"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?"
"Don't monshur me. I don't take no palaverin', an' I don't know nothin' about whether there is war or not," said the sergeant, brusquely; "but we always did hate the bloody Frenchies, an' we always will, an' whenever we ketch one of 'em around here, he's got to give an account of hisself. Now if you come along peaceable like, all right--we won't hurt you. If you don't, we'll just pick you up and carry you. You can take your choice," he added indifferently.
A horseman galloping in from the town at this moment drew rein in front of the little group.
"Ah, sergeant, what is it? Whom have you there?" he queried sharply.
"'Tis a Frenchman, sir. We found him a-prowlin' round here. He's a spy, I takes it," answered the sergeant, saluting but still retaining his grasp.
"Pardon me, monsieur," said O'Neill; "I am no spy. I am a gentleman of France, as I explain to this man. I travel--come here to see the castle--"