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 ROUTLEDGE LIBRARY EDITIONS:
LINGUISTICS

Volume 56

PLAINS CREE MORPHOSYNTAX

This page intentionally left blank
PLAINS CREE MORPHOSYNTAX

AMY DAHLSTROM

R Routledge
Tavlor &. Francis GrouD

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published in 1991
This edition first published in 2014
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 1991 Amy Dahlstrom
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any
information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
publishers.

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered

trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent
to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-0-415-64438-9 (Set)

eISBN: 978-0-203-07902-7 (Set)
ISBN: 978-0-415-72749-5 (Volume 56)
eISBN: 978-1-315-85222-5 (Volume 56)

Publisher’s Note
The publisher has gone to great lengths to ensure the quality of this reprint but
points out that some imperfections in the original copies may be apparent.

Disclaimer
The publisher has made every effort to trace copyright holders and would
welcome correspondence from those they have been unable to trace.
Plains Cree Morphosyntax

An1y Dahlstrom

GARLAND PUBLISHING, INC.

New York • London
1991
 Copyright © 1991 by Amy Dahlstrom
All rights reserved.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Dahlstrom, Amy.
Plains Cree morphosyntax / AIny Dahlstrom.
p. cm - (Outstanding dissertations in linguistics)
Originally presented as the author's dissertation.
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 0-8153-0172-3 (alk. paper)
1. Cree language-Morphology. 2. Cree language-Syntax. 3. Cree language-Discourse analysis. I.
Title. II. Series.
PM987.D3 1991
497'J-dc20 91-9759

Printed on (Kid-free 250-year-Jift paper

 Acknowledgements

First of all, I am indebted to my Cree teachers and friends, Madeleine Greyeyes Dennison
and John Starblanket. Without their insights into their language, this dissertation could not
have been written. I am enormously grateful to both Madeleine and John for encouraging
me in this project, for their inexhaustible patience, and for never letting things get too
serious. The following Cree speakers also helped me on various occasions: Freda Ahenakew,
Smith Atimoyoo, Judy Bear, Susan Harper, Joe LaFromboise, and Donna Paskemin. Special
thanks go to Freda Ahenakew, director of the Saskatchewan Indian Languages Institute, and
the rest of the Institute staff for their hospitality, and to everyone in the Cree 120 class for
making my time in Saskatoon so much fun.
The members of my committee - Wally Chafe, Chuck Fillmore, Johanna Nichols, and
Joan Bresnan - contributed a range of valuable perspectives and expertise on the morpho-
logical, syntactic, and discourse issues raised here, and have been unfailingly helpful during
the writing of these chapters. Ives Goddard provided numerous comments and suggestions,
particularly on the obviation chapter. I am especially grateful for his close reading of the
text given as an appendix to this volume. Cathy O'Connor, Farrell Ackerman, Paul Kay,
and Mark Gawron spent countless hours worrying with me over the proper analysis of the
data and the theoretical issues involved. Many thanks to you all.
I have also benefitted from the comments of many other people, including Steve An-
derson, Claudia Brugman, Don Frantz, Orin Gensler, Jeff Goldberg, Jonni Kanerva, Paul
Kiparsky, George Lakoff, Knud Lambrecht, Tom Larsen, Lori Levin, Monica Macaulay, Lorna
MacDonald, Marianne Mithun, John Nichols, David Pentland, Rich Rhodes, David Solnit,
Eve Sweetser, Len Talmy, Van Valin, Jim Watters, Chris Wolfart, and Karl Zimmer.
 Various portions of this research were funded by a Canadian Studies Graduate Student
Fellowship from the government of Canada, the Phillips Fund of the American Philosophical
Society, the University of California Survey of California and Other Indian Languages, and
it University of California Humanities Graduate Research Grant.
Finally, Iny parents and Stephen Deerhake have given me constant love and encour-
agen1.ent, for which I am deeply grateful. Stephen provided constant and extraordinary
computer support as well. I want to thank him, and my other kind, tolerant, bewildered
non-linguist friends, for putting up with me and taking care of me during the writing of this
dissertation.
 Plains Cree morphosyntax

Chapter 1. Introduction 1
1. Background on Cree 2
2. Overview of following chapters 5

Chapter 2. Inflection 9
1. Noun inflection 10
1.1. Gender and number . 10
1.2. Obviation . 11
1.3. Locative case . 12
1.4. Possession 13
2. General organization of verb inflection 14
2.1. Stem classes 14
2.2. Inflectional orders 16
2.2.1. Motivation for grouping paradigms into orders 16
2.2.2. Remarks on e·= and ka·= 18
2.3. Sample paradigms 20
2.4. Inflectional template and affix chart 24
2.5. General morphophonemic rules 28
2.5.1. Palatalization . 28
2.5.2. Contraction 28
2.5.3. Deletion 29
2.5.4. Nasals become h 29
3. Animate Intransitive 29
3.1. Non-third person subjects 30
3.2. Third person subjects 31
4. Inanimate Intransitive 32
5. Transitive Inanimate 34
5.1. Theme signs 34
5.2. Subject inflection 35
6. Transitive Animate . 35
6.1. Mixed set . 36
 6.2. Non-third person set 42
6.3. Third person set . 45
6.4. TA inanimate subject forms 49
6.5. Passives of TA verbs 51
7. Departures from Wolfart 1973 . 53

Chapter 3. Direct, inverse, and passive verbs 59

1. Valence and word order 62
1.1. Direct and inverse verbs 62
1.2. Passive 65
2. A test for subject: copying to object 67
3. Tests for object 75
3.1. Copying to object 75
3.2. Floated quantifiers 76
3.2.1. V' constituents 76
3.2.2. Quantifiers in Vi 79
3.2.3. Other discontinuous NPs 88
4. Summary. 89

Chapter 4. Obviation 91
1. Syntactic conditions 96
2. Uses of obviation in narrative . 107
2.1. Single proximate . 107
2.2. Multiple proximates . 114

Chapter 5. Lexical processes 121

1. Overview of Lexical-Functional Grammar 121
2. A model of inflection 131
3. Lexical processes 134
3.1. Parts of the verb stem 134
3.2. Valence-changing rules 136
3.3. Obliques 139
3.4. Secondary predicates 140

A.ppendix: 'A Brave Boy' 147

Bibliography 205
 Chapter 1

Intro d uction

This dissertation explores several topics in Cree morphology, syntax, and discourse structure.
Cree is a non-configurational language: that is, the grammatical relations of subject and
object are not expressed by word order or other constituent structure relations, as they are
in a configurational language such as English. Instead, subjects and objects are expressed
by means of the inflection on the verb.
A primary role in the encoding of grammatical relations is played by an opposition
within third person known as obviation. Obviation is a discourse-based opposition dis-
tinguishing the person of greatest interest in the discourse (= proximate) from all others
(= obviative). When a verb has two third person arguments, it is the distinction between
proximate and obviative, marked on NPs and cross-referenced on verbs, that indicates \vhich
is subject and which is object.
Cree is typical of non-configurational languages in allowing a great deal of word order
variation. As seen in the following examples, all six possible permutations of sub ject, object,
and verb are grammatical, and are attested in texts. Obviative nouns are indicated in the
interlinear glosses, while proximate nouns are unmarked. All the verbs are suffixed with
-e·w, which indicates a proximate singular subject and an obviative object.

