Retreat that way cut off, again I sought
Concealment with the traitors of your army.
Arnold now granted passes, and I doff'd
My martial garb, and put on curs'd disguise.
Thus in a peasant's form I pass'd your posts;
And when, as I conceiv'd, my danger o'er,
Was stopt and seiz'd by some returning scouts.
So did ambition lead me, step by step,
To treat with traitors, and encourage treason;
And then, bewilder'd in the guilty scene,
To quit my martial designating badges,
Deny my name, and sink into the spy.
Bland. Thou didst no more than was a soldier's duty,
To serve the part on which he drew his sword.
Thou shalt not die for this. Straight will I fly—
I surely shall prevail—
André. It is in vain.
All has been tried. Each friendly argument—
Bland. All has not yet been tried. The powerful voice
Of friendship in thy cause has not been heard.
My General favors me, and loves my father—
My gallant father! would that he were here!
But he, perhaps, now wants an André's care,
To cheer his hours—perhaps now languishes
Amidst those horrors whence thou sav'd'st his son.
The present moment claims my thought. André,
I fly to save thee!
André. Bland, it is in vain.
But, hold—there is a service thou may'st do me.
Bland. Speak it.
André. O, think, and as a soldier think,
How I must die—the manner of my death—
Like the base ruffian, or the midnight thief,
Ta'en in the act of stealing from the poor,
To be turn'd off the felon's—murderers cart,
A mid-air spectacle to gaping clowns;—
To run a short, an envied course of glory,
And end it on a gibbet.—
Bland. Damnation!
André. Such is my doom. O, have the manner changed,
And of mere death I 'll think not. Dost thou think—?
Perhaps thou canst gain that—?
Bland. (Almost in a phrenzy.) Thou shalt not die.
André. Let me, O, let me die a soldier's death,
While friendly clouds of smoke shroud from all eyes
My last convulsive pangs, and I 'm content.
Bland. (With increasing emotion.) Thou shalt not die! Curse on the laws of war!
If worth like thine must thus be sacrificed
To policy so cruel and unjust,
I will forswear my country and her service;
I 'll hie me to the Briton, and with fire,
And sword, and every instrument of death
Or devastation, join in the work of war!
What! shall worth weigh for nought? I will avenge thee!
André. Hold, hold, my friend; thy country's woes are full.
What! wouldst thou make me cause another traitor?
No more of this; and, if I die, believe me.
Thy country for my death incurs no blame.
Restrain thy ardor—but ceaselessly entreat
That André may at least die as he lived,
A soldier.
Bland. By heaven thou shalt not die!
(Bland rushes off; André looks after him with an expression of love and gratitude, then retires up the stage. Scene closes.)
Scene, the General's Quarters.
(Enter M'Donald and Seward, in conversation.)
