Chapter 24

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!"