To songs: DISTRESS *
DECEIVED * REMEMBER
SCENE 47 - Morning inside Inn's gathering room
(During breakfast, several expresses arrive, one bringing intelligence
of the actual force and destination of the enemy's expedition that is out
on the Hudson, and another with orders to send Capt. WHARTON to the first
post above, under escort of a body of dragoons.)
(The last command completes the sum of DUNWOODIE's uneasiness. The despair
and misery of FRANCES are constantly before his eyes. Fifty times he is
tempted to throw himself on his horse and gallop to the LOCUSTS; but an
uncontrollable feeling prevents him.)
(An officer with a small party is sent to the estate to conduct Capt.
HENRY WHARTON to the place directed, and the gentleman entrusted with the
order is given a letter from DUNWOODIE to his friend, containing the most
cheering assurances of his safety and strongest pledges of unceasing exertions
in his favor.)
(Capt LAWTON is left with part of his troop, in charge of the wounded,
and, as soon as the men are refreshed, the encampment breaks up, the main
body marching toward the Hudson. DUNWOODIE repeats his injunctions to Capt.
LAWTON again and again - dwelling on every word that had fallen from the
peddler, and figuring in every possible manner that ingenuity could devise,
the probable meaning of his mysterious warnings, until no excuse remains
for delaying the Major's own departure.)
(Suddenly remembering that no directions had been given for the disposal
of British Col. WELLMEYER, instead of following the rear of his column,
DUNWOODIE yields to his desires and turns down the road that leads to the
LOCUSTS.)
SCENE 48 - Road leading to the LOCUSTS - late morning
(With the horse of the Major being fleet as the wind, scarcely a minute
seems to pass before he gains sight of the lonely vale, and as he plunges
into the bottom lands that form its surface, he catches a glimpse of HENRY
WHARTON and his escort at a distance, defiling through a pass which led
to the posts above.)
(The sight adds to the speed of the anxious youth, who now turns the
angle of the hill that opens to the valley, and comes suddenly on the object
of his distress. FRANCES had followed the party which guarded her brother
at a distance; and as they vanished from her sight, she felt deserted by
all that she most prized in the world.)
(The unaccountable absence of DUNWOODIE, with the shock of parting
from HENRY under such circumstances, has entirely subdued her fortitude,
and she sinks on a stone by the roadside, sobbing as if her heart would
break. DUNWOODIE springs from his charger, throws the reins over the neck
of the animal, and in a moment he is by the side of the weeping girl.)
DUNWOODIE sings DISTRESS:
"FRANCES,.. my dear FRANCES, ... why this distress?..
Let not your brother's problem ... cause such unhappiness... As soon as
this duty ... I am on is complete,.. I will hasten ... to Washington ...
and beg for his release... The Father ... of his Country ... will never
deny ... such a boon to ... such a fa-...v'rite pupil as I."
FRANCES: Major DUNWOODIE, for your interest in behalf of my poor brother,
I thank you, (trembling, and drying her eyes as she rises) but such
language addressed to me is surely improper.
DUNWOODIE: Improper? Are you not mine - by consent of your father
- your aunt - your brother - nay, by your own consent, my sweet FRANCES.
FRANCES: I wish not, Major DUNWOODIE, to interfere with the prior
claims that any other lady may have to your affections.
DUNWOODIE: None other, I swear by Heaven, none other has any claim
on me! (with fervor) You alone are mistress of my inmost soul.
FRANCES: You have practiced so much, and so successfully, Major DUNWOODIE,
that it is no wonder you excel in deceiving the credulity of my sex (attempting
a smile).
DUNWOODIE: Am I a villain, Miss WHARTON, that you receive me with
such language? - when have I ever deceived you, FRANCES? Who has practiced
in this manner on your purity of heart?
FRANCES sings DECEIVED:
"Why have you not honored ... your said intended father
... with a visit to his home ... in recent days?.. Did you forget what it
contained,.. one friend on a bed of pain,.. and another ... suffering distress
so great? ... Has it escaped your memory ... your future wife was there
to see,.. or are you fearful ... that more than one you'll meet?"
