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diff --git a/old/secrd10h.htm b/old/secrd10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14d2107 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/secrd10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8885 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=us-ascii"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Laura Secord, The Heroine of +1812: A Drama. And Other Poems, by Sarah Anne Curzon.</title> +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + * { font-family: serif;} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + P.stage { text-align: right; + margin: .05em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + H4.scene { text-align: left; + text-indent: -4em; + margin-left: 4em; } + HR { width: 33%; } + // --> +</style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812., by Sarah Anne Curzon + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812. + A Drama. And Other Poems. + +Author: Sarah Anne Curzon + +Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7228] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on March 28, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812. *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812:</h1> +<center> +<p style="font-size: 18;"><i>A DRAMA</i>.</p> +<p style="font-size: 14;">AND OTHER POEMS.</p> +<p style="font-size: 16;">BY SARAH ANNE CURZON</p></center> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr> +<p style="margin-left: 5em; margin-right: 5em;">"And among them all +move the majestic, white-robed bards, striking their golden harps, +and telling the tales of the days of old, and handing down the +names of the heroes for ever."—JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY</p> +<p style="margin-left: 5em; margin-right: 5em;">"The soul of the +book is whatever beautiful and true and noble we can find in +it."—KINGSLEY'S "HYPATIA."</p> +<hr> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<center> +<p style="font-size: 14;">TO ALL TRUE CANADIANS,<br> + OF WHATEVER DERIVATION,<br> + THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED<br> + BY<br> + THE AUTHOR.</p></center> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> +<hr> +<p>The drama of "Laura Secord" was written to rescue from oblivion +the name of a brave woman, and set it in its proper place among the +heroes of Canadian history. During the first few years of her +residence in Canada the author was often astonished to hear it +remarked, no less among educated than uneducated Canadians, that +"Canada has no history;" and yet on every hand stories were current +of the achievements of the pioneers, and the hardships endured and +overcome by the United Empire Loyalists. Remembering that, as soon +as she had conquered the merest rudiments of reading and grammar at +school, she was set to learn English History, and so become +acquainted with the past of her country, it seemed to the writer +that there was something lacking in a course of teaching that could +leave Canadians to think that their country had no historical past. +Determined to seek out for herself the facts of the case, it was +with feelings of the deepest interest that she read such of the +contributions to the newspaper press as came in her way during the +debate with regard to the pensions asked of Government for the +surviving veterans of 1812 in 1873-4. Among these was incidentally +given the story of Mrs. Secord's heroic deed in warning Fitzgibbon. +Yet it could not pass without observation that, while the heroism +of the men of that date was dwelt upon with warm appreciation and +much urgency as to their deserts, Mrs. Secord, as being a woman, +shared in nothing more tangible than an approving record. The +story, to a woman's mind, was full of pathos, and, though barren of +great incidents, was not without a due richness of colouring if +looked at by appreciative eyes. Nor were the results of Laura +Secord's brave deed insignificant. Had the Americans carried Beaver +Dams at that juncture, the whole peninsula was before +them—all its supplies, all its means of communication with +other parts of the Province. And Canada—Upper Canada, at +least—would have been in the hands of the invaders until, by +a struggle too severe to be contemplated calmly, they had been +driven forth. To save from the sword is surely as great a deed as +to save with the sword; and this Laura Secord did, at an expense of +nerve and muscle fully equal to any that are recorded of the +warrior. To set her on such a pedestal of equality; to inspire +other hearts with loyal bravery such as hers; to write her name on +the roll of Canadian heroes, inspired the poem that bears her name. +But the tribute to her memory would not be complete were it to omit +an appeal to Canadians, especially to the inhabitants of this +Province, who, in their prosperity owe to her so much, to do their +part, and write her name in enduring marble upon the spot where she +lies buried.</p> +<p>Nor does it seem asking more than a graceful act from the +Government of the Dominion—a Dominion which, but for her, +might never have been—to do its share in acknowledgment. One +of her daughters still lives, and if she attain to her mother's age +has yet nearly a decade before her.</p> +<p>The drama of "Laura Secord" was written in 1876, and the ballad +a year later, but, owing to the inertness of Canadian interest in +Canadian literature at that date, could not be published. It is +hoped that a better time has at length dawned.</p> +S. A. CURZON. <br> + TORONTO, 1887. <br> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<p><a href="#secord">LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF +1812</a></p> +<p><a href="#ballad">A BALLAD OF 1812</a></p> +<p><a href="#jubilee">THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE</a></p> +<p><a href="#hero">THE HERO OF ST. HELEN'S ISLAND</a></p> +<p><a href="#veterans">OUR VETERANS OF 1812. (A PLEA)</a></p> +<p><a href="#loyal">LOYAL</a></p> +<p><a href="#heights">ON QUEENSTON HEIGHTS</a></p> +<p><a href="#mayor">NEW ORLEANS, MONROE, MAYOR</a></p> +<p><a href="#emigrant">THE SONG OF THE EMIGRANT</a></p> +<p><a href="#summer">TO THE INDIAN SUMMER</a></p> +<p><a href="#june">IN JUNE</a></p> +<p><a href="#livingstone">LIVINGSTONE, IN MEMORIAM</a></p> +<p><a href="#queen">THE QUEEN AND THE CRIMEAN SOLDIERS</a></p> +<p><a href="#child">TO A CHILD</a></p> +<p><a href="#home">HOME</a></p> +<p><a href="#lost">LOST WITH HIS BOAT</a></p> +<p><a href="#life">LIFE IN DEATH</a></p> +<p><a href="#rain">INVOCATION TO RAIN</a></p> +<p><a href="#remonstrance">REMONSTRANCE WITH "REMONSTRANCE"</a></p> +<p><a href="#absent">THE ABSENT ONES</a></p> +<p><a href="#away">AWAY</a></p> +<p><a href="#joe">POOR JOE</a></p> +<p><a href="#fragments">FRAGMENTS</a></p> +<p><a href="#graduate">THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE. (A COMEDY)</a></p> +<hr> +<h3><a href="#fables"><i>FABLES: ORIGINAL AND FROM THE +FRENCH</i>.</a></h3> +<p><a href="#fables1">THE CHOICE</a></p> +<p><a href="#fables2">INSINCERITY</a></p> +<p><a href="#fables3">THE TWO TREES</a> <i>Le May</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#fables4">FABLE AND TRUTH</a> <i>Florian</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#fables5">THE CALIPH</a> <i>Florian</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#fables6">THE BLIND MAN AND THE PARALYTIC</a> +<i>Florian</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#fables7">DEATH</a> <i>Florian</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#fables8">THE HOUSE OF CARDS</a> <i>Florian</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#fables9">THE BULLFINCH AND THE RAVEN</a> +<i>Florian</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#fables10">THE WASP AND THE BEE</a> <i>Florian</i>.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a href="#translations"><i>TRANSLATIONS</i>.</a></h3> +<p><a href="#trans1">IN MEMORY OF THE HEROES OF 1760</a> <i>Le +May</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#trans2">THE SONG OF THE CANADIAN VOLTIGEURS</a> <i>Le +May</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#trans3">THE LEGEND OF THE EARTH</a> <i>Jean +Rameau</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#trans4">THE EMIGRANT MOUNTAINEER</a> +<i>Chateaubriand</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#trans5">FROM "LIGHTS AND SHADES"</a> <i>Hugo</i>.</p> +<p><a href="#trans6">VILLANELLE TO ROSETTE</a> +<i>Desportes</i>.</p> +<hr> +<h3><a href="#notes">NOTES</a></h3> +<h3><a href="#appendices">APPENDICES</a></h3> +<a name="pagei"><!-- Begin Page I --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>MEMOIR OF MRS. SECORD</h2> +<hr> +<p>It is at all times an amiable and honourable sentiment that +leads us to enquire into the antecedents of those who, by the +greatness of their virtues have added value to the records of human +history. Whether such inquiry increases our estimation of such +value or not, it must always be instructive, and therefore +inspiring. Under this impression I have sought on every hand to +learn all that could be gathered of the history of one of Canada's +purest patriots. As Dr. Ryerson aptly says in his <i>U. E. +Loyalists and their Times</i>, "the period of the U. E. Loyalists +was one of doing, not recording," therefore little beyond tradition +has conserved anything of all that we would now like to know of the +heroism, the bravery, the endurance, the trials of that bold army +of men and women, who, having laid strong hands on the primeval +forest, dug wide and deep the foundations of a nation whose +greatness is yet to come. In such a light the simple records that +follow will be attractive.</p> +<p>Laura Secord came of loyal blood. She was the daughter of Mr. +Thomas Ingersoll, the founder of the town of Ingersoll, and his +wife Sarah, the sister of General John Whiting, of Great +Barrington, Berkshire County, Mass. At the close of the War of +1776, Mr. Ingersoll came to Canada on the invitation of Governor +Simcoe, an old friend of the family, and founded a settlement on +the banks of the Thames in Oxford County. On the change of +government, Mr. Ingersoll and his struggling settlement of eighty +or ninety families found their prospects blighted and their future +imperilled; Mr. Ingersoll therefore saw it necessary to remove to +Little York, and shortly afterward settled in the township of +Etobicoke. There he resided until some time after the War of +1812-14, when he returned with his family to Oxford County. Here he +died, but left behind him worthy successors of his honourable name +in his two sons, Charles and James.</p> +<p>Charles Ingersoll, with that active loyalty and heroic energy +which alike characterized his patriotic sister, Mrs. Secord, held +prominent positions in the gift of the Government and of the +people, and was also a highly respected merchant and trader.</p> +<p>James Ingersoll, though of a more retiring disposition than his +brother, was a prominent figure in Western Canada for many years. +He was a magistrate of high repute, and occupied a foremost +position in the militia, in which he held the rank of +Lieutenant-Colonel at the time of his death. This event took place +on the 9th August, 1886, at which date he had been Registrar for +the County of Oxford fifty-two years.</p> +<p>That Mrs. Secord should be brave, ready, prompt in action, and +fervent <a name="pageii"><!-- Begin Page II --></a> in patriotism +is not surprising, seeing that all the events of her childhood and +youth were blended with those of the settlement of Upper Canada by +the U. E. Loyalists, in whose ranks her family held so honourable a +position, and whose character and sentiments were at all times to +be depended upon.</p> +<p>The family of Secord, of which she became so distinguished a +member, was also a notable one. Family documents exist which show +that in the reign of Louis the Tenth of France a certain Marquis +D'Secor was a Marshal of His Majesty's Household. A son of this +Marquis embraced the Protestant religion, as did younger branches +of the family. During the persecution of the Huguenots many of them +suffered at the stake, and the family estates, situated at La +Rochelle, were confiscated. The survivors escaped the massacre of +St. Bartholomew by flight to England along with many other noble +families, among whom were the Comte de Puys, the Baudeaux, and a +Holland family, the Van Cortlandts.</p> +<p>Eventually five brothers emigrated to America where they settled +in New Jersey, purchasing large tracts of land, founding New +Rochelle and engaging in lumbering. On the breaking out of the +Revolutionary War the family divided, the Loyalists changing their +patronym to Secord by placing the prefix "d" at the end of their +name. These brothers after, as King's men, losing, in common with +all the Loyalists, their property and estates, emigrated to New +Brunswick, again engaging in lumbering and milling operations, and; +there certain of their descendants are to be found today. Some of +these, and their sons, again removed to Canada West, where one of +them, commonly called "Deaf John Secord," who married Miss Wartman, +of Kingston, was known all along the coast from St. John to Quebec +for his hospitalities. Among those who settled in the Niagara +district were Stephen Secord, the miller of St. David's, Major +David Secord, after whom the village was named, and James Secord, +the husband of the heroine of 1812. Stephen Secord died before the +War of 1812, leaving a widow and a family of seven sons. Of Major +David Secord, the only record I have been able to procure is to be +found in <i>A History of the Late War between Great Britain and the +United States of America, by David Thompson, late of the Royal +Scots</i>, as quoted for me by the kind courtesy of Miss Louisa +Murray, of Stamford. It is as follows: "The Second Lincoln Militia, +under Major David Secord, distinguished themselves in this action +[the Battle of Chippewa] by feats of genuine bravery and heroism, +stimulated by the example of their gallant leader, which are seldom +surpassed even by the most experienced veterans. Their loss was +proportionate with that of the regular army."</p> +<p>At the outbreak of the War of 1812, Mr. James Secord was living +at Queenston, where he had a lumber mill and stores. He held the +rank of Captain in the Lincoln Militia until close on the American +invasion, but resigned in dudgeon at some action of his superior +officer, and thus it is that in the relation of Mrs. Secord's +heroic deed he is not designated by any rank. At the first call to +arms, however, Mr. Secord at once offered his services, <a name= +"pageiii"><!-- Begin Page III --></a> which were gladly accepted, +and he was present at the Battle of Queenston Heights. Here he was +severely wounded in the leg and shoulder, and lay on the field as +one dead, until rescued by his brave wife. He never fully recovered +from his wounds, and received an acknowledgment of his voluntary +services to the Government in the appointment to the post of +Collector of Customs at the Port of Chippewa, which he held until +his death in 1841.</p> +<p>The married life of Mr. and Mrs. Secord was a most happy one. +Their third daughter, Mrs. Harriet Smith, who still survives, a +cheerful and vivacious lady of eighty-six, says that her father and +mother were most devoted to each other, and lived in the closest +mutual affection.</p> +<p>At the date of the Battle of Queenston Heights, the family +consisted of four daughters and one son: Mary—with whom the +great Tecumseh is said to have been in love—who was married +to Dr. Trumbull, Staff-surgeon to the 37th Regiment, and died in +Jamaica; Charlotte, "the belle of Canada," who, died during a visit +to Ireland; Harriet—Mrs. Smith—who still survives and +lives in great retirement with her eldest daughter at Guelph; and +Appolonia, who died at the early age of eighteen. Charles, the only +son, lived at Newark, and his surviving children are Mr. James B. +Secord, of Niagara, and Alicia, Mrs. Isaac Cockburn, of +Gravenhurst.</p> +<p>Two daughters were born to Mr. and Mrs. Secord subsequent to the +war. Hannah, who was married to Mr. Carthew, of Guelph. and died in +1884, leaving several sons, and Laura, who was married to Dr. +Clarke, of Palmerston, and died young, leaving one daughter, +Laura.</p> +<p>Mrs. Smith relates that she very well remembers her mother +setting off for St. David's, ostensibly to see her brother Charles, +who lay sick at the mill, and her father's ill-concealed agitation +during that trying day. What must the night have been to him? She +also relates that during the short occupation of Queenston by the +invaders, their soldiery were very tyrannical, entering the houses +and stores to look for money and help themselves to plunder, and +even destroying the bedding, by ripping it up with their swords and +bayonets, in the search. Mrs. Secord who had a store of Spanish +doubloons, heirlooms, saved them by throwing them into a cauldron +of water which hung on a crane over a blazing fire. In this she +unconsciously emulated the ready wit of one of her husband's +Huguenot progenitors, a lady, who during the persecution that +followed the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, at a period of +domiciliary search for incriminating proofs of unorthodoxy, is said +to have thrown a copy of the Bible—a doubly precious treasure +in those days—into a churn of milk from whence it was +afterwards rescued little the worse, thanks to heavy binding and +strong clasps.</p> +<p>Envy having sent a shaft at even so warm and patriotic a breast +as that of Mrs. Secord, Col. Fitzgibbon sent her a certificate, +dated only a short time before his death, vouching to the facts of +the heroic deed. It was evidently one of the cruel necessities of +this hard life. The certificate runs as follows:</p> +<a name="pageiv"><!-- Begin Page IV --></a> +<center> +<p>FITZGIBBON'S CERTIFICATE.</p></center> +<p class="letter">"I do hereby certify that Mrs. Secord, the wife +of James Secord, of Chippewa, Esq., did, in the month of June, +1813, walk from her house in the village of St. David's to Decamp's +house in Thorold, by a circuitous route of about twenty miles, +partly through the woods, to acquaint me that the enemy intended to +attempt by surprise to capture a detachment of the 49th Regiment, +then under my command; she having obtained such knowledge from good +authority, as the event proved. Mrs. Secord was a person of slight +and delicate frame; and made the effort in weather excessively +warm, and I dreaded at the time that she must suffer in health in +consequence of fatigue and anxiety, she having been exposed to +danger from the enemy, through whose line of communication she had +to pass. The attempt was made on my detachment by the enemy, and +his detachment, consisting of upwards of 500 men, with a +field-piece and fifty dragoons, was captured in consequence. I +write this certificate in a moment of much hurry and from memory, +and it is, therefore, thus brief.<br> +<br> + "(Signed) JAMES FITZGIBBON,<br> + "<i>Formerly Lieutenant in the 49th Regiment</i>."</p> +<p>It is well to consider this great achievement of Mrs. Secord +carefully, that we may be the better able to realize the greatness +of the feat. To assist in so doing, it will not be amiss to quote +the following, from Coffin's <i>Chronicles of the War</i>, bearing +on the prudential reasons of Proctor's retreat at Moravian Town. +"But whether for advance or for retreat, the by-paths of the forest +intermediate were such as the macadamized and locomotive +imagination of the present day cannot encompass. A backwoodsman, +laden with his axe, wading here, ploutering there, stumbling over +rotted trees, protruding stumps, a bit of half-submerged corduroy +road for one short space, then an adhesive clay bank, then a mile +or two or more of black muck swamp, may, +possibly,—clay-clogged and footsore, and with much pain in +the small of his back,—find himself at sundown at the foot of +a hemlock or cedar, with a fire at his feet, having done manfully +about ten miles for his day's work." This was written of a time of +year when the fall rains predict an approaching winter. Mrs. +Secord's exploit was made on the 23rd of June, a time when the +early summer rains that set the fruit and consecrate an abundant +harvest with their blessing, nevertheless make clay banks slippery, +and streams swift, and of these latter the whole Niagara district +was full. Many have now been diverted and some dried up. I am happy +to be able to give my readers the heroine's own simple account of +her journey, as furnished me by the courtesy of Mr. Benson J. +Lossing, author of the "Pictorial Field Book of the War of 1812," +to whom the aged lady in 1862 recounted it in a letter (given in a +note in Mr. Lossing's book), the historian, on his visit to +Chippewa in 1860, having failed to see her. She was then +eighty-five years of age.</p> +<a name="pagev"><!-- Begin Page V --></a> +<p>"DEAR SIR,—I will tell you the story in a few words.</p> +<p>"After going to St. David's and the recovery of Mr. Secord, we +returned again to Queenston, where my courage again was much tried. +It was there I gained the secret plan laid to capture Captain +Fitzgibbon and his party. I was determined, if possible, to save +them. I had much difficulty in getting through the American guards. +They were ten miles out in the country. [Footnote: The American +sentries were out ten miles into the country; that is, at any point +commanding a possible line of communication within a radius of ten +miles from Fort George, Mrs. Secord might come upon an American +sentry. The deep woods, therefore, were her only security. These +she must thread to the best of her ability, with what knowledge she +might possess of the woodman's craft, for even a blazed path was +not safe. And by this means she must get out of American cover and +into British lines. To do this she must take a most circuitous +route, as she tells us, all round "by Twelve-mile Creek," whose +port is St. Catharines, climbing the ridge that is now cut through +by the Welland Canal, and thus doubling upon what would have been +the straight route, and coming on Fitzgibbon from the back, from +the way of his supports, for Major de Haren lay at Twelve-mile +Creek, but not within several miles of where the heroine crossed +it. And it was dark, and within a few hours of the intended +surprise when she reached it. To go to De Haren, even though it +might have been nearer at that point—it may not have been so, +however—was a greater risk to Fitzgibbon, whose safety she +was labouring to secure, than to send him aid which might only +reach him after the event. Forgetting her exhaustion she proceeds, +fulfils her errand, and saves her country. <i>And shall that +country let her memory die</i>?] When I came to a field belonging +to a Mr. De Cou, in the neighbourhood of the Beaver Dams, I then +had walked nineteen miles. By that time daylight had left me. I yet +had a swift stream of water (Twelve-mile Creek) to cross over on an +old fallen tree, and to climb a high hill, which fatigued me very +much.</p> +<p>"Before I arrived at the encampment of the Indians, as I +approached they all arose with one of their war yells, which, +indeed, awed me. You may imagine what my feelings were to behold so +many savages. With forced courage I went to one of the chiefs, told +him I had great news for his commander, and that he must take me to +him or they would all be lost. He did not understand me, but said, +'Woman! What does woman want here?' The scene by moonlight to some +might have been grand, but to a weak woman certainly terrifying. +With difficulty I got one of the chiefs to go with me to their +commander. With the intelligence I gave him he formed his plans and +saved his country. I have ever found the brave and noble Colonel +Fitzgibbon a friend to me. May he prosper in the world to come as +he has done in this.</p> +LAURA SECORD. <br> + "CHIPPEWA, U.C., Feb. 18, 1861." <br> + +<p>Mr. Lossing further adds in his letter to me:</p> +<p>"When, in the summer of 1860, the Prince of Wales visited +Queenston the veteran soldiers of the Canada side of the Niagara +frontier signed an address to his Royal Highness; Mrs. Secord +claimed the privilege of signing it. 'Wherefore?' was asked. She +told her story, and it was allowed that she <a name="pagevi"> +<!-- Begin Page VI --></a> eminently deserved a place among the +signers. Her story was repeated to the Prince. He was greatly +interested, and learning that the heroine had not much of this +world's goods, sent her $500 soon after his return home, in +attestation of his appreciation of her patriotism."</p> +<p>Her sole surviving daughter at this date, says the gift was +carried to her mother by ten gentlemen who had formed part of the +Prince's suite.</p> +<p>A correspondent at Drummondville, to whom I am indebted for +several Valuable particulars, says: "Mrs. Laura Second is +remembered here as a fine, tall, strong woman. Strong, too, in +mind, purpose, determination, and yet womanly and maternal withal. +She is spoken of as <i>indeed a brave woman</i>, of strong +patriotism and courage.</p> +<p>"The difficulties and dangers then, were those of anew, +uncleared, pathless country increased by lurking foes, and by +wandering, untaught Indians.</p> +<p>"In connection with her chief act of heroism the following +anecdote has been told me:—Three American soldiers called at +her log house at Queenston to ask for water. One of them said, 'You +have a nice place here, missis, when we come for good to this +country we'll divide the land, and I'll take this here for my +share.' Mrs. Secord was so nettled by the thoughts expressed that +although the men were civil and respectful, she replied sharply, +'You scoundrel you, all you'll ever get here will be six feet of +earth!'</p> +<p>"When they were gone her heart reproached her for her heat, +because the men had not molested her nor her property." (Yet her +indignation was righteous, since they were invaders in the worst +sense of the term, having no lawful cause for their invasion.) "Two +days after two of the men returned. They said to Mrs. Secord, 'You +were right about the six feet of earth, missis! The third man had +been killed."</p> +<p>In speaking of the heroine, Mr. James B. Secord, of Niagara, +says in a letter to me, "My grandmother was of a modest +disposition, and did not care to have her exploit mentioned, as she +did not think she had done any thing extraordinary. She was the +very last one to mention the affair, and unless asked would never +say any thing about it."</p> +<p>This noble-minded and heroic woman died in 1868, aged +ninety-three years. She lies in Drummondville Churchyard, by the +side of the husband she loved so well. Nothing but a simple +headstone, half defaced, marks the place where the sacred ashes +lie. But surely we who enjoy the happiness she so largely secured +for us, we who have known how to honour Brock and Brant, will also +know how to, honour Tecumseh and LAURA SECORD; the heroine as well +as the heroes of our Province—of our common +Dominion—and will no longer delay to do it, lest Time should +snatch the happy opportunity from us.</p> +S. A. C. <br> + TORONTO, 4th August, 1887. +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<a name="pagevii"><!-- Begin Page VII --></a> +<p>NOTE.—The headstone of Laura Secord is three feet high, +and eighteen inches wide, and has the following:</p> +<center>HERE RESTS<br> + LAURA,<br> + BELOVED WIFE OF JAMES SECORD,<br> + Died, Oct. 17, 1868.<br> + <i>Aged 93 years</i>.</center> +<p>The headstone of her husband has the following:</p> +<center>IN MEMORY OF<br> + JAMES SECORD, SENR.,<br> + COLLECTOR OF CUSTOMS,<br> + Who departed this life on the 22nd day of Feb., 1841,<br> + <i>In the 68th year of his age</i>.<br> +<br> + Universally and deservedly lamented as a sincere Friend,<br> + a kind and indulgent Parent, and an affectionate Husband.</center> +<a name="page009"><!-- Begin Page 9 --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2><a name="secord">LAURA SECORD:</a></h2> +<p style="text-align: center">THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812.</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<a name="page010"><!-- Begin Page 10 --></a> +<h3>DRAMATIS PERSONAE.</h3> +<hr> +<br> + +<p style="text-indent: 0em;"><i>British</i>:</p> +<p>LAURA SECORD, <i>the Heroine, wife of</i> James Secord.</p> +<p>ELIZABETH SECORD, <i>widow of</i> Stephen Secord, <i>the Miller +at St. David's</i>.</p> +<p>MARY, <i>a girl of thirteen, daughter of</i> James and Laura +Secord.</p> +<p>CHARLOTTE, <i>her sister</i>.</p> +<p>HARRIET, <i>her sister</i>.</p> +<p>BABETTE, <i>the maid at the</i> Mill.</p> +<p>A WOMAN, <i>the keeper of a roadside tavern at</i> Beaver +Dams.</p> +<p>JAMES SECORD, <i>a wounded militia officer, home on sick leave, +husband of</i> Laura Secord.</p> +<p>LIEUTENANT FITZGIBBON, <i>a British officer holding the post +at</i> Beaver Dams.</p> +<p>MAJOR DE HAREN, <i>a British officer lying at</i> St. Catharines +<i>with his command</i>.</p> +<p>COLONEL THOMAS CLARKE, <i>A Canadian militia officer</i>.</p> +<p>SERGEANT GEORGE MOSIER, <i>an old Pensioner, and</i> U. E. +Loyalist <i>of 1776</i>.</p> +<p>MISHE-MO-QUA (The Great Bear), <i>a Mohawk Chief</i>.</p> +<p>JOHN PENN, <i>a farmer (Harvey's Quaker)</i>.</p> +<p>GEORGE JARVIS, <i>a Cadet of the 49th Regiment</i>.</p> +<p><i>A</i> Sergeant <i>of the 8th Regiment</i>.</p> +<p><i>A</i> Sergeant <i>of the 49th Regiment</i>.</p> +<p>JAMES CUMMINGS, <i>a Corporal of Militia</i>.</p> +<p>ROARING BILL, <i>a Private in the 49th Regiment</i>.</p> +<p>JACK, <i>a Private in the 49th Regiment</i>.</p> +<p><i>Other</i> Soldiers <i>of the 49th, 8th, or King's Own, and +104th Regiments</i>.</p> +<p>Militiamen, <i>Canadians</i>.</p> +<p>Indians, <i>British Allies, chiefly Mohawks</i>.</p> +<p>TOM, <i>a child of six, son of the</i> Widow Secord.</p> +<p>ARCHY, <i>a little Boy at</i> St. David's Mill.</p> +<p>CHARLES, <i>a boy of four, son of</i> James <i>and</i> Laura +Secord.</p> +<p><i>Other</i> Boys <i>of various ages from eight to +sixteen</i>.</p> +<br> + +<p style="text-indent: 0em;"><i>American</i>:</p> +<p>COLONEL BOERSTLER, <i>an American officer</i>.</p> +<p>CAPTAIN MCDOWELL, <i>an American officer</i>.</p> +<p>PETE <i>and</i> FLOS, <i>slaves</i>.</p> +<p><i>A large body of American soldiers, infantry, dragoons and +artillerymen</i>.</p> +<a name="page011"><!-- Begin Page 11 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h2>LAURA SECORD:<br> + THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812.</h2> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>ACT I.</h3> +<h4>SCENE 1.—<i>Queenston. A farmhouse</i>.</h4> +<p>John Penn, a Quaker, <i>is seated on a chair tilted against the +wall</i>. Mr. Secord, <i>his arm in a sling, reclines on a couch, +against the end of which a crutch is is placed</i>. Mrs. Secord, +<i>occupies a rocking-chair near the lounge</i>. Charlie, <i>a +little fellow of four, is seated on her lap holding a ball of yarn +from which she is knitting</i>. Charlotte, <i>a girl of twelve, is +seated on a stool set a little in rear of the couch; she has a +lesson-book in her hand</i>. Harriet, <i>a girl of ten, occupies a +stool near her sister, and has a slate on her lap. All are +listening intently to the</i> Quaker, <i>who is speaking</i>.</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i>. The midnight sky, set thick with shining +points,<br> + Hung watchingly, while from a band of gloom<br> + That belted in the gloomier woods, stole forth<br> + Foreshortened forms of grosser shade, all barred<br> + With lines of denser blackness, dexter-borne.<br> + Rank after rank, they came, out of the dark,<br> + So silently no pebble crunched beneath<br> + Their feet more sharp than did a woodchuck stir.<br> + And so came on the foe all stealthily,<br> + And found their guns a-limber, fires ablaze,<br> + And men in calm repose.<br> + + With +bay'nets fixed<br> + The section in advance fell on the camp,<br> + And killed the first two sentries, whose sharp cries<br> + Alarmed a third, who fired, and firing, fled.<br> + This roused the guard, but "Forward!" was the word,<br> + And on we rushed, slaying full many a man<br> + Who woke not in this world.<br> + + The +'larum given,<br> + <a name="page012"><!-- Begin Page 12 --></a> A-sudden rose such +hubbub and confusion<br> + As is made by belching earthquake. Waked from sleep,<br> + Men stumbled over men, and angry cries<br> + Resounded. Surprised, yet blenching not,<br> + Muskets were seized and shots at random fired<br> + E'en as they fled. Yet rallied they when ours,<br> + At word from Harvey, fell into line,<br> + And stood, right 'mid the fires, to flint their locks—<br> + An awful moment!—<br> + As amid raging storms the warring heaven<br> + Falls sudden silent, and concentrates force<br> + To launch some scathing bolt upon the earth,<br> + So hung the foe, hid in portentous gloom,<br> + While in the lurid light ours halted. Quick,<br> + Red volcanic fire burst from their lines<br> + And mowed us where we stood!<br> + Full many a trembling hand that set a flint<br> + Fell lifeless ere it clicked: <i>yet silent all</i>—<br> + Save groans of wounded—till our rods struck home;<br> + Then, flashing fire for fire, forward we rushed<br> + And scattered them like chaff before the wind.<br> + The King's Own turned their left; the Forty-ninth,<br> + At point of bay'net, pushed the charge, and took<br> + Their guns, they fighting valiantly, but wild,<br> + Having no rallying point, their leaders both<br> + Lying the while all snug at Jemmy Gap's.<br> + And so the men gave in at last, and fled,<br> + And Stony Creek was ours.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Brave Harvey! Gallantly planned and +carried.<br> + The stroke is good, the consequences better.<br> + Cooped as he is in George, the foe will lack<br> + His forage, and perforce must—eat his stores;<br> + For Yeo holds the lake, and on the land<br> + His range is scarce beyond his guns. And more,<br> + He is the less by these of men to move<br> + On salient points, and long as we hold firm<br> + <a name="page013"><!-- Begin Page 13 --></a> At Erie, Burlington, +and Stony Creek,<br> + He's like the wretched bird, he "can't get out."