For I have pass'd through many a bustling scene
Since I have seen a father or a mother.
Mrs. Bland. Bless thee, my boy! O, bless him, bless him, Heaven!
Render him worthy to support these babes,
So soon, perhaps, all fatherless—dependant.
Bland. What mean'st thou, Madam?
Why these tears?
Mrs. Bland. Thy father—
Bland. A prisoner of war—I long have known it—
But made so without blemish to his honor,
And soon exchang'd, returns unto his friends,
To guard these little ones, and point and lead
To virtue and to glory.
Mrs. Bland. Never, never!
His life, a sacrifice to André's manes,[1]
Must soon be offer'd. Even now, endungeon'd,
Like a vile felon on the earth he lies,
His death expecting. André's execution
Gives signal for the murder of thy father—
André now dies!
Bland. (Despairingly.) My father and my friend!
Mrs. Bland. There is but one on earth can save my husband—
But one can pardon André.
Bland. Haste, my mother!
Thou wilt prevail. Take with thee in each hand
An unoffending child of him thou weep'st.
Save—save them both! This way—haste—lean on me.
Scene, the General's Quarters.
(Enter the General and M'Donald.)
General. Here have I intimation from the foe,
That still they deem the spy we have condemn'd,
Merely a captive; by the laws of arms
From death protected; and retaliation,
As they term it, threaten, if we our purpose hold.
Bland is the victim they have singled out,
Hoping his threaten'd death will André save.
M'Donald. If I were Bland I boldly might advise
My General how to act. Free, and in safety,
I will now suppose my counsel needless.
(Enter an American Officer.)
Officer. Another flag hath from the foe arrived,
And craves admittance.
General. Conduct it hither.
(Exit Officer.)
Let us, unwearied hear, unbias'd judge,
Whate'er against our martial court's decision,
Our enemies can bring.
(Enter British Officer, conducted by the American Officer.)
General. You are welcome, sir.
What further says Sir Henry?
British Officer. This from him.
He calls on you to think what weighty woes
You now are busy bringing on your country.
He bids me say, that if your sentence reach
The prisoner's life (prisoner of arms he deems him,
And no spy) on him alone it falls not.
He bids me loud proclaim it: and declare,
If this brave officer, by cruel mockery
Of war's stem law, and justice' feign'd pretence.
Be murder'd; the sequel of our strife, bloody,
Unsparing and remorseless, you will make.
Think of the many captives in our power.
Already one is mark'd; for André mark'd;—
And when his death, unparallel'd in war,
The signal gives, then Colonel Bland must die.
General. 'T is well, sir; bear this message in return.
Sir Henry Clinton knows the laws of arms:
He is a soldier, and, I think, a brave one.
The prisoners he retains he must account for.
Perhaps the reckoning 's near. I, likewise, am
A soldier; entrusted by my country.
- ↑ Shade.
