The old hall in Philadelphia, where the city fathers met, was filled with a notable gathering, representing eleven colonies.
Those men constituted the Second Continental Congress.
The first had been held in October, 1765, and a resolution was adopted declaring that the American colonists, as Englishmen, would not and could not consent to be taxed but by their own representatives. This resolution was called forth through the passage of the "Stamp Act."
The Second Congress assembled in Philadelphia in September, 1774, and pledged the colonies to support Massachusetts in her conflict with the English ministry, and after petitioning the king and the English people, adjourned to meet, as it happened, on the very day that Ethan Allen captured Ticonderoga.
The members of that Congress were all loyal to England. The time for independence had not come.
But what a galaxy of men!
There were such giants among men as Benjamin Franklin, Patrick Henry, Samuel and John Adams, and Thomas Jefferson and George Washington.
But among all those men there was not one whose ambition led him to place self above country.
John Adams told the Congress that the time had come when the English people must learn that it would be better to die fighting for liberty than to live in perpetual slavery.
Not a man wanted war.
Washington had been a soldier with Braddock, and had won distinction, but he was for peace. Jefferson demanded liberty, but he deprecated war. Sam Adams startled the members by saying that if England persisted in a policy of coercion it would be necessary to fight, yet even Adams believed in peace.
John Adams made a strong speech, in which he asked why a tyrant ever exercised tyranny, and he answered the question by saying it was because the people were unable to resist.
"Let us be strong enough to enforce our demands," said he, "and the king or his ministers will fall back and concede all we ask."
He waited to see the effect of his words.
There was silence.
"Yes, brothers, it is only the strong that obtain justice. The weak petition and are spurned, the strong ask and they are listened to with attention, and their demands granted.
"These colonies should be Great Britain's strength, they are her weakness. Give us the right to make our own laws, to raise the taxation as we please, to defend our coasts from external assaults and our land from internal troubles, and we shall honor the king and prove that the American Confederation of Colonies is the strength of that country. Let us tell the king plainly what we want. Let our petition be backed by a good army, and we shall win."
"What do you propose?" asked Jefferson.
"I propose that we organize an army, not of one colony, but of a confederation of all colonies, and that we appoint a commander-in-chief, a man who shall be able to organize the army and to lead it, ay, even if it be necessary until we have entire independence."
"Where could we find such a man?" asked one of the Northern delegates.
"We have one here. The man who saved the wreck of Braddock's army is just the one to build a nation. I nominate George Washington as the commander-in-chief of the army of liberation!"
There was an outburst of cheering such as the Quaker City had but seldom heard.
The delegates knew Washington.
He was a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses, and had previously made a name for himself with Braddock.
When his name was mentioned by Adams he left the hall.
He was afraid to remain for fear he should be called upon to accept.
He wanted time for deliberation.
The congress adjourned until the following Thursday.
The delegates talked the matter over, and when the Congress reassembled George Washington was the unanimous choice of the delegates.
But before he was asked to give his answer, articles of confederation were drawn up and signed, and the colonies became one for the purposes of mutual defense.
"I fear that this day will mark the downfall of my reputation," said Washington to Patrick Henry when he heard he was unanimously selected to organize an army of twenty thousand men, who were undisciplined, without weapons, without arms of any kind worth speaking of, and having no money to pay for the food they would require, not mentioning arms.
The question of salary was next discussed, but Washington stopped it by emphatically declaring that he would not touch one penny of salary, and only asked that out-of-pocket expenses should be paid.
In the midst of the cheering which these words evoked, Ethan Allen entered the hall.
"Who is that man?" asked John Hancock.
"Ethan Allen, the hero of Ticonderoga," answered Sam Adams.
The cheering broke out again, but this time it was for the Green Mountain leader.
Again and again did the walls re-echo with the plaudits.
Then Sam Adams called Ethan Allen to the chairman's desk, and John Hancock warmly congratulated the hero.
A resolution of thanks was passed, and Allen was asked to introduce his friends.
