SCENE 101 - Same night on hills of West-Chester
(The peddler and his companion reach the valley, and after pausing
to listen, and hearing no sounds which announce that pursuers are abroad,
they enter the highway. Acquainted with every step that leads through the
mountains, and possessed of sinews inured to toil, BIRCH leads the way,
with the lengthened strides that are peculiar to the man and his profession;
his pack alone is wanting to finish the appearance of his ordinary air.)
(At times, when they approach one of those little posts held by American
troops, with which the Highlands abound, he takes a circuit to avoid the
sentinels, and plunges fearlessly into a thicket, or ascends a rugged hill,
that to the eye seems impassable. But the peddler is familiar with every
turn in their difficult route, knows where the ravines might be penetrated,
or where the streams are fordable.)
(In one or two instances, HENRY thinks that their further progress
is absolutely at an end, but the ingenuity, or knowledge, of his guide,
conquers every difficulty. After walking at a great rate for three hours,
they suddenly diverge from the road, which inclines to the east, and hold
their course directly across the hills, in a due south direction.)
(This movement is made, the peddler informs his companion, in order to
avoid parties who constantly patrol in the southern entrance of the Highlands.
After reaching the summit of a hill, HARVEY seats himself by the side of
a little run, and opening a wallet, that he had slung where his pack is
commonly suspended, he invites HENRY to partake of the coarse fare it contains.)
(HENRY has kept pace with the peddler, more by the excitement natural
to his situation, than by the equality of his physical powers. The idea
of a halt is unpleasant, so long as there exists a possibility of the horse
getting below him, in time to intercept their retreat through the neutral
ground. He urges a wish to proceed.)
HARVEY: Follow my example, Capt. WHARTON, if the horse have started,
it will be more than man can do to head them; and if they have not, work
is cut out for them, that will drive all thoughts of you and me from their
brains.
HENRY: You said yourself, that two hours' detention was all-important
to us, and if we loiter here, of what use will be the advantage that we
may have already obtained?
HARVEY: The time is passed, and Major DUNWOODIE thinks little of following
two men, when hundreds are waiting for him, on the banks of the river.
HENRY: Listen! There are horse at this moment passing the foot of
the hill. I hear them even laughing and talking to each other. Hist! There
is the voice of DUNWOODIE himself; he calls to his comrade in a manner that
shows but little uneasiness. One would think that the situation of his friend
would lower his spirits; surely FRANCES could not have given him the letter.
(On hearing the first exclamation of the Captain, BIRCH rises from his
seat, and approaches cautiously to the brow of the hill, taking care to
keep his body in the shadow of the rocks, so as to be unseen at any distance,
and earnestly reconnoiter the group of passing horsemen. He continues listening,
until their quick footsteps are no longer audible, and then quietly returns
to his seat, and with incomparable coolness resumes his meal.)
HARVEY: You have a long walk, and a tiresome one, before you, Capt.
WHARTON, you had better do as I do - you were eager for food at the hut
above Fishkill, but traveling seems to have worn down your appetite.
HENRY: I thought myself safe then, but the information of my sister
fills me with uneasiness, and I cannot eat.
HARVEY: You have less reason to be troubled now than at any time since
the night before you were taken, when you refused my advice, and an offer
to see you in, in safety. Major DUNWOODIE is not a man to laugh and be gay,
when his friend is in difficulty. Come then, and eat, for no horse will
be in our way, if we can hold our legs for four hours longer, and the sun
keeps behind the hills as long as common.
(There is a composure in the peddler's manner that encourages his companion;
and having once determined to submit to HARVEY's government, he suffers
himself to be persuaded into a tolerable supper, if quantity be considered
without any reference to the quality. After completing their repast, the
peddler resumes his journey.)
(HENRY follows in blind submission to his will. For two hours more
they struggle with the difficult and dangerous passes of the Highlands,
without road, or any other guide than the moon, which is traveling the heavens,
now wading through flying clouds, and now shining brightly.)
SCENE 102 - Predawn high in mountains overlooking the valley
(At length the peddler and young English captain arrive at a point
where the mountains sink into rough and unequal hillocks, and passed at
once from the barren sterility of the precipices, to the imperfect culture
of the neutral ground.)
(The peddler now becomes more guarded in the manner in which they proceed,
and takes precautions to prevent meeting any moving parties of the Americans.
