms are laid down, I understand, sir," went on Washington. "But we have done no wrong; we wish no pardon; we are only defending our indisputable rights."
"It is a wide field for argument," replied Colonel Patterson.
Washington bowed, and answered by requesting the honor of the English Colonel's presence at luncheon.
When the latter was taking his leave, George, who was standing close to the doorway, once more overheard the end of the conversation.
"Has your Excellency no commands to my Lord and General Howe?"
"None, sir, but my compliments to both of them."
This scene thrilled the young sentry through and through. Oh, if he only could do something to serve the General personally! What would he not give for a grasp of that firm hand again!
He was standing with his back to the door when he felt something like a pull at his cross-belts. As he straightened up an officer came by him, acknowledged his salute carelessly, and hastened away. It was Lieutenant Carter Hewes.
George felt hurt. "He might have recognized me by a look at least," he said, beneath his breath.
Just then he felt something rustle behind him, and he saw that a piece of paper was thrust into his bayonet sling. He drew it out. There was no time to read it then, but his spirits rose, for it was addressed to him in Carter's handwriting.
In a few minutes the relief came up, and as soon as he could get a moment to himself George opened the note.
"Dear George," it ran, "I have been away on Long Island. Have lots to tell you. I have received a leave of absence to-morrow, and will see that you can get away also. Apply to your captain for leave. Then meet me at Striker's wharf, and we will go for a sail. I know where we can get a small boat. To-morrow at nine o'clock.
"Yours always,
Carter."
Promptly on time George was there, for Captain Clarkson had given him permission at once. He had been waiting but a few minutes when he saw Carter hurrying down the wharf. He began to talk as soon as he got within earshot.
"Dreadful sorry," he said, breathlessly. "But I have been ordered back at once to my command. I have to go. But if I can get away again I will let you know it."
"It doesn't look as if we were going to have any fighting here," said George. "What is the hurry?"
"Oh yes, we will!" returned Carter. "But General Howe does not believe in forcing matters. Good-by. You'll be an officer soon, I'll warrant, and then we will not have to take so much trouble to spend a day together. I wish—"
He broke off suddenly, turned, and walked away. George was about to follow, when he saw two officers, one in a general's uniform, approaching. He drew himself up at attention as they passed by.
"There's a big difference between a stripe on your arm and an epaulet on your shoulder," he said, half aloud. "I'm beginning to find that out."
Three or four weeks more of weary drilling without any excitement followed. Sometimes it was work on the fortifications that kept the men employed, but always the ceaseless drill, drill; and August arrived without a movement hardly in the British forces down the bay.
One morning word came from Carter. It was brought to George by an orderly from headquarters.
"You are hereby ordered to report to Lieutenant Hewes at Stryker's wharf at nine to-morrow morning for special duty."
Strange to say, it was signed by Colonel Mason Hewes.
This time Carter was waiting.
"I had father make out that order," he said. "How did it answer?"
"Like a charm," returned George, shoving off the boat. "But I think Captain Clarkson understood, Mr. Lieutenant."
"Why shouldn't he?" said Carter. "In truth, I told him. Now rank is cast aside, and we are nothing but two lads out for a time. Get up that sail, you rebel!"
"Do you remember the time William and I called you that?" said George, laughing.
"Yes; and I remember when you both gave me a good thrashing, too," returned Carter. "Let's run down the bay to Brooklyn. I've brought along a spy-glass, and a good one. From the heights we can get a look at the British fleet."
It was a still, hot day, with a blue haze over the water to the southward. The boys in the little boat drifted rather than sailed about the Battery point.
"Now, to begin with," said George, as he seated himself in the stern-sheets beside Carter, who was steering, "how does it feel to be in battle? Tell me something of Bunker Hill."
"I was rather frightened at first, I take it," said Carter. "But I tell you it was grand to see the way they landed. Just across the river were the batteries on Copps Hill. The guns were firing at us, and the cannon-balls howled over our heads or threw up the sand all about us. I was in the earth-works, and off to one side stretched a line of rail fence; before it had been piled new-cut hay, making a breastwork like a great windrow. Behind it crouched our men in double line. When the 'redcoats' from the boats landed we could see the officers running up and down the lines, flourishing swords and shouting and pushing the men into place here and there. I tell you, George, they are brave men, no matter if we do call them 'tyrants.' They came up the hill with their drums beating, and were so close that we could hear their tramping, and ahead of them all was Howe. We fired into them. They went down like nine-pins, and some lay so close to us that we could hear the groaning. But talk of excitement! It was frightful. You seem to act without knowing what you do. Many of our greenhorns forgot to fire, and put in one load on top of the other. Did you know that men shout and scream in battle as if they were wild Indians? It's a strange sound, I can tell you. Probably you will hear it before long."
