TREASON AND DEATH 
 OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 JOHN JAY CHAPMAN 
 

 
 
 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 OF 
 
 BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
THE TREASON & DEATH 
 
 OF 
 
 BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 A PLAY FOR A GREEK THEATRE 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN JAY CHAPMAN 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD &l COMPANY 
 1910 
 

 Copyright, 1910 
 By Joun Jay Chapman 
 
 Tt. 
 
 THE • PLIMPTON ■ ;PRESS 
 
 [ W D ' b] 
 NORWOOD MASS • U • S ■ A 
 
 CLD 22899 
 
^ 
 
 i^ 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Benedict Arnold. 
 
 Joshua Smith. 
 
 Major Andre. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold. 
 
 William Arnold, A Boy of Eight, Son to Benedict, 
 
 Father Hudson. 
 
 Chorus of Waves (Men). 
 
 Chorus of Clouds (Women). 
 
 Chorus-leader of Men. 
 
 Chorus-leader of Women. 
 
 Treason. 
 
 Death. 
 
 Two Pickets. 
 
 A Servant. 
 
 SCENE 
 
 Act I. the shore of the Hudson near west 
 
 POINT. 
 
 Act II. SITTING-ROOM OF BENEDICT ARNOLD IN 
 ENGLAND IN 1801. 
 
 The Acts are Separated by 
 a Short Vocal Intermezzo, 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 ACT I 
 
 The margin of the Hudson at West Point. 
 Fort Putnam and the Highlands in the 
 distance. A flag is fluttering on the 
 fort. The orchestra represents the level 
 of the river shore, upon which level the 
 Chorus will enter. The characters of the 
 drama appear on a bank or platform, 
 slightly raised above the orchestra and 
 Chorus. At the opening of the play 
 Father Hudson is upon the scene. He 
 reclines in the centre of the stage in the 
 attitude of a river-god. The nook or 
 couch in which he rests is situated 
 between the two levels, as it were in an 
 angle of the river bank. His position is 
 such that he can, by turning his head, 
 either watch the personages on the stage, 
 or address the Chorus on the river mar- 
 gin. He is so painted and disposed as 
 not to attract attention when the play 
 opens, but to appear rather as a part of 
 the scenery and decoration. 
 [7] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 First Picket, Uneasy has been my 
 watch. Dark have been my forebod- 
 ings, standing first on one foot and then 
 on the other, through the night hours, 
 preyed upon by visions, holding my eye- 
 Hds open by my will, while strange 
 thoughts like vultures over their carrion, 
 wheeling about above me, assail me, tear 
 me with their beaks and talons. Dark 
 looms the cloud bank through the black 
 portals of the river. The fog holds the 
 bleared eyes of the morning. And I, 
 stiff with watching, suspect some evil. 
 Some foul play is in the mountains, 
 stalking in the shadows of the dawn. 
 Would God the releasing trumpet would 
 blow and the flag flutter on the mountain 
 side, and that I might find all well! 
 General Washington is on a journey. 
 Would God he were returned! [The 
 sound of a bugle is heard.] Blow, blessed 
 bugle! Blow to the rising Sun! Blow 
 to the dayspring of Liberty, to the new 
 nation rising calmly above the dangers 
 that beset her dawn. Blow bugle, and 
 scatter the night-thoughts of terror! 
 [8] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 [Enter the relieving Picket.] Who goes 
 there? 
 
 Second Picket, A friend and thy rehef . 
 Our post is changed; 
 The pickets are extended up the hills, 
 And this low post abandoned. 
 
 First Picket, That is strange, 
 
 To leave the river front without a 
 
 watch ! 
 If we expect attack, attack raust come 
 
 Along the river, 
 
 Second Picket. Comrade, spare your 
 brains. 
 And take your orders. [Exeunt Pickets.] 
 
 Father Hudson. Daughters of the sky, 
 
 ye clouds of the morning, 
 Replenishers of my veins, ye purple, 
 
 wandering clouds! 
 And you, ye waves that lap my feet, 
 
 far-traveling, restless, endlessly 
 
 moving ! 
 Thralls of the circling ocean, waves of 
 
 the sea — 
 Attend your Father Hudson, the Ageless, 
 
 the Majestic! 
 [9] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Calling to you, his sons and daughters, 
 
 summoning you at his need. 
 Stoop, daughters of ether, ye clouds of 
 
 the mountains! 
 Rise, sons of the sea, most ancient re- 
 tainers. 
 Flow towards your father's need! the 
 
 River calls — 
 Father Hudson summons his children. 
 
 [Enter simultaneously Chorus of Waves, 
 (men) on one side, and on the other. 
 Chorus of Clouds (women). They flock 
 slowly into the orchestra, approaching each 
 other, and sing as they assemble.] 
 
 Both Choruses. Father Hudson, we are 
 coming, we are streaming, we are 
 foaming 
 From the sky and from the earth, 
 Down the mountains, 
 Through the fountains. 
 We are streaming, steaming forth; 
 We, the children of your will. 
 Born to serve you, and to fill 
 All your banks and all your margin 
 With the fulness of enlarging. 
 With the plentitude of rivers, 
 [10] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 We, the generous water-givers, 
 Overflowing, bubbling, swelling. 
 Feed you with our rich upwelling. 
 Chorus of Men. From Monadnock and 
 Mount Washington — 
 And where the haughty deer on Hudson's 
 
 Bay 
 Sniffs the north wind. We bring you Mist. 
 Chorus of Women. From the rank low- 
 lands of the Delaware, 
 And from the even margin of low sand. 
 Where the Atlantic smites the continent. 
 We bring you Salt. 
 Chorus of Men. From Sicily and the 
 Cumsean Cave, 
 And from the mountains where Apollo's 
 
 shafts 
 Whitened the hillsides once, We bring 
 you Thought. 
 Chorus of Women. From the dark 
 heart of man that scorns the light. 
 From Wisdom, found in Meekness 
 through Despair, 
 
 We bring you Grief. 
 Both Choruses. Haste to where our 
 father dwells! 
 
 [11] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 We the movers, we the rovers. 
 Come to your eternal dwelhng. 
 Ancient father, we will bring 
 News and thought of everything. 
 From the mossy citadels. 
 And the cities of the sea; 
 Timeworn tales of prophecy 
 We are bringing in our singing 
 To your newer Majesty. 
 To your destiny belated. 
 Young and unsophisticated, 
 W^e, the children of the ages, 
 Bring the solemn heritages, — 
 Force and Woe and Human Fate, — 
 Embittering your god-like state. 
 
 Bitter is life! 
 Bitter, bitter even to the gods, is 
 
 life! 
 Father Hudson, Sons and daughters, 
 
 sole feeders of my life, 
 By these new-coming white men I am 
 
 destroyed. 
 My feet are burned in Manhattan, my 
 
 thighs in the Mohawk, 
 While in the Adirondacks they blaze 
 
 enduring ruin. 
 [12] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 {The leaders speak, not sing, except as 
 otherwise noted,] 
 
 Leader of Men, Alas! little knows he 
 that his kingdom is of nothing but of 
 change and pain. 
 
 Leader of Women, Foolish god that 
 must await the baptism of humanity! 
 
 Leader of Men, Father! these things 
 must be: therefore endure. Lo, thy old 
 trees are as grass; thy ancient summits 
 as fresh ant-hills. Chaldea sends thee 
 this message, father; Egypt salutes thee; 
 Greece sends thee this song; a song of 
 tribulation. For there is no short cut 
 to Antiquity: therefore endure. 
 
 Father Hudson, Woe, woe, woe is me! 
 
 Leader of Men, Untutored God ! Mind 
 ragged as thy hills, thou must accept the 
 refining pain. 
 
 Father Hudson, Woe, woe, woe is 
 me! 
 
 Leader of Women, Peace, Father ! Do 
 not whine. Because thou hast been 
 spared thou art soft-minded. Because 
 thou wast spared thou art a child. 
 
 Leader of Men, When thy hills shall 
 [13] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 have been steeped for a thousand years 
 in history, then thou wilt be patient. 
 