(1) e·kosi na·te·w awa iskwe·w o·hi kaskite·wastimwa.

so fetch this woman this black horse obv

'So then the woman went and got the black horse.' (VSO)
[Bloomfield 1934, p. 74]

(2) nakate·w mahke·si·sah wi·sahke·ca·hk.

leave fox obv Wisahkechahk
'Wisahkechahk left Fox behind.' (VQS)
[Bloomfield 1930, p. 36]
2 Chapter 1: Introduction

(3) awa oskini·kiskwe·w ki·we·htahe·w anihih awa·sisah, ...

this young woman bring home that child obv
'This young woman brought the lad home, ... ' (SVO)
[Bloomfield 1930, p. 10]

(4) owi·ce·wa·kanah miskawe·w awa ne.hiyaw.

his companion obv find this Cree
'That Cree found his companions.' (OVS)
[Bloomfield 1934, p. 34]

(5) ki·tahtawe· iskwe·w otawa·simisah wi·ce.we.w,

presently woman her child obv accompany

e·h=na·tahkik mi·nisah.
fetch berries
'Once a woman went with her children, to get berries.' (SOV)
[Bloomfield 1934, p. 158]

(6) pc·yak [awa iskwe.w] nayo·me·w

one [this woman] take on back
'the woman took one on her back' (OSV) 1

[Bloomfield 1934, p. 258]

This introductory chapter presents some background information on the Cree language
itself, on the data used here, and on its transcription. The second section provides an
overview of material to be covered in later chapters.

1. Background on Cree

Cree is an Algonquian language spoken across a large area of Canada, ranging from the
Rocky Mountains in the west to James Bay in the east, encompassing the central portions of
Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba, northern Ontario, and northwestern Quebec. There
are also some Cree speakers in the United States, mostly at Rocky Boy's reservation in

1 OSV is the rarest of the six possibilities; another example is in chapter 3, example (58). See
chapter 3, section 1 for more discussion of word order.
 Background on Cree 3

Montana. Plains Cree, spoken primarily in central Saskatchewan and in Alberta, is one of
five dialects. The major feature distinguishing the various dialects is the reflex of Proto-
Algonquian *1: in Plains Cree, PA *1 corresponds to y, as in PA *mi·le·wa 'he gives it to
him' (Bloomfield 1946, item no. 81), Plains Cree mi·ye·w. The following set of forms for 'no,
not' illustrates the reflexes of PA *1 in the Cree dialects.
(7) Plains Cree namo·ya 'no, not'
Swampy Cree namo·na
Moose Cree namo·la
Woods Cree namo.6a 2

Atikamek Cree 3 namo·ra

Ellis 1973 estimated the total number of Cree speakers to be 55,000, with 24,000 speak-
ing Swampy Cree and 21,000 Plains Cree. A more recent figure comes from the 1981 Cana-
dian census, where about 66,000 respondents identified Cree as the language they first learned
and still understand (Burnaby 1986, p. 56).
The data used in this dissertation is all from the Plains dialect of Cree. Where possible,
textual examples are given to illustrate a point; however, when a syntactic argument requires
the negative data of ungrammatical sentences, or when a textual example is not at hand,
the textual examples have been supplemented with elicited sentences. The elicited sentences
come from fieldwork in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan during the summer of 1985, and from
fieldwork with Cree speakers residing in California, in 1984 and 1985. The textual examples
are mostly taken from Bloomfield's two published volumes of texts (Bloomfield 1930, 1934);
a few are drawn from texts collected in Saskatoon, and from Ahenakew 1987b.

2 fJ is a voiced interdental fricative.

3 Also known as Tete-a.-Boule Cree (Pentland 1979, p. 53).
4 Chapter 1: Introduction
Plains Cree has a simple phonemic inventory:

(7) P t c k i i
1·

s h e· o o·

In n a a·
w y

The stop series is voiceless unaspirated; t is alveolar. c is an affricate varying from

alveolar to alveo-palatal; s similarly shows some va.riation from alveolar to alveo-palatal.
Vowel length is distinctive. It is sometimes convenient to distinguish two underlying sources
of i: li/ and le/, as well as two underlying sources of t: /t/ and /B/. This allows certain
morphophonemic alternations to be easily represented, as discussed in chapter 2, section 2.5.
IIowever, /el and /BI are never written in the Cree orthography.
Examples from my fieldnotes are given in the standard orthography developed for Cree,
except that vowel length is indicated by a following raised dot, rather than by a macron or
circumflex over the vowel, and certain preverbs have been set off by an equals sign, rather
than by a hyphen, for reasons explained in chapter 2, section 2.2.2. (For a discussion of
the standard orthography, see Wolfart and Ahenakew 1987.) The transcription used by
Bloomfield (1930, 1934) differs from the standard orthography in a number of ways, and the
examples taken from Bloomfield's texts have been changed in some orthographic respects.
As above, vowel length is indicated by a following raised dot. Bloomfield's u is here written
0, his ii is here e·, and his ts is here c. These are not the only places in which the transcription
used by Bloomfield differs from current orthographic practice. He also wrote word-final h,
which is not phonemic, and indicated some instances of syncope of short vowels, external
sandhi, and variation in vowel length. These features of Bloomfield's transcriptions, while
not standard, have been retained in the examples cited here. I have added interlinear glosses,
while maintaining (in most cases) Bloomfield's English translations.
The syntactic investigations reported here have been greatly aided by previous analyses
of Cree morphology: most of all by Wolfart 1973. Chapter 2 presents a lengthy discussion of
inflection, as a necessary preliminary to what follows, but the discussion here is more limited
in scope than that given by Wolfart. For details on the less common verbal paradigms, as
well as an overview of the varieties of Cree word formation, the reader is referred to this
 Overview of following chapters 5

excellent study. The summary of inflection given in chapter 2 is also less complete than the
presentation found in Ahenakew 1987a, 4 a clear and detailed discussion of noun and verb
classes, basic paradigms, and morphophonemic alternations. For readers unfamiliar with
Algonquian languages, Ahenakew 1987a is the more accessible description. Other resources
on Cree include the dictionaries of Lacombe 1874 and Faries 1938, and the wordlist of
Bloomfield 1984.

2. Overview of following chapters

Chapter 2 describes inflection, especially the complex system of verb inflection. i\s will
be seen in chapter 5, the inflectional features associated with the verb serve to link the
arguments of the verb to the proper grammatical functions. The marking of these features
on the verb, however, is accomplished in a rather unusual manner. Most of the affixes
encoding person and number features are not specialized for subject or object, nor are the
affix positions themselves dedicated to encoding information about a particular grammatical
function. Rather, special suffixes on transitive verbs link the person and number features of
the other inflectional affixes to subject and object.
Transitive verbs may be divided into two sets, called direct and inverse, based upon the
particular suffix used to perform the linking of features with grammatical functions. Inverse
verbs with obviative third person subjects and proximate third person objects display a
discourse functional similarity to passives in other languages. Syntactically, however, the
direct and inverse verbs are both active. Chapter 3 presents the syntactic analysis of the
direct and inverse forms, contrasting them with the genuine passive of Cree. The chapter also
contains a discussion of constructions which may be used as tests for grammatical relations
in Cree.
Obviation is taken up in chapter 4. Obviative third persons receive special marking,
while the proximate third person is expressed by unmarked third person forms. Within a
fairly narrow syntactic domain, obviation is obligatory. That is, if there are two or more
third persons within a certain syntactic context, all but one must be marked obviative.
Obviation is optional outside this syntactic context, and is used in narratives for various

4 Ahenakew 1987a is the published version of Ahenakew 1984.

6 Chapter 1: Introduction
stylistic purposes. Chapter 4 outlines the syntactic conditions affecting obviation, and also
discusses some of its optional uses. The discussion of the uses of obviation examines in depth
the patterns found in a single text. This text, taken from Bloomfield 1934, is given in full
as an appendix to this volume.
Cha.pter 5 examines the inventory of grammatical functions which verbs subcategorize
for in Cree: subjects~ objects, second objects, obliques, sentential complements, and sec-
ondary predicates. Depending on the grammatical function, sub categorization requirements
Inay be satisfied by a separate word, by a morpheme within a complex word, or by the
inflection on the verb. This chapter also discusses lexical processes that increase or decrease
valence. The lexical entries and syntactic lexical rules are presented in the framework of
Lexical Functional Grammar (Bresnan 1982b), along with an introduction to LFG concepts
and terminology.
1'he advantage of the Lexical-Functional Grammar framework for describing a non-
configurational language is that it represents grammatical relations at a level of functional
structure, not at the level of constituent structure. Cree constituent structure displays no
characteristic distinguishing subjects from objects. As seen in the examples given at the
beginning of the chapter, all varieties of word order are possible for lexical subjects and
objects. There is no evidence for a VP node in Cree; the clause structure for (1), for
cxarnple, would be the following:

(8)

v NP NP

na·te·w awa iskwe·w o· h1· kas k·Ite·wastImwa

.

fetch 3-obv this woman this black horse-obv

As a result of this flat structure, weak crossover constructions are grammatical in Cree (see
chapter 4, section 1, and Dahlstrom 1986).
 Overview of following chapters 7

There is also no evidence for an underlying level of constituent structure distinct from
surface structure: there are no movement rules, and no evidence of gaps. Relative clauses,
for example, are internally headed, as can be seen in the following examples (the head is in
boldface).