Seth Warner and Remember Baker were welcomed as able coadjutors, and Allen took care to say that they were typical of all the Mountain Boys, and that what they had done was only a foretaste of what they would do if necessary.
Eben Pike was called up, and the boy bashfully wriggled—no one could call it walking—up to John Hancock's desk.
When Allen told of the bravery of the young scout and of the way in which he had so recently saved his friends from falling into the hands of the English, Hancock rose from his seat and called for three hearty cheers for the young hero.
Then the Congress settled down to work and appointed officers to assist Washington.
What a brave lot of men! Their names cannot be too often repeated.
The major-generals were Artemus Ward, Charles Lee, Phillip Schuyler and Israel Putnam—the famous wolf-den Putnam. Then the brigadier-generals comprised Richard Montgomery, Seth Pomeroy, David Wooster, William Heath, Joseph Spencer, John Thomas and Nathaniel Greene. The adjutant-general was Horatio Gates.
Allen overheard Gen. Schuyler speak of Canada and of its importance.
Allen made his acquaintance and asked him to allow him to tell of the plan New York had rejected.
Schuyler was delighted, and thanked the Vermonter warmly.
"If ever you are in command of such an army of invasion," said Allen, "I shall ask to be allowed to join as a volunteer."
"My dear Allen, there is not a man in all Philadelphia at the present moment I would rather have," answered the general.
Alas! what suffering was to follow that conversation!
Among the men who were to lead the colonial armies Allen had his attention attracted to Richard Montgomery, who was to share with Schuyler the responsibility of the invasion of Canada.
Montgomery was one of the most fascinating men who rallied to the standard of the colonies.
He was an Irishman, the son of a member of the British parliament, and was educated in Trinity College, Dublin.
In 1754 he obtained a commission in the army, and with his regiment came to this country, and, although only eighteen years old, he distinguished himself for personal bravery in many an action.
In 1760 he was with Gen. Wolfe, and became the adjutant of the regiment.
After distinguishing himself in the expedition against Havana and Martinique, he returned to England and stayed there nine years.
But he yearned for America, and so sold his commission and came to New York, where he married and took a leading part with the sturdy men who refused to bow the knee to English tyranny.
When the Continental Congress was held Montgomery was a delegate, and he pledged his sword in defense of the popular rights.
No wonder that Ethan Allen should be pleased with the Irishman. They were kindred spirits.
Montgomery asked Allen to tell him of the struggle of the Vermonters against the pretensions of New York.
Allen did so, but somewhat bitterly.
"Nay, my dear Allen, do not let that irritate you. We shall soon make common cause, and instead of the colonies we shall have a nation, and we shall be citizens, not subjects."
"Citizens!" Allen repeated.
"Yes, mark me. If the colonies become a nation there will be a free government based on equal rights, and none will be subject to another, but all be equal before the law."
Montgomery saw more clearly into the future than did even Washington.
When the Congress was over, and Washington commenced his work of creating an army, Allen returned home, somewhat disappointed.
He had expected a commission in the new army, but his name was passed over by Congress.
It was afterward proved that the omission was the result of inadvertence, for it was supposed that he had a commission from the general in command of the Colonials at Boston, and the order was made confirming all such commissions.
The summer was passing, and no action had been taken.
Allen was getting weary of the delay.
He could not understand why Boston had not been taken and the English driven out. Then he heard that Benedict Arnold had received a commission, and was leading an army into Canada to attack Quebec.
In despair Allen left his home and crossed to Ticonderoga, determined to offer his services to the Connecticut captain who was in command of the little garrison.
He was sitting on a gun on the day of his arrival on the scene of his great exploit, when a boy, dirty, ragged and half starved, entered the fort and stood opposite Allen.
"Don't you know me, colonel?"
"Is that you, Eben?"
"Yes. I am Eben Pike, and right glad I am to see you."
"How did you enter? Where have you been?"
Eben did not answer. He was too weak. His body swayed, his limbs trembled, and he would have fallen had not Allen caught him.
As gently as a mother carries her child, the hero of Ticonderoga bore the half-famished boy into the barracks and asked that he should receive attention.
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.
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.
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!"
"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.