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HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, DEC 3, 1895 ***




Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

* * * * *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1895. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVII. - NO. 840. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

* * * * *




[Illustration: "YOU ARE A SOLDIER AND A GENTLEMAN," SAID WASHINGTON.]

FOR KING OR COUNTRY.[1]

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE NO. 836.

A Story of the Revolution.

BY JAMES BARNES.

CHAPTER VI.

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The British troops had been withdrawn from the city of New York to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.

Up the alley thus formed came a group of officers, and in their midst
walked one in a red coat.

"The emissary from Lord Howe down the bay," said some one in a low
voice.

The officer in red came up the steps and uncovered. "I am Colonel
Patterson, of Lord Howe's staff, and bear communication to you, sir, I
believe," he said, addressing Washington.

The General took the big envelope, and looked at it carefully.

"This is addressed to George Washington, Esq., etcætera, etcætera," he
said. "I cannot receive a letter from the King's commissioner, sir,
addressed to me as a private person when it relates to my public
station." All this was spoken in a firm, even tone, without a trace of
anger.

"Allow me to explain its contents," said the British officer, impressed.

"It is merely an intimation that pardon will be granted if arms are laid
down, I understand, sir," went on Washington. "But we have done no
wrong; we wish no pardon; we are only defending our indisputable
rights."

"It is a wide field for argument," replied Colonel Patterson.

Washington bowed, and answered by requesting the honor of the English
Colonel's presence at luncheon.

When the latter was taking his leave, George, who was standing close to
the doorway, once more overheard the end of the conversation.

"Has your Excellency no commands to my Lord and General Howe?"

"None, sir, but my compliments to both of them."

This scene thrilled the young sentry through and through. Oh, if he only
could do something to serve the General personally! What would he not
give for a grasp of that firm hand again!

He was standing with his back to the door when he felt something like a
pull at his cross-belts. As he straightened up an officer came by him,
acknowledged his salute carelessly, and hastened away. It was Lieutenant
Carter Hewes.

George felt hurt. "He might have recognized me by a look at least," he
said, beneath his breath.

Just then he felt something rustle behind him, and he saw that a piece
of paper was thrust into his bayonet sling. He drew it out. There was no
time to read it then, but his spirits rose, for it was addressed to him
in Carter's handwriting.

In a few minutes the relief came up, and as soon as he could get a
moment to himself George opened the note.

"DEAR GEORGE," it ran, "I have been away on Long Island. Have lots
to tell you. I have received a leave of absence to-morrow, and will
see that you can get away also. Apply to your captain for leave.
Then meet me at Striker's wharf, and we will go for a sail. I know
where we can get a small boat. To-morrow at nine o'clock.

"Yours always,
CARTER."

Promptly on time George was there, for Captain Clarkson had given him
permission at once. He had been waiting but a few minutes when he saw
Carter hurrying down the wharf. He began to talk as soon as he got
within earshot.

"Dreadful sorry," he said, breathlessly. "But I have been ordered back
at once to my command. I have to go. But if I can get away again I will
let you know it."

"It doesn't look as if we were going to have any fighting here," said
George. "What is the hurry?"

"Oh yes, we will!" returned Carter. "But General Howe does not believe
in forcing matters. Good-by. You'll be an officer soon, I'll warrant,
and then we will not have to take so much trouble to spend a day
together. I wish - "

He broke off suddenly, turned, and walked away. George was about to
follow, when he saw two officers, one in a general's uniform,
approaching. He drew himself up at attention as they passed by.

"There's a big difference between a stripe on your arm and an epaulet on
your shoulder," he said, half aloud. "I'm beginning to find that out."

Three or four weeks more of weary drilling without any excitement
followed. Sometimes it was work on the fortifications that kept the men
employed, but always the ceaseless drill, drill; and August arrived
without a movement hardly in the British forces down the bay.

One morning word came from Carter. It was brought to George by an
orderly from headquarters.

"You are hereby ordered to report to Lieutenant Hewes at Stryker's wharf
at nine to-morrow morning for special duty."

Strange to say, it was signed by Colonel Mason Hewes.

This time Carter was waiting.

"I had father make out that order," he said. "How did it answer?"

"Like a charm," returned George, shoving off the boat. "But I think
Captain Clarkson understood, Mr. Lieutenant."

"Why shouldn't he?" said Carter. "In truth, I told him. Now rank is cast
aside, and we are nothing but two lads out for a time. Get up that sail,
you rebel!"

"Do you remember the time William and I called you that?" said George,
laughing.

"Yes; and I remember when you both gave me a good thrashing, too,"
returned Carter. "Let's run down the bay to Brooklyn. I've brought along
a spy-glass, and a good one. From the heights we can get a look at the
British fleet."

It was a still, hot day, with a blue haze over the water to the
southward. The boys in the little boat drifted rather than sailed about
the Battery point.