(9) pa·h-pi·htokata.wak o·ki iskwe·wak

redup-bring in 3p-inan these woman pI

[o.hi ne·hiyawa ke.kway e.h:=:pe.h-miyikocik]

this.obv Cree obv thing hi ther-give abv-3p

'these womeni brought in the things which the Creej had given themi
when theYi came.'
[Bloomfield 1934, p. 118]

(10) e·kosi kotak awa,

so other this

[osi.mah ow oskini·kiw ka.:=:nipahimiht],

his y.bro. obv this young man kill passive/obv
'Then this other one,
the young man whose younger brother had been killed,'
[Bloomfield 1934, p. 98J

In (10), for example, ow oskini·kiw 'this young man' occurs neither on the left or right
periphery of the relative clause, but is instead between two constituents of the lower clause:
8 Chapter 1: Introduction

(11 )

NP

NP

NP v

NP NP
.1 h I
OSl·ma ow oskini·kiw ka.=nipahimiht
his y. bro.-obv this young man kill passive/obv

In (11), ow oskini·kw, 'this young man' is the possessor of osi·mah, 'his younger brother'.
Together they form an NP which is subject of the passive verb in the relative clause.

Chapter 5 describes only a few of the lexical processes which have syntactic conse-
quences, and in general, the material presented here is far from being a complete survey
of the morphosyntax of Cree. Rather, this dissertation is intended to provide a basis for
continuing research. The discussion begins in the next chapter, with the survey of inflection.
 Chapter 2

Inflection

Cree is mostly head-marking in the sense of Nichols 1986. The grammatical functions of
subject and object are marked on the verb, rather than by case endings on NPs. Possession
is indicated on the possessed noun; contrast the dependent-marking strategy of German or
Russian (or English '8) where it is the possessor that receives marking, with genitive case.
The inflectional system of any Algonquian language merits a book-length study of its
own; for Cree, Wolfart 1973 gives a fuller account of inflection than what is presented in
this chapter. The present analysis differs in a few details from that given by Wolfart; these
differences are listed in the final section of this chapter.
Although the inflectional system has been described else\vhere, it is necessary to include
a description of basic paradigms here to make the examples in later chapters comprehensible.
However, it is probably not necessary to read all of the material in this chapter at the outset.
For now, the reader may \vish to read only the general discussions of inflection found in
sections 1 and 2, and then skip ahead to chapter 3. All examples in subsequent chapters
are glossed for the categories inflected for on verbs and nouns; all discussion of inflection is
accompanied by references back to the pertinent sections of this chapter.
The interlinear glosses of most examples in this book conform to the follo\ving conven-
tions: the stem of the Cree form, and the interlinear gloss of the stem, are given in roman
type. Inflectional affixes and their glosses are given in italics. For example:

(1) niwa.pama·wak 'I see them'

see 1-3p

In (1) the verb stem wa·pam- is glossed 'see'; the inflectional affixes ni- -a·wak indicate
action by a first person singular subject on a third person proximate plural object, in the
independent indicative paradigm. In examples such as (1) no attempt has been made to show
Another random document with
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much like to question him.”
Just then Longsword came aft with a serious look upon his face.
Saluting he said,
“Captain dear, there’s a ruction among the men, so there is.”
“What do you mean?” asked the officer quickly.
“I mean that they are growling among themselves like a pack of
sullen dogs for’ard, there. It shames me to say it, sir, but I fancy
that they have little stomach for the fight.”
The commander swept the deck of his ship with angry eye. The crew
stood in groups, sullen and lowering; Lieutenants Simpson and Hall
were upon the quarter-deck, and every action and word that they
uttered seemed to add to the growing feeling among the men.
“This vessel is no match for a well set up frigate,” said Simpson, in a
voice that carried to the ears of his captain. “We’ve come out after
prizes, and not to be slaughtered by the guns of men-of-war.”
“The Drake carries more weight of metal than we,” agreed Hall, “and
if I were in command of this ship I’d make a clean run for it. To wait
for this frigate is to wait for plenty of hard knocks, little credit and no
plunder.”
With a few swift steps John Paul Jones was at his side; there had
been a low murmur of approval from the seamen at these words of
their officers; and the commander’s eyes were stormy, and flashed
menacingly as they rested upon his lieutenants’ dogged faces.
“So, gentlemen,” said he in a voice like ice, “I find you still at your
old trick of demoralization, do I?”
“I don’t understand you, sir,” said Simpson drawing himself erect.
“Nor I, Captain Jones,” said Hall.
“Then allow me to make my meaning plain. Since this ship sailed
from Portsmouth you have been daily increasing in your
insubordination. Things have come to such a pass that it almost
seems necessary for me to consult you before issuing a command.”
“A good captain always consults his officers,” said Simpson with a
thinly-veiled sneer.
“In spite of the protestations which I offered that day on St. Mary’s
Isle, you plundered the home of a defenseless woman. I submitted
rather than risk a mutiny that would deprive my country of a
valuable vessel. But if you think that I will continue to submit, you
are very much mistaken.”
Simpson and Hall exchanged glances and smiled. The captain saw
this and his eyes flashed with a more dangerous light.
“You are inciting to mutiny in the face of the enemy,” said he, still in
the same cold, even voice. “And that is punishable by death.”
The two men started, and the smiles fled from their faces.
“I order you to your stations and expect you to carry out my orders
to the letter. At the slightest sign of disinclination upon your part to
do so, I’ll clap you in irons and take you to France for trial before the
commissioners. To your posts, gentlemen.”
The two officers, pale of face and furtive-eyed, went to their places
at the batteries as commanded. John Paul Jones followed them with
his eyes for a moment. Then he said to Wallingford, who had stood
by ready to support him in case of need,
“Mr. Wallingford, have the bos’en pipe all hands.”
The hoarse call rang through the ship and all the seamen stood at
attention. The commander spoke to them from his quarter-deck.
“Men of the Ranger,” he said, “on this cruise we have taken many
prizes and struck some good blows. We have made the British
government fear us as it never feared ship before. But they have
resolved to take us; they have said that we do not dare to stand and
fight their armed ships man to man and gun for gun. The world has
heard this, or at least that part of it which we care about; the young
republic of the west is waiting to hear of the deeds of the ships
which she sent to defy Britain in her own seas.”
There was a visible stirring among the men; for the greater part they
were mercenary mariners, men of many nations who had shipped
for the booty alone; but there were many Yankees among them, and
these felt the appeal of their chief.
“Shall it be said of us that the first vessel of equal strength which we
have met has daunted us?”
“No!” shouted a voice. And there was a murmur among the crew.
“Then I call upon you to help me fight this ship,” cried the captain, in
ringing tones. “Stand to your guns manfully, and I promise, in one
hour, to give you victory.”
A cheer swelled up and broke into a frantic hurrah; then with a wave
of the hand the chief dismissed them to their stations.
“They will fight now,” remarked Ethan to Longsword.
“They will, faith,” said the Irish dragoon. “And it’s little chance of
defeat we have if they do their best, for there are some useful lads
among them, Master Ethan.”
John Paul Jones now stood out to sea and drew his foe as far away
from shore as possible.
“In case he is defeated,” said the commander to Ethan, “Burdon
might escape back into the harbor if we fought too far in shore.”
“Look at the yachts coming out with her,” said the young American
who had watched every movement of the Englishman.
Paul Jones laughed.
“They desire to be eye-witnesses of an English victory, doubtless. It
is a pity to dash their hopes, but I’m afraid that we will be forced to
do so.”
When at last the British frigate had come within easy distance, she
hailed.
“What vessel is that?” demanded Captain Burdon.
“The Ranger, Paul Jones, commander. We are waiting for you, so
strip for the fight.”
As he spoke the American captain gave a signal and the stars and
stripes shot up to the masthead; then the helm was suddenly
thrown up and the Ranger darted across the bows of the British
vessel and poured a raking broadside into her. The captain of the
Drake tried to bring the frigate across the Ranger’s stern, but Paul
Jones prevented this; the two ships were now yard arm to yard arm
and poured a terrific fire into each other’s rigging and hulls.
Ethan Carlyle, whose ability as a gunner had been discovered by
Captain Jones long before, had charge of a six pounder in the bow.
He and Longsword, stripped to the waists, and all begrimed with
powder smoke, served this piece with deadly effect.
In the heat of the battle the gallant young Lieutenant Wallingford
rushed up to Ethan.
“Captain Jones desires you to try for her forerigging,” panted he. “If
we can cripple her badly aloft we’ll make her strike.”
Longsword had just rammed a charge into the gun, and Ethan
sighted it coolly. A rain of musket shots was being poured into them
by the soldier volunteers upon the Drake; but the young gunner paid
no heed to this. Applying the match the gun roared redly; the
foretop-gallant yard of the British ship splintered and hung down the
mast in a tangle of rigging.
“Hurrah,” yelled Longsword. “A fine shot, faith!”
“And placed in the right spot,” said Wallingford. Almost as the words
left his mouth, this brave young officer uttered a smothered groan,
clasped both hands to his breast and sank into the arms of the Irish
dragoon.
“Is he hit?” cried Ethan, anxiously, springing forward. “Is he badly
wounded?”
“He have his death, sir,” replied Longsword solemnly. “It’s a musket-
ball, and from the spot it struck, it split the boy’s brave heart.”
As he spoke the grim Irishman tenderly lowered the still, white form
to the deck; then in silence, and with set, hard faces, he and Ethan
Carlyle once more turned to the serving of the gun.
At length the Drake was little more than a wreck; her rigging and
yards were a wilderness of broken spars and ropes; her canvas was
in shreds and two flags had been shot away. Half her guns were
dismounted and out of action, and forty of her crew were killed or
disabled when at last she struck.
Ethan was with Captain Jones when he boarded the prize; when the
prisoners were lined up for inspection they were bitterly
disappointed to find that the Lascar was not among them. While
Captain Jones was giving his attention to the repairing of the worst
damages and the care of the wounded Ethan questioned the
boatswain’s mate of the defeated ship.
“A blackamoor, eh,” said the man, thoughtfully. “Now let me see! Oh,
yes! I remember. He was taken on board when we stopped in the
harbor near St. Mary’s Isle not so long ago. We kept him safely
guarded and ironed, sir, for it was said that he was an important
prisoner; but on our second day at Carrickfergus he gave us the slip,
somehow, and none of us have seen anything of him since.”
 CHAPTER XVII
THE SECRET AGENT ONCE MORE

