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."
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.
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 theGaspee, 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 schoonerGaspee, 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."
Three days after his capture, Ethan Allen heard an extraordinary noise on the upper deck, and he knew that theGaspeewas 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.
TheGaspeewas 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 theGaspee.
"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 theGaspeeonto 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 dieIs where he dies for man."