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 RURYINE THE HATCHET 
 
 A THRILLING WAR DRAMA, 
 
 -) DEDICATED TO THE (- 
 
 ^i mnTfl iLLmnis heeiment. f 
 
 By major GEORGE SPERRY 
 
 joliet: 
 
 The Press Company, Binders. 
 
 1886. 
 
DRAMA. 
 
 URYiNG The Hatchet, 
 
 •OR- 
 
 THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE 
 
 iOOTH ILLINOIS REGIMENT 
 
 By the Author. 
 
 This Drama is based on facts which have come to the Author 
 at different times, covering a period of forty years; to-wit— 
 from 1845 to the present time. /' 
 
 GEORGE SPERRY, Author. 
 
 Phoknix Printing House, Lockport, 111. 
 

 C.n^ 
 
 Entcrod arcordin;;- to Act of Coii'^TcJa, J:in. 1st, 1880, by 
 
 GEORGE SPERRY, 
 
 lu office Congressional Librarian. All ri^ihls reserved. 
 
 TMP96-a066*5<i 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 SYNOPSIS. 
 
 The opening scene is upon the banks of the Ohio river near 
 Cincinnati, sixteen years before the war of the Rebelh'on, to wit 
 1845. Donald Grovenor. (the son of a Louisiana planter,) steals 
 the (white) child of his former lady love, Lillian Ludlow, now 
 wife of Gerald Hamilton. He takes her to one Baxter who keeps 
 a slave pen on the Mississippi; bargains that she should be 
 sold to his friend, George Singleton, who has an infant daughter 
 and who wishes to have a companion near her own age. This 
 arrangement is perfected. Both girls are educated and taught 
 such accomplishments as are fitting for the highest places in re- 
 fined society. The child is named Geraldine; she has always 
 supposed herself to be Geo. Singleton's own daughter. Geo. S. 
 has always treated her as such, showing no partiality to either. 
 The Hamiltons go north and locate near Elgin, 111. Gerald 
 Hamilton, the father of little Lillian (stolen child) dies soon after 
 their removal north. The son, Gerald Hamilton, of the play, is 
 Seventeen years of age when he enlists in the war. Harry Clay- 
 ton, a young man of wealth and good family, lost his parents ill 
 infancy and has spent much of his time with the Hamiltons and 
 looks upon Mrs. Hamilton more as a mother than anything else. 
 The boys know the story of little Lillian and are deeply interest- 
 ed therein. The war breaks out. They enlist in the looth Illi- 
 nois Regiment and become acquainted wrth the. Misses Single- 
 ton through the medium of the colored girl, Dusky. They no- 
 tice the wonderful resemblance between Geraldine Singletoft 
 and Mrs. Hamilton. Jed, the yankee, sent down with the boys 
 from the north for the especial purpose of tracing the child if 
 possible, finds a clew and runs the game to earth. The remain- 
 der of the plot will be understood as the play goes on. 
 
 The Author. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Donald Grovenor, Lover of Lillian Liidlozv. 
 
 Harry Clayton, 1 o / / 
 
 r^ T T r Schoolmates. 
 
 Gerald Hamilton, J 
 
 Gerald Hamilton, Sr., LLmba^id of Lillian Ludlozv. 
 
 George Singleton, ) ^ ,, z^/ . 
 TT c \ Soiittiern Llanters, 
 
 Harold Singleton, \ ' 
 
 Jedadiah Johnson, Yankee. 
 
 Burt Hawkins, Negro catcher. 
 
 Frank Singleton, Son of Harold Singieton, 
 
 Geraldine Singleton, ") ^ 
 
 T Tj ;- Same. 
 
 Lillian Hamilton, j . 
 
 Beatrice Singleton, Sister of Geraldine. 
 
 Lillian Hamilton, Mother of Children. 
 
 Samantha Stewart, Daughter of Airs. Hamilton's neighbor, 
 
 Ella Reynolds, Adopted daughter of Mrs. ILamilton. 
 
 Officers, Soldiers, Etc. 
 
0- 
 
 BURYING THE HATCHET 
 
 — OR — 
 
 THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ACT L— Scene L 
 CJiar.ictcrs in Panorama pass over the Stage. 
 Donald Grovenor, Louisiana planter. 
 Little Lillian Hamilton, (stolen child) carrying basket of 
 flowers. 
 Burt Hawkins and blood hound, (slave catcher.) 
 
 4. Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Hamilton (parents of child.) 
 
 5. Youn<7 Ladies. 
 
 6. Gen. Rosecrans and Staff. 
 One Hundredth Regiment, Col. Bartleson. 
 Confederate Officers and Soldiers, Gen. Singleton com- 
 manding. 
 
 Beatrice and Geraldine Singleton, the latter now seven- 
 teen years of age. 
 
 10. Dusky, slave girl. 
 
 11. Daughter of Veteran and Flag Brigade. 
 
 12. Frank Singleton, son of Confederate officer. 
 
 13. Jed Johnson, Yankee. 
 
6 BURYING THE riATCIIET, OR 
 
 ACT [. Scene II. 
 
 Banks O'lio, before Ludlow's mansion. [Enter Donald 
 Grovenor dressed as an artist.] 
 
 Grov. So, after five years of wanderings and battle, the ban- 
 ished has returned to the place whence he received his banish- 
 ment. The hero of Ciiepultepec, the leader of the forlorn hope 
 at Molino del Ray, the "desperate Americano" who planted :he 
 Stars an J Strip js oa tlie bistion of Vera Cruz, bidding death 
 welcome — nay, seeking it as a relief; seeing it ever before 
 his eyes, but cjntinuiUy beyond his reach — is masquerading 
 with an artists' pencil, before the house of the only woman he 
 ever loved — before the house of her, from whom he received his 
 first lesions of love, ani wh )se single word, sent him forth into a 
 struggling world. An outcast from an anticipated Paradise. A 
 Paradise long hoped for and fondly dwelt upon, into the darkest 
 depths of a blank despair. Vainly ; oh how vainly, I have 
 striven with this niighiy yearning to possess, none can tell, for 
 
 Wearisomely, wearisomely, 
 The slow hours pass on. 
 D irksomely, darksomely— 
 Would ! that they were gone. 
 When the mornmg sun awakes me, 
 When the hour of thought o'ertakes me, 
 When at length the day forsakes me, 
 And its restless work is done. 
 Then the tljought will flit before me, 
 As the morrow's pain; 
 Heart sick then I ask--- 
 When, when will it be gone? 
 
 Restlessly, restlessly, 
 
 The hours of grief pass on. 
 
 Heavily, heavily. 
 
 Pass they by, and they are gone 
 
 As the restless, eddying, spray, 
 
 Whirled upon its path away, 
 
 Brightened by no sunny ray, 
 
 So pass they on. 
 
 As a long, long, dreary night. 
 
 Or a weary day, in the hateful dungoon's light, 
 
THE VETERAX-S DAL'(J[iiEU. 1 
 
 So pass the latter by. 
 Would that they were gone ! 
 
 Yes ! would that they were gone ! When Donald Grovenor 
 
 woos the Muse in sadness, it is indeed a dark day (and night 
 
 too for that matter). I seem to possess two selves. My will, 
 
 my better and redeeming self, would take me to the shady walks 
 
 and rose covered arbors of Grovenor Villa, in my native state of 
 
 Louisiana. To the baronial like halls of my father, now, alas ! 
 
 insipiil because of their beauty and dreamy associations; for the 
 
 very limit of my hopes, the summit of my desire, was to share 
 
 the:n with sweet Lillian Ludlow as my wife. Now, another, 
 
 Gerald Hamilton, basks in the sunlight of that jov, and drinks 
 
 of that cup which has p.issed my lips forever. Ah ! 
 
 [Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Hamilton pass over the front part of the 
 
 sta^j, Grovenor steppin^^ to the rear left hand entrance looks 
 
 on shiJiiig his eyes with his arm. Their little daughter 
 
 Lilliai follows with basket of flowers, which she empties on 
 
 tiie middle front of stage and sits down by them. Mrs. H. 
 
 an 1 her hu-;bind return to where their child is playing 
 
 With fl )\vers.] 
 
 Mi<s H — Oh, Gerald I I cannot tell why; but there is a 
 
 sha low oflite, ev_er with me. [ fear it is portentious of some 
 
 coming sorrrow. 
 
 Mk. H —^w. dear w fe, forget it. Remember only the great 
 happiiieis which has thui fir been ours. You, have your Ger- 
 ald, I, my Lillian, and both, our sweet rose bud, our darling lit- 
 tle Lillian HMVen bless her sunny little heart ! 
 [Both then turn and look at her.] 
 But come, let us go into the fruit garden, the birds are de- 
 Stro.nng all the cherries. I must shoot so ne of them for an ex- 
 ample to the rest. 
 
 [Pass out on right of stage. Grovenor advances to where the 
 child is sitting and she hastily rises and steps back. Grov- 
 enor stoops, picks up a flower and says it is pretty.] 
 Grov — What is my little lady's name ? 
 Lilly — My name is Lilly Hamilton. 
 
 [Picks up a flower and gives him.) 
 Won't you go up to the house? 
 
 Grov — No, my little Lillian. I make pictures. See! Here 
 is one for papa and mamma. 
 
8 BiuiYixG tup: hatchet, or 
 
 Lilly — Oh, pretty ! I must go now ! 
 
 [Goes out on right. Grovenor stepping to front.] 
 
 Grov- -Heavens ! Can I never strangle this burning heart- 
 achjofmine? Just the same as befi.>re my banishment, 
 only more divinely perfect ! The same, only developed into a 
 nobler womanhood, into the sweet joy of a mother love. And 
 the sweet baby life that has been given them, will carry the 
 blending seal of both their images and be, if possible, more per- 
 fe'ct than either. This is maddening! Why should 1. alone, li^^e 
 on, with this dagger point in my heart. Why should I starve, 
 for that of which they have a surfeit. [Stop^ Starts.] 
 
 Hold, Donald Grovenor ! Villain ! What dark thoughts 
 are canvassing your mad brain for supremacy? A Grovenor, 
 my mother's son and father's heir to all the broad lands of Grov- 
 enor Place, a scheming villaifi ! Plotting to rob a mother© 
 her child! and then transfer his affections to the daugheri 
 [Walks back and forth.] [Stops.] Why not ! They have each" 
 other. I have nothing. They live in perpetual sunshine; I in 
 the gloom of a fiery tempest. I had ambitions which but for 
 her would have been realized, yet I do not blame her! Else, 
 Donald Grovenor, would not be himself Else he would have 
 taken some other dove to his "ne.st of down." I will not live 
 always thus. The die is cast. I will win -Lillian Hamilton's 
 daughter to be my wife. If to do this is to be a villain then I 
 am a villain. I will steal her, it is true, but she shall fall into 
 the lap of lu.Kury, and -be educated as becomes the rank and sta- 
 tion of a Southern planter's daughter. 
 
 [Enter Burt Hawkins, slave catcher.] 
 • Grov — Who are you, prowler ? 
 
 H.\WK — Why ! Mr. Grovenor you orter know me. 
 
 Grov — Yes, I do know you now: a miserable, contemptible, 
 vile, rascally thief (Aside.) P^rom all the liveried ranks of 
 Satan, I could not have found a more fitting tool for my villain- 
 ous purpose. 
 
 Hawk — What's up? 
 
 Grov — I want to buy you ; body and soul ! What's your 
 price ? 
 
 Hawk — What do yer want me to do ? " 
 
 Grov — None of your business. What are you doing here? 
 
 H.wvK — Looking fur niggers ! House up yonder on the 
 bank is a post of the underground railroad. 
 
TIIK VF:TERAN'S DArGriTER. 9 
 
 G:i iv — Y VI h iv:;n't answered my question ? What's your 
 pric ; ? 
 
 HvwK. — C)u!di't tell till I know yer game. I want 
 ter s ;;e the keerds. 
 
 G:< >v —1 vv lit vour assistance in stealing a ehild. 
 
 Hawk — I'll h :lp steAl a nigger for $^0. 
 
 Grov — It's no negro, but a white child ! 
 
 Hawk — Whose ? 
 
 Gbov — Gerald Hamilton's ! 
 
 Hawk — That'd be a mighty onsartain job, besides bein' 
 mightv dmgiroMS too. Gel Hamilton's a dead shot! He's got 
 Old Kaintnck blood in his veins Where am I to take the gal? '* 
 
 Giiov — You, you sn^ak! You touch Lillian Ludlow's child ! 
 If you dire I iv your slimy hand on her dainty dress, I'll brain 
 you o:i the spit. I'll do the stealing. I'll be the greater vil- 
 lain. All I wmt of you is to get the bo it from the boat house 
 on the lower hank, then row! row ! row! until your sinews 
 snao. Now what's your price ? 
 
 Hawk. — Five hundred dollars. 
 
 Gi^v — III give you a thousand, five hundred as soon as the 
 work is completed, and five hundred in three months, provided 
 you keep silent. 
 
 Hawk. — How much to bind the bargain. 
 
 Grov. — Here's twenty dollars in gold. 
 
 Hawk. — Done! Now tell me just what you want me to do? 
 
 Grov. — I want vou to be ready and near the boat-house until 
 I give the signal, file the chain so you can easily break it, then 
 row straight to the mouth of the little creek you see there, on 
 the Kentcuky shore, run your boat ashore and take to the hills. 
 I'll follow vip the creek leaving no trace behind. 
 