Lieutenant Simpson, as first officer of the Ranger, was placed in

command of the Drake, and that vessel was taken in tow and the
American man-of-war sailed in quest of more prizes along the Irish
coast and then toward Brest.
Sighting a sail, one day, Captain Jones cut the Drake loose after
instructing his first officer to make the best of his way into Brest. But
Simpson, true to his instincts, changed his course to southward and
Paul Jones was compelled to give up the pursuit of several promising
prizes in order that he might come up with the captured frigate.
Incensed beyond measure by the insolence of Simpson, he placed
the man under arrest, and the command of the Drake was given to
Lieutenant Hall, who finally took her into port.
When they reached France once more they discovered that a treaty
of alliance between the colonies and that kingdom had been signed.
The American ministers had been received at the French court; the
French ambassador had left London, and the English envoy, Lord
Stormont, had departed from France. War was on between these
two great European powers, and in the heat of that great struggle
the colonies at last had a chance to be free.
Once again Paul Jones, Ethan Carlyle and Longsword rode to Paris to
consult with Dr. Franklin. They were warmly greeted by the sage,
and he listened to their experiences with interest and appreciation.
“Captain Jones,” he said at the conclusion, “there is nothing in the
gift of your country too great for your deserving. In the name of the
colonies, I thank you.”
“I suppose,” remarked Ethan, after a time, “that the lost dispatch is
now valueless, seeing that the alliance has already been
accomplished.”
“On the contrary,” said Dr. Franklin, “it is now more important that it
should be recovered than ever. I have communicated with Congress,
and a duplicate of the dispatch has been sent me; it was by means
of its contents that this treaty has been effected. But were the facts
contained in the dispatch to come, even now, under the eyes of Lord
North, such pressure would be brought upon France that she would
drop all connection with us at once and again make a peace with
England. Indeed, the fact that the information is in the way of being
discovered, were the French aware of it, might be fatal. The dispatch
must be recovered at all hazards.”
As they sat in their lodgings that night Ethan told Longsword of this:
and the Irish dragoon wrinkled his brow and looked infinitely wise.
“Politics,” remarked he, sagely, “is a great thing, faith. Sure the
statesmen are always burrowing under the ground and cutting it
away from beneath each others’ feet. It wouldn’t surprise me if the
loss of this dispatch should bring about the recall of the French
fleets that have sailed for America, and the ruin of the hopes for
liberty.”
“Don’t say that, Longsword,” said Ethan, a pained look in his eyes. “I
hate to even think of such a thing.”
“If we could only come upon the bla’guard Lascar we might gain
something by it. Oh, but it’s him that’s the fox; sure nobody can hold
him, it seems.”
“The fact that the Earl of Selkirk went away upon a journey soon
after his interview with the Lascar troubles me,” said Ethan. “It looks
as though he had learned something of the paper and had set out to
try to gain possession of it.”
“True for ye, and it seems to me that Paris, somehow, is the place
he would come for it.”
“Paris! And why?”
“Sure, I don’t know. But it presents itself to me that way, Master
Ethan.”
“Perhaps you may be right. This man Fochard is here, and it would
not be at all surprising if he knew something of the matter.”
“Suppose,” suggested Longsword after a pause, “that we pay a visit
to this gentleman in the Rue Constantine?”
“An excellent idea,” cried Ethan. “And we will put it into operation at
once.”
They put on their heaviest clothing, for the night was a cold one in
February, and set forth. The hard frosty ground rang beneath their
feet as they trudged along the rather gloomy streets. Turning into
the Rue Constantine they had no trouble in finding the house of M.
Fochard. The same little man in the spectacles and with the shining
bald head opened the door upon the chain and looked out at them.
Recognizing them at a single glance he cried:
“Oh, you rogues, so you have returned. A very nice trick that was to
play upon an old clerk, was it not? Shame! I almost lost my place
because of you. But you will not fool me again, no, no!”
“Is M. Fochard within?” asked Ethan.
“He is not, and would not see you if he were! You are rogues,
monsieurs; and we have nothing to do with such here!” And with
that, he clapped the door in their faces and left them standing in the
darkness and cold.
“The old fellow seems angry,” chuckled Longsword. “I suppose his
employer hauled him over the coals for letting us in that night.”
“There is no use in our trying again to-night at any rate,” said Ethan.
“Are you cold, Shamus?” he continued after they had turned away
and retraced their steps along the Rue Constantine.
“I am, faith!” answered the Irish soldier.
“There is a bright, clean looking coffee house across the way.
Suppose we step in and take the chill off with some coffee and a
little snack—say a buttered roll or something of that sort.”
“A very thoughtful suggestion. Sure, nothing would please me
better.”
They crossed the street and entered the coffee house. Each had a
cutlass hanging from his belt, and their foreign air at once attracted
the attention of the people in the place. But they sought out a small
table at the far end of the room and seating themselves quietly
ordered and sipped their coffee and nibbled at the white rolls that
were brought with it.
“A very respectable looking place,” said Longsword as his eyes roved
about, examining its patrons.
“Yes,” answered Ethan. “And the coffee is excellent.”
As they talked in low tones upon various topics, the door opened
and three men entered the room. One of them was queerly huddled
up in a huge cloak; the others were lowering looking fellows,
apparently of the class of cut-purses or bravos which infested the
city at that time. They took seats at a side table near the door.
“There are three bla’guards, or I never saw any,” declared
Longsword to Ethan as he looked at the newcomers. “Sure and ye
can see villainy written all over them.”
“They are not very prepossessing looking persons at all events,”
admitted Ethan. He went on sipping his coffee for a time and then
leaning toward his companion he said in a low tone, “They are
watching us.”
“No!” exclaimed Longsword, glaring at the trio.
“Don’t stare so at them. Yes; it’s true. The man in the cloak seems
to be some one in authority; he pointed us out as soon as they came
in; they have been furtively eyeing us ever since.”
“I wonder why?” said Longsword, puzzled.
“I couldn’t say. Perhaps because we are Americans. I’ve noticed that
that causes the French people to stare always, as we pass along the
street.”
The young American and his companion watched the three closely
while pretending to inspect the room. The conversation of the men
was carried on in a very low tone; their gestures were guarded; their
whole manner was secret; and while they ate sparingly of the food
placed before them they never took their eyes, so it seemed, from
Ethan and Longsword. While deep in the observation of all this
Ethan was surprised to hear a quiet voice say, almost in his ear:
“Our friends by the door seem like most peculiar people.”
Ethan turned quickly, for the voice had a strangely familiar sound;
and to his great astonishment he found himself looking into the
smiling face of Monsieur Fochard. Longsword was equally
astonished; the language was French and so of course he did not
understand what the man said; but he recognized the features of
the secret agent instantly. The man saw this and smiled and nodded.
“I had not thought,” said he to Ethan, “to see you again so soon. I
fancied, monsieur, that you would be at St. Mary’s Isle, awaiting the
coming of Siki, the Lascar.”
Ethan fancied that he detected a chuckle in the man’s voice—a
chuckle of intense satisfaction. But he made no reply and the agent
went on:
“I forgive you for the deception which you allowed me to practice
upon myself that night when you came to my house. It was a clever
ruse, monsieur, and most remarkable for a boy of your years. My
best man could scarcely excel it.”
Ethan laughed.
“You do me too much honor, M. Fochard. It was chance that took me
to your house, and chance that carried the matter on.”
“Very modest—very commendable,” said the other with a wave of his
hand. “But I prefer to believe that it was a set plan; it would not do
for Fochard to admit that he was outwitted by blind chance.”
He had been sitting sipping his black coffee at a table directly
behind; now he dragged his chair forward to theirs and sat twirling
the heavy seals upon his watch-guard. He spent a few moments in
silent contemplation of both; then he asked:
“Would it be too much if I inquired how you learned that Siki had
returned to Paris?”
“I did not know that he had,” returned Ethan.
The secret agent regarded him with a smile.
“My dear fellow,” said he stretching his trim silk stockinged legs
beneath the table, “how can you say that when the man sits before
you?”
As he spoke he made a gesture toward the three men at the door;
Ethan glanced at the man in the cloak; he caught sight of a dark,
long-fingered subtle looking hand which was thrust from beneath it.
It was true; this man must be the Lascar.
“You must not think to deceive me again, young gentleman,” said
Fochard. He rearranged his elaborate shirt frill and the huge ruffles
of lace which he wore at his wrists, and smiled. “There sits Siki,
bravely before us,” he continued. “But tell me what you think of the
other two.”
“They look to me like rascals,” answered Ethan, promptly.
“Ah!” and the secret agent seemed greatly interested. “You have
studied physiognomy then.”
But Ethan shook his head.
“Ah! that is a pity! The study of the human countenance is a great
and vital thing; all men, especially those engaged in duties that
bring them into contact with the motives and secret doings of other
men should study this grand science.”
He seemed to be upon a subject which interested him greatly, and
continued:
