The Treason and Death of Benedict Arnold Part 3

_Leader of Men_. Wait: you shall know the cause.

[_Enter hurriedly, and meeting,_ Arnold _and_ Andre _on one side,_ Joshua Smith _on the other._]

_Joshua Smith_. General Arnold! Major Andre!

_Arnold_. What is it? What has happened?

_Joshua Smith_. Colonel Livingston's redoubts on the eastern bank. He has fired on the _Vulture_. They are exchanging shots; and the _Vulture_ is dropping down stream. She cannot bear the fire.

_Major Andre_. We are lost!

_Arnold_. No, no, no; not lost, not lost. You have only to drop down stream also. Mr. Smith goes with you; and you shall be put aboard the vessel a few miles below. Eh, Smith?

_Joshua Smith_. Not for the world, General! It is daylight now, and if I should be seen taking this gentleman to the _Vulture_, the Yankees would shoot both of us.

_Arnold_. Some truth in that. But what can we do?

_Joshua Smith_. Go the other way, General. You must give a pa.s.s to both Major Andre and me, allowing us to cross the river, and so on to New York. I'll go with the Major till we reach the British lines.

It's a plain road to safety.

_Andre_. But my uniform--

_Arnold_. It is a case for a change of coats.

_Andre_. But the countrymen are swarming in every highway--

_Joshua Smith_. They are all my friends. Every rebel is my friend;--and--harkee,--every Tory is my friend--from Peekskill to New York! You'll be as safe as the General himself,--and much more comfortable,--till you reach the British Headquarters.

_Arnold_. [_To_ Andre.] He's right, Andre, he's right. It's a safer way than the other when all's said. He knows every lane in the country. [_More firing._] Here, take the papers. And G.o.d bless you!

There's no time to lose. This pa.s.s covers all routes. The patriots know my hand and respect it. Off with you to King's Ferry, Peekskill, and White Plains! Off with you both! Smith has mounts for both of you; and you'll be in the city in twelve hours. All the words have been said: the rest is action.

_Andre_. [_Shaking hands with_ Arnold.] Till we meet again.

_Arnold_. [_With a gesture._] There in the fort!

Sir Henry on his horse, And Andre like a Genius at his side, Guiding the host! That flag shall fall When next we meet: up run the British colors!

England forever! Heart, take heart, my lad!

We cannot fail. The rest is counting gains.

_Andre_. I think this exploit shall make England glad When I'm in the grave.

_Arnold_. Odso! Our names shall chronicle the hills, And school-boys learn us. Go in haste, good Andre!

Keep your mouth shut. Let Smith do all the talking.

These papers make you seem some Britisher, An agent or a spy. You will be safe.

In every war are trusted underlings Who pa.s.s from camp to camp like contraband; Always suspected and yet always safe.

_Andre_. I like not such protection. Must I creep Beneath so mean a shelter,--seem a spy?

I would to Heaven my purposes were known To every n.o.ble nature in the earth!

_Arnold_. Off! And the nearest way!

[Smith _changes_ Andre's _coat._]

Success is virtue; and we mean to win.

[_Exit_ Andre _and _Smith.]

[_Aside._] If we should fail, good youth, for history's eye, They'd write us up,--the traitor and the spy.

Would G.o.d some power to telescope the hours Were lent me now! With Andre in New York I am revenged, rich, powerful, respected, everything My enemies begrudge. It cannot fail.

O for a battle now to dry this sweat Of simple waiting! Sure, he cannot miss!

My pa.s.ses run the river up and down; And every day some messenger of mine Reaches New York; then why not he?

If they should take him? But they _will_ not take him.

All these long months of waiting,-- And not a soul to speak to; I could roar,-- Sound it against the mountains,--that these peaks Should bandy my intentions back and forth; Or tell it to the talking cataracts To ease my need of speech. An hour's patience, Which seems as long as the preceding year, And I shall know. [_He sits down and falls into a contemplation; then into a doze. As he falls asleep, enter quietly_ Treason.]

_Arnold_. [_Speaking as if out of his sleep._]

Leave me alone. Thou thing of little might!

Thou painted bogey! I am conscience-proof, And care no more what names I may be called.

If thou cans't make this hour glide more swift, With idle chat of owls and haunted men, I'll take thee for a gossip. Sit you there And hide the hour-gla.s.s. There was a time In early boyhood, when a thing like thee Seemed horrible, but now my mouth is dry With other terror. Thou art a cap and bells: Play me a ditty on a tambourine.

[_Starting up._] Who goes there?

[_Rushes to_ Smith, _who enters._]

Tell me that he is safe!

Joshua Smith. Within the lines,-- Almost within the lines,--I left the youth.

He's safe in British hands; and by his time, Is telling his adventures to Sir Henry.

_Arnold_. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Is it not a joke, Joshua?

Ha, ha, ha!

This is a joke that shall run crackling through America, like Samson's burning foxes.

Ha, ha, ha!--Andre is in New York!

A spasm of joy; and yet it pains my leg.

Your hand, my friend. The laughter comes again-- Ha, ha, ha! Now let them vote! Brigadier Generals May rain on this accursed land of pain As fast as Congress sp.a.w.ns them! Now, ye rats!

Who shall squirm last, I ask ye?

[_To_ Smith.] Safe, you say?

You saw him with the British?

_Smith_. Not quite so; But at their outposts.

_Arnold_. It will take a day Before I can believe it. I am drunk With the intoxication of revenge, Sweeter than wine. A day of jubilee Shall follow all our torments, Joshua Smith.

Out on ye, pack of curs! I have ye now, Where ye'll not yelp so freely.--Ha, ha, ha-- Ha, ha, ha, ha!--And G.o.d I thank thee, too.

Justice is in the world.

Help me to the fortress. Mercy, how it pains!

Justice! Revenge! And, Joshua,--what a joke!

[_Exeunt_ Arnold _and_ Smith.]

_Father Hudson_. My heart is moved with sorrow: the sins of men enter into me and I am constrained. Why was this man chosen for suffering; and what balm is there for his seed?

_Both Choruses_. Fear G.o.d and seek not thine own advantage. Pluck not the grape thyself; for who knows whether it be intended for thee?