With the stationary posts he is too familiar to render it probable he might
fall upon any of them unawares. He winds among the hills and vales, now
keeping the highways and now avoiding them, with a precision that seems
instinctive. There is nothing elastic in his tread, but he glides over the
ground with enormous strides, and a body bent forward, without appearing
to use exertion, or know weariness.)
(The moon has set, and a faint streak of light is beginning to show
itself in the east. Capt. WHARTON ventures to express a sense of fatigue,
and to enquire if they are not yet arrived at a part of the country where
it might be safe to apply at some of the farm-houses for admission.)
HARVEY: See here (pointing to a hill, at a short distance in their
rear) do you not see a man walking on the point of that rock? Turn, so
as to bring the daylight in the range - now, see, he moves, and seems to
be looking earnestly at some thing to the eastward. That is a royal sentinel;
two hundred of the rig'lar troops lay on that hill, no doubt sleeping on
their arms.
HENRY: Then let us join them, and our danger is ended.
HARVEY: Softly, softly, Capt. WHARTON, you've once been in the midst
of three hundred of them, but there was a man who could take you out; see
you not yon dark body, on the side of the opposite hill, just above the
cornstalks? There are the - the rebels (since that is the word of loyal
subjects) waiting only for day, to see who will be master of the ground.
HENRY: Nay, then, I will join the troops of my prince, and share their
fortunes, be it good or be it bad.
HARVEY: You forget that you fight with a halter around your neck;
no, no - I have promised one whom I must not disappoint, to carry you safe
in; and unless you forget what I have already done, and what I have risked
for you, Capt. WHARTON, you will turn and follow me to Harlaem.
(To this appeal the youth feels unwillingly obliged to submit; and they
continue their course towards the city. It is not long before they gain
the banks of the Hudson. After searching for a short time under the shore,
the peddler discovers a skiff, that appears to be an old acquaintance; and
entering it with his companion, he lands him on the south side of the Croton.)
(Here BIRCH declares they are in safety; for the royal troops hold
the continentals at bay, and the former are out in too great strength, for
the light parties of the latter to trust themselves below that river, on
the immediate banks of the Hudson.)
(Throughout the whole of this arduous flight, the peddler has manifested
a coolness and presence of mind that nothing appears to disturb. All his
faculties seem to be of more than usual perfection, and the infirmities
of nature to have no dominion over him.. HENRY has followed him like a child
in leading-strings, and he now reaps his reward, as he feels a bound of
pleasure at his heart, on hearing that he is relieved from apprehension.)
(A steep and laborious ascent brings them from the level of the tide-waters
to the high lands, that form, in this part of the river, the eastern banks
of the Hudson. Retiring a little from the highway, under the shelter of
a thicket of cedars, the peddler throws his form on a flat rock, and announces
to his companion that the hour for rest and refreshment has at length arrived.)
(The day is now open, and objects can be seen in the distance with distinctness.
Beneath them lies the Hudson, stretching to the south in a straight line,
as far as the eye can reach.)
(To the north, the broken fragments of the Highlands throw upwards
their lofty heads, above masses of fog that hangs over the water, and by
which the course of the river can be traced into the bosom of the hills,
whose conical summits are grouping together, one behind another, in that
disorder which might be supposed to have succeeded their gigantic, but fruitless,
effort to stop the progress of the flood.)
(Emerging from these confused piles, the river, expands into a wide bay,
which is ornamented by a few fertile and low points that jut humbly into
its broad basin.)
(On the opposite, or western shore, the rocks of Jersey are gathered
into an array that has obtained for them the name of the "palisadoes,"
elevating themselves for many hundred feet, as if to protect the rich
country in their rear from the inroads of the conqueror; but the river sweeps
proudly by their feet, and holds its undeviating way to the ocean.)
(Scores of white sails and sluggish vessels are seen thickening on the
water, the that air of life which denotes the neighborhood to the metropolis
of a great and flourishing empire; but to HENRY and the peddler it displays
only the square yards and lofty masts of a vessel of war, riding a few miles
below them.)
(Before the fog has begun to move, the tall spars are seen above it,
and from one of them a long pennant is feebly borne abroad in the current
of night air, that still quivers along the river; but as the smoke rises,
the black hull, the crowded and complicated mass of rigging, and the heavy
yards and booms, spreading their arms afar, are successively brought into
view.)
