The young Frothinghams had been to New York only once before, when they were very small indeed, and their recollections of the first visit were somewhat vague.
It was long after dusk when the little party arrived at their destination. They had been rowed across the river from Paulus Hook, and went with their uncle at once to a tavern which in the days of Dutch supremacy had been one of New York's most aristocratic dwelling-houses. Now it was the rendezvous for merchants of Tory principles and army officers. Young, befrilled, and powdered dandies who aped the manners of the Continent hero exchanged their pinches of snuff with as much gallantry and courtesy as if they had met at the palace of St. James.
The Stanham party had been driven from the ferry in a rough lumbering affair—half coach, half omnibus—and had been deposited with their small box and the saddle-bags at the door of the tavern.
As they had gone down the hallway they caught a glimpse, through the open door on the right, of a group of men in red coats, with much glitter of gold lace and many buttons, who could be seen through the thick clouds of tobacco smoke seated about a large steaming punch-bowl on a great oak table. They were some of the officers of his Majesty's forces that had been sent to "protect" the inhabitants of his "thankless colonies."
Everything was new to the boys—the sound of the many voices, the snatches of songs and choruses that now and then came up from the coffee-room, the jingle of spurs and sabres as a party of troopers made their way across the stone flagging of the court. In all directions were delights, and in their little room they could hardly sleep from excitement that first night.
Early in the morning they looked out of the window, still thrilled with the pleasure that all young natures feel at being amidst new surroundings. It was a beautiful day, and the wind blowing from the southward was filled with the fresh smell of the sea. Their room was high up, and they could look over the sloping roofs and house-tops across the river and out into the bay, where two or three huge men-of-war lay straining at their anchors.
"Isn't it fine!" exclaimed William, as they knelt on the floor with both elbows on the window-sill, drawing short breaths with gasps of sheer delight.
At the end of the street was a small green, and here a company of infantry was drilling. They could catch the glint of the sunlight upon the muskets, and almost hear the energetic words of the young officer, who strode up and down the front.
"Oh, to be a soldier!" said William.
"Wouldn't it be grand?" said George, the martial spirit that animates almost every boy welling up in him so strongly that he quivered from the top of his head to the soles of his bare feet.