"Can another ... claim that title?.. Can you tell
me? ... Oh, PEYTON - PEYTON,.. has my trust ... in you ... been shamefully
deceived?.. Has my youthful foolishness,.. of believing in trust,.. only
just ... imagined ... all you seem to be... I thought you ... all that's
brave and true,.. generous ... and loyal, too;.. one so noble ... that no
other ... could ever you ... exceed."
DUNWOODIE: Miss WHARTON, would you have me a coxcomb - make me contemptible
in my own eyes, by boasting with the hope of raising myself in your estimation.
FRANCES: Flatter not yourself that the task is so easy, sir, (moving
toward the house) we converse together in private for the last time;
- but - possibly my father would welcome my mother's kinsman.
DUNWOODIE sings REMEMBER:
"You have deceived yourself... You do me an injustice...
I swear by all I hold dear,.. you do me an injustice... Is this then our
parting?.. Are we left with nothing?.. Is it that you do not love me ...
that I am treated so scornfully?.. Do you wish now to conceal ... 'tis a
fickleness you feel ... by making accusations ... that you will not explain..."
"You drive me from you, FRANCES, in despair... I will
not enter your home now ... that you seem ... not to care ... I am going
... on desperate service ... and may not live to return... At least do my
memory justice ... if fortune my dreams overturn... Only remember ... the
last breathings of my soul ... will be for your happiness."
(So saying, he has already placed his foot in the stirrup, but his youthful
mistress turning on him an eye that pierces his soul, arrests the action.)
FRANCES: PEYTON, Major DUNWOODIE, can you ever forget the sacred cause
in which you are enlisted? Duty both to your God and to your country forbids
you doing anything rashly. The latter has need of you services; besides
- (her voice chokes and she cannot proceed).
DUNWOODIE (Springing to her side and offering to take her hand
in his own): Besides what?
(FRANCES recovers herself, repulses him, and continues her walk homeward.)
DUNWOODIE (in agony): Am I a wretch that you treat me so cruelly?
(FRANCES stops short in her walk, and turns on him a look of so much
purity and feeling, that heart-stricken, DUNWOODIE would have knelt at her
feet for pardon; but motioning him for silence, she once more speaks -)
FRANCES: Hear me, Major DUNWOODIE, for the last time; it is a bitter
knowledge when we first discover our own inferiority; but it is a truth
that I have lately learnt. Against you I bring no charges - make no accusations;
no, not willingly in my thoughts. Were my claims to your heart just, I am
not worthy of you. It is not a feeble, timid girl, like me, that could make
you happy.
FRANCES (continues): No, PEYTON, you are formed for great and glorious
actions, deeds of daring and renown, and should be united to a soul like
you own; one that can rise above the weakness of her sex. I should be a
weight to drag you to the dust; but with a different spirit as your companion,
you might soar to the very pinnacle of earthly glory. To such a one, therefore,
I resign you freely, if not cheerfully; and pray, oh, how fervently do I
pray! that with such a one you may be happy.
DUNWOODIE: lovely enthusiast! You know not yourself nor me. It is
a woman, mild, gentle, and dependent as yourself, that my very nature loves;
deceive not yourself with visionary ideas of generosity, which will only
make me miserable.
FRANCES: Farewell, Major DUNWOODIE, (pausing to gasp for breath)
forget that you ever knew me - remember the claims of your bleeding country,
and be happy.
DUNWOODIE: HAPPY! (he repeats bitterly, as he sees her light form
gliding through the gate of the lawn, and disappear behind shrubbery) Yes,
I am now happy, indeed.
(Throwing himself into the saddle, he plunges his spurs into his horse,
and soon overtakes his squadron, which was marching slowly over the hilly
roads of the country, to gain the banks of the Hudson.)
(Painful as his feelings are, they are light compared with those experienced
by the fond girl herself. FRANCES, with the keen eye of jealous love, easily
detected the attachment of ISABELLA SINGLETON to DUNWOODIE. It could never
occur to this delicate young girl that such a love had been unsought.)
(Ardent in her own affections, she had early caught the eye of the young
soldier; but it required all the manly frankness of DUNWOODIE to court her
favor, and most pointed devotion to obtain his conquest.)
(This done, his power was durable, entire, and engrossing, but the
unusual occurrences of the few preceding days, the altered mien of her lover
during those events, his unwonted indifference to herself, and chiefly the
romantic idolatry of ISABELLA, had aroused new sensations in her bosom.)