HARVEY: There, Capt. WHARTON, there is a safe resting place for you;
America has no arm that can reach you, if you gain the deck of that ship.
She is sent up to cover the foragers, and support the troops; the rig'lar
officers are fond of the sound of cannon from their shipping.
(Without condescending to reply to the sarcasm conveyed in this speech,
or perhaps not noticing it, HENRY joyfully accepts the proposal, that as
soon as they are refreshed, he should endeavor to get on board the vessel.)
(While busily occupied in the very indispensable operation of breaking
their fast, our adventurers are startled with the sound of distant fire-arms.
At first a few scattering shots are fired, which are succeeded by a long
and animated roll of musketry, and then quick and heavy volleys follow each
other.)
HENRY (springing upon his feet) Your prophecy is made good.
Our troops and the rebels are at it! - - I would give six months pay to
see the charge.
HARVEY: Umph! they do very well to look at from a distance; I can't
say but the company of this bacon, cold as it is, is more to my taste, just
now, than a hot fire from the continentals.
HENRY: The discharges are heavy for so small a force; but the fire
seems irregular.
HARVEY: The scattering guns are from the Connecticut militia (raising
his head to listen); they rattle it off finely, and are no fools at a
mark. The volleys are the rig'lars, who, you know, fire by word - as long
as they can.
HENRY: I like not the warmth of what you call a scattering fire; it
is more like the roll of a drum than the shooting of skirmishers.
HARVEY (raising himself on one knee and ceasing to eat): No,
no; I said not skrimmagers, so long as they stand, they are too good for
the best troops in the royal army. Each man does his work, as if fighting
by the job; and then, they think while they fight, and don't send bullets
among the clouds, that were meant to kill men upon earth.
HENRY: You talk and look, sir, as though you wished them success.
HARVEY: I wish success to the good cause only, Capt. WHARTON, I thought
you knew me too well, to be uncertain which party I favored.
HENRY: Oh, you are reputed loyal, Mr. BIRCH - - But the volleys have
ceased.
(Both now listen intently for a little while, during which the irregular
reports become less brisk, and suddenly heavy and repeated volleys follow.)
HARVEY: They are at the bayonet; the rig'lars have tried the bayonet,
and the rebels are driven.
HENRY: Ay, Mr. BIRCH, the bayonet is the thing for the British soldier,
after all. They delight in the bayonet!
BIRCH: Well, to my notion, there's little delight to be taken in any
such fearful weapon. I dare say the militia are of my mind, for half of
them don't carry the ugly things. - Lord, Lord! Captain, I wish you'd go
with me once into the rebel camp, and hear what lies the men will tell about
Bunker Hill and Burg'yne; you'd think they loved the bayonet as much as
they do their dinners.
(There is a chuckle, and an air of affected innocency about his companion,
that rather annoys HARVEY, and he does not deign to reply.)
(The firing has now become occasionally intermingled with heavy volleys.
Both of the fugitives are standing, listening with much anxiety, when a
man, armed with a musket, is seen stealing towards them, under the shelter
of the cedar bushes, that partially cover the hill.)
(HENRY first observes this suspicious-looking stranger, and instantly
points him out to his companion. BIRCH starts, and certainly makes an indication
of sudden flight; but recollecting himself, he stands, in sullen silence,
until the stranger is within a few yards of them, recogizing him as the
leader of the Skinners.)
STRANGER: 'Tis friends. (Clubbing his gun, but apparently afraid
to venture nearer).
BIRCH: You had better retire, here are rig'lars at hand. We are not
near DUNWOODIE's horse now, and you will not find me an easy prize today.
HEAD SKINNER: Damn Major DUNWOODIE and his horse! God bless King George!
and a speedy end to the rebellion, say I. If you would show me the safe
way in to the refugees, Mr. BIRCH, I'll pay you well, and ever after stand
your friend, in the bargain.
BIRCH: The road is open to you as to me. (turning from him in
ill-concealed disgust) If you want to find the refugees, you know well
where they lay.
HEAD SKINNER: Ay, but I'm a little doubtful of going in upon them
by myself; now, you are well known to them all, and it will be no detriment
to you just to let me go in with you.
(HENRY now here interferes, not knowing the fellow, and after holding
a short dialogue with the fellow, he enters into a compact with him, that,
on condition of surrendering his arms, he might join the party.)