“By it we are forearmed, safeguarded. We at once know the
tendencies of strangers, and so it saves us many disasters in our
affairs; for those whom this philosophy warns us against we do not
trust.”
“I suppose not,” answered Ethan, vaguely.
“It is a matter of great ease,” went on the man, crossing his silk
stockinged legs and smoothing his ruffles with one many-ringed
hand, “to discover the tendencies of our friends there at the door, for
they carry their vocations plainly writ upon their faces. Note the
leaner of the two Frenchmen—the pointed and protruding jaw, the
outstanding ears, the eyes set close together, the low brow, the nose
slightly hooked. It is a countenance whose message is unmistakable.
To one who knows it cries out ceaselessly—beware, beware!”
Ethan nodded; science or no science he knew that the stranger
spoke the truth.
“The other face,” continued Fochard, “is of a decidedly lower type.
Note the huge jaw, the small round head set upon the great torso,
with scarcely the sign of a neck. This is a common sort of ruffian—
one who will make much noise about his wrong-doing and be easily
caught.”
Ethan looked at the secret agent curiously; somehow he had the
impression that the man’s talk was for the purpose of gaining time;
also that he desired the three at the table near the door to see
them, apparently, earnestly engaged together. Drawing a large silver
snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket Fochard took a dainty pinch and
then offered it to Ethan and Longsword in turn. Upon their refusing
he smiled and delicately applied the snuff to his nostrils; then he
dusted the fallen grains from his clothing and put the box away.
“I think,” said Ethan, “that you must have encountered these men
before to know their characteristics so well. A single glance at the
face does not tell so much.”
The Frenchman gestured his admiration of this remark, and his
jeweled hands sparkled in the candle-light.
“You Americans are keen and most practical,” he said. “And for that
reason,” he went on, bending toward Ethan, “I am going to do
something for you to-night which will surprise you much—and out of
sheer admiration of your nation.”
“Indeed.”
“I have here a ring,” and Fochard drew from his finger a sparkling
circlet and held it up so that the light would fall upon it. “I am going
to give it to you.”
He noted the lad’s look of surprise, and added with a smile:
“It is not because of the ring itself—oh, no. But the person who
stands, with this ring upon the third finger of his right hand and with
the hand held so, at the great gate of Versailles at ten in the
morning, will receive—a packet. Do you understand?”
“A packet,” Ethan shot a keen glance at the man.
“Exactly—a packet sealed with great splotches of red wax.”
“Ah!” The boy drew in a deep breath, and his eyes narrowed and
began to burn.
“Ten thousand pounds is a great sum,” and Fochard shrugged his fat
shoulders. “But I am a Frenchman, and all Frenchmen love the
Americans. For this reason I forego all hope of the profit that a great
labor should bring me.” He grasped Ethan by the right wrist and
placed the ring upon his finger. As he did so the men at the far table
quietly arose and drew nearer, seating themselves at another table.
Their watchful eyes never lost a movement of Fochard’s or Ethan’s;
their heads were bent in an effort to hear what was being said.
“So,” said Fochard, in a low tone, “that is done, monsieur, and I am
pleased.”
“Is this packet,” demanded Ethan eagerly, “what I suppose it is?”
“It is,” replied Fochard in a somewhat louder tone. “But guard the
ring carefully; for it alone will bring you what you desire.”
And once more he repeated his instructions to the boy. The three
listening men drank in his words eagerly, and when he had finished
they paid their score and went out.
“They overheard what you said,” spoke Ethan.
“I know it,” smiled Fochard. “Since the time when I caught the
Lascar in his attempt to leave France with the dispatch, he has been
hounding me.”
“But,” said Ethan, “if you secured it from him why did he go to St.
Mary’s Isle to see the Earl of Selkirk?”
“To induce that gentleman to purchase the paper. But now that the
time has come, I’d rather see liberty result than my own enrichment.
If the American government should see its way clear to rewarding
me, why, well and good, if not it will not matter much. This
resolution has angered the Lascar, for he hoped to share in the
English gold.”
“I see,” said Ethan. “But Danvers did not know of this compact
between you.”
“Indeed no,” smiled Fochard. “I gave him to understand that Siki
was safely out of France with the papers and—ahem—that you
assisted him.”
“So he said,” replied the young American.
“And now,” said Fochard, arising, “I will be going. You will not fail to
bring these matters to the attention of Dr. Franklin at once, I trust.
As things are,” with a most expressive wave of the hand, “I cannot
act for myself. It would be misconstrued—for it is generally supposed
that Fochard works only for pay. Good-evening.”
He bowed to both Ethan and Longsword, then walked gravely
through the lines of small tables and departed. Ethan at once
informed Longsword of all that had been said; and the latter shook
his head, the grim expression of his face increasing.
“I don’t like it,” declared the Irishman, decidedly. “And I don’t trust
the man.”
“But it seems possible,” protested Ethan. “The French are almost
mad with admiration of the Americans just now, and a man may do
such a thing in his enthusiasm for a cause.”
“But not a man like that, faith! He’s as cold blooded as a fish. He has
some sort of a plot behind all this, mark my words.”
“But what can it be?” asked the lad.
The dragoon shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he answered.
“But time will tell, I think.”
They left the coffee house; and as they stepped into the shadows of
the Rue Constantine, Ethan noticed his companion pull his scabbard
about so that his cutlass would be ready at his hand.
“What’s that for?” he asked, in surprise.
“It’s always good to have your blade handy on a dark night,” said
Longsword, briefly.
Ethan made no reply, and so they continued on their way in silence
for a time. Finally the lad spoke.
“I suppose it would have been better had we given an alarm and
had the Lascar seized by the authorities,” said he.
“And have the whole matter of the dispatch come out,” cried the
Irish soldier. “That would never do. Remember what Dr. Franklin
said.”
The way to their lodgings was narrow and dark; the hour was still
fairly early, but there were very few people abroad. As they
proceeded along at a smart pace they caught a short, sharp whistle
from directly ahead; and immediately it was repeated from behind.
Longsword grasped the lad’s arm tightly.
“It sounded very much like a signal of some sort,” said Ethan coolly.
He cast a long look into the darkness as he spoke; a shadow seemed
to move silently away and melt into the murk; the soft patter of
guarded footsteps fell upon their ears, and then all was still.
“We are being followed,” breathed Longsword, his strong hand upon
the hilt of his hanger. “And it’s all because of that rascal Fochard, I’ll
be bound.”
“Perhaps,” said Ethan soberly.
Once more they started on their way; all was soundless save for the
ring of their own footsteps upon the flags; but suddenly they turned
a sharp corner, and caught sight of another skulking shadow flitting
before them in the gloom; and as they paused, the patter of muffled
feet fell softly behind them.
“We are in for it,” said Ethan Carlyle, as he quietly plucked his
cutlass from its scabbard. “I wonder how many there are of them.”
“Let them come from the front and it makes no differ,” said
Longsword, blade in hand. “Faith, Master Ethan, it’s meself that
loves a bit of a fight now and then, but I like a little daylight along
wid it by choice.”
Ethan drew the dragoon into an open archway, and here they
awaited developments. A number of dark figures stole through the
shadows and gathered directly opposite.
“There they are, beneath the arch,” Ethan heard a voice say in
French. “Now then, men, upon them in a body. I must have that
ring.”
The voice was that of the Lascar; Ethan recognized its thin tones at
once. As the man spoke there came the clear bold ring of advancing
footsteps upon the frosty ground.
“There is some one coming,” said a second voice.
“Make haste!” cried the Lascar, “or we will be too late!”
A quick rush of feet followed this.
“Strike hard!” breathed Longsword through his set teeth. His cutlass
swung through the air with a “swish” and the foremost man fell back
with a howl of agony. Ethan’s blade hissed downward in a favorite
stroke and another of the party was out of the fight with a slash
across the shoulder. But the remainder closed in. They were armed
with swords, knives and heavy bludgeons; but the deftly played
cutlasses of the two master swordsmen seemed to threaten all at
once, and though the ruffians struck madly and often, the sharp
points were ever in their faces, and the keen edges slashed and bit
at them with fury.
A pistol shot rang out sharply. Ethan felt a sudden scorching line run
across his forehead; then a gush of blood almost blinded him.
“I’m hit,” he said to Longsword, as he strove to dash the blood from
his eyes.
This seemed to turn the grim Irelander into a demon. Ethan, dazed
by the shot, had sunk upon one knee; the dragoon stood over him
playing his weapon with the speed of light and the rage of a
Berserker. But even his great skill and matchless endurance would
not have served to beat the crowd of ruffians off; they were closing
about him in a circle and about beating him down when a sudden
gleam of light shot into the archway, and a stern voice called:
“What, you rascals! At them, men.”
Ethan’s dazed eyes caught one glimpse of the evil faces as the rays
of a flaring torch lit them up. The circle broke at once and the men
turned swiftly; the next instant they were fighting frantically against
a new sword and a brace of heavy clubs in the hands of two stout
porters.
With a gasp of delight Ethan saw that the new swordsman was Paul
Jones; then all grew suddenly dark, and he pitched forward and fell
upon his face.
 CHAPTER XVIII
THE ROAD TO BREST

