The boy was undressed and washed, then little sips of beef tea were given him.

In an hour he showed signs of returning vitality, and they knew that he would live.

"He left here a month ago," explained the captain; "I sent him on a delicate mission, knowing that he could be trusted. When he did not return I thought him dead."

"You knew I should be true to the cause then?" whispered Eben.

"Yes, my boy; no one would ever doubt your loyalty. You shall tell your adventures later. You must rest and get stronger."

"But I have news I must tell. Gen. Montgomery is on his way to Ticonderoga to join Arnold in his invasion of Canada. He will be here to-morrow."

The speech was long for him, and his flushed cheek and quivering voice told how the message had shaken his frame.

Late that night he woke from a good sleep, and seeing Allen by his bed, he put out one hand.

"I am so glad to see you, colonel. I feel all right now. I thought I should die without seeing you."

"Where have you been?"

"I cannot tell you all, but when I left here I fell into the hands of a tory, and he knew me. He called me a spy, and wanted to hang me, but before he could get a rope a new idea came to him. He called some more tories together and they laughed at his suggestion. He wanted to cover me with tar and then set light to it."

"His name? I will serve him that way."

"The tar was poured all over me, and my clothes were saturated with it. But when he went for a light to set me on fire, his little boy, a sweet little fellow, ran from the house and called 'fire,' and just then a flame did break out through the windows. The tory thought more of his house than he did of me, so I ran away as fast as I could."

Eben rested after telling that adventure, and it was more than an hour before he could resume his narrative.

"I ran as fast as I ever did in my life, and, as bad luck would have it, I fell into the hands of some English soldiers. They did not know me, and thought I was some ignorant country lad, so I fared pretty well, and only stayed with them two days. When they broke camp they insisted that I should go with them, and as I had told them I was going in the very direction they intended going, I could not help myself."

"You were in hard luck."

"Yes, but that was not the last of my adventures, for I was recognized by another tory, who had been birched by some of our men for his treachery. He claimed me as his prisoner, and to get me had to swear that I was his apprentice, who had run away."

"And of course the soldiers gave you to him?"

"Yes, and a nice time I had of it. The farmer stripped me and then gave me fifty strokes with a strong cane——"

"The villain!"

"But that was not the worst. He threw me naked into a cellar and kept me without food until I began to lose my senses, and then he gave me these old clothes and some food. I managed after a long time to escape, and for a week I wandered about the woods, living on what I could pick up, until I managed to reach here. I dare not go to a house, for the tories were searching for me, and I was afraid to even jump into the river for fear that I might be seen and have no chance of escape."

"Poor fellow. So you failed in obtaining the information for which you set out."

"Failed? No, I got it, and though it is a trifle late, I find it is in time."

Col. Hinman was so pleased with the thoroughness of Eben in everything he undertook that he sent a special dispatch to Gen. Washington, commending Pike as one of the best scouts and secret service officers any country could produce.

Hinman tried to persuade Ethan Allen to join him, but the Green Mountain hero wanted more stirring work than could be found in a fort which might never be attacked.

The news that Montgomery was near the fort was sweetest music to him, and he resolved to unite with his army, even as a private soldier.



CHAPTER XXIII.

FORAGING.

Eben's news was in every point correct. Gen. Schuyler had been stricken down by sickness, and Montgomery assumed command of one of the armies of invasion.

Allen went out to meet the Irish general and received a warm welcome.

Montgomery was full of praise of the plan of invasion.

Arnold and Morgan were marching through Maine to attack the citadel of Quebec, and Montgomery was to march into Canada to the westward, and after capturing Montreal and other important places, form a junction with Arnold and drive the English out of Quebec.

"That man has a great brain," Montgomery remarked, as he told Allen the plan.

"To whom do you refer?"

"Gen. Benedict Arnold."

"What has he done?"

"He formulated the plan and sent it to Gen. Washington——"

"He did?"

"Yes, and the commander was so pleased with it that he wrote a personal letter to Arnold, thanking him and saying that the plan should be put into immediate execution."

"And Arnold really took the credit, if credit there be?"

"Of course; why not?"

"I am not surprised, and yet——"

"You are not jealous?"

"Jealous? No, not of a thief."

"A thief?"

"Yes, a thief. I drew up that plan and copied it in duplicate, so that if one got lost the other would remain. I took one copy to Albany and laid it before the assembly."

"And the copy?"

"I left it at Ticonderoga."

"What became of it?"

"I do not know; at least I find that I know now, though I had no suspicion. When I returned from the Continental Congress I asked for the plan, and was told it had been lost. The truth is that Arnold took it away with him."

"Gen. Washington shall know this."

"No, never mind. I care not who gets credit for the plan if it is only successful; but if I should fall let the people of Vermont know that the plan was mine."

"Rest assured of that."

"I have the original with me, and you shall read it, for I want no one to accept my word for anything."

Allen was right. Benedict Arnold had read the plan, and had actually appropriated the copy and sent it in Allen's writing to Philadelphia.

Once he was asked about Allen's statement, and he replied that he had employed Ethan Allen to make copies from his rough draft.

The young Irish general of division did not believe in loitering, and after a day's rest at Ticonderoga the march was resumed.

Allen had joined, but having no commission, he was placed in rather a delicate position, though the very fact that he was, in a sense, a freelance, made him more valuable to Montgomery.

A promise was given that, should an opportunity offer, Allen was to command a regiment under Montgomery.

After leaving Ticonderoga the march was easy for two days, for the country was peopled by friends of the colonial cause; but after that the farmers were decidedly hostile.

There was great difficulty in feeding the army, and although the general offered to purchase food, the tories refused to sell any.

Allen was commissioned to take twenty men and forage.

He knew that the farmers were tories, but he shrank not from his task.

He was supplied with a small amount of money, and was empowered to pay, by notes, for any food he secured.

About a mile from camp a poultry farm was reached, and Allen at once requisited all the poultry.

The farmer demurred, but the soldiers were the strongest, and very soon a quantity of young turkeys, hens and ducks were in the wagons, much to the delight of the foragers.

At the next house a determined opposition was organized.

At the fence the patriots were met by a number of men, armed with all sorts of weapons.

"We are prepared to pay for what we get," said Allen.

"I guess you will pay for what you get; that would be right easy, for you'll not get a durn thing."

"My friend, you make a mistake."

"Move on there or I'll set the dogs on you."

To emphasize his assertion he whistled, and immediately two splendid animals sprang to his side.

"Call off those dogs; we do not war on dumb animals," Allen called.

"I guess I'll not call 'em off. At' em, beauties."

The dogs sprang over the fence, and with glaring eyes and open mouths made for the nearest soldier.

Two pistol shots prevented them doing any damage, and Allen gave the order to his men to charge the obstructives and take whatever food they could find.

However determined men may be, they cannot stand against muskets and swords, when their weapons are only hay forks and crowbars.

The farm helpers were driven back, and a wagon was quickly loaded with flour and grain and vegetables.

The foraging expedition was a great success, though Allen would have preferred purchasing the food, if any could have been found to sell.

The next day he was sent out again, and met with good success until he was ready to return.

A company of soldiers had been quartered on one of the farms by the English, and Allen was unprepared for the encounter.

When he found he was in for a fight, he felt better satisfied to think he met foemen worthy of his steel, instead of a set of half-fed and badly armed farmers' men.

The English can fight well, and Allen knew that his troops were inferior in every way to the enemy, but he did not hesitate.

"Men, we are outnumbered, but we are not beaten; shall we retire as prisoners, or fight until death claims us?"

"Fight!"

"We cannot surrender without a struggle."

"Who can tell but we may defeat them?"

Allen, pleased with the speeches of his comrades, gave the order to charge the enemy.

The fight was a sharp one.

Hand-to-hand struggles always partake more of the brutish, and the truth about such encounters is far more horrible than any description.

Allen was in the thickest of the fight all the time; his sword was dripping with blood every time he raised it above his head, and that was just as frequently as he could free his arm from the crush to wield his weapon.

Only a few minutes did the struggle last, but the carnage was out of all proportion to the number engaged.

Seven of Allen's men were killed, while the enemy lost twelve, and what seemed remarkable, all who fell were dead. No one seemed to be wounded or maimed; death came to all who were stricken.

The return journey was a sad one, though from the point of view of a soldier it was glorious.

Montgomery congratulated the mountaineer on his bravery, and told him that his record should be known at headquarters.

The next day the march was resumed, and through lack of guides the army took a wrong course.

The vanguard, in crossing a wide stretch of what seemed level country, found themselves in a marsh, and up to their waists in water.

The worst of it was that the bottom was treacherous, for the soil seemed like quicksand, and drew them in until they had difficulty in raising their feet.

After considerable floundering about they got out of the marsh just in time to warn the main body of the army.

The adventure was amusing except to the participants, and many a laugh was had at the expense of the unlucky men.

After a number of strange adventures the army reached Isle-aux-Noix, where Montgomery intended to camp for a time.

Two days after reaching there Allen was delighted to welcome Eben Pike, who had promised to follow as soon as his strength was regained.

He looked as hearty as ever, though less effeminate than when he first joined the Green Mountain Boys.

He had a man's strength, though his appearance was deceiving.

He had such an excellent idea of topography that Allen knew he would be extremely useful to the army of invasion.



CHAPTER XXIV.

SECRET SERVICE.

Gen. Montgomery summoned Allen to his presence one morning early.

"Ethan Allen, you are the one man wanted in this crisis."

"What crisis? What can I do?" asked Allen, looking somewhat surprised at the general's earnestness.

"We are about to invade Canada, and the people ought not to be hostile."

"I fancy you will find them to be so."

"That's just where you will be of value?"

"I do not understand."

"I want you to go into Canada and tell the people that we are not going to fight against them, their country or religion, but only against the English garrisons."

"And I suppose you mean enlist the French on our side?"

"If you can do so, yes."

"When am I to start?"

"As early as possible. Take some good interpreters with you, for French and Indians must be reached and converted."

"The less number of men the better."

"I agree with you, though you know the consequence if you fall into the hands of the enemy."

"Yes, life would be short; but if I can serve my country I will dare anything."

"Spoken like a brave man."