(The man complies instantly, and BIRCH receives his gun with eagerness;
nor does he lay it upon his shoulder to renew their march, before he has
carefully examines the priming, and ascertains, to his satisfaction, that
it contains a good dry ball-cartridge. As soon as this engagement is completed,
they commence their journey anew.)
SCENE 103 - Morning along river bank
(By following the bank of the river, BIRCH leads the way free from
observation, until they reach the point opposite to the frigate, when, by
making a signal, a boat is induced to approach. Some time is spent, and
much precaution used, before the seamen trust themselves ashore; but HENRY
having finally succeeds in making the officer who commands the party credit
his assertions, he is able to rejoin his companions in arms in safety.)
(Before taking leave of BIRCH, the Capt. hands him his purse, which is
tolerably well supplied for the times; the peddler receives, and, watching
an opportunity, he conveys it, unnoticed by the Skinner, to a part of his
dress that is ingeniously contrived to hold such treasures.)
(The boat pulls from the shore, and BIRCH turns on his heel, drawing
his breath like one relieved, and rapidly departs with the strides for which
he is famous. The Skinner follows, and each party pursues the common course,
casting frequent and suspicious glances at the other, and both maintaining
a most impenetrable silence.)
(Wagons are moving along the river road, and occasional parties of horse
are seen escorting the fruits of the inroad towards the city. As the peddler
has views of his own, he rather avoids falling in with any of these patrols,
than seek their protection. But, after traveling a few miles on the immediate
banks of the river, during which, notwithstanding the repeated efforts of
the Skinner to establish something like sociability, BIRCH maintains a most
determined silence, keeping a firm hold of the gun, and always maintaining
a jealous watchfulness of his associate, the peddler suddenly strkes into
the highway, with an intention of crossing the hills towards Harlaem.)
(At the moment he gains the path, a body of horse come over a little
eminence, and are upon him before he perceives them. It is too late to retreat,
and after taking a view of the materials that compose this party, BIRCH
rejoices in the rencontre, as a probable means of relieving him from his
unwelcome companion.)
(There are some eighteen or twenty men, mounted and equipped as dragoons,
though neither their appearance nor manners denote much discipline. At their
head rides a heavy, middle-aged man, whose features express as much of animal
courage, and as little of reason, as could be desired for such an occupation.)
(He wears the dress of an officer, but there is none of that neatness
in his attire, nor grace in his movements, that is usually found about the
gentlemen who bear the royal commission. His limbs are firm, and not pliable,
and he sits his horse with strength and confidence, but his bridle-hand
would have been ridiculed by the meanest rider amongst the Virginians.)
(As expected, this leader instantly hails the peddler, in a voice
by no means more conciliating than his appearance.)
REFUGEE Captain: Hey! my gentlemen, which way so fast? Has Washington
sent you down as spies?
HARVEY (meekly): I am an innocent peddler and am going below,
to lay in a fresh stock of goods.
REFUGEE Capt.: And how do you expect to get below, my innocent peddler?
Do you think we hold the forts at Kingsbridge to cover such peddling rascals
as you, in your goings in, and comings out?
HARVEY: I believe I carry a pass that will carry me through (and
hands the leader a paper with an air of great indifference.).
(The officer, for such he is, reads it and casts a look of surprise and
curiosity at HARVEY, when he is done. Then turning to one or two of his
men, who have officiously stopped the way, - )
REFUGEE Capt.: Why do you detain this man? give way, and let him pass
in peace; but who have we here? Your name is not mentioned in the pass!
HEAD SKINNER: No, sir, (lifting his hat with humility) I have
been a poor deluded man, who has been serving the the rebel army; but, thank
God, I've lived to see the error of my ways, and am now come to make reparation,
by enlisting under the Lord's anointed.
REFUGEE Capt.: Unph! A deserter - a Skinner! I'll swear, wanting to
turn REFUGEE! In the last brush I had with the scoundrels, I could hardly
tell my own men from the enemy. We are not over well supplied with coats,
and as for countenances, the rascals change sides so often, that you may
as well count their faces for nothing; but trudge on, we will contrive to
make use of you, sooner or later.
(Ungracious as is this reception, the Skinner's feelings, from his manner,
seem delighted. He moves quickly towards the city, and is happy to escape
the brutal looks and frightful manner of his interrogator, as to lose sight
of all other considerations. But the man who performs the functions of orderly
in the irregular troop, rides up to the side of his commander, and commences
a close and confidential discourse with him.)