 Hawk. — When will this be done, 
 
 Grov. — -Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the day after, but be 
 ready for the signal. 
 
 Hawk. — ^I'll live up to my part, never fear. (Aside) A thous- 
 and dollars! More money than this sinner could earn catching 
 niggers in a year. 
 
 Grov. — Enough! Go! So Donald Grovenor, you have sum- 
 med up in one, the direst vilHany on the records of the infernal 
 pit. You have donned the regalia of the very master spirit of iri- 
 famy! Aud I will be successful or die in the attempt/ [Curtain 
 falls.] 
 
^0 BURYING THE IlATCriKT, Ok' 
 
 ACT. I.— Scene III. 
 ' [Garden in front of liouse; child playing. Kntcr from reaf left 
 hand entrance Donald Grovenor, advances quickly to rear right 
 hand entrance and flutter.s handkerchief as .signal, lie then steps 
 quickly to ihe side of child, takes her up in his arms, caressing 
 her and telHng her not to be afraid he will show her his boat on 
 tlie river. (Aside) "Now, may God forgive me, for I can never for- 
 give myself!" Passes out with the child who screams frantically 
 when she sees she is being taken from home; as her screams die 
 away her mother enters from tlie left side looking for iier] 
 
 Mrs. H. — [Calling softly,] Lillian! Lillian! [getting no reply- 
 calls louder] Lillian! Lillian! [then frantically] Lillian! Lillian! 
 m}' child! [Still getting no reply, she buists out with] Oh, God! 
 has anything happened to my little darling? [Then rushing to 
 the rear right entrance looks out and sees a boat.] A boat is 
 crossing the river; ni}- child is in it. stretching out her arms to- — ' 
 to her mother. [Puts her hand to her head] Oh, God! Oh, 
 my Father in heaven lielp! [Then rushing to the left entrance 
 calls in agony] Oh, Gerald! Gerald! In heaven's name, come 
 quick'ly! [Enter Mr. H. gun over shoulder.] 
 
 Mr. H. Lillian, what in the world is the trouble! 
 
 Mrs. H. — Oh, Gerald! our darling Lillian, has been kidnap- 
 ped. See they are taking her to the Kentucky shore, 
 
 Mr. M. — Heaven help! [Throws his gun to his eye and aims 
 at the boat. Mrs. H. springs forward and stops his fire.] 
 
 Mrs. H. — Gerald, do not fire! our child! [Mr. H. throws 
 down the gun and rushes out saying as he goes "Call William 
 and Charles; they're back of the house." 
 
 [Mrs. H. looking out sees only a boat at the lower landing 
 and calls] Gerald, go to the lower landing! [Then rushing to 
 the left calls] Charles! William! 
 
 Chas. and Will. — What is the matter Mrs. Hamilton? 
 
 Mrs. H. — Go to Mr. HamiIiton''s assistance; our child has 
 been stolen! Fly! Fly! [catching hold of them] Mr. Hamilton 
 has plunged into the water, he will be drowned! Oh, go! To 
 the lower landing! To the lower landing! [Exit Chas. and 
 W^ill.] 
 
 Mrs. H. — Oh! God have mercy! husband and child, both 
 gone iri a moment, one drowned perhaps, and the other, carried 
 into slavery. Heaven pity, pity me. [Falls on couch in swoon] 
 
 [Curtain falls.] 
 
^THE VETKUaN'8 BAUGHTEll. It 
 
 ACT I.— Scene IV. 
 ][Mrs. Hamilton still lying in swoon,] 
 
 lMv. H iniilton heard running at side entrance; servant stand- 
 ing just inside room.] 
 
 Mr. H. — Hetty, where is your mistress? 
 Hettv. — .She is in a swoon, sir, I cannot waken her. 
 [Enter Mr. 1 lamilton, clothes torn, face bloody, kneels be- 
 side his wife.] Lillian! Lillian! Oh! God, will she never waken) 
 Lillian, my wife, my cherished one! 
 
 Mrs. K. [opens her eyes.] Gerald, you! are alive. Thank 
 Gol! One at least is saved to me. 
 
 Mii. H. — My pool wife compose yourself; we will surely find 
 our little one. Uo try to be calm. I will offer my whole prop- 
 erty in rewards but I will find her; take heart, dear one. 
 
 Miis. H. — [Seeing blood on his face.] Oh, Gerald! You are 
 hurt, you aie bleeding— your face. Oh! and I lying here while 
 you die. Forgive me, Gerald! 
 
 Mr. H. — It is nothing; a few scratches received amongst the 
 thorns on the Kentucky shore. Don't mind me. 
 
 Mits. H. — Let us go into the house where you can h u^e ne-^ 
 cessary attention. [Curtain falls; rises on same place; friencs and 
 neighbor .] 
 
 ACT I.— Scene V. 
 Miis.lt. — My friends, I thank you for your sympathy and 
 words of cheer; I have not yet given up hope, although a month 
 has elapsed since our child was stolen from us. I wish now to 
 register a vow against the institution of human slavery; from this 
 time I will ,'eave nostone unturned that I mav hurl against it. 
 From to-day, I declare fi)r agitation until the accursed institu* 
 tion is driven forever Irom the utmost confines of our fair land. 
 ACT I. Scene VI. 
 Wood scene. Song, SL.ve Mother's Lament. Time, Twi* 
 light ; light dim. An octoroon in loose flowing robe — a la Gre- 
 cian—with hands clasped, sings 
 
 Gone, gone — sold and gone. 
 To the rice swamp dank and lone, 
 Where the slave-whip ceaseless swingS( 
 Where the noisome insect stings, 
 Where the fever demon streWs 
 Poison with the falling dews, 
 
13 BURYING THE HATCHET, OK 
 
 Wliere the sickly sunbeams glare 
 Through the hot and misty air, — 
 Gone; gone ! Sold and gone 
 l"o the rice swamp dank and lone, 
 From Virginia's hills and waters. 
 Woe is nitt, my stolen daughters! 
 Gone, gone — sold and gone, 
 To the nce-swamp dank and lone, 
 Tiiere no mother's eye is near them. 
 There no mother's ear can hear them ; 
 Never when the torturing lash 
 Seams their back with many a gash, 
 Shall a mother's kindness bless them, 
 Or a mother's arms caress them. 
 Gone, gone — sold and gone, 
 To the rice-swam[) dank and lone. 
 From Virginia's hills and waters, — 
 Woe is me my stolen daughters ! 
 
 ACT I. Scene VII. 
 [Sixteen years later. Mansion place near Nashville, Tenn. 
 ParloratGen. Singleton's. The Misses Geraldine (stolen child) 
 and Bj itrice Singleton, discovered walking— arms about each 
 other's waist s] 
 
 BEAn.'icp:. My djar sister, will you not tell me, why you 
 should call out so loudly as to awaken me, and bring me to your 
 bedside ? 
 
 Geral. What did I say, dear sister mine? 
 Be. You said. Mamma. M anmia ; Oh ! my beautilul mamma, 
 Gisr. Oh, Beatricj! Such a beautiful dream, and yet; so 
 sad ! 
 
 Be. Will you not tell it tc me that I may joy or sorrow with 
 you ? 
 
 Ger. It seems almost too sacred to breathe to another; 
 aud yet. why m.iy I not share it with a dear sister— with the 
 sweetest boon God has given me. 
 
 Be. Oh. Gerry; my sister. How I love you ! It aliiic»st 
 seems as though our mothers could not have been the same. 
 
 Ger. Nay ; nay ; d ) not deprive me of the sweet joy that 
 comes with that ende.iring title, sister. In my dream I seemed 
 to be transported to a beautiful spot beside a wide river. There 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. IS 
 
 were walks, parteres of flowers, winding avenues and seats in 
 cool sliady nooks. And, Oh; my sister! as 1 was reclining on 
 a couch in an arbor covered with sweet scented flowers and 
 traihng vines, a bedutiful woman with the sweetest, sadest, ten- 
 deresl look in her glorious eyes, bent over and kissed me. And 
 •midst a shower of tears called me her child ; her bles.sed, bless- 
 ed, lost baby daughter. It seems as if the lady ot my visions 
 was my very counterpart. I awoke, calling as you heard, 
 *'Mamma 1 Mamma ! My beautiful uiau.ma." Oh, it was so sad, 
 and yet so sweet ! 
 
 [Both ladies weep; Beatrice putting her arms about her sister, 
 they turn, each halt facing the audience and alter ali'ttie] 
 
 CjEk. — Is It not a strange coincidence ; often when I close my 
 eyes, 1 can see the same scene, but it is always in the long past. 
 
 Bea. — It is indeed strange, 1 will speak to papa about it 
 when he returns. [Exit Geraldine, enter Mr. singleton.] 
 
 JiEA. — Oh] lather, how glad 1 am to .see you; we wanted 
 you Home so much. You have been away ever and ever so 
 nuicn; 1 hope the politicians wont have any more conlerences. 
 
 iVlu. :3. — So do i my darling daughter, at least, not for the 
 present; 1 love my home and children too much for that; but 
 wiicre IS your si-^ter, our peei less Gerry. 
 
 Bea. — Oh! my father; 1 wanted to speak to you alone 
 about Gerry. 
 
 Mi: S. — vVh)-. why, has anything happened your sister? 
 
 1:)EA. Oh, papa ! she has had such a sad, beautiful 
 dream. 
 
 Mk. S. And you, you have been crying in sympathy? 
 
 i^EA. I could not help it. 
 
 Mii. S. Will my dauL;hter tell the drtam? May she do so 
 WiCiiJut niirrin^ i:i/ cjiifiJ.iaje your sister may have imposed? 
 
 Bea. Yes, 1 think 1 may do so, although it seems very 
 saci cd to her. 
 
 M.^. S. I am listening my daughter. 
 
 Bea. List night I was awakened by hearing her call out 
 in beseeching tonjs, "'Oh, mamma! My beautiful mamma!" 
 
 Mii. S. Ah! 
 
 Bea. Yes, I ran into the room and she was whispering 
 the words so sadly, "My mother, oh, my mother!" She was 
 weeping and I could not articulate, so I put my arms about her 
 and bade h^r lie down. She who was wont to be so strongr and 
 
14 I5URVING nil'] IIA'KMIET. Oii 
 
 self reliant, was weak as a child; I did not leave her during the 
 nignt; she nteded iiic this time. Uh. papa! what does it mean? 
 
 Mr. S. — Did she tell you her dream? 
 
 Bea. — Not until this morning, when she said she seemed 
 to be transported to a beautiful spot beside a wide river aim in a 
 bower, covered witii vine and flowers she beheld (in her viMon) 
 a beautiful woman the very image of herself btndmg over and 
 caressing her, who called her, her dear lost bab_\' daughter. Oh, 
 father! what can it mean? She says she can clo-^e her eyes at 
 any time and see the place by the river but it seems always in the 
 far past. 
 
 Mr. S. — I am sure I cannot understand it any better than can 
 you, her sister. We all have our dreams, and your sister is no 
 exception. [Enter Dusky.] 
 
 Dusky. — Lor bress my soul, Marse Singleton, when'd \ou 
 rive; nobody nose nuffin bout it in dis yer house. I )e niggers is 
 lazin roun, an I no da don't no; kase if da did da'd be tenclin to 
 bizness more stricter I reckon. Da'se a good fur nuthin lazy set, 
 dem plantation niggers. 
 
 Mr. S. — Well Dusky, we'lllook after them by r.nd by, but 
 where is your young Mistress, Miss Geraldine? 
 
 l^USKY. — Why bress her dear, she's just stannin round, doin 
 nuffin, only lookin off on de hills and drawin long breffs. an 
 sobbm sof like all to herself; pears like she done loss her niud- 
 der. 
 
 Mr. S. — Well Dusky, you may tell your young mistress I am 
 home, nothing more. 
 
 DusKV.- -Yes, Marse. 
 
 Mu. S — I think Beatrice it will be best to say nothing to 
 your sister about the dream, unless she speaks of it herself. 
 
 HicA. — But p ipa, Gerry is iny own sister is she not? 
 
 Mr. S. — Why ye — yes. What put that foolish notion into 
 your head? 
 
 Bea. — I don't know, 1 love her too dearly to lose her now. 
 
 Mr. S. — Hush! hush! she is coming. 
 
 [En^er Geraldine.] 
 
 Ger . — Papa, why did not some one tell me you were come? 
 [^Embrace.] 
 
 Mr. S. — Whv, Gerry, I have but just arrived. 
 
 Ger. — And I not here to greet you! Too bad isn't it? 
 
 Mr. S. — I have letters for both you and Beatrice, [Gives 
 
letters.] I have some news whicli I think will please you. 
 You remember the heaiitiful hoists wliich }ou rode last sum- 
 mer while at Grov nor Villa. Louisiana? 
 
 Both Girls.- -Yes, \'es. 
 
 Mk. S -• Well. Mr. Grovenor has sent them up in advance of 
 himself as pres^nt-^ to you and Bjatrice. They are alre.idy in 
 Nashville. Mr Grovenor will be here to-morrow. 
 
 Rea. — Oh, that's very kind of him ! 
 