</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. You speak, friend Penn, as if you saw the +fight,<br> + Not like a simple bearer of the news.</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i>. Why, so I did.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. You did! Pray tell us how it was;<br> + For ever have I heard that Quakers shunned<br> + The sight of blood.</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i>. None more than I.<br> + Yet innate forces sometimes tell o'er use<br> + Against our will. But this was how it happed:<br> + Thou seest, Mistress Secord, I'd a load<br> + Of sound potatoes, that I thought to take<br> + To Vincent's camp, but on the way I met<br> + A British officer, who challenged me; saith he,<br> + "Friend, whither bound?" "Up to the Heights," say I,<br> + "To sell my wares." "Better," saith he,<br> + "Go to the Yankee camp; they'll pay a price<br> + Just double ours, for we are short of cash."<br> + "I'll risk the pay," say I, "for British troops;<br> + Nay, if we're poor, I can afford the load,<br> + And p'rhaps another, for my country's good."<br> + "And say'st thou so, my Quaker! Yet," saith he,<br> + "I hear you Quakers will not strike a blow<br> + To guard your country's rights, nor yet your own."<br> + "No, but we'll hold the stakes," cried I. He laughed.<br> + "Can't you do more, my friend?" quoth he, "I need<br> + A closer knowledge of the Yankee camp:<br> + How strong it is, and how it lies. A brush<br> + Is imminent, and one must win, you know<br> + Shall they?"<br> + His manner was so earnest that, before<br> + I knew, I cried, "Not if I know it, man!"<br> + With a bright smile he answered me, "There spoke<br> + A Briton." Then he directed me<br> + How I might sell my load, what I should mark,<br> + <a name="page014"><!-- Begin Page 14 --></a> And when report to +him my observations.<br> + So, after dusk, I met him once again,<br> + And told him all I knew. It pleased him much.<br> + Warmly he shook my hand. "I am," saith he,<br> + "Lieutenant-Colonel Harvey. Should it hap<br> + That I can ever serve you, let me know."</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. And then you stayed to see the end of +it?</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i>. Mistress, I did. Somewhat against my creed,<br> + I freely own; for what should I, a Quaker,<br> + E'er have to do with soldiers, men of blood!<br> + I mean no slight to you, James.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i> (<i>laughing</i>). No, no! go on.</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i>. Well, when I thought how tired poor Dobbin +was,<br> + How late the hour, and that 'twould be a week<br> + Before I'd hear how Harvey sped that night,<br> + I thought I'd stay and see the matter out;<br> + The more, because I kind o' felt as if<br> + Whatever happed I'd had a hand in it.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. And pray where did you hide? for hide you +must,<br> + So near the Yankee lines.</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i>. It wasn't hard to do; I knew the ground,<br> + Being a hired boy on that very farm,<br> + Now Jemmy Gap's. There was an elm, where once<br> + I used to sit and watch for chipmunks, that I clomb,<br> + And from its shade could see the Yankee camp,<br> + Its straggling line, its fires, its careless watch;<br> + And from the first I knew the fight was ours,<br> + If Harvey struck that night.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Ha! ha! friend John, thine is a soldier's +brain<br> + Beneath that Quaker hat.</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i> (<i>in some embarrassment, rising</i>).<br> + No, no, I am a man of peace, and hate<br> + The very name of war. I must be gone.</p> +<p>(<i>To Mrs. Secord</i>.) My woman longs to see thee, +Mistress.<br> + Good-bye to all.</p> +<p><i>The Little Girls</i> (<i>rising</i>). Good-bye, sir.</p> +<a name="page015"><!-- Begin Page 15 --></a> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Good-bye, John,<br> + 'Twould please me much to see my friend again,<br> + But war blots out the sweet amenities<br> + Of life. Give her my love.</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i>. I will.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i> (<i>rising and taking his crutch</i>). I'll +walk a piece with you, friend Penn,<br> + And see you past the lines.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>His little daughter</i>, HARRIET, <i>hands him +his hat</i>.</p> +<p><i>Quaker</i>. That's right, 'twill do thee good:<br> + Thy wounds have left thee like an ailing girl,<br> + So poor and pale.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exeunt</i> Quaker <i>and</i> MR. SECORD.</p> +<p><i>Charlotte</i>. Oh, dear, I wish I were a man, to fight<br> + In such brave times as these!</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> MARY, <i>a girl of fourteen</i>.</center> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Were wishing aught<br> + Soon should another sword strike for the King,<br> + And those dear rights now rudely overlooked.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. My child?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Oh naught, mamma, save the old tale: no nook<br> + That's not invaded, even one's books<br> + Borrowed without one's leave. I hate it all!</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. We must be patient, dear, it cannot +last.</p> +<p><i>Harriet</i>. Oh, if we girls were boys, or Charles a man!</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Poor baby Charles! See, he's asleep; and +now,<br> + Dear girls, seeing we cannot fight, we'll pray<br> + That peace may come again, for strife and blood,<br> + Though wisely spent, are taxes hard to pay.<br> + But come, 'tis late! See Charlie's dropt asleep;<br> + Sing first your evening hymn, and then to bed.<br> + I'll lay the darling down.</p> +<center><i>Exit</i> MRS. SECORD, <i>with the child in her +arms</i>.</center> +<p><i>Charlotte</i>. You start it, Mary.</p> +<a name="page016"><!-- Begin Page 16 --></a> +<p><i>Children sing</i>—</p> +<center>HYMN.</center> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Softly as falls the evening shade,<br> + On our bowed heads Thy hands be laid;<br> + Surely as fades the parting light,<br> + Our sleep be safe and sweet to-night<br> + Calmly, securely, may we rest,<br> + As on a tender father's breast.<br> +<br> + Let War's black pinions soar away,<br> + And dove-like Peace resume her sway,<br> + Our King, our country, be Thy care,<br> + Nor ever fail of childhood's prayer.<br> + Calmly, securely, may we rest<br> + As on a tender father's breast.<br></td></tr></table> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exeunt</i>.</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4>SCENE 2.—<i>The same place and the same hour</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter</i> MRS. SECORD.</center> +<br> + After a weary day the evening falls<br> + With gentle benison of peace and rest.<br> + The deep'ning dusk draws, like a curtain, round,<br> + And gives the soul a twilight of its own;<br> + A soft, sweet time, full of refreshing dews,<br> + And subtle essences of memory<br> + And reflection. O gentle peace, when—<br> + <br> + +<center><i>Enter</i> PETE, <i>putting his head in at the +door</i>.</center> +<p><i>Pete</i>. O, mistis! Heh, mistis!</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. What now, Pete?</p> +<p><i>Pete</i>. Oh, mistis, dat yar sergeant ossifer—<br> + Dat sassy un what call me "Woolly-bear."<br> + An' kick my shin, he holler 'crass to me:—<br> + "You, Pete, jes' you go in, an' tell Ma'am Secord<br> + I'se comin' in ter supper wiv some frens."<br> + He did jes' so—a sassy scamp.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. To-night? At this hour?</p> +<p><i>Pete</i>. Yes, mistis; jes', jes' now. I done tell Flos<br> + <a name="page017"><!-- Begin Page 17 --></a> Ter put her bes' leg +fus', fer I mus' go<br> + An' ten' dat poo', sick hoss.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Nay, you'll do nothing of the kind! You'll +stay<br> + And wait upon these men. I'll not have Flos<br> + Left single-handed by your cowardice.</p> +<p><i>Pete</i>. I aint a coward-ef I hed a club;<br> + Dat poo', sick hoss—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Nonsense! Go call me Flos, and see you play +no tricks to-night.</p> +<p><i>Pete</i>. No, mistis, no; no tricks. [<i>Aside</i>. Ef I'd a +club!]</p> +<p><i>He calls from the door</i>: Flos! Flos! Ma'am Secord wants +ye.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i> (<i>spreading a cloth upon the table)</i>. +God help us if these men much longer live<br> + Upon our failing stores.</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> FLOS.</center> +<p>What have you got to feed these fellows, Flos?</p> +<p><i>Flos</i>. De mistis knows it aint much, pas' noo bread,<br> + An' two—three pies. I've sot some bacon sisslin',<br> + An' put some taties on when Pete done tole me.</p> +<p><i>Pete</i>. Give 'em de cider, mistis, an' some beer,<br> + And let 'em drink 'em drunk till mas'r come<br> + An' tell me kick 'em out.</p> +<p><i>Flos</i>. You!—jes' hol' yer sassy tongue.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Footsteps are heard without</i>.</p> +<p><i>Pete</i>. Dat's um. Dey's comin'. Dat poo', sick +hoss—</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>He makes for the door</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. You, Pete, come back and lay this cloth,<br> + And wait at table properly with Flos.</p> +<center><i>Enter a</i> Sergeant, <i>a</i> Corporal <i>and four</i> +Privates.</center> +<p><i>Sergeant</i> (<i>striking Pete on the head with his +cane</i>). That's for your ugly phiz and impudence.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> PETE, <i>howling</i>.</p> +<p>(<i>To Mrs. Secord</i>.) Your slaves are saucy, Mistress +Secord.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Well, sir!</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. None of my business, eh? Well, 'tis +sometimes,<br> + You see. You got my message: what's to eat?</p> +<a name="page018"><!-- Begin Page 18 --></a> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. My children's food, sir. This nor post-house +is,<br> + Nor inn, to take your orders.</p> +<p class="stage">[FLOS <i>and</i> PETE <i>enter, carrying +dishes</i>.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. O, bless you, we don't order; we command.<br> + Here, men, sit down.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>He seats himself at the head of the table, and +the others take their places, some of them greeting</i> MRS. SECORD +<i>with a salute of respect</i>.</p> +Boy, fill those jugs. You girl,<br> + Set that dish down by me, and haste with more.<br> + Bacon's poor stuff when lamb and mint's in season.<br> + Why don't you kill that lamb, Ma'am Secord?<br> + +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. 'Tis a child's pet.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. O, pets be hanged!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> MRS. SECORD.</p> +<p><i>Corporal</i>. Poor thing! I'm sure none of us want the +lamb.</p> +<p><i>A Private</i>. We'll have it, though, and more, if +Boerstler—</p> +<p><i>Corporal</i>. Hold your tongue, you—</p> +<p><i>Second Private</i> (<i>drinking</i>). Here's good luck, my +boys, to that surprise—</p> +<p><i>Corporal (aside)</i>. Fool!</p> +<p><i>Sergeant (drinking)</i>. Here's to to-morrow and a cloudy +night.<br> + Fill all your glasses, boys.</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4>SCENE 3.—<i>Mrs. Secord's bedroom. She is walking up and +down in much agitation</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter</i> MR. SECORD.</center> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i> (<i>springing to meet him</i>). Oh, James, +where have you been?</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. I did but ramble through the pasture, +dear,<br> + And round the orchard. 'Twas so sweet and still.<br> + Save for the echo of the sentry's tread<br> + O'er the hard road, it might have been old times.<br> + But—but—you're agitated, dear; what's wrong?<br> + I see our unasked visitors were here.<br> + Was that—?</p> +<a name="page019"><!-- Begin Page 19 --></a> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Not that; yet that. Oh, James, I scarce can +bear<br> + The stormy swell that surges o'er my heart,<br> + Awaked by what they have revealed this night.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Dear wife, what is't?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Oh, sit you down and rest, for you will +need<br> + All strength you may command to hear me tell.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Mr. Secord sits down, his wife by him</i>.</p> +That saucy fellow, Winter, and a guard<br> + Came and demanded supper; and, of course,<br> + They had to get it. Pete and Flos I left<br> + To wait on them, but soon they sent them off,<br> + Their jugs supplied,—and fell a-talking, loud,<br> + As in defiance, of some private plan<br> + To make the British wince. Word followed word,<br> + Till I, who could not help but hear their gibes,<br> + Suspected mischief, and, listening, learned the whole.<br> + To-morrow night a large detachment leaves<br> + Fort George for Beaver Dam. Five hundred men,<br> + With some dragoons, artillery, and a train<br> + Of baggage-waggons, under Boerstler, go<br> + To fall upon Fitzgibbon by surprise,<br> + Capture the stores, and pay for Stony Creek.<br> + +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. My God! and here am I, a paroled cripple!<br> + Oh, Canada, my chosen country! Now—<br> + Is't now, in this thy dearest strait, I fail?<br> + I, who for thee would pour my blood with joy—<br> + Would give my life for thy prosperity—<br> + Most I stand by, and see thy foes prevail<br> + Without one thrust?</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>In his agitation he rises</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Oh, calm thee, dear; thy strength is all to +me.<br> + Fitzgibbon shall be warned, or aid be sent.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. But how, wife? how? Let this attempt +succeed,<br> + As well it may, and vain last year's success;<br> + In vain fell Brock: in vain was Queenston fought:<br> + In vain we pour out blood and gold in streams:<br> + <a name="page020"><!-- Begin Page 20 --></a> For Dearborn then may +push his heavy force<br> + Along the lakes, with long odds in his favour.<br> + And I, unhappy wretch, in such a strait<br> + Am here, unfit for service. Thirty men<br> + Are all Fitzgibbon has to guard the stores<br> + And keep a road 'twixt Bisshopp and De Haren.<br> + Those stores, that road, would give the Yankee all.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Why, be content now, dear. Had we not +heard,<br> + This plot might have passed on to its dire end,<br> + Like the pale owl that noiseless cleaves the dark,<br> + And, on its dreaming prey, swoops with fell claw.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. What better is it?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. This; that myself will go to Beaver Dam,<br> + And warn Fitzgibbon: there is yet a day.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Thou! thou take a task at which a man might +shrink?<br> + No, no, dear wife! Not so.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Ay, prithee, let me go;<br> + 'Tis not so far. And I can pass unharmed<br> + Where you would be made prisoner, or worse.<br> + They'll not hurt me—my sex is my protection.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Oh, not in times like these. Let them +suspect<br> + A shadow wrong, and neither sex, nor tears,<br> + Nor tenderness would save thy fate.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Fear not for me. I'll be for once so +wise<br> + The sentries shall e'en put me on my way.<br> + Once past the lines, the dove is not more swift<br> + Nor sure to find her distant home than I<br> + To reach Fitzgibbon. Say I may go.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i> (<i>putting his arm 'round her tenderly</i>). +How can I let thee go? Thy tender feet<br> + Would bleed ere half the way was done. Thy strength<br> + Would fail 'twixt the rough road and summer heat,<br> + And in some, gloomy depth, faint and alone,<br> + Thou would'st lie down to die. Or, chased and hurt<br> + By wolf or catamount, thy task undone,<br> + <a name="page021"><!-- Begin Page 21 --></a> Thy precious life +would then be thrown away.<br> + I cannot let thee go.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Not thrown away! Nay, say not that, dear +James.<br> + No life is thrown away that's spent in doing duty.<br> + But why raise up these phantoms of dismay?<br> + I did not so when, at our country's call,<br> + You leapt to answer. Said I one word<br> + To keep you back? and yet my risk was greater<br> + Then than now—a woman left with children<br> + On a frontier farm, where yelling savages,<br> + Urged on, or led, by renegades, might burn,<br> + And kill, and outrage with impunity<br> + Under the name of war. Yet I blenched not,<br> + But helped you clean your musket, clasped your belt,<br> + And sent you forth, with many a cheery word.<br> + Did I not so?</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Thou didst indeed, dear wife, thou didst.<br> + But yet,—<br> + I cannot let thee go, my darling.<br> + Did I not promise in our marriage vow,<br> + And to thy mother, to guard thee as myself.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. And so you will if now you let me go.<br> + For you would go yourself, without a word<br> + Of parley, were you able; leaving me<br> + The while in His good hands; not doubting once<br> + But I was willing. Leave me there now, James,<br> + And let me go; it is our country calls.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Ah, dearest wife, thou dost not realize<br> + All my deep promise, "guard thee as myself?"<br> + I meant to guard thee doubly, trebly more.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. There you were wrong. The law says +"<i>as</i> thyself<br> + Thou shalt regard thy neighbour."</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. My neighbour! Then is that all that thou +art<br> + To me, thy husband? Shame! thou lovest me not.<br> + My neighbour!</p> +<a name="page022"><!-- Begin Page 22 --></a> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Why now, fond ingrate! What saith <i>the +Book?</i><br> + "THE GOOD, with all thy soul and mind and strength;<br> + Thy neighbour as thyself." Thou must <i>not</i> love<br> + Thyself, nor me, as thou <i>must</i> love the Good.<br> + Therefore, I am thy neighbour; loved as thyself:<br> + And as thyself wouldst go to warn Fitzgibbon<br> + If thou wert able, so I, being able,<br> + Thou must let me go—thy other self.<br> + Pray let me go!</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i> (<i>after a pause</i>). Thou shalt, dear wife, +thou shalt. I'll say no more.<br> + Thy courage meets the occasion. Hope shall be<br> + My standard-bearer, and put to shame<br> + The cohorts black anxiety calls up.<br> + But how shall I explain to prying folks<br> + Thine absence?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Say I am gone to see my brother,<br> + 'Tis known he's sick; and if I venture now<br> + 'Twill serve to make the plot seem still secure.<br> + I must start early.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Yet not too soon, lest ill surmise<br> + Aroused by guilty conscience doubt thy aim.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. That's true.<br> + Yet at this time of year do travellers start<br> + Almost at dawn to avoid the midday heats.<br> + Tell not the children whither I am bound;<br> + Poor darlings! Soon enough anxiety<br> + Will fall upon them; 'tis the heritage<br> + Of all; high, low, rich, poor; he chiefly blest<br> + Who travels farthest ere he meets the foe.<br> + There's much to do to leave the household straight,<br> + I'll not retire to-night.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Oh, yes, dear wife, thou shalt not spend thy +strength<br> + On household duties, for thou'lt need it all<br> + Ere thy long task be done. O, but I fear—</p> +<a name="page023"><!-- Begin Page 23 --></a> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i> (<i>quickly</i>). Fear nothing!<br> + Trust heaven and do your best, is wiser.<br> + Should I meet harm,'twill be in doing duty:<br> + Fail I shall not!</p> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Retire, dear wife, and rest; I'll watch the +hours<br> + Beside thee.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. No need to watch me, James, I shall +awake.</p> +<br> + [<i>Aside</i>. And yet perhaps 'tis best.<br> + If he wake now he'll sleep to-morrow<br> + Perforce of nature; and banish thus<br> + Some hours of sad anxiety.]<br> + +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. I'd better watch.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Well then, to please you! But call me on the +turn<br> + Of night, lest I should lose an hour or two<br> + Of cooler travel.</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4>SCENE 4—<i>Daybreak on the</i> 23<i>rd June</i>, +1813.</h4> +<center><i>The porch of</i> Mr. Secord's <i>farmhouse. A garden +path, with a gate that opens on to the high road from Newark to +Twelve-Mile Creek</i>.<br> + +<p><i>Enter</i> JAMES SECORD <i>and his wife</i>.</p></center> +<p><i>Mr. Secord</i>. Heaven speed thee, then, dear wife. I'll try +to bear<br> + The dreadful pangs of helplessness and dread<br> + With calm demeanour, if a bursting heart.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Then will you taste a woman's common lot<br> + In times of strait, while I essay man's rôle<br> + Of fierce activity. We will compare<br> + When I return. Now, fare-thee-well, my husband.</p> +<p>(<i>Fearful of being observed, they part without an embrace</i>. +Mrs. Secord <i>walks down the garden slowly, and gathers a few +clove pinks; a the gate she stops as though the latch were +troublesome, raises the flowers to her lips, and makes a slight +salute to her husband, who yet stands within the porch watching +<a name="page024"><!-- Begin Page 24 --></a> her. She then rapidly +pursues her way, but soon encounters an American sentry, whom she +essays to pass with a nod and a smile: the man prevents her by +bringing his musket to the charge, and challenging</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Why do you stop me?</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. Where is your pass?<br> + You know that none may take the road without one.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. But surely I may go to milk my cow,<br> + Yonder she is.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>A cow is seen in the clearing</i>.</p> +She's wandered in the night.<br> + I'll drive her back again, poor thing.<br> + She likes new pasture best, as well she may.<br> + +<p><i>Sentry</i>. Keep you your kine at home, you've land +enough.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Why, that's our land, and those our barns +and sheds.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. Well, pass!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>He suddenly observes the flowers</i>.</p> +<p>But where's your milking pail?<br> + I guess the bunch of flowers is for the cow.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i> (<i>gently</i>). You are too rough! The pinks +weep dewy tears<br> + Upon my hand to chide you. There, take them;</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She offers him the flowers</i>.</p> +<p>And let their fragrance teach you courtesy,<br> + At least to women. You can watch me.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. Madam, suspicion blunts politeness. Pass.<br> + I'll take your flowers, and thank you, too;<br> + 'Tis long since that I saw their fellows in<br> + The old folks' garden.</p> +<p>(Mrs. Secord <i>crosses the road, takes a rail out of the fence, +which she replaces after having passed into the clearing, and +proceeds to the barn, whence she brings an old pail, luckily left +there, and approaches the cow</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i> (<i>aside</i>). Could I but get her out of +sight, I'd drive<br> + The creature round the other way, and go<br> + My own. Pray Heaven the sentry watch me not<br> + Too closely; his manner roused my fears.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She waves her hand at the cow, which moves +on</i>.</p> +Co' boss! co' boss. Sh! Haste thee, poor cow;<br> + <a name="page025"><!-- Begin Page 25 --></a> Fly from me! though +never didst thou yet:<br> + Nor should'st do now, but for the stake I play.<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>Both disappear in the bush</i>.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i> (<i>apostrophising the disappearing "enemy"</i>). +Well, mistress, were you gentle as your face,<br> + The creature wouldn't run you such a race.<br> + It serves you right! The cows my Anna milks,<br> + Come at her call, like chickens. O, sweet voice,<br> + When shall I hear you next? Even as I pace<br> + With measured step this hot and dusty road,<br> + The soft June breezes take your tones, and call,<br> + "Come, Henry, come." Would that I could!<br> + Would I had never joined!<br> + But my hot blood o'ermastered my cool sense,<br> + Nor let me see that always is not bought<br> + Honour by arms, but often dire disgrace.<br> + For so it is, as now I clearly see,<br> + We let the animal within remain<br> + Unbroke, till neither gyve nor gear will serve<br> + To steady him, only a knock-down blow.<br> + Had I, and others, too, within the ranks,<br> + Haltered our coltish blood, we should have found<br> + That hate to England, not our country's name<br> + And weal, impelled mad Madison upon this war;<br> + And shut the mouths of thousand higher men<br> + Than he.<br> + + It is +a lesson may I learn<br> + So as to ne'er forget, that in the heat of words<br> + Sparks oft are struck that should be straightway quenched<br> + In cool reflection; not enlarged and fed<br> + With passionate tinder, till a flame is blown<br> + That reaches past our bonds, and leaves behind<br> + Black, sullen stumps where once the green trees grew.<br> + If honour's what we want, there's room enough<br> + For that, and wild adventure, too, in the West,<br> + At half the cost of war, in opening up<br> + A road shall reach the great Pacific.<br> + (<i>A step</i>). Ha! Who goes there?</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i>.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page026"><!-- Begin Page 26 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4>SCENE 5.—<i>The Road at the foot of Queenston +Heights</i>.</h4> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i> (<i>looking in the direction of her +home</i>). Gone! Gone! Quite out of sight! Farewell, my home,<br> + Casket that holds my jewels! If no more<br> + My happy eyes rest on thy lowly roof,<br> + If never more my ears drink in the sounds<br> + Of sweeter music, in your loving tones,<br> + My darlings, than e'er was drawn from harp<br> + The best attuned, by wandering Aeolus,<br> + Then let my memory, like some fond relic laid<br> + In musk and lavender, softly exhale<br> + A thousand tender thoughts to soothe and bless;<br> + And let my love hide in your heart of hearts,<br> + And with ethereal touch control your lives,<br> + Till in that better home we meet again.</p> +<p>(<i>She covers her face with her hands, and weeps unrestrainedly +for a few seconds, then recovers herself, and raises her hands in +prayer</i>.)</p> +Guard them and me, O Heaven.<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>She resumes her journey, but still gazes In +the direction of the Heights</i>.</p> +<p>And Brock! McDonnell! Dennis!<br> + All ye hero band, who fell on yonder Heights!<br> + If I should fall, give me a place among ye,<br> + And a name will be my children's pride,<br> + For all—my all—I risk, as ye, to save<br> + My country.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i>.</p> +<a name="page027"><!-- Begin Page 27 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>ACT II.</h3> +<h4>SCENE 1.—<i>The great kitchen at St. David's Mill. +Breakfast-time</i>.</h4> +<center><i>At the board are seated the</i> Widow Stephen Secord, +Sergeant George Mosier, <i>and little</i> Tom. Babette <i>is +waiting at table</i>.</center> +<p><i>Widow</i>. 'Tis pitiful to see one's land go waste<br> + For want of labour, and the summer days,<br> + So rich in blessing, spend their fruitful force<br> + On barren furrows. And then to think<br> + That over both the Provinces it is the same,—<br> + No men to till the land, because the war<br> + Needs every one. God knows how we shall feed<br> + Next year: small crop, small grist,—a double loss<br> + To me. The times are anxious.<br> + (<i>To Sergeant Mosier</i>.) Have you news?</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. Not much, ma'am, all is pretty quiet still<br> + Since Harvey struck them dumb at Stony Creek.<br> + Along the Lake bold Yeo holds them fast,<br> + And, Eric-way, Bisshopp and Evans back him.<br> + Thus stand we now; but Proctor's all too slow.<br> + O had we Brock again, bold, wise, and prompt,<br> + That foreign rag that floats o'er Newark's spires<br> + Would soon go down, and England's ensign up.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Ah, was he not a man! and yet so sweet,<br> + So courteous, and so gentle.</p> +<p><i>Babette</i>. <i>Ah, oui, madame</i>.<br> + So kind! not one rough word he ever had,<br> + The <i>Général</i>, but bow so low, "<i>Merci, +Babette</i>,"<br> + For glass of milk, <i>et petit chose comme ça</i>.<br> + Ah, long ago it must be he was French:<br> + Some <i>grand seigneur, sans doute</i>, in Guernsey then.<br> + Ah the brave man, madame, <i>cé hero la!</i></p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Yes, brave indeed, Babette, but English, +English.<br> + Oh, bravery, good girl, is born of noble hearts,<br> + And calls the world its country, and its sex<br> + Humanity.</p> +<a name="page028"><!-- Begin Page 28 --></a> +<p><i>Babette</i>. Madame?</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. You do not understand me, not; but you<br> + Were very brave and noble-hearted when<br> + You faced the wolf that scented the young lambs.</p> +<p><i>Babette</i>. <i>Brave! moi!</i> Madame is kind to say it +so.<br> + But bravery of women—what is that<br> + To bravery of man?</p> +<p><i>Tom</i>. An' that's just what I said to Hatty, mother,<br> + When she declared that Aunty Laura was<br> + As brave as soldiers, 'cause she went an' fetched<br> + Poor Uncle James from off the battlefield.<br> + After the fight was over. That wasn't much!</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. You're but an ignorant little boy, my son,<br> + But might be wiser were you not so pert.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. I heard not that before, ma'am.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Did you not?<br> + 'Tis very true. Upon that dreadful day,<br> + After Brock fell, and in the second fight,<br> + When with the Lincoln men and Forty-first<br> + Sheaffe led the attack, poor Captain Secord dropped,<br> + Shot, leg and shoulder, and bleeding there he lay,<br> + With numbers more, when evening fell; for means<br> + Were small to deal with wounded men, and all,<br> + Soldiers and citizens, were spent and worn<br> + With cruel trials. So when she learned he lay<br> + Among the wounded, his young wife took up<br> + A lantern in her hand, and searched the field—<br> + Whence sobs and groans and cries rose up to heaven<br> + And paled the tearful stars—until she found<br> + The man she loved, not sure that life remained.<br> + Then binding him as best she might, she bore,<br> + With some kind aid, the fainting body home,—<br> + If home it could be called where rabid hate<br> + Had spent its lawless rage in deeds of spite;<br> + Where walls and roof were torn with many balls,<br> + And shelter scarce was found.<br> + + That +very night,<br> + <a name="page029"><!-- Begin Page 29 --></a> Distrustful lest the +foe, repulsed and wild,<br> + Should launch again his heavier forces o'er<br> + The flood, she moved her terror-stricken girls—<br> + Four tender creatures—and her infant boy,<br> + Her wounded husband and her two young slaves,<br> + 'Neath cover of thick darkness to the farm,<br> + A mile beyond: a feat even for a man.<br> + And then she set her woman's wit and love<br> + To the long task of nursing back to health<br> + Her husband, much exhaust through loss of blood,<br> + and all the angry heat of gunshot wounds.<br> + But James will never be himself again<br> + Despite her care.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. 'Twas well and bravely done.<br> + Yet oft I think the women of these days<br> + Degenerate to those I knew in youth.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. You're hasty, Sergeant, already hath this war<br> + Shown many a young and delicate woman<br> + A very hero for—her hero's sake;<br> + Nay, more, for others'. She, our neighbour there<br> + At Queenston, who when our troops stood still,<br> + Weary and breathless, took her young babe,<br> + Her husband under arms among the rest,<br> + And cooked and carried for them on the field:<br> + Was she not one in whom the heroic blood<br> + Ran thick and strong as e'er in times gone by?<br> + O Canada, thy soil is broadcast strown<br> + With noble deeds: a plague on him, I say,<br> + Who follows with worse seed!</p> +<p>(<i>She rises and prepares for making pies</i>. Babette +<i>clears off the table, and</i> Sergeant George <i>smokes his +pipe, sitting close to the open chimney, now filled with fresh +branches of spruce and cedar</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. Well, mistress, p'rhaps you're right; old folks +aye think<br> + Old times the best; but now your words recall<br> + The name of one, the bravest of her sex,<br> + <a name="page030"><!-- Begin Page 30 --></a> So far as e'er I saw, +save, p'rhaps, the Baroness.