Read Ebook: With John Paul Jones by McIntyre John T John Thomas DeLand Clyde O Illustrator

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Ebook has 2163 lines and 62106 words, and 44 pages

"And, pray, sir, who are you?" he asked.

"Shamus O'Moore, once of the Inniskillens," answered the newcomer, standing very erect and speaking in a harsh, high voice.

"Ah," sneered Danvers, "an English dragoon."

"No," said the other with great promptness, "an Irish dragoon."

"It is all the same," spoke Danvers.

"Pardon me," protested the other, still in the same tone, and never budging an inch in his ramrod like attitude. "There is no sameness about it at all. Faith, ye could never make an Englishman out of an Irishman in the world. They are like oil and water, and they won't mix."

"It's the man they call Longsword," whispered Walter Stanton to his chum, Philip Morgan.

"I know," answered the latter. "I've seen him at Ethan Carlyle's several times."

"General Montgomery," said the soldier-like O'Moore, "were an Irishman like meself and proud he were of it. He gave up his life for this struggling nation, sir, in the storming of Quebec; and it was no common life, I'll have ye know. There was in him the makings of a general officer that would have astonished the world."

"Oh, you fancy yourself a judge, I see," said Danvers, icily.

"Man and boy, I've soldiered for thirty years," said the other, "and I've had lots of time to pick up stray bits of knowledge by the wayside."

As Danvers turned away to give his attention to young Wheelock, who was again plucking warningly at his sleeve, O'Moore noticed Walter Stanton and favored him instantly with a stiff, formal salute.

"Hello, O'Moore," said Walter. "Where is Ethan?"

"Master Ethan will be here in a few moments," returned O'Moore. "There he is beyant, speaking with Mr. Jefferson."

The lads turned their eyes in the direction indicated, and saw a gentleman garbed in sober black standing in the footway some little distance off conversing excitedly with a clean built, handsome boy of seventeen, who was seated astride a powerful bay horse.

"Did you know that Ethan was secretary to Mr. Jefferson, now?" asked Walter, as they watched the two with interest.

"Yes," answered Philip. "His father and Mr. Jefferson were great friends, O'Moore, were they not?"

"Indeed, yes, sir," said the ex-dragoon. "And Mr. Jefferson visited him at New Orleans before the war came on."

"They seem greatly interested in their talk," observed Walter, still gazing toward the lad on the bay horse and the black clad statesman. "I never saw Mr. Jefferson so excited, and I've seen him many times and listened to his speeches."

"And it's no wonder, Master Stanton, that he do be excited now," said Shamus. "Sure he's listening to better news then he's heard in many a long day. While taking a gallop on the north roads this morning, Master Ethan and meself came upon a courier from New York whose horse had stumbled, thrown him and broken his leg. We carried him to an inn where he'd be taken care of; and when he found out who Master Ethan were he handed over his despatches and bid us ride to the city wid them and give them to Mr. Hancock, the president of the Congress."

"There is news from the north, then?" cried Walter, his eyes opening wider in expectation.

"Good news, too, you said, O'Moore," said Philip Morgan. "Come, now, tell us what it is."

The other boys had risen from their seats upon the benches, and all crowded eagerly about the grim looking dragoon.

"What's the news?" they clamored. "Tell us the news."

"Ye'll hear it in another moment," said O'Moore, a smile flickering on his lips. "Here comes Master Ethan now."

The sober looking gentleman in black, had just waved the boy upon the horse delightedly away; the lad touched his mount with the spur and dashed down the street toward the state house. Mr. Hancock stood upon the low stone steps in the midst of a group of members engaged in earnest talk, when the bay was pulled up sharply, and the boy upon his back called in a voice that trembled with excitement:

"Mr. Hancock."

That gentleman raised his brows in some little surprise at this; then his face wrinkled in a smile and he nodded his recognition.

"News from the north!" cried the boy as he swung a bulky saddle packet over his head.

The expression of every man present changed instantly; every voice was hushed, every face was strained and anxious. For weeks they had been swayed, pendulum-like, between hope and fear; and now the result was to be known.

"Burgoyne," shouted the boy, as he swung himself exultantly from his horse, "has surrendered to General Gates at Saratoga."

Then, amidst the clapping of hands and the shouts of the crowd that had gathered like magic, he strode across the walk, his spurs jingling on the flags, and handed the despatches to the president of the Continental Congress.

