_Sir Henry._

And be precise to fix the time, when we Must take possession of the citadel.

Against the hour that I expect you back Five thousand troops shall be embarked and ready To execute whatever plan you fix on.

[_Exit Sir Henry. Reenter Lucinda with a handkerchief to her eyes_

_Maj. Andre._ The time is come that is appointed for my departure. It is impossible that even beauty or wit or tears can now withhold me from my purpose. I have promised his Excellency and now to hesitate would prove me to be a coward, one altogether unworthy to be trusted with any business that requires wit and dexterity.

_Lucinda._ Your resolution is fixed, and I do not desire you to fall from it; only if heaven should so order that any fatal accident befall you, remember the unfortunate Lucinda. She sends her good wishes along with you, and prays for all imaginable prosperity on every undertaking in which Major Andre bears a part.

_Maj. Andre._ My thanks to you, my dearest. If a heart so good as thine pet.i.tion heaven for my safety, I have nothing to fear. Thy prayers are my guardian angels, and will protect me in every danger. My honour calls me and I must go. Give me a parting kiss, my dear. Adieu, adieu.

[_He leaves her_ Now native courage warm my wavering breast, And fires of resolution blaze within me, For I must on a dangerous errand go, With secret cunning to deceive the foe, Whose active souls in dire connections meet, Where one false step my ruin makes complete.

Ye guardian powers that still protect the brave, Some pity on distressed Britain have.

By me she seeks some portion to regain Of her lost empire, tried so oft in vain.

But dreadful scenes before my eyes appear, And dangers thicken as they draw more near.

But soft--no dangers can my heart appal, I have a soul that can despise them all.

More than an equal chance for life I see, But life and death must be the same to me. [_Exit_

ACT III.

SCENE I.--_Robinson's house. A stormy night._ ARNOLD. PASQUIN.

_Arnold._ How looks the weather?

_Pasquin._ Stormy, sir; very stormy; it blows terrifically and there is heavy rain.

_Arnold._ Pasquin!

_Pasquin._ Sir.

_Arnold._ Tell the sentries upon duty to-night that I expect a gentleman of my acquaintance here about ten o'clock. When he comes to the outer gate, bid one of them conduct him to my apartment.

_Pasquin._ Your honour shall be obeyed. [_Exit_

_Arnold_ (_solus_).

Peace to this gloomy grove that sees me acting What open daylight would disdain to own.

Ye wood, be witness of my dark designs, And shade me o'er, ye lofty eminences; Tremendous gloom, encompa.s.s me around In clouds that wing from Greenland's foggy caves, Plutonian darkness on your pinions bring, Conceal my base intent from human view, And be the daylight still a stranger to it.

Storm on, ye wind, the tempest that ye make In the broad regions of the troubled ether Is quiet to the tumult of my soul!

Departing honour,--take thy last adieu, 'Tis this night's deed that stamps me for a villain.

Who comes there? [_Enter Pasquin_

_Pasquin._ Sir, there is a traveller just alighted at Sergeant Jones's quarters, who desires to know whether he can have a little private conference with you, and asked me whether you were alone or no.

_Arnold._ A traveller? How is he dressed?

_Pasquin._ He has on a plain suit of blue clothes, a c.o.c.ked beaver hat and draw boots. He rides a common bay horse, and by his general appearance one would suppose him to be a commissary, or perhaps a quarter-master.

_Arnold._ How came you to know all these particulars; the night being so dark and stormy?

_Pasquin._ I had a glimpse of him by means of a lanthorn we carried out when he got off his horse. Over all, I forgot to mention, he had a fear-naught riding coat.

_Arnold._ A plain blue suit, you say?

_Pasquin._ Yes.

_Arnold._ And draw boots?

_Pasquin._ Yes.

_Arnold._ And wore he sword?

_Pasquin._ No; he had no sword, that I saw.

_Arnold._ And what aspect is he? Is he a well-looking man?

_Pasquin._ As handsome a man, please your honour, as ever the sun shone upon. It did me good to look upon him.

_Arnold_ (_aside_). This must be him.

[_To Pasquin_] Bid the sergeant show him the way to me immediately, and put up his horse in my own stable. He is from Philadelphia, a friend and relative of mine.

[_Exit Pasquin_

_Arnold_ (_solus_). This is Major Andre, indeed. We have agreed in our correspondence that he shall pa.s.s here under the name of Captain Ashton, to prevent suspicion.

[_Sergeant introduces Major Andre_

_Arnold._ Captain Ashton, my friend, how are you? Please to draw near the fire and sit. How do our friends at Philadelphia? [_Exit sergeant_]

The b.o.o.by is now gone, and we may talk freely without suspicion.

_Maj. Andre._ I am happy at length to see General Arnold, with whom I have corresponded so long at a distance. I hope, my dear general, you are ready to perform your promise.

_Arnold._ Undoubtedly the fort shall be yours within three days, upon the conditions I mentioned to you in my last letter. I hope you have apprised Sir Henry of them.

_Maj. Andre._ Yes, sir. He is satisfied, and thinks your demand really moderate; but now let us to the point. We must fall upon some plan by which we must act without much danger of miscarriage. Would it not be best that our troops should seem to take the fort by surprise, and thus prevent the world from having any suspicion of treachery in the case?

_Arnold._ I have had the same thought, my dear sir. Besides, if we can make this pa.s.s, I shall become a prisoner of war to you in appearance, be exchanged after a little time, and so be in a capacity to serve you again; or, pretending the fort not tenable, I may make my escape during your attack, and all this without any suspicion on the part of the Americans.

_Maj. Andre._ G.o.d grant your scheme may be successful.

_Arnold._ Now hear what I have to propose further. When you are embarked with your army, suppose one or two thousand men or more sail up the river as far as you safely can, short of the fort, and endeavour to make the country believe you are on a plundering expedition. I shall have companies out who will give me notice of all your movements. Then land your men, march up to the fort, demand a surrender, which I will absolutely refuse. Upon which hang out your b.l.o.o.d.y flag and fire against the walls point blank, without mercy. In that part of the fortress where I shall be, you will see a small white flag flying. Do not fire to that quarter. The garrison shall discharge the artillery three times over your heads, after which I will surrender and open the gates to you.

Then, by not putting one of the garrison to death, which would be your right, you having stormed it, you will have an excellent opportunity of giving the world a new instance of British humanity. Then you may pour your troops into the fort, take possession of it, and hoist the British flag. The prisoners may immediately be sent to the shipping and ordered to New York before the Continental forces will have a chance of hindering the embarkation. What say you?