 Ger. — Yes. 1 trust I am suffi:iently grateful. Do you know, 
 papa, there is something about Mr. Grovenor, :hat makes me 
 shiver! I can't understand why? He's courteous, pleasant, 
 and very instructive and entertaining in conversation. 
 
 Mr. S.--VVell, Gerry, 1 think under the circumstances I 
 would try and mike it as pleasant for him while here and in the 
 vicinity as possible. It is quite probable we may have a war on 
 hand soon and the more friends and protectors we have the bet- 
 ter. 
 
 Ger. I don't understand ! 
 
 M.u S. The probabilities are that Lincoln will be elected. 
 If he is, the South will secede. 
 
 Ger. Secede ! Secede from what ? 
 
 Mr. S. The Union. 
 
 Geu. What! Strike at the old flag? Papa, you cannot 
 mean it ! 
 
 Mr. S. Why, Gerry; what would you have us do : submit 
 to an abolition government? 
 
 Ger. But hovv c;n you help yourselves. They are only do- 
 ing what you are trying to do. elect one of their own choice; 
 besides, if you enter the lists, will you be successful ? If not, you 
 will be a thousand times worse off than you now are. 
 
 Bea. The people here generalh think the northern people 
 are cowardly and will not fight. Mr. Courtney says the most 
 they care for is money. 
 
 Ger. Judging from the men from the north I sav/ in Wash- 
 ington last summer, I should think they would compare favora- 
 bly with the very best of the South. 
 
 Mr. S. Well, Gerry, I do not disagree with you, but let us 
 do that which we can all agree upon. I think it is near the din- 
 ner hour. Good bye until then. 
 
16 BtrRYlKG THE IlArClIET, OK 
 
 ACT I. Scene VIII. 
 (Same place. Di.scovers Geraldine and Beatrice seated. Kn- 
 ter (jrovenor.) 
 
 B. and G. Welcome Mr. Grovenor. 
 (All shake hands.) 
 
 Ger. — I hope everything is as pleasant at Grovenor Villa as 
 when we were there last Summer? 
 
 Gkov.-— Yes, everything is the same, except the presence of 
 the twin divinities whom I was so fortunate as to entertain. It 
 ha.s grown so stupid there since as to be unbearable, so I came 
 away. 
 
 Ger. Oh! there should be plenty of ladies in Louisiana to 
 give inspiration to such a paradise. 
 
 Gkov. I entertain no ladies at Grovenor. 
 
 Gek. There you do very wrong, but please accept our thanks 
 for your splendid present. 
 
 Grov. If they are accepted in the same spirit in which they 
 are given I shall feel honored. 
 
 Ger. Oh! Mr. Grovenor, I think our Beatrice has been gath- 
 ering inspiration from the visits of the gallant Courtney. 
 
 Gkov. Allow me to congratulate you. Miss Beatrice. 
 
 Bea. You need not, as his attentions were all address- 
 ed to my sister. 
 
 Ger. Tiiat may be partially true, but as I am not at all sus- 
 ceptible, and do not believe in self abnegation, I need no con- 
 gratulations, as I have not seen the coming man. 
 
 Grov. But the coming man will probably prove a self abne- 
 gator, and give every thought into your keeping. 
 
 Ger. I cannot say, but as long as 1 hold the memory of my 
 mother so sacred as I now do none other can displace it. Ex- 
 cuse me, Mr. Grovenor, we will dress for a horse back ride on 
 the new horses. [Exit.] 
 
 Grov. [Solus] The second Lillian is, if possible, more 
 beautiful than the first. She is of a grander and nobler type, 
 blending the graces of the mother with the strong manly char- 
 acter of the father. She evidently avoids me; my time will 
 come, however; the war clouds are gathering and soon the tem- 
 pest in its wrath will burst over this devoted southern paradise. 
 1 then will be her only protector. If that does not suffice I'll 
 play my last card and tell her she is a slave, bought in the mar- 
 
rilK VEPEIIANS I)A['(H! IKli. 17 
 
 ket. but I love her still and will make her lU)- wile. If slie re- 
 jects my last offer, then welcome the iront lank of battle. [ 
 have already made mv will L^iviny; her everylhmg- 1 po-.-.es.s. 
 [Exit. Curtain falls.] [End of Act 1 ] 
 
 ACT II. Scene 1. 
 
 [Elgin, northern Illinois. Mrs. Hamilton's house Parhr 
 scene. Curtain rises di.^covering Mrs. Hamilton watching four 
 young ladies waltzing. Enter Jedediah John.-on (Yankee) girls 
 stop waltzing and rush to Jed, claiming hrstd.mce.] 
 
 )ed. VVal, yes, g ds. I'll gest du that thing, though I'm 
 agin dancin on fust principles. Now look a'here Aunt Lillian, 
 is Samantha come yit? 
 
 Mrs. H. No, cousin, I'm not expecting her for some time. 
 
 Jed. Coz, if 1 she was. I could'nt du it. not by a horntul! 
 You see Samantha belongs to the meetin house, and I'm kintl 
 a hangin round, expectin to jine. when things is all strait be- 
 tween me and her. The fact is, I'm kinder fVaid of Samintlia. 
 I think she's a leetle the cleanest grained piece of human oint- 
 ment a feller ever clung tu. That lout of a Sam Jones is get- 
 ting awful sweet on her, and by and by it'll be some other f*. Her. 
 No close quarters, at least when there's any danger. Now, 
 Aunt Lillian, you gist keep your ears open, and the minit you 
 hear the door squeak, you sing out. Gals, is the curtains all 
 drawed shet ? 
 
 Girls. Yes, yes of course they are Jed ! 
 
 Jed. Now, whose for who ? (Raises his arm, girls all rush 
 up again ) 
 
 Jed. Now hold on (holds them off) pears like a pairin bee, 
 rushin on a feller so. 
 
 [Music starts up. Jed. waltzes around with one, seizes 
 another and goes halfway round, when he suddenly leaves his 
 partner, rushes to a seat, throws one leg over the other and 
 looks as sober as a judge. Girls rush over to him and com- 
 mence fanning, asking him if he has a spasm of the heart] 
 
 Jed. I thought I heard the door squeak, did'nt you Aunt 
 Lillian? 
 
 Ell.\ Reynolds. Jed., I'm not going to be beat out of my 
 waltz. To think of your being frightened out of your wits on 
 account of little Samantha Stewart. 
 
 Jed. Wal, Miss Ella, I don't feel like losin the fun of that 
 
IS ninn'iKG toe itatcitet, ok 
 
 waltz'n myself. W'altzin is my master piece, when a feller aint 
 in any danger. I'm awful sorry to hurt }our tender fcelins. 
 Gills is made of kinder thin stuff, an} how. They go into flash- 
 es like one of them locofoco matches when its struck agin any- 
 thing. Goon with yotir fiddlin Mr. Musicianer, while we trip 
 the fantastical toes. [Music strikes up and he goes round with 
 fir^^t one and then another, until the last, when Samantha comes 
 in quietly, and stands looking on until Jed. comes round oppo- 
 site her, when she lays her hand on his arm and says:] 
 
 Sam. Jedadiah Johnson? 
 
 Jed. [Jumping b.ick.] Jehosophat and Sinacharib! Why 
 Samantha! Aunt Lillian, T didn't hear no door squeak. Say 
 Simantha! Now don't! Your just as pretty as a peach; aint 
 she aunt? 1 here aint a gal in this room, no, nor in the kounty, 
 can hold a candle to you, there aint! 
 
 Sam. ledadiah Johnson, what will the Church say? 
 
 Jed. Church be ! Say Samantha, the girls was fierce 
 
 for dancing. I laid back as long as I could out'n respect fur you 
 and the — a the Church. Now aint you satisfied! Haint I draw- 
 ed a healin' b.alm over your wounded feelinks. 
 
 Sam. Jedidiah, the high moral standard of the Church frowns 
 on these light frivolities. 
 
 Jed. Why Samantha! if its wrong to dance, why is so 
 much said about St Anthony's dance. I reckon he was a clip- 
 per; now when a purty gal asks a feller tu dance, what i.s he 
 goin tu du about it. Eh? 
 
 Sam. Jed, you seem to be wonderfully e.Kercised in favor of 
 pretty girls. You ran way down the lane from singing school 
 the other night to carry a singing book to Ella Green, and left 
 me standing on the church steps in the cold." 
 
 Jed. Thunder! did you know about that? Why Ell said 
 you went home with Sam Jones. 
 
 Sam. Well, I did'nt nor did Sam go home with me; I'm a 
 good mind to — (Jed breaks in.) 
 
 Jed. Now hold on, Samantha; this jint debate's gettin most 
 too public; I'll tell you what I'll du. If you quit. I'll jine any 
 church you say, provided you belong to the some one. 
 
 [Enter Harry Clayton and Gerald Hamilton, carrying satch- 
 els. All stop talking and come forward to shake hands. 
 
 Mrs. H. Oh, Gerald! Harry! how glad and sorry I am 
 to see you ! My mother heart tells me why you are here. 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUdllTEU. 119 
 
 Gerald. Nay, mother dear, do not dampen the spirits of 
 your tompany. You were always the bravest of us all. Keep 
 a stout heart mother mine! [Gerald leaves his mother and joins 
 the ladies to shake hanks.] 
 
 Jed. I'm glad you come when you did Gerald, you broke up 
 a debate on Church and State 'tween Samantha and me. 
 
 Gerald. Indeed! 
 
 Jed. Yes, but the debate's adjourned and I'm g\^d. 
 
 H.A.RRV. My dear Mrs. Hamilton, I should be very sorry to 
 see this pleasant comp my separate without their anticipated 
 pleasure. I saw Mr. Jones hitching his horse as I came in; he 
 will make just enough for a set. Will you honor me by danc- 
 ing it with me. Your house more than any other has been my 
 home, in childhood and manhood. 
 
 Mrs. H. Yes, Harry, as you may suspect, my heart is not 
 now in accord with festivity; I will not, however, dampen a sin- 
 gle enjoyment of yours or Gerald's, you are nearly or quite as 
 dear as he. [They form for the dance, Sam Jones selecting Sa- 
 mantha, who after some hesitation, looking at Jed, accepts; Jed 
 selects a partner and says while passing Samantha:] 
 
 Jed. 'Pears to me Samantha, you've slightly changed base on 
 church dancing. 
 
 Sam. Bad example! A word to the wise. [Music starts up, 
 Jed dancin"^ with most grace of any in the set, bowing low to 
 Samantha whenever they meet and looking fierce at Jones. At 
 the close of the set Jed and Jones seethe ladies home who do 
 not remain.] 
 
 Mrs. H. Cousin Jed, please return as soon as possible, as t 
 wish to consult you in a conference with Mr. Clayton, and Gerald. 
 [Exit Jones and Jed with ladies.] 
 
 Harry. Now mv more than mother, my savior I may say, 
 for had it not been for you I would not now be alive to bless 
 you, please do not let your tender feelings gain mastery over 
 th It grand character, which your patient, uncomplaining heart- 
 suffjring has developed; your surmises are correct; we have re- 
 turned to do what we can to uphold the Flag, whicn 
 in serried ranks, upon many a bloody field, the southern 
 hosts are insulting. Gerald feels that he would be neither 
 his father's . nor his mother's son did he not strike, 
 witli whatever power he may possess, that institution un- 
 der cover of which his mother's heart has been made desolate, 
 
'2H ^ I'UHY N!t the IIA'ICIIET. OK 
 
 and his father stricken in the grave. I would not 1)^" less ge He- 
 rons to mv country s need than he. 1 he best and truest hearts 
 in the Ni)rth and >outli are rushing to llic conflict. They aie 
 inidcrthe bhnd delusion that their firesides and properties aie m 
 danger, we for the nobler purpose ot maintaining the supremacy 
 of a Union the gr.mdest and noblest in purpose the woild ii.i.s 
 ever known Gerald feels that it is best that I should say ihis 
 to you; lie feels that under the great grief at parting \vh,c.i will 
 be \'ours, he will give way. I have told you now. my dearest 
 friend, why we are here. We h ive hid staff p )sitions offered us, 
 but as that would naturally separate us, we have enlisted as pri- 
 vates in the lODth Illinois infantry, Col. Frjd Bircleson coin- 
 nianding, trusting to courage and devotion to find our meed of 
 reward. I will say farther that we purpose leaving on the d ly 
 after to-morrow that we may reach the regiment the day ot its 
 departure from rendezvous at Joliet. 
 
 Mrs. 11. Ah, my dear children, these are indeed terrible 
 tidings; yet while my mother heart would say Nay, my country 
 will as surely say Yea. The sacrifice is almost more than I can 
 bear. Yet I ;//;/.?/ bear it. There is a single ray of light how- 
 ever, in all this grim darkness. Oh Marry! Ger.dd ! find my 
 Lillian! My darling daughter; she must n )w be a beautiful and 
 noble woman. I feel that she is; I dream of her continually; I 
 feel that some day you will meet her; then bring her, whatever 
 she is, bring her back to the heart that has so long mourned for 
 her. 
 
 Gerald. Dear mother, this is one of the very inducemcnt.s 
 to our sudden leaving college to go south. We have both lelt 
 that under these circumstances our duty was imperative. [En- 
 ter Jed.] 
 