(The task of resigning her lover to another, who might be more worthy
of him, seemed easy; but it is in vain that the imagination attempts to
deceive the heart. DUNWOODIE had no sooner disappeared, than our heroine
feels all the misery of her situation; and if he found relief in cares of
his command, she is less fortunate in the performance of a duty imposed
by her own filial piety.)
(Plus, the removal of her brother had destroyed the little energy
of her father, who now requires all the tenderness of his remaining children
to convince him that he is able to perform ordinary functions of life.)
SCENE 49 - Late morning in front of the Inn
(Considering LAWTON's bruises, despite his declaring himself fit for
any duty and intimating that his men would never follow Lt. TOM MASON to
a charge with the alacrity and confidence of himself, DUNWOODIE had decided
to leave him and Sgt. HOLLISTER at the Four Corners with twelve men to guard
the wounded.)
(Capt. LAWTON, walking before the door of the Inn, inwardly cursing
his fate, that condemned him to an inglorious idleness, at a moment when
a meeting with the enemy might be expected, replies to queries of BETTY,
from within the Inn that demands in a high tone an explanation of the peddler's
escape.)
(At that instant he is joined by the surgeon, Dr. SITGREAVES, who
has been engaged among his patients in a distant building and ignorant of
everything that has occurred, even departure of the troops.)
SITGREAVES: Where are all the sentinels, JOHN? and why are you here
alone?
LAWTON: Off, all off with DUNWOODIE to the river. You and I are left
her to take care of a few sick men and some women.
SITGREAVES: I am glad Major DUNWOODIE had consideration enough not
to move the wounded. Here, you, Mrs. BETTY FLANAGAN, hasten with some food,
that I may appease my appetite. I have a dead body to dissect, and am in
haste.
BETTY: And hear you, Dr. ARCHIBALD SITGREAVES, (showing her face from
a broken window of the kitchen) you are ever a'coming too late; here is
nothing to ate but the skin of Jenny, and the body yee'r mintioning.
SITGREAVES (in anger): Woman! Do you take me for a cannibal, that
you address your filthy discourse to me, in this manner? I bid you hasten
with such food as may be proper to be received into the stomach fasting.
BETTY: I tell yee that it's fasting you must be, unless yee'll let
me cook yee a steak from the skin of Jenny. The boys have ate me up intirely.
(LAWTON interferes to preserve the peace, and assures the surgeon
that he had already dispatched the proper persons in quest of food for the
party. A little satisfied with this explanation, the surgeon soon forgot
his hunger, and declares his intention of proceeding to business at once.)
LAWTON: And where is your subject?
SITGREAVES: Why, the peddler, I made HOLLISTER put a stage so high
that the neck would not be dislocated by the fall, and I intend making as
handsome a skeleton off him, as there is in the State of North America;
the fellow has good points, and his bones well knit. I will make a perfect
beauty of him. I have long been waiting something of this sort to send as
a present to my old aunt in Virginia, who was so kind to me when a boy.
LAWTON (aghast): The DEVIL! Would you send the old woman a dead man's
bones?
SITGREAVES: Why not? What nobler object is there in nature than the
figure of a man - and the skeleton may be called his elementary parts. But
what has been done with the body?
LAWTON: Off, too.
SITGREAVES: Off! And who has dared to interfere with my perquisites?
BETTY: Sure, jist the divil, and who'll be taking yeerself away some
of these times, too, without asking yeer lave.
LAWTON: Silence, you witch! (with difficulty suppressing a laugh)
Is this the manner in which to address an officer?
BETTY: Who called me the filthy BETTY FLANAGAN? (snapping her finger
contemptuously) I can remimber a frind for a year, and don't forgit an inimy
for a month.
(But the friendship or enmity of Mrs. FLANAGAN is of indifference
to the surgeon, who can think of nothing but his loss; and LAWTON is obliged
to explain the apparent manner in which it happened.)
BETTY: And a lucky escape it was for yee, my jewel of a doctor. Sgt.
HOLLISTER, who saw him face to face, says it's Beelzeboob, and no pidler,
unless it may be in a small matter of lies and thefts, and sich wickedness.
Now a pretty figure yee would have been in cutting up Beelzeboob, if the
Major had hanged him. I don't think it's very asy he would have been under
yeer knife.
