To Songs: FIRE OF PASSION * OULD COW * FILL THE CAN AGAIN

I'M BETTY FLANAGAN

 SCENE 35 - Evening in Miss SINGLETON's room

(The weather, mild and clear following the storm, towards evening suddenly changed, with cold blasts blowing down the mountains bringing flurries of snow that indicated the month of November had arrived with its widely varying temperatures.)

(FRANCES, from her apartment window, had watched the slow progress of the funeral procession with a melancholy that was in unison with her own feelings. As she gazes around, she sees the trees bending to the force of the wind sweeping through the valley with impetuosity that shakes even the buildings.)

(The forest, so lately glittering in its variegated hues of fall colors, was fast losing its loveliness, as leaves were torn from the branches by the eddies of the blasts; and dragoons, patrolling the passes leading to the encampment of the corps, were drawing their watchcoats about them in tighter folds.)

(Capt. SINGLETON was sleeping under the care of his men, while his sister, ISABELLA, had been persuaded to seek her assigned room to obtain repose from which her last night's journey had robbed her. This room communicated with the one occupied by the two sisters through a private door, as well as the hallway. )

(This door is partly open as FRANCES moves toward it with the intention of learning the situation of their guest, but is surprised to find ISABELLA, not sleeping but gazing with eyes fixed in rooted attention on a picture she holds in her hand. FRANCES recognizes the figure of a man in the well-known dress of the southern horse, an American cavalryman so deeply seated in her own imagination that she instinctively lays her hand on her breast to quell its throbbings.)

(FRANCES, feeling she is improperly prying into the privacy of another, but with emotions too powerful to permit her to speak, draws back, yet retains a view of this stranger, her eyes of deepest black contrasting with her chilling white complexion, surrounded by black tresses falling in profusion over her shoulders and bosom.)

(ISABELLA is too engrossed in her own feelings to discover the trembling figure witnessing her actions, and presses the picture to her lips with the enthusiasm that denoted intense passion, and almost as quickly her emotion changed to induce tears to fall on the inanimate image and continue to run down her cheeks, announcing a grief too heavy to attribute to ordinary demonstrations of sorrow.)

(As the wind whistles around the building, she rises and moves to a window of her apartment. Now hidden from the view of FRANCES, ISABELLA begins to sing a melody which chains FRANCES in breathless silence to the spot. With an execution exceeded by anything FRANCES has ever heard,)

(ISABELLA moves from the window as the last tones of the song die, and for the first time her eyes rest on the pallid face of her intruder. A glow of fire seems to light the countenance of both at the same instant as their eyes meet, then fall in confusion on the carpet, yet they both advance until each has taken the other's hand.)

ISABELLA: (trembling) This sudden change in the weather, and perhaps the situation of my brother, have united to make me melancholy, Miss WHARTON.

FRANCES: 'Tis thought you have little to apprehend for your brother; had you seen him when he was brought in by Major DUNWOODIE -

(FRANCES pauses, and in raising her eyes, sees ISABELLA studying her face with an earnestness that again drove blood tumultuously to her temples.)

ISABELLA: You were speaking of Major DUNWOODIE -

FRANCES: He was with Capt. SINGLETON.

ISABELLA: Do you know DUNWOODIE? Have you seen him often?

(Once more FRANCES ventures to look at the countenance of her guest, and again meets the piercing eyes bent on her, as if to search her inner heart.)

ISABELLA: Speak, Miss WHARTON, is Major DUNWOODIE known to you?

FRANCES (appalled at her manner) : He is my relative.

ISABELLA: A relative! In what degree? Speak, Miss WHARTON, I conjure you to speak.

FRANCES (faintly): Our parents were cousins, and he received his formal education with my brother in England.

ISABELLA (impetuously): And he is to be your husband!

(FRANCES is shocked, and all her pride awakens by this direct attack upon her feelings. She raises her eyes from the floor to her interrogator a little proudly, but the pale cheek and quivering lips of ISABELLA removes her resentment in a moment.)

ISABELLA: It IS true! My conjecture IS true; speak to me, Miss WHARTON, in mercy to my feelings, tell me, do you love DUNWOODIE?

(Such an earnestness in the voice of Miss SINGLETON disarms FRANCES of all resentment, and the only answer she gives is hiding her burning face between her hands, as she sinks into a chair to conceal her confusion.)

(ISABELLA paces the floor for several minutes, until she succeeds in conquering the violence of her feelings. When she approaches the place where FRANCES sits, trying to exclude the eyes of her companion from reading the shame expressed in her countenance, ISABELLA, taking FRANCES's hand, speaks with an evident effort at composure.)

ISABELLA: Pardon me, Miss WHARTON, if my ungovernable feelings have led me into impropriety; the powerful motive - the cruel reason-

(FRANCES now raises her face, and their eyes once more meet; they fall into each others arms, and lay their burning cheeks together. The embrace is long, ardent and sincere, but neither speaks, and on separating, FRANCES retires to her own room without further explanation.)