"I am ready. I will take Eben Pike with me, and Remember Baker."

"But you will want an interpreter."

"Yes, one who can talk with the Indians as well as the French."

"You do not mean to enlist the Indians?"

"Yes; I will attract to our side every man, and I would every animal, if that were possible."

"What do you think of Old Buckskin?"

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, and he is with us."

"Just the man. Old Buckskin knows every inch of the ground from here to Quebec. I am glad he is ready to go with me."

The man called Old Buckskin was an eccentric trapper. No one knew his real name, and it is within the realm of probability that he had forgotten it himself.

Allen had met him frequently in the Green Mountains, and knew that he was an excellent guide, a fearless man and a good hunter.

The next day the little party started from St. Valentin and worked northward in the direction of St. John.

The people of Pte. la Mull received Allen with great acclaim, for they were French and had suffered much from the constant interference of the English with their customs and the exercise of their religion. But they warned him against the people of Sabrevous, for they were so much opposed to the New Yorkers that they could not believe anyone who hailed from that colony, or any colony south of the St. Lawrence, could be friendly to them.

That was enough for Ethan Allen.

His mission was not to convert those who were friendly, but to gather in those who were ranked among his enemies.

Turning eastward, he started for Sabrevous, and with greater enthusiasm than he had felt up to that time.

Allen and his party were dressed ostensibly as merchants, and he professed to be in search of rare skins, to fill an order.

To give color to this assertion, Old Buckskin had brought with him a skin of the rarest color and kind, and Allen declared he should never rest until he had matched it.

No one knew better than Allen, unless it was Old Buckskin, that it would be the most difficult thing to find that shade of natural wool, and so the ruse was successful.

Early one morning, for the march was slow, a man approached the party and stopped Allen.

In French he asked if he was the merchant in search of a peculiar skin.

Allen answered in the affirmative.

"I can take you to the place where you can get as many as you want."

"I will reward you."

"Follow me."

"Where to?"

"Follow me and you shall have the skins at your own price."

"Remember that you have said at my own price."

"Yes; my friends are poor and they will sell cheaply, for food to a starving person is better than the most costly skins."

Old Buckskin whispered:

"Be on your guard."

Allen nodded.

Remember Baker was bolder and asked the French Canadian how he knew they wanted skins.

The man laughed, and answered with an appearance of genuine truth:

"I was at La Mull and heard the monsieur ask about skins."

"Then why did you not speak?"

"I had to see if my friends would sell."

"And you saw the sample?"

"I saw the skin that trapper carried."

That seemed satisfactory, and Allen was quite prepared to follow the Canadian.

Eben was the next to express a doubt. He drew Allen on one side.

"I have seen him somewhere before; do not trust him."

"Imagination, my dear Eben, pure imagination. The man is a French Canadian."

The man had stood on one side, apparently taking no notice of the whispered conversation, but a close observer would have seen that he was watching through the corner of his eye every movement, and if he could read the lips, as so many of his countrymen could, he doubtless knew what was being said.

"Will the monsieur come and see the skins?" he asked.

"Yes; lead on."

The man led the way and Allen and his little band followed.

Many times the guide turned round to see if all were following.

A dense wood lay right before them, and the prospect did not seem very inviting, though no danger could come to them, seeing that they were six in all, and the Frenchman was alone.

"Where are you taking us?" Allen asked.

"To where the skins are."

"How far is it?"

"Not far; if my friends did not want the money very badly I should not bother so much."

As he spoke he fell back so that he was beside Ethan Allen.

"You come from York?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Ah, monsieur, it is a pity that the Yorkers like us not."

"But they do like you."

"You may; your heart is large, and you would buy from a poor Canadian; most Yorkers would steal the skins and kill the Canadian."

"You are wrong. The Yorkers are very anxious to be friends with the people of Canada."

"They hate the Anglais?"

"No, they do not hate the English, though they would like to see the English leave the country, so that the Canadians and the Americans could govern themselves."

"Do you think there will be war?"

"Perhaps."

"Monsieur knows there will be."

"I do not know. I hope not. War would interfere with business."

The Canadian laughed heartily, as though Allen had perpetrated a good joke.

Then he broke into a French song, full of life and character, such as the French peasantry love to indulge in.

Eben took advantage of the song to walk beside Alien and whisper to him his doubts.

"That man is not a Canadian, or if he is, he is an English Canadian."

"What makes you think so?"

"His accent."

"But, Eben, he speaks French fluently."

"Yes, like a Frenchman, not a Canadian."

"What do you know about it?"

"In my young days"—Allen had to smile at the boy referring to his young days—"in my young days I used to know a French boy and a Canadian Frenchman, and they could scarcely understand one another. The French boy used to say, 'You talk French, bah, bah!' and the Canadian used to ask the other why he did not speak proper French."

"I had no idea that you were a linguist."

"If you mean by that that I can talk languages, you are wrong, for I cannot, but I am sure that our guide is not a French Canadian."

"You are too suspicious, and I really do not see what difference it makes what he is; we shall get to know the country and——"

"Miss our way back."

"You think that it is all a trap?"

"I do."

"You will see that you are wrong."

"I hope so, but I am going forward a little."

Eben did not wait for permission, but ran ahead of the party like a wild boy out for a holiday.

The Canadian called him back, but Eben professed not to hear.

In a few minutes he was seen running back toward them.

"Where have you been, Eben?"

"In the forest."

In a lower voice he said:

"There are three houses just ahead, and I am sure I saw a redcoat at one of the doors."

Did the Canadian hear him, or did he judge by intuition?

"Did you see the houses?" he asked Eben, and the question was translated.

"Yes, and I saw a man with a red coat."

"That is good; my brother has got home. He always wears a red shirt. I am so glad."

And to prove his joy he began singing loudly, and through the trees came back the echo of the refrain.

"That is Jacques; I should know his voice wherever I heard it," said the Canadian, resuming his singing as soon as he had uttered the words.

"Please turn back," pleaded Eben.

"You silly fellow, what harm can we come to?"

Although Allen spoke lightly he whispered to his followers to have their pistols ready in case of a surprise.

All saw the houses, poor, miserable dwellings they were, too, but such as were often met with in the woods of Canada.

"Here we are!" cried out the Canadian, "and monsieur shall soon see the skins. Will he pay a good price for them?"

"Yes, if they are what I require."

"They will be."

There was no sign of life at the house, though the guide called:

"Jacques—Jacques!"

"Where can he have got to? Enter, monsieur, and I will find the man who has the skins."

Allen, followed by the others, entered the house, which seemed to consist of one room and an extension kitchen downstairs, and a room upstairs.

In a few minutes a man dressed in a red shirt entered, and said his brother had sent him to entertain them, as he would be detained getting some skins he believed the messieurs wanted.

Everything seemed so quiet and innocent that even Eben was inclined to think he had been unjustly suspicious.

But while Jacques chattered—and he did so rattle along that it was quite impossible for anyone to get in a word—there was a movement outside which was ominous had Allen but known it.

Jacques was telling a hunting story and raised his voice at a most exciting point, when the door was quickly opened and a dozen soldiers from the neighboring garrison sprang into the room and demanded the surrender of the party.

It was impossible to decline the unpleasant invitation, for at each head was a pistol.

As Allen raised his head and looked at the door, he saw the pseudo guide, grinning like a hyena, and in a voice which was very English the man emphasized his laugh by saying:

"Ha, ha, ha! trapped! I have followed Ethan Allen all the way from Ticonderoga, and waited until I could be sure he would be hanged. Now I denounce him as a spy!"



CHAPTER XXV.

DIPLOMACY.

"You denounce me?"

"Yes, I say that you are Ethan Allen, the man who surprised the garrison at Ticonderoga."

"Am I to understand that these soldiers have listened to the ravings of a creature like you?"

The sergeant in command of the squad saluted Allen, and replied:

"I am compelled to obey orders. This man reported that he could lead into ambush one Ethan Allen, and I was detailed to effect his arrest."

"Sergeant, I acknowledge that you have a duty to perform, but cannot a merchant pass through Canada without being suspected of being a spy?"

"With that I have nothing to do; I must ask you to surrender."

"The asking is compulsion. With a pistol at each head, how can we do anything else but surrender?"

Allen wished to delay surrender as long as possible, for he was a firm believer in the doctrines of possibility, and a chance of escape might present itself.

The sergeant laughed at Allen's question.

"It does look like surrender or death, but my orders were to take Ethan Allen, dead or alive."

"Is he then so much feared?"

"If you are Ethan Allen it may be some consolation to know that he is hated by the British authorities more than any man who has joined the American rebels; and if you are not Ethan Allen, as I hope you are not, then you may know that it is a great honor to be mistaken for such a rebel."

"Logical, very. We are merchants in search of skins of a very peculiar shade of color. We work for a customer who is willing to pay largely for such skins—dyed ones will not do—and this fellow pretended that he was French, could not speak English, and told my trapper that he knew where we could get the skins. In all trust we followed. Now I ask you: Is it likely that this Ethan Allen would allow himself to be entrapped?"

"No, you are right; but I am not the judge, and you will have to go to Sabrevous and see the colonel."

"That will take time, and I am anxious to get the skins. I will make you a proposition: I will go with you to Sabrevous, but this man must go with me, and as a prisoner, for I have charges to make against him which will cause him to be hanged. My friends must go free to search for the skins."

"I cannot accept the offer—all must go."

"But you said you were to arrest Ethan Allen; now, we cannot all be Ethan Allen, and I am the one accused."

Allen knew just as well as the officer that all must surrender, but he wanted to confuse the Englishman, and perhaps find a way of escape.

"I am very sorry, but if you are Allen, the party with you may be also wanted. I must demand the surrender of all."

"Before I surrender I demand the arrest of that man."

"What for?"

"Murder!"

The informer almost shrieked as he heard the charge. His knees trembled, the blood left his cheeks, and he looked a most guilty wretch.

"Look at him," Allen exclaimed. "Tell me, is he not guilty?"

"I did not do it. He—he shot himself."

"And you took the skins. Ah, my fine friend, Frenchman or Canadian, you may well tremble. England does not accept the services of murderers. You sought to save yourself by denouncing me. Your trick has failed. I shall not surrender on the accusation of a murderer. I will give my parole to appear against you on your trial."