 Jed. Well folkses, what was the natur of the confab we was 
 to hev ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Sit down here, cousin, and I will explain. I knew 
 when Harry and Gerald entered unheralded that they were go- 
 ing to the war. 
 
 Jed. Wal I spected so tu. 
 
 Mrs. H. Now I, want you to go also, not as a soldier, but to 
 search and search, to inquire and inquire; to follow up every 
 trace until you find my lost Lillian. I will be to all the expense. 
 I will obtain letters for you to Gen's Grant and Rosecrans, and 
 
THE VETl':il.\X\s l)Ar(^,nTKH. ^>i 
 
 any others which yon m ly need, an J when you return, the tarni 
 on wliich you now arc. shall be your own 
 
 Jed I'm just the ch ip to du it. How about Samantha 
 and my jinin the church. 
 
 Mrs. H Oh. you can arrange that. 
 Jed. All right, if Samantha is willm'. 
 
 Sam. Oh, Jed! Those villianous Bushwhackers will kill you. 
 Jed. Niry a Bushwhacker] Don't you be afeard; I'll play 
 them fellers a trick they never heard tell onl 
 S.\M D ^ he careful dear Jed. 
 
 Jed. Golly. Samantha, say that again! I'd go through a 
 Cliicago fire like a salammder. swmi Lake Michigan or'^take 
 any other hot or cold bath, to be called "dear Jed" by you, Sa- 
 manrha. T never see the dimples in >'our cheeks look half so 
 pretty as they do now. Samantha, they're sweeter than — than 
 chewing enm 
 
 Mrs. H. It is very late now my children and v/e surely must 
 retire. 
 
 ACT II.— Scene II. 
 [Enter Jed and Samantha only one chair on stage.] 
 SiM. lake a chair Jed! 
 
 Jed I don't see very much cheer here Samantha! 
 Sa.\i. Why J -d, that chair will hold you. 
 
 Jed. [Looking at Samantha] Why, Samantha, you don't 
 mean it! I couldn't du it, no I couldn't; my heart is flumikin 
 round now un^ier my vest buttons, fit to split. Gracious, Sa- 
 mantha! git another cheer or I'll stand up. 
 Sam Oh, Jed, you're a chicken! 
 
 Jed. Well, I'll be a chicken if you say so; but this 'ere cheer 
 [takes hold ofchair] can't hold two and one of them Jed Johnson 
 and tother the prettiest girl in Illinois. So, if it's all the same to 
 you. Samantha, we'll leave that problem unsolved. It beats 
 ped'lin' all out. 
 
 Jed. Now let's come to the p'int. You know I'm going to 
 the war for a certain purpose; when I come back solid and sound, 
 chockful of news and fights and things, will you jine hands and 
 — a and ever afterwards plod on together, say Samantha? 
 
 Sam. Yes, Jed, I will! I like you best of anybody in the 
 whole world. 
 
 Jed. Glory hallelujah! £ pliiribus inmin! Now let the 
 eagle scream, and careen, and soar, and cavort, and dig her heels 
 
22 HURYING THE IIATCEET, OK 
 
 into the ground! I'm sound, for Samantha Stewart never goes 
 back on her word. Hurrah! Jed your ship's got a big spread of 
 canvas and ready for sailin'. [Jed stepping to the front and tak- 
 ing a roll of tissue paper from his pocket] See here Samantha 
 I've got something here that'll make your eyes water I kinder 
 thought as how thmgs'd go, so 1 sold a bag uv dried apples and 
 a keg of apple sass. and scoured the city of Chicago, fur an en- 
 gagement ring g()o_i enough for you. See here! [Takes out of 
 half yard of tissue paper a brass ring weighing half an ounce.] 
 Now Samantha, aint tha: a screamer! 
 
 S.\M. Judgmg from appearances, I should say it was a 
 screamer! 
 
 ACT II. Scene III. 
 
 [Tableau. Goddess of Liberty in background; U. S flig 
 about her; olive branch extended to Confederates on left, scroll 
 in right hand. Contederates point their arms in menace at the 
 goddess and flag. Union soldiers on right, pointing guns at 
 Confederates. Upon left side Misses Smgleton, Dusky and 
 Grovenor. Upon right other ladies. Flag brigade at present in 
 centre. 
 
 ACT III. Scene i. 
 
 LUnion army going through Kentucky. Soldiers on march, 
 loaded down with blankets, bjdquilts, books, pots, etc. etc. etc. 
 They cross the stage go round l)ack of scenes and recross limp- 
 ing, staggering, and all conplaining of sore feet, etc., etc. Colo- 
 nel gives the command "Malt! rest!" When the looth III. rest, 
 a representative each of the .?6th Ohio, the 58th Indiana and the 
 13th Michigan comjs up from the rear entrance of the stage and 
 say all at once:] 
 
 26th. Hello, old Hundreth! has the quartermaster issued 
 you any cream for your coffee-pot? 
 
 58th. Have you drawn any butter for your hard-tack ? 
 
 13th. I say you lOOth greenhorns, what's the matter with 
 your toes ? You walk as if you was treading on eggs. 
 
 58th. Yes they travel like grasshoppers and limp like .'ame 
 spiders. 
 
 All together. You ninnies ! why don't you do as we do ? 
 Strip off all thSm extra traps. We can march 40 miles a day 
 and not half try. 
 
 Hi Lawrence. Dry up, you pewter pot ! You fellows look. 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUCHTER. M 
 
 like a lot of sand-hill cranes monkeying round on the prairie in 
 the ^pring. 
 
 Je t. Tavlor. Or a lot of picked ganders, got)blin to see v\ho 
 can make the most noise. 
 
 26th Ohio Say, old Jack o' clubs — whatever become of 
 that turkey you stowed away under your tent one night, and 
 didn't find it in the mornin. 
 
 Jack. You'll whistle out of the other side of your mouth 
 belore next spring. I'll steal you poorer than a settin hen that's 
 hatched four broods of chickens and not work very hard at that. 
 Soldiers commence and unload, tlirowing away everything ex- 
 cept what is necessnry, then strap up ready for start. The com- 
 mand "fall in !" is given. "P'orward !" and the boys jump up 
 lively and go offstage cheering, laughing and dancing, leaving 
 stage covered with books, blankets and every sort of traps imag- 
 inable. When the looth has gone offstage the 58th, 26th and 
 13th strip off their old blankets, pick up new ones, and replen- 
 ish themselves generally, and go off laughing about the Illinois 
 greenhorns.] 
 
 26th Ohio. That Jack Mathews is tlie dangdest thief in the 
 brigade; he can hear a rooster crow or a pig squeal further than 
 any man livin; and Bill Wardle and George Johnson aint far be- 
 hind. 
 
 58th. We've got the bulge on em this time anyhow, but we've 
 got to keep our eyes peeled after this. (Exit.) Enter Jed in 
 rear of the army; looks around.] 
 
 Jed. Looks like a peddler's cart had busted and spilt the 
 hul load. Books! (picks up one.) 'Dodridge's rise and prog- 
 ress of Christianity' guess some of these soldier fellers's study- 
 ing for the ministry! (picks up another.) 'Baxter's call to the 
 unconverted !' I'll be smashed if they aint tryin to git up a pro- 
 tracted meeting amongst the bushwhackers (Picks up another.) 
 ' Ba.xter's St's Rest.' 'Watt's Hymns,' 'Peperidges Plans of Sal- 
 vation !' [Before he gets entirely through, enters from left rear 
 entrance, bushwhacker, who aims his gun at Jed and says:] 
 
 Bush. Hold on there old swallowtail! I've got the drop on 
 you! 
 
 Jed. [Looking up takes in the situation] Drop right along 
 then, why don't you, and not stand there grinning, you lubberly 
 Yank! 
 
24 BriiYI^'G 'J HE HATCHET, OK 
 
 JRusH. I aint no Yank! 
 
 Yank. You aint, ch! You can't fool this 'ere boss with none 
 o' yer chaff. Come be lively and helj) pile up these books and 
 things, d'ye know a feller what's runum' the whole Confederate 
 army named Bragg. \\ ell, I'm his chief adviser in religiou.s 
 matters, and he's sent me over here among you uns, to start a 
 meetin' house and prayer meetin' subscription. [Keeps pi! ng up 
 things] You see the pious brethern and sistern of southern In- 
 diana are laborin' hard to convart the hul world and particular 
 the people in these here parts. D'ye know ole man Baxter? 
 
 Bu.sH Never knew but one l^axter and he kept a nigger 
 market down on the Mississippi. 
 
 Yank. Bought and sold black and white too, eh? 
 
 Bush. Yes, and yallar, anything cum along. 
 
 Yank, Ever know him to sell any white children? 
 
 Bush. Yes, one or two. 
 
 YA.Mk. Come, this'll never do; haint got much time; Bragg 
 expects me right off D'ye know yer ole Bixter's bmconvarted 
 and jined the salvation army, and gone to making plans of salva- 
 tion, (books all here) all for the good of your souls down here; 
 made the road easy to the pearly gates, straight track, all grav- 
 elled, gate wide open; free line of busses runnin' every five min- 
 utes, through line, close connections. Come fly round. [Bush 
 .sets his gun against a tree; Yank keeps working round towards 
 
 Y.-\NK. There's a nice pair of blankets and boots too, you 
 can have them both. [Bush goes over for blankets; Yank 
 makes a spring and grabs gun, at same time pulling an old 
 horse-pistol out of a pocket in his blouse.] 
 
 Bush. What're you doin' with my gun? 
 
 Yank. Oh, nothin', only keepin' on the safe side. You keep 
 piiin' up yer plans of salvation. I've got a double rib-sided 
 revolver here, shutes seventeen times a second and more to cum, 
 and if you don't keep quiet I'll blow your hair all over the bush- 
 es there. Give my compliments to Gen. Bragg and tell him I 
 advise him to study these plans for his campaign in Kentucky. 
 You can come back and git these things, but just now I want 
 you to make a bee line fur the rear. [Aims at him] Come, 
 git, canter, and don't you stop running as long as your butter- 
 nut britches'll hold together. 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 Yank. I'll be blowed if Samantha want about right. That 
 was a close call for Jed. Johnson. Thi.s old Revolutionary 
 pocket piece, haint been loaded for more'n 40 year. But Jed. 
 Johnson had better git too!" (goes off the stage running.) 
 ACT II. Scene IV. 
 
 [Picket line near Nashville. Sergeant Calmer, Co. C. looth, 
 marches across the stage with detail for the picket, tells off the 
 reliefs, places one sentinel on back of stage facing outward. All 
 offstage except Harry Clayton, and Gerald Hamilton, who are. 
 not on duty, and sentinel.] 
 
 Harry. Gerald, do you know that Miss Geraldine Single- 
 ton bears a wonderful resemblance to your family ? 
 
 Gerald. Yes, but I hardly dare echo the thought, which of 
 all things I should most desire; that she not only be like us, but 
 of us. 
 
 H.\RRV. Yes, but Jed says he has traced little Lillian to 
 this vicinity, and he knows for a certainty that she is not far 
 from here now. The last time I saw her it was arranged that 
 each of us should write something by way of describing some 
 scene in both north and south with which each was familiar. I 
 can but feel that Geraldine and Beatrice Singleton are not sis- 
 ters. They are both very lovely and rarely gifted, but there is 
 no resemblance in feature. 
 
 Ger. God send our weary search ends liere, but Harry, for 
 the love of heaven do not even hint at such a possibility. There 
 may be no truth in our suspicions. 
 
 Harry. Trust me Gerald ! [Enter Dusky, running.] 
 
 Dusky. I'se nearly done gone for breff ! 
 
 Gents. Why Dusky, what are you running so for? 
 
 Dusky. Why you see my young Mistesses hez bin tryin to 
 get shet ob dat Marse Donald Grovenor, so da could hab you 
 boff com up dar, but he sticks tighter nor a burr to a sheep's back. 
 
 Gents. Well, Dusky. 
 
 Dusky. Den I tell Miss Gerry dat if she gib me lebe, I start 
 him mighty quick. Den I go back ob de house, and untie his 
 big chestnut race-horse, light a piece ob punk and put under de 
 saddle, and gib him de whip, and away he go right intode Union 
 lines like Old Scratch was after him. Den I go mto de parlor 
 and tell Marse Donald dat his hoss had runned away clean into 
 de lines ob de Yankee army, and now he's lookin for de hoss, 
 and de ladies send dere condements to de gemmen, and ax dem 
 
20 BURYIXG THE HATCHET, OR 
 
 to come up to de house. [Gentlemen go out, when Dusky dan- 
 ces around the stage once or twice, then comes to the front.] 
 
 Dusky. I done tell me something that's mighty queer ! I 
 just blebe Missy Gerry done got cocht at last. I just blebe she's 
 in lub. Yes, boff of em, Missy Beatrice too, Dat Donald 
 Grovenor's bin hangin roun, but, Lor! Mis.sy Gerrv don't care 
 shucks for him long side Marse* Harry Clayton. Missy Gerry 
 and Marse Harry sit down to read in de garden and don't say 
 nuffin. Bimeby Marse Harr}- he look up, den Missy Gerry she 
 look down. Den Missy Gerry she look up; den Marse Harry 
 he look down; den da both look up right straight into Glory. 
 Den Missy Gerry look red like a rose and white like a lily, and 
 go lookinfur her book when she done got it in her han. Den 
 Marse Harry he git up and bow like de quality; don't say nuffin, 
 but go right off to de picket line. Den Missy Gerry go to de 
 window and look after Marse Harry and she don't say nuffin. 
 Dat's lub and nuffin else. 
 