SCENE 36 - WHARTON drawing room - Afternoon following the big dinner

(While remnants of the huge dinner were being disbursed by Miss PEYTON and CAESAR to the many aides of guests and helpers of the enormous feast, Colonel WELLMEYER is left to the hospitality of SARAH WHARTON. When all topics of conversation are exhausted, Col. WELLMEYER, with an uneasiness that is in some degree inseparable from conscious error, touches lightly on the transactions of the preceding day.)

Col. WELLMEYER (endeavoring to smile): We little thought, Miss WHARTON, when I first saw this Mr. DUNWOODIE in your house on Queen Street, that he was to be the renowned warrior he has proven himself to be.

SARAH: Renowned, when we consider the enemy he overcame. 'Twas most unfortunate that you met with the accident, or doubtless the royal arms would have triumphed in their usual manner.

WELLMEYER (with peculiar softness): And yet the pleasure of such society as this accident has introduced me to, would more than repay the pain of mortified spirit and wounded body.

SARAH: I hope the latter is but trifling.

(She says while stooping to hide her blushes under the pretext of biting the thread from the work on her knee.)

WELLMEYER: Trifling, indeed, compared to the former. Ah, Miss WHARTON, it is such moments that we feel the full value of friendship and sympathy.

(The touch of these words cause SARAH to turn her eyes to Col WELLMEYER and find him gazing at her fine face with an admiration that is quite as soothing as any words could make. Their tete-a-tete is uninterrupted for an hour, during which he utters a thousand things that delight his companion, who retires with a lighter heart than she has felt since the arrest of her brother by the Americans.)

SCENE 37 - FLANAGAN's Inn - late afternoon

(The favorite place of Capt LAWTON, for halting his men in the area, was a cluster of some half-dozen dilapidated buildings at the intersection of two roads, called the village of CROSSROADS. One of the most imposing of these edifices was termed by the men as "the house of entertainment for man and beast." On a rough board suspended from a gallows-like post, the wit of some idle wag of the corps had written in red chalk. "BETTY FLANAGAN, her Inn.")

(The matron, elevated to this degree of unexpected dignity, discharges the duties of a female sutler, washerwoman and, using the language of KATY HAYNES, a petticoat doctor to the corps. She is the widow of a soldier, killed in the service, who like herself, was a native of a distant island, and had early tried his fortune in the colonies of North America.)

(She had constantly migrated with him and the troops, seldom stationary for two days at a time, but the little horse-drawn cart was always seen driving into encampments, loaded with articles she conceived would make her presence welcome.)

(Sometimes the cart was her shop or a rude shelter, but since seizing on a vacant building, and stuffing broken windows with dirty breeches and half-dried linen of the troopers, she formed what she pronounced to be "most illigent lodgings." The men were quartered in adjacent barns, while officers collected in "FLANAGAN's Inn," as they facetiously called headquarters.)

(BETTY was well known to every trooper in the corps and could call each by his Christian or nickname, as suited her fancy. Although intolerable to all whom habit had not been made familiar with her virtues, she was a general favorite of these partisan warriors.)

(Her faults were, a trifling love of liquor, excessive filthiness, and a total disregard of all the decencies of language; her virtues were an unbounded love for her adopted country, perfect honesty when dealing on certain known principles with the soldiery, and great good-nature.)

(Added to these, ELIZABETH FLANAGAN had the merit of being the inventor of that beverage so well known, at the present hour, to all patriots who make a winter's march between the commercial and political capitals of this great state, distinguished by the name, "cock-tail." Having acquired from her Virginian customers the use of mint, she raised the flavor of a julep to its height of renown. )

(On this day the mistress of the mansion, reckless of the northern blasts, shows her blooming face from the door of the building to welcome the arrival of her favorite, Capt. LAWTON, and his companion, her master in matters of surgery.)

Capt. JOHN LAWTON (throwing himself from his saddle): Ah, my gentle BETTY, but you are welcome. This villainous fresh-water gas from the Canadas has been whistling among my bones till they ache with the cold, but the sight of your fiery countenance is as cheering as a Christmas fire.

BETTY: Now sure, Captain JACK, yee's always full of your complimentaries, but hurry in for the life of you, darlin'. The fanses here are not so strong as in the Highlands, and there's that within what will warm both sowl and body.

Capt. JOHN LAWTON: So you have been laying the rails under contribution, I see; well, that may do for the body, but I have had a pull at a bottle of cut-glass with a silver stand, and I doubt my relish for your whiskey for a month to come.

BETTY: If it's silver or goold that yee'r thinkin' of it's but little I have, though I've a trifling bit of the continental; but there's that within that's fit to be put in vissels of di'monds.

LAWTON: What can she mean, ARCHIBALD? the animal looks as if it meant more than it says.

Dr. ARCHIBALD SITGREAVES (throwing his left leg over the saddle and sliding down off his horse): 'Tis probably the wandering of the reasoning powers, created by the frequency of intoxicating draughts.

BETTY: Faith, my dear jewel of a doctor, but it was this side I was expicting you; the whole corps come down but yeerself. (Winking at the trooper) but I've been feedin' the wounded, in yeer absence, with the fat of the land.