"You refuse to surrender?" asked the sergeant, in amazement.

"If my accuser was a man of honor instead of a murderer I should bow to fate, but unless you have some one to accuse me who is not tainted I shall resist you, and if I fall my family will hold you accountable for my death."

The sergeant was in a quandary.

He had been ordered to arrest Ethan Allen, and here was a man who had put him to the proof. The only accuser was one whose word was of no account, for he was a self-confessed murderer.

"Are you Ethan Allen?" the sergeant asked, most innocently.

"If you think so arrest me. I shall not answer any questions except before a proper tribunal."

"You are a brave fellow, and I wish there was some one here who knew you."

"I know him!"

All turned toward the door and saw a man with a long white beard and patriarchal appearance, though his garb was that of a monk.

"I know him," the monk repeated. "And I say that, whatever his name may be, he is an honest man."

"You said you knew him, and yet do not know his name; is not that strange?"

"Not at all. In these troublous days a man may have more names than there are days in the week, and yet be honest."

"By what name did you know him?" asked the officer.

"As one who did good wherever he might be."

"He is accused——"

"The man who accuses him of wrongdoing must be bad at heart, for I will swear that he is innocent."

"But they say he is a spy?"

"A spy? Accuse him of being a spy? Why, one might as well accuse me. He is too open for a spy, and if he was one he would acknowledge it."

"And so criminate himself?"

"If he were a spy, I repeat, he would never deny it if put to the test. Who is his accuser?"

"This man——"

"That shivering wretch! He looks half dead."

"He will be dead soon," Allen interjected, "for he is a murderer, as well as one who bears false witness against his fellows."

"You say that you believe that miserable reptile, instead of this honest man? Beside, think of the illogical position. If this man is a spy, you have to admit that there is a war between your people and his, and that your government denies."

"I am a soldier and must obey orders."

Allen rose in the dignity of his manhood, and rather startled his own friends by saying:

"I never asked a man yet to disobey orders. Do your duty. I will go with you to Sabrevous; but, mark me, I shall hold your government responsible for my loss of time and for the indignity of this arrest."

Eben Pike had not been under arrest, and now he stood at the door, waiting developments. He saw clearly what should be done. If Allen was condemned, then Montgomery must be informed, and a quick move made on Sabrevous and Allen liberated.

The procession was formed and Eben walked at a little distance from the party, apparently taking no more interest in the affair than one of idle curiosity.

The accuser was pinioned, a musket being secured under his arms across his back, but Allen and his friends were allowed to march entirely unfettered.

The monk, whom we have recognized as the "mad monk" who rescued Martha Baker, walked by the side of the sergeant, while Remember Baker walked with Allen, the soldiers marching in front and rear of the small party.

"How did you know that he was a murderer?" Baker whispered, pointing to the miserable informer.

"I cannot tell. I felt that he was. I had but one thing to guide me. A trapper was found murdered near Ticonderoga, and I heard that the one last seen with him was a fellow who could talk French as well as English, and I guessed this man might be the one, so I hazarded the accusation, and struck the bull's-eye."

"What will become of us?"

"Cannot say; but Eben is on the alert, and unless they shoot us without the usual twenty-four hours' reprieve, he will have Montgomery come to our rescue."

"Did you give him instructions?"

"Only general ones; he is wide awake, and knows just as well as I do what ought to be done."

"Don't you think the 'mad monk' will betray us?"

"No; he is a sympathizer with our cause, and—— Let us change the subject; one of these soldiers is getting suspicious."

When the party reached Sabrevous the sergeant handed his prisoners over to the proper authorities and reported that he was convinced that a mistake had been made, and that the prisoners were peaceful merchants and not American rebel spies.

The monk was examined in secret, and he also bore testimony to the truth and honor of the chief prisoner.

The accuser was called and asked about the murder he had committed, and under the terror of the accusation he made a full confession, but asked for mercy, because he had followed Ethan Allen and handed him over to the authorities.

His plea for mercy helped Allen, for the English officer believed that the accusation against Allen was only made to obtain favor with the authorities.

He was remanded to prison until the civil power could take him and mete out the punishment he merited.

Allen and his party received the apologies of the officers for their arrest and detention, and were at once liberated.

It had been a narrow escape, but they did not value their liberty any the less for that fact.

Some weeks afterward Allen learned that the officers had been severely reprimanded for allowing the "rebel spy" to escape.



CHAPTER XXVI.

AN INTERESTING EXPERIMENT.

Two days later Allen was not so fortunate.

He had been talking to the people and urging them to remain neutral, allowing the soldiers on each side to fight out the issue, when one of the people of the little town, near which was a small fort, left the house and ran to the fort.

"Ethan Allen, the rebel, is at my house," he cried, almost breathlessly, as he reached the outworks. Instantly there was commotion among the garrison. It was true Allen was dreaded by the British more than the men who were besieging Boston.

He was a freelance, and it was never known where he might strike.

His daring at Ticonderoga was not forgotten, and although no money reward was offered for his arrest, it was known that promotion would be the reward of those who captured him.

A small force was sent at once to the farmhouse and Allen called on to surrender.

The lieutenant who had been consigned to the lead was of a different nature to the sergeant of Sabrevous, for he would not listen to any speech.

"I am here to arrest you and your party, and save your breath, for you will need it at the court-martial. Surrender or we shall make you."

"We shall not surrender," answered Allen, calmly.

Allen, Baker and Old Buckskin had got into a corner of the room and dragged tables and a heavy dresser in front of them.

The English fired at the "rebels" and succeeded only in damaging the walls and furniture.

Old Buckskin raised his musket, an old friend that had brought down many a bear and wolf in the forests; he patted it affectionately and took aim.

Every movement was as calm as though the enemy was a defenseless animal destined to fall beneath the unerring aim of the hunter.

The soldiers had reloaded and awaited the order to fire.

The musket belched forth its leaden fury, and the lieutenant fell dead.

"No use tackling small fry when the big uns are there," explained the hunter, as he reloaded.

Allen and Baker had both fired their pistols and wounded two of the soldiers.

"Let us charge them," suggested Allen, and almost before the words were uttered the little band of patriots had emerged from behind their barricade and were pressing the English toward the door.

With their leader dead, and four more dead or wounded, the soldiers became demoralized, and throwing away their guns, ran just as fast as they would had a pack of hungry wolves been in pursuit.

"Shall we pursue?" asked Baker.

"No, we will return to the camp. I think we have done all we can this trip."

The return to the Isle-aux-Noix was accomplished without any adventure, and Allen was warmly welcomed by Gen. Montgomery.

The young Irish leader had just determined on the siege of St. John, and the information that Allen could give him proved very useful.

The whole plan of campaign was discussed and considerably modified after Allen had given his views on the subject.

The Green Mountain warrior suggested that the besiegers should be protected by what is termed circumvallation—that is, by a line or series of works surrounding the place, not to serve offensively against the place, but to defend the siege army from an attack from without.

His plan was adopted and the work was intrusted to him.

The English in St. John watched the preparations and laughed at the absurdity of the affair.

"Those rebels think they can fight," said the colonel in command. "Let them make all their preparations, and we will blow them all into smithereens in no time."

But as he watched the works proceed he was not quite so sanguine.

"Who is leading the rebels?" he asked.

"Gen. Richard Montgomery."

"Montgomery? Not the Irish general who was with the British at Martinique?"

"The same, Colonel."

"By Jove! by Jupiter! he knows what he is doing. Who is second in command?"

"Ethan Allen."

"By Jove! we have blundered. We ought never to have allowed them to come so near. I thought that they were an undisciplined lot of peasants, who knew nothing about war, and would flee as soon as we opened fire on them."

"Perhaps the rank and file will."

"They dare not."

"Why?"

"I was with Montgomery at Havana, and I know that he would turn his gun on his own men if they showed any signs of retreating. He is the very devil when fighting."

"What shall we do?'

"I must think."

The colonel had shown his anxiety more than he had intended, and he must have some time to recover his equilibrium.

In a few minutes he had taken his glass and scanned the enemy's works.

He saw the weak spots and gave orders that they should be charged.

A regiment sallied out and marched with band playing and banners flying.

Allen saw them approach, and at once communicated with Montgomery.

Orders were given to defend the weak places and to be content in holding the line.

The British had underestimated the courage of the Americans.

They had yet to learn that men fighting for a principle were stronger than those who fought to obey orders.

Allen knew that many of his men were raw, never having stood up before an enemy, and that when it came to fighting they might be frightened.

He called his officers together and addressed them.

"It is necessary that we reduce St. Johns, and as it is our first real battle you must each be responsible for your men. Don't let any falter. At the first sign of retreat, unless I order it, shoot the leader; that will prevent the others from running. It is harsh, but necessary. Now remember that our country depends on us for victory. We must prove ourselves worthy. Address your companies and inspire them with courage. Let each man do his duty."

There was a magnetism about Allen which won respect and obedience.

"Do you not think he blundered?" an officer once asked another about the great Napoleon.

"Blundered? Perhaps he did. But if he ordered me to cut off my hand I would do it. He owns me body and soul."

And it was just this kind of feeling which animated the men who followed Ethan Allen.

The British regiment charged the earthworks, and the Americans had all they could do to hold their position.

The slaughter was large in proportion to the number engaged, and Allen feared for the result.

But when the English began to retire he ordered his men to follow and challenge to another combat.

The enemy, seeing the move, turned and prepared to resist the charge of the Americans.

Then commenced a series of masterly feints which won renown for the Green Mountain hero.

His men fell back after the first volley, and the English pursued.

Again Allen rallied his men and charged the enemy, only to retreat as quickly as before.

Three times was this maneuver practiced, and each time the English were drawn nearer the strongest points of the line of circumvallation.

Montgomery saw, at first with surprise, the movements of his able coadjutor; then, when the object became apparent, he ordered his division to be in readiness, and after the third feint, with a loud shout the entire force of the Americans charged the English and pursued them into the town, slaughtering them like sheep.

Allen advised forcing an entrance into the town, but Montgomery knew that the enemy would have every advantage, and that success was very doubtful.

