Laura Secord, the Heroine of 1812 | Page 7

placed_. Mrs. Secord, occupies a rocking-chair
near the lounge_. Charlie, a little fellow of four, is seated on her lap
holding a ball of yarn from which she is knitting_. Charlotte, _a girl of
twelve, is seated on a stool set a little in rear of the couch; she has a
lesson-book in her hand_. Harriet, _a girl of ten, occupies a stool near
her sister, and has a slate on her lap. All are listening intently to the_
Quaker, who is speaking.
Quaker. The midnight sky, set thick with shining points, Hung
watchingly, while from a band of gloom
That belted in the gloomier
woods, stole forth
Foreshortened forms of grosser shade, all barred

With lines of denser blackness, dexter-borne.
Rank after rank, they

came, out of the dark,
So silently no pebble crunched beneath
Their
feet more sharp than did a woodchuck stir.
And so came on the foe all
stealthily,
And found their guns a-limber, fires ablaze,
And men in
calm repose.
With bay'nets fixed
The section in advance fell on the camp,
And
killed the first two sentries, whose sharp cries
Alarmed a third, who
fired, and firing, fled.
This roused the guard, but "Forward!" was the
word,
And on we rushed, slaying full many a man
Who woke not in
this world.
The 'larum given,
A-sudden rose such hubbub and confusion
As is
made by belching earthquake. Waked from sleep,
Men stumbled over
men, and angry cries
Resounded. Surprised, yet blenching not,

Muskets were seized and shots at random fired
E'en as they fled. Yet
rallied they when ours,
At word from Harvey, fell into line,
And
stood, right 'mid the fires, to flint their locks--
An awful moment!--

As amid raging storms the warring heaven
Falls sudden silent, and
concentrates force
To launch some scathing bolt upon the earth,
So
hung the foe, hid in portentous gloom,
While in the lurid light ours
halted. Quick,
Red volcanic fire burst from their lines
And mowed
us where we stood!
Full many a trembling hand that set a flint
Fell
lifeless ere it clicked: yet silent all--
Save groans of wounded--till our
rods struck home;
Then, flashing fire for fire, forward we rushed

And scattered them like chaff before the wind.
The King's Own
turned their left; the Forty-ninth,
At point of bay'net, pushed the
charge, and took
Their guns, they fighting valiantly, but wild,

Having no rallying point, their leaders both
Lying the while all snug
at Jemmy Gap's.

And so the men gave in at last, and fled,
And
Stony Creek was ours.
Mr. Secord. Brave Harvey! Gallantly planned and carried. The stroke is
good, the consequences better.
Cooped as he is in George, the foe
will lack
His forage, and perforce must--eat his stores;
For Yeo

holds the lake, and on the land
His range is scarce beyond his guns.
And more,
He is the less by these of men to move
On salient points,
and long as we hold firm
At Erie, Burlington, and Stony Creek,

He's like the wretched bird, he "can't get out."
Mrs. Secord. You speak, friend Penn, as if you saw the fight, Not like a
simple bearer of the news.
Quaker. Why, so I did.
Mrs. Secord. You did! Pray tell us how it was;
For ever have I heard
that Quakers shunned
The sight of blood.
Quaker. None more than I.
Yet innate forces sometimes tell o'er use

Against our will. But this was how it happed:
Thou seest, Mistress
Secord, I'd a load
Of sound potatoes, that I thought to take
To
Vincent's camp, but on the way I met
A British officer, who
challenged me; saith he,
"Friend, whither bound?" "Up to the
Heights," say I,
"To sell my wares." "Better," saith he,
"Go to the
Yankee camp; they'll pay a price
Just double ours, for we are short of
cash."
"I'll risk the pay," say I, "for British troops;
Nay, if we're
poor, I can afford the load,
And p'rhaps another, for my country's
good."
"And say'st thou so, my Quaker! Yet," saith he,
"I hear you
Quakers will not strike a blow
To guard your country's rights, nor yet
your own."
"No, but we'll hold the stakes," cried I. He laughed.

"Can't you do more, my friend?" quoth he, "I need
A closer
knowledge of the Yankee camp:
How strong it is, and how it lies. A
brush
Is imminent, and one must win, you know
Shall they?"
His
manner was so earnest that, before
I knew, I cried, "Not if I know it,
man!"
With a bright smile he answered me, "There spoke
A
Briton." Then he directed me
How I might sell my load, what I
should mark,
And when report to him my observations.

So, after
dusk, I met him once again,
And told him all I knew. It pleased him
much.
Warmly he shook my hand. "I am," saith he,


"Lieutenant-Colonel Harvey. Should it hap
That I can ever serve you,
let me know."
Mrs. Secord. And then you stayed to see the end of it?
Quaker. Mistress, I did. Somewhat against my creed,
I freely own;
for what should I, a Quaker,
E'er have to do with soldiers, men of
blood!
I mean no slight to you, James.
Mr. Secord (laughing). No, no! go on.
Quaker. Well, when