Classic Poem

ACT I.

SCENE 1. — Queenston. A farmhouse .

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 embarrassment, 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.

Quaker . That's right, 'twill do thee good:
Thy wounds have left thee like an ailing girl,
So poor and pale.

Charlotte . Oh, dear, I wish I were a man, to fight
In such brave times as these!

Enter MARY, a girl of fourteen .

Mary . Were wishing aught
Soon should another sword strike for the King,
And those dear rights now rudely overlooked.

Mrs. Secord . My child?

Mary . Oh naught, mamma, save the old tale: no nook
That's not invaded, even one's books
Borrowed without one's leave. I hate it all!

Mrs. Secord . We must be patient, dear, it cannot last.

Harriet . Oh, if we girls were boys, or Charles a man!
Mrs. Secord . Poor baby Charles! See, he's asleep; and now,

Dear girls, seeing we cannot fight, we'll pray
That peace may come again, for strife and blood,
Though wisely spent, are taxes hard to pay.
But come, 'tis late! See Charlie's dropt asleep;
Sing first your evening hymn, and then to bed.
I'll lay the darling down.

Exit MRS. SECORD, with the child in her arms .

Charlotte . You start it, Mary.

Children sing —

HYMN.

Softly as falls the evening shade,
On our bowed heads Thy hands be laid;
Surely as fades the parting light,
Our sleep be safe and sweet to-night
Calmly, securely, may we rest,
As on a tender father's breast.

Let War's black pinions soar away,
And dove-like Peace resume her sway,
Our King, our country, be Thy care,
Nor ever fail of childhood's prayer.
Calmly, securely, may we rest
As on a tender father's breast.