On the day this visit of inspection had been made to the sugar-house prison his Majesty's frigate Minerva was bowling along merrily off the southern shore of Long Island. Again a group of officers were on her quarter-deck. A short man in a cocked hat swept the horizon to the northward with his glass.
"Ah, there it lies!" he said—"there's the new country which, we hope, will soon be flying our flag throughout its length and breadth."
It was a brilliant cloudless morning. Some near-shore gulls hovered overhead or dashed down in the frigate's wake.
Lieutenant William Frothingham felt the invigorating land breeze on his cheeks. He could make out now with the naked eye the low-lying hills. Home again. It was his country and the King's that lay off there, and somewhere, his brother, whom he loved more than any one else on earth, was wearing the uniform of the forces that he soon would be opposed to, maybe in battle. Little did he know that George's horizon was confined by four black walls.
The Minerva, with a bone in her teeth and the wind just right to bring her in, swept past Sandy Hook at last, and blossoming out into some of her lighter canvas, she reached the quieter waters of the bay. Soon were brought to view the forests of masts and the great dark hulls of the fleet that had preceded her. Signals sprang out, and the flags rattled stiffly in the wind. As she passed the Roebuck a sheet of flame and white smoke burst from her side, and every frigate followed suit and welcomed her with a roaring salvo. She swept up the river, the bulwarks lined with the curious faces of the soldiery gazing at the crowded wharfs. At last anchor was dropped in the currents of the broad North River.
Early the next morning boats were manned, and the troops were disembarked. A huge band was there to meet them, and the new arrivals swept into Broadway between the lines of cheering soldiers and citizens. If disloyalty to the King was here it did not show.
The blood surged through William's veins as he walked at the head of his stalwart company and acknowledged the salute of a group of officers standing at the street corner. To his wonder as he went by a row of low brick houses he heard a voice call his name: "Mr. Frothingham! Is it you? Is it you? Is that the uniform?" he heard distinctly. He turned, but could see no one whom he recognized; it had seemed to him that it was a woman's voice, however. There was an odd figure standing there, a washer-woman, evidently; she had dropped a basket which she had been holding, and the ground at her feet was covered with frilled shirts. The crowd about her laughed. Her lips were moving, but the cheer that broke out drowned what she was saying. As the company halted, a figure came out into the street.
"Ah, Lieutenant Frothingham!" said a voice that made William start. "We have you here in the King's livery, I see."
William turned. It was a small man, very gorgeous in a red waistcoat and a heavy fur-lined coat.
"Pardon me for introducing myself. Your brother George was a pupil of mine. I knew who you were at a glance," he added. "You are alike as two pinfish."