 ACT H. Scene V. 
 [Place, Gen. Singleton's house. Enter from opposite sides 
 Clayton and Geraldinc. They bow to each other; Harry advan- 
 ces, and says:] 
 
 Harry. I am very happy to meet you again. Miss Singleton, 
 The last time we met I promised to describe some of our nor- 
 thern scenes; in verse or otherwise; would you like to read them ? 
 Ger. Nay, I am the better listener. If you read them I shall 
 feel grateful. 
 
 Haruy. I do not pretend to vouch for their worth, but such 
 as they are I will read. 
 
 The summer in the North has its flowers, 
 
 The musical rustling of its tremulous leaves, 
 
 The glad voice of waters, 
 
 Insect noises and voice of herds, a multitudinous choir; 
 
 But, in the winter, we have a line of fire 
 
 Cresting the curling drift, where the west wind has played 
 the architect. 
 
 The sparkling hue that marks the graceful curve, 
 
 The thou.sand varied hues; the thousand gleams of emerald 
 and gold, and pearly white 
 
 Outvie the splendors of the Orient mine. 
 
 The glare ice clinging to the ragged bark; 
 
 And ever and anon the icicle hangs like a jewel. 
 
THE VETERAN'S DACGHTER. 27 
 
 The pendulous ice makes magical melody. 
 
 Sounds innumerable, yet blended, rise in winter hymns, and 
 
 ever go upward to the sky. 
 Far-off voices seem to approach. 
 Seen through the winter noon the crested hills which show 
 
 in summer wintry, dim. 
 Come a'near; and circling closer round the horizon, lessens, 
 while the blue o'erhead grows deep and deeper, till 
 the soul is lost in gazing into the unfathomable. 
 This, Miss Singleto:i, is our winter as seen in the 
 frozen North. 
 
 Ger. It is a very beautiful, and no doubt truthful description, 
 and I really would draw back from describing anything myself, 
 were it not too late, I assure you. We have in the south a 
 flower, the leaves of which are always green, and as it continu- 
 ally blooms, it is said to carry inspiration with its perftime. 
 Fresh are its leaves and fair its flowers; 
 Soft winds breathe o'er it; balm dropping showers 
 Nourish its beauty, peerless and bright. 
 And all gaze upon it with unchecked delight. 
 We have written a tale on its trembling leaves, 
 And the whispering wind that at evening grieves, 
 Hath learned it, and over the flowers 
 All dripping with tears from the morning showers, 
 We have thrown the spell of love's witchery, 
 By the might and the power of sweet poesy; 
 And so, in the midst, by tree, sh^de and bower. 
 It standeth unrivalled, this evergreen flower, (gives him a 
 flower.) 
 
 Haruy. I thank you very much for the gift, but more espec- 
 ially for its significance. As you say, its fragrance bears an in- 
 spiration. If you would permit it I -would like to exchange our 
 literary productions. * 
 
 Ger. Most certainly; I shall value yours Very highly. 
 
 Harry. Miss Singleton, will you pardon me, please, but as we 
 are expecting to move in a few days at most, from the very na- 
 ture of our duties, it is quite possible that those in whom we 
 have a mutual interest may meet in the tempest of battle. 
 
 Ger. Oh, heaven forbid! Must it be! Is there no other 
 way, Harry ? Oh, please forgive me ! I am covered with con- 
 
28 BUKYIXG THE IIATCIIET, Oil 
 
 fusion. Mr. Clayton, I — I was nearly beside myself with grief 
 at such information. 
 
 Harry. Nay, Miss .Singleton, I would far rather you would 
 break through conventionalism, and call me simply Harry than 
 anything else, provided you be equally generous to me, and au- 
 thorize me to call you only Geraldine 
 
 Geii. I could scarcely do otherwise, inasmuch as it was I 
 who blindly took the initiative. 
 
 Harry. I must say goodbye now, hoping to meet again be- 
 fore the forward movement. 
 
 Ger Good-bye Mr. — (offering hand) 
 
 Hauky. Nay ! 
 
 GEit. Good-bye, Harry. 
 
 Harry. Good-bye, Geraldine. [After a moment or so enter 
 Grovenor.] 
 
 Grov. Ah, Miss Geraldine, I was looking for you; can you 
 give me an audience of a few moments. 
 
 Ger. Certainly; as well now as at any time. 
 
 GivOY. I hope I have earned the right, from long acquaint- 
 ance with your father, and the friendship which has always ex- 
 isted between the families, to offer you and your sister my pro- 
 tection in the emergency which is about to occur. Gen. Rose- 
 crans is soon to mike a forward m:)venient against the Confed- 
 erate army, now concentrated in the vicinity of Murfreesboro, or 
 Stone River. Your father will be there, he having been made 
 a general of division. So you and your sister wiil have only 
 servants to protect you. 
 
 Ger. In case the army moves forward, which I hope may 
 not be the fact, my sister and myself will take trusty servants and 
 go to our own plantations near Murfreesboro. I wish to be near 
 in case of my father needing my assistance. I do not think, Mr. 
 Grovenor, we shall need other protection. Should there be a 
 battle, we shall wait until it is decided one way or the other, 
 when we shall push forward. We shall have no trouble about 
 an escort, in the event of success to either army. 
 
 Groy. Geraldine, I love you ! I have always done so. I 
 would make you my wife; you will then have some one who not 
 only has the right, but the power to protect you and your sister. 
 
 Geu. Ah, Mr. Grovenor ! do not say it. It can never be. I 
 respect, but I cannot love you. 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. 29 
 
 GkOv. (beseechingly.) Gerry, can you not unsay those 
 words? Give me one ray of hope. 
 
 Gek. No, Mr. Grovenor. You surely would not wish me to 
 marry, if I could not love you. 
 
 Grov. If a life of devotion could win it, I would promise ! 
 
 Ger. It can never be. I cannot give my hand, without my 
 heart. 
 
 Grov. Geraldine, you dont know what is in store for you. 
 Had" I loved you less I would have told you before. 
 
 Geu. Tell me 'now! Whatev^er it is I have long felt that 
 some mystery hangs over me. The time has come to know it. 
 
 Grov. Heaven knows, I do not wish to give you pain. 
 
 Ger. Tell me ! tell me ! 
 
 Grov Geraldine, did you ever think 3'ou were not Gen. Sin- 
 gleton's daughter ? 
 
 Ger. Yes, I have :hought so. Do you know who I am ? 
 
 Giiov. Vo^( are a slave! (Geraldine springs to her feet.) 
 
 Ger. It is false ! false ! false as the Al Koran is false ! A 
 wicked lie. I, nursed in the lap of luxury, petted, educated and 
 beloved by Gen. Singleton, a slave! I will not believe it! 
 Never, never ! If you knew, why did you not tell me ? Had 
 you loved me as you say, you would have done so ! 
 
 Grov. It was because I did love you that I did not tell you. 
 
 Ger. Cruel, cruel ! inhuman! It is not true ! I will not be- 
 lieve it ! My father will deny it ! I will not be a slave ! I am 
 a Singleton ! 
 
 Gkov. -Will you be my wife, Gerry? I have already made 
 my will, giving you everythmg I possess. Here it is. Gen. 
 Singleton will manumit you. He bought you of one Baxter on 
 the Mississippi. I have seen the bill of sale ! 
 
 Ger. [Raising her arms.] The blood of contamination in 
 these veins! Still, I will not believe it ! I .see my mother in 
 my dreams a beautiful golden -haired woman. She, a slave ! 
 Never ! Never ! ! NEVER ! ! ! 
 
 Grov. Will you give me my answer? Whichever way it is 
 my will shall never be changed. If yes, I shall be very happy. 
 If no, I go tomorrow to the van of the battle, there to find the 
 rest I so eagerly sought at Chepultepec, Molino, Del Rey and 
 Vera Cruz. 
 
 Ger. Have you, tc^o, been unhappy in the past ? Why ? 
 Tell me ! 
 
30 BURYING THE HATCHET, Oil 
 
 Grov. Not now, Gerry. Will you give me my answer? 
 
 Ger. No, not now; wait — Heaven lielp me ! To-morrow, not 
 now. 
 
 Grov. Good night then, until to-morrow. (Passes out on left 
 side. Enter Dusky on right.) 
 
 Geb. Dusky, do you know where my father is ? 
 
 Dusky. Yes, Missy; he's habin a scussion wid dem planta- 
 tion niggers in de back yard. 
 
 Ger. Tell him I would very much like to see him as soon as 
 po'^sible ! 
 
 Dusky. Yes. Missy. [Geraldine Avalks back and forth 
 wringing her hands. Enter Gen. Singleton in citizen's dress.] 
 
 Ger. Papa ! Gen. Singleton, am I a slave ? (Singleton 
 starts back.) 
 
 Singleton. Gerry, who has been talking this nonsense ? 
 
 Gek. Is it true ? Donald Grovenor says you bought me; 
 he has seen the bill of sale. 
 
 Mr. S. What occasion had he for telling you this ? 
 
 Ger. He asked me to be his wife; I told him I could not 
 love him. He said he loved me just the same. But papa, it 
 can never be; i.s it true; did you buy me ? 
 
 Mr. S. (Stopping in thought) Yes, Gerry, I bought you, 
 but I never believed you had other than Caucasian blood. 
 
 Ger. Cruel ! cruel ! why did you not send me onto the 
 plantation to pick cotton ? Why educate a sliwe ? 
 
 Mr. S. Gerry, I have'nt a moment more to spare. Tomor- 
 row I assume the Confederate uniform, and cannot be seen here 
 again. We shall probably be successful in the coming battle. 
 Remain either here, or after the fight go to the Murfreesboro 
 plantation. You will hear from me through the servants. Ev- 
 erything will be made right, Gerry. You are just the same to 
 us you ever have been. Good-bye my darling child, (goes out.) 
 
 Ger. (Holding handkerchief to eyes) Now may heaven 
 help me ! [Enter Dusky.] 
 
 Dusky. Hush, Missy ! nobody roun is da ? 
 
 Ger. Why ? 
 
 Dusky. Marse Harry Clayton's stannin outen de do' and 
 want to speak to Missy. I's gwine to watch so nobody come. 
 Marse Singleton's gone and Marse Grovenor too. 
 
 Ger. Ask him to come in ! [Enter Harry who notices Ger- 
 aldine has been weeping.] 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. 31 
 
 Harrv. I hope Geraldine, I am not unwelcome. I fear I 
 came inopportunely, as I see tears in your eyes still. 
 
 Ger. I have just been bidding good-bye to my father. You 
 are very welcome, Mr. Clayton — please let me call you so to-day. 
 PIarry. I wished to read you a little poem which I had writ- 
 ten for a friend, who was about to marry a beautiful lady, also 
 an acquaintance. I would I could hope the sentiment would be 
 acceptable to you. 
 
 Ger. I would be much pleased to hear you read it. 
 Har. a young white rose-tree was growing, 
 Just unfolding its leaves to the sun. 
 Its stainless petals showing, 
 And the summer had just begun 
 To kiss the sparkling dew that lay 
 On the white leaves at the opening day. 
 
 And one loved the rose-tree passing well, 
 
 Its innocent grace beholding, 
 
 In its unfolding leaves there lurked a spell; 
 
 So he watched for its unfolding; 
 
 And was fain to transplant the lovely tree, 
 
 His own blossoming rose to be. 
 
 And its pale pure leaves kept blossoming on 
 
 With the sun and the rain and the dew. 
 
 And it blossomed, and it blossomed for him alone; 
 
 So he took it from where it grew. 
 
 And the white rose was as it loved to be, 
 
 His own blossoming white rose-tree. 
 Ger. Oh, it is very beautiful ! The lady will certainly prize 
 ii; but it's privileges could never be mine. 
 Haii. Nay! Here then is another: [reads.] 
 
 Within a bud's rough husk there lay 
 
 A flow'ret rare, and watch and ward securely kept, 
 
 Concealed it there. 
 
 A southern wind the watch beguiled. 
 
 The flow'ret burst its bonds and smiled. 
 
 But fleeting was the flow'rets bloom, 
 
 As morning dew; 
 
 The north wind, with it's cloud and gloom, 
 
 Swept o'er it too; 
 
82 BUIiYlXG THE HATCHET. OR 
 
 And watch and ward no more were kept, 
 The flow-'ret bowed il's head and wept. 
 
 Ger. Ah, Mr. Clayton! My own doom. Dark prophecy! 
 The north wind witli its cloud and gloom, like the mantle of 
 night, has swept awa y every hope, and covered my soul with 
 clouds of despair. 
 
 Har. I wish you would accept the sentiment of the first 
 piece as my own. 
 
 Ger. Oh, Harry, I am not wortliy! 
 
 Har. I should hardly suppose you to be one who w^ould 
 let an imaginary gloom cover your soul. Did you not give me 
 this flower, and did you not tell me that by the might and the 
 power of sweet poesy, you had cast about it the charm of love's 
 witchery? 
 
 Gkr. Yes, yes, but that was before the north wind came; ere 
 that, every cloud had a silver lining, every thought echoed a joy; 
 now, every thought only sends a spism of despair. No, no, the 
 $;ulf is impassable! 
 