He preferred to wait, and by strengthening his position compel the garrison to surrender.

The afternoon saw the white flag floating over both fort and earthworks. The emblem of peace meant that both sides wished to care for the wounded and bury the dead.

It is a strange feature of civil war, and the war between the English and the Americans might be so called, that when the flag of truce is hoisted the men of both sides are ready to fraternize.

It was so in this instance before St. Johns.

Men who had been aiming at each other an hour previously now drank from the same canteen and helped to bury each other's dead.

Among the wounded was young Eben Pike.

He was not a soldier; that is, he had never been enrolled among the men, but, as it was afterward known, he had borrowed the uniform of a sick soldier and had answered the name when it was called.

Remember Baker was in command of the burying party, and when he saw Eben he could not help the tears falling on the white face of the boy.

"My poor fellow, are you badly hurt?" he asked, in a tremulous voice.

"I think I have received my call," answered Eben, bravely.

"I hope not. But is there anything I can do for you?"

"I would like to see the colonel."

Eben was placed on a stretcher and carried to the rear.

Very soon Allen was bending over him and asking him about his wounds.

"I do not know; I don't seem to bleed much, and yet I am so weak."

The surgeon came quickly at the request of Allen, and made a thorough examination of the boy.

He was very silent, and no one knew what his verdict would be.

"Am I going home?" asked Eben.

"Going home? Are you tired of fighting?" the surgeon queried.

"Oh, no, I would like to live and fight until my country is free."

The speech was too much for Eben, for he fainted, and the doctor, after leaving instructions, went out of the shed which served as hospital, and called Allen on one side.

"Well?"

"That boy is shocked. It is a peculiar case. Not once in a score of years do we find such a case. Every nerve is numb, every muscle relaxed, and whether he will live or die depends on arousing him from that numbness."

"Is he wounded?"

"Only slightly. A spent ball may have caused the shock. What can we do to rouse him?"

"That is for you to suggest. What do you think necessary?"

"A counter shock of some kind. Its effects would soon be apparent. If it succeeds he will be all right in a day; if it fails he will die."

"And without the counter shock?"

"His life is in a very precarious condition."

"I do not know—how would it be to make believe I am killed?"

"The very thing. I will arrange it."

The doctor laid his plans for the very interesting experiment with great care.

After giving instructions he returned to Eben's cot and felt his pulse. It was very feeble, and life was fast ebbing away. That was the best moment to shock him, and on the effect of that shock his life would depend.

The doctor gave the signal he had arranged, and almost instantly a pistol shot was heard.

Then a second followed.

Eben opened his eyes and looked round.

A cry pierced the walls of the miserable temporary hospital.

"Ethan Allen killed! Who could be his murderer?"

The words were shouted out as though some one was in great distress over the great tragedy.

"What did he say?" asked Eben.

"It sounded like 'Ethan Allen murdered,' but, perhaps, I am mistaken."

"Go and see. Stay, I will go, and if any one has killed the best man on earth I will find him and kill him!"

The blood was coursing faster through the boy's veins; the color had come back to his cheeks and he forgot his wound. His only thought was about Allen.

"You stay here; I will go and see about it."

"Let me go, please do, doctor?"

"No, you stay here. If the report is true you will need all your strength to avenge the death of the brave man."

"You are right. But, doctor, I feel right enough. I wonder what made me think I was going to die?"

"I will tell you all later. Now lie still. I will not be gone long."

"Don't be a minute, please, doctor, or I shall have to come after you."

The surgeon smiled to himself with great satisfaction as he sought the presence of Ethan Allen.

"Well, how did it go?" asked the mountaineer.

"Like magic. No sooner did he hear the cry than he wanted to get up and seek your murderer. He is as well as ever he was, though he will be weak for a day or so."

"Shall I go and see him?"

"Not yet. Wait until I summon you."

The doctor returned to Eben.

"Well, doctor, it is not true—say it is not true!"

"No, the alarm was a false one."

"Thank Heaven!"

"I am just as well pleased as you. Now try and get some sleep."

"Will you ask the colonel to call and see me?"

"Yes. Ah, here he is."

Eben caught Allen's hand and the hot tears flowed over it. He kissed the hard hand of the mountaineer and stroked it until nature came to the rescue and Eben fell back asleep.

"He is saved. The countershock did what nothing else could. It was an interesting experiment."



CHAPTER XXVII.

A PRISONER.

Three days later Allen received another command to penetrate into Canada and seek to interest the Canadians, especially the French, in the colonial cause.

The Green Mountain Boy would have preferred to stay with the army and participate in the siege of St. John, but he was a soldier, and a soldier's first duty is obedience.

He addressed the people in every town and village, and the result was far beyond his expectations.

In a week he had traversed the country as far as St. Ours, twelve miles south of Sorel, and had enlisted two hundred and fifty Canadians and had armed them.

He wrote to Montgomery, telling him of his success, and adding that he hoped to be with him in three days to take part in the assault on St. John.

The return march was commenced, and on the second day the advance guard encountered a regiment of Americans under command of Maj. Brown.

Allen was delighted to meet a brother officer, and regretted that he had sent half his men forward under command of Remember Baker.

Brown was sanguine and saw a chance of striking a great blow at the English power.

"Montreal," he said, "is defenseless, and, with your forces united to mine, we can capture it."

Allen fell in with the suggestion, and a plan was discussed.

The men had met on the east bank of the St. Lawrence, between Longueuil and Laprairie, and it was arranged that Allen was to cross the river in canoes a little north of the city, while Brown and the men under his command were to cross to the south, and, advancing from different directions, make themselves masters of the works and the garrison.

The difficulty of obtaining canoes delayed Allen.

He sent up and down the river to get boats, either by purchase or by force, but only succeeded in getting a very few.

He had to cross and recross three times before he landed his little party on the opposite side.

The night was squally. The wind blew in fearful gusts, and often the frail boats were in danger of being wrecked.

Allen cheered his men and promised them a glorious victory.

It was sunrise before all had crossed, and then the little party awaited the signal from Maj. Brown.

An hour passed and no signal was heard.

Half an hour more, and then Allen knew that Brown had not crossed.

His position was critical.

He would have retreated had it been possible, but he would be seen by the enemy, and a fire opened on the canoes would speedily sink them.

"Men, we are lost. Brown has failed to cross the river. If we could retreat we would, but that would mean death without glory. We must stand our ground and die with glory. Our country must never say we were cowards."

There was a suppressed cheer, and Allen knew that his few men were ready to make a determined stand.

Very soon they were to be put to the test.

The gates of the city were opened and a body of red-coated British regulars was seen to emerge; after them came two hundred Canadians, and an equal number of Indians.

The Americans saw they were outnumbered five to one.

"We will resist to the death!" Allen said to one of his officers, and the men heard the words and got ready to fight like brave heroes.

Although the British outnumbered the Americans five to one, they acted with the greatest caution, sheltering themselves behind woodpiles, houses and in ditches.

Allen's men returned the fire with vigor, and for two hours prevented the enemy from emerging into the open.

The British regulars began to be irritated at the stubborn resistance of the few Americans, and made a move which Allen knew was to be an attempt to flank him.

He called Capt. Lossier and bade him take fifty men and advance to the right and post himself in an advantageous ditch and to maintain his position there.

Lossier and his men advanced, but as soon as they came in sight of the redcoats they made a wild rush for the woods and scattered in all directions.

To make Allen's position worse, a small detachment on the left, under the command of Lieut. Young, a Canadian volunteer, also broke rank and fled, giving the enemy a chance to take up several strong positions.

Allen now found himself with only forty-five men, including the brave young Eben Pike.

They poured in their volleys as fast as they could load and fire.

In order to do more effective work five men were told off to load, and as the men who had run away had thrown down their muskets, there was a good chance to keep the guns cool.

But what could forty-five do against five hundred?

Allen saw that unless he retreated while his rear was open, he would be surrounded and all his men slaughtered, for he knew the command had gone out to butcher all found with arms in their hands.

With great reluctance he gave the order to retreat. The Indians were rapidly gaining in the direction of the rear, and only fleet feet would give the Americans a chance.

Although the Americans could run, they were no match for the Indians, and Allen found himself surrounded.

He had only twenty-eight men left, and yet he would not surrender.

With fixed bayonets the little band waited the onslaught of the British, who were only a few yards away on all sides.

An English captain, mad at the way in which his men had been kept at bay, snatched a musket from the hands of one of his men and fired at Allen.

Although only a few yards distant, the ball missed, and Allen, not to be thought wanting in reciprocal feelings, fired at the captain, but both were too much blown to take aim, so the shots were wasted.

"Coward!" shouted Allen—"cowards all! To think that it took five hundred men to capture twoscore patriots!"

The captain answered back and demanded surrender.

"As prisoners of war?" asked Allen.

"No. As rebels."

"Then, by the great Jehovah, I will die fighting! Men, let us resist to the death!"

To the surprise of the English, a volley was fired into their ranks, and the Americans prepared to load again.

Seven more of Allen's men had fallen wounded, while twelve of the English had been made to bite the dust.

"On what terms will you surrender?" asked the captain.

"That we shall all be recognized as prisoners of war and receive honorable treatment."

"On the word of a British officer, your terms shall be accepted."

The Americans threw down their arms.

As Allen presented his sword to the officer a naked savage, with hellish visage, made still more repulsive by the fact that half his head was shaved and the other half adorned with feathers, rushed at Allen and placed his musket at his head.

Allen caught the English captain and swung him between the Indian and himself, but the savage flew round with incredible swiftness and great fury, trying to kill the brave mountaineer without injuring the officer.

Allen succeeded in keeping the Englishman between him and the savage, but another Indian came rushing up and Allen gave all up as lost.

"Arrah, be jabers, if I can shtand that same!" shouted an Irishman in the service of England.

He rushed forward with fixed bayonet, risking punishment for breaking rank, and swearing by his forefathers that he would kill the "haythen," rescued Allen.

Thus, while Montgomery was waiting for him at St. John, Ethan Allen was a prisoner in the hands of the English and being marched into Montreal a captive.

In the barrack yard Gen. Prescott confronted him.

