So fine a time were the English officers having in New York that they chafed very little beneath General Howe's protracted inaction. The only fighting that William saw was on one of Tryon's foraging expeditions into Connecticut, and, if the truth may be told, he was sickened and sorrowed in heart at the vandalism done by the forces of the King. What was the use of applying the torch to the houses of these poor misguided farmers? and how bravely the little band of homespun coats had resisted their advance upon a quiet little village! One thing was firmly in his mind when he returned to the city from this expedition of plunder—Colonel Forsythe was right. It would take England's best blood and resources. In fact, the task of getting back the Colonies was the greatest that any army of Great Britain had ever had laid out before it.
The fearless behavior of a farmer's lad, captured upon the march, struck William with admiration. This was no "rebel." It was a patriot type, and the Frothingham blood boiled at the brutality of a soldier who had insulted the young prisoner.
William had a dream one night which disturbed him more than a little. It seemed to him that he was walking along the road through a very beautiful country. On either hand stretched green undulating meadows, and neat white farm-houses were on the hill-sides. The wind was waving the tassels of the corn softly. It was just such a view as he had seen on his ride to New York with Uncle Nathan and his brother after the first excitement at Stanham Mills.
It appeared, to him, however, as he walked along this road that was so real, that he saw a gathering ahead of him, and caught a glimpse of the uniforms of King George and the tall hats of the Hessians. As he approached he saw that there was great movement in their midst, and suddenly a beautiful woman dressed in white burst from the crowd. She was struggling to free her hands, which were tied behind her back. The soldiers and the Hessians were pelting her with mud and stones.
"I am Liberty, Liberty!" she cried.
To his chagrin, William saw himself in all his finery gather up a large stone and hurl it at the beautiful figure in white, and at that moment every little farm-house on the hill burst into flame, and the corn in the fields shrivelled to the stalks, and a great voice resounded through the air,
"Fair Liberty is dead—is dead!"
He had disliked himself very much for having had such a dream and appearing in such a shameful character. It was some time before he could shake off the effect of it from his mind.
It was a starlit evening after the return of the expedition, and he was walking quickly through the street to join a small party at the headquarters of another regiment. As he followed the narrow path in the snow a woman's figure stepped to one side.