 Har. Yet, notwithstanding, I would span it, and cover the 
 bridge w^th a tramway of roses; I do not fear the gulf; if 
 you only bid me cross, I will plunge in,bafflj every treacherous 
 mad current, pass through the yielding quicksands, escape the 
 whirling eddies, and safely greet you on the shore. I fear no 
 gloom nor shadow, Geraldine! 
 
 Ger. Oh. Harry! Do not make the abyss which must sepa- 
 rate us wider. Do not add to its impossibilities; I have said it is 
 imp;issable, and the more }^ou talk to me in this strain, the more 
 certain appear the impossibilities. 
 
 Har. Geraldine, the po-et has said: "'The eye is the window 
 of the soul." I have looked through this window into the inner 
 temple; I have lifted the rich clusters of gems in this paradise; 
 I have kissed the rim of the chalice bubbling over with sparkling 
 waters from the hidden spring, and I will not let it pass my lips, 
 except with life. [Extends his hand and takes hers.] Geral- 
 dine you need me! 
 
 Ger._ [Impulsively] Yes, yes! [starting back] No, no, no! 
 I'll tear up the bridge, and with bleeding hands pile in the ragged 
 rocks until the eddies are whirling maelstroms. I'll dig down 
 the banks, and make the. chasm wider, Avider, wider still; until 
 ^even your daring courage cannot surmount it. It cannot be; I 
 am not worthv; I am a — a — ! I cannot utter the word! 
 
THE VETERAN'S DxVUGHTER. 33 
 
 HaR. I can die, Geraldine; Life is of little worth without an 
 object. I have but a single beacon light, and if on the field of 
 tomorrow, liarry Clayton falls, but one name shall pass his lips 
 and that shall be Geraldine. 
 
 Ger. And, if the soul of Harry Clayton, freed from its earthly 
 tenement, shall seek in sympathy that of Geraldine Singleton, it 
 will not be long- of earth but swifter than the wings of thought 
 will cleave the azure and join it in the vaulted arclies of Heav- 
 en's high dome! 
 
 Har. Geraldine, can you not give way to the entreaty of a 
 heart that has been entirely won by your ennobling virtures, 
 your graces of character, and your pure sweet constancy and de- 
 votion; will you not yield something to him whose constant pray- 
 er is still one of beseeching? I, who ask, have neither father, 
 mother, brother nor sister; I want some heart with which my 
 own is tuned in unison. None other can supply the vacancy; 
 your hand has swept every string and no other may hope to 
 strike a chord that will vibrate in harmony with it. 
 
 Ger. Oh, Harry' ! Cease, cease! Do not flood my heart with 
 a limitless joy it cannot realize. I have in vain lashed it with 
 a whip of scorpions until it is all lacerated and bleeding; I have 
 pursued and made it a prisoner, but it has burst lock and bar and 
 is ever prostrate before yours seeking for sympathy, and then 
 kneeling in protestation before my pride and honor, asking, beg- 
 ging, beseeching it, with an earnestness equal to your own to 
 yield, to give way; but the mate of the gifted, generous and noble 
 Harry Clayton, must be an eaglet which shall fly abreast with 
 him, and no living mortal from any altitude to which their lof- 
 tiest flight may attain shall look doivn on Geraldine Singleton. 
 
 Har. Take this picture; guard it well. Farewell ! Ger- 
 aldine. 
 
 Ger. Farewell ! Harry; my Harry; though an abyss sepa- 
 rate us [Curtain falls.] 
 
 ACT n. Scene VI. 
 
 [Enter bushwhacker, Burt Hawkins, followed by Jed, who 
 says:] 
 
 Jed. Hold on there, butternut Johnny! Stop right where 
 you are. I've got the drop on you this time and I'll drop you 
 tu, if I shute ! 
 
 Bush. Whatd'ye want er me this time Yank? Any more 
 "Plans uv salvation" fur Bragg to pattern after? 
 
34 BURYING THE IIATCIIKT. OR 
 
 Jed. Not jest now. I want to ax you a few question.s, and if 
 you answer correct I'll give you a ten dollar greenback, or a 
 thousanJ in Confederate scrip, I don't ke^r which. If that don't 
 fetch you, I'll taki you to camp and hev you shot for a spy. 
 
 Bush. Go ahead ! 
 
 Jed. Now I want you to understaaJ th it I've bin on your 
 trac'-: quite a spell. (Jest lay tint gundovva.) Now, you helped 
 to steil a white chili on the bank of the Ohio, eighteen years 
 ag ) — Grerald Hiinilton's little daughter. Now who was the fel- 
 ler th It stole her Out with it, "pine blank." 
 
 Ik:sH. Hev. I got tu ? 
 
 Jed. Yes, straight grained. 
 
 Bush. IJonald Grovenor. 
 
 Jed. Correct; now where's the gal ? 
 
 Bush. Don't know. 
 
 Jed. None o' that; no sailin roun; square toed! 
 
 Bush. Donald Grovenor knows, and he's up to the Singleton 
 plantation now; should'nt wonder if she was thar, too. 
 
 Jed. Are you sure Geraldine Singleton is not the girl ? 
 
 Bush. vShe mout be, and I reckon she is. 
 
 Jed. That'll dew; which will you take, Confed scrip or Uncle 
 Sam ? 
 
 Bush. I guess I'll take the ten dollar greenback. 
 
 Jed. All right; now you can travel. 
 
 ACT III. Scene i. 
 
 [Wood scene. Discovers looth drawn up in line at shoulder 
 arms. 
 
 Col. B. Order arms ! Parade rest ! 
 
 Col. B. Harry Clayton and Gerald Hamilton, you may turn 
 over your accoutrements to your orderly sergeant, Co. C, and 
 return to your places, (done.) Here, Mr. Clayton, is your dis- 
 charge from the enlisted service of the United States. Here, 
 Mr. Hamilton is yours. Now I have the honor to present you 
 with commissions from his excellency. Gov. Yates. Major 
 Clayton, here is yours; Lieut. Hamilton, here is yours, and I am 
 glad to be able to say into no more worthy hands could I give 
 them. You will at once report to Gen. Wood, for staff duty in 
 the coming battle. Boys, three cheers for Maj. Clayton and 
 Lieut. Hamilton (Boys give with a will.) 
 
THE VETERAN'S DArGHTER. 05 
 
 ACT III. Scene II. 
 [Discovers Geraldine looking at the picture given by Harry 
 Clayton.] 
 
 Ger. The beautiful lady of my vision. Who is she ? Is 
 she my mother, and / a slave ? I am growing wild with this 
 mystery. Must I, who have just taken a look into paradise, be 
 plunged in a moment into the abyss of despair? I, who had 
 mounted to the highest pinnacle of earthly bliss, be dragged 
 down by an agony of doubt and uncertainty. It is sweet to be 
 beloved by one so noble and so generous. It was to me as were 
 the "Dews of Hernon and honey of Hybla" to the wanderers of 
 the desert. No! No! a thousand times no! I will not drag 
 him down to my level. Harry, Clayton, the refined gentleman, 
 the collegiate, mate with a slave! I'd starve for love first! 
 Nay; if I am a slave or ever have been, I would not wed him, 
 though he begged me in tears on his bended knees. If he were 
 less noble; if I loved him less, it might be different. Ah heaven! 
 Is it not enough to be a slave, but I must be beloved by him and 
 then make my heart a blear, blank desert for want of that love? 
 God pity me ! (Sinks on the sofa.) 
 
 [Enter Dusky, kneeling beside the couch:] 
 
 Dusky. Missy Gerry! Missy Gerry! Oh Missy, speak to 
 poor Dusky ! Dusky die for Missy Gerry ! (Rises and comes to 
 front.) 
 
 Dusky. Missy tinks she's a slave. Dere aint no slave blood 
 in her. Nobody nebber heard tell ob a slave habbin blue eyes 
 and pinky finger-nails, and hans and hair like Missy Gerry. Oh 
 glory! [dances round the stage.] I done forgot! [running to 
 the couch] Missy Gerry! Missy Gerry! [Geraldine raises her 
 head.] 
 
 Ger. Oh Dusky, how good you are ! 
 
 Dusky. Does Missy tink she's a slave ! 
 
 Ger Why, Dusky ? 
 
 Dusky. Kase you aint. 
 
 Ger. Did an) one tell you I was ! 
 
 Duskv. No, you said so your own sef; but Uncle Jed says 
 he knows who you is. 
 
 Ger. Who is Uncle Jed ? 
 
 Du.SKY. Why, he's Uncle Jed; dat's all I knows. Marse 
 Harry calls him so, an I calls him so. He's comin to sec you to- 
 night. I guess dat's him now. [Enter Jed.] 
 
36 BURYING THE IIATCITET, OH 
 
 Dusky. Missy Gerry, dis gemplin am Uncle Jed. 
 Ger. How do you do Uncle Jed. [Gives chair.] 
 Jed. Wal, pritty well as common; thank you; how du yu 
 du ? I suppose I'm talkin to Miss Geraldine Singleton ? 
 Ger. Yes sir, that is my name. 
 
 Jed. Wal, my name is Jedadiah Johnson, at your sarvice. 
 Geraldine, I'm yer cuzzin, leastwase I'm yer muther's cuzzin, and 
 she's sent me down here from the north -to look you up, and I've 
 just finished the job. [Gerry gets up and comes over to his 
 side,] Harry told me he'd gi'n you your mother's pictcr. 
 
 Geu. My mother's picture! Tell me, tell mei Was she a 
 slave! [Excitedly.] 
 
 Jed. Slave! Thunder, no! No more'n I am, or Harry, or 
 Gerald. Why, Geraldine, you're Gerald Hamilton's sister. 
 Gek. Gerald Hamilton's sister! Dear, dear cousin Jed! 
 Jed. Gosh! this thing is getting serious. 
 Ger. Dear cousin, are you sure? 
 Jed. Sure as shutin! 
 
 Gek. Heaven bless you forever! Gerald Hamilton's sister! 
 I believe it; and he looks like the picture. Oh, oh, oh! Does 
 joy ever kill? Oh! my poor heart, it will burst with this su- 
 preme happiness! 
 
 Jed. Losing his red cotton handkerchief] No, it wont; 
 just keep steady now. [Aside] Darn the luck, I'm a blubberin'. 
 Hello! somebody's comin'. [Enter Grovenor. Jed cocks a re- 
 volver.] 
 
 Jed. That's the very felled" I want to see. 
 Ger. Mr. Grovenor, Mr. Johnson. 
 Jed. How de du! 
 
 Giiov. How do you do, sir! Hadn't you better put that re- 
 volver down? 
 
 Jed. These are ticklish times, Mr. Grovenor, and as I've got 
 a little bizness with you of an onsartain karacter, I guess I'll 
 hold it level; I've been on your track sumtime, and now that 
 you are cornered you might as well tell this lady who she is. 
 I've told her and all I want of you is to. corroberate what I've 
 said. Isn't her name Lillian Hamilton? 
 
 Grov. One more act; the shifting of a single scene, the blood 
 red field of tomorrow, and the drama of life for Donald Grove- 
 nor ends, and his spirit plunges into the doubt of the great here- 
 after. [To Geraldine,[ 
 
THE VETERAN'S DACGIITER. 37 
 
 Grov. Yes, Geraldine ; I will tell you the ston'. To-mor- 
 row I go to the front. Your true name is Lillian Hamilton. 
 Here are the title deeds of which I spoke yesterday. 
 
 Ger. Keep them, Mr. Grovenor; lam too happy now to 
 need them. 
 
 Grov. You keep them, Lillian, though it does not matter as 
 they are recorded. Grovenor Villa and all that belongs to it 
 are yours. I have no need of them Lillian. I loved your 
 mother as I now love you. I stole you from your mother that 
 I might win happiness. I did not succeed. The sacrifice to 
 your mother was great, but it will be made up to her, by the 
 greater joy of reunion. God bless you.! Don't think too hard- 
 ly of him who. I hope, falls in the van of to-morrow's battle. 
 
 Ger. Mr. Grovenor! Donald! Before you go take with 
 you the forgiveness of Geraldine Singleton. I, who know too 
 well what it is to suffer, would pour a healing balm upon any 
 wound your heart may have received. So, take my cheerful 
 forgiveness for any wrong j^ou may have done me. Here is my 
 hand at parting, in earnest of it. 
 
 Grov, God bless you forever ! I will v.^ear and keep the 
 sweet assurance within my herfrt, and when I pass the portals of 
 another world, I will present it as my passport to immortality. 
 Farewell, Geraldine or Lillian ! [Takes her hand Vv'hich he 
 kisses, she weeping.] 
 
 ACT HL Scene HL 
 
 B.ATTLE Stone Riveu. [Battle opens upon south side stage 
 and behind the scenes. Noise heard of tramping and occasional 
 shots. Gen. Sheridan with straggling soldiery, fall back across 
 stage fighting. Gen. Rosecrans who enters with staff at rear 
 right entrance, orders Gen. Rosseau to the rescue.] 
 