"Are you the Col. Allen who captured Ticonderoga?" he asked.

"I am."

A long string of expletives poured from the general's lips, and he swore that Allen should be shot.

He raised his cane to strike Allen across the face, but the Green Mountain Boy placed himself in fighting attitude.

"I am unarmed, you coward, but strike me and I will show you that my fists can smash your dastardly head."

An officer pulled the English general away, and Allen had no opportunity to avenge himself at that time.

"By Jove! I'll hang every one of you," shouted Gen. Prescott. "Colonel, see that thirteen of these d—d rebels are hanged within an hour; take the first thirteen—quick—there shall be no delay."

"If you dare to do it, I swear that you shall die within an hour after," shouted Allen, defiantly.

It was a strange threat for an unarmed prisoner to make.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

ON THE GASPEE.

Never before had English officer been spoken to in that manner by prisoner.

Prescott knew not what to make of it. Had he dared he would have shot Allen on the spot, but he well knew that to do so would be the cause of an investigation into his conduct, and Prescott was guilty of many things which, if sworn to before a court-martial, would have led to his dismissal from the army, if no other punishment was incurred.

So he allowed himself to be led away, but as he went he shook his fist at Allen and shouted:

"I will not hang them just now, but you, you infernal rebel, shall grace a halter at Tyburn."

Even the soldiers shuddered as they heard the threat, for Tyburn was the place, in England, where the most brutal murderers and criminals were hung in chains and allowed to stay there until their flesh rotted from their bones.

To be hung at Tyburn carried with it disgrace throughout all generations.

Gen. Prescott was in a fury; why, it was difficult to say, for Allen had never injured him personally.

"I'll hang that fellow," he reiterated to the colonel of his own regiment.

"My dear Prescott, you will do nothing of the kind; he is a prisoner of war."

"War be hanged! he is a rebel, not a soldier."

"And being a rebel, he must be tried by the home authorities."

"Col. Gilmartin, answer me; if he were to be on board a war ship and fall overboard and be drowned, could I be blamed?"

"Of course not."

"If by accident he should be given a dose of oxalic acid in mistake for Epsom salts, would that be charged against me?"

"What are you hinting at, general?"

"That fellow threatened me——"

"He was exasperated."

"What right had he to be? A man who rebels should be ready for any treatment by his superiors. Hang me, if I dared, I would cut every rebel into pieces and send the parts to his friends with my compliments. They deserve such treatment. Hang me, what right have they to rebel?"

"They think they have a right."

"They think! Who are they? A lot of rapscalions who could not be content with their own country, but must come out here, and when we allow them to do so, they rebel. Englishmen worthy of the name never rebel."

"And yet, general, there were a good many worthy Englishmen who rebelled against James and supported William the Third."

"That was different, Gilmartin, different; they were patriots, and not rebels."

"As these men will be if they are successful."

"But they cannot be successful—they cannot be. This fellow, Allen, was a farmer. He calls himself colonel. Fancy, of the same rank as you, Gilmartin, while you were trained in your boyhood for the army, and when you were old enough got a commission——"

"Which I purchased, as I have had to every promotion."

Col. Gilmartin felt sore over his tardy promotions, and never waited a second opportunity to tell his grievances.

Prescott had been one of the fortunates ones; he had obtained his promotion easily, so he was satisfied with the condition of the army.

He was in no humor to listen to any complaints, and so he stopped his brother officer by saying:

"Order at once the placing of that fellow, Allen, in the heaviest irons—stay, I will give the order myself."

He sent for his orderly and gave instructions for Allen to be placed in heavy irons and taken at once on board the Gaspee, war ship, and all the other prisoners to be ironed and placed on board the other ships in the river.

The soldiers were pleased with the order, and proceeded to carry it out to the extreme limit.

Ordinary handcuffs were used for the wrists, two prisoners being manacled together, Allen being fortunate in having Eben for his fellow.

But on the legs the irons were simply horrible.

Anklets, very tight, were locked on each leg, and attached, in the middle of the connecting chain, to a bar of iron weighing forty pounds.

The soldiers laughed as they fastened this heavy weight on Allen's legs, telling him that it was the "king's plate."

The irons were so close that it was impossible for the prisoner to lie in any position save on his back.

Allen and Eben were taken to the lowest deck of the schooner Gaspee, and a more stifling, filthy, ill-ventilated place it would be impossible to find.

A mock salute was tendered to the hero of Ticonderoga as he entered the place, and out of consideration of his rank he was accorded a tool chest on which to sit, and which was also to serve as sleeping place.

"Can I help you any?" whispered the guard, about an hour after Allen had been placed on the chest.

"I wish you could get me some little blocks of wood to rest the iron on," answered Allen, gratefully.

The man secured the blocks and so saved the constant strain of forty pounds of iron pulling at the victim's legs.

While the men were kind and considerate, those in authority were just the reverse.

Every indignity possible was heaped on the unfortunate prisoners.

It was midnight, on the first day of Allen's imprisonment, and the Americans had managed to fall asleep.

Eben was lying at Allen's feet, enduring the most horrible tortures because of the irons, but never complaining for fear that he might be separated from his hero.

Suddenly their sleep was disturbed by a loud voice asking where the rebels had been placed.

It was the captain's voice, and he knew well, for he had ordered every detail.

"They are here, captain."

"Let them stand up."

Allen rose with difficulty, and staggered as he tried to stand at "attention."

"Drunk, eh? Here, sergeant, see to it that this rebel does not have a drop of anything to drink for twenty-four hours."

"Except water, captain?"

"I said not a drop of anything. He is drunk."

"Please, sir, he has had nothing to——"

"Silence! Do you want to be ordered to the hold?"

The sergeant was silent, though his whole nature rebelled against such treatment.

The captain looked at Allen for a minute, then he asked:

"You were at Ticonderoga?"

"And I treated the prisoners with justice," answered Allen.

The only reply was a vigorous kick from the officer's well-shod foot.

Allen bit his lips, but did not resent the affront.

He knew that it was done to provoke him so that his persecutors might have an excuse for inflicting some terrible punishment on him.

"See to it that these rebels do not sit down until I give permission."

It was the parting order of the captain, and the sergeant blushed with shame as he heard the command.

When the officer left the deck Allen sat down.

"You must not do that, sir," said the sergeant, kindly; "you heard my orders."

"I know, but I shall die unless——"

"Lie down, sir; I shall not stop you doing that. The orders were that you must not sit."

Once more the two prisoners were lying down on their backs; the irons prevented their reposing on their sides.

By daylight the prisoners were nearly dead with thirst, but not a drop of water was allowed them.

The captain made his round of inspection at seven o'clock, and Allen asked if they were to be allowed to have anything to eat or drink.

"No. You will get a rope round your necks soon, and it won't matter whether you are hungry or not."

"But, sir, you have no right——"

"Stay, there! You are a rebel and have forfeited all right to be considered in the matter."

Eben listened to the insulting words, and he was in such a position that he was able to drag his iron bar right across the captain's path.

As the officer stepped back he tripped over the iron and fell sprawling on the deck.

"Beg your pardon, captain, but I am not accustomed to move about with a bar of iron on my leg, so couldn't tell where it was going to land."

Eben spoke so seriously that even the captain thought it might have been an accident; so, after cursing the young Vermonter, he left the place.

Then Eben laughed heartily.

"Forfeited all right, have we? Well, I have found one way of humbling an Englishman."

"Eben, you ought not to have done it."

"Ought not? Why, I only regretted that we were not near enough to the side so that he would have fallen into the water."

"Hush!"

"You are not to have anything to drink, nor anything to eat, but hang me if I'm going to see you starve, so here, stow this into your mouth and suck like mad."

The kind-hearted sergeant pushed a piece of hard boiled beef into Allen's mouth.

Allen was too good a hunter not to know that the beef was prepared in such a way that, though tasteless, it nourished, and by sucking on it the saliva was promoted and thirst quenched.

After Eben had been served in the same way the sergeant laughed.

"I didn't give you aught to drink, nor aught to eat, but you'll get there all the same, and I ain't broken the rule."

"If ever I get the chance to remember your kindness, my memory will serve me."

"That's all right. I expect you'll get hanged, but blow me if I could see a dog starve, and you're a trump anyway, though you be a rebel."



CHAPTER XXIX.

ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND.

Three days after his capture, Ethan Allen heard an extraordinary noise on the upper deck, and he knew that the Gaspee was about to sail. But its destination he did not know.

After the first day the prisoners were allowed to have one meal a day, for, as Prescott told Allen, he did not want to cheat the gallows.

The Gaspee was bound for Quebec, and the prisoners were overjoyed at the prospect of a change.

"It cannot be for the worse," said one of the Americans to Allen; "therefore we shall be the gainers."

"I wish they would hang us right away," answered the hero of Ticonderoga, "for I am tired of this life."

"We shall all be free——"

"Yes, when in our graves."

"Do not get downhearted, colonel; we have pulled through many a hard row before now."

There was a consolation in having company, and the prisoners from the other ships had been crowded on the Gaspee.

"March out the rebels."

All heard the order given, and each looked at his fellow with anxious glance.

It might be a farewell to them. Who could tell?

The leg irons were unlocked and the prisoners marched up the companionway to the upper deck.

As they reached the deck the fresh air was almost overwhelming, for they had not breathed any for several days.

They were marshaled in line and awaited their doom.

Soon a bedecked officer appeared on deck accompanied by one of the most villainous-looking seamen that ever stepped upon a deck.

"Are these all?" asked the English officer.

"Yes, general."

"Which is Ethan Allen?"

Allen was pointed out, and the gold-laced, red-coated officer raised his pince-nez and looked at Allen as he would at any curiosity.

"Which is Eben Pike?"

The young scout was pointed out by the officer in charge, and he had to undergo a similar inspection.

"And these are rebels? Well, well! England has nothing to fear if this is a sample of those fighting against her. So you are Ethan Allen? You are the man who broke into Ticonderoga? Well, well, well! You achieved fame, but whether it will avail you much when you stand on the gallows is for you to say."

The English officer had jerked out these sentences more to himself than to the prisoners.

He turned to the villainous old salt by his side.