(This doubly disappoints him, both the meal and his business, so SITGREAVES
suddenly declares his intention of visiting the LOCUSTS, and inquiring into
the state of Capt. SINGLETON. LAWTON is ready for the excursion, and mounting,
they are soon on the road.)
SCENE 50 - Day - Road leading to the LOCUSTS
(For some time they ride in silence, when LAWTON, hoping to appease
his companion's temper and disappointments, makes an effort to restore tranquility.)
LAWTON: That was a charming song, ARCHIBALD, that you commenced last
evening, when we were interrupted by the party that brought in the peddler;
the allusion to Galen was much to the purpose.
SITGREAVES: I knew you would like it, JOHN, when you got the fumes
of the wine out of your head. Poetry is a respectable art, though it wants
the precision of exact sciences, and the natural beneficence of the physical.
Considered in reference to the wants of life, I should define poetry as
an emollient, rather than as a succulent.
Capt. LAWTON: And yet your ode was full of the meat of wit.
Dr. SITGREAVES: Ode is by no means a proper term for the composition;
I should term it a classical ballad.
LAWTON: Very probably, hearing only one verse, it was difficult to
class the composition. The air is still and the road solitary - why not
give the remainder? It's never too late to repair a loss.
SITGREAVES: My dear JOHN, if I thought it would correct the errors
you have imbibed, nothing could give me more pleasure.
(The surgeon clears his throat, encouraged and somewhat impelled by
the opinion that he both sang and wrote with taste, and sets about complying
with the request in earnest. No sooner has the proper pitch been reached
and he begins:)
Dr. SITGREAVES sings:
"Hast thou ever -"
LAWTON: Hush! What rustling noise is that in the rocks?
SITGREAVES: It must be the rushing of the melody.
LAWTON: Listen!
(Stopping his horse, he has not finished speaking when a stone falls
near his feet and rolls harmlessly across the path.)
LAWTON: A friendly shot, that; neither the weapon nor the force implies
much ill-will.
SITGREAVES: Blows from stones seldom produce more than contusions.
It must be meteoric, there is no living being in sight, except ourselves.
LAWTON: It would be easy to hide a regiment behind those rocks.
(Dismounting and taking the stone in his hand -)
LAWTON: Oh, here is the explanation along with the mystery.
(So saying, he tears off a piece of paper that had been fastened to the
rock which fell before him. Opening it the Captain reads the words, written
in a not very legible hand:-)
LAWTON reads:
====A musket ball will go farther than a stone, and things
more dangerous than yarbs for wounded men lie hid in the rocks of West-Chester.
The horse may be good, but can he mount a precipice?====
LAWTON: Thou sayest the truth, strange man, courage and activity would
avail but little against assassination and these rugged passes.
(Remounting his horse, he cries aloud -)
LAWTON: Thanks, unknown friend, your caution will be remembered.
(A meager hand is extended for an instant over a rock, in the air, and
afterwards nothing further was seen, or heard, in that quarter by the soldiers.)
SITGREAVES: (astonished) Quite an extraordinary interruption, and
a letter of a very mysterious meaning.
LAWTON: Oh, 'tis nothing but the wit of some bumpkin, who thinks to
frighten two of the Virginians by the artifice of some kind. (placing the
paper in his pocket) but let me tell you, ARCHIBALD SITGREAVES, you were
wanting to dissect, just now, a damn'd honest fellow.
SITGREAVES: It was the peddler? One of the most notorious spies in
the enemy's service? I must say that I think it would be an honor to such
a man to be devoted to the uses of science.
LAWTON: He may be a spy - he MUST be one, but he has a heart above
enmity, and a soul that would honor a soldier.
(The surgeon turns a questioning eye on his companion as he utters this
soliloquy, while the penetrating eyes of the trooper have already discovered
another pile of rocks, which, jutting forward, nearly obstructs the highway
that winds directly around its base.
LAWTON: What the steed cannot mount, the foot can overcome.
(Throwing himself again from his saddle, and leaping a wall of stone,
he begins to ascend the hill at a pace which would soon have given him a
birds-eye-view of the rocks in question, together with all their crevices.
This movement is no sooner made, than LAWTON catches a glimpse of a man
stealing rapidly from his approach and disappearing on the opposite side
of the precipice.)