(They speak in whispers, and cast frequent and searching glances at
the Skinner, until the fellow begins to think himself an object of more
than common attention. His satisfaction at this distinction is somewhat
heightened, at observing a smile on the face of the Captain. This pantomime
continues as they pass a hollow, and concludes as they rise another hill.)
SCENE 104 - Morning on hill overlooking the river
(Here the Captain and his sergeant both dismount, and order the party
to halt. The two partisans each take a pistol from his holster, a movement
that excited no suspicion, as it is a precaution always observed, and beckons
to the peddler and the Skinner to follow. A short walk brings them to a
spot where the hill overhangs the river, the ground falling nearly perpendicularly
to the shore.)
On the brow of the eminence stands a deserted and dilapidated barn. Many
boards of its covering are torn from their places, and its wide doors are
lying, the one in front of the building, and the other half-way down the
precipice, whither the wind has cast it.)
SCENE 105 - Same morning inside delapadated barn
(Entering this desolate spot, the Captain holds forth a hand towards
his assistant. A small cord is produced from the pocket of the sergeant,
and handed to the other. A heavy piece of lumber lies across the girths
of the barn, but a little way from the southern door, which opens directly
upon a full view of the river, as it stretches far away towards the bay
of New York.)
(Over this beam the Captain throws one end of the rope, and regaining
it, joins the two parts in his hand. A small and weak barrel, that wants
a head, the staves of which are loose and at one end standing apart, was
left on the floor, probably as useless.)
(The sergeant, in obedience to a look from his officer, places it
beneath the beam. All of these arrangements are made with immovable composure,
and they now seem completed to the officer's satisfaction.)
REFUGEE Captain: Come. (coolly to the Skinner, who has stood a
silent spectator of their progress. He obeys, and it is not until he finds
his neckcloth removed and hat thrown aside, that he takes the alarm. But
he has so often resorted to a similar expedient to extort information, or
plunder, that he by no means feels the terror an unpracticed man would have
suffered. The rope is adjusted to his neck with the same coolness that forms
the characteristic of the whole movement, and a fragment of board being
laid upon the barrel, he is ordered to mount.)
HEAD SKINNER: But it may fall (for the first time beginning to
tremble) I will tell you anything - even now to surprise our party at
the Pond, without all this trouble, and it is commanded by my own brother.
REFUGEE Capt.: I want no information (throwing the rope repeatedly
over the beam, first drawing it tight so as to annoy the Skinner a little,
and then casting the end from him, beyond the reach of anyone.)
HEAD SKINNER: This is joking too far, (in a tone of remonstrance,
and raising himself on his toes, with the vain hope of releasing himself
from the cord, by slipping his head through the noose. But the caution and
experience of the REFUGEE has guarded against that escape.)
REFUGEE Captain: What have you done with the horse you stole from
me, rascal?
HEAD SKINNER: He broke down in the chase, but I can tell you where
one is to be found that is worth him and his sire.
REFUGEE Capt.: Liar! I will help myself when I am in need; you had
better call upon God for aid, as your hour is short.
(On concluding this consoling advice, he strikes the barrel a violent
blow with his heavy boot, and the slender staves fly in every direction,
leaving the Skinner whirling in the air. As his hands are unconfined, he
throws them upwards and holds himself suspended by main strength.)
HEAD SKINNER: Come , Captain, (huskiness creeping into his voice)
end the joke; 'tis enough to make me laugh, and my arms begin to tire
- I can't hold on much longer.
REFUGEE Captain: Harkee, Mr. Peddler (in a voice that would not
be denied) I want not your company Through that door lies your road -
march! Offer to touch that dog, and you'll swing in his place, though twenty
Sir Henries wanted your services.
(So saying, he retires to the road with the sergeant, as the peddler
precipitately retreats down the bank.)
SCENE 106 - Same morning down the bank from the barn
(BIRCH goes no farther than a bush that opportunely offers itself as
screen to his person, while he yields to an unconquerable desire to witness
the termination of this extraordinary scene.)
(The Skinner calls entreatingly to be released, and makes rapid and
incoherent promises of important information, mingled with affected pleasantry
at their conceit, but as he hears the tread of horses moving on their course,
and in vain looks around for human aid, violent trembling seizes his limbs,
and his eyes begin to start from his head in terror.)
(He catches the rope in his teeth, in a vain effort to sever the cord,
and falls to the whole length of his arms. Here his cries turn into shrieks.)