 Gen. R (To staff officer.) Order Gen. Rosseau to sup- 
 port Gen. Sheridan with his entire command. [Rosseau goes 
 in, and at head of his command falls back across stage fighting, 
 followed by Gen. Singleton's command, headed by Donald 
 Grovenor (confederate). Maj. Clayton commands a detach- 
 ment of the Third Kentucky, which advances against Grovenor. 
 Clayton and Grovenor fight with swords. Grovenor's sword 
 fjills from his hand. (Boys on our side cheer.) Grovenor's sup* 
 ports fall back. He fires the last shot from his revolver, 
 snatches a musket from beside a dead man, seizes it by the bar> 
 rel, raises it above his head, and shouts] 
 
.^8 BITRYIXG THE HATCHET, Oil 
 
 Grov! Qoinc oi/\ I defy you ! Ccicards, I dare you fo fire ! 
 
 [Third Kentucky color sergeant waves fl.ig.] 
 Grov. yes. Sergeant, let the grand old flag float out on the 
 breese while there's room ; for ere another dawn its folds may 
 be riddled, torn and crimson, with the life blood of him whose 
 hand now grasps it so readily. 1 too have carried a like starry 
 banner, through a sea of blood, over rock, abatis, through the 
 moat, and when its staff was shot away, wrapped it like a "vest 
 about me;" then up, up the steep sides of the hills, where only 
 the mountain goat could climb, I carried it safely to the ram- 
 parts of Chepultepec. Life, has only a canker worm for the 
 the heart of "Donald the Desperate." 
 
 Maj. Clay. We war not on individuals, but on armed com- 
 binations. 
 
 Grovenor drops his gun, folds his arms and looks dowii, sees 
 a dead boy musician at his feet. Kneels beside him and says] 
 Grov. My poor boy ! The Reaper has gathered in your 
 young life as some precious morsel, but for Donald Grovenor he 
 will not even thrust forth his sickle. [Takes up the boy and 
 carries him out. As he goes out on left, Gen. Rosecans and 
 staff" come upon the stage from right. 
 
 Gen. R (To his chief of staff*) No farther retreat will be 
 made. Here we will meet the enemy and defeat him. Order 
 Gen. Crittenden to mass his forces on the left of Gen. Thomas. 
 Our artillery is already massed and in position. Tell him to or- 
 der Gen. Wood to this position to support the batteries. 
 
 [Gen. R. and staff' pass out on right, luitcr on left side Gen. 
 Singleton and staff, with Donald Grovenor carrying field glass.] 
 Gen. S. Grovenor, look forth and see if you can tull us aught 
 of the battle. 
 
 [Grcu'-enor stepping to the front right entrance says after a 
 moment] 
 
 Grov. Sheridan and Rosseau have made a stand and are 
 fighting like demons to hold their own against our victorious 
 troops. Crittenden is moving solid bodies of men on the 
 right ofThomas, A brigade in line of battle is moving in this 
 direction. Ha ! Sheridan and Rosseau are gaining ground 
 and enveloping our flank. The whole tide of battle is surg- 
 ing this direction. (Steps down, drawing his sword.) Let it 
 come! It shall be welcome to Donald Grovenor. 
 
 Gen. S. Every man to his post. [All pass out on left. As 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. ;]1) 
 
 they pass out, the commands of the One Hundredth arc heard 
 behind the socnes. 
 
 Col. Bart. Forward One Hundredth. Steady men ! Come 
 upon the ri^jht ! Capt. Bowen. Elwood, push your men forward ! 
 Steady, Capt. McClaughrv. Let every man do his duty. 
 
 Cakt. Burrel. G ive 'em cold lead, boys, and plenty of it. [The 
 clash of sabres is heard everywhere, everyone giving them in 
 concert. From the front right entrance Gen. Rosecrans ad- 
 vances upon the stage and as the One Hundredth in line of bat- 
 tle cross the stage, says to Col. Bartleson.] 
 
 Gen. R. Col. Bartleson, to you and the brave officers and 
 soldiers under you, I give the honorable and desperate trust of 
 holding the vital point — the key to the battle. 
 
 Col B. Which we will do, or die trying. Forward One 
 Hundredth ! 
 
 [As the One Hundredth pass over the stage, the fire from the 
 left increases ; men and officers fall, as they pass over. After 
 they have passed over Gen. Rosecrans and staff come upon the 
 stage and with them Chaplain Crewes who describes the battle.] 
 
 Gen. R. Chaplain, how fares the One Hundredth ? 
 Chap. Into the valley of death goes the One Hundredth, 
 
 Swaying from left to right. 
 
 Nerved with a patriot's might. 
 
 Move they on. Down, down they go, 
 
 Where cannon shot and bursting shells, 
 
 Mid bugle notes and southern yells. 
 
 And curses loud that none dare tell, 
 
 Mingling with patriot shouts as well; 
 
 Mark as with God's lightning, the coming battle — 
 
 The fearful, terrible, desperate struggle. [Chaplain turns to 
 the left and looks, then shouts:] 
 
 On, on to the key ! Ye patriot band! 
 [To Gen. R.] On, on to that goal, heart and hand 
 
 Goes the One Hundredth. 
 [To the front.] Hold the key ! hearts of steel; 
 
 Though death stare amain, never yield ! 
 
 Hold ! Hold to the right 
 
 Brave men; in your might 
 
 Tis the key to the battle, 
 
 Tis the stronghold to gain, 
 
 Which, once held, still retain. 
 
40 BUliYIXG THE HATCHET, OK 
 
 With God oil your side in the struggle. 
 
 O God, save the day ! [To Gen. R.] 
 
 Mark yon battle array, 
 
 Which sweeps into view on the hill side. 
 
 Tis the great southern army, 
 
 Willi line upon line of glistening bayonets; 
 
 On they conii like some monster with huge measured tread. 
 
 As if scorning the living nor fearing the dead. 
 [To the front] Hold the key, brave One Hundredth I 
 
 Though thy ranks are strewn in gore; 
 
 Hold the key evermore ! 
 
 [To Gen R.] Mark you the danger of this devoted band; 
 
 See ! In solid phalanx where they stand, 
 
 Fronting the concentric fire 
 
 Of thrice ten guns, with vengeance dire, 
 
 Hurling their sliot and shell. 
 
 O God ! they fall, and rise, and fall again, 
 
 Ploughed through and through with lightning bolts; 
 
 Like leaves in autumn fall they where they stand 
 
 But unwavering still, that Union band. 
 
 Presaging victory won — 
 
 And bravest of all stands Bartleson. 
 (To Hazen.) Ho! Hazen ! Why stand your cannon silent 
 
 Whilst annihilation waits upon the One Hundredth ? 
 
 Grim Death is holding high carnival there! 
 
 What, ho ! Hazen! Thomas! Ram up your cannon!! 
 
 Double shot your guns ! Pull the lanyard ! 
 
 Open wide the throat of death ! 
 
 Let your cannon boom from left to right 
 
 And right to left in quick, encircling fire. 
 
 Lo where the Southrons come. 
 
 In masses deep, covering the field — 
 
 Hardee, Cheatham, IVlcGowan, Cleburne, 
 
 With blood-red banners streaming wide. 
 
 Sweep down the hill. 
 
 Rescue ! Defenders of the Union, 
 
 Bravest of the brave; 
 
 Wood, Palmer, VanCleve, Rosseau, SheridiUi, ring out the 
 charge 
 
 Amidst the blaze of 30,000 muskets; 
 
 Let your hundred cannon boom the signal of victory. 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. 41 
 
 [Bugles heard.] Hark to the bugle charge ! 
 
 [A heavy volley is fired.] 
 
 It comes ! The shock! Like a catapult from the Almighty 
 
 it cleaves the shivering air; 
 It is the tempest crash of battle ! 
 The human death dealing enginery of war. 
 Rent by the horrible, bursting shell, 
 Ploughed by round shot and lead as well; 
 Swept by the circle of withering fire, 
 Lie in heaps the proud Southrons, who in savage ire, 
 Swept down on our lines in the morning gray, 
 In a splendidly glittering sheeny array; 
 And their savage yells 
 Give way to groans, 
 As staggering, bleeding, dying, 
 They flee the fray 
 On the field of Stone River 
 This fatal day. 
 
 Glory to the fallen ! A patriot's fame 
 Wreathed with immortelles 
 Will encircle their names. 
 Glory to the living, 
 Who in this terrible fight 
 Held the key to the right. 
 
 Ring out the praise of the One Hundredth Illinois ! 
 Ring out their praise with a glad shout of joy ! 
 But do not forget that neath that gnarled and riven linden tree, 
 His cloak his only shroud, lies brave Garishee. 
 God of the suffering ! So, as Thou didst stay 
 The sun midway in heaven's arch for Joshua, 
 So pray I now for night, dark night 
 Of deepest shade Entomb the dead. 
 Gather in the wounded living; 
 Nor North, nor South be barred the benefit; 
 Open wide thy gates of heaven's mercies, 
 For twice two thousand souls, 
 Fresh from freedom's sacrifice, 
 Will crowd its pathways thither. 
 
 ACT III. Scene IV. 
 [Death of Donald Grovenor. Second day's battle of Stone 
 River. Enter Gen. Singleton, Donald Grovenor and Confederate 
 
42 lU'RYlXG THE IIATCIIET, OR 
 
 troops from left, (firing.) At same time on right a detichment 
 of lootli 111. under Ciiotain Barrel! and Lieut. Stewart. A sec- 
 ond detachment, commanded by Capt Lynd, comes in from the 
 rear left entrance flanking Gen S. and Grovenor. They cheer, 
 and cry "Cut them down !" Grov^enor falls from a volley in 
 front soldiers fall on both sides Enter from rear right hand' en- 
 trance Maj. Harry Clayton and Lieut. Hamilton. They rush 
 lorward, crying: "Hold ! For your lives!"] 
 
 Maj. C. Brave officers and soldiers of the lODth Illinois, not 
 an hour ago Gen. Singleton gave me my life and liberty. Shall 
 ^ve not now l^e equally as generous as our brave foeman ? [All 
 cry: *V"es! Hurrah for Maj. Clayton."' Gen. Singleton and men 
 cry: "Hurrah for the One Hundredth !"] 
 
 M.\j. C. Pass on, G^n Singleton, with your staff ! Wj will 
 care for your wounded. 
 
 Ge.\. S. Maj Clayton, and Lieut. Hamilton, and officers and 
 soldiers of the looth Illinois, accept my thanks. The brave 
 Grovenor lies there. If he yet lives, please look after him until 
 the day closes. 
 
 M.\j. C. You need havj no fears. Yonder is your command. 
 It is our objective point. 
 
 Ge.v. S. Go.l sjn.l t'lityju and I tn^jt no m3re o.i to-day's 
 bloody field. 
 
 Maj. C. a prayer which my own heart echoes. [Singleton 
 and staff pass out. Maj. Clayton goes over to Grovenor, 
 raises his head, and says:] 
 
 Maj. C. How fares it with you, Grovenor ? 
 
 Gkov. Lieut. Hamilton ! [Gaspingly. Hamilton steps to liis 
 side; kneeling takes hand.] 
 
 Hamilton. What is it, brave Grovenor? 
 
 Grov. I — have — wronged — you. Forgive — forgive ! I have 
 wronged — your — father. Will — he, too — forgive? Will — they 
 too heed the last prayer of Donald Grovenor and — and — 
 forpive ? 
 
 Hamilto.\. Yes, yes; take it ! I will give you my mother's 
 forgiveness. My father will greet you from the other shore. I 
 know forgiveness will be cheerfully awarded you. 
 
 Gkov. God — bless — you ! Clayton — Gerald — Lillian — Ger- 
 ald — ine. [Drops his head; dies.] 
 
 LTableau. Ella Reynolds discovers her childhood's playmate, 
 Harold .Singleton, on the battle field, wounded, at night, amongst 
 the dead and wounded; second day's battle. Curtain falls.] 
 
THE VETERAN'.S DArGIITER. 43 
 
 ACT III. Scene V. 
 
 [Maj. Clayton's address, at close of the war, to the One Hund- 
 redth 111. Regiment drawn up in line.] 
 