SITGREAVES (panic stricken): Barbarous stupidity! to feed men laboring under the excitement of fever with powerful nutriment; woman, woman, you are enough to defeat the skill of Hippocrates!

BETTY: Pooh! What a botheration yee make about a little whiskey. There was but a gallon betwixt a good two dozen of them, and I gave it to the boys to make them sleep asy; sure, jist as slumberin' drops.

(All three enter the building and the first objects seen explain the hidden meaning of BETTY's comfortable declaration. A long table made of boards torn from the side of an out building, stretched through the middle of the largest apartment, or bar-room, and on it was a scanty display of crockery, while steams of cooking drifted in from an adjoining kitchen.)

(The principal attraction, ostentatiously placed by BETTY as the object most worthy of praise, was a bottle of amber colored juice of the grape, sent from the LOCUSTS as an offering to Major DUNWOODIE from Capt. WHARTON of the royal army.)

LAWTON: And a royal gift it is. The Major gives us an entertainment in honor of our victory, and you see the principal expense is borne, as it should be, by the enemy. Zounds! I am thinking that after we have primed with such stuff, we could charge through Sir Henry's head-quarters, and carry off the knight himself.

(While the Captain of the dragoons is surrounded by his men making eager inquiries concerning his adventures, the surgeon proceeds, with quakings of the heart, to examine the state of his wounded.)

(Enormous fires are snapping in the chimneys of the house, throwing bright light from its blazing piles. The group within are all young men and tired soldiers, about a dozen, their manners a mixture of partisan and gentlemen. Their dress is neat, but plain, and the predominant topic is that of the quality and performance of their horses.)

(Some are attempting sleep on benches that line the walls; others are seated in discussion, as hissing sounds of frying pans and savory aromas emerge from the kitchen.)

(Major DUNWOODIE sits alone, gazing at the fire, lost in reflections that none of his officers presume to disturb. He makes inquiries of Dr. SITGREAVES concerning the condition of Capt. SINGLETON, during which time the room remains quiet until the report has ended, then the usual ease of conversation resumes.)

(Though freedom of manners prevailed in the corps, points of military etiquette were at all times observed. Most of the guests had been fasting too long to be in any degree fastidious in their appetites, but Capt. LAWTON felt an unaccountable loathing for BETTY's food.

BETTY: Aye, Captain, and I sould two of her quarters to some of your troop; but divil the word did I tell the boys what an ould friend it was they had bought, for fear it might damage their appetites.

LAWTON (with affected anger): Fury, I shall have my fellows as limber as supple-jacks on such fare, afraid of an Englishman.

(Dropping his fork and knife in a kind of despair, Lt. MASON. responds)

LT. TOM MASON: Well, my jaws have more sympathy than many men's hearts. They absolutely decline making any impression on the relics of their old acquaintance.

(Pouring a large allowance of the wine into a bowl, then tasting a good bit,) BETTY : Try a drop of the gift. Faith! 'tis but a wishy-washy sort of stuff after all.

(A clear glass of Wharton's wine is handed to Major DUNWOODIE, followed by sharing with the other officers, then all offer sundry patriotic toasts and sentiments. The liquor preforms its wonted service, and soon all recollection of the dinner is lost in the present festivity. Dr. SITGREAVES returns in time to partake of Capt. WHARTON's gift.)

TWO TROOPERS call out: A song, Capt. LAWTON, a song.

SIX MEN yell: Silence (to others) for a song from Capt. LAWTON.

LAWTON (his eyes swimming with the bumpers he has just finished,) Under the favor of your good wishes, I will comply.

(At each appeal made to BETTY, she advances and literally complies with the request of the chorus, to the infinite delight of the singers. The hostess was providing a beverage more suited to the high seasoning of which her tastes were accustomed than the tasteless present of Capt WHARTON.)

(The applause received by Capt. LAWTON was general, with the exception of the surgeon, who rose from the bench at the first chorus and paced the floor throughout the song in a show of classical indignation. The bravos and bravissimos drowned all other noises for a short time, but as they gradually ceased, the doctor turned to the musician and exclaimed with heat -)

Dr. SITGREAVES: Captain LAWTON, I marvel that a gentleman, and a gallant officer, can find no other subject for his muse, in these times of trial, than in such beastly invocation to that notorious follower of the camp, the filthy BETTY FLANAGAN. Methinks the goddess of Liberty could furnish a more noble inspiration, and sufferings of your country a more befitting theme for singing.

BETTY (with threatening attitude) Heyday! and who is it that calls me filthy, Master Squirt, Master Pop-gun?

(In a voice that exerted a little more than common -)

DUNWOODIE: Peace! Woman, it best you leave the room. Dr. SITGREAVES, I call you to your seat, to wait the order of the revels.

Dr. SITGREAVES: Proceed, proceed. I am not unacquainted with the rules of decorum, nor ignorant of by-laws of good fellowship.

(BETTY made a hasty but somewhat devious retreat to her own dominions, being unaccustomed to dispute the orders of the commanding officer.)