HEAD SKINNER: Help, cut the rope, Captain! BIRCH! Good peddler! Down
with the Congress! Sergeant! For God's sake, help! Hurrah for the king!
Oh God, Oh God! mercy, mercy, mercy!
(As his voice becomes suppressed, one of his hands endeavors to make
its way between the rope and his neck, but the other falls quivering at
his side, and he hangs a hideous corpse.)
(BIRCH watches the scene from a distance, but near the close -)
BIRCH sings INSTEAD OF ME:
"That pillaging, maurading, incindiary soul ... who
burned our homes and turned me in to gain a bag of gold ... how I wished
then that he would be ... the one to hang instead of me ... Now here it's
truly happening ... he's dangling there upon a string."
"Those Refugees have no qualms ... they tied his neck
but not his arms ... 'Don't touch that man,' they firmly said ... 'Or you'll
be hanging there instead.'... His ever piercing screams and pleas ... I
must no long hear, but flee."
(He places his hands to his ears, and rushes towards the highway.
Still the cries for mercy rings through his brain, and it is many weeks
before his memory ceases to dwell on the horrid event. The Refugees ride
steadily on their route, as if nothing has occured.)
SCENE 107 - Night before on the road from FOUR CORNERS
(While the events of the peddler and Capt. WHARTON escaping are
taking place, Capt. LAWTON leads his small party, by slow and wary marches,
from the Four Corners to the front of a body of the enemy; where he so successfully
maneuvers, for a short time, as completely to elude all their efforts to
entrap him, and yet so disguises his own force as to excite the constant
apprehension of an attack from the Americans.)
(This forebearing policy, on the side of the partisan, is owing to positive
orders received from his commander. When DUNWOODIE left his detachment,
the enemy were known to be slowly advancing, and he directed LAWTON to hover
around them, until his own return, and the arrival of a body of foot, might
enable him to intercept their retreat. The trooper discharges his duty to
the letter, but with no little of the impatience that makes part of his
character when restrained from the attack.)
(During these movements, BETTY FLANAGAN guides her little cart with
indefatigable zeal among the rocks of West-Chester, now discussing with
the sergeant the nature of evil spirits, and now combating with the surgeon
sundry points of practice that are hourly arising between them.)
(But the moment at length arrives that is to decree the temporary mastery
of the field. A detachment of the eastern militia moves out from their fastnesses,
and approaches the enemy.)
(The junction between LAWTON and his auxiliaries is made at midnight,
and an immediate consultation is held between him and the leader of the
foot-soldiers. After listening to the statements of the partisan, who rather
despises the prowess of his enemy, the commandant of the party determines
to attack the British, the moment daylight enables him to reconnoiter their
position, without waiting for the aid of DUNWOODIE and his horse. So soon
as this decision is made, LAWTON retires from the building where the consultation
is held, and rejoins his own small command.)
SCENE 108 - Night in a hayfield
(The few troopers who are with Captain LAWTON have fastened their
horses in a spot adjacent to a haystack, and laid their own frames under
its shelter, to catch a few hours' sleep. But Dr. SITGREAVES, Sgt. HOLLISTER,
and BETTY FLANAGAN are congregated at a short distance by themselves, having
spread a few blankets upon the dry surface of a rock.)
(LAWTON throws his huge frame at the side of the surgeon, and folding
his cloak around him, leans his head upon one hand, and appears deeply engaged
in contemplating the moon as it wades through the heavens.)
(The sergeant is sitting upright, in respectful deference to the surgeon,
and the washerwoman is now raising her head in order to vindicate some of
her favorite maxims, and now composing it on one of her gin-casks, in a
vain effort to sleep.)
Dr. SITGREAVES: So , Sergeant, if you cut upwards, the blow, by losing
the additional momentum of your weight, will be less destructive, and at
the same time effect the true purposes of war, that of disabling your enemy.
BETTY: Pooh, pooh! Sargeant dear, where's the harm of taking a life,
jist in the way of battle? Is it the rig'lars who'll show favor, and they
fighting? As Captain BEN there, if the country could get the liberty, and
the boys no strike their might. I wouldn't have them disparage the whiskey
so much.
Dr. SITGREAVES: It is not to be expected that an ignorant female like
yourself, Mrs. FLANAGAN, can comprehend the distinctions of surgical science;
neither are you accomplished in the sword exercise; so that dissertations
upon the judicious use of that weapon could avail you nothing, either in
theory or in practice.