"What do you think of your cargo?"

"I'd rather have pigs."

"You show sense, but as you cannot have pigs you must take these. You are under bonds to land them in England—how I don't care—only they must have strength enough to stand upright on the gallows, for Jack Ketch must not have too great a task."

The seaman chuckled.

"I've carried lots of cattle afore, and I never lose any, save a few I toss overboard to save trouble. I'll land these or give an account of 'em."

Every word was uttered with a view of enraging the prisoners.

Allen learned afterward that the provocation was intended and deliberate, its object being to get him to commit some overt act so that he could be hanged or shot for insubordination.

The seaman was the captain of a sailing merchantman bound for England, who had been engaged to transport the Americans to that country.

After a list had been made of the prisoners they were marched off the Gaspee onto a barge, which was towed out to a merchantman lying in the bay. Four rowboats were engaged to tow the barge, and just as they started the hawser broke and the barge was adrift.

After several minor accidents the prisoners were landed on the deck of the merchantman, and soon found they had exchanged bad for worse.

A portion of the vessel had been boarded off by white oak planks, making a space about twenty-two feet long by twenty feet wide.

Into this space thirty-four American prisoners were pushed, handcuffed in pairs.

Allen refused to enter.

The captain asked who he was that he should dare to disobey orders.

"I surrendered to the British under a pledge that I should be treated as a prisoner of war, and I demand that we shall all be treated as human beings, not as cattle."

The captain laughed brutishly.

"Ha! ha! ha! That is good! Do you think I would treat cattle that way? They would all be dead before they reached England. No, no, my dear rebel! you are treated as rebels, not cattle."

Two seamen took hold of Allen and threw him into the little inclosure, closing the door as soon as he was within.

An hour later Allen was called out.

A lieutenant had asked to see him.

"So you are Ethan Allen?" the English lieutenant asked.

"That is my name."

"Then, apart from the pleasure I have in seeing you here, I have but one greater joy, and that is that I am able to treat you like this."

The officer spat in Allen's face.

The Green Mountain hero's hands were manacled, but he raised them and brought them down with such force on the man's face that he fell headlong on the deck.

Instantly Allen was surrounded with bayonets.

He was considered dangerous, and had to be forced back into the prison inclosure.

The vessel set sail, and every day the captain taunted the prisoners with their captivity, and took every means to make them suffer.

Some days, when the weather was more than ordinarily oppressive, he would order that no water should be given, and as the food consisted of salt pork and bread, or ship's biscuit, it can be well imagined how much they all suffered.

After the vessel had been out twenty days one of the prisoners crawled up to Allen and whispered into his ear:

"Can we live much longer like this?"

"I am afraid not."

"Then let us put an end to it."

"How?"

"Will you agree to join us?"

"I cannot answer that until I know what is proposed."

"If you do not want to join, you will not betray us?"

"What do you think of me? Have I ever been a sneak?"

"No, colonel, but the scheme is a desperate one."

"What is it?"

"To seize the ship and then take her into port as a captured vessel."

"How can it be done?"

"Jack—you know Jack, the one who brings us tobacco?"

"Yes; he is a kind-hearted Englishman."

"He isn't English, he is Irish. Now, he will file off these handcuffs and give me the file. By working at every opportunity we can all be free in a few days; then all we have to do is to force our way out and seize the skipper. We will throw him overboard, and kill all who oppose us; then the ship will be ours and we can sell it and divide the prize money."

"My good fellow, we cannot do it."

"Why?"

"If we seized the ship we should have to sink it, for no one would purchase it. But I will not countenance murder."

"It is not murder, it is war."

"War is brutal, I know, but when it comes to seizing a captain on board his own vessel and killing him, that is not war, but murder, or piracy."

"Well, you will not betray us?"

"No. Only give me a chance to fight openly and I will do so, but I will not kill a man in cold blood."

"But, colonel, you will not interfere with us?"

"No. Only do not tell me anything you are doing."

Allen did not understand that in war all things were justifiable.

He was a gentleman all the way through, and would not fight unless he could do so honorably.

Whether Jack failed to find the file, or that the prisoners decided not to mutiny, Allen never knew, but no attempt was ever made to secure freedom, and after forty days' torture land was sighted.

The prisoners were ordered on deck.

It was a glorious change for them, for they had not breathed a breath of pure air for forty days.

As they stood on the deck the captain pointed out the distant land.

"Do you know what land that is?" he asked.

There was no response; the American prisoners were too much engaged in inhaling all the fresh air they could to care about talking.

"That is Land's End, in England. You will soon be there, and then you will all be hanged. A short life and a wretched one will be yours from now on. That is all. Take the prisoners back to their palatial quarters."

The captain may have thought he was inflicting torture on the prisoners, but he was mistaken. They were not afraid of the fate which awaited them.

If they were to die, they would prefer to die on land to being tortured to death in the hold of a small ship.

As one of the prisoners quoted the words of an older rebel in England:

"The noblest place for man to die Is where he dies for man."

So all felt that if they were to be hanged in England they would be tried, and on their trial they would be able to make their defense and let the world know under what grievances the American colonies were suffering.

In two days the vessel landed in Falmouth Harbor.

The news that the vessel had on board a number of American prisoners caused thousands of people to flock to the wharf.

The greatest curiosity was manifested.

Had a cargo of wild beasts entered port the curiosity could not have been greater.

In fact, Allen soon learned that the Americans were looked upon as wild beasts or savages, and certainly not as civilized beings.

The windows were filled with members of the fair sex, the sidewalks of the old English town were closely packed by men and children.

Hour after hour they waited to see the show.

A lot of detail, commonly called "red tape," had to be attended to before the prisoners were allowed to land.

A military band escorted a regiment of redcoats down to the dock, and the necessary papers for the transfer of the prisoners were exchanged.

Then across the gangplank walked Ethan Allen and Eben Pike, handcuffed together.

The people on the dock pushed and stared at the Green Mountain men.

"Why, they aren't green!" exclaimed one of the bystanders with disgust.

"No, they aren't Americans; they're Irish," said another.

"Of course they're Irish; Americans are black."

"No, red."

"Not by a long shot; they're all as yellow as guineas."

Absurd as it may appear at this day to have to record such ideas, it is an absolute fact that when it was rumored that the Green Mountain heroes were on their way to England the prevalent idea was that they derived their name from the color of their skin.

When the other prisoners disembarked the march was commenced to the barracks.

The people flocked round the prisoners so that progress was impeded.

The soldiers had to charge the crowd with bayonets many times.

"What did they mean by saying they thought we were Irish?" asked Eben. "I heard an Englishman say in New York that if it had not been for the Irish the Americans would not have rebelled. Of course it was nonsense, but the people do not know us yet, while they do know the Irish."

At the barracks the prisoners were received with as much curiosity as we can imagine was shown by Ferdinand and Isabella when Columbus presented the American Indians in 1492.

Every man was made to answer a lot of questions, and many times over.

Allen was questioned about the strength of the American army, and replied:

"I know not its numbers, but it is well equipped and can beat all the armies you can send over there."

"They are rebels, and only the lowest people sympathize with them."

"Do you call George Washington a common man?" asked Allen.

"He is a rebel, and ought to know better."

"And Richard Montgomery, who fought with you at Havana and Martinique?"

"Is he with the rebels?"

"I had the honor of serving under him."

"He will be hanged, for he was a soldier of his majesty."

"You will have to capture him first."

They could not make anything of Allen, so they desisted questioning and sent all the prisoners to the guardroom.

It was a difficult question for the government of England to decide.

The men were locked up in the barracks at Falmouth, but England did not know what to do with them.

If the prisoners were hanged as rebels, England would be blamed by other civilized nations, and yet it would not do to pardon them.

There was a very powerful opposition among the English people to harsh measures, and, in fact, many English wished America success in its struggle with the tory ministry.

And so Allen and his friends remained in jail, simply because the ministry did not know what to do with them.



CHAPTER XXX.

IRISH HOSPITALITY.

Some months later the ministry decided to deport the American prisoners, and the captain of the Solebay, man-of-war, was ordered to take the prisoners back to America under sealed orders.

It was a pleasant change to leave the barrack prison, even for captivity on board a man-of-war.

Gradually the strictness had relaxed and the prisoners were treated better, and Allen fully believed that the meaning of the return to America was that they were to be liberated in exchange.

The master of arms on the Solebay was an Irishman named Michael Gilligan, and the vessel had only been out two nights when Gilligan sought Allen and offered him his friendship.

"And it's meself as would be a rebel if I were free, but, bad cess to it, I was pressed, and so I made the best of a bad job, and will fight for the flag because it is my duty."

"I admire a brave Englishman——" Allen commenced, but was cut short with the remark:

"I'm not an Englishman, but I'm Irish, and my people are all rebels. Will ye let me be your friend?"

"I shall be only too pleased."

"Then you'll berth with me. Sure it's not such a place as I'd like to be offering you, but it's better than this."

Gilligan held a similar rank to that of a sergeant of a regiment, and was a man of considerable importance on board.

He had a berth between decks, inclosed in canvas, and, as it was large, Allen had plenty of room.

When Cork, or rather the Cove of Cork, now called Queenstown, was reached and the Solebay cast anchor, the rumor spread through the cove that a number of American rebels were on board.

Allen was standing on deck looking over the finest harbor in Europe, when his attention was called to a small boat hailing the war ship.

Some men climbed up on deck and asked for Col. Allen, of America.

Allen was so close that he could not help hearing, and he answered that he was Ethan Allen.

John Hays, a merchant of Cork, clasped Allen's hand and tried to speak, but, instead of words, tears flowed down his cheeks and his voice was choked.

When he did master his emotion he exclaimed, with patriarchal fervor:

"Heaven bless you and all brave men like you who are fighting for liberty."

He introduced his friend, merchant Clark, also of Cork, and said their mission was to offer the patriots such things as they stood in need of.

Clothes, or money, or food would be willingly given if Allen would only say what was most needed.

The offer was gratifying, and Allen expressed a wish for clothes for the prisoners. He explained that, though prisoners for several months, they had not received a change of clothes, and that some were absolutely in rags.