 Address 
 
 M.\j. Clavton. Officers and soldiers of the One Hundreth 
 Illinois Regiment: It seems proper for oue who has in some 
 measure shared your perils, hardships and glorious successes, 
 to say a few words to you at parting. Please bear in mind that 
 no words of mine are adequate to an expression of my feelings 
 upon this occasion. The tongue can sa}' but little, while the 
 heart leaps to a grander, nobler, and more tender significance. 
 Your heritage, since becommg members of the Grand Army of 
 the Union, has been one only of danger; from that it has been as 
 inseparable as from life itself. From Louisville to"Stone River," 
 where the regiment had its first "red limned baptism," your for- 
 titude was constant, heroic and enduring. At the latter place 
 you held (to the Confederates) the fatal key, which, had it been 
 turned, would have given the battle to them, and the Union 
 army to route and demoralization. The march to Chickamau- 
 ga, through mountain fastnesses, dragging your cannon over 
 rocks and through gulches; in enduring courage and htavy ex- 
 ertion, was not exceeded by him who carried the "Eagles of 
 France" over the" Alps and Simplon pass." The frightiul car- 
 nage of Chickamauga and Mission Ridge left you with decima- 
 ted ranks, but your record in those desperate battles was star 
 lined with heroic deeds. In yonr weary and footsore march to 
 Knoxville and Strawberry Plains you exhibited an energy of 
 purpose, which could only have been born of an inspired love of 
 country, to souls filled with the better characteristics of the true, 
 the honorable and the generous. The bold front of Rocky Face 
 Range was surmounted, while at Resaca, Kenesaw Mountain 
 and Atlanta you ruslied to the front like veterans of an 
 hundred battles, and at P^ranklin, Tennessee, you covered your- 
 selves with a renown which will live while the grand object for 
 which you fought shall have an existence. There fell, while 
 planting his colors on the breast-works of the foe, brave Mike 
 Murphy — my friend ! When the records of the immortal dead 
 shall be unrolled, the names of Bartleson, Bowen, Mitchell, 
 Burrell, Worthingham, Murphy, McFadden, Poor, Brown, 
 Holmes and hosts of others from the One Hundredth will be 
 found side by side with that of the great emancipator — the im- 
 mortal Lincoln. I seem to hear from the star "•emmed vault of 
 
4t BUIIYIXG THE HATCHKT, OR 
 
 azure, a voice crying, "Come up higher, higher; higher still, into 
 the immediate presence of the Supreme." And then ! "Inas- 
 much as ye have done it unto the least of these, my children, 
 have ye done it unto Me; enier thou into the joy of the blest." 
 I wish here to lay a wreath of laurel upon the brow of my old 
 captain, Co. C, George M. Lynd. Starting in as a private, he 
 has attained his present position by a constant devotion. Again 
 and again by his side his colors have fallen only to be grasped by 
 new hands or his own. Brave One Hundredth ! God help you ! 
 And now to the officers and soldiers present and absent, I offer 
 all I have to give — my hand and heart in true companionship. 
 Farewell! gentlemen of the brave Old Hundreth Illinoi.s ! 
 [Lieut. Patterson offers three cheers for Maj. Clayton. Given. 
 Maj. Hammond then offers three cheers for the close of the war.] 
 
 [Tableau. Reunion of mother and daughter.] 
 ACT HI. Scene VI. 
 
 [Reunion of the Hamilton family. Room in Mrs. tlamilton's 
 house, Elgin, Illinois. Sam:intha Johnson and Ella Reynolds 
 on stage.] 
 
 Ella Reynold?. We are expecting all our friends home to- 
 day. Poor Mrs. Hamilton is nearly worn out with excitement 
 and expectancy. 
 
 Sam. Yes ! Yes ! I think they are arrived and coming in. [Ea- 
 ter Hamilton by side entrance, who steps to one side; then enter 
 Geraldine; at same time Mrs. H. comes in from opposite side. 
 Both stop and look a moment, then Mrs. H. stretches out her 
 arms with the cry upon her lips:] 
 
 Mrs. H. Mv child! My long lost darling ! 
 
 Ger. My mother ! Oh my mother! Kind heaven, I thank 
 Thee ! [Curtain frills. Rises again same place.] 
 
 H.AR. Have I earned the right to call you mother in reality 
 now? 
 
 Mrs. H. Yes, Harry, my son. I gladly place her jiand in 
 yours, knowing already that she has found a heart which she 
 fully trusts, and a protector who will not fail; to you I give her 
 in sacred charge. 
 
 Gkrald. Is there still room in my mother's heart for another 
 child — [leads Beatrice forward;] a daughter? 
 
 1\Iax a. 0i\^js G:r.ild! Beatrice, my second diughter, 
 heaven bless you forever ! I freely and cheerfully give my con- 
 sent to your betrothal. I hope your lives may be of unalloyed 
 
THE VETERAN 8 DArGHTKll. 4o 
 
 happiness, that no obstacle may ever arise to mar its entire joy. 
 [Jed steps forward leading Samantha.] 
 
 Jed. Well, Aimt Lillian, I've left the war-path and come 
 back to the old stomping ground. I'd kinder like to ring in 
 with the rest on em, and git your conse:>t for Samantha and me. 
 
 xMrs. H. D:;ar cousin Jed, I rejoice that you have .been so 
 fortunate in your choice of a partner. She is a pure, true, noble 
 woman. For your devotion to me and mine, I now present you 
 in addition to the farm, the title of which is recorded i.n your 
 name, this diamond ring. It has been an heirloom in our family 
 for generations. My blessing goes with it. 
 
 Jed. Thankee, Aunt Lillian. I hope iiM foller down the line 
 in the Johnson, family, as it has in that of the Hamilton's, and 
 that the 5 oung Johnsons in the third and fourth generations may 
 still keep the sacred name of the giver in their hearts, and as 
 the rainbow tints in the sparkling gem give color to everything 
 they fall upon, so may thej^ be more and more like the giver. 
 Here, Samantha, you keep the critter; I'm afraid I shall lose it. 
 
 Mrs. H. Children of the North and South, as you are sol- 
 emnly plighted, so may the entire North and South join heart and 
 hand to bridge the chasm, and thus burv the hatchet forev^er ! 
 ACT IV. Scene I. 
 
 [Garden before Harry Clayton's house near Elgin, Illinois. 
 Enter on stage, Lillian Clayton, daughter of veteran.] 
 
 Daughter V. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I'm almost frightened 
 out of my wits ! Frank Reynolds is here; he has stopped on his 
 way to college; he is a real big boy now; he has got a mous- 
 tache ! Just think, its only a little ago when we played "I spy" 
 and hunted hen's eggs, and chased the squirrels together ! 
 Gracious me ! and now he is going to college ! You don't know 
 who Frank is, but I'll tell you. He is the son of Lieut. Single- 
 ton, and he was the Lieutenant Singleton who was in the South 
 ron army, and was wounded at the battle of Stone River, and 
 Ella Reynolds found him there amongst the leaves and bushes 
 which were all torn and twisted, and red with — with — with 
 blood. It was awful, was'nt it? Well, he's the son of a South- 
 ron veteran, and I'm the daughter of a Northern veteran, and — 
 I think Frank is a real good boy. I'm captain of the flag 
 brigade, and for my part I'd rather fight with flags than with 
 muskets. But its drill time and here comes the brigade, flags 
 and all. Enter twelve young ladies with flags. Among.-t 
 
40 BURYIXG THE HATCHET, OR 
 
 them are Ella Hamilton, Samantha Johnson and Dusk}\ 
 Daughter goes through with evolutions pertaining to flags drill. 
 Capt. then gives the command.] 
 
 Capt. Inspection of flags ! [Samantha Johnson steps out 
 of the ranks and says:] ■ 
 
 Samantha. Girls, I think it is about time we put our Capt. 
 through an inspection drill, I'd like to know who that young 
 crank is who's playing sweet at the Clayton mansion. 
 
 Capt. There! Samantha; you're too little to talk about such 
 things ! 
 
 Sam. I should smile ! 
 
 Capt. There! You are talking slang, and I can't permit 
 that; can I girls ? 
 
 Girls. No! No! Of course not ! 
 
 Sam. Ah ! you put on airs because you are the daughter of a 
 veteran. Well, I'm the daughter ot a vet. too, so then ! [pouts.] 
 
 Capt. Why Samantha ! your papa was'nt a soldier ! 
 
 Sam. Well, he fit on jest as many fields of battle as any of 
 em. 
 
 Dusk. An I lows I'm de dauter ob de veteran too; was'n I 
 down dere long side ob Stone River battle. I seed a power ob 
 smoke anyhow, and heerd de big guns roar. So I specs I'm de 
 dauter ob de veterans on dat count. 
 
 S.\M. Aieyou going to school. Dusky ? 
 
 DusKV. Yes, Missy Johnson ! 
 
 Sam. What are you studying ? 
 
 Duskv. Well da calls it mattumatux; taint no count do; de 
 teacher she ax me dis: If you have five persimmons and you 
 done gib six away, how many will you hab lef ? Den I tole her 
 I wouldn hab any any lef Den she tole me I mus say, free ! I 
 tink dat am a pore kind ob latnin. 
 
 Ella R. Dusky, what is your other name besides Dusky 
 Hamilton? 
 
 DusKV. Udder name ? Dat am a poser I I specs I mus hab 
 one long's I'm free and goin to study de books and site de les- 
 sons. 1 like Marse Harry bout de bes ob any one, so I specs I'll 
 hi') dat nxnvj. I specs it'l be Miss Dusky Harry. 
 
 Girls. Oh that's too funny for anything! How do you do 
 Miss Dusky Harry; (bowing and saying) Good morning ! (or) 
 Good evening! Miss Dusky Harry! [They then commence 
 waltzing round the stage. Dusk}' alone, when Jed enters,] 
 
THE VETERAN'S DAUGHTER. 47 
 
 Jed. Seems like you young ones was having a glory hallilu- 
 yah breakdown ! Why Dusky haint you got a partner? I'll 
 give you a whirl; I use to be a screamer at this bizness. [Enter 
 Harry and Mrs. Clayton with Gerald and Mrs. Hamilton. Lit 
 tie Lillian steps to the side of Harry Clayton, who says:] 
 
 Hak, The audience will permit me the honor of presenting 
 Mrs. Clayton, ncc Geraldine Singleton or Lillian Hamilton. 
 Also, Miss Lillian Clayton, daughter of a veteran. 
 
 Gerald. It also gives me pleasure to present Mrs. Beatrice 
 Hamilton with Miss P211a Hamilton the second generation. 
 
 JiiD. Wal, good peoples, I guess I may as well address a 'i^wf 
 affectionate remaiks to your familiar understandin tu. Here's 
 "the gal I left behind me", (bringing Samantha forward,) and 
 here's the crap I've harvested. (Bringing little Samantha for- 
 ward.) Samantha, come forward and show this audience how 
 you've knocked the stufhn out uv Old Daddy Time ! She don't 
 look a day older tlian wlicn we did'nt hev but one chair here. 
 Now I don't mind tellin you that one cheer'l hold the 
 hul family. Say ! that ar ring that I emancipated to your 
 startled vision when I was round here before, did the jint duty 
 uv holdin Samantha and me reddy fur splicin and splicin the 
 hoe handle reddy fur garden ?ass. Heving now informed you in 
 a circumlocutionary way uv the events which hevfoUered on my 
 heels since I made my debut before, I will now make my debut 
 behind — the scenes. [Exit Jed and Samantha elder. Little 
 Samantha takes her place, with flag brigade, who are arranged in 
 two ranks on left of stage.] 
 
 Capt. P>ont into line ! Present flags ! Recover flags ! (or 
 carry flags !) 
 
 Mr. Clayton. I have the honor to present the flag brigade, 
 of Lockport; they are daughters of veterans. [They make a 
 slight inclination forward, and so stand until the curtain falls.] 
 
 ACT IV. Scene II. 
 
 [Mr. Clayton's house. Enter on stage Frank Reynolds and 
 Lillian Clayton, daughter veteran.] 
 
 Frank. Lillian, I am going on to college in an hour or so, 
 and I want to say something to you before I go. 
 
 Lillian. Oh fudge ! there's no hurry; the college can get 
 along without you I guess ! 
 
 Frank. But I must go, and I want to ask you — 
 
 Lillian. And I wont listen! so there! I can't! You see 
 
48 lUKYIXC THE HATCHET, OU 
 
 when I joined the "Daughters" I promised mama that I would 
 think more of the indigent women and children of the old vets 
 than anyone else, and she told me about Georgiana Washington 
 and her little hatchet. 
 
 Frank. What about it ? 
 
 LiLLi.w. Why, they gave her an old steel hatchet with the 
 liandle broke, and she higgled and haggled all around a cherry 
 tree in the back yard, and because she could'nt get it down they 
 made a fuss about it. 
 
 Fkank. W'ell, what has that got to do with us? 
 
 Lillian. Why, she could'nt tell a — a — a lie. could she? I 
 think they might have given her a decent hatchet, and then she 
 could have cut it off smack, smooth ! And they would'nt have 
 noticed it. 1 don't want to tell any stories on account of the in- 
 gident vv'idows, and — and the hatchet business, but I'll tell you 
 Frank, you may just kiss me once! [Frank breaking in and 
 taking her hand.] 
 
 Frank. Lilly, you're an angel! 
 
 Lillian. There ! Frank, I knew you would'nt wait until I 
 got through; Now, wait; I was going to say you might kiss me 
 once to bmd the bargain ! [Kisses her.] Now Frank, you run 
 away to school; the first bell has rung. [Frank goes towards 
 the door, but Lillian calls;] 
 
 Lillian. Frank, when you get to college you just remem- 
 ber that I'm here all alone, studying my lessons, and not riding 
 with every boy w^ho shows himself. 
 
 Frank. Never fear. Lilly ! I understand, and will heed the 
 warning. [Goes out.] 
 
 Lillian. I w-as'nt going to let Frank go back to Bos';on, 
 and be galivanting around with all the pretty girls there. If he 
 did that I should'nt have any use for him. 
 
 •ACTIV. Scene III. (The la.st.) 
 
 [Tableau. Bridal scene. Burying the hatchet. Marriage of 
 Lillian Clayton and Frank Reynolds — joining the son of a Con- 
 federate with the daughter of a Union soldier. Southrons on 
 one side in uniform, and Northerners same on the other. Flag 
 brigade on raised platform in background, carrying small flags. 
 Bridal party Avith clergyman in centre. Gen. Smgieton drops 
 the hatchet. Harry Clayton puts foot on spade.] 
 
 [End.] 
 

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