BETTY: It's but little I care, any way, for such botherments; but
fighting is no play, and a body shouldn't be partic'lar how they strike,
or who they hit, so it's the enemy.
Dr. SITGREAVES: Are we likely to have a warm day, Capt. LAWTON?
LAWTON: 'Tis more than probable, these militia seldom fail of making
a bloody field, either by their cowardice or their ignorance, and the real
soldier is made to suffer for their bad conduct.
SITGREAVES: Are you ill, JOHN?
Capt. LAWTON sings FOLLY OF WAR:
"Sick at heart, .. Archibald ... in the folly of our
leaders ... in believing ...that battles must be fought ... and vict'ries
must be won ... by fellows ... who have hardly learned the way ... to shoot
a gun ... The dependency ... we place on these lads ... spills the best
blood ... our country has."
(The surgeon listens with amazement. it is not the matter, but the
manner that surprises him. The trooper has uniformly exhibited, on the eve
of battle, an animation, and an eagerness to engage, that is directly at
variance with the admirable coolness of his manner at other times. But now
there is a despondency in the tones of his voice, and a listlessness in
his air, that is entirely different.)
(The operator hesitates a moment, to reflect in what manner he can render
this change of service in furthering his favorite system available, and
then continues -)
SITGREAVES: It would be wise , JOHN, to advise the Colonel to keep
at long shot; a spent ball will disable -
LAWTON: No! let the rascals singe their whiskers at the muzzles of
the British muskets, if they can be driven there - But enough of them, Archibald
- )
LAWTON sings MOON PEOPLE:
"Think you ... the moon ... has people, too ... just
like the earth?.. 'Tis a glorious heaven ... Look, ... there's a star ...
Perhaps there's a world ... with people like us ... Think you ... they,
too ... know of bloodshed and war?"
SITGREAVES: Nothing more probable, dear JOHN, we know its size, and
reasoning from analogy, may easily conjecture its use. Whether or not its
inhabitants have attained to that perfection in the sciences must depend
greatly on the state of its society, and in some measure upon its physical
influences.
LAWTON: I care nothing about their learning, Archibald; but 'tis a
wonderful power that can create such worlds, and control them in their wanderings.
I know not why, but there is a feeling of melancholy excited within me as
I gaze on that body of light, shaded as it is by your fancied sea and land.
It seems to be the resting-place of departed spirits!
(BETTY, raising her head and flourishing her own bottle -)
BETTY sings TAKE A DROP, DARLIN':
"Take a drop, darlin'... take a drop, ... take a drop
... 'cause it is the night damp... that chills the blood ... Take
a drop, darlin' ... take a drop ... take a drop ... and it will help ...
to end ... yeer doldrums flood ... Take a drop, darlin' ... take a drop
... take a drop ... then this cursed military talk ... will make yeer fiery
temper walk."
(But LAWTON disregards the offer of BETTY.)
Sgt. HOLLISTER: If I might be so bold, 'tis mentioned in the good
book, that the Lord made the sun to stand still while Joshua was charging
the enemy, in order, sir, as I suppose, that they might have daylight to
turn their flank, or perhaps make a feint in the rear, or such maneuver.
Now, if the Lord would lend them a hand, fighting cannot be sinful. I have
often been nonplused, though, to find that they used them chariots instead
of heavy dragoons, who are in all comparison, better to break a line of
infantry, and who, for the matter of that could turn such wheel-carriages,
and getting in the rear, play the very devil with them, horse and all.
SITGREAVES: It is because you do not understand the construction of
those ancient vehicles, Sgt. HOLLISTER, that you judge of them so erroneously.
They were armed with sharp weapons that protruded from their wheels, and
which broke up the columns of foot, like dismembered particles of matter.
I doubt not , if similar instruments were affixed to the cart of Mrs. FLANAGAN,
that great confusion might be carried into the ranks of the enemy, thereby,
this very day.
BETTY (from under her blanket): It's but little that the mare
would go, and the rig'lars firing at her, when we got the plunder, the time
we drove them through the Jarseys it was, I had to back the baste up to
the dead; for the divil the foot would she move, forenent the firing, wid
her eyes open. Roanoke and Capt. JACK are good enough for the red-coats,
letting alone myself and the mare. |