<br> + Tender of frame, most gentle, softly raised,<br> + And young, the Lady Harriet Acland shared,<br> + With other dames whose husbands held commands,<br> + The rough campaign of 'Seventy-six.<br> + But her lot fell so heavy, and withal<br> + She showed such spirit, cheerfulness, and love,<br> + Her name became a watchword in the ranks.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. And what about her, Sergeant?</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. Well, mistress, as you ask I'll tell the +tale:<br> + She was the wife of Major John Dyke-Acland,<br> + An officer of Grenadiers, then joined<br> + To Highland Frazer's arm of Burgoyne's troops.<br> + At Chamblée he was wounded. Leaving the Fort,<br> + His wife crossed lake and land, by means so rough<br> + As tried the strength of men, to nurse him.<br> + Recovered; next he fought Ticonderoga,<br> + And there was badly wounded. Lake Champlain<br> + She traversed to his aid in just a batteau.<br> + No sooner was he better, than again<br> + He joined his men, always the first to move,<br> + And so alert their situation was,<br> + That all slept in their clothes. In such a time<br> + The Major's tent took fire, and he, that night,<br> + But for a sergeant's care, who dragged him out,<br> + Had lost his life. Twice saved he was;<br> + For thinking that his wife still lay within,<br> + Burning to death, he broke away,<br> + And plunged into the fiery mass. But she,<br> + Scarce half awake, had crept from out the tent,<br> + And gained her feet in time to see him rush<br> + In search of her—a shuddering sight to one<br> + Loving and loved so well. But luckily,<br> + Both then were saved. She also shared the march<br> + That followed up the foe, action impending<br> + At every step; and when the fight began,<br> + Though sheltered somewhat, heard all the din,<br> + <a name="page031"><!-- Begin Page 31 --></a> The roar of guns, and +bursting shells, and saw<br> + The hellish fire belch forth, knowing the while<br> + Her husband foremost in the dreadful fray.<br> + Nay, more; her hut was all the shelter given<br> + To dress the wounded first; so her kind eyes<br> + Were forced to witness sights of ghastly sort,<br> + Such as turn surgeons faint; nor she alone,<br> + Three other ladies shared her anxious care:<br> + But she was spared the grief they knew too soon,<br> + Her husband being safe.<br> + + But +when Burgoyne<br> + At Saratoga lost the bloody day,<br> + The Major came not back—a prisoner he,<br> + And desperate wounded. After anxiety<br> + So stringent and prolonged, it seemed too much<br> + To hope the lady could support such sting<br> + And depth of woe, yet drooped she not; but rose<br> + And prayed of Burgoyne, should his plans allow,<br> + To let her pass into the hostile camp,<br> + There to beseech for leave to tend her husband.<br> + Full pitifully Burgoyne granted her<br> + The boon she asked, though loath to let her go;<br> + For she had passed hours in the drenching rain,<br> + Sleepless and hungry; nor had he e'en a cup<br> + Of grateful wine to offer. He knew<br> + Her danger, too, as she did,—that she might fall<br> + In cruel hands; or, in the dead of night<br> + Approaching to the lines, be fired on.<br> + Yet yielding to her prayer, he let her go,<br> + Giving her all he could, letters to Gates,<br> + And for her use an open boat.<br> + Thus she set forth, with Chaplain Brudenell<br> + For escort, her maid, and the poor Major's man—<br> + Thus was she rowed adown the darkling stream.<br> + Night fell before they reached the enemy's posts,<br> + And all in vain they raised the flag of truce,<br> + The sentry would not even let them land,<br> + <a name="page032"><!-- Begin Page 32 --></a> But kept them there, +all in the dark and cold,<br> + Threatening to fire upon them if they stirred<br> + Before the break of day. Poor lady! Sad<br> + Were her forebodings through those darksome hours,<br> + And wearily her soft maternal frame<br> + Bore such great strain. But as the dark<br> + Grows thickest ere the light appears, so she<br> + Found better treatment when the morning broke.<br> + With manly courtesy, proud Gates allowed<br> + Her wifely claim, and gave her all she asked.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Could he do less! Yes, Sergeant, I'll allow<br> + Old times show tender women bold and brave<br> + For those they love, and 'twill be ever so.<br> + And yet I hold that woman braver still<br> + Who sacrifices all she loves to serve<br> + The public weal.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. And was there ever one?</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Oh, yes—</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> MRS. SECORD.</center> +<br> + Why, Laura! Now you're just too late<br> + To have your breakfast with us. But sit down.<br> + (<i>She calls</i>.) Babette! Babette!<br> + +<center><i>Enter</i> BABETTE.</center> +<br> + Haste, girl, and make fresh tea,<br> + Boil a new egg, and fry a bit of ham,<br> + And bring a batch-cake from the oven; they're done<br> + By this.<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> BABETTE.</p> +<br> + (<i>To Mrs. Secord</i>.) Take off your things, my dear;<br> + You've come to stay a day or two with Charles,<br> + Of course. He'll be awake just now. He's weak,<br> + But better. How got you leave to come?<br> + +<p class="stage">[SERGEANT GEORGE <i>is leaving the +kitchen</i>.</p> +<br> + Stay, Sergeant, you should know James Secord's wife,<br> + Poor Charles's sister.<br> + <a name="page033"><!-- Begin Page 33 --></a> <br> + (<i>To Mrs. Secord</i>.) Laura, this is a friend<br> + You've heard us speak of, Sergeant George Mosier,<br> + My father's crony, and poor Stephen's, too.<br> + +<p><i>Mrs. Secord (curtesying)</i>. I'm glad to meet you, sir.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant (bowing low)</i>. Your servant, madam,<br> + I hope your gallant husband is recovered.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I thank you, sir, his wound, but not his +strength,<br> + And still his arm is crippled.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. A badge of honour, madam, like to mine,</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>He points to his empty sleeve</i>.</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> BABETTE <i>with tray</i>.</center> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> SERGEANT GEORGE.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. That's right, girl, set it here. (<i>To Mrs. +Secord</i>.) Come eat a bit.<br> + That ham is very nice, 'tis Gloucester fed,<br> + And cured-malt-coombs, you know, so very sweet.<br> + (<i>To Babette</i>.) Mind thou the oven, lass, I've pies to +bake,<br> + And then a brisket.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> BABETTE.</p> +<br> + (<i>To Mrs. Secord</i>.) I thought you fast<br> + Within the lines: how got you leave to come?<br> + +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I got no leave; three several sentries +I,<br> + With words of guile, have passed, and still I fear<br> + My ultimate success. 'Tis not to see<br> + Poor Charles I came, but to go further on<br> + To Beaver Dam, and warn Fitzgibbon there<br> + Of a foul plot to take him by surprise<br> + This very night. We found it out last eve,<br> + But in his state poor James was helpless,<br> + So I go instead.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. You go to Beaver Dam! Nineteen long miles<br> + On hot and dusty roads, and all alone!<br> + You can't, some other must.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I must, no other can. The time is short,<br> + And through the virgin woods my way doth lie,<br> + For should those sentries meet, or all report<br> + <a name="page034"><!-- Begin Page 34 --></a> I passed their +bounds, suspicion would be waked,<br> + And then what hue and cry!</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. The woods! and are you crazed? You cannot go!<br> + The woods are full of creatures wild and fierce,<br> + And wolves prowl round about. No path is blazed,<br> + No underbrush is cleared, no clue exists<br> + Of any kind to guide your feet. A man<br> + Could scarce get through, how then shall you?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I have a Guide in Heaven. This task is +come<br> + To me without my seeking. If no word<br> + Reaches Fitzgibbon ere that murderous horde<br> + Be on him, how shall he save himself?<br> + And if defeat he meets, then farewell all<br> + Our homes and hopes, our liberties and lives.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Oh, dear! oh, dear! and must you risk your +life,<br> + Your precious life? Think of it, Laura, yet:<br> + Soldiers expect to fight; and keep strict watch<br> + Against surprise. Think of your little girls,<br> + Should they be left without a mother's care;<br> + Your duty is to them, and surely not<br> + In tasks like this. You go to risk your life.<br> + As if you had a right, and thereby leave<br> + Those who to you owe theirs, unpitied,<br> + Desolate. You've suffered now enough<br> + With all you've lost, and James a cripple, too,<br> + What will the children do should they lose you<br> + Just when their youthful charms require your care?<br> + They'll blame you, Laura, when they're old enough<br> + To judge what's right.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I do not fear it.<br> + Children can see the right at one quick glance,<br> + For, unobscured by self or prejudice,<br> + They mark the aim, and not the sacrifice<br> + Entailed.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Did James consent to have you go?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Not till he found there was no other +way;<br> + He fretted much to think he could not go.</p> +<a name="page035"><!-- Begin Page 35 --></a> +<p><i>Widow</i>. I'm sure he did. A man may undergo<br> + A forced fatigue, and take no lasting hurt,<br> + But not a woman. And you so frail—<br> + It is your life you risk. I sent my lads,<br> + Expecting them to run the chance of war,<br> + And these you go to warn do but the same.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. You see it wrong; chances of war to +those<br> + Would murder be to these, and on my soul,<br> + Because I knew their risk, and warned them not.<br> + You'll think I'm right when tramp of armed men,<br> + And rumble of the guns disturb you in your sleep.<br> + Then, in the calmer judgment night-time brings,<br> + You'd be the first to blame the selfish care<br> + That left a little band of thirty men<br> + A prey to near six hundred.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Just the old story! Six hundred—it's +disgraceful!<br> + Why, Were they tailors—nine to make a man—<br> + 'Tis more than two to one. Oh, you must go.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I knew you'd say so when you came to +think:<br> + It was your love to me that masked your judgment.<br> + I'll go and see poor Charles, but shall not say<br> + My real errand, 'twould excite him so.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> MRS. SECORD.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Poor Laura! Would to God I knew some way<br> + To lighten her of such a task as this.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Enter</i> SERGEANT GEORGE.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant</i>. Is it too early for the invalid?<br> + The lads are here, and full of ardour.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Oh, no, his sister's with him.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> SERGEANT.<br> + [<i>A bugle is heard sounding the assembly</i>.</p> +<br> + +<center><i>Enter</i> MRS. SECORD <i>in alarm</i>.</center> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. What's that! What's that!</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. I should have warned you, dear,<br> + But don't be scared, its Sergeant George's boys.<br> + He's gathered quite a company of lads<br> + <a name="page036"><!-- Begin Page 36 --></a> From round about, +with every match-lock, gun,<br> + Or fowling-piece the lads could find, and drills<br> + Them regularly every second morn.<br> + He calls 'em "Young St. David's Yeoman Guard,"<br> + Their horses, "shankses naigie." Look you here!</p> +<p>(<i>Both ladies look through the open window from which is +visible the driving shed: here are assembled some twenty lads of +all ages and heights, between six and sixteen. They carry all sorts +of old firelocks and are "falling in." They are properly sized, and +form a "squad with intervals." In the rear stands a mash-tub with a +sheepskin stretched over it for a drum, and near it is the +drummer-boy, a child of six; a bugle, a cornet and a bassoon are +laid in a corner, and two or three boys stand near</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Sergeant George</i>. Now, Archy, give the cadence in slow +time. (<i>To the squad</i>.) Slow—march. (<i>They march some +thirty paces</i>.) Squad—halt. (<i>They halt, many of them +out of line</i>.) Keep your dressing. Steps like those would leave +some of you half behind on a long march. Right about +face—two—three. That's better. Slow—march. +(<i>They march</i>.) Squad—halt. (<i>They all bring up into +line</i>.) That's better. No hangers back with foe in front. Left +about face—two—three. Keep up your heads. By the +right—dress. Stand easy. Fall in, the band. We'll try the +music.</p> +<p>(<i>The band falls in, three little fellows have fifes, two +elder ones flutes, one a flageolet; the owners of the cornet, bugle +and bassoon take up their instruments, and a short, stout fellow +has a trombone</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Sergeant George (to the band)</i>. Now show your loyalty, +"The King! God bless him."</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>They play, the squad saluting</i>.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant George</i> (<i>to band</i>.) That's very well, but +mind your time. (<i>To the squad</i>.) Now you shall march to +music. (<i>To the band</i>.) Boys, play—"The Duke of York's +March." (<i>To the squad</i>.) Squad—attention. Quick march. +(<i>They march</i>.) Squad—halt.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>At a signal, the band ceases playing</i>.</p> +Yes, that's the way to meet your country's foes.<br> + <a name="page037"><!-- Begin Page 37 --></a> If you were Yankee +lads you'd have to march to this<br> + (<i>he takes a flageolet)</i>. Quick—march.<br> + +<p>(<i>Plays Yankee Doodle with equal cleverness and spite, +travestying both phrase and expression in a most ludicrous manner +until the boys find it impossible to march for laughter; the +Sergeant is evidently delighted with the result</i>.)</p> +Ho! Ho! That's how you march to "Yankee Doodle."<br> + 'Tis a fine tune! A grand, inspiring tune,<br> + Like "Polly put the Kettle on," or<br> + "Dumble-dum-deary." Can soldiers march to that?<br> + Can they have spirit, honour, or do great deeds<br> + With such a tune as that to fill their ears?<br> + +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. The Sergeant's bitter on the foe, I +think.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. He is, but can you wonder? Hounded out<br> + When living peaceably upon his farm.<br> + Shot at, and threatened till he takes a side,<br> + And then obliged to fly to save his life,<br> + Losing all else, his land, his happy home,<br> + His loving wife, who sank beneath the change,<br> + Because he chose the rather to endure<br> + A short injustice, than belie his blood<br> + By joining England's foes. He went with Moody.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Poor fellow! Those were heavy times, like +these.</p> +<p><i>Sergeant George</i>. Now boys, the grand new tune, "Britannia +Rules the Waves," play <i>con spirito</i>, that means heart! mind! +soul! as if you meant it.</p> +<p>(<i>He beats time, and adds a note of the drum at proper points, +singing the chorus with much vigour and emphasis. Mrs. Secord +betrays much emotion, and when the tune is begun for the third +verse, she hastily closes the window</i>.)</p> +<p><br> + Shut, shut it out, I cannot bear it, Ellen,<br> + It shakes my heart's foundations! Let me go.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Nay, but you're soon upset. If you must go,<br> + Your bonnet's on my bed. I'll get a bite<br> + Of something for you on the road.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She busies herself in filling a little basket +with refreshment, and offers</i> MRS. SECORD <i>cake and +wine</i>.</p> +<br> + Here, eat a bit, and drink a sup of wine,<br> + It's only currant; the General's got a keg<br> + <a name="page038"><!-- Begin Page 38 --></a> I sent, when stores +were asked; James Coffin's good;<br> + He always sends poor Ned, or Jack, or Dick,—<br> + When commissariat's low; a mother's heart,<br> + A widowed mother, too, he knows, sore longs<br> + To see her lads, e'en if she willing sends<br> + Them all to serve the King. I don't forget him<br> + Morning and night, and many a time between.<br> + No wine? Too soon? Well, take this drop along.<br> + There's many a mile where no fresh water is,<br> + And you'll be faint—<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>She bursts into tears</i>.</p> +<br> + Good lan', I cannot bear to see you go.<br> + +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Nay, sister, nay, be calm!<br> + Send me away light-hearted,</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Kisses her</i>.</p> +<br> + I trust in God,<br> + As you for your dear lads. Shew me the way<br> + To gain the woods unseen by friend or foe,<br> + The while these embryo soldiers are engaged.<br> + +<p><i>Widow</i>. I'll go with you a mile or two.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. No, no.<br> + It might arouse suspicion.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She opens the door, and the</i> WIDOW SECORD +<i>joins her</i>.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. Times indeed<br> + When every little act has some to watch!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Points to a tree</i>.</p> +<br> + You see yon oak just by the little birch—<br> + +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I do.</p> +<p><i>Widow</i>. There is a little path leads down<br> + To a small creek, cross that, and keep the sun<br> + Behind you half a mile, and then you strike<br> + The bush, uncleared and wild. Good God, to think—</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Think not, but pray, and if a chance +occurs<br> + Send aid to poor Fitzgibbon. Little help<br> + Just in the nick of time oft turns the scale<br> + Of fortune. God bless you, dear! Good bye.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>They embrace with tears. Exit</i> MRS. +SECORD.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page039"><!-- Begin Page 39 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4>SCENE 2.—<i>A beautiful glade</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter</i> MRS. SECORD.—<i>After scanning the spot +searchingly, she seats herself on a fallen trunk</i>.</center> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. This spot is surely safe; here I will +rest,<br> + For unaccustomed service tires my limbs,<br> + And I have travelled many a weary rood<br> + More than a crow-line measures; ups and downs<br> + Absorb so many steps that nothing add<br> + To distance. Faint am I, too, and thirsty.<br> + Hist! hist! ye playful breezes that do make<br> + Melodious symphonies and rippling runs<br> + Among the pines and aspens, hear I not<br> + A little tinkling rill, that somewhere hides<br> + Its sweet beneficence 'mid ferns and moss?</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She rises and looks about</i>.</p> +Ay, here it is: a tiny brilliancy<br> + That glances at the light, as careful, still,<br> + To keep the pure translucency that first<br> + It caught from Heaven. Give me, oh give, sweet rill,<br> + A few cool drops to slake my parching throat.<br> + Fair emblem truly thou of those meek hearts<br> + That thread the humblest haunts of suffering earth<br> + With Christ-like charities, and keep their souls<br> + Pure and untaint, by Heavenly communings.<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>She reseats herself, and contemplates the +scene</i>.</p> +<br> + O this is beautiful! Here I could lie—<br> + Were earth a myth and all her trials nought—<br> + And dream soft nothings all a summer's day.<br> + In this fair glade were surely celebrate<br> + The nuptials of the year: and for her gift,<br> + Fair Flora, lightly loitering on the wing<br> + Of Zephyrus, tossed all her corbel out,<br> + Filling the air with bloom.<br> + + From +yonder copse,<br> + With kindling eye and hasty step, emerged<br> + <a name="page040"><!-- Begin Page 40 --></a> The gladsome Spring, +with leafy honours crowned,<br> + His following a troop of skipping lambs:<br> + And o'er yon hill, blushing for joy, approached<br> + His happy bride, on billowy odours borne,<br> + And every painted wing in tendance bent.<br> + Procession beautiful! Yet she how fair!—<br> + The lovely Summer, in her robes of blue,<br> + Bedecked with every flower that Flora gave,—<br> + Sweet eglantine and meek anemone,<br> + Bright, nodding columbine and wood-star white,<br> + Blue violets, like her eyes, and pendant gems<br> + Of dielytra, topaz-tipped and gold,<br> + Fragrant arbutus, and hepatica,<br> + With thousands more. Her wreath, a coronet<br> + Of opening rose-buds twined with lady-fern;<br> + And over all, her bridal-veil of white,—<br> + Some soft diaph'nous cloudlet, that mistook<br> + Her robes of blue for heaven.—<br> + + And I +could dream<br> + That, from his lofty throne beholding,<br> + Great Sol, on wings of glowing eve, came down<br> + In gracious haste, to bless the nuptials.<br> + (<i>She pauses</i>.) And shall this land,<br> + That breathes of poesy from every sod,<br> + Indignant throb beneath the heavy foot<br> + Of jeering renegade? at best a son<br> + His mother blushes for—shall he, bold rebel<br> + Entwine its glories in defiant wreath<br> + Above his boastful brow, and flaunt it in<br> + Her face, rejoicing in her woe? No! No!<br> + This priceless gem shall ever deck her crown,<br> + And grace its setting with a ray more pure<br> + For that, nor flood, nor fire, can flaw its heart.<br> + Yes, Canada, thy sons, at least, maintain<br> + The ancient honour of their British blood,<br> + In that their loyalty contracts no stain<br> + From proffered gifts or gold.<br> + <a name="page041"><!-- Begin Page 41 --></a> But I must on. I may +not loiter, while<br> + So much depends on me.<br> + +<p>(<i>She rises to proceed, and at the first step a rattlesnake +rears up at her, hissing and springing its rattles. She recoils in +fear, but remembering the cowardly nature of the creatures, throws +sticks at it, and it glides swiftly away</i>.)</p> +<p> + Vile +reptile!<br> + Base as vile, and cowardly as base;<br> + A straight descendant thou of him, methinks,<br> + Man's ancient foe, or else his paraphrase.<br> + Is there no Eden that thou enviest not?<br> + No purity thou would'st not smirch with gall?<br> + No rest thou would'st not break with agony?<br> + Aye, Eve, our mother-tongue avenges thee,<br> + For there is nothing mean, or base, or vile,<br> + That is not comprehended in the name<br> + Of SNAKE!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> MRS. SECORD.</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4>SCENE 3—<i>A thick wood through which runs a forest path, +leading to a high beech ridge</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter</i> MRS. SECORD, <i>walking as quickly as the +underbrush will allow</i>.</center> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. How quiet are the woods!<br> + The choir of birds that daily ushers in<br> + The rosy dawn with bursts of melody,<br> + And swells the joyful train that waits upon<br> + The footsteps of the sun, is silent now,<br> + Dismissed to greenwood bowers. Save happy cheep<br> + Of callow nestling, that closer snugs beneath<br> + The soft and sheltering wing of doting love,—Like<br> + croon of sleeping babe on mother's breast—No<br> + sound is heard, but, peaceful, all enjoy<br> + Their sweet siesta on the waving bough,<br> + Fearless of ruthless wind, or gliding snake.<br> + So peaceful lies Fitzgibbon at his post,<br> + <a name="page042"><!-- Begin Page 42 --></a> Nor dreams of harm. +Meanwhile the foe<br> + Glides from his hole, and threads the darkling route,<br> + In hope to coil and crush him.<br> + Ah, little recks he that a woman holds<br> + The power to draw his fangs!<br> + And yet some harm must come, some blood must flow,<br> + In spite of all my poor endeavour.<br> + O War, how much I hate thy wizard arts,<br> + That, with the clash and din of brass and steel,<br> + O'erpowers the voice of pleading reason;<br> + And with thy lurid light, in monstrous rays<br> + Enfolds the symmetry of human love,<br> + Making a brother seem a phantom or a ghoul!<br> + Before thy deadly scowl kind peace retires,<br> + And seeks the upper skies.<br> + O, cruel are the hearts that cry "War!" "War!"<br> + As if War were an angel, not a fiend;<br> + His gilded chariot, a triumphal car,<br> + And not a Juggernauth whose wheels drop gore;<br> + His offerings, flowers and fruit, and chaplets gay,<br> + And not shrieks, tears, and groans of babes and women.<br> + And yet hath War, like Juggernauth, a hold,<br> + A fascination, for humanity,<br> + That makes his vot'ries martyrs for his sake.<br> + Even I, poor weakling, march in keeping-time<br> + To that grand music that I heard to-day,<br> + Though children played it, and I darkly feel<br> + Its burden is resistance physical.<br> + 'Tis strange that simple tones should move one so!<br> + What is it, what, this sound, this air, this breath<br> + The wind can blow away,<br> + Nor most intricate fetters can enchain?<br> + What component of being doth it touch<br> + That it can raise the soul to ecstasy,<br> + Or plunge it in the lowest depth of horror?<br> + Freeze the stopt blood, or send it flowing on<br> + In pleasant waves?<br> + <a name="page043"><!-- Begin Page 43 --></a> Can draw soft tears, +or concentrate them hard<br> + To form a base whereon the martyr stands<br> + To take his leap to Heaven?<br> + What is this sound that, in Niagara's roar<br> + Brings us to Sinai;<br> + Or in the infant's prayer to Him, "Our Father?"<br> + That by a small inflection wakes the world,<br> + And sends its squadroned armies on<br> + To victory or death;<br> + Or bids it, peaceful, rest, and grow, and build?<br> + That reassures the frighted babe; or starts<br> + The calm philosopher, without a word?<br> + That, in the song of little bird speaks glee;<br> + Or in a groan strikes mortal agony?<br> + That, in the wind, brings us to shipwreck, death.<br> + And dark despair;<br> + Or paints us blessed islands far from care or pain?<br> + Then what is sound?<br> + The chord it vibrates with its magic touch<br> + Is not a sense to man peculiar,<br> + An independent string formed by that breath<br> + That, breathed into the image corporate,<br> + Made man a living soul.<br> + No, for all animate nature owns<br> + Its sovereign power. Brutes, birds, fish, reptiles, all<br> + That breathe, are awed or won by means of sound.<br> + Therefore, it must be of the corporate, corporeal<br> + And, if so, <i>why then the body lives again</i>,<br> + Despite what sceptics say; for sound it is<br> + Will summon us before that final bar<br> + To give account of deeds done in the flesh.<br> + The spirit cannot thus be summoned,<br> + Since entity it hath not sound can strike.<br> + Let sceptics rave! I see no difficulty<br> + That He, who from primordial atoms formed<br> + A human frame, can from the dust awake it<br> + Once again, marshal the scattered molecules<br> + <a name="page044"><!-- Begin Page 44 --></a> And make immortal, as +was Adam.<br> + This body lives! Or else no deep delight<br> + Of quiring angels harping golden strings;<br> + No voice of Him who calls His children home;<br> + No glorious joining in the immortal song<br> + Could touch our being<br> + + But +how refined our state!<br> + How changed! Never to tire or grow distraught,<br> + Or wish for rest, or sleep, or quietude,<br> + But find in absence of these earthly needs<br> + A truer Heaven.<br> + + O +might I rest even now!<br> + These feet grow painful, and the shadows tell<br> + Of night and dark approaching, my goal<br> + An anxious distance off.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She gazes round</i>.</p> + + I'll +rest awhile,<br> + For yonder height will tax my waning strength,<br> + And many a brier all beautiful with bloom<br> + Hides many a thorn that will dispute my path<br> + Beneath those ancient beeches.<br> + +<p>(<i>She seats herself, and having removed her bonnet, partakes +of the refreshment brought from the mill. As she eats, a grieved +look comes upon her face, and she wipes away a tear</i>.)</p> +The sun leans towards the west: O darlings mine,<br> + E'en now, perchance, ye sit in order round<br> + The evening board, your father at the head,<br> + And Polly in my place making his tea,<br> + While he pretends to eat, and cheats himself.<br> + And thou, O husband, dearest, might I lay<br> + My, weary head as oft upon thy breast!—<br> + But no (<i>she rises</i>), I dare not think—there is +above<br> + A Love will guard me, and, O blessed thought,<br> + Thee, too, and they our darlings.<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>She proceeds towards the beech ridge, but is +stayed at the foot by a rapid-running stream</i>.</p> +Nor bridge, nor stone, nor log, how shall I cross?<br> + Yon o'erturned hemlock, whose wide-spreading root<br> + <a name="page045"><!-- Begin Page 45 --></a> Stands like a wattled +pier from which the bridge<br> + Springs all abrupt and strait, and hangs withal<br> + So high that hardihood itself looks blank—<br> + I scarce may tempt, worn as I am, and spent.<br> + And on the other bank, the great green head<br> + Presents a wilderness of tangled boughs<br> + By which would be a task, indeed, to reach<br> + The ground. Yet must I try. Poor hands, poor feet,<br> + This is rough work for you, and one small slip<br> + Would drop me in the stream, perchance to drown.<br> + Not drown! oh, no, my goal was set by Heaven.<br> + Come, rally all ye forces of the will,<br> + And aid me now! Yon height that looms above<br> + Is yet to gain before the sun gets low.<br> + +<p>(<i>She climbs the hemlock root and reaches the trunk, across +which she crawls on her hands and knees, and at last finds herself +some yards up the beech ridge. After arranging her torn and +dishevelled clothing she proceeds up the ridge, at the top of which +she encounters a British sentry, who challenges</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. Who goes there?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. A friend.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. What friend?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. To Canada and Britain.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. Your name and errand.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. My name is Secord—Captain Secord's +wife,<br> + Who fought at Queenston;—and my errand is<br> + To Beaver Dam to see Fitzgibbon,<br> + And warn him of a sortie from Fort George<br> + To move to-night. Five hundred men, with guns,<br> + And baggage-waggons for the spoil, are sent.<br> + For, with such force, the enemy is sure<br> + Our stores are theirs; and Stoney Creek avenged.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. Madam, how know you this?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I overheard<br> + Some Yankee soldiers, passing in and out<br> + With all a victor's license of our hearths,<br> + Talk of it yesternight, and in such wise<br> + No room for doubt remained. My husband wished<br> + <a name="page046"><!-- Begin Page 46 --></a> To bear the news +himself, but is disabled yet<br> + By those two wounds he got at Queenston Heights,<br> + And so the heavy task remained with me,<br> + Much to his grief.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. A heavy task indeed.<br> + How got you past their lines?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. By many wiles;<br> + Those various arts that times like these entail.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. And then how got you here?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I left my home<br> + At daybreak, and have walked through the deep woods<br> + The whole way since I left St. David's Mill.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. 'Tis past belief, did not your looks accord.<br> + And still you have a weary way to go,<br> + And through more woods. Could I but go with you,<br> + How gladly would I! Such deed as yours<br> + Deserves more thanks than I can give. Pass, friend,<br> + All's well.</p> +<p class="stage">[MRS. SECORD <i>passes the Sentry, who turns and +walks with her</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. There's naught to fear, I hope, but natural +foes,<br> + Lynxes or rattlesnakes, upon my way.</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. There are some Mohawks ambushed in the wood,<br> + But where I cannot quite point out; they choose<br> + Their ground themselves, but they are friends, though +rough,—<br> + Some of Kerr's band, Brant's son-in-law. You'll need<br> + To tell the chief your errand should you cross him.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Thanks: for I rather fear our red +allies.<br> + Is there a piquet?</p> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. No, not near me; our men are all too +few—<br> + A link goes to and fro 'twixt me and quarters,<br> + And is but just now left (<i>he turns sharp about)</i>.<br> + + My +limit this—<br> + Yonder your road (<i>he points to the woods)</i>.<br> + + God be +wi' you. Good-bye.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Good-bye, my friend.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> MRS. SECORD.</p> +<a name="page047"><!-- Begin Page 47 --></a> +<p><i>Sentry</i>. A bold, courageous deed!<br> + A very woman, too, tender and timid.<br> + That country's safe whose women serve her cause<br> + With love like this. And blessed, too, it is,<br> + In having such for wives and mothers.