Harper's Round Table, December 3, 1895

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The British troops had been withdrawn from the city of New York to Boston, upon the evacuation of which they had retired to Halifax.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.