HOW A SPY LISTENED AT THE WINDOW

Shamus O'Moore took his young master's horse and his own to a neighboring stable where they were in the habit of putting them up, and then returned to the state house. Ethan was busy with a huge portfolio of Mr. Jefferson's papers in a small room at the south end; from the hall came the murmur of voices and now and then a steady flow of words which showed that some member was addressing the Congress.

"They do be after talking it over, Master Ethan," said the ex-dragoon. "And it's mighty glad they all are."

"And no wonder," said Ethan Carlyle, looking up from his work with a smile. "A victory now means a great deal. Defeat has followed defeat so closely, Shamus, that they, in spite of their hopeful front, began to despair of ever seeing success crown the American arms."

"Well, they've got a murderin' big slice of success this time," said the Irish soldier, with great satisfaction. "And it's pleased I am at that same; for every true son of Erin, Master Ethan, wants to see the Saxon beat."

Ethan laughed, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he remarked:

"Why, if you dislike the British so, you old fire eater, how came you to be so taken with my poor dead father? He was an Englishman."

The old dragoon scratched his head in a rather awkward fashion, and then made reply:

"Your father was the finest gentleman I ever saw, and it was no fault of his that he was an Englishman. Sure no man can choose the country he's to first see the light in. But he showed his quality when he resigned from the English army and came to America. If he were alive and able to hold a sword and head a regiment to-day, he'd be in the thick of it for freedom and the new land, so he would."

There came a dimness to the boy's eyes and he patted the old trooper upon the back.

"You cared a very great deal for my father, didn't you, Longsword?"

"I did," said the other steadily, looking straight before him with unwinking eyes, "and I think as much of your father's son, faith."

"I know that, old friend. You've been with me through everything. You even gave up your hopes of meeting the British in battle to be with me here in Philadelphia."

"It was a hard wrench," spoke Shamus, a note of regret in his voice, "but the war is not over, Master Ethan, and I have hopes that we two will see service yet."

There was some more talk of a like nature, and then Ethan went back to his work upon Mr. Jefferson's papers, while the ex-dragoon went outside the south door and paced slowly up and down in the warm sunlight. Ethan's father had been a British cavalry major who sold out and emigrated to Virginia. Upon a visit to New Orleans he met and married the daughter of a French merchant and engaged with the old man in his business. Clarette & Co. had many ships in the Gulf, and Ethan was practically raised on board of them, as his father was continually voyaging from one place to another in search of trade. In those days the Gulf and the Caribbean swarmed with buccaneers, and every merchantman was armed and strongly manned; the ships of Clarette & Co. were often called upon to defend themselves from these rovers, and some of Ethan's most vivid recollections were of shot-swept decks and men leaping back from the cut of Shamus O'Moore's mighty brass-hilted sword.

The Irish dragoon had been his father's orderly in the English army, and had come to America with him; Major Carlyle was an Oxford man, and attended to his son's education himself while at sea; but it was the grim, hard visaged Shamus that taught him how to develop his muscles to the hardness of steel, and how to use cutlass, sabre, pike, bayonet and small-sword. The Irishman had spent years in the study of arms; his sword-play had been the marvel of the British army when he served in the Inniskillens, and had earned for him the name of "Longsword." Day by day this master of fence had drilled the boy in sword-play. But in spite of his aptness, Ethan never drew a word of praise from Longsword, who continued to labor with him, between decks, in the dog watches, relentlessly, remorselessly, mercilessly. The boy could close his eyes in his bunk, during his watch below, and still see the angular, powerful figure of the dragoon before him; he could see the light from the ports falling upon the scarlet scar that crossed his face, he could see the flashing of the heavy double-edged sword and the constant movement of the tireless arm. He never complained at the labor of the drill.

But one day as they were in the midst of a lesson that had lasted above an hour, Ethan in a sudden burst of impatience had refused to give way before the dragoon's heavy attack; a desperate rally ensued, and to the astonishment of the watching sailors, the boy actually drove Shamus back before a storm of lightning-like blows. And then Longsword threw down his blade, uttered a wild Irish whoop that rang through the ship, sprang forward and clutched his pupil in a bear-like hug.

"At last!" he exulted. "Ye've done it at last. I've taught ye all I know, and I've only been waiting to have ye use it on meself to get the feel of it. There will be no more lessons, Master Ethan; all ye need is strength and weight, and then faith, even Shamus O'Moore will be careful how he stands forninst ye!"

These things were running through Ethan Carlyle's head as he sorted over the papers of Mr. Jefferson. At last Congress adjourned, and the members streamed out of the building and down the quiet street. Then Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Hancock entered the room with quiet steps. The boy arose and bowed and then was about to go on with his work, when his employer said:

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