</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4 class="scene">SCENE 4.—<i>The forest, with the sun nearly +below the horizon, its rays illuminate the tops of the trees, while +all below is dark and gloomy. Bats are on the wing, the night-hawk +careers above the trees, fire-flies flit about, and the death-bird +calls</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter</i> MRS. SECORD, <i>showing signs of great +fatigue</i>.</center> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Gloomy, indeed, and weird, and oh, so +lone!<br> + In such a spot and hour the mind takes on<br> + Moody imaginings, the body shrinks as'twere,<br> + And all the being sinks into a sea<br> + Of deariness and doubt and death.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>The call of the death-bird is heard</i>.</p> +Thou little owl, that with despairing note<br> + Dost haunt these shades, art thou a spirit lost,<br> + Whose punishment it is to fright poor souls<br> + With fear of death?—if death is to be feared,<br> + And not a blank hereafter. The poor brave<br> + Who answers thee and hears no call respond,<br> + Trembles and pales, and wastes away and dies<br> + Within the year, thee making his fell arbiter.<br> + Poor Indian! Much I fear the very dread<br> + Engendered by the small neglectful bird,<br> + Brings on the fate thou look'st for.<br> + So fearless, yet so fearful, do we all,<br> + Savage and civil, ever prove ourselves;<br> + So strong, so weak, hurt by a transient sound,<br> + Yet bravely stalking up to meet the death<br> + We see.<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>A prolonged howl is heard in the +distance</i>.</p> +<a name="page048"><!-- Begin Page 48 --></a> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">The wolves! the dreadful wolves! +they've scented me.<br> + O whither shall I fly? no shelter near;<br> + No help. Alone! O God, alone!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She looks wildly round for a place to fly to. +Another howl is heard</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">O Father! not this death, if I must +die,<br> + My task undone, 'tis too, too horrible!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Another howl as of many wolves, but at a +distance; she bends to listen, her hand upon her heart</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">Be still, wild heart, nor fill my +list'ning ears<br> + With thy deep throbs.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>The howl of the wolves is again heard, but +faintly</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">Thank God, not me they seek!<br> + Some other scent allures the ghoulish horde.<br> + On, on, poor trembler! life for life it is,<br> + If I may warn Fitzgibbon.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She steps inadvertently into a little pool, +hastily stoops and drinks gladly</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">Oh blessed water! To my parched +tongue<br> + More precious than were each bright drop a gem<br> + From far Golconda's mine; how at thy touch<br> + The parting life comes back, and hope returns<br> + To cheer my drooping heart!</p> +<p>(<i>She trips and falls, and instantly the Indian war-whoop +resounds close at hand, and numbers of braves seem to spring from +the ground, one of whom approaches her as she rises with his +tomahawk raised</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Indian</i>. Woman! what woman want?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord (leaping forward and seizing his arm)</i>. O +chief, no spy am I, but friend to you<br> + And all who love King George and wear his badge.<br> + All through this day I've walked the lonely woods<br> + To do you service. I have news, great news,<br> + To tell the officer at Beaver Dam.<br> + This very night the Long Knives leave Fort George<br> + To take him by surprise, in numbers more<br> + <a name="page049"><!-- Begin Page 49 --></a> Than crows on +ripening corn. O help me on!<br> + I'm Laura Secord, Captain Secord's wife,<br> + Of Queenstown; and Tecumseh, your great chief,<br> + And Tekoriogea are our friends.</p> +<p><i>Chief</i>. White woman true and brave, I send with you<br> + Mishe-mo-qua, he know the way and sign,<br> + And bring you safe to mighty chief Fitzgibbon.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. O thanks, kind chief, and never shall your +braves<br> + Want aught that I can give them.</p> +<p><i>Chief (to another)</i>. Young chief, Mish-e-mo-qua, with +woman go,<br> + And give her into care of big white chief.<br> + She carry news. Dam Long-Knife come in dark<br> + To eat him up.</p> +<p><i>Mishe-mo-qua</i>. Ugh! rascal! dam!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exeunt</i> MISHE-MO-QUA <i>and</i> MRS. +SECORD.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page050"><!-- Begin Page 50 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>ACT III</h3> +<h4 class="scene">SCENE 1.—<i>Decau's house, a stone edifice +of some pretensions. The parlour, with folding doors which now +stand a little apart. A sentry is visible, on the other side of +them. The parlour windows are barricaded within, but are set open, +and a branch of a climbing rose with flowers upon it, swings in. +The sun is setting, and gilds the arms that are piled in one corner +of the room. A sword in its scabbard lies across the table, near +which, in an arm-chair, reclines</i> Lieutenant Fitzgibbon, <i>a +tall man of fine presence; in his right hand, which rests +negligently on the back of the chair, he holds a newspaper of four +pages, "The Times," from which he has been reading. Several elderly +weather-beaten non-commissioned officers and privates, belonging to +the 49th, 104th, and 8th regiments, together with a few militiamen +and two cadets share the society of their superior officer, and all +are very much at their ease both in appointments and manner, belts +and stocks are unloosed, and some of the men are smoking</i>.</h4> +<p><i>Lieut. Fitzgibbon</i>. 'Tis true, it seems, and yet most +horrible;<br> + More than five hundred thousand fighting men<br> + Crossed with him o'er the front, and not a tenth<br> + Remains. Rather than let him find a place<br> + For winter quarters, two hundred thousand<br> + Happy families had to forsake their homes<br> + In dead of winter, and of the ancient seat<br> + Of Russian splendour, Rotopschin made a pyre,<br> + A blazing pyre of all its precious things:<br> + Moscow is burned.</p> +<p><i>First Sergeant</i>. So Boney could but toast his freezing +toes<br> + And march back home again: Fine glory that!</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Sad waste of precious lives for one man's +will.<br> + But this mishap will seal his fate. The Czar<br> + Will see his interest is a strong alliance,<br> + And all the Powers will prove too great a match,<br> + Even for Buonaparte.</p> +<p><i>Second Sergeant</i>. Where is he now, Lieutenant?</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. In Paris, plotting again, I see; or was<br> + Nine weeks ago.</p> +<p><i>First Private</i>. Yon news coom quick.<br> + <a name="page051"><!-- Begin Page 51 --></a> Now when I were a +bairn, that's forty year sin',<br> + We heard i' York 'at Merriky refused<br> + To pay the taxes, just three munth's arter;<br> + An' that wur bonnie toime, fur then t'coaäch<br> + Tuk but foive daäies ti mak' t' hull waai' doon,<br> + Two hunner moile, fra Lunnon.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon (still scanning the newspaper)</i>.<br> + Well, Jimmy, here's a man, one Bell,<br> + Of Greenock, can send a boat by steam<br> + Against the wind and tide, and talks with hope<br> + Of making speed equal to both.<br> + He's tried it on the Clyde, so we may look<br> + For news from England in a month, ere long.</p> +<p><i>First Private</i>. Na, na, sir; noo doant 'e pooak fun at +me!<br> + Iver he doos ma' I go hang. Why neist<br> + They scatterbrain 'ull mayhap send a shep<br> + Jest whear tha' loike wi'oot a win' at all.<br> + Or promise till 't. 'Twere pity Nelson, noo,<br> + He'd noan o' sech at Copenháagen<br> + Mebbe tha' cu'd ha' gott tha' grunded sheps<br> + Afloat, an gett moor men to fe'ht them Dáans.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. The fewer men the greater glory, Jim.<br> + Why, man, he got his title by that fight.</p> +<p><i>Second Sergeant</i>. And well deserved it! A finer man<br> + Never trod deck, sailor or officer;<br> + His voice gave courage, as his eye flashed fire.<br> + We would have died for him, and he for us;<br> + And when the fight was done he got our rights,<br> + Or tried at it. More than old Parker did.</p> +<p><i>First Sergeant</i>. Parker was rich, and so forgot the +poor,<br> + But Nelson forgot none.</p> +<p><i>Second Private</i>. He was cliver, too. Dash't! how I +laughed,<br> + All i' my sleeve o' course. The fight was hot,<br> + And getting hotter, for, gad, them Danes can fight!<br> + And quite a quarter o' the ships was stuck,<br> + The Admiral's among 'em. So Nelson held<br> + The squadron at command. Up comes the word,<br> + <a name="page052"><!-- Begin Page 52 --></a> "The signal +Thirty-nine is out, sir." Nelson turns,<br> + His stump a-goin' as his arm was used<br> + Afore he lost it, meets the officer, as says,<br> + "Sir, Thirty-nine is out, shall I repeat it?"<br> + "No, sir; acknowledge it." Then on he goes.<br> + Presently he calls out, "What's flying now?"<br> + "The same, sir." So he takes his glass<br> + And puts it to his eye, his blind eye, mind you,<br> + An' says he, "No signal can I see. No,<br> + Ne'er a one." Winking to Ferguson, says he,<br> + "I've but one eye, and may be blind sometimes.<br> + What! strike off now and lose the day? Not so:<br> + My signal keep for 'Closer battle,' flying.<br> + That's how I'll answer. Confound the signal!<br> + Nail mine to the mast." He won.</p> +<p><i>First Militiaman</i>. Just touch and go for hanging, +that.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Success ne'er saw a scaffold, Jeremy.</p> +<p><i>A Cadet</i>. Fine-looking fellow Nelson-was, I guess?</p> +<p><i>First Sergeant</i>. To look at? No, a little, thin, pale +man<br> + With a long queue, one arm, and but one eye,<br> + But that a blazer!</p> +<p><i>Second Militiaman</i>. These little uns has lots o' +spunk:<br> + Boney's a little un, I've heerd.</p> +<p><i>First Private</i>. Just so: and Wellington ain't big.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon (rising and drawing himself to his full +height)</i>.<br> + Come, boys, you're getting personal. See me!<br> + If none but little men may win renown,<br> + I hope I'm two in one, for your sakes.<br> + And you forget the lion-hearted Brock.</p> +<p><i>All</i> (<i>interrupting him</i>). No! no! no!</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. A man of height exceeding any here,<br> + And yet whose alt of metred inches<br> + Nobly enlarged to full, fair, Saxon mould,<br> + And vested in the blazonments of rule,<br> + Shewed not so kingly to the obeisant sight<br> + As was his soul. Who than ye better knew<br> + His bravery; his lofty heroism;<br> + <a name="page053"><!-- Begin Page 53 --></a> His purity, and great +unselfish heart?<br> + Nature in him betrayed no niggard touch<br> + Of corporate or ethereal. Yet I yield<br> + That men of lesser mould in outward form<br> + Have been as great in deeds of rich renown.<br> + But then, I take it, greatness lies not in<br> + The flesh, but in the spirit. He is great<br> + Who from the quick occasion of the time<br> + Strikes out a name. And he is also great<br> + Who, in a life-long struggle, throws the foe,<br> + And binds on hoary locks the laurel crown.<br> + Each is a high exemplar.<br> + One with concentrate vigour strikes a blow<br> + That rings around the world; the other draws<br> + The world round him—his mighty throes<br> + And well-contested standpoints win its praise<br> + And force its verdict, though bleak indifference—<br> + A laggard umpire—long neglect his post,<br> + And often leaves the wrestler's best unnoted,<br> + Coming but just in time to mark his thews<br> + And training, and so decides: while the loud shock<br> + Of unexpected prowess starts him aghast,<br> + And from his careless hand snatches the proud award.<br> + But mark me, men, he who is ever great<br> + Has greatness made his aim—<br> + The sudden blow or long-protracted strife<br> + Yields not its secret to the untrained hand.<br> + True, one may cast his statue at a heat,<br> + But yet the mould was there;<br> + And he who chips the marble, bit by bit,<br> + Into a noble form, sees all the while<br> + His image in the block.<br> + There are who make a phantom of their aim—<br> + See it now here, now there, in this, in that,<br> + But never in the line of simple duty;<br> + Such will accomplish nothing but their shame:<br> + For greatness never leaves that thin, straight mark;<br> + <a name="page054"><!-- Begin Page 54 --></a> And, just as the +pursuit diverges from it,<br> + Greatness evanishes, and notoriety<br> + Misleads the suitor. I'd have you think of this.</p> +<p><i>All</i>. Aye, aye, sir.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Order the lights, for darkness falls +apace,<br> + And I must write.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> First Private.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon (cutting the newspaper and handing the halves to +the sergeants)</i>. There, read to the rest, and let me have them +back when done with.</p> +<center><i>Enter a</i> Soldier <i>with lights</i>.</center> +<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>A voice is heard in the next room, beginning +to sing</i>.</p> +Who's that?<br> + +<p><i>First Private</i>. It's Roaring Bill, sir; shall I stop +him?</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. No; let him sing.<br> + It cheers our loneliness, and does us good.</p> +<p><i>First Sergeant</i>. Another of his own, I guess; homespun<br> + And rough, like country cloth.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Hush! what is that he says?</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>A</i> Cadet <i>gently pushes one of the +folding doors a little wider open</i>.</p> +<p><i>Roaring Bill</i>. 'Tis but a doleful ditty, boys,<br> + With ne'er a chorus; yet I'll be bound<br> + You'll hardly quarrel with it.</p> +<p><i>A Comrade</i>. Let's have it, Bill; we ain't red Injuns,<br> + As likes palaver.</p> +<p><i>Roaring Bill</i>—</p> +<center>SONG.</center> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>October blasts had strown the wreaths that erstwhile hung so +gay,<br> + Above the brows of Queenston Heights where we impatient lay;<br> + Niagara fretted at our feet, as chafing at his post,<br> + And impotence to turn the fleets that bore the aggressive +host.<br> +<br> + And gray the dawn and cold the morn of Rensselaer's attack,<br> + But warm and true the hearts, though few, that leapt to beat him +back.<br> + "On, Forth-ninth! On, volunteers! Give tongue, ye batteries +twain!"<br> + Bold Dennis spake: the guns boomed forth, and down he rushed +amain.<br> + <a name="page055"><!-- Begin Page 55 --></a><br> + They sink! They fly! They drop down stream.—Ah, too delusive +sight!<br> + A long-abandoned path they find, and gain the wooded height.<br> + The batteries now must guard the shore—above, our struggle +lies;<br> + But down they pour, like surging flood, that skill and strength +defies.<br> +<br> + Down, down, they press us, inch by inch, beyond the village +bound,<br> + And there, o'erwhelmed, but not o'ercome, we keep our sullen +ground.<br> + Short time we stand. A ringing cheer proclaims our hero nigh;<br> + Our darling leader, noble Brock—hark to his gallant cry!<br> +<br> + "Follow me, boys!" the hero cries. We double to the +wall—<br> + Waving his gleaming sword on high, he climbs, and follow all;<br> + Impetuous up the mountain side he strides in warlike glee,<br> + All heedless of the leaden hail that whistles from each tree:<br> +<br> + For on and up proud Victory lures—we touch her laurel +crown—<br> + When by malign, deliberate aim the hero's stricken down.<br> + He falls! We fire, but ah, too late—the murderous work is +done.<br> + No more that voice shall cheer us on, with "Vict'ry!" in its +tone.<br> +<br> + He falls: nor word nor look may cheer young Jarvis' anxious +quest;<br> + Among his stricken men he sinks, his hand but seeks his +breast.<br> + O, Death, could none but him suffice thy cold, insatiate eye?<br> + Nor knewed'st thou how many there for him would gladly die!<br> +<br> + Nor lonely speeds the parting soul, nor lonely stands the +bier—<br> + Two forms the bastion-tomb enfolds, two claim the soldier's +tear.<br> + "Avenge the General!" was the cry. "AVENGE!" McDonell cries,<br> + And, leading madly up the Height, McDonell falls and +dies.<br></td></tr></table> +<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>Several of the men pass their hands over their +eyes;</i> MR. JARVIS <i>goes to the open window, as if to observe +something without</i>.</p> +<p><i>An 8th man</i>. A mournful ditty to a mournful tune,<br> + Yet not unworthy of the heroic theme,<br> + Nor of a soldier's heart.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Jarvis (in a low voice)</i>. Indeed, you're right.<br> + I thank the singer for his memories,<br> + Though sad to me, who caught Brock's latest breath.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. I did not think there had been such a +stroke<br> + Of genius in the lad. (<i>Another voice</i>.) But who's this, +now?</p> +<p><i>Second Cadet</i>. It's young Jack Kelley, sir; he has a +voice,<br> + And emulates old Bill.</p> +<p><i>Jack Kelley</i> (<i>with the airs of an amateur</i>.) Ugh! +ugh! I'm hoarse.<br> + <a name="page056"><!-- Begin Page 56 --></a> Now mind the +coal-box, byes, and sing it up.<br> + "The Jolly Midshipman's" the tune.</p> +<center>SONG.</center> +<br> + +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> +<center>I.</center> +<br> + It was a bold Canadian boy<br> + That loved a winsome girl;<br> + And he was bold as ancient knight,<br> + She, fair as day's own pearl.<br> + And to the greenwood they must go,<br> + To build a home and name,<br> + So he clasped hands with Industry,<br> + For fortune, wealth and fame.<br></td></tr></table> +<br> + +<center>CHORUS<br> + (<i>In which all join, the leader beating time upon his knees with +his fists</i>.)</center> +<br> + +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> For fortune, wealth and fame,<br> + For fortune, wealth and fame;<br> + So he clasped hands with Industry,<br> + For fortune, wealth and fame.<br> +<br> + +<center>II.</center> +<br> + And when the jocund Spring came in,<br> + He crowned the wedded pair.<br> + And sent them forth with hearts elate<br> + Their wildwood home to share.<br> + For he had built a snug log-house,<br> + Beneath a maple tree;<br> + And his axe had cleared a wide domain,<br> + While store of goods spun she.<br> +<br> + +<center>CHORUS.</center> +<br> + While store of goods spun she,<br> + While store of goods spun she,<br> + And his axe had cleared a wide domain,<br> + While store of goods spun she.<br> +<br> + +<center>III.</center> +<br> + The husband whistles at his plough,<br> + The wife sings at her wheel,<br> + The children wind the shrilly horn<br> + That tells the ready meal.<br> + And should you roam the wide world o'er,<br> + No happier home you'll see,<br> + Than this abode of loving toil<br> + Beneath the maple tree.<br> + <a name="page057"><!-- Begin Page 57 --></a><br> + +<center>CHORUS.</center> +<br> + Beneath the maple tree,<br> + Beneath the maple tree,<br> + Than this abode of loving toil<br> + Beneath the maple tree.<br></td></tr></table> +<p><i>A 49th man</i>. Hurrah, Jack! that's a good tune,<br> + Let's have the chorus again.</p> +<p><i>All</i>—</p> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> Beneath the maple tree,<br> + Beneath the maple tree,<br> + Than this abode of lov—<br></td></tr></table> +<p class="stage">[<i>The</i> Sentry <i>challenges, and a</i> +Corporal <i>enters and salutes</i> FITZGIBBON.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Well, Corporal.</p> +<p><i>Corporal</i>. Sir, here is Mishe-mo-qua and a woman.<br> + They say they've news, and wish to speak with you.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Then, Corporal, show them in.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> Corporal.</p> +<br> + +<center><i>Enter</i> MRS. SECORD <i>and the</i> Indian Chief, +<i>who salutes</i> LIEUT. FITZGIBBON.</center> +<p><i>Several Militiamen</i> (<i>in surprise, aside to each +other</i>.) 'Tis Mrs. Secord, Captain Secord's wife;<br> + What can her errand be? So tired, too,<br> + + And in +rags.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i> (<i>courtesying)</i>. You are the Captain, +sir?</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. At your service.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I bring you news of great importance, +sir.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. I am indebted, madam, for what I see<br> + Has been no common task. Be seated, pray.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>A Cadet places a chair</i>.</p> +<br> + Chief, will you also rest? +<p class="stage">[<i>He indicates a couch</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mishe-mo-qua</i>. No. Woman, she<br> + Come far, to tell white chief great words.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. I thank her much.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I came to say that General Dearborn +tires.<br> + Of his inaction, and the narrow space<br> + Around his works, he therefore purposes<br> + <a name="page058"><!-- Begin Page 58 --></a> To fall upon your +outpost here, to-night,<br> + With an o'erwhelming force, and take your stores:</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Madam!</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Five hundred men, with some dragoons and +guns,<br> + Start e'en to-night, soon as the moon goes down;<br> + Lieutenant-Colonel Boerstler in command.<br> + A train of waggons, too, is sent for spoil.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. And may I ask on what authority<br> + To trust such startling news? I know you not.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. My name is Secord, I'm Captain Secord's +wife,<br> + Who fought at Queenston Heights, and there received<br> + The wounds that leave him now a helpless cripple.<br> + Some here may know him.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. I remember now.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. We live within the Yankee lines, and +hence<br> + By victor's right our home is free to them.<br> + Last night a sergeant and his new-changed guard<br> + Came in and asked for supper; a boy and girl<br> + I left to wait on them, seeing the table set<br> + With all supplies myself, and then retired.<br> + But such their confidence; their talk so loud<br> + And free, I could not help but hear some words<br> + That raised suspicion; then I listened close<br> + And heard, 'mid gibe and jest, the enterprise<br> + That was to flout us; make the Loyalist<br> + A cringing slave to sneering rebels; make<br> + The British lion gnash his teeth with rage;—<br> + The Yankee, hand-on-hip, guffawing loud<br> + The while. At once, my British blood was up,<br> + Nor had I borne their hated presence more,<br> + But for the deeper cause. My husband judged<br> + As I did, but his helpless frame forbade<br> + His active interference, so I came,<br> + For well we knew your risk, warning denied.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Alone? You surely did not come alone?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Sir, I have walked the whole way through the +woods,<br> + <a name="page059"><!-- Begin Page 59 --></a> For fear of spies, +braving all other foes.<br> + Nor, since at early morn I left St. David's Mill,<br> + Until I met your sentry on the ridge,—<br> + Who begged me tell you so, and said "all's well,"—<br> + Spoke I, or saw, a soul. Since then, the chief,<br> + Whose senior sent him with me for a guide,<br> + Has been my kind protector to your post.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon (to the chief</i>). I thank you, Mishe-mo-qua, and +your chief.</p> +<p>(<i>To Mrs. Secord, bowing</i>.) But you, oh; madam, how shall I +thank you?<br> + You have, indeed, performed a woman's part,<br> + A gentle deed; yet at expense of more<br> + Than woman's fitting means. I am not schooled<br> + In courtly phrases, yet may I undertake<br> + To thank you heartily, not on our part<br> + Alone, but in our good King George's name,<br> + For act so kind achieved. Knew he your care<br> + For his brave men—I speak for those around—<br> + Of whom some fought for him at Copenhagen,<br> + He would convey his thanks, and the Queen's, too—<br> + Who loves all nobleness—in better terms<br> + Than I, his humble servant. Affliction<br> + Leaves him in our hands to do him justice;<br> + And justice 'tis, alike to him and you,<br> + To thank you in his name, and in the Regent's.</p> +<p><i>The Soldiers</i>. Hurray! hurray! hurray!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>They toss up their caps</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Sir, you make quite too much of my poor +service,<br> + I have but done my duty; and I beg<br> + Let me not interrupt your movements now:<br> + I would not be an obstacle across<br> + The path I made.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. You add an obligation, madam.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>At a signal the men from the next room file +in</i>.</p> +<a name="page060"><!-- Begin Page 60 --></a> +<p>(<i>To the men</i>.) We've hot work coming, boys. Our good +friend here<br> + Has walked from Queenston, through the woods, this day,<br> + To warn me that a sortie from Fort George<br> + Is sent to take this post, and starts e'en now.<br> + You, Cummings, mount—you know the way—and ride<br> + With all your might, to tell De Haren this;<br> + He lies at Twelve-Mile Creek with larger force<br> + Than mine, and will move up to my support:<br> + He'll see my handful cannot keep at bay<br> + Five hundred men, or fight in open field.<br> + But what strength can't accomplish cunning must—<br> + I'll have to circumvent them.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> CUMMINGS.</p> +<p>(<i>To Mishe-mo-qua</i>.) And you, chief,<br> + What will you do? You've stood by me so long,<br> + So faithfully, I count upon you now.</p> +<p><i>Mishe-mo-qua</i>. White chief say true: we good King George's +men.<br> + My warriors yell! hide! shoot! hot bullet fly<br> + Like dart of Annee-meekee.<br> + We keep dam Long-Knife back. I go just now.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon (handing the chief a twist of tobacco, which he +puts into his girdle with a grunt of satisfaction)</i>. A Mohawk is +my friend, and you are one.</p> +<p class="stage">[FITZGIBBON <i>shakes hands with the</i> Chief, +<i>who retires well pleased</i>.</p> +<p>(<i>To Mrs. Secord</i>.) Madam, how may I serve you to +secure<br> + Your safety? Refreshment comes; but here<br> + Is no protection in our present strait.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I thank you, sir, but will not tax you +more<br> + Than some refreshment. I have friends beyond<br> + A mile or two, with whom I'll stay to-night.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. I'll spare an escort; Mr. Jarvis here +will—</p> +<p class="stage">[MRS. SECORD <i>faints</i>.</p> +<br> + Poor soul! poor soul! she is exhaust indeed. +<p>(<i>The men run out and bring water</i>, Fitzgibbon <i>gets +brandy from a buffet, and</i> Mr. Jarvis <i>unloosens her bonnet +and collar. They bathe her hands with <a name="page061"> +<!-- Begin Page 61 --></a> the spirit and sprinkle her face with +the water, and at last</i> MRS. SECORD <i>sighs heavily</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. She's coming to. Back, men; give her more +air.</p> +<p>(MR. JARVIS <i>and another</i> Cadet <i>support</i> MRS. SECORD, +<i>while</i> LIEUT. FITZGIBBON <i>offers her coffee, into which he +has poured a little brandy, feeding her with the spoon</i>.)</p> +<p><i>An 8th man (aside</i>). She'll never walk to reach her +friends to-night.</p> +<p><i>A 49th man (to a comrade</i>). Jack, thou an' me can do't. +'Tyent the fust time<br> + We've swung a faintin' comrade 'twixt us two;<br> + An' her's just like a babby. Fatch a pole<br> + An' blanket, an' we'll carry her.</p> +<p><i>A Sergeant</i>. You'll then be in the rear, for we're to +move.</p> +<p><i>Second 49th man</i>. We'll catch ye oop a foight'n'; its +summat wuth<br> + To await o' sech as she.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon (to Mrs. Secord</i>). Are you better now?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord (trying to stand</i>). I think I am. Oh, sir, I'm +losing you<br> + The time I tried to save! Pray leave me—<br> + I shall be better soon, and I can find my way.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Nay, be not anxious; we are quite +prepared.<br> + Sheathed though our claws may be, they're always sharp.<br> + Pray drink again, nor fear the potent touch<br> + That snatches back the life when the spent heart,<br> + Oppressed by cruel tasks, as yours, can scarcely beat.</p> +<p class="stage">[MRS. SECORD <i>drinks the coffee, and again +rises, but can scarcely stand</i>.</p> +<p><i>49th man (saluting</i>). Sir, me an' Bill has here a hammock +ready,<br> + An' volunteers to see the lady safe.<br> + Among her friends.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. But I can walk.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Madam, you cannot. Let these carry you;<br> + <a name="page062"><!-- Begin Page 62 --></a> An honour I do grudge +them. I shall move<br> + With better heart knowing you cared for.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. I'll go at once—</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Men, bring your hammock hither.</p> +<p>(<i>The hammock is brought, and</i> MRS. SECORD <i>is assisted +into it by</i> LIEUT. FITZGIBBON, <i>who wraps a blanket round her. +The men fall into line, and salute as she passes. At the door she +offers her hand to</i> FITZGIBBON.)</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. Farewell, sir. My best thanks for all your +goodness,<br> + Your hospitality, and this, your escort;<br> + You do me too much honour.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Should we not<br> + Show our respect for one has done so much<br> + For us? We are your debtors, madam.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>He points to the sky, set thick with brilliant +stars, the moon having already set</i>.</p> +<br> + See how the eyes of heaven look down on you,<br> + And smile, in gentle approbation<br> + Of a most gentle deed. I pray they light<br> + You safely to your friends.<br> + +<p><i>Mrs. Secord</i>. And you to victory, sir. Farewell.</p> +<p class="stage">[FITZGIBBON <i>bows</i>.<br> +<br> + [<i>Exeunt</i> MRS. SECORD <i>and her escort</i>.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon (to the men who have crowded round the door, and +are awaiting orders</i>). Men, never forget this woman's noble +deed.<br> + Armed, and in company, inspirited<br> + By crash of martial music, soldiers march<br> + To duty; but she, alone, defenceless,<br> + With no support but kind humanity<br> + And burning patriotism, ran all our risks<br> + Of hurt, and bloody death, to serve us men,<br> + Strangers to her save by quick war-time ties.<br> + Therefore, in grateful memory and kind return,<br> + Ever treat women well.</p> +<p><i>Men</i>. Aye, aye, sir.</p> +<a name="page063"><!-- Begin Page 63 --></a> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Now, then, for action. I need not say,<br> + Men, do your duty. The hearts that sprung<br> + To follow Nelson; Brock; have never failed.<br> + I'm proud, my men, to be your leader now.</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4>SCENE 2.—<i>Morning twilight. A little wayside tavern at +a cross-road</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter</i> FITZGIBBON, <i>reconnoitring</i>.</center> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. They must be pretty near by this time,<br> + If they are come at all.</p> +<p>(<i>Two American soldiers of the advanced guard rush out of the +tavern and present their rifles</i>. FITZGIBBON <i>springs on them, +and, seizing each man's weapon, crosses them in front of +himself</i>.)</p> +Not yet, my friends.<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>They struggle, and one of the Americans +draws</i> FITZGIBBON'S <i>sword and is about to plunge it in his +shoulder</i>.</p> +<center><i>Enter a woman, the</i> tavern-keeper.</center> +<p><i>Woman</i>. Ye Yankee rogue! ye coward!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She snatches the sword, and runs into the +tavern with it</i>.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Take that! and that!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>He trips up one man, and knocks the other +down, putting his foot on the man's breast</i>.</p> +<br> + Now, give me up your arms.<br> + +<p class="stage">[<i>They give up their arms</i>.</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> FITZGIBBON'S <i>command</i>.</center> +<br> + Here, Sergeant, march them in and set a guard. +<p class="stage">[<i>They are marched into the tavern. Shots are +heard</i>.</p> +<p><i>Fitsgibbon</i>. They're come! Quick—march, my lads.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page064"><!-- Begin Page 64 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h4>SCENE 3.—<i>The beech ridge. Frequent firing. The Indian +war-whoop. Bugles sounding the advance</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter</i> LIEUT. FITZGIBBON <i>and</i> COL. THOMAS +CLARKE.</center> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. The Mohawks have done well; and I am glad<br> + To have your help, sir, too. What is your strength?</p> +<p><i>Clarke</i>. But twenty, sir, all told.