The Bride of Fort Edward | Page 5

is just at hand.
[Other officers are seen emerging from the woods.]
_3d Off_. Yes, if this rumor holds, Lieutenant Van Vechten, your post is likely to become one of more honor than safety. Gentlemen--Ha!--General Arnold! You are heartily welcome;--I have been seeking you, Sir. If this news is any thing, the movement that was planned for Wednesday, we must anticipate somewhat.
Leslie. News from the enemy, General?
_Gen. Schuyler_. Stay--those scouts must be coming in, Van Vechten. Why, we can scarce call it news yet, I suppose; but if this countryman's tale is true, Burgoyne himself, with his main corps, is encamping at this moment at the Mills, scarce three miles above us.
Arnold. Ay, and good news too.
Leslie. But that cannot be, Sir--Alaska--
_Gen. Schuyler_. Alaska has broken faith with us if it is, and the army have avoided the delay we had planned for them.--That may be.--This man overheard their scouts in the woods just below us here.
Arnold. And if it is,--do you talk of retreat, General Schuyler? In your power now it lies, with one hour's work perchance, to make those lying enemies of yours in Congress eat the dust, to clear for ever your blackened fame. Why, Heaven itself is interfering to do you right, and throwing honor in your way as it were! Do you talk of retreat, Sir, now?
_Gen. Schuyler_. Heaven has other work on hand just now, than righting the wrongs of such heroes as you and I, Sir. Colonel Arnold--I beg your pardon, Sir, Congress has done you justice at last I see,--General Arnold, you are right as to the consequence, yet, for all that, if this news is true, I must order the retreat. My reputation I'll trust in God's hands. My honor is in my own keeping.
[_Exeunt Schuyler, Leslie, and Van Vechten_.
Arnold. There's a smoke from that chimney; are those houses inhabited, my boy?
Boy. Part of them, Sir. Some of our people went oft to-day. That white house by the orchard--the old parsonage there? Ay, there are ladies there Sir, but I heard Colonel Leslie saying this morning 'twas a sin and a shame for them to stay another hour.
Arnold. Ay, Ay. I fancied the Colonel was not dealing in abstractions just now.
[Exeunt.
* * * * *

DIALOGUE IV.
SCENE. _A room in the Parsonage,--an old-fashioned summer parlor.---On the side a door and windows opening into an orchard, in front, a yard filled with shade trees. The view beyond bounded by a hill partly wooded. A young girl, in the picturesque costume of the time, lies sleeping on the antique sofa. Annie sits by a table, covered with coarse needlework, humming snatches of songs as she works_.
Annie, (singing.)
_Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away. Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away. And flies weeping away. The red cloud of war o'er our forest is scowling, Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away. Come blow the shrill bugle, the war dogs are howling, Already they eagerly snuff out their prey-- The red cloud of war--the red cloud of war_--
Yes, let me see now,--with a little plotting this might make two--two, at least,--and then--
_The red cloud of war o'er our forest is scowling, Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away, The infants affrighted cling close to their mothers, The youths grasp their swords, and for combat prepare; While beauty weeps fathers, and lovers, and brothers, Who are gone to defend_--
--Alas! what a golden, delicious afternoon is blowing without there, wasting for ever; and never a glimpse of it. Delicate work this! Here's a needle might serve for a genuine stiletto! No matter,--it is the cause,--it is the cause that makes, as my mother says, each stitch in this clumsy fabric a grander thing than the flashing of the bravest lance that brave knight ever won.
(_Singing_) _The brooks are talking in the dell, Tul la lul, tul la lul, The brooks are talking low, and sweet, Under the boughs where th' arches meet; Come to the dell, come to the dell, Oh come, come_.
_The birds are singing in the dell, Wee wee whoo, wee wee whoo; The birds are singing wild and free, In every bough of the forest tree, Come to the dell, come to the dell, Oh come, come_.
_And there the idle breezes lie, Whispering, whispering, Whispering with the laughing leaves. And nothing says each idle breeze, But come, come, come, O lady come, Come to th' dell_.
[_Mrs. Grey enters from without_.]
_Mrs. G_. Do not sing, Annie.
Annie. Crying would better befit the times, I know,--Dear mother, what is this?
_Mrs. G_. Hush,--asleep--is she?
Annie. This hour, and quiet as an infant. Need enough there was of it too. See, what a perfect damask mother!
_Mrs. G_. Draw the curtain on that sunshine there. This sleep has flushed her. Ay, a painter might have