 Leader of Women, What thou feelest 
 is not the axe nor the fire-brand, but the 
 Spirit of Man moving in thy demesnes. 
 
 Leader of Men, Lo, where it comes! 
 Lo, where the shadow falls! 
 
 [Enter Benedict Arnold. He is in the 
 Uniform of an American General. He 
 limps.] 
 
 Both Choruses. A light thing is man 
 and his suffering very little. 
 
 If he can but endure for a short time, 
 death saves him. Lo, his release cometh 
 and his happiness is long. 
 
 Fame forever follows in the steps of 
 the just man: an unending life springs up 
 behind him. 
 
 Children follow him: a good father's 
 life is a lamp that burns in the heart of 
 the son. 
 
 How short is the struggle of the great- 
 est hero, and how long his fame! Save 
 me from pride and from the expectation 
 of praise from men. 
 
 [14] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Arnold, He may not come. — 
 What if it were a ruse to capture me? — 
 The whole proceeding cloaked in infamy. 
 And no faith in the matter? 
 Andre should be here. Andre is a man 
 Of sterling honor, and will keep his faith. 
 My secret's in his hand. — My change of 
 
 heart 
 Must to His Majesty have long been 
 
 known. 
 And he will praise me for it. Civil war 
 Knows no such thing as treason; change 
 
 of sides. 
 The victory of reason in the heart. 
 Makes Loyalist turn Whig. Montgomery, 
 Richard Montgomery, was honor's dar- 
 ling; 
 And when his body fell, scaling Quebec, 
 Down the sheer rock it left a track of 
 
 light 
 Which sped in opposition towards the 
 
 stars 
 Bearing his fame. He was an officer 
 In the King's army ere he found our own. 
 Did conscience fret the gallant Irishman 
 To think what uniform was on his back 
 [15] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 When he so died? What if in that 
 
 assault 
 I had died too, my name had ranked with 
 
 his 
 In song and monument; unfading laurels 
 Had shed their brazen lustre o'er our 
 
 brows, 
 And we, like demigods, had lived for- 
 ever. 
 Was it enough for him to scale the sky 
 Against the slippery adamant of Fame, 
 And, giving youth, give all? I have done 
 
 more. 
 All of his early prowess was mine too: 
 In everything I match him; and to 
 
 me 
 Remains the hell of glory on the Lakes, 
 When with my hand I stopped the 
 
 British fleet, — 
 Stayed them a year: they dreaded to 
 
 come on. 
 And I had done it. There remain my 
 
 fights 
 At Ridgefield, and those shortened days 
 At Saratoga, when the fit came on 
 And I knew nothing but the act of war, 
 [16] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 And victory coming down, Victory, Vic- 
 tory! 
 
 'Twas I that saved them! Yes, 'twas I 
 that saved you — 
 
 Ye Httle wranglers with the name of war ! 
 
 I beat Burgoyne, I saved the continent. 
 
 The Continental Army and the Cause, 
 
 Washington, Congress, and the whole of 
 you, 
 
 I saved ye, — saved ye, — and I had 
 for it — 
 
 It chokes me still to say it — had for it — 
 
 It wakes me in the night with leaping 
 hatred, — 
 
 Out of my bed I leap to think of it, — 
 
 Hitting me in my sleep the poison comes 
 
 And fangs my heart. — I had a Repri- 
 mand! 
 
 I, reprimanded by a sorry crew 
 
 Of politicians — I, I, I ! 
 
 Thus, in my heart for sixteen months of 
 hurt. 
 
 Burns the injustice, clamors the revenge. 
 
 No, no revenge! but justice, 
 
 Nothing but justice — I'll have justice! 
 
 [17] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Both Choruses, Foolish is the man 
 who thinks upon his wrongs though they 
 be great. The sting is in him; the poison 
 is in himself. 
 
 Lo, he accuses others, and the deed of 
 his death is done with his own hand. 
 Father Hudson, What is the man dis- 
 turbed about, my children.^ 
 Leader of Men, He is a hero and a 
 battle-god : 
 The spoils and the rewards he justly 
 
 won, 
 Others have seized, and left his haughty 
 
 heart 
 A withered laurel. 
 
 Father Hudson, Surely it was wrong; 
 
 The hero should receive the hero's meed. 
 
 Leader of Men. The gods that made 
 
 him hero had left out 
 
 The drop of meekness which preserves 
 
 the rest 
 From self-destruction. 
 
 Father Hudson, Will he kill himself? 
 Leader of Men, More than a suicide. — 
 A living death 
 Takes up its habitation in his heart. 
 [18] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Father Hudson, Little I understand, 
 but greatly pity. 
 You, who have mastered all philosophy. 
 Can surely soothe him. 
 Leader of Men, None can reach 
 
 the man. 
 He is beyond the boundaries of speech. 
 And goes the paths of blindness. 
 Would'st thou, O Father, see the in- 
 visible. 
 And know what agitates your placid 
 mind? 
 Father Hudson, Show me: I can re- 
 ceive it. 
 [The following Invocation is sung by the 
 Leader of the Women in a clear contralto 
 voice.] 
 
 Leader of Women, Spirit of the unseen 
 habitation, 
 Walking distress. 
 
 Blighting presence. Nemesis, Evil, 
 Good-in-Darkness, 
 Passing from breast to breast. 
 Reaching easily all men, 
 And the vine in the orchard, 
 And the thick clusters of the grape, 
 [19] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 And the bending branches of the young 
 
 peach trees, 
 When the south wind blows death upon 
 
 their pride, — 
 O intimate undoing ! In what form walk- 
 est thou here? 
 Treason. [Without.] 'Who calls? 
 
 Leader of Men. One who knows thee 
 well enough : thou need'st not hide. 
 [Enter Treason.] 
 Leader of Men. [To Father Hudson.] 
 Behold the unsleeping fiend that lives in 
 
 him! 
 His name is Treason. 
 
 Treason. Art thou there, Benedict? 
 
 Arnold. [Aside.] Why not? 'Tis 
 
 Fame, 
 Reward, wealth, power, revenge and 
 
 simple justice 
 All at a clap. They'll make a Lord of 
 
 me, — 
 Pacificator of the Colonies, — 
 Restorer of an erring people's love 
 To their forgiving Sovereign. At a clap ! 
 The key to all of this is in my hand, — 
 [20] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 West Point; and in my other hand, 
 
 Sir Henry's promises, — money in sums, 
 
 To weigh the unweighed treasures I have 
 
 sunk 
 For these damned ingrates. 
 
 Treason. Art thou there, Benedict? 
 Arnold. [Still aside.] They took my 
 all, 
 Engulfed my freely-given wealth, paid 
 
 out 
 For their salvation; now they count the 
 
 cost. 
 File my accounts and give me promises, — 
 Hopes for next year. 'Twas not in coin 
 
 like that 
 I paid at Saratoga! 
 
 Treason. Benedict! 
 
 Arnold. Who art thou, spirit of the 
 inner world? 
 I cannot see thee. 
 
 Treason. And yet you called me. 
 
 Arnold. No, I called thee not. I 
 called to mind 
 My bullet-shattered thigh, and the hot 
 
 thirst 
 Of fever. Did not Washington himself 
 [21] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Send me the sword-knots he received 
 
 from France, 
 And Congress vote a horse caparisoned 
 To bear me proudly? 
 
 Treason. Ay; they kept 
 
 back that 
 Which all out-weighed the rest. 
 
 Arnold. My rank! 
 
 My rank! 
 Five brigadiers promoted over me! 
 Treason. They paid with compli- 
 ment. 
 Arnold. A soldier's rank 
 
 Is, as his guiding genius in the sky, 
 A holy thing. That rank which I had 
 
 earned 
 They gave to striplings. 
 
 Treason. Pay them well 
 
 for it! 
 Arnold. Leave me: I do desire to be 
 
 alone. 
 Treason. Without me, Arnold, thou 
 art not alone. 
 I am beside thee till thy dying breath: 
 When Treason leaves, he hands thee unto 
 Death. 
 
 [22] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Arnold. It is not treason to preserve 
 one's life 
 
 Among wild beasts; nor treason to de- 
 mand 
 
 The reasonable payment of a debt; 
 
 Nor treason for the savior of a land 
 
 Listen : — There was a stripling in the 
 town 
 
 Where I was born; and this rash vigorous 
 boy 
 
 Seized by the nose a bull, that in a fright 
 
 Had rushed aboard a crowded ferry- 
 boat, 
 
 And held him through his plunges till 
 he fell, 
 
 Subdued by pain. The boy for no 
 reward. 
 
 But for the devil in him, did the thing. 
 
 But had he been a man, and sought 
 reward. 
 
 Had he been banged about this rocking 
 world 
 
 As I have, holding terror by the horns, 
 
 Could he not ask a pittance? — Leave 
 me, friend. 
 
 I am exhausted, taking all the brunt 
 [23] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 And getting kicks for pay. Nay, leave 
 
 me, Sir, 
 The argument is over. Let me rest. 
 
 [Sits down and tries to sleep.] 
 Treason, I'll watch beside thee. 
 Father Hudson. Can ye not calm him 
 
 somewhat in his sleep? 
 Leader of Men. [To Treason.] Will 
 
 you not leave the man and let him 
 
 rest.f^ 
 Treason. His sleep is mine. When 
 
 waking let him rest. 
 
 Father Hudson. [To Treason.] This 
 
 is a cruel fate ye mete him out. 
 Treason. Be it your province to be 
 
 merciful. 
 Father Hudson. When will ye leave 
 
 the man, thou empty ghost? 
 Treason. When Treason in the flesh 
 
 shall come to meet him. 
 Both Choruses. Surely it is a good 
 thing for a hero to die in his youth; for 
 then is he perfect. The bark is not 
 broken on the wand nor the neck worn 
 by the yoke. 
 
 [24] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Surely young men are better than old; 
 and we praise them deservedly. This 
 man, a few years since, could endure 
 reverse; but now he is broken and worn 
 away: his soul bows down; he cannot 
 hold out longer. 
 
 It is a good thing when a young hero 
 dies; for so is he safe. His immortality 
 is meted to him. O spare us a trial like 
 this man's who is on the brink of great 
 misfortune. 
 
 Arnold, [Starting up.] They have be- 
 trayed me! Who goes there? 
 [Enter Joshua Smith. Exit Treason.] 
 Joshua Smith. A friend! 
 Arnold. His name? 
 
 Joshua Smith, Joshua Smith. And 
 
 yours? 
 Arnold. Arnold, my man. Good God ! 
 you startled me. 
 I must have slept. What news? Will 
 Andre come? 
 Joshua Smith. He's just behind me. 
 All is as we planned. 
 The British sloop-of-war hangs in the tide. 
 [25] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 The Vulture brought him, and she waits 
 for him 
 
 Not two miles to the south. I boarded 
 her. With every point 
 
 Raised in your letters Andre is agreed; 
 
 And back of him, Sir Henry Clinton 
 stands ; 
 
 And back of him, — ye'U hear it now? — 
 King George! 
 
 Packt, stamped upon, agreed, and under- 
 stood, 
 
 The bargain's struck. Your hand, my 
 Lord! Sir Benedict! 
 
 Lord Ruler Benedict, The Lord Pro- 
 tector of the Colonies, 
 
 And Duke of, — what you will. Young 
 Andre follows. 
 
 I chased ahead to find you. Put it high ! 
 
 You'll put the figure high? — I'm out of 
 breath — 
 Arnold. I'll put it high enough to 
 help a friend. 
 
 No fear of that, my lad. Go rest awhile: 
 
 Stand sentinel upon the shore below. 
 
 [Exit Smith. As Jie goes out he indi- 
 cates Arnold to Andre by a gesture. 
 [26] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Enter Andre. His slender, refined, almost 
 
 girlish youth is in contrast with Arnold's 
 
 battle-worn, gigantic figure.] 
 
 Arnold. [Aside.] At last my arrows 
 strike! [To Andre.] What! Major 
 Andre ! 
 
 This is a crazy meeting, — somewhat 
 strange 
 
 After your jigging nights in Philadel- 
 phia, — 
 
 A Mischianza, where we play a masque, 
 
 And act a drama fraught with conse- 
 quence 
 
 More serious than any since the Duke 
 
 Brought back King Charles. Two true- 
 born Englishmen, 
 
 If you'll accept my hand, shall this day 
 place 
 
 A jewel in old England's diadem. 
 
 Which some rash spirits would shake out 
 of it. 
 Andre. Have you the papers ready? 
 Arnold. They are here; 
 
 The plans of all the out-posts to the 
 dot. 
 
 And every man on duty in the Fortress. 
 [27] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Andre. The general is in Hartford? 
 Arnold, And returns 
 
 Not for some days. Our garrison I'll 
 
 post 
 Distributively on the distant hills; 
 While from the Vulture half a thousand 
 
 men 
 Land in the darkness. Thus without a 
 
 blow, 
 But with the magic of a countersign, 
 West Point becomes your own. 
 
 Andre, Is there 
 
 some house 
 Or tavern, where with more deliberate 
 
 mind 
 We may o'erlook the papers, and make 
 
 note 
 Of our exacter meanings? 
 
 Arnold, Close at hand. 
 
 The mansion of my agent, Joshua Smith. 
 
 Andre, Good, we'll go there. O 
 
 Arnold, death is nothing; 
 
 Our lives are forfeit to our country's 
 
 cause. 
 Which of us would not quit the world in 
 peace 
 
 [28] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 After some act that scaled the walls of 
 
 time, 
 And stood on the rampart? 
 
 Arnold. Right, and bravely said ! I've 
 given my life 
 As many times as I have mounted horse 
 To reconnoitre — 
 
 Andre. But this is different, 
 
 Arnold. 
 Arnold. Different, ay different! it 
 saves men's lives: 
 Without a drop of blood it ends a war. 
 Andre. You are a veteran, and know 
 the feel 
 Of imminent death. I could die bravely, 
 too. 
 Arnold. Of course you could. All 
 fear is bookish talk 
 Cooked up by writers out of literature, 
 To give the shudder to dyspeptic girls. 
 Dying is easy. Come along, my friend ! 
 A glass of port shall cure us of such fears; 
 Moments like this make mirth in after 
 years. 
 
 [Exeunt Arnold and Andre.] 
 
 [29] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Father Hudson, Is there no way to 
 stop them; can ye not 
 Bring pause to these excited rushing men? 
 
 Leader of Men, Pause is unknown, as 
 to your moving waters, 
 That take their God-directed, downward 
 
 course, 
 Deaf to beseechment. 
 
 Father Hudson, 'Tis most pitiful. 
 
 Both Choruses. No, not to mirth can 
 my voice be tuned, while these two men 
 converse. Often their story comes to 
 me in the night, and causes weeping. 
 
 One, the young troubadour, the boy 
 poet, beloved by all, burning for fame; 
 and, in his innocence, he performs the 
 mean work of a spy. 
 
 And the other, the old hero, seven 
 times baptized with immortality-in- 
 action, who betrays his country out of 
 foolishness. 
 
 To the first, death by hanging: to the 
 second, one and twenty years of dis- 
 honored life. 
 
 Which of them shall have most of 
 pity.^ Which of them could we see 
 [30] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 again with gladness, or greet with a gay 
 demeanor? 
 
 The fate of the young man I deem the 
 better; because he is young, and because 
 death took him in his beauty. 
 
 Strange it is what souls are woven 
 together by destiny; and out of what 
 substance life is wrought. 
 
 All men become something incredible 
 to themselves; for they are unwound like 
 a cocoon, and know not which way the 
 thread doth run. 
 
 They dance like motes in the sunbeam 
 for a moment, and then are illumined no 
 more. Legend takes some of them, and 
 they become pictures; and the rest, it 
 would seem, enter again into nothing- 
 ness. 
 
 Grant me to know the desire of mine 
 own heart beforehand; that I may not 
 be deceived. Give me not much, but a 
 true thing, and one that lasts forever. 
 
 [The distant sound of cannonading is 
 heard.] 
 
 Father Hudson, Surely I hear a sound 
 
 disquieting 
 
 [31] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Leader oj Men. Wait: you shall know 
 the cause. 
 
 [Enter hurriedly, and meeting, Arnold 
 and Andre on one side, Joshua Smith on 
 the other,] 
 
 Joshua Smith. General Arnold ! Major 
 Andre ! 
 
 Arnold. What is it? What has hap- 
 pened? 
 
 Joshua Smith. Colonel Livingston's 
 redoubts on the eastern bank. He has 
 fired on the Vulture. They are exchang- 
 ing shots; and the Vulture is dropping 
 down stream. She cannot bear the fire. 
 
 Major Andre. We are lost! 
 
 Arnold. No, no, no; not lost, not lost. 
 You have only to drop down stream also. 
 Mr. Smith goes with you; and you shall 
 be put aboard the vessel a few miles 
 below. Eh, Smith? 
 
 Joshua Smith. Not for the world, 
 General! It is daylight now, and if I 
 should be seen taking this gentleman to 
 the Vulture, the Yankees would shoot 
 both of us. 
 
 [32] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Arnold, Some truth in that. But 
 what can we do? 
 
 Joshua Smith. Go the other way, 
 General. You must give a pass to both 
 Major Andre and me, allowing us to 
 cross the river, and so on to New York. 
 I'll go with the Major till we reach the 
 British lines. It's a plain road to safety. 
 
 Andre. But my uniform 
 
 Arnold. It is a case for a change of 
 coats. 
 
 Andre. But the countrymen are 
 swarming in every highway 
 
 Joshua Smith. They are all my friends 
 Every rebel is my friend; — and — 
 harkee, — every Tory is my friend — 
 from Peekskill to New York! You'll be 
 as safe as the General himself, — and 
 much more comfortable, — till you reach 
 the British Headquarters. 
 
 Arnold. [To Andre.] He's right, 
 Andre, he's right. It's a safer way than 
 the other when all's said. He knows 
 every lane in the country. [More firing.] 
 Here, take the papers. And God bless 
 you! There's no time to lose. This 
 [33] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 pass covers all routes. The patriots 
 know my hand and respect it. Off with 
 you to King's Ferry, Peekskill, and White 
 Plains! Off with you both! Smith has 
 mounts for both of you; and you'll be in 
 the city in twelve hours. All the words 
 have been said: the rest is action. 
 
 Andre. [Shaking hands with Arnold.] 
 Till we meet again. 
 
 Arnold, [With a gesture.] There in 
 
 the fort! Sir Henry on his horse. 
 And Andre like a Genius at his side, 
 Guiding the host! That flag shall fall 
 When next we meet: up run the British 
 
 colors ! 
 England forever! Heart, take heart, my 
 
 lad! 
 We cannot fail. The rest is counting 
 
 gains. 
 Andre. I think this exploit shall make 
 
 England glad 
 When I'm in the grave. 
 
 Arnold. Odso ! Our names shall chron- 
 icle the hills, 
 And school-boys learn us. Go in haste, 
 
 good Andre! 
 
 [34] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Keep your mouth shut. Let Smith do 
 all the talking. 
 
 These papers make you seem some Brit- 
 isher, 
 
 An agent or a spy. You will be safe. 
 
 In every war are trusted underlings 
 
 Who pass from camp to camp like contra- 
 band; 
 
 Always suspected and yet always safe. 
 Andre. I like not such protection. 
 Must I creep 
 
 Beneath so mean a shelter, — seem a 
 spy? 
 
 I would to Heaven my purposes were 
 known 
 
 To every noble nature in the earth! 
 Arnold, Off! And the nearest way! 
 [Smith changes Andre's coat.] 
 
 Success is virtue; and we mean to win. 
 [Exit Andre and Smith.] 
 
 [Aside.] If we should fail, good youth, 
 for history's eye, 
 
 They'd write us up, — the traitor and 
 the spy. 
 
 Would God some power to telescope the 
 hours 
 
 [35] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Were lent me now! With Andre in New 
 
 York 
 I am revenged, rich, powerful, respected, 
 
 everything 
 My enemies begrudge. It cannot fail. 
 O for a battle now to dry this sweat 
 Of simple waiting! Sure, he cannot 
 
 miss! 
 My passes run the river up and down; 
 And every day some messenger of mine 
 Reaches New York; then why not he.^ 
 If they should take him.^ But they will 
 
 not take him. 
 All these long months of waiting, — 
 And not a soul to speak to ; I could roar, — 
 Sound it against the mountains, — that 
 
 these peaks 
 Should bandy my intentions back and 
 
 forth; 
 Or tell it to the talking cataracts 
 To ease my need of speech. An hour's 
 
 patience. 
 Which seems as long as the preceding 
 
 year. 
 And I shall know. [He sits down and 
 
 falls into a contemplation; then into 
 [36] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 a doze. As he falls asleep, enter 
 
 quietly Treason.] 
 Arnold, [Speaking as if out of his 
 
 sleep,] Leave me alone, Thou 
 
 thing of Httle might! 
 Thou painted bogey! I am conscience- 
 proof, 
 And care no more what names I may be 
 
 called. 
 If thou cans't make this hour ghde more 
 
 swift. 
 With idle chat of owls and haunted 
 
 men, 
 I'll take thee for a gossip. Sit you there 
 And hide the hour-glass. There was a 
 
 time 
 In early boyhood, when a thing like thee 
 Seemed horrible, but now my mouth is 
 
 dry 
 With other terror. Thou art a cap and 
 
 bells: 
 Play me a ditty on a tambourine. 
 [Starting up.] Who goes there? 
 [Rushes to Smith, who enters,] 
 Tell me that he is safe ! 
 
 Joshua Smith, Within the lines, — 
 
 [37] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Almost within the Knes, — I left the 
 
 youth. 
 He's safe in British hands; and by his 
 
 time, 
 Is telling his adventures to Sir Henry. 
 Arnold, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Is it not 
 
 a joke, Joshua? 
 Ha, ha, ha! 
 This is a joke that shall run crackling 
 
 through 
 America, like Samson's burning foxes. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! — Andre is in New York ! 
 A spasm of joy; and yet it pains my leg. 
 Your hand, my friend. The laughter 
 
 comes again — 
 Ha, ha, ha! Now let them vote ! Briga- 
 dier Generals 
 May rain on this accursed land of pain 
 As fast as Congress spawns them ! Now, 
 
 ye rats! 
 Who shall squirm last, I ask ye? 
 [To Smith.] Safe, you 
 
 say? 
 You saw him with the British? 
 
 Smith. Not quite 
 
 so; 
 
 [38] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 But at their outposts. 
 
 Arnold. It will take a day 
 
 Before I can believe it. I am drunk 
 With the intoxication of revenge, 
 Sweeter than wine. A day of jubilee 
 Shall follow all our torments, Joshua 
 
 Smith. 
 Out on ye, pack of curs! I have ye 
 
 now. 
 Where ye'U not yelp so freely. — Ha, ha, 
 
 ha — 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha ! — And God I thank thee, 
 
 too. 
 Justice is in the world. 
 Help me to the fortress. Mercy, how it 
 
 pains ! 
 Justice ! Revenge ! And, Joshua, — what 
 
 a joke! 
 
 [Exeunt Arnold and Smith.] 
 
 Father Hudson. My heart is moved 
 with sorrow: the sins of men enter into 
 me and I am constrained. Why was 
 this man chosen for suffering; and what 
 balm is there for his seed.^^ 
 
 Both Choruses. Fear God and seek 
 [39] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 not thine own advantage. Pluck not the 
 grape thyself; for who knows whether it 
 be intended for thee? 
 
 I will weep freely and lift up my voice 
 for the sorrows of men. There is none 
 that shall comfort me. 
 
 Come, Father, let us weep together 
 and add our tears to thy streams; for so 
 only can the medicine of this grief flow 
 down to the children of men. 
 
 [40] 
 
INTERMEZZO 
 
 Father Hudson, Is it finished? 
 
 Leader of Men, No; it is begun. 
 
 Father Hudson, His pain enters into 
 me. I must endure these things. Woe 
 is me that ever I was born of the brooks 
 or received by the meadows! The pains 
 of new birth get hold on me, and I see 
 that hfe is sorrow. Why could ye not 
 let me alone, ye pangs of knowledge; or 
 go by on the other side, ye piercings of 
 understanding.^ Must I be bound up 
 forever with sin, and feel the hand of 
 unevenness on my loins? 
 
 Both Choruses, So it is with all crea- 
 tures of a deep spirit. They are caught 
 with the net; they are frozen in the ice 
 of God; they are very helpless, and cry 
 for relief day and night. 
 
 Accept thy pains, for they are good. 
 Reason not against fate but lay down 
 thy will in earnest. 
 
 [41] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Father Hudson, Will the man come 
 again? 
 
 Leader of Men. Once more shall thou 
 see him, and remember him forever. 
 Lo, now he comes as the wounded lion, 
 as the tiger bereft of his prey and wounded 
 by the hunter. [Enter Arnold, a pistol 
 in one hand, a letter clutched in the other. 
 During this speech he crosses the stage,] 
 His plot has failed and his iniquity is as 
 a broken toy. Wrecked is all his life. 
 He flees like a robber from his own land. 
 Hills look your last upon Benedict! Ye 
 Highlands, filled with clouds, and ye little 
 streams that jet along the crags, this is 
 your general. Will he remember you in 
 his dreams, think you, or find himself 
 back among you in his reveries? In his 
 lone island, in his long years of silence, 
 ye will return to him. Bid him adieu 
 without bitterness, thou rocky castle! 
 For his punishment shall be within him- 
 self day by day. [Exit Arnold.] Be- 
 hold, [Shades his eyes with his hand as if 
 observing Arnold] he is on the shore; his 
 barge of eight oars obeys the signal; he 
 [42] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 stands in the prow; the rowers smite the 
 water. With fury they row, for he com- 
 mands them; with fury and terrible ire 
 they row, for they fear the man. He 
 has drawn a white handkerchief from his 
 breast, though his pistol never leaves his 
 hand. The prow of the British sloop of 
 war looms above his barge. They see 
 his signal. They are letting down the 
 gangway. They are taking him up into 
 the British vessel. 
 
 Chorus of Men. So down the torrent 
 of infamy. 
 So into the bosom of Hell, 
 O Vulture, thou bearest him! 
 
 Chorus of Women. Naught brings he 
 in hand to his captors; 
 Naught but the coin of his soul; 
 Empty-handed goeth he. 
 
 Chorus of Men. The great cheater 
 here is cheated; 
 The great traitor here betrayed: 
 Where is his bargain.^ 
 Chorus of Women. Bare life he saves 
 by the purchase, 
 Merely the breath of life; 
 [43] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Merely the fountain of pain. 
 
 Chorus of Men. Yea, out of the lips 
 of aversion, 
 Yea, out of the hand of contempt, 
 He receiveth his price. 
 
 Chorus of Women, Pride is the hero's 
 undoing. 
 Pride is the sin of the great. 
 Lo, he licketh the crumbs! 
 
 Both Choruses. So down the torrent 
 of infamy. 
 So into the bosom of Hell; 
 O Vulture, thou bearest him! 
 
 Father Hudson. Is all treason pun- 
 ished like this among men? 
 Leader of Men. Father, thou askest 
 
 things no man can answer. 
 Father Hudson. If these things could 
 be known, what man would follow his 
 own desires? Fear overtaketh me in 
 thinking of them. I thank the gods that 
 my channel is laid, I cannot change it. 
 The man seems to me like one who 
 should place a lake on a hilltop and cry 
 to it, Stay there! He hath wrestled 
 against thunder. He would lift the 
 [44] 
 
OP BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 rocks with his back; and he hes crushed 
 beneath them. Can he not repent? Shall 
 he never find out that fire is hot? Must 
 he die still unapprised of his own foolish- 
 ness? 
 
 Leader of Men, The future is a hard 
 
 thing to know. 
 Father Hudson, Are there not charms 
 that open mountain sides, 
 And show what shall come forth? 
 
 Leader of Men, All things to come 
 Are come already, — save the power to 
 see them. 
 Father Hudson, Would I might know 
 the ending of that man. 
 Whose fate and story clinging to my 
 
 name 
 Do make me human! 
 
 Leader of Men, Human was his end. 
 And very moving. Wouldst thou wait 
 
 awhile, 
 Or see the story now? 
 
 Father Hudson, Now, now, my son! 
 Invocation, [Sung in contralto voice, as 
 before, by the Leader of Women.] 
 Storm-shadowed, precipitous valley, 
 [45] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 And ye threatening towers of stone that 
 hold back the mountains, 
 
 Letting the dark stream pass; Storm 
 King, and Donderberg, homes of 
 reverberant thunder; 
 
 Thou steep theatre, where his story trod 
 its stage, 
 
 And where the eirchng thought of it 
 returns 
 
 With ever profounder, ever accumulating 
 echoes. 
 
 Calling to Humanity, compelling atten- 
 tion, provoking the unexpected 
 tear, — 
 
 Open yet once again your treasured 
 legend; 
 
 Out of the encrusted box, the precious 
 parchment. 
 
 Out of the vestment-chambers, the hal- 
 lowed rags. 
 [As the verse now changes its form, the 
 
 music also slightly changes character.] 
 
 Lo, now, our holiday calls on the past for 
 its lessons, 
 Lo, while the flame of the frost-bite 
 fingers the dale, 
 [46] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Lo, in the lambent blaze of autumnal 
 quiescence, 
 Flows Father Hudson, at peace, 
 through his populous vale. 
 
 Fruit trees garland his margins, — vines, 
 and the brazen 
 Hillocks of billowy rye o'er the undu- 
 lous deep 
 Stretch to the Berkshires, proclaiming 
 the conquering season; 
 Dash on the Catskills, repulsed by the 
 envious steep. 
 
 Woe, royal river! In grief I gaze on thy 
 harvest, 
 Anxious to me my thought as thy 
 riches unroll. 
 Mortal, beware lest in riotous plenty 
 thou starvest! 
 Give me the fruits of the spirit, the 
 
 songs of the soul. 
 Father Hudson, A sweet voice but 
 sad, — trembling sad. 
 
 Leader of Men. Hush, it invokes the 
 craggy wilderness, 
 [47] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 And seeks an entrance for its piercing cry. 
 Leader of Wom£n, [Sings. The music 
 
 again changing with the metre.] 
 Give up the scene, give up, ye sordid 
 
 rocks, 
 The last of Arnold in his English home. 
 Which in your bosom lives for evermore, 
 A deathless picture; England cast it out 
 Not being English, and it shivered on. 
 Coiling about the world, till it was caught 
 And locked into your rocky fastnesses 
 Where it lives ever; and your mountain 
 
 ribs 
 Ache with the imposition. 
 
 [48] 
 
ACT II 
 
 [The centre of the stage slowly opens, 
 disclosing a sitting-room, A writing-table 
 covered with letters. Somewhere in the fore- 
 ground a sofa or low couch. An engraved 
 portrait of George III, Arnold is sitting at 
 the table, but his arm-chair is turned away. 
 He is in a profound reverie, gazing at the 
 floor. He is dressed in the uniform of a 
 British officer. His hair is gray and his 
 face worn. At the back of the stage at one 
 side of the door, sits Treason, somewhat in 
 the attitude of a sheriff's officer keeping 
 guard.] 
 
 Treason. [To Arnold.] What are you 
 
 muttering, comrade ? Go to sleep ! 
 And yet sleep not too sound; there's 
 
 work ahead! 
 With all the world against us. What of 
 
 that? 
 We ne'er were beaten yet. Get money 
 
 first: 
 
 [49] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 A fortune in your fist. With honest luck. 
 Your hand against the world ! But money 
 
 first. 
 [Aside,] He breaks apace, and I await 
 
 each day 
 The knock of Death — 
 [Knocking.] No, no, not yet. 
 
 Sir Death! 
 There's life in him and, mayhap, years 
 
 of grief. 
 Leave me to tousle him. He's strong as 
 
 hemp 
 And bears his ragging well. 
 [More knocking.] Not yet, not yet! 
 
 [Enter Death.] 
 Treason. You are unjust to come be- 
 fore the time. 
 Death, The moment and myself are 
 
 on the stroke. 
 Treason, Thou deemest that this man 
 
 is soon to die.f^ 
 Death, Death is already in him. 
 Treason, Yea, his body. — 
 
 His mind is brighter than it was before. 
 Death, My shadow lights his mind; 
 but it is Death. 
 [50] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Treason. How hast thou entered him 
 
 without a struggle? 
 Death. The struggle was thy work. 
 Treason, Give me some moments. 
 
 Death. [Pointing to the door with great 
 dignity.] The man is mine. Hence! 
 Silence! Obey! 
 [Exit Treason. Death takes Treason's 
 place by the door.] 
 
 Arnold. [Waking.] They deny me the 
 opportunity of honorable death. 
 This is the twentieth year of sodden 
 
 waiting. 
 Fighting by land and sea and soldier's 
 
 work, 
 As hot as heart could wish, — boy gen- 
 erals, — 
 Wars on all hands, in Holland, France, 
 
 and Spain, 
 With military honors falling thick; — 
 And I, a Tantalus set in a lake of thirst, 
 Up to my neck in battles all about. 
 Without the power to reach them! 
 
 [Enter Mrs. Arnold. She has a youthful 
 face, and her hair is prematurely white. 
 She passes by Death without seeing him. 
 [51] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 A gesture of surprise and pity as she sees 
 Arnold. She kisses him on his forehead, 
 and sits down next him on a lower chair,] 
 Mrs. Arnold. Surely, my husband you 
 have not been forth! 
 After the sullen fever you have had 
 'Twas most unwise. — 
 
 [Pause.] 
 You have been grieved, and wear the 
 ashen look. 
 Arnold. Age, and the chafing of a few 
 
 stern thoughts. 
 Mrs. Arnold. Have I not earned the 
 
 right to know them? 
 Arnold. Indeed, thou hast ! An angel 
 from the sky 
 Accepting the bad bargain of a man, 
 Could not have found a worse. You 
 
 took me up 
 A battered piece of ordnance, broken in 
 
 spirit, 
 Accursed to myself and to my kind; 
 And underneath me thou hast held an 
 
 arm 
 Sustaining as the seraph's upward look 
 Askance against Apollyon. 
 [52] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Mrs, Arnold. Benedict! 
 
 You shall not talk so. — 
 
 Arnold. Next, your mother's 
 
 heart 
 Became the mother to my three grown 
 
 boys, 
 Giving them such devotion and such love 
 As rarely flows from out a mother's hope 
 To her own children. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold. Benedict, your words 
 Cut me hke knives. Why, why this 
 catalogue? 
 Arnold. Something compels me. — 
 Mrs. Arnold. Where have you been? 
 Has some insulting taunt 
 Cast by a coward in a public place 
 Where you could not resent it, stung your 
 
 patience? 
 These are the pebbles small men throw 
 at great. 
 Arnold. No. 'Tis the season for my 
 wounds to ache; 
 And with them aches the rest. — 
 
 Mrs. Arnold. Where have you been? 
 Arnold. Three hours in his Lordship's 
 ante-room. 
 
 [53] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Mrs, Arnold. The War Office? And 
 
 what has been decided? 
 Arnold. I could not see his Lordship. 
 
 Three hours late. 
 They sent me word his Lordship was not 
 
 in. 
 It is the iteration wears me down. 
 Year after year, — year after leaden 
 
 year, — 
 Kicking my heels in England's ante-rooms, 
 Where proud men pass me by: and now 
 
 and then 
 I catch a glimpse of some American, — 
 A former pal, a former enemy ; — 
 It is the same, both pal and enemy 
 Give me a fit of trembling. 'Twas not so; 
 Yet as the years decline our nerves grow 
 
 sick: 
 I dread it more and more. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold. O Benedict, 
 
 This is the mood that kills us. Have we 
 
 not 
 A thousand times resolved it, made all 
 
 plain? 
 You in your right of conscience chose a 
 
 course 
 
 [54] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Beside your King, recanting many errors, 
 And following the only light you knew. 
 The king himself accepted your return 
 And raised you with his hand. 
 
 Arnold, [Very quietly.] I was a 
 
 traitor. 
 Mrs. Arnold. [With great vehemence.] 
 No, no, no! 
 You were the noblest hero of them all! 
 Arnold. And now they do not trust 
 
 me. 
 Mrs. Arnold. Is there a soldier in the 
 British Isles 
 That has a list of battles like your own? 
 Arnold. It may be not. 
 Mrs. Arnold. Then make allowances 
 for jealousy. 
 To Englishmen, their battles are a sport, 
 With every post of danger dearly prized. 
 Like the crack stations in the shooting 
 
 field, — 
 Never enough for all. They bribe and 
 
 jockey, — 
 Knife their own brothers to get near the 
 
 spoil. 
 And would they not repel a foreigner, — 
 [55] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 One they had cause to envy? English- 
 men 
 Are very unforgiving of defeat. 
 It is your glory, the impediment: 
 So gluttonous are soldiers of reward — 
 So sporting-keen are Englishmen for fame. 
 Arnold. It may be so. 
 Mrs. Arnold. Your temperament is of 
 colossal mould, 
 And sees too simply. 
 
 Arnold. I was a traitor. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold. Are you a man to take 
 the common talk, 
 And be its dupe? How often have we 
 
 spoke 
 Of the returning wars that shall restore 
 The lustred fame and power that is your 
 
 due? 
 Belated are they; yet to reason's eye 
 Certain to come. God keeps such emi- 
 nence 
 As in your soul exists, to show mankind 
 The height of heroes. 
 
 Arnold. Error : it is gone out. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold. Never such light goes 
 out ! No smoke of the world — 
 [56] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Sin, error, evil, anguish, touch it not. 
 It burns forever with ethereal force 
 Beyond pollution. I can see your soul; 
 And never has its aspect been more 
 
 bright 
 Than on this morn. 
 
 Arnold, You are not used to talk to 
 
 me like this. 
 Mrs. Arnold. Nor you to tell me that 
 
 you are a traitor. 
 Arnold. Perhaps some change is com- 
 ing over us. 
 Mrs, Arnold. It may be freedom from 
 
 the load of thought. 
 Arnold. It may be death. 
 [She kneels by him in silent anguish.] 
 
 Both Choruses. Surely truth is not 
 born except through pain; and the long 
 delay increaseth it. 
 
 It is a happiness for a young man to 
 see hii error. But for an old, only death 
 remains. He hath no strength for new 
 things. Let him die in his old ways, 
 yea, though they be evil. 
 
 Very sad is repentance when it is too 
 [57] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 late; when the blight has fallen, and no 
 fruit Cometh thereafter. Very sad is the 
 grief of an old man. I cannot lay hold 
 of it. There is no comfort to be given 
 him, for he knoweth the world. 
 
 Father Hudson, What causes the man 
 to see these things now? 
 
 Leader of Men, What causes thy 
 waters to pour down in March, or the 
 leaf upon your banks to sprout in April? 
 It is because the season fulfils itself; and 
 what is to be, cometh forth, and no one 
 may stop it. 
 
 Both Choruses, Now may I say that 
 no man is made of iron, or lives beyond 
 the stroke of reproach. 
 
 The arrows strike him when he shows 
 it not. The scornful glance of a friend 
 reaches his quick. He suffers very much. 
 
 In his last days he betrayeth the havoc. 
 In his fall his wounds are laid bare. The 
 secret of his heart becomes an open book, 
 and a child may read it. 
 
 Arnold, I would not speak; but the 
 sea-bottom of me 
 [58] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Is being raked to the surface. Hold you 
 
 still: 
 You are the daughter of good Tory folk, 
 And common talk on King and loyalty 
 Had in your ears a meaning and a place 
 Quite strange to mine. For my Rhode 
 
 Island stock, 
 Grown far afield, and long acclimated. 
 Had dropped all meanings for the name 
 
 of King, 
 Of Church, of mother country. Such 
 
 appeals 
 Were like a tinsel fringe of superstition, 
 Alien imposture. It was all a fraud. 
 
 [He walks across the room, takes the por- 
 trait of George III and throws it, not sav- 
 agely, but with deliberate contempt, into the 
 corner, where it lies shattered. Mrs. Ar- 
 nold remains on her knees and raises her 
 hands in helpless supplication.] 
 There lies the dog that bit me. Now 
 
 desist : 
 It is not easy; yet it must come out. 
 A letter that I wrote to this same King, 
 Or to his secretary, George Germain, — 
 Imploring favors for my villainy — 
 [59] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 If I appear unmanned, it's physical, 
 And needs no moment's thought — The 
 letter's here, 
 [Takes a letter from his pocket.] 
 And through its hell of shame as through 
 
 a gate 
 I see Elysian fields, peopled with com- 
 rades. 
 Mrs. Arnold. [Aside.] God have 
 
 mercy upon us! 
 Arnold. I'll not read all, but phrases 
 
 here and there. 
 [Arnold reads from the letter with some 
 difficulty and with pauses — but very dis- 
 tinctly.] 
 
 "... conscious of the rectitude of my 
 intentions. . . . that I may be restored to 
 the favor of my most Gracious Sovereign 
 — ... cheerfully cast myself at his feet 
 imploring his Royal Grace and Protec- 
 tion. . . . the unalterable attachment to 
 the Person, Family, and Interests of my 
 Sovereign, and to the Glory of his 
 reign. — ..." 
 
 [He throws the letter quietly on the table. 
 To Mrs. Arnold.] 
 
 [60] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 West Point I did deliberately betray: 
 I begged the post intending to betray it. 
 All was conceived before I married you. 
 Mrs. Arnold, [As before.] God have 
 
 mercy upon us! 
 Arnold. They must pet me then, 
 
 To show that loyal treason reaps reward. 
 'Twas policy, not liking for my face, 
 That made King George so sweet. 
 What in this world of savage Englishmen, 
 Strange monsters that they are, have 
 
 you and I 
 Found of a country? Friends, good 
 
 hearts and true; 
 But alien as the mountains of the 
 
 moon, 
 More unrelated than the Polander, 
 Are Englishmen to us. They are a race, 
 A selfish, brawling family of hounds. 
 Holding a secret contract on each fang, 
 'For us,' 'for us,' 'for us.' They'll fawn 
 
 about; 
 But when the prey's divided; — Keep 
 
 away! 
 I have some beef about me and bear up 
 Against an insolence as basely set 
 [61] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 As mine own infamy; yet I have been 
 
 Edged to the outer ehff. I have been 
 weak, 
 
 And played too much the lackey. What 
 am I 
 
 In this waste, empty, cruel, land of Eng- 
 land, 
 
 Save an old castaway, — a buccaneer, — 
 
 The hull of derelict Ambition, — 
 
 Without a mast or spar, the rudder gone, 
 
 A danger to mankind! 
 
 [He sits down upon the couch. Mrs. 
 
 Arnold throws herself on his knees and 
 
 sobs convulsively.] 
 
 Both Choruses. Who shall praise a 
 woman, save He that made her, save 
 God that understandeth all things .^^ 
 
 I will sing a song of woman, and mag- 
 nify the wife of a man's soul. His good- 
 ness she has discerned when no man else 
 can find it: his crimes are known to her, 
 yet is he not in them: she seeketh his 
 soul among many. 
 
 She divineth salvation out of hell; and 
 bringeth water from the desert. Who 
 [62] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 shall praise a woman save He that made 
 her; save God who understandeth all 
 things? 
 
 Father Hudson. Sorrow is erecting a 
 tomb for this man in my heart. Whence 
 comes the peculiar pang, my children? 
 Whence comes this pity that will not be 
 denied, but bedews your faces? 
 
 Leader of Men, From the greatness 
 of the man, comes it Father; and from 
 his ignorance of himself. 
 
 Father Hudson. Is it true that he was 
 a hero? 
 
 Leader of Men. Such a hero as an- 
 tiquity can show, towering, magnificent, 
 made of cloud and thunder, made of 
 lightning and glory, a god among fighting 
 men, a Hector or Mars appearing from 
 the bosom of the sky on the day of battle, 
 bringing victory. 
 
 No one had seen his like before; nor 
 since him has one like him come. To 
 his country he gave the column of his 
 strength. In her need he sustained her. 
 He planted her high. His name became 
 a bulwark: many times gave he his 
 [63] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 strength. Yea, his hfe also grudged he 
 not. 
 
 Father Hudson. Would he had died 
 in his glory, would he had been struck 
 down and died long ago! So had he 
 been spared this humiliation. On my 
 shores he belongs: the memory of his 
 infamy and of his fame covers me: Sara- 
 toga knew him, and West Point acknowl- 
 edges him. No tomb shall he have; yet 
 shall the hills remember him. His glory 
 is eaten up in shame; and yet shall 
 mercy say her word. See, he begins 
 again. What new anguish will he reveal? 
 
 Arnold, [He has now recovered his com- 
 
 posure.] Where are the boys? If 
 
 death be soon to come 
 I'd gladly see them. Is it not most 
 
 strange 
 That one possessing nothing to bequeath 
 Of all those things men covet for their 
 
 sons. 
 Should have so many? For what rank 
 
 or name. 
 Honor or fatherland, or worldly goods, 
 [64] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 All that men sweat for, — have I here 
 
 to leave? 
 Country I've none. My land was over 
 
 there 
 Where my first honors sprouted. And 
 
 my boys 
 Are foreigners, — young Englishmen — 
 
 brought up 
 Upon King George's bounty. When he 
 
 bought 
 My loyalty he took my children, too. 
 Ben, he is dead, my eldest, — he was 
 
 killed 
 In the West Indies, fighting for the King. 
 Sir Grenville Temple brought me back 
 
 his sword. 
 (God bless him for it!) Send and fetch 
 
 down Ben's sword. 
 [Mrs. Arnold rings. Enter servant. She 
 speaks to servant in dumh-show. Exit ser- 
 vant.] 
 
 Richard and Henry, your two foster sons. 
 Settled in Canada on royal grants. 
 And our four sons, — your Edward, Rob- 
 ert, George 
 And little William, — are all pensioners, 
 [Q5\ 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Assisted servants of the English crown. 
 Where are they? I must see them. It 
 
 is strange 
 That I, remembering them, can yet not 
 
 think 
 Quite plainly where they are. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold. My dearest Lord 
 
 There's fever in your cheek. The day's 
 
 distress 
 Has worked some downfall to your shat- 
 tered brain, 
 You're very sick. — 
 
 Arnold. The boys, I asked 
 
 about — 
 Are they away, or here.f^ 
 
 Mrs. Arnold. The elder three 
 
 At school and college, and our little Will 
 Just home from school. 
 
 Arnold. I pray you let him 
 
 come; 
 My blessings on them all must fall 
 
 through him; 
 Nor will they wait: the passage of an 
 
 hour 
 May find me gone. — Stay; there is yet 
 
 one son. 
 
 [66] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Mrs, Arnold, No, Benedict, you have 
 
 described them all. 
 Arnold, Ay, but there is one, born in 
 Canada, 
 My natural son, whose mother is no 
 
 more; 
 And yet my son, — and brother to the 
 
 rest. 
 And ever at my cost I've brought him up. 
 I cannot leave him out. He is of age 
 And elder than your boys. 
 
 Mrs, Arnold. A son of 
 
 yours — 
 Arnold. A natural son of mine, whose 
 bringing up 
 Is at my charge. I cannot cut him off. 
 Though of my name I scanted him the 
 
 curse, 
 I ever sent him help. 
 
 [Gives her a paper,] 
 Mrs, Arnold, You have done right 
 
 To count him in; and I accept him. 
 And will provide a portion like the rest 
 Though at my children's cost. 
 
 Arnold. Send Wil- 
 
 liam here: 
 
 [67] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 The time grows short. 
 
 [Enter servant bringing the sword which 
 Mrs. Arnold takes and gives to Arnold.] 
 Mrs. Arnold, [To servant.] Send Mas- 
 ter William here. 
 [Exit servant. Enter William Arnold, 
 a boy of eight.] 
 
 Arnold. William, you are a soldier: — 
 
 This old sword 
 Was once your brother Ben's, — my 
 
 eldest boy. 
 He served his God, his Country, and his 
 
 King, 
 And found a soldier's death. It is a 
 
 record 
 We may be proud of in the family. 
 You and your brothers, Edward, George, 
 
 and Robert, 
 Are dedicated soldiers to the King. 
 England, to all of you, is generous 
 To overflowing: See ye pay her back 
 In overflowing measure with your lives. 
 You are a soldier. Sir, and understand 
 The duties of a soldier; when you 
 
 grow 
 A little older you will read, perhaps, 
 [68] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Something about your father; for his 
 
 name 
 Is written on a page of history; 
 You cannot miss it. When you find it 
 
 there, 
 Remember only all the soldier part; 
 The soldier part he leaves you: all the 
 
 rest 
 Was something suffered, that was meant 
 
 for him 
 But not for you. There, go my boy; 
 
 good-bye. 
 You must to all your brothers tell this 
 
 news. 
 And say I blessed them. They will un- 
 derstand, 
 Each in his measure, on the appointed 
 
 day, 
 My message to them. See you bear it 
 
 safe 
 It is a charge of honor and becomes you. 
 [Arnold kisses the little boy, and gives 
 him the sword with which he walks toward 
 the door. The child feels that something 
 very serious is happening, although he does 
 not entirely understand it. When near the 
 [69] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 door he turns, runs back and embraces the 
 old man again; and then exit.] 
 
 Both Choruses. Now will I say that 
 children add to life a glory not belong- 
 ing to it; and a pang beyond the pain 
 of this world. 
 
 In them is pain; in their birth, danger; 
 and in their tender years, a care; there- 
 after, sorrow or joy, too keen, too keen, 
 too poignant, too sharp, — cutting the 
 heart in twain. 
 
 Happy are they who know it not. 
 Happy are the childless; for the great 
 sufferings are kept from them. Blessed 
 are they: I will praise and envy them 
 always. 
 
 Arnold, Now is my burden lightened. 
 One adieu, — 
 The worst, remains; and then, — I know 
 
 not what, — some relaxation 
 Or sweetness of the grave. 
 [To Mrs. Arnold.] Good-bye, great soul; 
 I leave thee sorrows, many-pointed 
 cares, 
 
 [70] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 The stress of growing sons and straight- 
 ening means; 
 Yet one great blackness passes from your 
 
 Hfe, 
 Unshadowing you all. I see ye stand 
 Safe in the port, — as on a margent shore 
 Clustered in sunlight, — while my bark 
 
 moves on. 
 I am not of ye; I am far away 
 And long ago; one of those Argonauts 
 That in the western seas, with sturdy oar, 
 Urging their venturesome and sacred 
 
 bark, 
 Steered a new course, — a band, a broth- 
 erhood, — 
 And, though a Judas, I was one of them. 
 Get me my uniform. I wore it last 
 On that last day on which my sun went 
 
 down. 
 And I, descending now to seek the sun, 
 Must put it on. 
 
 Mrs, Arnold, Dear Benedict, your 
 uniform .f^ 
 You have it on. 
 
 Arnold. No, no! not this, not this! 
 
 Ring; call a servant! 
 [71] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 Mrs. Arnold, [Rings, To servant,] 
 Whate'er he asks for, get it quickly for 
 
 him, 
 But make no questions. 
 
 [Arnold speaks to servant in dumb-show. 
 Exit servant.] 
 
 Arnold, The very coat I did the trea- 
 son in. 
 By accident preserved, and then, — and 
 
 then — 
 I could not cast it off : it clung to me — 
 Waiting this day. It lay there like a dog, 
 Patient against a master's drunkenness, 
 Watching his face. 
 
 [Enter servant with the coat of the 
 American uniform, and the sword-knots,] 
 Thou one unbroken link with all the men 
 I walked with on the mountain heights 
 
 of youth, 
 When glory shone, and trumpets heralded, 
 And drums were rolling! We were 
 
 patriots then, 
 Warren, and Putnam, Lincoln, Knox, and 
 
 Schuyler, 
 Morgan, and Stark, Montgomery, Sul- 
 livan — 
 
 [72] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 And scores of faces burnished by the 
 
 winds, 
 That shone with glory — 
 
 [He takes off the coat of his British uni- 
 form, the servant assisting, and puts on 
 the coat of his old American uniform.] 
 
 Never weep, dear wife. 
 I seek the truth you teach me. It is 
 
 thus 
 Your thoughts do guide me; — and I 
 
 must go back 
 To where I lost the way. 
 [Showing sword-knots.] That ornament 
 Washington gave me, — with such words 
 
 of praise 
 As must preserve it till the judgment day 
 Against corruption. Should I meet that 
 
 man, 
 Will his reluctant and offended shade 
 Pass sadly on.^^ Or will he greet me 
 
 there, — 
 There, but not here. There, there, but 
 
 never here! 
 On toward that shadowy spot I blindly 
 
 go. 
 Claiming the past. 
 
 [73] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 [He lies down on the couch, and Mrs. 
 Arnold kneels by his side. Exit Death.] 
 
 Both Choruses. Surely the past must 
 be allowed to all men; and not to him 
 alone. What good there was in us can- 
 not be lost. 
 
 God forgets not the virtue of those 
 who have failed; and why should man 
 seek to judge them.^ Verily all courage 
 is immortal: the man himself cannot 
 kill it. 
 
 Lo, what great things are done through 
 even bad men; and this man had in him 
 much goodness. 
 
 [A pause. Distant military music. Four 
 young boys dressed in white, and bearing 
 tall spears with little banners attached to 
 the tips, enter and stand each at one corner 
 of the couch. The arrangement suggests a 
 medieval church tomb, of which Mrs. 
 Arnold's kneeling figure forms a part.] 
 
 [74] 
 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 
 
 Both Choruses, Not on the shores of 
 America — 
 Not on our shuddering strand, 
 Can Arnold's tomb be laid. 
 
 Nor in his land of illusions — 
 Britain's contemptuous Isle, 
 Can stone be added to stone. 
 
 Yet in a corner of Memory, 
 Hallowed by terrible pain. 
 Stand the stones of his grave. 
 
 There, his trophies of victory, 
 Piled in marshal array. 
 Gorgeous, perennial — 
 
 Spoils, heroic, tumultuous. 
 Emblems, worthy remembrance — 
 Marking a hero's grave. 
 
 [While this is being sung there enters a 
 procession of youths dressed in white, each 
 carrying a gigantic wreath, inscribed with 
 one of Arnold's victories: — The Maine 
 Wilderness, Quebec, Valcour's Island, St, 
 [75] 
 
TREASON AND DEATH 
 
 John's, Ridgefield, Bemis Heights, Sara- 
 toga, etc. They circle the group, and pile 
 the wreaths about the couch, then stand 
 about in symmetry.] 
 
 Father Hudson. Enough, my children, 
 I understand. Leave me awhile. Let 
 there be no loud praises. Go silently. 
 
 [A dead march is played. Father Hud- 
 son r^5ifm^5 the plastic, immobile, and almost 
 invisible attitude which he occupied at the 
 opening of the play. The Choruses file 
 silently out, one on each side of the orchestra.] 
 
 THE END 
 
 [76] 
 
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