The wound in Ethan Carlyle’s head was not a very severe one; so
next day he was about, looking a trifle pale, and with a bandage
about his brow, but almost as well as ever.
When he came down from his room he found Longsword awaiting
him.
“How are ye?” asked the dragoon anxiously.
“Just a little hazy in the head,” answered Ethan, “but that will pass in
a few hours.”
“Could ye stand a bit of news if it were broken to ye gently?”
“I think so.”
“Well, among those who were wounded in the fight last night was
Siki.”
“Ah!”
“We have him here. We carried him on the same litter as yourself.
He is willing to talk, so the captain says. They are only waiting for
you.”
“Take me to him.”
Longsword promptly led the way into a room off that of Captain
Jones’. They found that officer sitting at a table engaged in some
correspondence; upon a couch was the lean form of the Lascar; his
dark face was drawn with pain and his eyes roved about restlessly.
Captain Jones sprang up as Ethan and the dragoon entered.
“I’m delighted,” he said, grasping the lad’s hand. “You seemed to be
resting so easily during the night, though, that I felt sure you would
be all right by morning.”
“Thank you,” said Ethan. Then nodding toward the Lascar he
continued, “And so we took a prisoner?”
“Yes,” smiled the officer, “and rather an important one, too; he will
tell you many things that will surprise you.”
Siki raised himself upon one elbow and broke in.
“But, what will be the good if you don’t act? You must hurry. The
dispatch will be in England in two days if the wind is good.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ethan.
“I mean that Fochard is even now preparing to cross the channel to
deliver the papers to Danvers.”
The man spoke English now; and upon hearing his words Longsword
asked quickly:
“Why did ye attack us last night?”
“To get the ring. It was not until I was brought here that I saw what
a cunning trick that rascal played upon me. He had the dispatch in
his pocket; he feared that we meant to attack him; so he planned
this thing of the ring on the moment, and so threw me off the right
track. While my men and I were following you, he was, maybe, on
the way to Brest.”
“Just as I thought, sure!” exclaimed Longsword. “He used us as
decoys to draw off the hounds when they were closing in on
himself.”
“What a ready rascal,” cried Ethan, forced to admiration of the man’s
wit. Then turning to the Lascar he continued:
“You are sure he had the dispatch?”
“I am. He took it from me at Nantes as I was about to leave the
country some time ago.”
“Did he send you to the Earl of Selkirk?”
“He did. He promised me a share if the earl would buy the papers
for the crown.”
“Why did he not deal with the English government himself?”
“The war has made him afraid. He wanted a go-between. But when
I returned I found that he was playing me false. He is to take ship at
Brest and meet Danvers at Plymouth with the dispatch. Fochard is to
get the ten thousand pounds, and Danvers is to get all the credit.”
“It would seem,” said Captain Jones, “that this man has but one
object in view—and that is his own profit. He keeps faith with no
one.”
“No,” cried the Lascar, clinching his fist and setting his strong white
teeth, “he plays false with all—with you, with Danvers—with me. But
I will be revenged! If you start in pursuit at once you will overtake
him on the way to Brest or on the sea; and the dispatch will be your
own once more.”
They talked for some little time, then the three went into another
room and consulted.
“I cannot leave Paris at this time,” said the captain, “but as the man
seems to be speaking the truth, now, you two might act upon his
suggestion. A couple of fast horses would take you to Brest in little
time, and you may be able to prevent the man’s escape.”
“But should he reach Brest before us—if he gets to sea—we cannot
follow him.”
Captain Jones drew out a wallet and took from it a number of French
bills of exchange.
“This,” said he, “will secure a vessel. If it is not sufficient say that I
will make up the balance.”
Ethan hesitated, but at length took the bills, and shook the officer by
the hand.
“This is generous of you; and you may depend upon me to do my
best,” he said.
Within an hour himself and Longsword were in the saddle and riding
along the road toward Brest.
“Like as not he took a carriage,” said the dragoon: “these well-fed
gentlemen like Monsieur Fochard don’t care much about riding.”
“Perhaps the story told us by the Lascar is not true,” suggested
Ethan, who still felt most doubtful upon this point.
“Maybe not. But it won’t be long before we satisfy ourselves upon
that point. We’ll not ride many miles before we know who is ahead
of us; innkeepers have good memories if they are paid for it.”
In this Longsword was right. They paused for food at a small
hostelry about noon, and Ethan questioned the landlord.
“A traveler? Oh, yes, monsieur, there have been many pass by to-
day and yesterday. You are trying to overtake a friend, I suppose? It
will be difficult, because all who went by seemed in a very great
hurry, and scarce had time to spend a sou even. But what sort of a
man is he whom you ride after? Stout? Ah! And with a great white
frill and many seals? I have him. He passed early this morning in a
carriage with postilions; and he drove very fast after he had had his
breakfast.”
This news made them increase the pace of their nags along the
road.
“He will probably get fresh horses at given points along the road,”
said Ethan, “so he will have that advantage of us.”
Their mounts were big-boned, lean beasts with plenty of bottom and
great willingness; the miles flowed by under their hoofs; but still no
indication of their overtaking the carriage of the secret agent. It was
late in the afternoon when they entered a long stretch of road
bordered by thick woods upon each side; the trees were tall and
bare of leaves; their frost-dry branches swung and rattled in the
wind. They had met no person or come upon no human habitation
for a long time; and now were astonished to hear a hearty, rollicking
sort of a voice roaring out:
“‘Oh, the French are on the sea,’ says the Shan Van Vogh;
‘The French are on the sea,’ says the Shan Van Vogh;
‘Oh, the French are in the bay, they’ll be here without delay,
And the Orange will decay,’ says the Shan Van Vogh.”
“Hurro,” cried Longsword in delight. “Faith, that’s a countryman of
my own, I’ll go bail.”
“There can be little doubt of that,” said Ethan smiling. “And a hearty,
joyful blade he must be, judging from his voice.”
Rounding a bend in the road they overtook a strongly built young
man with a great shock of yellow hair and the bluest of blue eyes;
he bestrode a tall gray horse; and with his head thrown back he
trolled forth his song.
