Maj. Andre. If we become by your means possessed of these two jewels, General Washington and this important fort, we shall never
think the obligation sufficiently acknowledged. You will become the greatest man in the world. Britain will adore you. She will kiss
the very ground you tread upon, besides lavishing wealth upon you by millions.[Pg 64]
Arnold. She is heartily welcome to such poor services as I can render her. What I do is from principle, from the consciousness of a rectitude of heart and love to my country.
Maj. Andre. Sir, you were born to be a great man. Now, if you will be pleased to deliver me the plan of the fort, signals of recog-nizance and other papers of consequence in this affair, I will be going. I do not think myself safe till such times as I get within the British lines again.
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Arnold. The danger is trifling. With a passport from me, you may go anywhere in these colonies.
Maj. Andre. Sir, I thank you. It may be of service indeed.
Arnold. I will write it immediately. There, sir; and here is the packet. I will not detain you, because I know the business requires dispatch. You will, however, sup with me, and take a glass of wine before you go.
Maj. Andre. I shall hardly have time; however, I will wait half an hour.
Arnold. Walk with me into this other apartment; we soldiers do not stand upon ceremony. But how do you carry these papers so as to conceal them in case you meet with any over-curious persons?
Maj. Andre. I have an expedient. I can carry them in the foot of my boot. Do you see how snug they lie? [Putting them on
Arnold. Aye, faith, that was well thought of; but do not put the passport in your boot. Maj. Andre. No, no. That goes into my pocket.
[Pg 65]
Scene II.--An ancient stone building in the Dutch taste. Three officers, Vincent, Ambrose, Asmith. Vincent and Asmith entering.
Am. Well are we met in these sequestered wilds; Whence come ye, brothers, at so late an hour?
Vin. From scouring all the country up and down, To seize, if fortune please, illicit traders,
Who are so bold and unscrupulous grown
That oft in open day, as well as night,
They bear large cargoes of provision down To yonder ships that still infest our river. How I detest these underhanded scoundrels, Who, hungry as the grave for British gold,
Feed the vile foe that lurks within our harbours.
Am. Gods! Can they be so base,--but there are they
Who sell their country for a mess of pottage,-- A servile, scheming race whose god is gain,
Who for a little gold would stab their fathers And plunder life from her who gave them life. These are not true Americans. They are
A spurious race--scum, dregs, and bastards all. They are not true Americans, I say.
As. They cannot be, they help toward our ruin. But, gentlemen, I'll tell you what I think;
We have so many lurking foes within, And such a potent enemy without, That I almost despair, I must confess,
That ever we shall rend these thirteen States From persevering Britain, and compel Acknowledgment of independence here. Vin. Say not so.
The rights of humanity, 'tis these we fight for,[Pg 66]
And not to carry ruin round the globe. Appearances are so much in our favour
That he who doubts that this event shall be, Must be as blind as he whose useless orbs Have never drank the radiated light.
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Nay, he who doubts of this, who dares to doubt
(If nature be not ----[37] to miracles And devils rule with delegated sway) Deserves not nor is worthy to enjoy The paradise we look for.
Amb. Be it so.
But let us leave the great event to fate,
Who soon or late will bring to light its purpose; Our duty to our country must be done,
And in so doing we its freedom hasten.
But, friends, why stay we here? By yonder stars
That still revolving point toward the pole,
I find it must be midnight.
Vin. I do expect a score of peasants here, A set of hardy, bold, and faithful fellows, Whom I can trust in all emergencies.
In different parties I shall these despatch Toward the hostile lines, for I suspect That intercourse too often doth subsist Between our disaffected and the foe. Amb. And are these peasants armed?
Vin. Armed with a musquet and a bayonet; A true and desperate soldier wants no more. As. And thirty cartridges to every man,
With three days' victuals in their knapsacks stored. Amb. It is enough. I hope they will not tarry.
[Pg 67]
Scene III.--A number of armed peasants in an outhouse.
1st P. Do you know what we are sent for, brother Harry?
2nd P. To go on some secret expedition, I suppose.
1st P. And which way shall we bend, think ye?
2nd P. God bless you. Why do you ask such a question? It is not for us to know where we are going. We shall know bye and bye, I
warrant you, after we have marched two or three score of miles.
1st P. And where are our officers?
2nd P. They are in the adjoining house. They will be with us presently.
3rd P. And how shall we pass the time till they come?
2nd P. O, merrily enough. We can dance and sing.
1st P. Harry, you can sing. Give us a song.
2nd P. [Sings
Ours not to sleep in shady bowers,[38] When frosts are chilling all the plain, And nights are cold and long the hours To check the ardor of the swain,
Who parting from his cheerful fire
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All comforts doth forego, And here and there
And everywhere
Pursues the prowling foe.
2nd P. How like you that?[Pg 68]
3rd P. O, very well. I love to hear anything that touches upon the hardships of a soldier's life.
4th P. Give us the rest; give us the rest. I love that song, Harry.
2nd P.
But we must sleep in frost and snows, No season shuts up our campaign; Hard as the oaks, we dare oppose
The autumn's or the winter's reign. Alike to us the winds that blow
In summer's season gay, Or those that rave
On Hudson's wave
And drift his ice away.
For Liberty, celestial maid,
With joy all hardships we endure. In her blest smiles we are repaid, In her protection are secure. Then rise superior to the foe,
Ye freeborn souls of fire;
Respect these arms,
'Tis freedom warms, To noble deeds aspire.
Winter and death may change the scene, The cold may freeze, the ball may kill, And dire misfortunes intervene;
But freedom shall be potent still
To drive these Britons from our shore, Who, cruel and unkind,
With slavish chain
Attempt in vain
Our freeborn limbs