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. And I but thirty. Too few to fight such +force<br> + In open field. But Boerstler's lost his head:<br> + Deluded by our calls, your fierce attack,<br> + And Indian fighting—which to them has ghosts<br> + Of their own raising—scalps, treachery, what not.<br> + There is our chance: I mean to summon him<br> + To a surrender.</p> +<p><i>Clarke (in great surprise)</i>. Sir!</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. 'Tis a bold stroke, I grant, and if it +fail<br> + Why then I'll fight it out. Keep up the scare<br> + Some moments longer, and we'll see.</p> +<p><i>Clarke</i>. Good luck betide so brave a word;<br> + I'll do my best.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> COL. CLARKE.</p> +<center><i>Enter the American force in some confusion</i>.</center> +<p>(FITZGIBBON <i>sends forward a flag of truce; the bugles sound +"Cease firing;" an officer advances from the American lines and</i> +FITZGIBBON <i>goes forward to meet him</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Sir, with my compliments to your +commander,<br> + I am the leader of this large detachment,<br> + Backed closely up by reinforcements<br> + Larger still. Indians, our good allies,<br> + Swarm in the woods around; and in your rear<br> + A strong militia force awaits my orders:<br> + Therefore, sir, to save a useless loss<br> + Of brave men's lives, I offer you fair terms<br> + Of full surrender.</p> +<p><i>American officer</i>. I will report, sir,<br> + To Colonel Boerstler.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i>.</p> +<a name="page065"><!-- Begin Page 65 --></a> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i> (<i>aside)</i>. And I will pray.<br> + For after all in God's hand lies the day:<br> + I've done the best I know.</p> +<center><i>Enter the American officer and an orderly</i>.</center> +<p><i>American officer</i>. Sir, with respect, our colonel bids me +say<br> + That, seeing fate and fortune both unite<br> + To mar success, he'll rather save his men<br> + By fair surrender, than waste their lives<br> + In useless struggle. He commissions me<br> + To act in drawing up the terms.<br> + I am McDowell, captain of a troop.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon (bowing)</i>. Your humble servant, sir. We'll try +to please<br> + Your colonel; rejoicing we have met a foe<br> + Who knows the bravery of discretion.</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> COL. CLARKE, CAPT. KERR, <i>of the Indian +contingent, and</i> MISHE-MO-QUA.</center> +<p>(<i>The British officers consult, and then invite</i> CAPT. +MCDOWELL<i>to join them. A drum is brought, Major De Haren produces +writing materials; and terms of capitulation are drawn up, which +are read to</i> CAPT. MCDOWELL.)</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Our terms we make as light as possible:<br> + I hope you'll find them so, sir.</p> +<p><i>Capt. McDowell</i> (<i>after reading</i>). Terms generous and +honourable sir;<br> + I thank you. A noble foe is always half a friend.<br> + I'll carry them to Colonel Boerstler,<br> + With your consent.</p> +<p class="stage">[FITZGIBBON <i>bows</i>.<br> + [<i>Exit</i> CAPT. MCDOWELL.</p> +<br> + +<center><i>Enter</i> MAJOR DE HAREN, <i>who hastens to greet</i> +LIEUT. FITZGIBBON.</center> +<p><i>Major De Haren</i>. Why, what is this, Fitzgibbon, that I +hear?<br> + That with your little handful you have caught<br> + Five hundred enemy? A very elephant!</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. A strait like mine required some +strategy.</p> +<p><i>De Haren</i>. My dear, brave fellow, you have surely won<br> + The golden epaulettes! How glad I am<br> + <a name="page066"><!-- Begin Page 66 --></a> I was not here +before. Such tact! such skill!<br> + You are a soldier born. But who comes hither?</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> COL. BOERSTLER, CAPT. MCDOWELL <i>and other +American officers</i>.</center> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. These are the officers to sign our terms.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>The officers on both sides salute</i>.</p> +<p><i>Boerstler</i> (<i>to Fitzgibbon</i>). I thank you, sir, for +honourable terms,<br> + For vain it was to cope with force like yours.<br> + But ne'er I thought to put my hand to such<br> + A document.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>He takes up the pen</i>.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Fortune of war, sir, that we all may +meet.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Each officer signs the document in his +order</i>; MISHE-MO-QUA <i>draws his totem—a bear—as +his signature</i>.</p> +<p><i>De Haren</i> (<i>to Col. Boerstler</i>). Will you proceed on +the third article?</p> +<p><i>Boerstler</i> (<i>to Capt. McDowell</i>). Give you the +order.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> CAPT. MCDOWELL.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i> (<i>to his men, who are drawn up across the +road— De Haren's command forming their right and left +wings</i>). Forward—ten paces.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Enter by companies the American force, who lay +down their arms in front of the British officers and defile to the +rear</i>.</p> +<p><i>De Haren</i> (<i>to Fitzgibbon</i>). A glorious day for you, +Fitzgibbon;<br> + For this fair Canada, and British arms.</p> +<p><i>Fitzgibbon</i>. Yes, thanks to a brave woman's glorious +deed.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exeunt</i>.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page067"><!-- Begin Page 67 --></a> <a name="page068"> +<!-- Begin Page 68 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h2>POEMS</h2> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <a name="page069"><!-- Begin Page 69 --></a> +<h3><a name="ballad">A BALLAD OF 1812.</a></h3> +<hr> +<br> + +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Now hush the martial trumpet's blare,<br> + And tune the softer lyre;<br> + Nor shrink lest gentler tones should lack<br> + The high, heroic fire:<br> +<br> + For many a valiant deed is done,<br> + And great achievement wrought,<br> + Whose inspiration knows no source<br> + Save pure and holy thought.<br> +<br> + Nor think some lofty pedestal,<br> + Proud-lifted towards the skies,<br> + The only plane where Worth can wrest<br> + From Fame her highest prize:<br> +<br> + For many a nameless nook and lone,<br> + And many a tongueless hour,<br> + Sees deeds performed whose glories shame<br> + The pride of pomp and power.<br> +<br> + Nor dream that to a noble deed<br> + It needs a noble name;<br> + Or that to mighty act achieved<br> + Must link a stalwart frame:<br> +<br> + For strung by Duty's steady hand,<br> + And thrilled by Love's warm touch,<br> + Slight forms and simple names may serve<br> + At need, to avail for much.<br> +<br> + <a name="page070"><!-- Begin Page 70 --></a> Then lay the blaring +trumpet by,<br> + And tune the softer lyre<br> + To songs of Woman's chivalry,<br> + Of Woman's patriot fire.<br> +<br> +<br> + +<center>I.</center> +<br> + O heard ye not of Queenston Heights,—<br> + Of Brock who fighting fell,—<br> + And of the Forty-ninth and York,<br> + Who 'venged their hero well?—<br> +<br> + And of the gallant stand they made—<br> + What prowess kept at bay<br> + The swelling foe, till Sheaffe appeared,<br> + And won the glorious day!<br> +<br> + Yet heard ye how—ban of success—<br> + Irresolution ruled,<br> + Till all our green peninsula<br> + And border-land, were schooled<br> +<br> + To bear, nathless all frowningly,<br> + The yoke of alien power,<br> + And wait in patience, as they might,<br> + The dawn of happier hour.<br> +<br> + Till Forty-mile, and Stony Creek,<br> + Revived our waning hopes,<br> + And round Fort-George a limit held<br> + The Yankees as with ropes.<br> +<br> + Yet, as do cordons oft enclose<br> + The unwilling with the fain,<br> + Our people, by forced parole held,<br> + Could naught but own the rein.<br> +<br> + Then heard ye how a little post.<br> + Some twenty miles away,<br> + A check upon proud Dearborn's hopes,<br> + Was fixed upon for prey?<br> +<br> + <a name="page071"><!-- Begin Page 71 --></a> And how lest +Britain's bull-dog pluck,<br> + Roused by their isolation,<br> + Should make these few, brave, lonely men,<br> + Fight as in desperation,<br> +<br> + And prove a match for thrice their odds,<br> + They made them three times three,<br> + And thrice of that, with guns to boot,<br> + To insure a victory?<br> +<br> + Then they would take the Night along<br> + —No mean ally with odds,<br> + As Stony Creek can testify:<br> + But then she marched with gods!—<br> +<br> + Yet blame ye not the silent Night<br> + That she was forced to go,<br> + For oft have captives been compelled<br> + To serve the hated foe:<br> +<br> + And oft with grave and quiet mien,<br> + And Samson-like intent,<br> + Have brought about such ends, as by<br> + Their lords were never meant.<br> +<br> + Then blame ye not the dark-eyed Night,<br> + Of grave and silent mien;<br> + Her whisper 'twas that foiled the foe,<br> + And fired our patriot queen.<br> +<br> +<br> + +<center>II.</center> +<br> + "And why, my husband, why so pale?"<br> + 'Twas Laura Secord spoke;<br> + And when she heard his plaintive tale,<br> + Then all the patriot woke.<br> +<br> + "Thou knowest how Fitzgibbon holds<br> + The post at Beaver Dams,<br> + And Dearborn frets, and fumes, and chafes,<br> + And calls us British shams:<br> +<br> + <a name="page072"><!-- Begin Page 72 --></a> "Because we will not, +willing, give,<br> + To feed an alien foe,<br> + The substance, all too poor and sparse,<br> + Our stinted fields may grow.<br> +<br> + "So when the Night puts on her robes<br> + Of sad and sable hue,<br> + A host he sends, of shameful strength,<br> + To oust that noble few.<br> +<br> + "And who shall warn Fitzgibbon? Who?<br> + My weakness is my bale;<br> + At such an hour of pressing need,<br> + O that my aid should fail!<br> +<br> + "And yet, my country, if my blood,<br> + Drawn from me drop by drop,<br> + Could save thee in this awful strait,<br> + 'Twere thine,'twere thine, to stop<br> +<br> + "This massacre, this horrid crime,<br> + To baulk this wicked plot!<br> + My parole given!—by Heaven I could—<br> + I Would—regard it not.<br> +<br> + "But here am I, a cripple weak;<br> + Great Heaven! and must they fall<br> + Because I, wretched I alone,<br> + Know what will sure befall!"<br> +<br> + "Calm thee, my husband, calm thee now.<br> + Heaven ne'er points out a deed,<br> + But to the creature by whose means<br> + Its action is decreed:<br> +<br> + "Thou, had'st thou not been sick and lame,<br> + Would'st ne'er have learned this plot,<br> + And had'st thou strength thou could'st not pass<br> + The lines, and not be shot.<br> +<br> + <a name="page073"><!-- Begin Page 73 --></a> "Wherefore,'tis +plain, 'tis not to thee<br> + The careful task is given;<br> + 'Tis rather me; and I will go,<br> + Safe in the care of Heaven."<br> +<br> + "Thou go, dear wife! a woman soft,<br> + And not too brave to shake<br> + At sight of wolf or catamount,<br> + Or many-rattled snake:<br> +<br> + "Thou go!" "Nay, smile not, I will go;<br> + Fitzgibbon shall not fall<br> + Unwarned at least; and Heaven will guard<br> + Its messenger-in-thrall."<br> +<br> +<br> + +<center>III.</center> +<br> + Scarce had Aurora backward drawn<br> + The curtains of the night,<br> + Scarce had her choristers awaked<br> + The echoes with delight;<br> +<br> + When Laura Secord left her home,<br> + With holy message fraught,<br> + And lone Fitzgibbon's distant post<br> + With hasty footsteps sought.<br> +<br> + She chides the harsh-tongued sentinel<br> + Whose musket stops her way,<br> + And hies her from his curious sight<br> + In such sort as she may.<br> +<br> + A second bars her forward path,<br> + Nor will he be content;<br> + And all her woman's wit she needs<br> + Before his doubts are spent.<br> +<br> + Beyond, a third the challenge gives;—<br> + She almost gasps for breath—<br> + "Oh, at the Mill my brother lies<br> + Just at the point of death."<br> +<br> + <a name="page074"><!-- Begin Page 74 --></a> But he nor cares for +death nor life:<br> + Yet when she kneels and weeps,<br> + He yields: for—in his rugged heart<br> + A tender memory sleeps.<br> +<br> + With beating heart and trembling limb,<br> + Swift hastes she; yet in ruth<br> + That even for her country's sake,<br> + She needs must veil the truth.<br> +<br> + And when a rise of ground permits<br> + A last, fond, lingering look,<br> + She, tearful, views her home once more—<br> + A lowly, leafy nook.<br> +<br> + For there her sleeping children lie<br> + Unconscious of her woe;<br> + Her choking sobs may not be stayed,<br> + For oh, she loves them so!<br> +<br> + And there she leaves her maiden choice,<br> + Her husband, lover, friend.<br> + Oh, were she woman could she less<br> + To homely sorrows lend!<br> +<br> + On altar of the public weal<br> + Must private griefs expire,—<br> + Her tender grief exhaled to Heaven<br> + On wings of patriot fire.<br> +<br> + The dew still glistened on the grass,<br> + The morning breezes swung<br> + The honeysuckle and the rose,<br> + Above, whose sweetness hung.<br> +<br> + The fritil' butterfly, the bee,<br> + Whose early labours cheer,<br> + And point the happy industry<br> + That marks the opening year.<br> +<br> + <a name="page075"><!-- Begin Page 75 --></a> The cheerful robin's +sturdy note,<br> + The gay canary's trill,<br> + Blent with the low of new-milked kine<br> + That sauntered by the rill:<br> +<br> + When Laura Secord stood beside<br> + The doomed St. David's door,<br> + Whose portals never closed upon<br> + The weary or the poor.<br> +<br> + "O sister," cries the widowed dame,<br> + "What trouble brings you here?<br> + Doth Jamie ail? Hath aught arisen<br> + To mar your fettered cheer?"<br> +<br> + "Nor aileth any at the farm,<br> + Nor is our cheer less free,<br> + But I must haste to Beaver Dam,<br> + Fitzgibbon there to see.<br> +<br> + "For many a foe this coming night,<br> + To take him by surprise,<br> + Is detailed, and he must be warned<br> + Before the moon doth rise."<br> +<br> + O pallid grew the gentle dame,<br> + And tremulous her tone,<br> + As Laura Secord, at the board,<br> + Made all her errand known.<br> +<br> + And oft her pallor turned to red,<br> + By indignation fired;<br> + And oft her red to pallor turned,<br> + For Laura's sake retired.<br> +<br> + And many a cogent argument<br> + She used, of duteous wives;<br> + And many more that mothers thus<br> + Should never risk their lives.<br> +<br> + <a name="page076"><!-- Begin Page 76 --></a> And of the dangers of +the way<br> + She told a trembling tale;<br> + But to divert a settled mind<br> + Nor words nor woes avail.<br> +<br> + And many a tear she let down fall,<br> + And some dropt Laura too,—<br> + But "'Tis my country!" yet she cried,<br> + "My country may not rue."<br> +<br> + A tender leave she gently takes<br> + Of him all wounded laid<br> + Upon his weary couch of pain,<br> + But hides her errand sad.<br> +<br> + And then, while yet the day was young,<br> + The sun scarce quarter high,<br> + She plunges 'mid the sheltering bush,<br> + In fear of hue and cry,—<br> +<br> + Of hue and cry of cruel foes<br> + Who yet might learn her route,<br> + And mad with rage of baffled aim,<br> + Should spring in hot pursuit.<br> +<br> + On, on she speeds through bush and brake,<br> + O'er log and stone and briar;<br> + On, on, for many a lengthening mile<br> + Might stouter footsteps tire.<br> +<br> + The hot sun mounts the upper skies,<br> + Faint grows the fervid air,<br> + And wearied nature asks for rest<br> + Mid scenes so soft and fair.<br> +<br> + The sward all decked with rainbow hues,<br> + The whispering of the trees,<br> + Nor perfumed airs of flowery June,<br> + Can win her to her ease.<br> +<br> + <a name="page077"><!-- Begin Page 77 --></a> Ah, serpent in our +Paradise!<br> + In choicest cup our gall!<br> + 'Twas thou, distraught Anxiety,<br> + Wrapped Beauty's self in pall;<br> +<br> + And for that lonely traveller<br> + Empoisoned those sweet springs,<br> + To souls that languish, founts of life<br> + Bestirred by angel wings.<br> +<br> + Thou gavest each breeze an infant's cry,<br> + A wailing, woesome tone;<br> + And in each call of wildwood bird<br> + Spoke still of freedom gone.<br> +<br> + Nay now, why starts she in her path,<br> + By yonder tangled brake?<br> + 'Tis at the dreaded menace sprung<br> + By angry rattlesnake.<br> +<br> + But know that fear is not the brand<br> + That marks the coward slave;<br> + 'Tis conquered fear, and duty done,<br> + That tells the truly brave.<br> +<br> + With stick, and stone, and weapon mean<br> + She drives the wretch away,<br> + And then, with fluttering heart, pursues<br> + Her solitary way.<br> +<br> + And oft she trips, and oft she falls,<br> + And oft her gown is torn,<br> + And oft her tender skin is pierced<br> + By many a clutching thorn.<br> +<br> + And weariness her courage tries;<br> + And dread of devious way;<br> + And oft she hears the wild-cat shriek<br> + A requiem o'er its prey.<br> +<br> + <a name="page078"><!-- Begin Page 78 --></a> And when the +oppressive summer air<br> + Hangs heavy in the woods,—<br> + Though many a bank of flowerets fair<br> + Invites to restful moods;<br> +<br> + And though the ruby humming-bird<br> + Drones with the humming bee;<br> + And every gnat and butterfly<br> + Soars slow and fitfully;<br> +<br> + No rest that anxious messenger<br> + Of baleful tidings takes,<br> + But all the waning afternoon<br> + Her morning speed she makes.<br> +<br> + Over the hills, and 'mongst the brier,<br> + And through the oozy swamp,<br> + Her weary steps must never tire<br> + Ere burns the firefly's lamp.<br> +<br> + Oh, wherefore drops she on her knees,<br> + And spreads imploring hands?<br> + Why blanches that courageous brow?<br> + Alas! the wolves' dread bands!<br> +<br> + "Nay, not this death, dear Father! Not<br> + A mangled prey to these!"<br> + She faintly cries to Heaven, from out<br> + The darkening waste of trees.<br> +<br> + Fear not, O patriot, courage take,<br> + Thy Father holds thy hand,<br> + Nor lets the powers of ill prevail<br> + Where He doth take command.<br> +<br> + Away the prowling ghouls are fled,<br> + Some fitter prey to seek;<br> + The trembling woman sighs the thanks<br> + Her white lips cannot speak.<br> +<br> + <a name="page079"><!-- Begin Page 79 --></a><br> + +<center>IV.</center> +<br> + Now wherefore halts that sentry bold,<br> + And lays his piece in rest,<br> + As from the shadowy depths below<br> + One gains the beechen crest?<br> +<br> + 'Tis but a woman, pale and faint,—<br> + As woman oft may prove,<br> + Whose eagle spirit soars beyond<br> + The home-flight of the dove.<br> +<br> + How changes now the sentry's mien,<br> + How soft his tones and low,<br> + As Laura Secord tells her tale<br> + Of an impendent foe!<br> +<br> + "God bless thee, now, thou woman bold,<br> + And give thee great reward."<br> + The soldier says, with eyes suffused,<br> + And keeps a jealous guard,<br> +<br> + As onward, onward still she goes,<br> + With steady step and true,<br> + Towards her goal, yet far away,<br> + Hid in the horizon blue.<br> +<br> + Behind her grows the golden moon,<br> + Before her fall the shades,<br> + And somewhere near her hides the bird<br> + Whose death-call haunts the glades.<br> +<br> + The early dew blooms all the sod,<br> + The fences undulate<br> + In the weird light, like living lines<br> + That swell with boding hate.<br> +<br> + For she has left the tangled woods,<br> + And keeps the open plain<br> + Where once a fruitful farm-land bloomed,<br> + And yet shall bloom again.<br> +<br> + <a name="page080"><!-- Begin Page 80 --></a> And now, as nears the +dreaded hour.<br> + Her goal the nearer grows,<br> + And hope, the stimulus of life,<br> + Her weary bosom glows.<br> +<br> + Toward's lone Decamp's—whose ancient home<br> + Affords Fitzgibbon's band<br> + Such shelter as the soldier asks<br> + Whose life hangs on his brand—<br> +<br> + A steady mile or so, and then—<br> + Ah, what is't rends the air<br> + With horrent, blood-encurdling tones.<br> + The tocsin of despair!<br> +<br> + It is the war-whoop of the braves,<br> + Of Kerr's famed Mohawk crew,<br> + Who near Fitzgibbon ambushed lie<br> + To serve that lonely few.<br> +<br> + Startled, yet fearless, on she speeds.<br> + "Your chief denote," she cries;<br> + And, proudly towering o'er the crowd,<br> + The chief does swift arise.<br> +<br> + Fierce rage is in his savage eye,<br> + His tomahawk in air;<br> + "Woman! what woman want?" he cries,<br> + "Her death does woman dare!"<br> +<br> + But quickly springs she to his side,<br> + And firmly holds his arm,<br> + "Oh, chief, indeed no, spy am I,<br> + But friend to spare you harm."<br> +<br> + And soon she makes her errand known,<br> + And soon, all side by side,<br> + The red man and his sister brave<br> + In silence quickly glide.<br> +<br> + <a name="page081"><!-- Begin Page 81 --></a> And as the moon +surmounts the trees,<br> + They gain the sentried door,<br> + And faintly to Fitzgibbon she<br> + Unfolds her tale once more.<br> +<br> + Then, all her errand done, she seeks<br> + A lowly dwelling near,<br> + And sinks, a worn-out trembling thing,<br> + Too faint to shed a tear.<br> +<br> +<br> + +<center>V.</center> +<br> + Now let the Lord of Hosts be praised!<br> + Cheer brave Fitzgibbon's band,<br> + Whose bold discretion won the day,<br> + And saved our threatened land!<br> +<br> + And cheer that weary traveller,<br> + On lowly couch that lies,<br> + And scarce can break the heavy spell.<br> + That holds her waking eyes.<br> +<br> + No chaplet wreathes her aching brows.<br> + No paeans rend the air;<br> + But in her breast a jewel glows<br> + The tried and true may wear.<br> +<br> + And Time shall twine her wreath of bays<br> + Immortal as her fame,<br> + And many a generation joy,<br> + In Laura Secord's name.<br> +<br> + "Fitzgibbon and the Forty-ninth!"<br> + Whene'er ye drink that toast<br> + To brave deeds done a grateful land,<br> + Praise Laura Secord most.<br> +<br> + As one who from the charged mine<br> + Coils back the lighted fuse,<br> + 'T was hers, at many a fearful risk,<br> + To carry fateful news;<br> +<br> + <a name="page082"><!-- Begin Page 82 --></a> And save the +dreadnought band; and give<br> + To Beaver Dam a name,<br> + The pride of true Canadian hearts,<br> + Of others, but the shame.<br> +<br> +<br> + +<center>VI.</center> +<br> + Now wherefore trembles still the string<br> + By lyric fingers crossed,<br> + To Laura Secord's praise and fame,<br> + When forty years are lost?<br> +<br> + Nay, five and forty, one by one,<br> + Have borne her from the day<br> + When, fired by patriotic zeal,<br> + She trod her lonely way:<br> +<br> + Her hair is white, her step is slow,<br> + Why kindles then her eye,<br> + And rings her voice with music sweet<br> + Of many a year gone by?<br> +<br> + O know ye not proud Canada,<br> + With joyful heart, enfolds<br> + In fond embrace, the royal boy<br> + Whose line her fealty holds?<br> +<br> + For him she spreads her choicest cheer,<br> + And tells her happiest tale,<br> + And leads him to her loveliest haunts,<br> + That naught to please may fail.<br> +<br> + And great art thou, O Chippewa,<br> + Though small in neighbours' eyes,<br> + When out Niagara's haze thou seest<br> + A cavalcade arise;<br> +<br> + And, in its midst, the royal boy,<br> + Who, smiling, comes to see<br> + An ancient dame whose ancient fame<br> + Shines in our history.<br> +<br> + <a name="page083"><!-- Begin Page 83 --></a> He takes the thin and +faded hand,<br> + He seats him at her side,<br> + Of all that gay and noble band,<br> + That moment well the pride:<br> +<br> + To him the aged Secord tells,<br> + With many a fervid glow,<br> + How, by her means, Fitzgibbon struck<br> + His great historic blow.<br> +<br> + Nor deem it ye, as many do,<br> + A weak and idle thing<br> + That, at that moment Laura loved<br> + The praises of a king;<br> +<br> + And dwelt on his approving smile,<br> + And kissed his royal hand,<br> + Who represented, and should wield,<br> + The sceptre of our land;<br> +<br> + For where should greatness fire her torch,<br> + If not at greatness' shrine?<br> + And whence should approbation come<br> + Did not the gods incline?<br> +<br> +<br> + +<center>VII.</center> +<br> + And when, from o'er the parting seas,<br> + A royal letter came,<br> + And brought a gift to recognize<br> + Brave Laura Secord's fame.<br> +<br> + What wonder that her kindling eye<br> + Should fade, suffused in tears?<br> + What wonder that her heart should glow,<br> + Oblivious of the years?<br> +<br> + And honour ye the kindly grace<br> + Of him who still hath been<br> + In all things kindly, and the praise<br> + Of our beloved Queen.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page084"><!-- Begin Page 84 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="jubilee">THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE,<br> + JUNE 21ST, 1887.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> A Jubilee! A Jubilee!<br> + Waft the glad shout across the laughing sea!<br> + A Jubilee! A Jubilee! O bells<br> + Ring out our gladness on your merry peals!<br> +<br> + O thou, the root and flower of this our joy,<br> + Well may thy praise our grateful hearts employ!<br> + Fair as the moon and glorious as the sun,<br> + Thy fame to many a future age shall run.<br> +<br> + "I WILL BE GOOD." 'Twas thus thy judgment spake,<br> + When, greatness would allure for greatness' sake.<br> + Thou <i>hast</i> been good: herein thy strength hath lain;<br> + And not thine only, it hath been our gain:<br> + Nor ours alone, for every people's voice,<br> + Because thou hast been good, doth now rejoice.<br> + Beneath the shelter of that fruitful vine—<br> + Thy goodness—hath pure Virtue reared her shrine.<br> + Freedom hath lift her flag, and flung it free,<br> + Rejoicing in a god-like liberty.<br> + Truth hath her gracious lineaments revealed<br> + To humble souls, beneath Victoria's shield.<br> + Mercy, whose message bore thy first command,<br> + Hath carried festival to every land.<br> + Justice hath worn his robes unsmirched of gold;<br> + Nor longer strikes in vengeance, as of old.<br> + Kind Pity, wheresoe'er the tried might be,<br> + Widow, and babe, hath borne a balm from thee.<br> + Valour hath drawn his sword with surer aim:<br> + And Peace hath signed her treaties in thy name.<br> + <a name="page085"><!-- Begin Page 85 --></a> Honour hath worn his +plumes with nobler grace:<br> + And Piety pursued her readier race.<br> + Learning hath pressed where ne'er she walked before:<br> + And Science touched on realms undreamt of yore.<br> + Commerce hath spread wide wings o'er land and sea,<br> + And spoken nations glorious yet to be.<br> + Before the light of Temperance' purer grace.<br> + Excess hath veiled his spoiled and purpled face.<br> + And never since the peopled world began<br> + Saw it so strong the brotherhood of man.<br> + Great glory thus hath gathered round thy name,—<br> + VICTORIA. QUEEN. Goodness hath been thy fame,<br> + And greatness shall be, for the twain are one:<br> + As thy clear eye discerned ere rule begun.<br> + O Queen, receive anew our homage free:<br> + Our love and praise on this thy Jubilee.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page086"><!-- Begin Page 86 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="hero">THE HERO OF ST. HELEN'S ISLAND.<br> + CANADA'S TRIBUTE TO THE TWENTY-FOURTH (2ND WARWICKSHIRE) +REGIMENT.</a></h3> +<hr> +<br> + +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> O the roaring and the thunder!<br> + O the terror and the wonder!<br> + O the surging and the seething of the flood!<br> + O the tumbling and the rushing—<br> + O the grinding and the +crushing—<br> + O the plunging and the rearing of the ice!<br> + When the great St. Lawrence River,<br> + With a mighty swell and shiver,<br> + Bursts amain the wintry bonds that hold him fast.<br> +<br> + 'Twas on an April morning—<br> + And the air was full of warning<br> + Of the havoc and the crash that was to be.—<br> + A deed was done, whose glory<br> + Flames from out the simple story,<br> + Like the living gleam of diamond in the mine.<br> + 'Twas where St. Mary's Ferry<br> + In sweet summer makes so merry,<br> + 'Twixt St. Helen's fortressed isle and Montreal,<br> + There, on an April morning,—<br> + As if in haughty scorning<br> + Of the tale soft Zephyr told in passing by—<br> + Firm and hard, like road of Roman,<br> + Under team of sturdy yeoman,<br> + Or the guns, the ice lay smooth, and bright, and cold.<br> + And watching its resistance<br> + To the forces in the distance<br> + That nearer and yet nearer ever rolled,<br> +<br> + <a name="page087"><!-- Begin Page 87 --></a> + Warning off who tempt the crossing,<br> + All too soon so wildly tossing,<br> + Stood a party of Old England's Twenty-Fourth.<br> + While as yet they gazed in wonder,<br> + Sudden boomed the awful thunder<br> + That proclaimed the mighty conqueror at hand.<br> + O then the fierce uplifting!<br> + The trembling, and the rifting!<br> + The tearing, and the grinding, and the throes!<br> + The chaos and careering,<br> + The toppling and the rearing,<br> + The crashing and the dashing of the floes!<br> +<br> + At such an awful minute<br> + A glance,—the horror in +it!—<br> + Showed a little maiden midway twixt the shores,<br> + With hands a-clasp and crying.<br> + And, amid the masses, trying,—<br> + Vainly trying—to escape on either hand.<br> + O child so rashly daring!<br> + Who thy dreadful peril sharing<br> + Shall, to save thee, tempt the terrors of the flood<br> + That roaring, leaping, swirling,<br> + And continuously whirling,<br> + Threats to whelm in frightful deeps thy tender form!<br> + The helpless soldiers, standing<br> + On a small precarious landing,<br> + Think of nothing but the child and her despair,<br> + When a voice as from the +Highest,—<br> + To the child he being nighest—<br> + Falls <i>"Quick-march!"</i> upon the ear of Sergeant Neill.<br> + O blessed sense of duty!<br> + As on banderole of duty<br> + His unswerving eye he fixes on the child;<br> + And straight o'er floe and fissure,<br> + Fragments yielding to his pressure,<br> + Toppling berg, and giddy block, he takes his way;<br> +<br> + <a name="page088"><!-- Begin Page 88 --></a> + Sometimes climbing, sometimes +crawling.<br> + Sometimes leaping, sometimes falling,<br> + Till at last he stands where cowers the weeping child.<br> + Then with all a victor's bearing.<br> + As in warlike honours sharing,<br> + With the child all closely clasped upon his breast,<br> + O'er floe and hummock taking<br> + Any step for safety making,<br> + On he goes, till they who watch can see no more.<br> +<br> + For both glass and light are failing.<br> + As the ice-pack, slowly sailing,<br> + Bears him onward past the shore of far Longueil.<br> + "Lost!" his comrades cry, and +turning.<br> + Eyes cast down, and bosoms burning,<br> + Gain the shelter of their quiet barrack home;<br> + Where, all night, the tortured father<br> + Clasps the agonizing mother.<br> + In the mute embrace of hopelessness and dread.<br> + O the rapid alternations<br> + When the loud reverberations<br> + Of the evening gun boom forth the hour of rest!<br> + The suffering and the sorrow!<br> + The praying for the morrow!<br> + The fears, the hopes, that tear the parents breasts!<br> + And many a word is spoken<br> + At the mess, so sadly broken,<br> + Of the men who mourn their comrade brave and true<br> + And many a tear-drop glistens,<br> + Where a watching mother listens<br> + To the tumult of the ice along the shore.<br> + And ever creeping nearer,<br> + Children hold each other dearer,<br> + In the gaps of slumber broken by its roar.<br> +<br> + Twice broke the rosy dawning<br> + Of a sunny April morning,<br> + <a name="page089"><!-- Begin Page 89 --></a> And Hope had drooped +her failing wings, to die;<br> + When o'er the swelling river,<br> + Like an arrow from a quiver,<br> + Came the news of rescue, safety, glad return;<br> + And the mother, as from Heaven,<br> + Clasped her treasure, newly-given;<br> + And the father wrung the hand of Sergeant Neill:<br> + Who shrunk from their caressing,<br> + Nor looked for praise or blessing,<br> + But straight returned to duty and his post.<br> +<br> + And this the grateful story,<br> + To others' praise and glory,<br> + That the Sergeant told his comrades round the fire.<br> +<br> + "Far down the swelling river,<br> + To the ocean flowing ever,<br> + With its teeming life of porpoise, fish, and seal,<br> + There hardy, brave, and daring,<br> + Dwells the <i>habitant</i>; nor +caring<br> + Save to make his frugal living by his skill.<br> + Nor heeds he of the weather,<br> + For scale, and fur, and feather,<br> + Lay their tribute in his hand the year around.<br> + On the sunny April morning,<br> + That the ice had given warning<br> + Of the havoc and the crash that was to be,<br> + Stood Pierre, Louis, gazing,<br> + Their prayers to Mary raising,<br> + For a season full of bounty from the sea.<br> + And when the light was failing,<br> + And the ice-pack, slowly-sailing,<br> + Crashing, tumbling, roaring, thundering, passed them by,<br> + Their quick eye saw with wonder,<br> + On the masses torn asunder,<br> + An unfortunate who drifted to his doom.<br> +<br> + <a name="page090"><!-- Begin Page 90 --></a> + "O then the exclamations!<br> + The rapid preparations!<br> + The launching of canoes upon the wave!<br> + The signalling and shouting!—<br> + Death and disaster flouting—<br> + The anxious haste, the strife, a human life to save<br> + Across the boiling surges,<br> + Each man his light bark urges,<br> + Though death is in the error of a stroke;<br> + And paddling, poising, drifting,<br> + O'er the floes the light shell +lifting,<br> + The gallant fellows reach the whirling pack:<br> + And from the frightful danger,<br> + They save the worn-out stranger.<br> + And oh, to see the nursling in his arms!<br> + And oh, the pious caring,<br> + The sweet and tender faring,<br> + From the gentle hands of Marie and Louise!<br> + And the pretty, smiling faces,<br> + As the travellers take their places<br> + To return again to those who weep their loss.<br> +<br> + And the Sergeant's story ending,<br> + His head in rev'rence bending,<br> + He cried "God bless for ever all noble souls like these!"