"Now, to begin with," said George, as he seated himself in the
stern-sheets beside Carter, who was steering, "how does it feel to be in
battle? Tell me something of Bunker Hill."

"I was rather frightened at first, I take it," said Carter. "But I tell
you it was grand to see the way they landed. Just across the river were
the batteries on Copps Hill. The guns were firing at us, and the
cannon-balls howled over our heads or threw up the sand all about us. I
was in the earth-works, and off to one side stretched a line of rail
fence; before it had been piled new-cut hay, making a breastwork like a
great windrow. Behind it crouched our men in double line. When the
'redcoats' from the boats landed we could see the officers running up
and down the lines, flourishing swords and shouting and pushing the men
into place here and there. I tell you, George, they are brave men, no
matter if we do call them 'tyrants.' They came up the hill with their
drums beating, and were so close that we could hear their tramping, and
ahead of them all was Howe. We fired into them. They went down like
nine-pins, and some lay so close to us that we could hear the groaning.
But talk of excitement! It was frightful. You seem to act without
knowing what you do. Many of our greenhorns forgot to fire, and put in
one load on top of the other. Did you know that men shout and scream in
battle as if they were wild Indians? It's a strange sound, I can tell
you. Probably you will hear it before long."

George had fairly shaken with excitement. It did not seem possible on
this peaceful day that these scenes would be repeated, or that he could
ever be in the midst of them.

"Let us go into this cove straight ahead; then we can tie up this leaky
old tub and climb the hill," he said.

The two young soldiers jumped ashore as the keel grated, hauled up the
boat, and went into the woods; when they reached the top of the incline
they sat down and gazed around them.

The placid water below scarcely rippled, except where the tide seethed
about the point of Governors Island; to the east of them stretched a
beautiful country, but the heat had shrivelled the leaves of the trees,
and the stretches of meadow-land were burnt bare and brown. Through the
blue haze the towering masts and spars of the British vessels showed
plainly rising against the hills.

"The Lord has been kind in sending us no wind," said Carter, "otherwise
that fleet might be all about us here." He waved the large spy-glass,
which he carried under his arm, in the direction of the lower bay. Then
he adjusted it to his eye. "Those British must be hungry," he said, "for
they've eaten every horse on Staten Island, I've heard tell. Have a
look," he added, extending the glass. "I beg your pardon for taking the
first squint."

George took it and levelled it across the water. The powerful lenses
brought the ships as near as if they had been anchored close to shore.
There lay one of the greatest fleets of vessels that had ever met
together in the history of warfare, larger in numbers of men and
armament than the Great Armada which Philip II. had sent against
England - ships of the line, frigates, armed sloops, brigs, corvettes,
and innumerable transports - thirty-seven men-of-war altogether, and four
hundred other vessels loaded with troops; it was almost impossible to
count them. Without the glass their hulls looked like a flock of
gigantic wild fowl that had suddenly swooped down and covered the waters
to the southward. Fully thirty-five thousand men were waiting there a
chance to be landed to take the field against the nondescript army of
the new-born country.

"The King has sent all the ships in England, I should judge," remarked
George.

"And filled some of them with German soldiers at so much per head," said
Carter.

As the two talked on a slight breeze sprang up. Two large vessels which
were lying furthest up the bay blossomed out into clouds of canvas.
Slowly they came up to their cables and tripped them neatly: flags flew,
signals were made throughout the fleet.

[Illustration: "THEY'RE GOING TO MOVE!" EXCLAIMED CARTER, TAKING THE
GLASS.]

"By the Lord Harry, they're going to move!" exclaimed Carter, taking the
glass from George's hands. "Those two boats are the _Rose_ and
_Phoenix_ that sailed up the river in June, and only came down night
before last."

"That's so," said George. "They let go their guns as they came down the
river, and bowled over a few chimneys, I remember."

"We cannot prevent them going up the Hudson if it comes on to blow, and
if they once reach the point of yonder island God help the city,"
responded Carter.

The lads had started on a run down the slope; the forces in New York
must be informed of what was going on at all hazard.

If they had paused before they left the crest of the hill, however, they
would have seen that the slight breeze had died away as quickly as it
had arisen, that the great ships had dropped back with the tide, and
that they had once more let go their anchors, and taken in their sails.
The danger had passed by. But a heavy gray mist was creeping up from the
south.

With some difficulty the boys shoved off the boat. The tide was on the
ebb, and she had been left high and dry on the sand.

"There's not enough wind to sail. We will have to pull across," said
Carter, getting out the oars. "Where did this fog come from, anyhow?"

A thick white wall was shutting in about them as their little boat
danced out in the tide rips; the New York shore became more and more
indistinct.

"Are we heading right?" inquired George, after they had rowed in silence
for some time.