“The top of the morning to you,” saluted Longsword.
The song was checked so suddenly that it seemed as though the
yellow haired young man had bitten it off short. He gazed at the
dragoon in astonishment.
“What’s that?” demanded he.
“The top of the morning to ye,” repeated Longsword, with a smile.
With a whoop of delight the stranger wheeled his gray horse
alongside the other and seized his hand in a powerful grip.
“An Irishman, be the hooky!” shouted he. “Faith, then, I’m as glad to
see ye as I would be to see me own mother, and I haven’t laid eyes
on her these many years.”
Longsword seemed equally pleased, and his hand grip was fully as
warm as that of the other.
“It was like a dream to hear the old Shan Van Vogh upon a lonely
French road, so far away from home,” he said. “And faith it warmed
the heart of me, so it did.”
They exchanged some remarks in the Erse tongue; then Longsword
turned to Ethan.
“This,” said he formally, “is Rory McHale, captain of the lugger, Erin,
now lying at Brest.” Then, speaking to McHale, he went on: “And this
is Mr. Ethan Carlyle, in the service of the Confederated Colonies of
America.”
The two thus introduced shook hands, and McHale said:
“Faith, sir, the tide have turned at last; ye’ll bate the English, so ye
will; for ye have the French with ye now, and that is all ye needed.”
“I trust that you are right,” said the lad. “England will now be forced
to divide her attention between the Colonies and France; and so our
chances will be increased.”
“Are ye riding to Brest, may I ask?” inquired the Irishman.
“We are,” answered Ethan.
“So am I; and if it’s not pushing meself for’ard too much I’ll be glad
to ride in your company, sir.”
“You are very welcome, Captain McHale. You are going to join your
vessel, I suppose.”
“I am. She is all ready for another cruise, and I’ve been to Paris to
see her owners and get instructions.”
“You are in the merchant service, then?”
“Not a bit of it. The Erin is a privateer, faith, and as smart a little
vessel as ever cut the water.”
“Ah, indeed.”
“She’s French built and Irish manned,” continued Captain McHale.
“And though I do say it meself, she’s done more damage to the
Saxon than any other craft of her tonnage that ever slipped out to
sea by the light of the stars.”
Longsword had been examining the young sailor carefully while he
talked to Ethan. Now he asked:
“Are ye of the west of Ireland, Captain McHale?”
“I am, sure,” answered the other.
“I thought so. When ye see an Irishman wid straw colored hair and
blue eyes he’s always a sailor. There’s some of the blood of the old
Vikings in ye all. King Brian beat the Danes at Clontarf, but he didn’t
drive them all out of the land. And if ye went back far enough,
McHale, I’ll go bail ye’d find your ancestors wid winged helmets on
the heads of them and beards a foot long.”
The yellow haired man laughed.
“Maybe so,” said he. “I’ll not be denying it.”
After they had ridden together for some minutes, Ethan asked:
“Have you seen anything of a carriage on the road, Captain
McHale?”
“I have. One passed me some hours ago. A fat Frenchman in it
demanded the road of me and flew into a rage because I would not
leap me horse into a ditch to accommodate him. He seemed to be in
a great hurry, so he did.”
“Our man,” said Ethan to Longsword.
“No doubt of it,” answered the dragoon.
The seaman looked from one to the other questioningly.
“Ye are wanting this gentleman, then?” asked he.
“We are,” said Longsword. “And we’re wanting him more than we
ever wanted anything in our lives before.”
“You may come up wid him.”
“It’s not likely, if he is hours ahead of us.”
“One of his horses had a limp; I think it had cast a shoe. This was
the real cause of the Frenchman’s anger, I think.” The speaker
looked from one to the other once more. “Does he know that ye are
after him, may I ask?”
“He may suspect. But he is not sure.”
“Well, he’s running no risks, faith, and is making the best of his time
on the road.”
Night came on and they put up at a quiet little place upon the edge
of the forest through which they had been passing.
“Yes,” replied the landlord to Ethan’s question, “a stout gentleman
passed in a carriage some time ago. He was very angry because I
had no horse to give him. One of his was lame, I think, and when he
drove off, he went at a very slow pace.”
“We’ll overtake him in the morning,” said Longsword in English. “If
his horse was as badly lamed as all that he’ll be forced to put up
before he reaches the next town where he can get relays.”
“We will be on the road by daylight,” said the young American. “If
our horses could stand it I’d be in favor of pressing on to-night.”
Next morning while the pale moon was still lighting up the snowy
countryside they were stirring; a quick breakfast and then they
climbed into their saddles and were off.
“I’m not so comfortable upon the quarter-deck of a horse as I am
upon the Erin,” said Captain McHale as they rode along.
“And it’s a long distance to Brest, so it is,” said Longsword.
The moon grew paler and the few stars disappeared before the
touch of dawn; some distance along the road they caught a gleam
of a fire.
“Some wayfarers who had not the money for a bed,” said Ethan. “It
must have been a cold night, indeed, in the open air.”
It was a matter of five or more miles from the inn; the fire seemed
to burn close by the roadside, and in the red glare a number of
people could be seen sitting beside it. Suddenly Ethan pulled up, and
uttered a smothered cry of surprise.
“Look,” said he. “There upon the other side of the road.”
They followed the direction of his outstretched finger, and saw a
carriage drawn up, with horses tied up by the bridles behind it.
“Fochard!” exclaimed Longsword exultantly.
“It can be no one else,” said Ethan.
“It’s the carriage that I spoke to ye of, I feel sure,” said Captain
McHale. “The lame horse must have broken down entirely at this
point.”
Ethan put his horse into a run and the others followed his example.
When they reached the fire they halted; and with his hand upon the
butt of a pistol, Ethan cried out:
“Stand forth, Monsieur Fochard. We have a small matter of business
with you.”
One of the men arose to his feet and touched his hat, tremblingly.
“We are postilions, sir, waiting for daylight. The brown horse, there,
cast a shoe and went lame. Monsieur Fochard took one of the other
horses and rode on to the next town in the night, as he could not
wait for us.”
“How far is it to the next town?” asked Ethan.
“About eight miles, monsieur.”
Ethan wheeled his horse into the middle of the road once more.
“Come on,” he called. “He may be delayed in getting a carriage. We
have a chance of overtaking him yet.”
And away they dashed, with loose reins, down the frosty road.
 CHAPTER XIX
HOW THE ERIN PUT TO SEA

