The Treason and Death of Benedict Arnold.

by John Jay Chapman.

TREASON AND DEATH

OF BENEDICT ARNOLD

ACT I

_The margin of the Hudson at West Point. Fort Putnam and the Highlands in the distance. A flag is fluttering on the fort. The orchestra represents the level of the river sh.o.r.e, upon which level the_ Chorus _will enter. The characters of the drama appear on a bank or platform, slightly raised above the orchestra and_ Chorus. _At the opening of the play_ Father Hudson _is upon the scene. He reclines in the centre of the stage in the att.i.tude of a river-G.o.d. The nook or couch in which he rests is situated between the two levels, as it were in an angle of the river bank. His position is such that he can, by turning his head, either watch the personages on the stage, or address the_ Chorus _on the river margin. He is so painted and disposed as not to attract attention when the play opens, but to appear rather as a part of the scenery and decoration._

_First Picket_. Uneasy has been my watch. Dark have been my forebodings, standing first on one foot and then on the other, through the night hours, preyed upon by visions, holding my eyelids open by my will, while strange thoughts like vultures over their carrion, wheeling about above me, a.s.sail me, tear me with their beaks and talons. Dark looms the cloud bank through the black portals of the river. The fog holds the bleared eyes of the morning. And I, stiff with watching, suspect some evil. Some foul play is in the mountains, stalking in the shadows of the dawn. Would G.o.d the releasing trumpet would blow and the flag flutter on the mountain side, and that I might find all well!

General Washington is on a journey. Would G.o.d he were returned! [_The sound of a bugle is heard._] Blow, blessed bugle! Blow to the rising Sun! Blow to the dayspring of Liberty, to the new nation rising calmly above the dangers that beset her dawn. Blow bugle, and scatter the night-thoughts of terror!

[_Enter the relieving_ Picket.] Who goes there?

_Second Picket_. A friend and thy relief.

Our post is changed; The pickets are extended up the hills, And this low post abandoned.

_First Picket_. That is strange, To leave the river front without a watch!

If we expect attack, attack must come Along the river,----

_Second Picket_. Comrade, spare your brains, And take your orders. [_Exeunt_ Pickets.]

_Father Hudson_. Daughters of the sky, ye clouds of the morning, Replenishers of my veins, ye purple, wandering clouds!

And you, ye waves that lap my feet, far-traveling, restless, endlessly moving!

Thralls of the circling ocean, waves of the sea-- Attend your Father Hudson, the Ageless, the Majestic!

Calling to you, his sons and daughters, summoning you at his need.

Stoop, daughters of ether, ye clouds of the mountains!

Rise, sons of the sea, most ancient retainers, Flow towards your father's need! the River calls-- Father Hudson summons his children.

[_Enter simultaneously_ Chorus of Waves, (_men_) _on one side, and on the other,_ Chorus of Clouds (_women_). _They flock slowly into the orchestra, approaching each other, and sing as they a.s.semble._]

_Both Choruses_. Father Hudson, we are coming, we are streaming, we are foaming From the sky and from the earth, Down the mountains, Through the fountains, We are streaming, steaming forth; We, the children of your will, Born to serve you, and to fill All your banks and all your margin With the fulness of enlarging, With the plent.i.tude of rivers, We, the generous water-givers, Overflowing, bubbling, swelling, Feed you with our rich upwelling.

_Chorus of Men_. From Monadnock and Mount Washington-- And where the haughty deer on Hudson's Bay Sniffs the north wind, We bring you Mist.

_Chorus of Women_. From the rank lowlands of the Delaware, And from the even margin of low sand, Where the Atlantic smites the continent, We bring you Salt.

_Chorus of Men_. From Sicily and the c.u.maean Cave, And from the mountains where Apollo's shafts Whitened the hillsides once, We bring you Thought.

_Chorus of Women_. From the dark heart of man that scorns the light, From Wisdom, found in Meekness through Despair, We bring you Grief.

_Both Choruses_. Haste to where our father dwells!

We the movers, we the rovers, Come to your eternal dwelling.

Ancient father, we will bring News and thought of everything, From the mossy citadels, And the cities of the sea; Timeworn tales of prophecy We are bringing in our singing To your newer Majesty.

To your destiny belated, Young and unsophisticated, We, the children of the ages, Bring the solemn heritages,-- Force and Woe and Human Fate,-- Embittering your G.o.d-like state.

Bitter is life!

Bitter, bitter even to the G.o.ds, is life!

_Father Hudson_. Sons and daughters, sole feeders of my life, By these new-coming white men I am destroyed.

My feet are burned in Manhattan, my thighs in the Mohawk, While in the Adirondacks they blaze enduring ruin.

[_The leaders speak, not sing, except as otherwise noted._]

_Leader of Men_. Alas! little knows he that his kingdom is of nothing but of change and pain.

_Leader of Women_. Foolish G.o.d that must await the baptism of humanity!

_Leader of Men_. Father! these things must be: therefore endure. Lo, thy old trees are as gra.s.s; thy ancient summits as fresh ant-hills.

Chaldea sends thee this message, father; Egypt salutes thee; Greece sends thee this song; a song of tribulation. For there is no short cut to Antiquity: therefore endure.

_Father Hudson_. Woe, woe, woe is me!

_Leader of Men_. Untutored G.o.d! Mind ragged as thy hills, thou must accept the refining pain.

_Father Hudson_. Woe, woe, woe is me!

_Leader of Women_. Peace, Father! Do not whine. Because thou hast been spared thou art soft-minded. Because thou wast spared thou art a child.

_Leader of Men_. When thy hills shall have been steeped for a thousand years in history, then thou wilt be patient.

_Leader of Women_. What thou feelest is not the axe nor the fire-brand, but the Spirit of Man moving in thy demesnes.

_Leader of Men_. Lo, where it comes! Lo, where the shadow falls!

[_Enter_ Benedict Arnold. _He is in the Uniform of an American General. He limps._]

_Both Choruses_. A light thing is man and his suffering very little.

If he can but endure for a short time, death saves him. Lo, his release cometh and his happiness is long.

Fame forever follows in the steps of the just man: an unending life springs up behind him.

Children follow him: a good father's life is a lamp that burns in the heart of the son.

How short is the struggle of the greatest hero, and how long his fame!

Save me from pride and from the expectation of praise from men.

_Arnold_. He may not come.-- What if it were a ruse to capture me?-- The whole proceeding cloaked in infamy, And no faith in the matter?

Andre should be here. Andre is a man Of sterling honor, and will keep his faith.

My secret's in his hand.--My change of heart Must to His Majesty have long been known, And he will praise me for it. Civil war Knows no such thing as treason; change of sides, The victory of reason in the heart, Makes Loyalist turn Whig. Montgomery, Richard Montgomery, was honor's darling; And when his body fell, scaling Quebec, Down the sheer rock it left a track of light Which sped in opposition towards the stars Bearing his fame. He was an officer In the King's army ere he found our own.

Did conscience fret the gallant Irishman To think what uniform was on his back When he so died? What if in that a.s.sault I had died too, my name had ranked with his In song and monument; unfading laurels Had shed their brazen l.u.s.tre o'er our brows, And we, like demiG.o.ds, had lived forever.

Was it enough for _him_, to scale the sky Against the slippery adamant of Fame, And, giving youth, give all? I have done more.

All of his early prowess was mine too: In everything I match him; and to me Remains the h.e.l.l of glory on the Lakes, When with my hand I stopped the British fleet,-- Stayed them a year: they dreaded to come on.