"I can't see a thing," answered Carter, who was handling the bow oar.
"Hark, though! I hear the water against the rocks; we must be off the
Battery. Now, a strong pull - together."

George laid all his strength in a tremendous heave; there was a sharp
snap, and he went over backwards into the bottom: his oar had broken at
the rowlock. At once all headway was lost, and they drifted helplessly.

"I still hear the water on the shore," said Carter. "Come, overboard!
Let's swim for it!"

He took off his coat and shoes. George did the same; he was an expert
swimmer now, and had long ago made up for his Aunt Clarissa's
nervousness.

"Don't dive," he said; "lower yourself carefully and get the right
direction."

The boys slid into the swift current. They had taken but two or three
strokes when Carter turned.

"Oh dear," he exclaimed, "my coat's there, and in the pocket is a
letter. That boat's going right out to the British. They must not get
it."

"Swim on," said George. "I'll go back for it. Shout when you reach the
shore."

The shape of the boat could just be seen; he swung about and put after
it, arm over arm.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




GOOD TIMES AT THE HORSE SHOW.

BY WALTER CLARK NICHOLS.


It was really the young people who enjoyed most keenly the eleventh
annual Horse Show in New York two weeks ago. Even the horses could have
told you that; for the best-bred and wisest among all the well-bred and
wise ones that were there on exhibition knew that it was in the daytime,
when the boys and girls were out in force, that they, the horses,
received the undivided attention.

It was all very brilliant in the evening, when the glittering lights
around the vast dome of the great Garden gleamed upon the red, yellow,
and white bunting, and shone down on a wonderful scene of
splendor - beautiful women in gorgeous gowns, handsome men in evening
dress, in the seats - thousands and thousands of them - and a thick crowd
of people constantly moving around the promenade surrounding the large
tan-bark arena. But it was so brilliant and so crowded that few people
could or would see the horses. They came to see and be seen, and many a
prize-winning horse must have felt very discontented at not receiving
the attention which he felt due to him.

But it was very different in the mornings and afternoons, when the
attendance was much smaller, when the young folks were out, in full
force, and when the interest of each was centred gleefully or excitedly
on the events in the ring. Here you would see some keen young sportsman
of thirteen recounting earnestly to his girl friends, younger than
himself, why such a horse won, what his "points" were, and what his
"father said." Probably in ten years he will be "jumping fences" with
his hunter in the evening events at the show, and talking to those same
girls, then women-grown. Over there a nurse would have in tow two
youngsters whose father has a big stock-farm. Hardly an event came along
on the programme but one of "papa's horses" was entered, and as they
breathlessly watched these horses shown "through their paces," their
comments more than audible, the children's excitement reached fever-heat
when the blue ribbon, the sign of the first prize, was given to one of
their father's entries. You would see there at the Garden in the
afternoon boys and girls just out from school chattering freely their
comments, and nurses with little tots who scarce could gurgle out a
pleased "Horsy!" Once in a while, at the eastern end of the building,
you might observe, shyly peeping in at the moving horses and the gayly
dressed children, more poorly clad young people, friends of some of the
grooms, who had smuggled them in at the back door for a "look at the
show." Though the hackney, the hunter, the tandem, and other
competitions were, of course, watched closely by the young people, the
keenest and most gleeful interest was shown in the ponies, and
particularly in the little Shetland horses, of which there were more
exhibited this year than ever before.

Even the big hunters and coach horses felt a trifle jealous in their
stalls down-stairs, for the children came from the main floor, and
passed the big fellows by to feast their eyes on the dear little ponies
and cunning Shetland horses. Some of the ponies were stalled at the east
and north sides of the basement, among their larger brothers, and how
provoked the latter would look, how angrily they would twitch about,
when a bevy of youngsters devoted their pleased attention to a little
brown pony in a neighboring stall, patting him and caressing him! You
could almost hear the great beast say: "What, that insignificant little
chap? All your attention for him, only one-quarter my size and one-tenth
my strength?"

But it was towards the western wing of the basement that the daytime
patter of the young people's footsteps was loudest. For here all the
Shetlands and many of the ponies were daintily and comfortably housed,
here were all the groom-servants they could wish to attend to their
wants, and so many callers waiting to be introduced that you might have
thought each a young débutante at her coming-out tea. There were gray
and black, brown and white ponies, their silky skin and cropped manes
contrasting strangely with the shaggy hair and long tumbled tresses of
their Shetland neighbors. They were haughtier, too, and bore their
petting, of which there was much, more proudly.

The Shetlands were the democrats of the establishment. No fine feathers
and coxcomb airs for them! No clipping of the tails to put them in
fashion! But there they were, as rough and as long-haired, as fearsome
and as kind, as were their ancestors fifty years ago in the bleak
Shetland Islands to the northeast of Scotland. Very eager for attention
were they all, and every now and then, after a particularly large number
of pattings and caressings had been showered on them, they would half


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