LAWTON (shouting): Spur, SITGREAVES, spur, and murder the villain
as he flies (himself dashing over every impediment in pursuit).
(The former part of the request is promptly complied with, and brings
the surgeon in full view of a man armed with a musket, who is crossing the
road, evidently seeking the protection of the thick wood on its opposite
side.)
SITGREAVES: Stop, my friend, stop until Captain LAWTON comes up, if
you please (watching him flee with a rapidity that baffles his horsemanship.)
(As if the invitation contains new terrors, the footman redoubles his
efforts until he reaches his goal, turns on his heel, discharges his musket
toward the surgeon, and is out of sight in an instant. To gain the highway
and throw himself into the saddle detains LAWTON a moment, then he rides
to the side of his comrade as the figure disappears.)
LAWTON: Which way has he fled?
SITGREAVES: JOHN, am I not a non-combatant?
LAWTON: (impatiently) Whither has the rascal fled?
SITGREAVES: Where you cannot follow - into that wood. But I repeat,
JOHN, am I not a non-combatant?
(The disappointed trooper, perceiving that his enemy has escaped him,
now turns his eyes upon his comrade, and gradually his muscles lose their
rigid compression, his brow relaxes, and his look changes from its fierce
expression to the covert laughter which so often distinguished his countenance.
The surgeon sits in dignified composure on his horse; his thin body erect,
and his head elevated with the indignation of one conscious of having been
unjustly treated.)
LAWTON: Why did you suffer the villain to escape? Once within reach
of my saber, and I would have given you a subject for the dissecting table.
SITGREAVES: 'Twas impossible to prevent it (pointing to the bars,
before which he has stopped his horse.) The rogue threw himself on the other
side of this fence, and left me where you see; nor would the man in the
least attend to my remonstrances, or to an intimation that you wished to
hold discourse with him.
LAWTON: He was truly a discourteous rascal, and why did you not leap
the fence and compel him to halt? You see but three of the bars are up,
and BETTY FLANAGAN could clear them on her cow.
(The surgeon withdraws his eyes from the place where the fugitive disappeared,
and turns his look on his comrade.)
SITGREAVES: I humbly conceive, Capt. LAWTON, that neither BETTY FLANAGAN,
nor her cow, is an example to be emulated by Dr. ARCHIBALD SITGREAVES. It
would be but a sorry compliment to science, to say, that a Doctor of Medicine
had fractured both his legs, by injudiciously striking them against a pair
of bar-posts.
(While speaking, the surgeon raises the limbs in question to a nearly
horizontal position, but the trooper disregards this proof of the impossibility
of the movement.)
LAWTON: Here was nothing to stop you, man; I could leap a platoon
through, boot and thigh, without pricking with a single spur. Pshaw! I have
often charged upon bayonets of infantry, over greater difficulties than
this.
SITGREAVES: You will please remember, Capt. LAWTON, that I am not
the riding-master of the regiment - nor a drill sergeant ; no, sir, - and
I speak it with a due respect for the commission of the continental congress
- nor an inconsiderate captain, who regards his own life as little as that
of his enemies. I am only, sir, a poor humble man of letters, a mere Doctor
of Medicine, an unworthy graduate of Edinburgh, and a surgeon of dragoons;
nothing more.
(He turns his horse toward the LOCUSTS and commenced his ride.)
LAWTON: You speak the truth, but had I the meanest rider of my troop
with me, I should have taken the scoundrel, and given at least one victim
to the laws. But ,ARCHIBALD, no man can ride well who straddles in that
manner, like the Colossus of Rhodes. You should depend less on your stirrup,
and keep your seat by the power of the knee.
SITGREAVES: With proper deference to your experience, Captain, I conceive
myself to be no incompetent judge of muscular action, whether in the knee,
or any other part of the human frame. And although but humbly educated,
I am not now to learn that the wider the base, the more firm is the superstructure.
LAWTON: Would you fill a highway, in this manner, with one pair of
legs, when half a dozen might pass together in comfort, stretching them
abroad like the scythes of the ancient chariot wheels?
(They continue riding, in deep conversation on anatomy, surgical endeavors,
and pleasure of witnessing healing, until they reach the piazza of the house.) | 