The Grip of Honor: A Story of Paul Jones and the American Revolution
definite plan. There did not seem to be room for any. He had one consuming desire: to see, to speak to, to come in touch again with the beautiful girl who had been the object of his every thought, the end of his every desire, the spirit of every dream in which he had indulged since they had met. He had a thought--a hope--that she was still Elizabeth Howard. There was that in her promise, in her look, in her word, when she had said, "Come and see" on the strand, which gave him the hope that she would wait until he did come, be it one year or two; and with the sanguine spirit of his race he could not prepare himself for a disappointment.

The moon had risen as he walked quietly through the town and began to mount the hill. He did not know how to gain admittance to the castle when he approached it; and as ill luck would have it, as he was standing on the causeway looking toward the gate, he was approached by a squad of soldiers under the command of a sergeant, who were returning from an errand in the town. His meditations, as he stood gazing at the lights shining from the different windows, wondering behind which wall was ensconced the idol of his heart, were rudely interrupted by the grasp of a rough hand upon his shoulder and a harsh voice in his ear saying,--

"Well, sir, wot are you a-doin' 'ere at this hour o' the night? Entrance to the castle is forbid to every one except members of the garrison, or them wich has passes. No one is allowed on the causeway after sunset even. There's so many tales of raidin's an' hell's own doin's on the coast by that bloody ravagin' pirate Jones an' his bleedin' gang, that we're a'most in a state of siege. Give an account of yourself."

"My friend," said O'Neill, calmly, glancing rapidly about him, and giving up at once any idea of resistance, for he was surrounded by at least a dozen men, one or two of whom had laid violent hands upon him,--"my friend," he said, speaking in broken English, with a well-simulated French accent, "I am an officer of the King of France, travelling for pleasure through your great country. I hear of the old castle--I wish to see it--hence I come here. I have done nothing--you will let me go free?"

"A Frenchman?"

"Yes, monsieur, I have that honor."

"Well, that settles it. You've got to come along with us now. A frog-eatin' Frenchman's our natural-born enemy."

"But, monsieur, there is no war between my master and your king?"


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