The next day a boat well laden pulled to the Solebay, and suits of clothes were found for each of the thirty-four prisoners.

A complete suit of underwear, an outer suit of warm material, an overcoat and two extra shirts, were bestowed on each of the prisoners, while Allen received superfine broadcloth sufficient for two jackets, and two pairs of breaches, in addition to a suit already made. He also received eight fine Holland shirts and socks ready made, a number of pairs of silk hose, two pairs of shoes, two beaver hats, one of which, richly laced with gold, came from James Bonwell, a wealthy merchant of Cork.

On the following day the boat returned to the ship laden with wines, spirits, sugar, tea and chocolate, a large round of picked [Transcriber's note: pickled?] beef, a number of fat turkeys and many other articles for Allen's personal use, while each of the men received two pounds of tea and six pounds of sugar, with plenty of meat, chickens and turkeys for the mess table of the prisoners.

Two days after the receipt of the stores the captain prohibited anything more being delivered to the prisoners, and took away everything which the men of Cork had given except the clothing.

He shouted himself hoarse about the way the rebels were being feasted.

"I heard him say," says Ethan Allen, in his autobiography, "that by all that was holy the American rebels should not be feasted by the rebels of Ireland."

An application was made by the Mayor of Cork for permission to be granted to Ethan Allen to attend a banquet to be given in his honor by the city, the mayor and ten leading citizens being willing to give bond for his return to the ship the next morning.

The application was refused, and the captain gave order to weigh anchor and put out to sea.

"Sure and the skipper is as hot as a roast pertater," said Gilligan; "he thinks for sure that the rebels of Cork will take you all off the ship by force, so he is going to put out to sea."

The Solebay left Cork harbor that day and did not return.

After a long sail the shore of North Carolina was reached, and the hearts of the Americans beat high with hope.

The captain was almost amiable, but it was with a fiendish glee caused by the belief that the American prisoners were to be hanged on American soil.

"I want to see," he said, to Allen, "American trees bearing the best fruit, and plenty of it."

"I am sure I re-echo your wish," answered Allen, whereupon the captain laughed and declared that the fruit he meant was dead Americans hanging from the boughs.

For several weeks the Solebay stayed at Cape Fear, and the prisoners were treated with great harshness.

One morning their hopes were again raised by an order for all to appear on deck.

"Stand in line!" ordered the officer.

The men did so and the roll was called.

"Colonel Allen, step forward!"

It was the first time he had been addressed by his title, and all thought it meant an exchange at least.

"Now select fifteen of the most deserving men among your company, and order them to stand out."

Allen selected the desired number.

"Thank you, Col. Allen. The fifteen will remain, the others can go below. The fifteen will be hanged to-morrow morning at sunrise. I thank you in the name of his majesty for having selected the most worthy."



CHAPTER XXXI.

A DARING SWIM.

"Coward!"

It was only one word, but that one word contained a wealth of contempt and scorn which made the officer tremble.

"Place those men in chains!"

The sergeant of marines saluted and gave the order to the remaining prisoners to return to their prison place.

Allen countermanded the order.

"Listen to me. I am a freeborn man, and, though a prisoner, I am a prisoner of war. I was promised fair treatment for myself and men if we would surrender at Quebec. Is this what you call fair treatment?"

"I am very sorry for you, Col. Allen; but, since I am a soldier, I am compelled to obey orders."

"And who gave you such an order?"

"That I may not answer—as you ought to know, being a soldier yourself."

"Are these men to be hanged?"

"So I was ordered to say. I have only acted according to instructions."

It was the man that spoke, not the officer. His softened voice showed that he had carried out a very distasteful order, and that his manhood revolted at it.

"Can I not make an appeal personally to the general commanding?"

"That would be impossible."

"Are these men to be hanged without trial?"

"Col. Allen, you are a brave man, and can face the worst. I am told, though I ought not to tell you, that the American rebels have gained several advantages lately, and the British authorities are determined to stamp out the rebellion; so——" He paused. The man was ashamed to utter what he had heard. Gathering courage from Allen's silence he continued: "We are told that no prisoners are to be treated as prisoners of war, but as outlaws and rebels, to shoot whom will be considered a meritorious act."

"And the object?"

"Can you not see? It is to strike terror into the rebels."

"So be it! But, mark me, I speak as a rebel, but also as a man, and I tell you that for every American hanged without due process of law, ten Englishmen shall die. Do not mistake me! I shall be a free man again, and shall make England suffer. The leaders of the Americans, called by you rebels, will know of this murder and will avenge it."

The British officer made no reply, but waved his hand to the sergeant, who removed the ill-fated fifteen.

By some chance Allen had omitted Eben's name from the fifteen, and while he regretted it at first, he was more than pleased now that the oversight had occurred.

When the prisoners were removed to their part of the lower deck, Eben managed to get close to Allen.

"You don't think they will hang those?" he asked.

"I do not know, my boy. I think they are vile enough for anything."

"I heard that officer, who came aboard with dispatches, say that there was a lot of the patriots close here."

"Of our people?"

"Yes."

"That accounts for it, then. They will hang the prisoners as an act of defiance."

"Colonel, I have an idea."

"What is it, Eben?"

"Come closer to me, for I must whisper very softly."

Eben managed so that his mouth was very close to Allen's ear, and then he told of his plan.

"I can slip over into the water when it is quite dark and swim to land; then I can make my way to the patriots and tell them the straits we are in."

"You could not reach the land."

"Not reach it? Why, colonel, have you forgotten how I swam across dear old Champlain and then back again?"

"I am not likely to forget that."

"Then I am sure I can do this little bit."

"But they will fire on you?"

"If they see me; and that is just what I am going to prevent."

"How?"

"Never mind that, colonel. Only give your consent and I will succeed, and I think I can save the lives of our friends."

"Eben, you are very brave. Can you bear to think of your fate?"

"I have thought of it. If we stay here we shall be hanged; if I fail to reach land I shall drown, and I think I would rather drown than be hanged. What say you, colonel?"

"My dear fellow, you must act as you think best."

"All right, colonel. Good-by; I may never see you again."

"Good-by, Eben. Take care of yourself, and may Heaven bless you."

Several times Allen tried to communicate with Eben, and to try to dissuade him from his hazardous undertaking, but the youth felt instinctively that he would do so, and remained out of reach of his beloved colonel's voice.

When night came Eben managed to get to the side of the ship unobserved, and in a few moments he had dropped noiselessly into the water.

But, as ill luck would have it, he got entangled in some chains as he struck out from the ship, and the noise attracted the attention of the guard.

"Man overboard!" he cried.

Allen heard the cry and his heart stood still, for he was sure Eben would be captured, and then nothing could save his life.

The officer in charge of the prisoners heard the cry also, and at once ordered every man to answer to his name.

It was the work of but a few minutes, and it was ascertained that Eben had really escaped.

"Do you see him?" asked the captain.

"Yes."

"Fire on him!"

Several muskets were fired, and had not the Vermonter been an excellent swimmer he would have been killed. But Eben dived and swam under the water a great distance, and the bullets were deflected by the water.

A boat was lowered and the stoutest sailors, with four marines, manned it.

"Ten pounds to the man who kills him," said the captain, "and twenty for the man who brings him in alive."

There was a stimulus in the offer of reward, although the Englishmen, every one of them, would have gloried in the chase and in hunting the boy to his death without even the chance of a reward.

Eben saw the boat coming after him, and he knew that he was in a race for life.

He was not daunted.

He watched the boat skim through the moonlit water, and he floated for some little distance to ascertain whether he was seen.

Assured of that, he laughed quietly to himself over the chase he would give them.

He dashed the water about as though he was about to sink, and instantly a musket ball struck the water within a few feet of him.

Then he dived and swam in another direction, knowing that the boat would continue on its straight track.

When he reappeared above the water he saw that he had gained very materially on his pursuers, and as he did not care what part of the coast he reached, he again dived and swam farther down the shore.

When he came to the surface and floated, he looked round and saw that the boat's crew had given him up for lost.

The boat was circling round and round, and every eye was strained to find his dead body.

Eben leisurely swam to the shore, and was glad when he reached land, for he was nigh exhausted.

He had to be very cautious, for many tories resided on the shore, and he knew that he would be treated as a suspicious character.

He found a wood which afforded him shelter.

Undressing, he hung his clothes out to dry, while he climbed into a tree, with the double object of not being found in a state of undress and be the better able to see if anyone approached.

There was a warm breeze blowing, and his clothes soon dried, and once again he felt like a human being.

A new trouble arose. He found his limbs so weak that he could not stand.

His flesh was hot and dry, his mouth parched, and his eyes were like burning coals.

He had fever.

The fact was appalling enough at ordinary times, but how much more so under the circumstances?

He dare not seek a house, even if he could crawl as far, for he knew that fever meant delirium, and in his delirium he might betray himself and so injure the cause he loved so well.

He had not lived in the mountains without knowing the value of herbs, so he looked around to find those natural medicines which at home had been used by the Indians and most of the white folks of the Green Mountains.

He wanted agrimony, but did not see any; but he did find yarrow in abundance.

Now, the leaves and flowers of the common yarrow, or the achillea milefolium of botanists, are an excellent thing in fevers, producing perspiration and cleansing the blood at the same time; but Eben knew that it should be macerated in boiling water.

Boiling water was out of the question, and, in fact, there seemed to be no water save sea water near, so he gathered a quantity of the leaves and chewed them. The taste was bitter and aromatic, but refreshing to the fever-stricken boy.

After a time he felt a nausea, and stopped eating.

He turned over on his back and fell asleep.

When he awoke the sun was high in the heavens and he fancied he had slept four or five hours; in reality he had slept nearly thirty hours.

His body was covered with a cold perspiration and his mouth seemed less parched.

As he raised himself to look around he saw that he was not alone.

A man, evidently poor, if judged by his dress, stood some distance away, watching him closely.

"So you did wake, eh? I reckon'd that you were going to sleep till Gabriel blew his trump."

"Have I slept long?" asked Eben.

"Well, now, I can't say 'zactly, for I reckon you had been asleep a long time when I found you, and I've been here nigh on to ten hours."

"You have been watching me that long? Why?"