George had fairly shaken with excitement. It did not seem possible on this peaceful day that these scenes would be repeated, or that he could ever be in the midst of them.
"Let us go into this cove straight ahead; then we can tie up this leaky old tub and climb the hill," he said.
The two young soldiers jumped ashore as the keel grated, hauled up the boat, and went into the woods; when they reached the top of the incline they sat down and gazed around them.
The placid water below scarcely rippled, except where the tide seethed about the point of Governors Island; to the east of them stretched a beautiful country, but the heat had shrivelled the leaves of the trees, and the stretches of meadow-land were burnt bare and brown. Through the blue haze the towering masts and spars of the British vessels showed plainly rising against the hills.
"The Lord has been kind in sending us no wind," said Carter, "otherwise that fleet might be all about us here." He waved the large spy-glass, which he carried under his arm, in the direction of the lower bay. Then he adjusted it to his eye. "Those British must be hungry," he said, "for they've eaten every horse on Staten Island, I've heard tell. Have a look," he added, extending the glass. "I beg your pardon for taking the first squint."
George took it and levelled it across the water. The powerful lenses brought the ships as near as if they had been anchored close to shore. There lay one of the greatest fleets of vessels that had ever met together in the history of warfare, larger in numbers of men and armament than the Great Armada which Philip II. had sent against England—ships of the line, frigates, armed sloops, brigs, corvettes, and innumerable transports—thirty-seven men-of-war altogether, and four hundred other vessels loaded with troops; it was almost impossible to count them. Without the glass their hulls looked like a flock of gigantic wild fowl that had suddenly swooped down and covered the waters to the southward. Fully thirty-five thousand men were waiting there a chance to be landed to take the field against the nondescript army of the new-born country.
"The King has sent all the ships in England, I should judge," remarked George.
"And filled some of them with German soldiers at so much per head," said Carter.
As the two talked on a slight breeze sprang up. Two large vessels which were lying furthest up the bay blossomed out into clouds of canvas. Slowly they came up to their cables and tripped them neatly: flags flew, signals were made throughout the fleet.
"THEY'RE GOING TO MOVE!" EXCLAIMED CARTER, TAKING THE GLASS.
"By the Lord Harry, they're going to move!" exclaimed Carter, taking the glass from George's hands. "Those two boats are the Rose and Phœnix that sailed up the river in June, and only came down night before last."
"That's so," said George. "They let go their guns as they came down the river, and bowled over a few chimneys, I remember."
"We cannot prevent them going up the Hudson if it comes on to blow, and if they once reach the point of yonder island God help the city," responded Carter.
The lads had started on a run down the slope; the forces in New York must be informed of what was going on at all hazard.
If they had paused before they left the crest of the hill, however, they would have seen that the slight breeze had died away as quickly as it had arisen, that the great ships had dropped back with the tide, and that they had once more let go their anchors, and taken in their sails. The danger had passed by. But a heavy gray mist was creeping up from the south.
With some difficulty the boys shoved off the boat. The tide was on the ebb, and she had been left high and dry on the sand.
"There's not enough wind to sail. We will have to pull across," said Carter, getting out the oars. "Where did this fog come from, anyhow?"
A thick white wall was shutting in about them as their little boat danced out in the tide rips; the New York shore became more and more indistinct.
"Are we heading right?" inquired George, after they had rowed in silence for some time.
"I can't see a thing," answered Carter, who was handling the bow oar. "Hark, though! I hear the water against the rocks; we must be off the Battery. Now, a strong pull—together."
George laid all his strength in a tremendous heave; there was a sharp snap, and he went over backwards into the bottom: his oar had broken at the rowlock. At once all headway was lost, and they drifted helplessly.
"I still hear the water on the shore," said Carter. "Come, overboard! Let's swim for it!"
He took off his coat and shoes. George did the same; he was an expert swimmer now, and had long ago made up for his Aunt Clarissa's nervousness.
"Don't dive," he said; "lower yourself carefully and get the right direction."
The boys slid into the swift current. They had taken but two or three strokes when Carter turned.
"Oh dear," he exclaimed, "my coat's there, and in the pocket is a letter. That boat's going right out to the British. They must not get it."
"Swim on," said George. "I'll go back for it. Shout when you reach the shore."
The shape of the boat could just be seen; he swung about and put after it, arm over arm.