However, they did not overtake him. Fochard had secured a fresh
equipage at the next town, and at once resumed his journey. “He
must be at least five hours ahead of us,” said Ethan, as they stood at
the heads of their panting horses after receiving this news.
“Yes,” agreed Longsword. “But Brest is still a long way off, and many
accidents may happen on the road.”
They mounted once more and set off. All day they heard reports
from hostlers and country people of the progress of the secret agent
toward the seaport. But they had not, apparently, gained upon him
in the least when night overtook them. Next morning they secured
fresh horses, as their own were stiff with the hard work of the two
preceding days; and then the chase was resumed. However, Fochard
traveled like the light; the housetops of Brest were in sight and still
they had not sighted him.
“There is small chance of getting any information of his movements
after we get into the town,” said Ethan, disheartened.
“Don’t lose hope,” said Longsword. “It’s the unexpected that
happens, Master Ethan.”
“You are right, sure,” said Captain McHale. “Many’s the time things
looked black enough wid me; and then like a flash they’ve changed
when I least expected it.”
And so it proved in this case. They had scarcely entered Brest when
a voice cried out from a shop door,
“Ah, monsieur rides hard to-day.”
The Irish sailor turned toward the shop, and his face took on a broad
grin as he caught sight of the fat French chandler who had spoken.
“Monsieur Dubois, good-day,” he cried. “Yes, we ride hard because
our business is urgent.”
The chandler elevated his plump hands.
“Oh, this war!” he exclaimed, “it makes all hurry. Did not a carriage
almost run down my eldest son an hour ago, because its passenger
was in a very great hurry to see La Tour.”
McHale pulled in his horse, sharply, as did Ethan.
“La Tour—a carriage!” he ejaculated. “Did you notice the man,
particularly?”
“Indeed I did, monsieur, and made him give me two louis for the
fright he gave me.”
“A stout man,” suggested Ethan, “from Paris, by his look, with many
seals on his watch-guard?”
“The same, monsieur,” answered the stout chandler, wonderingly.
“Come on,” said McHale, eagerly. “To La Tour’s; it’s not far from
here.”
Ethan and Longsword, who had also paused, put spurs to their
horses after the sailor.
“Who is La Tour?” asked the young American.
“He is a shipping-agent,” answered McHale. “And the owner of some
small vessels, too. If a man wanted a ship to embark on any
questionable or desperate enterprise it is to this same La Tour he’d
go, faith.”
The office of Jean La Tour was near the water front, and was a
dusty, cobwebbed, low-ceilinged place, indeed. La Tour was seated
at a broad, flat, green-covered table, carefully docketing some items
of his traffic in a book, when the three pulled up, threw themselves
from their horses and came stamping in upon him. Upon hearing
their business, he shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands
wide.
“I am afraid that it is too late,” said he. “The gentleman engaged the
Montespan some days ago, by agent; he paid me the balance of the
charter money a short time ago—less than an hour, perhaps—and is
now on his way out of the harbor for all I know.”
Longsword, when Ethan translated the shipping-agent’s words,
uttered a cry of anger.
“The fox is gone,” said he; “and he’s gone for good unless we can
follow him to sea.”
“And that is the very thing that we will do,” cried Ethan, his face
flushed with determination. He turned to La Tour and said, “We want
a vessel, the swiftest at your command, and we want it at once.
Name your price.”
Once more the agent shrugged his shoulders and spread out his
hands.
“Impossible,” he said. “I have not a vessel in port at this time that
would be of any sort of service to you.” Then he added with a
cheerful air of resignation,
“It is most unfortunate, for I can see that you are very anxious to
overtake this gentleman. But I hardly think you can do so, for there
is no other ship owner in Brest who would risk his vessels putting to
sea at this time. The English are as thick as herrings in the channel.”
“No ship!” said Ethan, blankly.
“No, not one,” answered La Tour.
“You are mistaken there,” spoke Captain McHale; “there is a small bit
of a lugger wid eight four pounders in her and as much speed as can
be found anywhere.” He turned to Ethan and continued, eagerly, “If
ye want the Erin, Mister Carlyle, she’s at your service, and welcome.”
Ethan wrung the speaker’s hand.
“Thank you,” said he. “This is very good of you, indeed.”
“Don’t speak of it,” answered McHale. “But to horse and let’s be off
to where the lugger is tied up.”
As they climbed into their saddles Longsword asked,
“How soon can you be ready to put to sea?”
“The minute I put me foot upon the deck, my lads will be ready to
cast off. The secret of the lugger’s success is in her always being
ready.”
A sharp quick gallop of a quarter of an hour brought them to the
wharf where the Erin was moored. She was a trim looking three-
master and the length of the yards showed that her spread of
canvas would be immense for her tonnage. Ethan hurriedly made
arrangements for the return of the horses to their owner, and then
followed the two Irishmen on board the Erin.
The lugger’s crew were stout, hardy looking young men, with the air
of having braved danger many times and not fearing to look it in the
face. True to Captain McHale’s word, they had cast off the lines,
towed the vessel into the stream and had the sails drawing within a
very short time after he came aboard.
“You are right,” said Ethan as he noted the little vessel’s progress
with satisfaction. “The Erin has speed.”
“She sails like a hawk, sir, before the wind,” said her captain proudly.
There were still some hours of daylight and every vessel they passed
was carefully studied by McHale.
“I know the Montespan very well,” said he. “There is a rake to her
tall masts that I could recognize anywhere above the horizon.”
But night came on and still there was no sign of the desired vessel.
The lugger squared away for Plymouth, and morning found her
cutting the choppy seas of the channel, well upon her way. While the
captain and his two passengers were at breakfast the lookout
shouted: