liiiiliaiiiiiiffiil iliiiiipip '{mi iir i:KKt!KiJH-i;!ar.na:U.HKK:"''iric''J""^L"i"»;P;»!;!':r.:iU(Wit rTti;!;-!;'^ |M{j?iig|!lli|a!iiipiiiiii«^ r3f2^ .mm LIBRARY OF CONGRESS h "-^^ 'Mm\ *-^^ >' /"H ">>,1.* 0^ «^^ r* 4/ ^ • 4r ^ • .<>°- bV^ ^^^^ > \ i FROM HOUDO"N-S BL'ST WASHINGTON: A DRAMA, IN FIVE ACTS. BY MARTIN F. TUPPER, D.C.L., Oxford; and F.R.S-^ Author of Provei'hi^ P}ii£o$«phy, (^ifrea, Ralevjh, Crock of Gold, ^ife, To prove full confidence, I call with you On Governor Arnold at V/estpoint to-pay. Bishop, — the saddlehorses in an hour. (Exeunt.') 42 WASHINGTON. Scene 3. — A nan-oio slip of road or lane. Enter at op- posite points^ dressed for travel, meeting and passing each other, Timothy and Rachel. Theij turn hack, Timothy. A pretty mess you've got me into, girl, By tittletattling. Rachel. I? whotittletattled? Timothy. Why, what you told me I have told the General, And — Rachel. So 'twas you that tittletattled, then? Timothy. Ay, but I only said what I'd been told. Rachel. And that's the way all gossip gets abroad: Master Timothy, I'm ashamed of you To charge poor innocent me with tittletattle, When you were tittletattling all the while. Timothy. Well, Rachel, say no more; let us part friends; 1 got enough, I tell you, from the General, "So, make it up; I'm going; just one kiss. WASHINGTON. 43 Rachel. One kiss indeed! Timothy. Then, Rachel, I'll take two! Rachel. Adone : — Now, Timothy I must be gone, My mistress waits; there, — well then I'll forgive you, {They kiss again) Now don't go tittletattling about me. Exeunt opposite. Scene 4. — Major Andrews Tent, open in front: lie has an order book in his hand. Corporal Thompson comes in and says Major, a pair of as pretty country girls As ever one set eyes on, are along. And want to see your honour: shall I say Your honour is engaged? Andre, aside. Engaged? ay, once I might have said so ; but that day's gone by. — By all means, Corporal, bring them: double luck! A pretty couple truly; well, my girls, — Enter Mary Arnold and her maid: he starts to see. her. 44 WASHINGTON. Andre. My beauty! what ? it seems a thousand years Since I set eyes on thee: come in, my beauty ! By what glad chance is it we meet again? Mary. My brother Benedict has sent me, John, — Andre. How? Benedict, — he hates us, hang the rebel I Mary. Pity him, John; in truth he hates us not, He bade me tell you that ho loves you well, And all is changed with him, and we may meet As freely and as gladly as of yore; Here is his letter. Andre. Stay, — private and secret, — Then you know nothing of this note, my pet. Mary. No, John, — for he looked stern and would not tell me, — But Rachel here coming along with me Has told me something strange she over-heard, — (Andre meanwhile is reading the letter — and Cor- poral Thompson spealdng with Rachel.) Andre. So; — he is changed indeed; more luck for us: He bids me call and meet him in two hours WASHINGTON. 45 AVith you, and in civilian dress; — as it were Your cousin, or your lover, if you will, An any dare to ask you, Mary. But, dear John, So loved, so long betrothed, tell me the truth; On what strange errand are we bound, and why This secrecy, this silence, this disguise. Andre. Would it be like a soldier's honour, Mary, To tell another man's confided secret? ]\Iary. Nay, then, I cannot ask it; yet I fear, — My heart misgave me at his strange wild eyes, He will not, cannot, dare not harm thee, dearest? AXDRE. Fear nothing, darling: we will go together, — You are my guardian angel, and my strength Let it suffice for both — But wait awhile, It is so long since you and I looked love, I cannot spare those glances yet, my beauty. So, we shall soon be married? Blush again, — You look so pretty: bid yon maid of yours Go for a walk with Corporal Thompson there, They seem already to have had much to say, — And stay with me awhile, my pretty one — 46 WASHINGTON. Mauy. John — I dare not say. — No ! Major Andre, — It were too sweet and perilous a joy To stop one moment longer, — fare thee well: 1 and my maid must leave at once: that letter Tells all my brother's mind; I know not aught: Farewell, — no more — we meet at Benedict's. (Exit.) Andre. Gone ! like a flash of joy and love and beauty 1 Well, well; fortune of war: look at this life, What a continual shift of scenes it is, Sunshine and storm and good and evil mingled: And here's a sudden change in that strange man My would-be brother both in law and arms : What can it mean ? — That he has been disgraced, Is deep in debt, and hates George Washington, All this he tells me straight ; and more, he writes That for a good round sum, say forty thousand. He, their last brigadier, and commandant Of their stronghold on the Hudson at Westpoint, AVill give it up to Clinton with all stores And guns and arms and garrison complete, An easy netful, j^risoners of war ! This is too good to be true ; here. Corporal Thompson, I'm going on private business to New York As a civilian, not in uniform : No one need know it. By the way, Corporal, Did those red lips you seemed so taken with Tell you upon what possible errand came Her mistress to my quarters. WASHINGTON. 47 Corporal. Kever a word : We did but guess your honour's liking to her. AXDRE. Not a bad guess. — I'm gone for half an hour : Bring me those clothes for change outside the lines. (Exit.) Corporal. As if I couldn't guess more truths than one; As if that little vixen didn't guess, As if she didn't whisper all she guessed : Well, — since the Major is no friend of mine (I had been sergeant but he keeps me servant) Let him look out: if money's to be got I'll try to touch some too; master and man Poor Richard calls them kin ! — ay and he says Forewarned, forearmed: Should General Washington Hear from me of my Major and his friend. I'd get a bag o' guineas for my news. (Exit.) Scene 5. — Washington's Quarters. Aides-de-Camp and Orderlies go in and out : he at a desk with papers. Washington. Take this despatch with speed to General Greene. Send General Prescott here. 48 WASHINGTON. Your horse, can gallop, Bid General Sullivan bring his forces up With his best speed. This goes to General Morgan, I want his rifles quickly to the front. This to Westpoint. Less hurry, but due care. The Aide, young Custiss, to whom he gives it, says My General, was that true ? Wasiiixgtox. AYretchedly true ; I went myself to the fortress ; they had fled, That traitor and that spy; the first escaped On board a British gunboat in the Hudson, The other, caught with maps and plans upon him. Has been condemned to death : a drum-courtmartial Sentence him to be hanged, — hanged as a sj)y. Bishop. Can Master speak with a petitioner ? Washingtox. I am engaged : upon what matter ? urgent ? Bishop. She says, on life or death. Washixgtox. A woman then? Orderly. Yes, General, she would not be. denied. Assured that you would speak with Mary Arnold. washington. 49 Washington. The traitor's sister! O the bitter pang That I have lived to call my lifelong friend, Brother of my first love, as boy and girl, My lowland beauty of those halcyon days, A Traitor blackest dyed. {To Bishop.) Let her come in. Aside. She cannot yet have heard of his escape, And comes to plead for him: it will be pleasure However mixed with pain, to let her know He got off in the Vulture. Franklin says There is a spot of calm centering the midst Of the most furious hurricane ; these toils And cares of war still find a heart of peace Serene and quiet in their whirl; — To his Orderlies^ Sfc. One moment, Give space, and leave me : in the corridor Be ready to my call. Speed these despatches : he gives a second batch, I will give audience to this lady alone. Enter Mary Arnold. Washington. Well, Mary Arnold ; only two short minutes Can these my thousand cares afford : be quick. Mary. O, Sir, there yet is time, — is there yet time? General, by all the love you bore me once 50 WASHINGTON. Spare him, — he must not die, so brave, so yomig, So loved, so noble, — say he shall not die ! Washington. Mary, it is a melancholy pleasure To tell thee that he lives, and shall not die, — The traitor will not meet his doom, — take comfort, Thy brother has escaped. Mary. O, not my brother I I do not plead for him : he is our shame, — Myself I could have stabb'd him for his treason ; I pray for one less guilty — and more dear — Betrayed as you were by that villain Benedict, My own betrothed, my all but husband, Andre I Washington. How? That mean spy thy husband? I had hoped, Poor Llary Arnold, to have gladdened thee, My unknown passionflower of hot sixteen, For sake of all the past, by the true news That thy bad brother saves his shameful life : But this unworthy plea for Major Andre Cannot be heard one moment : — he must die. Mary. Not yet, not yet I O spare that precious life I Washington. The spy by all our laws of war must die, And fourteen officers, the court of trial, WASHINGTON. 51 Have given unanimous vote that he be hanged. I cannot help the matter if I would : Justice commands and policy commends No death less utterly shameful for a spy. Mary. Yet spare, if not his life, at least his honour. Washington. Honour ? what honour is there in a spy ? Mary. In some sort it was duty, — he w'as betrayed, — He looked for better ends to those worse means ; The way seemed crooked, but the goal was straight, — Washington. Those wlio do ill that good may come, poor pleader, Are caught in their own toils, and swiftly earn Fit payment for such tortuous policy. Enough. I cannot hear one word. Farewell. However I may pity him, or thee. And with whatever sorrow for his doom, He dies ! a terrible warning, gibbeted On AYestpoint battlements. She swoons away, he summons the attendants, and the Act ends. 52 WASHINGTON. ACT IV. Scene 1. — Washington's Camp at Valley Forge: he lies on a couch sick of a fever^ tended hy his ici/e, and by Bishop, his bodyservant. Washington. How my poor soldiers must be suffering, wife, In this hard winter, — shame upon the Congress That their conflicting factious jealousies Leave these true patriots perishing of cold And hunger and disease, unshod, ill clad. Watching on cold bleak ice-fringed river banks. Sleeping in snow-wreaths, naked and half starved, Destitute in this agueish fever swamp ! Yet is their spirit unbroken, — gallant hearts, — And still they stand with me for liberty. O wife, it is not on the battle-field With all its thrilling energetic joys Where the hotblooded wound is never felt Nor known until it stiffens and is sore, But in the weary noisome hospital The soldier is most tried ; there is his patience, There is his grandest calmest courage seen, — More truly even than at Trenton Falls Where we joined battle with those furious Hessians. WASHINGTON. 53 Good wife, you have been the rounds : how fare they all, My noble poor sick fellows ? Martha Washington. The reports Are better, dearest George, — and I myself Have tended many of them, as they lay there Fevered with wounds, or fainting from disease: And how they blessed me, ev'n unworthy me. While I pass'd on between those squalid litters Dropping the smile of hope, the look of love, The word of faith in prayer ! Husband, we know There is a force more potent than all drugs In faithful, earnest, and affectionate prayer. Washington. The best of remedies, in all men's reach: How often has its potency sufficed To cure my sharpest pains, most aching cares. Well may we praise for having leave to pray. Martha Washington. Now; — now I am come back to be your nurse, T cannot let you talk, — it is high time To take this sleeping draught; and-^I must urge The doctor's orders, — quiet. Bishop comes in and says^ Please you, my Master, there's a woman here, I'd said a madwoman, would speak with you. She says her name is Arnold, and her errand One word alone, — only one word, she says. 54 WASHINGTON. Washington. Arnold ? — his sister again ? can it then be That double traitor thinks to serve himself By some new treachery ? — I abhor ill means ; Hands foul as his shall never help my country: Yet, hapless Mary Arnold, I will see her, If only to show kindness and forgive, As sick men should ; she too may well forgive What duty, painful duty, forced me to, Hanging her paramour, that wretched spy. To Bishop. Let her come in. Martha Washington. Kow husband, be advised, You can see no one yet; the ague fit Will soon be on you, dearest, — say not yet. Washington. I feel yom' faithful love, and love you for it; But let it be: To Bishop. She may come in. Enter Mary Arnold, in deep mourning^ cloaked, Mary. Alone, — I said — alone, only one vrord, alone. General, I have a message to deliver, But we must be alone. washington. 55 Washington. None but my wife, My angel always watching over me, The more that I am sick and weak. Mary. His wife ! Alone, I prayed only one word alone ! aside. And yet, O chance ! O joy ! that she shall see it! Martha Washington. I will not leave my husband, — George, be still, — No, stay here with liis Excellency, Bishop; — Lady, I speak for him, and I will hear you. What is your errand ? you look wildly on him : Stand further; — not so near: — can she be mad? Mary Arnold. I have a message to him from the dead [Fail not, my hand! be swift and sure nay purpose !] And if not quite alone — it is enough — This message to his heart ! (^SJie rushes to stab him.') (Martha Washington and Bishop struggle with her and disarm her.) Martha Washington. Hold her back. Bishop! cruel, murderous wretch, — Why strike so fiercely at this most precious life ? 56 WASHINGTON. Mary Arnold. In fierce revenge for a most precious life ! that I liad another dagger here ! Unhand me ! let me go ! I must away ! WAsniXGTOX, rising. Let her escape, poor soul ! she cannot harm me: 1 will be still, dear wife. Take her away (to Bishop) ^ See to her safety well beyond the lines. Let no one know of this, I charge you both; Be silent and be faithful: if the camp Heard of her coming, 'twas some madwoman: Let no one guess her name, or her intent. (They go out.) Dear wife, I praise the Overruling Power That every inch and instant guideth us: The merest seeming accident is of Him, — Even the fiercest storms are in His hand; Let us walk straightway on the path of duty Trusting in God, no shot or shell can strike us, No poison sap our life, no murderous steel Summon us to His throne before our time, — Quifit? — I will be quiet, dear, dear wife. (Sits down) Martha Washington. Here, slumber awhile, — thy head upon my breast; I trust this fright has scattered away the fit. Kest thee : no sleeping draught ? well — Washington. Precious wife, I will be quiet; yet it calms me more WASHINGTON. 57 To speak than to be silent: that poor woman [God show more mercy to her than man has shown !] Let none attempt to seize or punish her. If you forgive her, it will cheer my sadness. Martha Washington. For thy sake, at thy word, but only so, — Be it, — that I forgive her; yet my husband, Think what America had lost in thee If that mad wretch had murdered Washington! Washington. Heaven ordered otherwise: all is guided weU: Still are my fortunes and America's Now at their lowest: I am sad, dear wife; It is a bitter season now for me ; Both foes and friends malign me ; General Gates Whose triumph northward I have helped so well. Has turned to be my rival, not my colleague: I battle on, but under cloudy skies; And in these dreary swamps of Delaware Hope grows heartsick: well, even at the worst With all else failure, at our bitterest need. May Heaven's High Providence yet grant Success ! {An Orderly comes in.) Orderly. General, a well attended gentleman Lately from France, the Marquis of La Fayette, Craves audience. 58 WASHINGTON. Washington. Let him come in. (he rises. I thank my God ! Scarce can we breathe a prayer, He answereth us: Herein I hail the dawn of brighter things, France and America in glad alliance ! (They come in.) I bid you welcome, Sirs; yet you may see How woefully we speed here in these marshes. Not but that hope is ours, hope, no despair. But stout determined courage and endurance Yea to the end, Triumph and good success 1 La Fayette. Your Excellency, let a fervent heart Bring sunshine to your quarters Mdth good news, France sends a fleet and army on your side Standing for you and liberty : these friends, Admiral De Grasse, St. Simon, Rochambeau, Haste here to cheer you. Washington. Thanks, good gentlemen ; From my poor country, thanks ; from this dear wife [My brave companion greets you courteously] And from my humbler self, thanks, gentlemen. Indeed the dawn is breaking while we speak, The darkness vanishes, mists melt away ; I see new hopes, like distant hilltops bright As with the morning sun, — America WASHINGTON. 59 Yet, yet, thou shalt be Free ; that happy thought Glows at my heart, and fills it with new power, Liberty smiling on this golden hour ! They go out together. Scene 2. — Changes to a Street in Baltimore. A croii'd of recruits come in, armed variously and with the national Jlag ; among them Eldad and Nathan, with muskets and ridiculous attempts at uniform, spectacled, src. Opposite, enter Timothy. Timothy. Can I believe my eyes ? Why, Deacon, Deacon, Do I see straight that this is you, — and Nathan ? Dear simple souls, how got you in this guise ? Nathan. I do opine this is myself — and Eldad ; Touching the firelocks, good Timothy, I trow we somehow manage shouldering them But as to loading them, or drawing trigger — Eldad. Verily, neighbour, we were forced to come, That is, we liked not to be left behind When everyone was mustering to the war 60 WASHINGTON. With guns and swords, and scythes and pitchforks too, Saying they had caught the British in a trap Down south at York Town, — much as with Burgoyne Up north at Saratoga, Gage at Boston, And divers other pitfalls — Timothy. Deacon Eldad, — Come to the point — you are the text, not others. Eldad. As I was just expounding, we were forced, Nathan and I — not to be left behind. For all the folk were pressing hitherward, And the whole country, like a swarm of ants, Is black and red and blue and white with life, Horsemen and footmen, cannon, carts, and stores, All to one point converging in such streams We couldn't help but come, — ey, brotlier Xathan ? Nathan. Speak for thyself : I could, but would not, help it, — What stirred me up in spirit was the shame That mercenary Hessians should be here Killing and burning ; so I asked myself, Nathan, shall such things be, — Nathan said Nay, — And forthwith did I buy me this good gim ; If any friend will show me how to load it, I'U dare to pull that trigger on a Hessian ! WASHINGTON. 61 Timothy. Bravo, my gallant Quaker ! here's a change, — The patriot flame flashes from heart to heart Till even the coldest feels that glorious heat I None can escape the wholesome happy fever. (to the recruits) What say you, countrymen, — are you prepared To fight to the last gasp for liberty ? (they shout) Ay, ay. All of us, every man of us ! Timothy. Then come along in line — I'll be your serjeant, Company ! atten-shun ! — right about face I Step, left foot forward, maarch! (tJi^U (jo out.) I'll teach you, Nathan, The drill of that same rifle, come with me ; As for you, Deacon El dad — (Nathan and Timothy go out.) Eldad, alone. As for me, I daren't be left behind, good Timotliy, I'll make what speed I can, for firstly, I — (looking round and finding himself alone, he limps after them icith all speed.) I should have told him of my rheumatism ! — Exit. 62 WASHINGTON. ACT Y. J'he lines near York Town, WasJdngton and Staff, Sfc. John Adams. The lion is in your toils at last then, General. After his raid upon the Carolines And through Virginia, Greene has hunted him, And Morgan driven him hard and hemmed him in To this peninsula between two rivers, The York and the James ; he has no chance of escape; For Count De Grasse blockades him from the sea, And Rochambeau pushes him on the left. Your veteran levies close upon his right, The country up in arms is crowded round him, Our parallels and trenches block him in, The cannons battering him on every side, — He must surrender. Washington. Yes, comrade and statesman, My brother in the council and the field, The Lord Cornwallis with seven thousand men. Surrounded by our forces and shut up Helplessly here in York Town, must surrender. All day, all night, our murderous batteries Have shattered his defences, and he must Either be butchered there, or lower his flag. WASHINGTON. 63 The God of Christian battles is jio Moloch: The less of carnage in a victory The more of glory. Could he but surrender, He should have honourable terms: his ships Lie out at sea beyond De Grasse's fleet; Would he were safe on board them, homeward bound, Leaving us free and independent ! — Schuyler, Go up to York Town with a flag of truce And say that in America's great name And for the cause of just humanity, Washington offers terms; the Lord Cornwallis In token of submission yields his sword; All other ofiicers and men retain Their arms and colours, — cased and not unfurled — Save a few standards left for trophy here, — They leave their guns and stores, but for all else They may march out paroled, with honours of war. La Fayette. Are not these terms, forgive me, General, Too easy for a foe so crushed and fallen? Washingtox. Nay, noble friend ! because he is so crushed It well becomes us to deal generously And gently with him : more than this, dear Marquis, I cannot wish to trample down in shame The honour of my whilome countiy England; Yea, could I claim disgraceful terms, I know That not one man of all the thousands there But would be blown to pieces where he stood 64 WASHINGTON. Rather than yield to terms not honourable. An Englishman will render up his life, But not his honour. Therefore General Schuyler, Go with these terms to liork Town. (Jie goes.) Gallant Marquis, TVe owe so much to you and to your country That I shall ask you to receive the sword Of Lord Cornwallis ; haply all the fitter For that he once scoffed at your beardless youth, Goliath-like with David. Take this honour. La Fayette. No, General Washington, the right is yours; On your own soil a conquering patriot You must be first in peace as first in war: I j)ray your Excellency,* conclude this triumph. Washington. Thou noble nature ! — yet, one better thought; It happened that at Charleston General Lincoln Lately gave up his sword to Lord Cornwallis; I trust your courteous heart discerns his right (Since your own modesty renounces it) To reap as thus his honourable revenge, By standing in my stead: when all is done, Let Lincoln for America take the sword. Franklin. Ever unselfish ! like Geoi^e Washington ! Loolc: General Schuyler, just as he set out. WASHINGTON. 65 Has met the enemy's counter flag of truce, Asking for terms ! O happy interchange, If righteousness and peace can kiss each other, And England and America be one Through Washington their bond of unity! John Adams. Has the Chief heard how dangerously lies sick His gallent stepson Custiss in the trenches? Washington. I know it, sadly; fever, — nigh unto death; So closely sorrow cuts the heels of joy. I came here from him straight, returning straightway; Meanwhile his mother and our skilful friend The good physician Craik, watch by the couch. I trust in heaven to guide us all for the best. See to these few last orders. Dear La Fayette, Loved by me as a father loves his son. When those few trophy standards are brought in Accept a pair to take with you to France, America's gift of honour; Kochambeau And Count La Grasse, and noble Baron Steubel, Let each of them receive hke gifts of honour; One stack of colours we will keep for home To decorate our future Capitol: The rest may England, once om- foe, take back. Bid General Lincoln, having touched the hilt Of Lord Cornwallis's sword, sealing submission, Restore it straightway, with due courtesy: So would we conquer in all kindliness. 66 WASHINGTON. And now, friends, give me leave to say farewell: My work in life is done, my part is played; At last, at last, in peace I lay me down Wearied of strife and factions : from henceforth Like Cincinnatus, at my Sabine farm, Treading the tranquil path that leads to Heaven, By the Potomac, like its stream, my life Shall flow down gently to the sleep of death. Patricia Henry. No, Sir ! your country cannot spare you yet, Obscurely couched on the soft lap of home; America has still a thousand needs You only can supply: and there be some (As Colonel Nicol and the army in mass) Already dream to hail you our first King, — An you be willing. Washington. King ? — it cannot be, — It must not, shall not be ! I to be KingV The army to be tyrant of this people? I to be thought so base as to desire To trample on my countrymen as King ? I hate the very name, the very thought ! Some Kings may have been good; but most were evil; For rank is as a poison to the man, Rotting his virtues by presumptuous pride. Ko ! Patrick Henry, we have fouglit too well, Too fiercely for an end so low as this. The leprous badge of worn-out monarchy, WASHINGTON. 67 Blighting our free America with Kings : — Never will I stand other as your chief, If chief at all, than plain George Washington, Happier to farm afield than fight afield. Tell all those flatterers this: no crown for me, No puppet pride of rank above my fellows, All equals and all freemen, even as I: But, if they will so set me in the front To stand their servant, ministering the law. As the Republic's head and president. Simply their President, if the People please. But neither Highness, — no, nor Excellency, — Well, — I postpone my homely hope of quiet, To be your chief in peace as chief in war. Yes, and I yet may find anotlier mission, - Haply a higher and a wider one; Whereby in Heaven's good time, near or far off, When stablished liberty is strong in us. By me, or my successors, mother and child May yet be reconciled, renewing loves. 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