<br> + But cheer on cheer resounded,<br> + Till the officers, astounded<br> + At their mess, upon their sword-hilts clapped their hands.<br> + And the plaudits rose still higher,<br> + When they joined with martial fire,<br> + In the cry "God bless the Twenty-Fourth, and its gallant Sergeant +Neill!"<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page091"><!-- Begin Page 91 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="veterans">OCTOBER 13TH, 1872.<br> + A PLEA FOR THE VETERANS OF 1812.</a></h3> +<hr> +<br> + +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Forget not, Canada, the men who gave,<br> + In fierce and bloody fray, their lives for thine.<br> + Pause thou, Ontario, in thy forward march,<br> + And give a tear to those who, long ago,<br> + On this day fell upon those Heights where now<br> + Their ashes rest beneath memorial pile.<br> + And while those names, BROCK and MACDONELL, wake<br> + A throb of emulative gratitude<br> + And patriotic fervour in thy breast,<br> + Forget not those—"the boys," the nameless ones,—<br> + Who also fought and fell on that October day;<br> + Nameless their ashes, but their memories dear!<br> + + +Remember, too,<br> + Those grandsires at thy hearths who linger still;<br> + Whose youthful arms then helped to guard thy peace,<br> + Thy peace their own. And ere they go to join<br> + Their ancient comrades of the hard-won fight,<br> + Glad their brave hearts with one applauding cheer<br> + In memory of the day. Comfort their age<br> + With plenty. Let them find that sturdy youth,<br> + Whose heritage they saved, bows rev'rent head,<br> + And lends a strong right arm to ancient men,<br> + Whose deeds of patriot prowess deck the silk<br> + That waves so proudly from the nation's +towers.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page092"><!-- Begin Page 92 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="loyal">LOYAL.</a></h3> +<hr> +<p style="margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em;">"The Loyalists +having sacrificed their property to their politics, were generally +poor, and had to work hard and suffer many privations before they +could reap crops to support their families. In those early days +there were no merchants, no bakeries, no butchers' shop's, no +medical men to relieve the fevered brain or soothe a mother's +aching heart, no public house, no minister to console the dying or +bury the dead, no means of instruction for the young; all was bush, +hard labour and pinching privation for the present, and long toil +for the rising generations."</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">REV. G. A. ANDERSON,<br> + <i>Protestant Chaplain to the Reformatory, +Penetanguishene</i>.</p> +<br> + +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>O Ye, who with your blood and sweat<br> + Watered the furrows of this land,—<br> + See where upon a nation's brow<br> + In honour's front, ye proudly stand!<br> +<br> + Who for her pride abased your own,<br> + And gladly on her altar laid<br> + All bounty of the older world,<br> + All memories that your glory made.<br> +<br> + And to her service bowed your strength,<br> + Took labour for your shield and crest;<br> + See where upon a nation's brow<br> + Her diadem, ye proudly test!<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page093"><!-- Begin Page 93 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="heights">ON QUEENSTON HEIGHTS.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> + I +stood on Queenston Heights;<br> + And as I gazed from tomb to cenotaph,<br> + From cenotaph to tomb, adown and up,<br> + My heart grew full, much moved with many thoughts.<br> + + At +length I cried:<br> + "O robed with honour and with glory crowned,<br> + Tell me again the story of yon pile."<br> + And straight the ancient, shuddering cedars wept,<br> + The solemn junipers indued their pall,<br> + The moaning wind crept through the trembling oaks<br> + And, shrieking, fled. Strange clamour filled the air;<br> + The steepy hill shook with the rush of arms;<br> + Around me rolled the tide of sudden war.<br> + The booming guns pealed forth their dreadful knell;<br> + Musketry rattled; shouts, cries, groans, were heard;<br> + Men met as foes, and deadly strife ensued.<br> + From side to side the surging combat rolled,<br> + And as it rolled, passed from my ken.<br> + A silence! On the hill an alien flag<br> + Flies flaunting in the wind, mocking the gun.<br> + Dark forms pour o'er the heights, and Britain's day<br> + Broods dark.<br> + But hark! a ringing cheer peals up the height<br> + Once more the battle's tide bursts on my view.<br> + Brock to the rescue! Down goes the alien flag!<br> + Back, back the dark battalions fall. On, on<br> + The "Tigers" come. Down pours the rattling shot<br> + From out the verdant grove, like sheets of hail.<br> + Up, up they press, York volunteers and all.<br> + Aha! the day is ours! See, where the hero comes<br> + In conquering might, quick driving all before him!<br> + O brave ensample! O beloved chief!<br> + <a name="page094"><!-- Begin Page 94 --></a> Who follows thee +keeps ever pace with honour.<br> + Shout Victory! Proud victory is ours!<br> + Ours, noble Brock!<br> +<br> + Ours? DEATH'S! <i>Death wins;</i> THE DAY IS HIS.<br> +<br> + Ah! shudder still ye darkling cedars,<br> + Chant yet your doleful monotone, ye winds;<br> + Indue again your grey funereal pall,<br> + Ye solemn junipers; for here he fell,<br> + And here he lies,—dust; ashes; nothing.<br> +<br> + Such tale the hill-side told me, and I wept.<br> + Nay! I wept <i>not!</i> The hot, indignant thoughts<br> + That filled my breast burned up the welling tears<br> + Ere they had chance to flow, and forward Hate<br> + Spake rashly. But calm Reflection<br> + Laid her cool hand upon my throbbing brow<br> + And whispered, "As up the misty stream<br> + The <i>Norseman</i> crept to-day, and signals white<br> + Waved kind salutes from yon opposing shore;<br> + And as ye peered the dusky vista through,<br> + To catch first glimpse of yonder glorious plinth,<br> + Yet saw it not till <i>I</i> your glance directed,—<br> + So high it towered above the common plane;—<br> + So, towering over Time, shall Brock e'er stand.—<br> + So, from those banks, shall white-robed Peace e'er +smile.<br></td></tr></table> +<p><i>October 12, 1881</i>.</p> +<a name="page095"><!-- Begin Page 95 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="mayor">NEW ORLEANS, MONROE, MAYOR, APRIL 29, 1862.<br> + THE HAULING DOWN OF THE STATE FLAG FROM OVER THE CITY +HALL.</a></h3> +<p style="margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em;">"The crowd flowed +in from every direction and filled the street in a compact mass +both above and below the square. They were silent, but angry and +threatening. An open way was left in front of the hall, and their +force being stationed, Captain Bell and Lieutenant Kantz passed +across the street, mounted the hall steps and entered the Mayor's +parlour. Approaching the Mayor, Captain Bell said: "I have come in +obedience to orders to haul down the State flag from this +building." ... As soon as the two officers left the room Mr. Monroe +also went out. Descending the front steps he walked out into the +street, and placed himself immediately in front of the howitzer +pointing down St. Charles Street. There, folding his arms, he fixed +his eyes upon the gunner who stood, lanyard in hand, ready for +action. Here he remained without once looking up or moving, until +the flag had been hauled down by Lieutenant Kantz, and he and +Captain Bell reappeared.... As they passed out through the Camp +Street gate, Mr. Monroe turned towards the hall, and the people, +who had hitherto preserved the silence he had asked from them, +broke into cheers for their Mayor."</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">MARION A. BAKER, <i>in July (1886) +Century</i>.</p> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>A noble man! a man deserving trust.<br> + A man in whom the higher elements<br> + Worked freely. A man of dignity;<br> + On whom the robes and badge of state sat well<br> + Because the majesty of self-control,<br> + And all its grace, were his.<br> + + I see him now—<br> + Pale with the pallor of a full, proud heart—<br> + Descend those steps and take his imminent place<br> + Before the deadly piece, as who should say<br> + "'Ware ye! these people are my people; such<br> + Their inward heat and mine at this poor deed<br> + That scarce we can control our kindled blood.<br> + <a name="page096"><!-- Begin Page 96 --></a> But should ye mow +them down, ye mow me too.<br> + 'Ware ye!"<br> + O men +for whose dear sake he stood<br> + An offering and a hostage; on that scroll<br> + Old Chronos doth unfold along the years<br> + Are writ in gold names of undaunted Mayors,<br> + Pepin and Charlemagne, and Whittington<br> + And White. Did not your fathers know them?<br> + And shall not he, your Mayor of 'Sixty-two,<br> + Monroe, stand side by side with them?<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page097"><!-- Begin Page 97 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="emigrant">THE EMIGRANT'S SONG.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> +<center>I.</center> +<br> + No work, no home, no wealth have I,<br> + But Mary loves me true,<br> + And, for her sake, upon my knees<br> + I'd beg the wide world through:<br> + For her sweet eyes look into mine<br> + With fondness soft and deep;<br> + My heart's entranced, and I could die<br> + Were death a conscious sleep.<br> +<br> +<br> + +<center>II.</center> +<br> + But life is work, and work is life,<br> + And life's the way to heaven,<br> + And hand-in-hand we'd like to go<br> + The road that God has given.<br> + And England, dear old Motherland,<br> + Has plenty mouths to feed<br> + Without her sons and daughters fair,<br> + Whose strength is as their need.<br> +<br> +<br> + +<center>III.</center> +<br> + To Canada! To Canada!<br> + To that fair land I'll roam,<br> + And till the soil with heart of grace,<br> + For Mary and a home.<br> + Hurrah for love! Hurrah for hope!<br> + Hurrah for industry!<br> + Hurrah for bonnie Canada,<br> + And her bonnie maple tree!<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page098"><!-- Begin Page 98 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="summer">TO THE INDIAN SUMMER.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>And art thou come again, sweet Indian maid!<br> + How beautiful thou art where thou dost stand,<br> + With step arrested, on the bridge that joins<br> + The Past and Future—thy one hand waving<br> + Farewell to Summer, whose fond kiss hath set<br> + Thy yellow cheeks aglow, the other stretched<br> + To greet advancing Winter!<br> + Nor can thy veil, tissue diaphanous<br> + Of crimsoned haze, conceal thy lustrous eyes;—<br> + Those eyes in whose dark depths a tear-drop lurks<br> + Ready to fall, for Beauty loved and lost.<br> + From thy point gazing, maiden, let us, too,<br> + Once more behold the panorama fair<br> + Of the lost year. See where, far down yon slope<br> + That meets the sun, doth quick advance gay Spring,<br> + His dainty fingers filled with swelling buds:<br> + O'er his wreathed head, among the enlacing trees,<br> + The merry birds flit in and out, to choose<br> + A happy resting-place; and singing rills<br> + Dwell on his praise. Gladly his laughing eyes<br> + Rest on fair Summer's zone set thick with flowers,<br> + That chide their own profusion as, tiptoe,<br> + And arm outstretched, she reaches to restore<br> + The fallen nestling, venturous and weak:<br> + While many a nursling claims her tender care.<br> + Beneath her smile all Nature doth rejoice,<br> + And breaks into a song that sweeps the plain<br> + Where now the swarthy Autumn, girded close,<br> + Gathers his yellow sheaves and juicy fruit<br> + To overflowing garners; measure full,<br> + And blest to grateful souls. Through the low air<br> + <a name="page099"><!-- Begin Page 99 --></a> A myriad wings circle +in restless sort;<br> + And from the rustling woods there comes a sound<br> + Of dropping nuts and acorns—welcome store<br> + To little chipmunk and to squirrel blithe:<br> + Dependants small on Nature's wide largesse.<br> + How doth the enchanting picture fill our souls<br> + With faith! Sweet Indian maid, we turn with thee<br> + And greet gray Winter with a trustful smile.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page100"><!-- Begin Page 100 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="june">IN JUNE.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>I cannot sleep, and morning's earliest light,<br> + All soft and rosy, tempts my restlessness<br> + To ask from Nature what of peace she gives.<br> + I gaze abroad, and all my soul is moved<br> + At that strange calm that floats o'er earth at rest.<br> + The silver sickle of the summer moon<br> + Hangs on the purple east. The morning star,<br> + Like a late watcher's lamp, pales in the dawn.<br> + Yonder, the lake, that 'neath the midday sun<br> + All restless glows and burns like burnished shield,<br> + Lies as a child at rest with curtain drawn.<br> + The forest trees are still. The babbling creek<br> + Flows softly through the copse and glides away;<br> + And the fair flowers, that lie as thick and sweet<br> + As posies at a bridal, sleep quietly.<br> + No early breeze his perfumed wings unfolds.<br> + No painted butterfly to pleasure wakes.<br> + The bees, whose busy hum pervades the hours<br> + Through all the sultry day, keep yet the hive.<br> + And, save the swallow, whose long line of works<br> + Beneath each gable, points to labours vast,<br> + No bird yet stirs. Upon the dewy mead<br> + The kine repose; the active horse lies prone;<br> + And the white ewes doze o'er their tender lambs,<br> + Like village mothers with their babes at breast.<br> + So still, so fair, so calm, the morning broods,<br> + That, while I know the gairish day will come,<br> + And bring its clouds of gnat-like stinging cares,<br> + Rest steals into my heart, and gentle peace.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page101"><!-- Begin Page 101 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="livingstone">LIVINGSTONE.<br> + OBIT MAY 1ST, 1883.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Sleep now and take thy rest, thou mighty dead!<br> + Thy work is done—thy grand and glorious work.<br> + Not "Caput Nili" shall thy trophy be.<br> + But <i>broken slave-sticks and a riven chain</i>.<br> + As the man Moses, thy great prototype,<br> + Snatched, by the hand of God, his groaning millions<br> + From out the greedy clutch of Egypt's despot;<br> + So hast thou done for Afric's toiling sons:<br> + Hast snatched its peoples from the poisonous fangs<br> + Of hissing Satan, veiled in commerce foul.<br> + For this thy fame shall ring; for this thy praise<br> + Shall be in every mouth for ever. Ay,<br> + Thy true human heart hath here its guerdon—<br> + A continent redeemed from slavery.—<br> + To this, how small the other! Yet 'twas great.<br> + Ah, not in vain those long delays, those groans<br> + Wrung from thy patient soul by obstacle,<br> + The work of peevish man; these were the checks<br> + From that Hand guiding, that led thee all the way.<br> + <i>He</i> willed thy soul should vex at tyranny;<br> + Thine ear should ring with murdered women's shrieks,<br> + That torturing famine should thy footsteps clog;<br> + That captive's broken hearts should ache thine own.<br> + And Slavery—that villain plausible—<br> + That thief Gehazi!—He stripped before thine eyes<br> + And showed him all a leper, foul, accursed.<br> + <i>He</i> touched thy lips, and every word of thine<br> + Vibrates on chords whose deep electric thrill<br> + <a name="page102"><!-- Begin Page 102 --></a> Shall never cease +till that wide wound be healed.<br> + And then He took thee home. Ay, home, great heart!<br> + Home to <i>His</i> home, where never envious tongue,<br> + Nor vile detraction, nor base ingratitude,<br> + Nor cold neglect, shall sting the quiv'ring heart.<br> + Thou endedst well. One step from earth to Heaven,<br> + When His voice called "Friend, come up higher."</td></tr></table> +<a name="page103"><!-- Begin Page 103 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="queen">ON SEEING THE ENGRAVING<br> + "THE FIRST VISIT OF QUEEN VICTORIA TO HER WOUNDED<br> + SOLDIERS ON THEIR RETURN FROM THE CRIMEA."</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Yes, go to them, the brave, the tried, the hurt—<br> + 'Tis very fitting so! <i>We</i> cannot go—<br> + Some scores of million souls—to tell them all<br> + + We +think and feel:<br> + To ease the burden of our laden hearts;<br> + To give the warm grasp of our British hands<br> + In strong assurance of our praise and love;<br> + Of our deep gratitude, to them, our friends,<br> + Our <i>brothers</i>, who for us toiled, suffered, bled:<br> + And left, as we, their dead upon the field,<br> + Their comrades tried and true, around Scutari.<br> + Go to them, then, dear Queen,'tis very fitting so!<br> + <i>Thy</i> hand can clasp for <i>ours. Thy</i> voice express<br> + + +<i>Our</i> hearts.<br> + We send thee as our <i>best</i>, as so we ought;<br> + We send thee as our <i>dearest</i>, as thou art;<br> + We send thee our <i>elect</i>, perfect to fill<br> + The office thou hast chosen for our sakes.<br> + A gentle woman thou, and therefore tender:—<br> + A loving wife, and therefore sympathetic:—<br> + A mother, thou, and therefore patient:—<br> + Is there a son among those wounded men<br> + Has made his mother sad? Thy tear will soften him.<br> + Is there a husband kept from wife and bairns?<br> + Thy smile will comfort him.<br> + Is there a lonely one with none to love?<br> + He'll warm beneath thy glance, his dear Queen's glance;<br> + And—soldiers all—they'll all forget their pains,<br> + And long to fight again, even to fall, for thee.<br> + <a name="page104"><!-- Begin Page 104 --></a> And if for thee, for +us; us, who would clasp<br> + Their thin worn hands in ours, and smile our thanks,<br> + And speak our praise of them, and heal their wounds<br> + With gentlest care, each, for himself, if so<br> + We might thus ease our o'er-full hearts.<br> + Yet happy are we still in this, nay, happier,—<br> + Thou being that <i>our best; our dearest;</i><br> + <i>Our elect; perfect epitome</i><br> + <i>Of all we would</i>—that thou dost go to +them.<br></td></tr></table> +<p><i>Great Western Hotel, Liverpool, June 9, 1880</i>.</p> +<a name="page105"><!-- Begin Page 105 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="child">TO A CHILD<br> + SINGING "JESUS LOVES ME, THIS I KNOW."</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Sing, little darling, sing,<br> + And may thy song be everlasting!<br> + Not all the learning wits and sages boast<br> + Can equal the sweet burden of thy song;—<br> + Can yield such rest amid life's noisiest strife;—<br> + Such peace to still the spirit's wildest wars;—<br> + Such hope to stem the most tumultuous wave<br> + May threat to overwhelm.<br> + + The +love of Jesus,—<br> + Sweet, having this thou risest far above<br> + All this world's clouds, and catchest glimpse of Heaven.<br> +<br> + + Did He +who blest<br> + That infant band that crowded round His knee,<br> + See, in a face like thine, a tender memory<br> + Of that dear home He left for our sakes?<br> + It may be; nay, it must: "Of such," He said,<br> + "My Father's kingdom." And His great heart<br> + Went out in fondest tones: His soft embrace<br> + Encircling such as thou, thrilled out that love<br> + That vibrates yet, and still enfolds so warm<br> + His tender lambs.<br> + + Sing, +little darling, sing,<br> + And may thy song be everlasting.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page106"><!-- Begin Page 106 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="home">HOME.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>The morning sun shone soft and bright,<br> + The air was pure and clear,<br> + My steady steps fell quick and light,<br> + Nor knew my soul a fear.<br> + For though the way was long and cold,<br> + The end I knew not where,<br> + Hope's vivid pictures made me bold<br> + To wait, or do, or dare.<br> +<br> + But ah, the change when evening gray<br> + Curtained a cloudy sky,<br> + And languid, I retraced the way<br> + My feet could scarce descry!<br> + By rugged care my heart was bruised,<br> + Hope's rainbow tints were gone;<br> + To this world's watch and ward unused,<br> + I could but stumble on.<br> +<br> + The rough wind's breath, the dark sky's frown<br> + Fell like the stroke of wrath,<br> + When—from above a star looked down—<br> + A ray beamed on my path.<br> + The light of Home—oh, blessed light—<br> + To weary wanderers dear!<br> + The light of Heaven, oh, glorious light<br> + To souls that stumble here!<br> +<br> + What matters now the weary road,<br> + My toil shall soon be o'er;<br> + And, oh, at last, at home with God<br> + Life's cares shall cark no more.<br> + Be this my hope! Be this my aim!<br> + Though rough the road may be,<br> + Thy feet, blest Jesus, trod the same,<br> + And I would follow Thee.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page107"><!-- Begin Page 107 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="lost">LOST WITH HIS BOAT.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Alone—alone! I sit, and make my moan.<br> + The fire burns low, the candle flickers dim.<br> + Alone—alone! I rock, and think of him.<br> + Of him who left me in the purple pride<br> + Of early manhood. <i>Yestermorn</i> he went.<br> + The sun shone bright, and scintillant the tide.<br> + O'er which the sea-mew swept, with dewy drops besprent.<br> + Before he went he kissed me; and I watched<br> + His boat that lay so still and stately, till<br> + Automaton she seemed, and that she moved<br> + To where she willed of her own force and law.<br> + But I knew better: <i>his</i> was the will<br> + That set the pretty sprite a-going.<br> + His arms controlled her to obedience:<br> + Those arms that lately clasped me.<br> + + No +alarms<br> + Chilled my fond heart, nor dimmed my vision.<br> + As I saw the fair white messenger move off<br> + On fleecy puffs of cloud into the blue;<br> + My nearest thought to trim my hearth, and make,<br> + A dainty dish would please my darling's taste<br> + On his return. And all day long, and through<br> + The dreamy summer day, my thoughts were full<br> + Of many a gay return; my ears reheard<br> + The cheery word and joke were wont to mark them.<br> + Nor when the sun went down in wrack and mist—<br> + A mist that gathers who knows how or where?—<br> + Feared I of aught. My little hearth burned bright.<br> + The kettle sang, and pussy purred and napped;<br> + And—rocking to and fro, as I do now,<br> + I hummed a little song; one <i>he</i>, had sung<br> + In other days, and with the manly tones<br> + <a name="page108"><!-- Begin Page 108 --></a> Had stolen my heart +away.<br> + The hearth burned low; I ate my meal alone,<br> + And something like a fear I chased away,<br> + Despite the deepening surges of the wind<br> + That scurried round our cot.<br> + + I +slept: and waked<br> + What time the summer storm, that rose and fell<br> + In sullen gusts, flew by; and slept again,<br> + And dreamed a glad return. When morning broke<br> + A glorious day begun. The storm was gone:<br> + The sparkling waves toyed with the lilting breeze;<br> + The merry sun shone bright; and all the blue<br> + Was decked with tiny flecks of feathery white.<br> + A gladsome morn! But I, I missed my love.<br> +<br> + <i>And now they say he's dead</i>. Lost, with his boat,<br> + In that short summer storm of yesternight.<br> + Lost! <i>lost</i>! my love is lost! No more may I<br> + Welcome his step, hear his glad voice, and kiss<br> + His laughing lips. I may not even clasp<br> + His cold dead form in one long, last embrace!<br> + And here I sit alone.—<br> + I drove them all away, their words but maddened me.<br> + + Alone +I sit,<br> + And rock, and think,—I cannot weep—<br> + And conjure up the depths, those cruel depths<br> + That chafe and fret, and roll him to and fro<br> + Like a stray log:—he, whose dear limbs should lie<br> + Peaceful and soft, in rev'rent care bestowed.—<br> + Or in the sunken boat, gulfed at his work,<br> + I see his blackened corse, even in death<br> + Faithful to duty. O that those waves,<br> + That with their gentle lullaby mock my wild woe,<br> + Would rise in all their might and 'whelm me too!<br> + Oh, love!—oh, love!—my love!<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page109"><!-- Begin Page 109 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="life">LIFE IN DEATH.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>On her pale bier the baby lay,<br> + And healthy children from their play,<br> + With tip-toe awe and bated breath,<br> + Came gently in to look on Death.<br> +<br> + One touched the flowers that decked the bier;<br> + Another dropped a little tear;<br> + One stroked the cheek so waxy white;<br> + And one cowered weeping with affright.<br> +<br> + But one fair boy won Life from Death<br> + By that quick faith that childhood hath;<br> + And cried, with gaze past present things,<br> + "P'raps baby's trying her new wings."<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page110"><!-- Begin Page 110 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="rain">INVOCATION TO RAIN.<br> + MAY, 1874.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>O blessed angel of the All-bounteous King,<br> + Where dost thou stay so long? Our sad hearts pine,<br> + Our spirits faint, for thee. Our weary eyes<br> + Scan all the blue expanse, where not a cloud<br> + Floats low to rest our vision. In vain we turn<br> + Or East or West, no vap'rous haze, nor view<br> + Of distant panorama, wins our souls<br> + To other worlds. All, all is hard and scant.<br> + + Thy +brother Spring is come.<br> + His favourite haunts the sheltering woods betray—<br> + The woods that, dark and cheerless yet, call thee.<br> + Tender hepaticas peep forth, and mottled leaves<br> + Of yellow dog's tooth vie with curly fronds<br> + Of feathery fern, in strewing o'er his path;<br> + The dielytra puts her necklace on,<br> + Of pearly pendants, topaz-tipped or rose.<br> + Gray buds are on the orchard trees, and grass<br> + Grows up in single blades and braves the sun.<br> + But thou!—O, where art thou, sweet early Rain,<br> + That with thy free libations fill'st our cup?<br> + The contemplative blue-bird pipes his note<br> + From off the ridge cap, but can find no spot<br> + Fit for his nest. The red-breast on the fence<br> + Explores the pasture with his piercing eye,<br> + And visits oft the bushes by the stream,<br> + But takes no mate. For why? No leaves or tuft<br> + Are there to hide a home. Oh what is earth<br> + Without a home? On the dry garden bed,<br> + <a name="page111"><!-- Begin Page 111 --></a> The +sparrow—the little immigrant bird—<br> + Hops quick, and looks askance,<br> + And pecks, and chirps, asking for kindly crumbs—<br> + Just two or three to feed his little mate:<br> + Then, on return from some small cunning nook<br> + Where he has hidden her, he mounts the wires,<br> + Or garden fence, and sings a happy song<br> + Of home, and other days. A-missing thee<br> + The husbandman goes forth with faltering step<br> + And dull sad eye; his sweltering team pulls hard<br> + The lab'ring plough, but the dry earth falls back<br> + As dead, and gives nor fragrant fume, nor clogs<br> + The plough-boy's feet with rich encumb'ring mould.<br> + The willows have a little tender green.<br> + And swallows cross the creek—the gurgling creek<br> + Now fallen to pools—but, disappointed,<br> + Dart away so swift, and fly so high<br> + We scarce can follow them. Thus all the land<br> + Doth mourn for thee.<br> + + Ah! +here thou comest—sweet Rain.<br> + Soft, tender Rain! benison of the skies!<br> + See now, what transformation in thy touch!<br> + Straight all the land is green. The blossoming trees<br> + Put on their bridal wreaths, and veil their charms<br> + From the too ardent sun, beneath thy gift<br> + Of soft diaphanous tissue, pure and white<br> + As angel's raiment. Little wood children<br> + Deck all the path with flowers. The teeming earth<br> + Offers rich gifts. The little choristers<br> + Sing ceaseless hymns, and the glad husbandman<br> + Adds his diapason. Bright fountains wake<br> + And mingle with the swift roulade of streams.<br> + The earth is full of music! Thou dost swing<br> + Thy fragrant censer high, and dwellers in<br> + The dusty city raise their toil-worn heads<br> + From desk and bench, and cry "Summer is here!"<br> + <a name="page112"><!-- Begin Page 112 --></a> And straight they +smell new hay and clover blooms;<br> + And see the trout swift-darting in the brooks:<br> + And hear the plover whistling in the fields.<br> + And little children dream of daisy chains;<br> + And pent-up youth thinks of a holiday;<br> + A holiday with romps, and cream, and flowers.<br> + O, Rain! O, soft, sweet Rain! O liberal Rain!<br> + Touch our hard hearts, that we may more become<br> + Like that Great Heart, whose almoner art +thou.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page113"><!-- Begin Page 113 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="remonstrance">REMONSTRANCE WITH "REMONSTRANCE."<br> + (IN "CANADIAN MONTHLY," APRIL, 1874.)</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Why now, sweet Alice, though thy numbers ring<br> + Like silver bells, methinks their burden wrong.<br> + For if 'tis right, then were the hermits right,<br> + And all recluses. And He was wrong<br> + Who gave to Adam, Eve: and leaned upon<br> + The breast of John the loved. So was He wrong<br> + To love the gentle home at Bethany.<br> + The sisters, and their brother Lazarus.<br> + So was He wrong to weep at Lazarus' grave,<br> + Pity's hot tears for Sin, and Death, and Woe.<br> + And in that awful hour when manhood failed<br> + And God forsook, He still was wrong to think<br> + With tenderest solicitude and care<br> + Upon his mother, and leave her in the charge<br> + Of John. And He was wrong who gave us hearts<br> + To yearn, and sensibilities to meet<br> + Those "clinging tendrils" thou wouldst have us cut.<br> + If thou art right, sweet +Alice,<br> + There were no ties of infancy, or age;<br> + Of consanguinity: or noble bond<br> + Of wide humanity, or sacred home:<br> + For without love,—e'en our poor earthly love,—<br> + The world were dead.<br> + Love is the silver cord, that, being loosed,<br> + The fabric of humanity falls wide<br> + In hopeless wrack. Well for us it is<br> + That when our nature, hurt, falls, shrieking, down,<br> + The Great Physician's hand may raise it up<br> + <a name="page114"><!-- Begin Page 114 --></a> And bind the wound. +But what mad folly 'twere<br> + Did we, like peevish child, beat down the hand,<br> + And tear afresh the wound. And this we do<br> + When of our morbid selves we idols make,<br> + And cry "No sorrow like to mine."<br> + O rather should we turn our tenderer hearts—<br> + Made gentler by our griefs—to gentle cares<br> + For weak Humanity, and, knowing what woe<br> + Our sinful nature brings upon itself,<br> + With God-like pity love it but the more.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page115"><!-- Begin Page 115 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="absent">THE ABSENT ONES.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>How I miss their faces!<br> + Faces that I love.<br> + Where I read the traces<br> + Heart and soul approve.<br> + Traces of their father<br> + Scattered here and there;<br> + Here a little gesture,<br> + There a twist of hair.<br> + Brave and generous Bertie,<br> + Sweet and quiet Fred,<br> + Tender-hearted Jackie,<br> + Various, but true-bred.<br> +<br> + How I miss their voices<br> + Raised in laughter gay;<br> + And in loving blessing<br> + When they go to pray.<br> + Even of their quarrels<br> + Miss I now the noise,<br> + Angry or disdainful,<br> + (What are they but boys?)<br> + Shouting in the garden,<br> + Spurring on the game,<br> + Calling a companion<br> + By some favourite name.<br> +<br> + How I miss the footsteps,<br> + Lightsome, loud, or slow;<br> + Telling by their echo<br> + How the humours go.<br> + <a name="page116"><!-- Begin Page 116 --></a> Lagging when they're +lazy.<br> + Running when they're wild.<br> + Leaping when they're gladsome,<br> + Walking when they're mild.<br> + Footsteps, voices, faces,<br> + Where are ye to-night?<br> + Father, keep my darlings<br> + Ever in Thy sight.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page117"><!-- Begin Page 117 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="away">AWAY.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Oh, where are all the madcaps gone?<br> + Why is the house so drear and lone?<br> + No merry whistle wakes the day,<br> + Nor evening rings with jocund play.<br> + No clanging bell, with hasty din,<br> + Precedes the shout, "Is Bertie in?"<br> + Or "Where is Fred?" "Can I see Jack?"<br> + "How soon will he be coming back?<br> + Or "Georgie asks may I go out,"<br> + He has a treasure just found out."<br> + The wood lies out in all the rain,<br> + No willing arms to load are fain<br> + The weeds grow thick among the flowers,<br> + And make the best of sunny hours;<br> + The drums are silent; fifes are mute;<br> + No tones are raised in high dispute;<br> + No hearty laughter's cheerful sound<br> + Announces fun and frolic round.<br> + Here's comic Alan's wit wants sport;<br> + And dark-eyed Bessie's quick retort<br> + Is spent on Nellie, mild and sweet;<br> + And dulness reigns along the street.<br> + The table's lessened numbers bring<br> + No warm discussion's changeful ring,<br> + Of hard-won goal, or slashing play,<br> + Or colours blue, or brown, or gray.<br> + The chairs stand round like rows of pins;<br> + No hoops entrap unwary shins;<br> + No marbles—boyhood's gems—roll loose;<br> + And stilts may rust for want of use;<br> + No book-bags lie upon the stairs;<br> + Nor nails inflict three-cornered tears.<br> + <a name="page118"><!-- Begin Page 118 --></a> Mamma may lay her +needle down,<br> + And take her time to go up town;<br> + Albeit, returning she may miss<br> + The greeting smile and meeting kiss.<br> +<br> + But hark! what message cleaves the air.<br> + From skies where roams the Greater Bear!<br> + "Safe, well, and happy, here are we,<br> + Wild as young colts and just as free!