"Mebbe I took a fancy to you, and mebbe I know you."

"You know me?"

"Well, now, I reckon if I were to call you Ebenezer Pike——"

"If you did?"

"Yes, I was saying I reckon that you would have to say that was your name."

"What gave you that idea? And who is Ebenezer Pike?"

"I am no tory. Yesterday I heard that a prisoner had escaped from the war ship out there, and that the one who had got away was at the bottom of the sea. I was curious, and I asked all about it. Then I was asked if a body wouldn't float into land; and I said mebbe; and then the bluejacket told me he would give me ten shillings if I found the body and gave it up to him. So I searched and found—you."

"And discovered that I was not worth ten shillings?"

"Never mind what I found; I tell you I ain't no tory, and ten pounds, nor ten hundred pounds, would make me give up a live American hero. His dead body wouldn't be of no account to him, so I might give up that."

"And you think I am this escaped prisoner! Well, what do you want to do with me? for I am too weak to oppose your silly whim."

"I am going to take you to my house, and when you get strong you shall go just where you please."

"You mean this?"

"I do; and I tell you that if we could liberate Col. Ethan Allen we would, for he is wanted just now; Carolina means to be free and independent, so it does."

Eben did not attempt any resistance; in fact, he was too weak to oppose his discoverer, so he allowed himself to be lifted on the man's shoulder and be carried to a cabin on the other side of the wood.

Here he was tended as well as if he had been among relatives or his friends of the Green Mountains.

After a few days he was strong enough to go out, and he walked down to the beach and saw the vessel from which he had escaped lying at anchor.

But he saw something more—something which made his blood run cold.

As he was returning he saw five trees growing on the banks of the river near the cape, and from each tree there dangled a human body.

On closer inspection he found—what he had dreaded to find—that the bodies were those of some of his fellow prisoners.

"Come away, my boy," said his new friend. "Those men gave their lives for a sacred cause, and I wish every Carolinian could see and know them. It is a good thing for us that the cowardly tories hanged them, for every one hanged means a surer vengeance."

"It is horrible! Will they dare to serve Col. Allen so?"

"I don't think so, but they may. What are your plans?"

"I want to find the army of America and get the men to liberate Col. Allen."

"Praiseworthy, but we shall have a weary tramp before we reach the patriots. Things have changed and many difficulties will confront us."

"You say 'us,' as though you were going?"

"Where you go, so shall I."

Once more the two walked down to the beach, and Eben gave a cry of pain as he saw the war ship slowly sailing away.



CHAPTER XXXII.

HOW ENGLAND TREATED PRISONERS OF WAR.

After Eben had escaped the captain of the war ship was furious.

He found out that five of the prisoners shared the same room with the escaped one, and he closely questioned them about the escape. They refused to speak a word; perhaps they knew nothing, but their mouths were closely sealed.

Orders were given to take the five prisoners to the shore and hang them in such a conspicuous place that the rebels might see them and take warning.

This cruel and uncivilized act was carried out by men who loathed the work, but who had to obey the orders of their superior.

Fearing that unpleasantness might ensue from the order, which, when too late, the captain regretted, orders were given to sail north, and Ethan Allen was taken to New York, where he was landed and thrown into a prison cell.

While it was a change to be on land, the treatment was more severe.

Every indignity was heaped upon the unfortunate prisoners by the tories who ruled the city.

There was but one gleam of sunshine in the hero's life.

He often heard news of the outside world.

A Congress had been called, and its deliberations were of vital importance.

The tories talked about it in Allen's presence.

They denounced men whose names Allen had not heard before, but who were becoming prominent. But they also talked of Sam Adams and John Hancock, of Patrick Henry and George Washington, and then they told each other that it was seriously proposed to create a new nation out of the colonies and declare the independence of the colonies.

All this was glorious news to the prisoner, and he listened in silence, afraid that his joy, if known, would prevent further conversation in his presence.

One hot, stifling day in July there was considerable commotion in the prison, and Allen knew that something more than the ordinary had caused the excitement.

How anxiously he waited to hear the news!

How tedious the hours passed before the change of guards gave the desired few minutes for conversation.

At last the hour came!

"The Declaration of Independence has been signed!"

"You do not mean it? The rebels would never dare!"

"But they have dared. They say that a new nation has been born. Ha, ha, ha! He, he, he! Ha, ha, ha!"

"Will all the prisoners have to be shot now?"

"No, they will be hanged, same as before. England has not recognized the new nation; but England has hired a lot of Hessians——"

"What are they?"

"Don't you know? They come from some place in Europe; their king sells or leases them out to fight."

"And they must fight whether they like it or not?"

"Oh, they like fighting; they are trained to fight. It is the only thing they can do, and they do it well. You see, they do it all the better because they can't talk English, so they kill all who do——"

"Then they may kill us."

"No, I do not mean that, but they kill all they are told to kill."

A warden entered the long corridor and called out the name of Ethan Allen.

Allen stepped from his cell and submitted to his arms and legs being heavily ironed.

He was then marched through the city to the Battery, where he was placed on board a war ship, with other prisoners, and taken to Halifax.

For nearly two years he suffered the most horrible tortures in prisons and prison ships. He seemed to have been forgotten.

For weeks at a time he was absolutely silent, no one being allowed to speak to him, and silence was strictly enforced among the prisoners.

Once Allen got a little paper and a pencil, and a friendly jailer promised to have the letter sent to its destination.

Allen addressed it to his brother at Bennington, in the Green Mountains, and it duly reached its destination, but the brother was away with the patriot army, the letter was kept, however, and read over and over again by the old friends of the hero of Ticonderoga.

In that letter he says:

"I have seen American patriot prisoners begging for food and being laughed at for their request. They have bitten pieces of wood to get little chips to eat and so satisfy their hunger. I was imprisoned for a time in a church, watched over by Hessians who would not let us leave to satisfy the wants of nature, and mid excrements the poor wretches, who only loved their country, died in horrible tortures."

It was a wonder that the letter ever reached Bennington, but the jailer who passed it out was a warm-hearted man, a son of the soil from Ireland.

It was in the early spring of 1778 that Allen heard his name called as he sat in the hold of a war ship lying off New York.

He dragged his legs wearily up the steps to the deck.

He had aged much during those two years, and his friends would scarcely have known him.

As he reached the deck he heard a voice, which seemed very familiar, say:

"Colonel, don't you know me?"

A tall, bearded young man stood before him with extended hand.

"Eben!"

"Ah! then I have not changed so much."

It was Eben Pike, dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant of the American army.

"What brings you here? You are not a prisoner?"

"No; at this moment I am a guest of His Majesty the King of England, and am acting on behalf of the United States of America, and more especially the commander-in-chief, Gen. Washington, and——"

"I am so glad to see you, Eben, that I do not know what you have been saying. I feared you were dead."

"No, colonel, I had a work to do, and I have done it. You see, we, that is, the American army, took a certain English colonel prisoner, and England wanted him very badly, so Gen. Washington said: 'You shall have him in exchange for Col. Ethan Allen,' and at last the order for the exchange was made and you are free."

What did it mean?

Allen heard the word "free," but it seemed like an echo of fairyland, having nothing in common with this matter-of-fact, cruel world.

"Yes, Col. Allen, you are free."

This time the word was spoken by an English officer.

Allen staggered like a drunken man, and would have fallen had not Eben caught him.

"Come, colonel, we must not trespass on the hospitality of the King of England any longer; I have promised to escort you with all due diligence to the headquarters of the commander-in-chief."

Allen stood still, looking, with glassy eyes, at the speaker.

In a few moments he asked;

"Am I dreaming?"

"It looked very like it, colonel, for you acted as though you were asleep; but come now, we must be going."

"Do you mean it? Are you really Eben Pike?"

"Ask the captain here. He will vouch for that. The document reads: 'The bearer, Lieut. Pike, of the Army of the United States of America,' does it not?"

"Yes, Col. Allen, the whole thing means that you are exchanged. We have got our man, and we pay for his liberty by giving you yours. Good-day, and may I never see you again—at least under recent conditions."

Allen entered a small boat with Eben, and two stout seamen pulled the boat to the dock, where a carriage was in waiting.

Eben almost pushed the astonished and half-dazed Green Mountain hero into the carriage, and soon the waterside was left far behind and the carriage rolled along the roads to the place where Gen. Washington had made his headquarters.

By that time Allen had begun to realize that he was really free.

Washington met him at the door and grasped his hand warmly.

"For over a year we have been trying to secure your release, but could not get the English to consent. You have to thank Lieut. Eben Pike for your release. He is a real hero."

"General, I only did my duty."

"I wish every soldier did his duty as well. I must tell Col. Allen; I am sure he will be prouder than ever."

"No, general, it was a mere nothing."

"I am the best judge of that. You must understand, colonel, that Pike enlisted in the cavalry and did excellent service as a private soldier; he was speedily promoted, for he deserved it. But it was at the battle of White Plains that he distinguished himself. Almost single-handed he fought a company of cavalry when most of our men had retreated. He was surrounded and refused to surrender. 'I have been a prisoner of England once,' he said, and that was enough for him. He cut his way through the enemy, and even that enemy has borne testimony to his great bravery. I am proud of him."

"I am sure that a braver man than my young friend, Pike, never drew sword," added Allen, proudly.

"After he had gallantly cut his way through the enemy, he says he thought he could have done better, so he turned his horse and rode after the British. They evidently thought that he was the advance guard of a regiment, for they stuck their rowels into the horses and rode for life. Pike followed up closely and overtook Col. Jameson; he demanded his surrender, and Jameson had to submit, for Pike had the advantage."

"Yes, he could not help himself and live," Eben said, with a smile.

"Pike took his captive into camp, and the affair was reported to me. Sergt. Pike became lieutenant, but he was not satisfied. He knew that Jameson was a most important personage, almost as valuable as Cornwallis himself, so what does the young lieutenant do but ask me to refuse to exchange Jameson unless you were the captive given up by the British. The difficulty had been that you had no commission; I did not know it until I heard it from Montgomery and Schuyler, and so the British looked upon you as an outsider; but they wanted Jameson, and they got him, and you owe your freedom to Pike's pertinacity."

THE END