Laura Secord, the Heroine of 1812 | Page 8

I thought how tired poor Dobbin was, How late
the hour, and that 'twould be a week
Before I'd hear how Harvey sped
that night,
I thought I'd stay and see the matter out;
The more,
because I kind o' felt as if
Whatever happed I'd had a hand in it.
Mrs. Secord. And pray where did you hide? for hide you must, So near
the Yankee lines.
Quaker. It wasn't hard to do; I knew the ground,
Being a hired boy on
that very farm,
Now Jemmy Gap's. There was an elm, where once
I
used to sit and watch for chipmunks, that I clomb,
And from its shade
could see the Yankee camp,
Its straggling line, its fires, its careless
watch;
And from the first I knew the fight was ours,
If Harvey
struck that night.
Mr. Secord. Ha! ha! friend John, thine is a soldier's brain Beneath that
Quaker hat.
Quaker (in some embarrassment, rising).
No, no, I am a man of peace,
and hate
The very name of war. I must be gone.
(To Mrs. Secord.)
My woman longs to see thee, Mistress. Good-bye to all.
The Little Girls (rising). Good-bye, sir.
Mrs. Secord. Good-bye, John,
'Twould please me much to see my

friend again,
But war blots out the sweet amenities
Of life. Give her
my love.
Quaker. I will.
Mr. Secord (rising and taking his crutch).
I'll walk a piece with you,
friend Penn,
And see you past the lines.
[His little daughter_, HARRIET, _hands him his hat.
Quaker. That's right, 'twill do thee good:
Thy wounds have left thee
like an ailing girl,
So poor and pale.
[Exeunt_ Quaker _and MR. SECORD.
Charlotte. Oh, dear, I wish I were a man, to fight
In such brave times
as these!
Enter_ MARY, _a girl of fourteen.
Mary. Were wishing aught
Soon should another sword strike for the
King,
And those dear rights now rudely overlooked.
Mrs. Secord. My child?
Mary. Oh naught, mamma, save the old tale: no nook
That's not
invaded, even one's books
Borrowed without one's leave. I hate it all!
Mrs. Secord. We must be patient, dear, it cannot last.
Harriet. Oh, if we girls were boys, or Charles a man!
Mrs. Secord. Poor baby Charles! See, he's asleep; and now, Dear girls,
seeing we cannot fight, we'll pray
That peace may come again, for
strife and blood,
Though wisely spent, are taxes hard to pay.
But
come, 'tis late! See Charlie's dropt asleep;
Sing first your evening
hymn, and then to bed.
I'll lay the darling down.

Exit_ MRS. SECORD, _with the child in her arms.
Charlotte. You start it, Mary.
Children sing--
HYMN.
Softly as falls the evening shade,
On our bowed heads Thy hands be
laid;
Surely as fades the parting light,
Our sleep be safe and sweet
to-night
Calmly, securely, may we rest,
As on a tender father's
breast.
Let War's black pinions soar away,
And dove-like Peace resume her
sway,
Our King, our country, be Thy care,
Nor ever fail of
childhood's prayer.
Calmly, securely, may we rest
As on a tender
father's breast.
[Exeunt.

SCENE 2.--The same place and the same hour.
Enter MRS. SECORD.
After a weary day the evening falls
With gentle benison of peace and
rest.
The deep'ning dusk draws, like a curtain, round,
And gives the
soul a twilight of its own;
A soft, sweet time, full of refreshing dews,

And subtle essences of memory
And reflection. O gentle peace,
when--
Enter_ PETE, _putting his head in at the door.
Pete. O, mistis! Heh, mistis!
Mrs. Secord. What now, Pete?

Pete. Oh, mistis, dat yar sergeant ossifer--
Dat sassy un what call me
"Woolly-bear."
An' kick my shin, he holler 'crass to me:--
"You,
Pete, jes' you go in, an' tell Ma'am Secord
I'se comin' in ter supper
wiv some frens."
He did jes' so--a sassy scamp.
Mrs. Secord. To-night? At this hour?
Pete. Yes, mistis; jes', jes' now. I done tell Flos
Ter put her bes' leg
fus', fer I mus' go
An' ten' dat poo', sick hoss.
Mrs. Secord. Nay, you'll do nothing of the kind! You'll stay And wait
upon these men. I'll not have Flos
Left single-handed by your
cowardice.
Pete. I aint a coward-ef I hed a club;
Dat poo', sick hoss--
Mrs. Secord. Nonsense! Go call me Flos, and see you play no tricks
to-night.
Pete. No, mistis, no; no tricks. [Aside. Ef I'd a club!] He calls from the
door: Flos! Flos! Ma'am Secord wants ye.
_Mrs. Secord (spreading a cloth upon the table)_. God help us if these
men much longer live
Upon our failing stores.
Enter FLOS.
What have you got to feed these fellows, Flos?
Flos. De mistis knows it aint much, pas' noo bread,
An' two--three
pies. I've sot some bacon sisslin',
An' put some taties on when Pete
done tole me.
Pete. Give 'em de cider, mistis, an' some beer,
And let 'em drink 'em
drunk till mas'r come
An' tell me kick 'em out.
Flos. You!--jes' hol' yer sassy tongue.

[Footsteps are heard without.
Pete. Dat's um. Dey's comin'. Dat poo', sick hoss--
[He makes for the door.
Mrs. Secord. You, Pete,