<br> + With plenteous hand and kindly heart,<br> + Our hosts fulfil a liberal part.<br> + Nor lack we food to suit the mind,<br> + Our alma-mater here we find,<br> + And in her agricultural school<br> + We learn to farm by modern rule;<br> + Professor Walter fills the chair,<br> + But teaches in the open air.<br> + And by his side we tend the stock,<br> + Or swing the scythe, or bind the shock.<br> + Nor miss we academic lore,<br> + We walk where Plato walked before,<br> + And eloquent Demosthenes,<br> + Who taught their youth beneath the trees;<br> + Here with sharp eyes we love to scan<br> + The rules that point Dame Nature's plan,<br> + We mark the track of bear and deer,<br> + And long to see them reft of fear.—<br> + Though well they shun our changeful moods,<br> + Taught by our rifle in the woods.<br> + Yet we may tell of mercy shown,<br> + Power unabused, the birdling flown,—<br> + When caught by thistly gossamer—<br> + Set free to wing the ambient air.<br> + Cautious we watch the gliding snake,<br> + 'Neath sheltering stone, or tangled brake,<br> + And list the chipmunk's merry trill<br> + Proclaim his wondrous climbing skill.<br> + <a name="page119"><!-- Begin Page 119 --></a> The bird; the beast; +the insect; all<br> + In turn our various tastes enthrall;<br> + The fish; the rock; the tree; the flower;<br> + Yield to quick observation's power.<br> + And many a treasure swells our store<br> + Of joys for days when youth is o'er.<br> + Our glowing limbs we love to lave<br> + Beneath the lake's translucent wave,<br> + Or on its heaving bosom ride<br> + In merry boat; or skilful guide<br> + The light canoe, with balanced oar,<br> + To yonder islet's pebbly shore.<br> + Sometimes, with rod and line, we try<br> + The bass's appetite for fly;<br> + Well pleased if plunge or sudden dart<br> + Try all our piscatorial art;<br> + And shout with joy to see our catch<br> + Prove bigger than we thought our match.<br> + Oft when the ardent sun at noon<br> + Proclaims his power, we hide full soon<br> + Within the cool of shady grove,<br> + Or, gathering berries slowly rove<br> + And often when the sun goes down,<br> + We muse of home, and you in town;<br> + And had we but a carrier dove<br> + We'd send her home with loads of love."<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page120"><!-- Begin Page 120 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="joe">POOR JOE.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>He cannot dance, you say, nor sing,<br> + Nor troll a lilting stave;<br> + And when the rest are cracking jokes<br> + He's silent as the grave.<br> +<br> + Poor Joe! I know he cannot sing—<br> + His voice is somewhat harsh:<br> + But he can whistle loud and clear<br> + As plover in the marsh.<br> +<br> + Nor does he dance, but he would walk<br> + Long miles to serve a friend,<br> + And though he cares not crack a joke,<br> + He will the truth defend.<br> +<br> + And so, though he for company<br> + May not be much inclined,<br> + I love poor Joe, and think his home<br> + Will be just to my mind.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page121"><!-- Begin Page 121 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h2><a name="fragments">FRAGMENTS.</a></h2> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> +<h3>"I WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR."</h3> +A happy year, sweet as the breath of flowers:<br> + A merry year, glad as the song of birds,<br> + A jocund year, gay as brown harvest hours;<br> + A prosperous year, rich, as in flocks and herds.<br> +<br> + +<hr> +<h3>THE LIFE-BOAT MAN.</h3> +When the loud minute gun alarms the night,<br> + And plunging waters hide the bark from sight,<br> + When lurid lightnings threat, and thunders roll.<br> + And roaring tempests daunt the trembling soul—<br> + 'Tis thine, O Life-boat Man, such fears to brave,<br> + And snatch the drowning from a watery grave.<br> + +<hr> +<br> + "I am learning the stitch," the lover said<br> + As over her work he bent his head.<br> + But the scene spake plain to the mother's eye<br> + "I am watching these busy fingers ply."<br> + And ever anon when a stitch she'd miss,<br> + 'Twas because he bent lower her hand to kiss.<br> + Oh tender lover, and busy maid,<br> + May the sweet enchantment never fade;<br> + Nor the thread of life, though a stitch may miss,<br> + Know a break that may not be joined by a kiss.<br> + +<hr></td></tr></table> +<a name="page122"><!-- Begin Page 122 --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2><a name="graduate">THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE.<br> + A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS.</a></h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>ACT I.</h3> +<h4>SCENE 1.—<i>Scugog</i>.</h4> +<center><i>The breakfast-room in the house of</i> BLOGGS, <i>a +wealthy Scugog merchant.<br> + At the table</i>, KATE, <i>his daughter, reading a +letter</i>.</center> +<p><i>Kate</i> (<i>in much indignation</i>). Refused! I knew +it!<br> + The crass ingratitude of haughty man,<br> + Vested in all the pride of place and power,<br> + Brooks not the aspirations of my sex,<br> + However just. Is't that he fears to yield,<br> + Lest from his laurelled brow the wreath should fall<br> + And light on ours? We may matriculate,<br> + And graduate—if we can, but he excludes<br> + Us from the beaten path he takes himself.<br> + The sun-lit heights of steep Parnassus<br> + Reach past the clouds, and we below must stay;<br> + Not that our alpen-stocks are weak, or that<br> + Our breath comes short, but that, forsooth, we wear<br> + The Petticoat. Out on such trash!</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> MR. BLOGGS.</center> +<p><i>Mr. Bloggs</i>. Why, what's the matter, Kate?</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Not much, papa, only I am refused<br> + Admission to the college. <i>Sapient</i> says<br> + The Council have considered my request,<br> + And find it inconsistent with the rules<br> + Of discipline and order to admit<br> + Women within their walls.</p> +<a name="page123"><!-- Begin Page 123 --></a> +<p><i>Mr. B</i>. I thought they'd say so. Now be satisfied;<br> + You've studied hard. Have made your mark upon<br> + The honour list. Have passed your second year.<br> + Let that suffice. You know enough to wed,<br> + And Gilmour there would give his very head<br> + To have you. Get married, Kate.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Papa, you vex me; Gilmour has no chance<br> + And that I'll let him know. Nor have I spent<br> + My youth in studious sort to give up now.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Bloggs</i>. What will you do? They will not let you +in,<br> + For fear you'd turn the heads of all the boys.<br> + And quite right, too. I wouldn't have the care<br> + And worry of a lot of lively girls<br> + For all I'm worth.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>He kisses her</i>.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. P'raps not, papa. But yet I mean to have<br> + The prize I emulate.<br> + + If I +obtain<br> + The honours hung so tantalizingly<br> + Before us by the University,<br> + Will you defray the cost, as hitherto<br> + You've done, like my own kind papa?</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She kisses him</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Bloggs</i>. I guess I'll have to: they won't send the +bills to you.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Ah, dear papa! I'll make you proud of me<br> + As if I were a son.</p> +<center><i>Enter</i> MRS. BLOGGS. <i>Exit</i> MR. BLOGGS.</center> +<p><i>Mrs. Bloggs</i>. My dearest Kate,<br> + How +very late<br> + + You +keep the breakfast things!</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. My dear mamma,<br> + I had +papa<br> + + To +tell of lots of things.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bloggs</i>. Your secret, pray,<br> + If so +I may<br> + + Be let +into it also.</p> +<a name="page124"><!-- Begin Page 124 --></a> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Oh, it was just this letter, mamma, from Mr. +Sapient, telling me that the Council won't let me go to University +College to share the education that can only be had there at a +reasonable cost, because the young men would be demoralized by my +presence.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bloggs</i>. Kate, I am astonished at you! Have I not +always said that women do not need so much education as men, and +ought to keep themselves <i>to</i> themselves, and not put +themselves forward like impudent minxes? What'll men think of you +if you go sittin' down on the same benches at the colleges, and +studyin' off of the same desk, and, like enough—for there are +girls bold enough for that—out of the same books? And what +must the professors think women are comin' to when they want to +learn mathyphysics and metamatics and classical history, and such +stuff as unfits a woman for her place, and makes her as ignorant of +household work, managin' servants, bringin' up children, and such +like, as the greenhorns that some people take from the emigrant +sheds, though I wouldn't be bothered with such ignoramuses, +spoilin' the knives, and burnin' the bread, for anythin'?</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Now, mamma, you know we have gone all over this +before, and shall never agree, because I think that the better +educated a woman is, the better she can fulfil her home duties, +especially in the care and management of the health of her family, +and the proper training of her sons and daughters as good +citizens.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bloggs</i>. You put me out of all patience, Kate! For +goodness' sake get married and be done with it. And that reminds me +that Harry Gilmour wants you to go to the picnic with him on +Dominion Day, and to the concert at the Gardens at night; and he +said you had snubbed him so at Mrs. Gale's that he didn't like to +speak about it to you without I thought he might. Now, that's what +I call a real shame, the way you do treat that young man. A risin' +young lawyer as he is, with no end of lots in Winnipeg, and all the +money his father made for him up there; comes of a good old family, +and has the best connections; as may be a member yet, perhaps +senator some day, and you <a name="page125"> +<!-- Begin Page 125 --></a> treat him as if he was quite beneath +you. I do hope you'll just show a little common sense and accept +his invitations.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Well, mamma, I think the real shame, as you call +it, is that you, and other ladies, will allow your daughters to go, +about to picnics, parties, balls, theatres or anywhere else, with +any man who happens to ask them, and without even so much as a +girl-companion, and yet you see nothing but impropriety in my +desire to attend college, where all the opportunity of associating +with the other sex is limited to a few lectures delivered by grave +and reverend Professors, under conditions of strict discipline, and +at which the whole attention of the students must necessarily be +concentrated on the subject. As for unlimited opportunities for +flirting, there are none; and the necessities of college life +compel each student to attend to his duties while within the halls, +and then go home; wherever that may be.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bloggs</i>. It's no use talking, Kate, you won't alter +my opinion. If they'd build another college specially for ladies, +as I hear the Council is willin' to do, and put it under charge of +a lady who would look after the girls, I wouldn't object so much, +though, as I always say, I don't see the need of so much learnin' +for women.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Well, mamma, how much would be gained by a separate +building? The Council, it is true, offer a piece of ground, within +a few minutes walk of the college, for a ladies' college, and +promise to deliver lectures specially "altered to suit the female +capacity." But if there was an intention of giddiness and +flirtation on the part of the lady students, how much hindrance do +you think the separate college would be? And if we can't understand +the same lectures as our brothers, it is evident we can't +understand the same books. Rather a hard nut to crack, isn't +it?</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Bloggs</i>. How rude you are, Kate! I am ashamed of +you.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> MRS. BLOGGS <i>in a rage</i>.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Poor mamma, she thinks her only child a very +<i>enfant terrible</i>.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page126"><!-- Begin Page 126 --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>SCENE 2.—<i>A lady's bedroom</i>.</h4> +<center>KATE BLOGGS <i>and her cousin</i>, ORPHEA BLAGGS, <i>in +conversation</i>.</center> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. What will you do, dear?</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. A deed without a name!<br> + A deed will waken me at dead of night!<br> + A deed whose stony face will stare at me<br> + With vile grimace, and freeze my curdling blood!<br> + Will make me quake before the eye of day;<br> + Shrink from the sun; and welcome fearsome night!<br> + A deed will chase my trembling steps by ways<br> + Unknown, through lonely streets, into dark haunts!—<br> + Will make me tremble if a child observes<br> + Me close; and quake, if, in a public crowd,<br> + One glances at me twice!<br> + A deed I'll blush for, yet I'll do't; and charge<br> + Its ugliness on those who forced me to't—<br> + In short, I'll wear the breeks.</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. Oh, Katie! You?</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Yes, me, dear coz.</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. But then your hair, and voice!</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. I'll train my voice to mouth out short, thick +words,<br> + As Bosh! Trash! Fudge! Rot! And I'll cultivate<br> + An Abernethian, self-assertive style,<br> + That men may think there is a deal more in<br> + My solid head than e'er comes out.<br> + My hair I'll cut short off.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She looses down her abundant brown hair, and +passes her hands through it caressingly</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">Ah, woman's simple pride! these +tresses brown<br> + Must all be shorn. Like to Godiva fair,<br> + Whose heart, so true, forgot itself, to serve<br> + Her suffering kind; I, too, must make<br> + My hair an offering to my sex; a protest strong<br> + 'Gainst man's oppression.<br> + <a name="page127"><!-- Begin Page 127 --></a> Oh, wavy locks, that +won my father's praise,<br> + I must be satisfied to cut ye off,<br> + And keep ye in a drawer 'till happier times,<br> + When I again may wear ye as a crown:<br> + Perchance a bang.</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. 'Twould, perhaps, be best to wear some as +moustache.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. The very thing! then whiskers won't be missed.</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. But oh, your mannish garb! How dreadful, +Kate!</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. True; but it must be done, and you must help.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exeunt</i>.</p> +<hr> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>SCENE 3.—<i>The same room. Evening</i>.</h4> +<center>KATE <i>alone</i>.</center> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Not let me in! We'll see. I'll beat 'em yet.<br> + To think that down in Canterbury, girls,<br> + Like my poor self, have had the badge bestowed<br> + That I so fondly covet. To think that they<br> + Enjoy the rights I ask, and have received<br> + The Cambridge University degree, B.A.<br> + Not only wear the gown and cap<br> + As college students, but the hood. The hood!<br> + And shall Macaulay's proud New Zealander<br> + Thus sit on me? Not if I know it. No!<br> + I'll don the dreadful clothes, and cheat the Dons.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She goes to the window</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">The blinds are down, the shutters +closed, the slats<br> + As well, surely no one can see.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She takes up a man's coat and looks at it, +then the vest, then the pants</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 12em;">I'll do't!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Invests herself in the masculine apparel. A +knock at the door. She starts and turns pale</i>.</p> +<p><i>A Voice</i>. Katie, dear!</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Pshaw! 'tis only Orphea!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She unlocks the door</i>.</p> +<a name="page128"><!-- Begin Page 128 --></a> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">(<i>In masculine tones</i>.) Come in, +dear coz.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Attempts to kiss her, but receives a slap in +the face</i>.</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. How dare you, sir! Oh! let me out.</p> +<p><i>Kate (in natural voice)</i>. Orphea, you goose!</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i> Oh, Kate, you did so scare me!</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. And is it then a good disguise?</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. 'Tis poor old Tom again.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. But how essay it in the street and hall?</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. Well, there's the gown to help. 'Twill cover +all.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. And then the cap? But that I do not mind;<br> + My Derby hat has used me to a style<br> + A trifle jaunty, and a hard stiff crown;<br> + So if my hair prove not too trying<br> + I yet may like to wear the "mortar-board,"<br> + If still they wear such things.</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i>. Oh, Kate, it is an awful risk!</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Awful, my dear; but poor mamma<br> + Thinks I'm an awful girl.<br> + If she but knew—<br> + Yet might I plead that men and women oft<br> + Have done the same before; poor Joan of Arc;<br> + Portia; and Rosalind. And I have heard<br> + That once Achilles donned the woman's garb:<br> + Then why not I the student's cap and gown?</p> +<a name="page129"><!-- Begin Page 129 --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>ACT II.</h3> +<h4>SCENE 1.—<i>A bedroom in a Toronto boarding-house</i>. +KATE BLOGGS <i>in bed</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter boarding-house mistress</i>.</center> +<p><i>Kate</i>. Yes, nursey, I'll be quick, but mind your words<br> + And looks, and do not make mistakes.</p> +<p><i>Nurse</i>. Oh no, Miss Kate—or Mr. Christopher,<br> + As that's the name you've chose, I'll not mistake.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>. And always mind and keep my room,<br> + My time and liberty, intact, and so<br> + You'll make it easier for me to obtain<br> + By surreptitious means, the rights I should<br> + Enjoy in happier sort.</p> +<p><i>Nurse</i>. I'll do my best, Miss Kate.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> Nurse.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i> (<i>in masculine attire, about to descend to the +breakfast table, turns once more to the mirror</i>). Oh, +Harberton,<br> + Hadst thou but taught the world<br> + The beauty of thy new divided skirt<br> + Ere I was born, this had not now been thus.<br> + This blush, that burns my cheek, had long been past;<br> + These trembling limbs, that blench so from the light,<br> + Had gotten strength to bear me manfully.<br> + Oh for the mantling night, when city fathers<br> + save the gas, and Luna draws her veil!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>She sits down on a box</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">Away, weak tears!<br> + I must be brave and show myself a man,<br> + Nay, more, a student, rollicking and gay.<br> + Would I could feel so! (<i>Sniffs at the air</i>.) Somebody +smokes,<br> + And before breakfast; pah, the nasty things!<br> + Would I could smoke! They say some women do;<br> + Drink toddy, too; and I do neither:<br> + That's not like a man; I'll have to learn.<br> + <a name="page130"><!-- Begin Page 130 --></a> But no! my soul +revolts; I'll risk it.<br> + Surely there are among a studious band<br> + Some who love temperance and godly life.<br> + That's the crowd I'll join. They will not plunge into<br> + Those dreadful orgies that the <i>Globe</i> describes,<br> + Of men half-tight with lager and old rye,<br> + Who waylay freshmen and immerse them in<br> + The flowing wave of Taddle,<br> + <i>Horrors! Why, I shall be a freshman!</i><br> + If they touch me I'll scream! ah—ha, I'll scream!<br> + Scream, and betray my sex? No, that won't do;<br> + At Rome I'll have to be a Roman;<br> + And, to escape that dread ordeal, I<br> + Shall cringe and crawl, and in the presence of<br> + A fourth year man step soft and bow,<br> + And smile if he but condescend to nod.<br> + Oh, yes, I'll do't. In tableaux once I played<br> + Uriah Heep, and made the character<br> + So "'umble" and so crawly, that for days<br> + I loathed my hands, and slapped my fingers well<br> + For having knuckles.<br> + Thus will I to the tyrant play the slave.<br> + An old antithesis.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Some one calls at the door</i>.</p> +<p style="text-indent: 12em;">Yes, yes, I'm coming, Hannah.<br> + Now for that dreaded step yclept the first,<br> + Pray Heaven it may cost most; but that I doubt.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Descends to the breakfast table</i>.</p> +<a name="page131"><!-- Begin Page 131 --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>ACT III.</h3> +<h4>SCENE 1.—<i>The same as Scene 2, Act I</i>.</h4> +<center>MISS ORPHEA BLAGGS <i>solus, reading a letter</i>.</center> +<p><i>Orphea (reading)</i>—</p> +<p>"My Dearest Orphea—Congratulate me! me, your cousin, Tom +Christopher, M.A., Gold Medallist.—Mathematics, and also +Natural Sciences; Honours in Classics, and Prizeman in German +again. You cannot think how queer I feel with all my blushing +honours thick upon me, and more to come. Tuesday! my dear Orphea, +Tuesday! Only think of it, Master of Arts, or more correctly +Mistress of Arts! Now let the New Zealanders boast, and the +Cambridge girls bite their tongues, Canada has caught them up! Ah, +my dear Orphea, that is the drop of gall in the cup of your +successful cousin—the Canterbury Antipodeans got their +honours <i>first</i>. It reminds me of the saying that the nearer +to church the farther from heaven, since it is evidently the nearer +to the centre of civilization the farther from a University Degree, +so far as we unfortunate women are concerned. But never mind! I've +proved that Canadian girls are equal in mental power with Canadian +boys, and I am only impatient to let the Dons know it.</p> +<p>"And now, my love, for the conclusion of the two years' farce. +It has cost me a whole week's sleep to sketch a plan by which to +declare my sex in the most becoming manner to my fellow +students.</p> +<p>"Do you know, dear, when I look back upon the pleasures of the +past two years—how soon we forget the pain!—I am not +inclined to regret the step rendered necessary by my devotion to my +sex, for use has made me quite at home in +the—ah—divided skirt! How many lovely girls have I +danced with through the rosy hours who will never more smile on me +as they were wont to smile! How many flowers of rhetoric have been +wasted on me by the irony of fate! How many <i>billets-doux</i>, so +perfumed and <a name="page132"><!-- Begin Page 132 --></a> pretty, +lie in my desk addressed to my nether garment! And how many mammas +have encouraged Mr. Christopher, who will forever taboo Miss +Bloggs! And then the parties and the picnics! Ah, my dear Orphea, +what do I not sacrifice on the altar of my sex. But a truce to +regrets.</p> +<p>"I am longing to see the elegant costume in which I shall appear +before the astonished eyes of the multitude as Miss Bloggs, +M.A.</p> +<p>"You know my style, the latest out, which I find by the fashion +books is Mignonette trimmed with Chinese Pheasant. Buttons up the +back of the sleeves, with rubies and amethysts. Let the fichu be +Eidelweiss; trim the fan and slippers with the same, and use +dandelions and calla lilies for the bouquets. Not a button less +than forty on the gloves, and don't forget my hair.</p> +<p>"Get yourself up to match by contrast, and come and help me make +a sensation.</p> +<p>"The dinner is on the <i>tapis</i>. Webb will be caterer, Sells +will supply the cider; Shapter and Jeffery the Zoedone, and I have +entered into a contract with the Toronto Water Works for pure water +on this occasion only. I have bought up every flower in Toronto, so +that if the tariff does not prevent it, other folks will have to +import their own roses; and I have engaged every boy in the public +schools who has nothing better to do next Saturday to go to Lome +Park and bring back as many maiden-hairs as he can find. Ferns are +my craze, as you know, and I am quite a crank on maiden-hair, which +I mean to adopt for my crest with "If she will, she will," as a +motto. Ever your own,</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">"KATE."</p> +<p>A merry letter truly.<br> + +I'll to the dressmaker.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page133"><!-- Begin Page 133 --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>ACT IV.</h3> +<h4 class="scene">SCENE 1.—<i>A boarding-house dining-room +richly decorated with flowers and plants. Twenty gentlemen, among +whom is</i> Mr. Tom Christopher, <i>each accompanying a lady, one +of whom is</i> Miss Blaggs. <i>The cloth is drawn, and dessert is +on the table</i>.</h4> +<p><i>Mr. Biggs, B.A. (Tor. Univer.), on his feet</i>.</p> +<p style="margin-left: 2em;">Ah—ladies and gentlemen, here's +to our host,<br> + And rising, as thus, to propose him a toast,<br> + I think of the days which together<br> + In shade, and in sunshine, as chums we have passed,<br> + In love, and esteem, that forever must last,<br> + Let happen what will to the weather.</p> +<p>In short, ladies and gentlemen, I have to propose the +everlasting health and welfare of our host, who should have been +our honoured guest but for that persistent pertinacity he exhibited +in the matter, and which he does himself the injustice to call +womanish. But I am sure, ladies and gentlemen, no one but himself +ever accused our esteemed host of being womanish, and when we look +upon the high standing he has achieved in our University, the +honour he confers on his Alma Mater by his scholarly attainments +and the gentlemanly character he has won among all sorts of +students, I am sure, ladies and gentlemen, we should be doing great +injustice to you all were we for one moment to admit that he could +be other than he is, an honour to Toronto University, and a credit +to his sex. I am quite sure the ladies are at this moment envying +the happy woman whom he will at no distant date probably +distinguish with his regard, and it must be satisfactory to +ourselves, gentlemen, to know that it lies in our power, as the +incumbents of academic honours, to be able to bestow that reversion +of them on those who, having all the world at their feet, need not +sigh for the fugitive conquests that demand unceasing toil and an +unlimited amount of gas or coal-oil. Ladies and gentlemen, I call +<a name="page134"><!-- Begin Page 134 --></a> upon you to fill your +sparkling glasses to the honour of our host and college chum, Mr. +Tom Christopher. And here's with a hip, hip, hooray! and hands all +round!</p> +<p><i>All</i>.—Hip, hip! Hurrah!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Tremendous cheering and clinking of glasses. +Several are broken, and the excitement consequently +subsides</i>.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Tom Christopher</i>.—Ladies and gentlemen, I thank +you much.<br> + For these your loving words. A third year man,<br> + I came upon you fresh from nowhere;<br> + This in itself a warranty for cold<br> + And hard suspicion; but you received<br> + Me with some warmth, and made me one of you,<br> + Chaffed me, and sat on me, and lent me books.<br> + And offered pipes, and made inquiries kind<br> + About my sisters; and Time, who takes<br> + Men kindly by the hand, made us warm friends,<br> + And knit us in a love all brotherly.</p> +<p><i>Many Voices</i>.—Yes, brothers! brothers! we are +brothers all!</p> +<p><i>A Voice</i>.—And sisters!</p> +<p><i>Mr. Tom</i>.—I would say sisters too, but that I +fear<br> + My lady guests would think I did presume;<br> + But yet I know, and knowing it am proud,<br> + That most men here to-night would welcome all<br> + The sweet girl-graduates that would fill the list<br> + Did but the College Council set aside<br> + A foolish prejudice, and let them in.<br> + And now, I know a girl who long has worked<br> + To pass the exams, take the proud degree<br> + I hold to-day, and yet her petticoat<br> + Forbade.</p> +<p><i>Several Voices</i>.—Name! Name! A toast! A toast!</p> +<p><i>Mr. Tom</i>.—I will not name her, gentlemen, but +bring<br> + Her to your presence, if you so incline;<br> + First begging that you will not let surprise<br> + Oust self-possession, for my friend's a girl<br> + <a name="page135"><!-- Begin Page 135 --></a> Of timid temper, +though she's bold to act<br> + If duty calls.</p> +<p><i>Many Voices</i>.—Your friend! Your friend!</p> +<p><i>Mr. Tom</i>.—I go to fetch her, gentlemen; dear ladies +all,<br> + I beg your suffrages of gentle eyes<br> + And kindly smile to greet my guest.</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Exit</i> MR. TOM CHRISTOPHER.</p> +<hr> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>SCENE 2.—<i>The same</i>.</h4> +<center><i>Enter</i> MISS KATE BLOGGS <i>in full dinner toilet of +Reseda silk, and carrying a<br> + dandelion and lily bouquet</i>.</center> +<p><i>Miss Blaggs</i>.—My cousin! oh, my cousin!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>Rushes excitedly forward and falls into +hysterics on</i> Miss BLOGGS' <i>neck. The company gather round in +great surprise</i>.</p> +<p><i>Miss B</i>.—Dear Orphea! Orphea, my dear! oh, water, +gentlemen!<br> + Lay her upon the couch. See! see! she gasps!<br> + Orphea, dear girl!</p> +<p class="stage">[<i>The ladies are much alarmed, but Miss BLAGGS +soon gives signs of recovery, and sits up</i>.</p> +<p><i>Orphea</i> (<i>in tears)</i>.—Oh, Kate! it struck me so +to see you once again as you were wont to be; those nasty ugly +pants forever gone, and you a girl again.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>.—Dear friends, you look surprised.<br> + Pray Heaven you'll not look worse when you know all.<br> + I am indeed a girl, though you have known<br> + Me hitherto as Thomas Christopher.<br> + Four years ago I passed the exams, for<br> + Us women, at your University.<br> + Once more I passed. But when again I would,<br> + I stumbled for the teaching that is chained—<br> + Like ancient scripture to the reading desk—<br> + Within your College walls. No word of mine<br> + Could move the flinty heads of College Council.<br> + <a name="page136"><!-- Begin Page 136 --></a> Order and discipline +forbade, they said,<br> + That women should sit-side by side with men<br> + Within their walls. At church, or concert, or<br> + At theatre, or ball, no separation's made<br> + Of sexes. And so I, being a girl<br> + Of firm and independent mind, resolved<br> + To do as many a one beside has done<br> + For lesser prize, and, as a man, sat at<br> + The feet of our Gamaliels until I got<br> + The learning that I love. That I may now<br> + Look you all in the face without a blush, save—that<br> + Which naturally comes at having thus<br> + To avow my hardihood, is praise, I trow,<br> + You will not think unworthy; and to me<br> + It forms a soft remembrance that will ever dwell<br> + Within my grateful heart.<br> + Can you forgive me?</p> +<p><i>Many Voices</i>.—We do, we must. All honour to the +brave!<br> + Speak for us, Biggs.</p> +<p><i>Mr. Biggs</i>.—I cannot speak, except to ask the lady's +pardon<br> + For our rough ways.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>.—No; pardon me.</p> +<p><i>Many Voices</i>.—No! no! we ask your pardon.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>.—If that, indeed, as I must need believe<br> + From all your looks, you do not blame me much,<br> + Endue me with a favour. It is this:—<br> + Let every man and woman here to-night<br> + Look out for those petitions that will soon<br> + Be placed in many a store by those our friends<br> + Who in this city form a ladies' club,<br> + And each one sign. Nay more, to show you mean<br> + What I, with swelling heart have often heard<br> + You strongly urge, the rights of women to<br> + The College privileges, get all your friends<br> + To sign. Do what your judgment charges you<br> + To help so good a cause, and let the lists<br> + Of 1883 have no more names<br> + <a name="page137"><!-- Begin Page 137 --></a> Set by themselves as +women. Let us go<br> + In numbrous strength before the Parliament,<br> + And ask our rights in such a stirring sort,<br> + They shall be yielded. Then I shall know<br> + Your brotherly and pleasant words mean faith,<br> + And shall no more regret a daring act<br> + That else will fail of reason.<br> + May I thus trust?</p> +<p><i>All</i>.—You may! You may.</p> +<p><i>Kate</i>.—Then hands all round, my friends, till break +of day.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page138"><!-- Begin Page 138 --></a> <a name="page139"> +<!-- Begin Page 139 --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2><a name="fables">FABLES:<br> + ORIGINAL AND FROM THE FRENCH.</a></h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<a name="page140"><!-- Begin Page 140 --></a> <a name="page141"> +<!-- Begin Page 141 --></a> +<h3><a name="fables1">THE CHOICE.