The Bride of Fort Edward | Page 5

laurels
which he has been rearing so long, blow just in time to drop on the
brow of his rival.
Leslie. General Arnold,--excuse me, Sir--you do not understand the
man of whom you speak. There is a substance in the glory he aims at,
to which, all that you call by the name is as the mere shell and
outermost rind. Good Heavens! Do you think that, for the sake of his
own individual fame, the man would risk the fate of this great
enterprize?--What a mere fool's bauble, what an empty shell of honor,

would that be. If I thought he would--
Arnold. It might be well for you to lower your voice a little, Sir; the
gentleman of whom you are speaking 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