“No,” answered the lad, all unsuspecting, “the knife was supplied all hands by——”
He stopped suddenly and bit his lip. The soldier looked at him, a laugh in his frank eyes.
“You were going to say—Congress,” spoke he, with great calmness. Ethan stared at him in astonished silence, and then the man continued, “I recall the knife well; I had one myself. It was given me while on board the Lexington.”
“The Lexington,” said Ethan, his breath coming hard. “Were you on board her?” He continued to stare; then added, “As a prisoner, I suppose.”
“Prisoners are not supplied with knives on board American vessels of war,” said the other. “I was master’s mate in the Lexington.”
“Then,” breathed Ethan excitedly, “you are an American.”
“I am,” laughed the other. “I am of Norfolk, in Virginia, and my name is Richard Dale.”
“But,” and Ethan’s eyes ran over the British uniform, “you are now——”
He hesitated; and the other leaned over and tapped him upon the knee with one finger.
“I am still an American. I wear a British uniform, but it is a disguise.”