"Where was George? I hope and trust he's safe; God grant so," he said out loud. Then he weakly stepped out on the floor, and made his way to the window. "Hullo!" he said; "I know where I am, thank goodness." He had looked out on the Battery green. "Now to find out to whom I am indebted," he added, walking to the door. "Ahem," he said, loudly, to attract attention. Then, "I beg pardon. Is there any one in?"
No answer, although Carter thought he heard a movement up stairs. Again he called, then he whistled.
"They must be all out—or dead!" he ejaculated. "What am I to do for clothes?"
As he turned back into the room he saw a much-worn coat hanging over a chair, a pair of shoes with brass buckles, and some thick yarn stockings. He tried them on; the coat was a trifle tight, so were the shoes, but he squeezed into them, and went down the stairway. No one was there.
"Well, I can't wait to thank my unknown friends to-day," he said; "I'll call again." He slowly walked out of the doorway, looking over his shoulder every step or so.
It had grown very dark in the last few minutes, so dark that a number of people had lit candles in their houses. Carter noticed that they shone with a peculiar greenish light; some shutters were closed noisily. When he reached the green he paused. Many a thunder-storm had he seen gathering before, but never a sight like that. To the south-west rose a sheer wall of blue-black cloud, and overhead were circling and twisting huge billows, like the smoke of burning tar; a few big drops spattered out of the sky. But there was dead silence—not a sound of thunder or a quiver of light.
"Looks like rain," said a facetious burgher, who stood with gaping mouth and face upturned.
Carter did not answer, but hurried on; somehow he felt that he was dreaming. He had half expected to see the British fleet anchored off the Battery. There was not a sail in sight, so he made straight for the headquarters of George's regiment, praying that there they would have news of him.
"No one's heard of Sergeant Frothingham since yester-morning," replied a number of George's squad. "He got leave for a day and hain't come back," the man added, grinning.
This was the first intimation Carter had that he had been unconscious twenty-four hours. He felt sick at heart. His regiment was over on Long Island, his father was there also, and he knew few people in the town. George's commander was his own cousin, however, and getting the direction of Captain Clarkson's house, he started out. It was dark as a mine shaft in the street—hardly light enough to see the walk ahead.