_American_:

COLONEL BOERSTLER, _an American officer_.

CAPTAIN MCDOWELL, _an American officer_.

PETE _and_ FLOS, _slaves_.

_A large body of American soldiers, infantry, dragoons and artillerymen_.

LAURA SECORD: THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812

ACT I.

SCENE 1.--_Queenston. A farmhouse_.

John Penn, a Quaker, _is seated on a chair tilted against the wall_. Mr. Secord, _his arm in a sling, reclines on a couch, against the end of which a crutch is is 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 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 embarra.s.sment, 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_.