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>As fragrant essences from summer flowers,<br> + Steal, on aërial pinions, to the sense,<br> + So, on the viewless wing of rumour, sped<br> + A word that set the aviary on flame.<br> + "To-morrow comes the Prince," it said, "to choose<br> + A bird of gifts will grace the royal bower."<br> + O then began a fluttering and a fume—<br> + A judging each of all! Pert airs and speech<br> + Flew thick as moulted feathers. Little heads<br> + Were tossed in lofty pride, or in disdain<br> + Were turned aside. For each bird deemed his own<br> + The merits that would charm. One only sang<br> + To-day his daily song, nor joined the crowd<br> + In envious exultation. To him spoke<br> + Another of his kind. "Vain one, refrain<br> + That everlasting pipe, fit for a cage<br> + Behind some cotter's lattice, where thy gray<br> + And thickset form may shun the cultured eye.<br> + A word of warning, too—hide from the Prince."<br> + "Dear brother," cried the gray, "be not annoyed;<br> + Who sees your elegance of form, and depth<br> + Of perfect colour, ne'er will notice me."<br> + The morrow came,—the Prince. Each bird essayed<br> + To please the royal taste, and many a meed<br> + Of praise was won and given—this for his hue;—<br> + That for his elegance;—another for<br> + <a name="page142"><!-- Begin Page 142 --></a> His fascinating +grace. Yet something lacked,<br> + 'Twas evident, and many an anxious glance<br> + Betrayed the latent fear.<br> + + "Yon +little bird<br> + In quiet gray and green courts not my praise,<br> + Yet should a singer be," exclaimed the Prince,<br> + As with a critical and searching eye<br> + He scanned the small competitors for choice.<br> + Obedient to his governor, the bird<br> + Poured forth his song, oblivious of the crowd<br> + Of vain and envious round him, in whose eyes<br> + He stood contemptible. The Prince, entranced,<br> + Broke forth at length: "Nor hue, nor elegance,<br> + Nor fascination, can outvie the gift<br> + Of genius. My choice is made."<br> + + And to +the great offence<br> + Of one bright bird, at least, the humble gray<br> + Became the royal treasure.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page143"><!-- Begin Page 143 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables2">INSINCERITY.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Tired of the narrow limits her assigned,<br> + Truth fled the earth; and men were fain to grope<br> + In utter darkness. Blindly they blundered,<br> + And were long distraught, till on the horizon rose<br> + A luminosity, and in its midst<br> + A form. They cried, "'Tis Truth! fair Truth returned!'<br> + And though the light seemed dim, the form but faint<br> + To that of other days, they worshipped it,<br> + And all things went along much as at first.<br> + Until, born none knew whence, a doubt arose;<br> + Grew strong; and spake; and pondering, men began<br> + To quest their goddess' claim. Then, too, was set<br> + A secret watch, a covert test for proof;<br> + And one fine day there rose a clamour, such<br> + As cheated mobs will make, when cunning puts<br> + A veto on their claim.<br> + For this mob found that, in her stolen guise<br> + Of softer beams, they had adored a cheat;<br> + A make-believe; a lie.<br> + Immense their rage! One aim inspired them all—<br> + To punish. But while they swayed and tossed<br> + In wrathful argument on just desert,<br> + Fair Truth indeed appeared, clad in her robes<br> + Of glorious majesty. "Desist, my friends,"<br> + She cried; "the executioner condign<br> + Of Insincerity, and your avenger,<br> + Is Time, my faithful henchman."<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page144"><!-- Begin Page 144 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables3">THE TWO TREES.<br> + FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Two trees, amid whose leafy shade<br> + The warbling birds their vigils paid,<br> + Stood neighbours—each as noble tree<br> + In height and girth as one might see.<br> + The one, sequestered in the vale,<br> + All sheltered from the boisterous gale,<br> + Had passed his days in soft repose;<br> + The other from the cliff arose,<br> + And bore the brunt of stormy wind<br> + That lashed him oft in frenzy blind.<br> +<br> + A day there happed when from the north<br> + Aquilon drave his forces forth,<br> + And hurled them headlong on the rock<br> + Where, proudly poised to meet the shock,<br> + Our bold tree stood. In gallant might,<br> + He took the gage of proffered fight,<br> + And though in every fibre wrung,<br> + Kept every fibre still upstrung.<br> +<br> + "Thou tremblest!" cried the sheltered tree,<br> + "Thine own the folly! Come to me.<br> + Here no wild tempest rocks our boughs—<br> + Scarce may it bend our haughty brows—<br> + Scarce may a breeze our branches kiss—<br> + From every harm a shelter this."<br> + <a name="page145"><!-- Begin Page 145 --></a><br> + No word replied the storm-tried tree,<br> + But, wrestling for the mastery,<br> + He bowed and straightened, writhed and shook,<br> + And firmer of the rock he took<br> + A tightening clutch with grip of steel,<br> + Nor once the storm-fiend made him reel;<br> + And when his weary foe passed by,<br> + Still towered he proudly to the sky.<br> +<br> + Then through the vale the wingèd blast<br> + For the first time in fury passed,<br> + As through ripe grain the sickles go,<br> + Widespread he scattered fear and woe;<br> + Prone fell the tree—so safe before—<br> + 'Mid ruin dire, to rise no more.<br> +<br> + He cannot fall who knows to fight<br> + With stern adversity aright.<br> + But soon is laid the victim low,<br> + That knows not how to ward a blow.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page146"><!-- Begin Page 146 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables4">FABLE AND TRUTH.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Simply attired in Nature's strictest garb,<br> + Fair Truth emerged from out her sheltering well;<br> + But Time so many of her charms had touched<br> + That age and youth before her presence fled:<br> + And no asylum showed an open door<br> + Of welcome to the waif of shivering limb.<br> + Sudden upon her sight a vision breaks—<br> + Gay Fable richly robed, and pranked withal<br> + In plumes and jewels—mostly false 'tis true,<br> + But bright enough. "Ah, is it you, my friend?<br> + How do?" quo' she, "but why upon the road.<br> + "And all alone?"<br> + + "You +see I freeze," says Truth,<br> + "And yet of those who pass I but implore<br> + A simple shelter, but I frighten them.<br> + Alas! I see an aged woman gains<br> + But small consideration!"<br> + + + +"Younger than I,"<br> + Saith Fable, "are you? Yet I may aver,<br> + Without conceit, that everywhere<br> + I am received with joy. But Mistress Truth,<br> + Why did you brave the light in such scant robe?<br> + 'Twas most ill-judged. Come, let's arrange for both,<br> + Since the same end is aim for me as you;<br> + Get 'neath my cloak, and we'll together walk.<br> + Thus, for your sake, I shall not by the wise<br> + Be buffeted; and for my sake, you shall<br> + Be well received among the simpler sort.<br> + Thus every one his proper taste may suit,<br> + And by these means each shall her end attain,<br> + Thanks to your sense, and my amusing speech.<br> + And you will see, my sister, everywhere<br> + We shall be well received, in company." +—<i>Florian</i>.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page147"><!-- Begin Page 147 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables5">THE CALIPH.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>In ancient days the Caliph Almamon<br> + A palace built in Bagdad, fairer far<br> + Than was the vaunted house of Solomon.<br> + The portico a hundred columns graced<br> + Of purest alabaster. Gold and blue<br> + And jasper formed the rich mosaic floor.<br> + Ceiled with the fragrant cedar, suites of rooms<br> + Displayed a wealth of sculpture; treasures rare<br> + In art and nature vied; fair flowers and gems,<br> + Perfumes and scented myrtles; verdure soft<br> + And piercing lustre; past the embroidered couch<br> + The gushing fountains rolled on dancing wave.<br> + And beauty reigned o'er all.<br> + Near this abode, but just beyond the gate,<br> + A simple cottage stood, old and dilapidate,<br> + The home of a poor weaver. There, content<br> + With little gain procured by labour long,<br> + Without a debt and thus beyond a care,<br> + The old man lived, forgotten perhaps, but free.<br> + His days all peaceful softly wore away<br> + And he nor envied was, nor envying.<br> + As hath been told, his small and mean retreat,<br> + Just masked the palace gates. The Grand Vizier<br> + Would pull it down, without formality<br> + Of law, or word of grace. More just his lord<br> + Commands to buy it first. To hear is to obey;<br> + They seek the weaver's bearing bags of gold;<br> + "These shalt thou have."<br> + + + "No; +keep your lordly sum,<br> + My workshop yields my needs," responds the man,<br> + "And for my house, I have no wish to sell;<br> + Here was I born, and here my father died:<br> + <a name="page148"><!-- Begin Page 148 --></a> And here would I die +too. The Caliph may,<br> + Should he so will, force me to leave the place<br> + And pull my cottage down, but should he so<br> + Each day would find me seated on the stone<br> + The last that's left, weeping my misery.<br> + I know Almamon's heart; 'twill pity me."<br> + This bold reply the Vizier's choler raised;<br> + He would the rascal punish, and at once<br> + Pull down the sorry hut. Not so the Caliph:<br> + "No; while it stands my glory lives," saith he,<br> + "My treasure shall be taxed to make it whole;<br> + And of my reign it shall be monument;<br> + For when my heirs shall this fair palace mark<br> + They shall exclaim 'How great was Almamon!'<br> + And when yon cottage 'Almamon was just!'" +—<i>Florian</i>.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page149"><!-- Begin Page 149 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables6">THE BLIND MAN AND THE PARALYTIC.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Kindly let us help each other,<br> + Lighter will our burden lie,<br> + For the good we do our brother<br> + Is a solace pure and high,—<br> + So Confucius to his people,<br> + To his friends, the wise Chinese,<br> + Oft affirmed, and to persuade them,<br> + Told them stories such as these:—<br> +<br> + In an Asiatic city<br> + Dwelt two miserable men,—<br> + Misery knows nor clime nor country,<br> + Haunts alike the dome or den—<br> + Blind the one, the other palsied,<br> + Each so poor he prayed for death;<br> + Yet he lived, his invocations<br> + Seeming naught but wasted breath.<br> + On his wretched mattress lying,<br> + In the busy public square,<br> + See the wasted paralytic<br> + Suffering more that none doth care.<br> +<br> + Butt for everybody's humour,<br> + Gropes the blind his devious way,<br> + Guide, nor staff, nor helper has he,<br> + To supply the light's lost ray;<br> + E'en a poor dog's willing service,<br> + Love, and guidance are denied;<br> + Till one day his groping finds him<br> + By the paralytic's side.<br> + There he hears the sufferer's moaning,<br> + And his very soul is moved.<br> + He's the truest sympathizer<br> + Who, like sorrow, erst has proved.<br> +<br> + <a name="page150"><!-- Begin Page 150 --></a> "I have, sorrows, +thou hast others,<br> + Brother, let us join our woes,<br> + And their rigours will be softened,"<br> + Thus the blind began propose.<br> + "Ah, my friend, thou little knowest<br> + That a step I cannot take;<br> + Thou art blind; what should we gain then<br> + Of two burdens one to make?"<br> + "Why, now, brother, see how lucky,<br> + 'Twixt us both is all we lack:<br> + Thou hast eyes, be thou the guide then,<br> + Thee I'll carry on my back;<br> + Thus without unfriendly question<br> + As to which bears heaviest load,<br> + I will walk for thee, and thou, friend,<br> + Choose for me the smoothest road." +—<i>Florian</i>.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page151"><!-- Begin Page 151 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables7">DEATH.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>On a set day, fell Death, queen of the world,—<br> + In hell assembled all her fearful court<br> + That 'mongst them she might choose a minister<br> + Would render her estate more flourishing.<br> + As candidates for the dread office came,<br> + With measured strides, from Tartarus' lowest depth,<br> + Fever, and Gout, and War—a trio<br> + To whose gifts all earth and hell bare witness—<br> + The queen reception gave them.<br> + + Then +came Plague,<br> + And none his claims and merit might deny.<br> + Still, when a doctor paid his visit, too,<br> + Opinion wavered which would win the day.<br> + Nor could Queen Death herself at once decide.<br> + But when the Vices came her choice fell quick—<br> + She chose Excess. —<i>Florian</i>.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page152"><!-- Begin Page 152 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables8">THE HOUSE OF CARDS.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>How softly glide Philemon's happy days<br> + Within the cot where once his father dwelt<br> + Peaceful as he!<br> + Here with his gentle wife and sturdy boys,<br> + In rural quietude, he tills his farm;<br> + Gathers his harvest, or his garden tends.<br> + Here sweet domestic joys together shared<br> + Crown every evening, whether 'neath the trees<br> + The smiling summer draws the table forth:<br> + Or round the cosy hearth the winter cold<br> + With crackling faggot blazing makes their cheer.<br> + Here do the careful parents ever give<br> + Counsels of virtuous knowledge to their sons.<br> + The father with a story points his speech,<br> + The mother with a kiss.<br> + Of different tastes, the boys: the elder one,<br> + Grave, studious, reads and thinks the livelong day;<br> + The younger, sprightly, gay, and graceful, too,<br> + Leaps, laughs incessant, and in games delights.<br> + One evening, as their wont, at father's side,<br> + And near a table where their mother sewed,<br> + The elder Rollin read. The younger played:<br> + Small care had he for Rome's ambitious deeds,<br> + Or Parthian prowess; his whole mind was set<br> + To build a house of cards, his wit sharp-drawn<br> + To fit the corners neatly. He, nor speaks,<br> + Nor scarce may breathe, so great his anxious care.<br> + But suddenly the reader's voice is heard<br> + Self-interrupting: "Papa, pray tell me why<br> + Some warriors are called Conquerors, and some<br> + The Founders, of an Empire? What doth make<br> + The points of difference in the simple terms?"<br> + <a name="page153"><!-- Begin Page 153 --></a> In careful thought +the father sought reply:<br> + When, radiant with delight, his younger son,<br> + After so much endeavour, having placed<br> + His second stage, cries out, "Tis done!" But he,<br> + The elder, harshly chides his brother's glee,<br> + Strikes the frail tenement, and so destroys<br> + The fruits of patient toil: The younger weeps:<br> + And then the father thus: "Oh, my dear son,<br> + Thy brother is the Founder of a realm,<br> + Thou the fell Conqueror." —<i>Florian</i>.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page154"><!-- Begin Page 154 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables9">THE BULLFINCH AND THE RAVEN.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>In separate cages hung, the same kind roof<br> + Sheltered a bullfinch and a raven bold,<br> + The one with song mellifluous charmed the house;<br> + The other's cries incessant wearied all.<br> + With loud hoarse voice he screamed for bread and meat<br> + And cheese; the which they quickly brought, in hope<br> + To stop thereby his brawling tongue.<br> + + + + The +finch<br> + Did nought but sing, and never bawled and begged;<br> + So they forgot him. Oft the pretty bird<br> + Nor food nor water had, and they who praised<br> + His song the loudest took the smallest care<br> + To fill his fount. And yet they loved him well,<br> + But thought not on his needs.<br> + One day they found him dead within his cage,<br> + "Ah, horror! and he sang so well!" they cry,<br> + "What can it be he died of? 'Tis, indeed<br> + A dreadful pity."<br> + The raven still screamed on, and nothing lacked. +—<i>Florian</i>.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page155"><!-- Begin Page 155 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="fables10">THE WASP AND THE BEE.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Within the chalice of a flower<br> + A bee "improved the shining hour,"<br> + Whom, when she saw, a wasp draw near,<br> + And sought to gain the fair one's ear,<br> + With tender praise: "Oh, sister mine—<br> + (For love and trust that name entwine)"<br> + But ill it pleased the haughty bee,<br> + Who answered proudly: "Sisters!—we?<br> + Since when, I pray you, dates the tie?"<br> + With angry warmth the wasp's reply<br> + Came fuming forth—"Life-long, indeed.<br> + In semblant points all eyes may read<br> + The fact. Observe me if you please.<br> + Your wings, are they not such as these?<br> + Mine is your figure, mine your waist,<br> + And if you used with proper taste<br> + Your sting, as I do, we agree<br> + In that."<br> + + "'Tis +true," replies the bee,<br> + "Each bears a weapon; in its use<br> + The difference lies. For fierce abuse,<br> + And insolence your dart doth serve.<br> + Mine gives the chastisement that these deserve,<br> + And while you irritate your dearest friend;<br> + I take good heed myself, but to defend." +—<i>Florian</i>.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page156"><!-- Begin Page 156 --></a> <a name="page157"> +<!-- Begin Page 157 --></a> <a name="page158"> +<!-- Begin Page 158 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h2><a name="translations">TRANSLATIONS</a></h2> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <a name="page159"><!-- Begin Page 159 --></a> +<h3><a name="trans1">A MEMORY OF THE HEROES OF 1760. +<br>FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>O ye who tread with heedless feet<br> + This dust once laid with heroes' blood,<br> + A moment turn your backward glance<br> + To years of dread inquietude:<br> + When wars disturbed our peaceful fields;<br> + When mothers drew a sobbing breath;<br> + When the great river's hilly marge<br> + Resounded with a cry of death.<br> +<br> + Then, full of fire, the heroes sprang<br> + To save our heritage and laws.<br> + They conquered! 'twas a holiday.<br> + Alas, the last in such a cause!<br> + Bloody and shamed, the flag of France<br> + Perforce recrossed the widening seas;<br> + The sad Canadian mourned his hopes,<br> + And cherished bitter memories.<br> +<br> + But noble he despite his woe!<br> + Before his lords he proudly bends,<br> + Like some tall oak that storms may shake,<br> + And bow, but never, never rend.<br> + And oft he dreams a happy dream,<br> + And sees a flag, with lilies sown,<br> + Come back whence comes the rising Sun,<br> + To float o'er landscapes all his own.<br> +<br> + <a name="page160"><!-- Begin Page 160 --></a> Oh when the south +wind on its wings<br> + Bears to his ear strange sounds afar,<br> + To him they seem the solemn chant<br> + Of triumph after clam'rous war.<br> + Those echoes weird of gallant strife<br> + E'en stir the coffined warrior-dead,<br> + As stirs a nation's inmost heart<br> + At some proud pageant nobly led.<br> +<br> + O France, once more 'neath Western skies,<br> + We see thy standards proudly wave!<br> + And Mexico's high ramparts fall<br> + Before thy squadrons, true and brave.<br> + Peace shalt thou to the land restore;<br> + For fetters shalt give back the crown;<br> + And with thy shining sword shalt hurl<br> + The base usurper from the throne.<br> +<br> + Hear ye, how in their ancient urns<br> + The ashes of our heroes wake?<br> + Thus greet they ye, fair sons of morn,<br> + For this their solemn silence break.<br> + They greet ye, whose renown hath reached<br> + Past star on star to highest heaven!<br> + Ye on whose brow their halo sits,<br> + To ye their altar shall be given!<br> +<br> + Arise, immortal phalanxes,<br> + Who fell upon a glorious day!<br> + Your century of mourning weeds<br> + Posterity would take away.<br> + Arise and see! our woods and fields<br> + No longer nourish enemies!<br> + Whom once ye fought are brothers now,<br> + One law around us throws its ties.<br> +<br> + <a name="page161"><!-- Begin Page 161 --></a> And who shall dare +our homesteads touch,<br> + That for our heritage ye gave:—<br> + And who shall drive us from the shores<br> + To which your blood the verdure gave?—<br> + E'en they shall find the oppressed will rise<br> + More powerful for the foe withstood;<br> + And ever for such heinous crime<br> + Shall pay the forfeit with their blood.<br> +<br> + Ye, our defenders in the past,<br> + Your names are still a household word!<br> + In childhood's ear old age recounts<br> + The toils your hardy youth endured.<br> + And on the field of victory<br> + Hath gratitude your memory graved!<br> + In during brass your story lives<br> + A glory to the centuries saved!<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page162"><!-- Begin Page 162 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="trans2">THE SONG OF THE CANADIAN VOLTIGEURS. +<br>FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Our country insulted<br> + Demands quick redress.<br> + To arms, Voltigeurs!<br> + To the struggle we press.<br> + From vict'ry to vict'ry,<br> + Brave, righteous, and just,<br> + Ours the mem'ries that cling to<br> + Our forefathers' dust.<br> +<br> + Defend we our farm-lands,<br> + Our half-crumbled walls!<br> + Defend we our sweethearts,<br> + Our hearths and our halls!<br> + Our dear native tongue,<br> + Our faith keep we free!<br> + Defend we our life,<br> + For a people are we!<br> +<br> + No rulers know we, save<br> + Our time-honoured laws!<br> + And woe to the nation<br> + That sneers at our cause.<br> + Our fields and our furrows,<br> + Our woods and our streams,<br> + Should their columns invade,<br> + Shall entomb their vain dreams!<br> +<br> + To our foes, the perfidious,<br> + Be war to the knife.<br> + Intrepid, yet duteous,<br> + We leap to the strife.<br> + <a name="page163"><!-- Begin Page 163 --></a> More terrible +shewing<br> + In danger's red hour;<br> + We know to avenge,<br> + And unbroken our power.<br> +<br> + List the thunderous roar<br> + As the shot rushes by!<br> + To our war-song heroic,<br> + The chorus of joy.<br> + At the ring of the musket<br> + To the battle we fly;<br> + Come! come to the field,<br> + See us conquer or die.<br> +<br> + What! we become slaves<br> + To an alien foe?<br> + We bear their vile trammels?<br> + Our answer is, No!<br> + Assistance shall reach us<br> + From heaven's lucent arch:<br> + Come! seize we our muskets<br> + And "double-quick march!"<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page164"><!-- Begin Page 164 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="trans3">THE LEGEND OF THE EARTH. +<br>FROM THE FRENCH OF JEAN RAMEAU.</a></h3> +<hr> +<center>[The Prize Poem in the Christmas (1885) Number of the Paris +<i>Figaro</i>, translated for the <i>Week</i>.]</center> +<br> + +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>When the Creator had laid out the deeps,<br> + The great illimitable fields of sad-eyed space,<br> + A weighty bag upon His neck He threw,<br> + Whence issued sound confused of huddled stars;<br> +<br> + And, plunging in the sack His mighty hand,<br> + He traversed all the ether's wondrous plain<br> + With slow and measured step, as doth a sower,<br> + Sowing the gloomy void with many suns.<br> +<br> + He tossed them—tossed them—some in fantastic +groups,<br> + And some in luminous; some terrible.<br> + And 'neath the Sower's steps, whose grain was stars,<br> + The furrows of the sky, ecstatic, smoked.<br> +<br> + He tossed them—tossed them—out of His whirling +hand,<br> + Plenteous in every place, by full broad casts<br> + Measured to rhythmic beat; and golden stars<br> + Flew o'er the wide expanse like firefly swarms.<br> +<br> + "Away! away!" cried He of worlds the Sower:<br> + "Away, ye stars! spring in the wastes of heaven;<br> + Broider its purple fields with your fair gems;<br> + Tuneful, elated, gladsome, take your course.<br> +<br> + "Go, wave of fire, into a darksome night,<br> + And there make joy, and there the pleasant day!<br> + And launch into the depths immeasurable<br> + Quick, quivering darts of glowing light and love!<br> +<br> + <a name="page165"><!-- Begin Page 165 --></a> "I will that all +within your bounds shall shine,<br> + Be glad, be prosperous, happy, blest, content,<br> + Shall sing for ever 'Glory be to Thee,<br> + Creator, Father, Sower, who with suns<br> + + + Hast +filled infinity!'"<br> +<br> + Thus He dismissed the stars, weighted with life,<br> + Careering round their calm Creator's feet<br> + As, in a desert place July has scorched,<br> + The grains of sand may cloud the traveller's steps.<br> +<br> + And glittered all, and sang; and, hindered not,<br> + Upon their axes turned, constant and sure;<br> + Their million million voices, strong and deep,<br> + Bursting in great hosannas to the skies.<br> +<br> + And all was happiness and right, beauty and strength;<br> + And every star heard all her radiant sons<br> + With songs of love ensphere her mother-breast;<br> + And all blessed Life. And blessed the Highest Heaven.<br> + +<hr> +Now, when His bag of stars he had deplete,<br> + When all the dark with orbs of fire was strown,<br> + The Sower found at bottom, 'twixt two folds,<br> + A little bit of shining sun, chipped off.<br> +<br> + And wondering, knowing not what sphere unknown<br> + Revolved in crimson space all incomplete,<br> + The great Creator, at a puff, spun off<br> + This tiny bit of sun far into space;<br> +<br> + Then, mounting high up to His scarlet throne,<br> + Beyond the mist of thickly scattered worlds,<br> + Like a great crowned king whose proud eye burns<br> + At hearing from afar His people's voice,<br> + + + He +listens,<br> + <a name="page166"><!-- Begin Page 166 --></a><br> + And He hears<br> + The +mighty Alleluia of the stars,<br> + The choirs of glowing spheres in whirling flood<br> + Of song and high apotheosis,<br> + All surging to His feet in incense clouds.<br> +<br> + He sees eternity with rapture thrilled;<br> + He sees in one prolonged diapason<br> + The organ of the universe, vehement, roll<br> + For ever songs of praise to Him, the Sower.<br> +<br> + But suddenly He pales. From starry seas<br> + A smothered cry mounts to the upper skies;<br> + It rises, swells, grows strong; prevailing o'er<br> + All the ovation of the joyful spheres.<br> +<br> + From that dim atom of the chipped orb<br> + It comes; from wretches left forsaken, sad,<br> + Who weep the Mother-star, incessant sought<br> + And never found from that gray point of sky.<br> +<br> + And the cry said "Cursed! Cursed are we, the lost<br> + By misery led, a wretched pallid flock,<br> + Made for the light and tossed into the dark!<br> +<br> + "We are the banished ones; the exile band;<br> + The only race whose eyes are filled with tears.<br> + And if the waters of our seas be salt,<br> + 'Twas our forefathers tears that made them so.<br> +<br> + "Be He Anathema, the Sower of Light!<br> + Be He Anathema whom worlds adore!—<br> + If to our native star He join us not<br> + Be He accursed, through all creation cursed, for aye!"<br> +<br> + Then rose the God from His great scarlet throne,<br> + And gentle, moved, weeping as we, He stretched<br> + His two bright arms over the flat expanse,<br> + And in a voice of thunder launched reply:—<br> +<br> + <a name="page167"><!-- Begin Page 167 --></a> "Morsel of Sun, +calling thyself the Earth:—<br> + Chrysalides on her grey bounds supine:—<br> + Humanity—sing! for I give you Death,<br> + The Comforter, he who shall lead you back<br> + Safe +to your Star of Light,<br> + +<hr> +And this is why—lofty, above mishap,<br> + The Poet, made for stars of molten gold,<br> + Spurns earth; his eyes; fixed on the glowing heavens,<br> + Toward which he soon shall take his freer +flight.<br></td></tr></table> +<a name="page168"><!-- Begin Page 168 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="trans4">THE EMIGRANT MOUNTAINEER. +<br>FROM THE FRENCH OF CHATEAUBRIAND.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>How doth fond memory oft return<br> + To that fair spot where I was born!<br> + My sister, those were happy days<br> + In +lovely France.<br> + O, country mine, my latest gaze<br> + Shall +turn to France!<br> +<br> + Remember'st thou with what fond pride,<br> + Our lowly cottage hearth beside,<br> + She clasped us to her gladsome breast—<br> + Our +dearest mother;<br> + While on her hair so white, we pressed<br> + +Kisses, together?<br> +<br> + My sister, canst thou not recall<br> + Doré, that bathed the castle wall,<br> + And that old Moorish tower, war-worn<br> + And +grey,<br> + From whence the gong struck out each morn<br> + The +break of day.<br> +<br> + The tranquil lake doth mem'ry bring,<br> + Where swallows poised on lightest wing;<br> + The breeze by which the supple reed<br> + Was +bent,—<br> + The setting sun whose glory filled<br> + The +firmament?<br> +<br> + <a name="page169"><!-- Begin Page 169 --></a> Rememberest thou +that tender wife,<br> + Dearest companion of my life?<br> + While gathering wild flowers in the grove<br> + So +sweet,<br> + Heart clung to heart, and Helen's love<br> + Flew +mine to meet.<br> +<br> + O give my Helen back to me,<br> + My mountain, and my old oak tree!<br> + Memory and pain, where'er I rove,<br> + +Entwine,<br> + Dear country, with my heart's deep love<br> + +Around thy shrine.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page170"><!-- Begin Page 170 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="trans5">FROM "LIGHTS AND SHADES." +<br>FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>When on the cliff, or in the wood<br> + I muse the summer evening by,<br> + And realize the woes of life,<br> + I contemplate Eternity.<br> +<br> + And through my shadow-chequered lot<br> + GOD meets my earnest, gazing eye;<br> + As through the dusk of tangled boughs<br> + We catch bright glimpses of the sky.<br> +<br> + Yes, when, at last Death claims her own,<br> + The spirit bursts the bonds of sense,<br> + And—like a nestling—in the tomb<br> + Finds pinions that shall bear her +thence.</td></tr></table> +<a name="page171"><!-- Begin Page 171 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3><a name="trans6">VILLANELLE TO ROSETTE +<br>FROM THE FRENCH OF PHILIPPE DEPORTES, SIXTEENTH CENTURY.</a></h3> +<hr> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>In my absence, though so short,<br> + You, Rosette, had changed your mind:<br> + Learning your inconstancy,<br> + I, another mistress find.<br> + Never more shall charms so free<br> + Gain ascendancy o'er me.<br> + We shall see, oh light Rosette,<br> + Which of us will first regret.<br> +<br> + While with tears I pine away,<br> + Cursing separation drear;<br> + You, who love by force of wont,<br> + Took another for your dear.<br> + Never vane all lightly hung,<br> + To the wind more swiftly swung.<br> + We shall see, oh vain Rosette,<br> + Which of us will first regret.<br> +<br> + Where are all those sacred vows,—<br> + All those tears at parting wept?<br> + Can it be those mournful plaints<br> + Came from heart so lightly kept?<br> + Heavens, that you so false could be!<br> + Who shall trust you, cursed is he.<br> + We shall see, oh false Rosette,<br> + Which of us will first regret.<br> +<br> + <a name="page172"><!-- Begin Page 172 --></a> He who to my place +has climbed,<br> + Ne'er can love you more than I;<br> + And in beauty, love, and faith,<br> + You're surpassed I own with joy.<br> + Guard your new love lest he range,<br> + Mine, the darling, knows not change.<br> + Thus we put to proof, Rosette,<br> + Which of us will first +regret.<br></td></tr></table> +<hr> +<a name="page173"><!-- Begin Page 173 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h2><a name="notes">NOTES.</a></h2> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <a name="page174"><!-- Begin Page 174 --></a> <a name="page175"> +<!-- Begin Page 175 --></a> +<h3>LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812<br> + A DRAMA.</h3> +<h4>NOTE 1, <a href="#page011">page 11</a>.</h4> +<p>The simple heroic story thus enlarged into dramatic form is not +unknown to the Canadian muse, but has been sung by several of her +votaries, notably by Miss Machar, of Kingston; Mr. John Reade, of +Montreal; and Dr. Jakeway, of Stayner.</p> +<p>Dr. Jakeway's verse is not so well known as it deserves to be, +not only for its literary merit, but also for its patriotic +fervour, the fervour of a true and loyal Canadian: I shall +therefore be pardoned if I quote the closing stanzas of his "Laura +Secord":</p> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> "Braver deeds are not recorded,<br> + In historic treasures hoarded,<br> + Than the march of Laura Secord through +the forest, long ago.<br> + And no nobler deed of daring<br> + Than the cool and crafty snaring,<br> + By that band at Beaver Dam, of all the +well-appointed foe.<br> +<br> + But we know if war should ever<br> + Boom again o'er field and river.<br> + And the hordes of the invader should +appear within our land,<br> + Far and wide the trumpets pealing.<br> + Would awake the same old feeling.<br> + And again would deeds of daring sparkle +out on every hand."</td></tr></table> +<h4>NOTE 2, <a href="#page012">page 12</a>.</h4> +<center>And Stony Creek was ours.</center> +<p>A 49th man thus writes to Auchinleck, p. +178:—"Sir,—To your, account of the battle of Stony +Creek I would like to add a few particulars.... At eleven o'clock +at night the Light Company and Grenadiers of the 49th were under +arms; every flint was taken out and every charge was drawn. Shortly +after we moved on in sections, left in front, the Light Company +leading the way towards the enemy's camp. I had been driven in that +afternoon from Stony Creek, and was well acquainted with the +ground. The cautious silence observed was most painful; not a +whisper was permitted; even our <a name="page176"> +<!-- Begin Page 176 --></a> footsteps were not allowed to be heard. +I shall never forget the agony caused to the senses by the +stealthiness with which we proceeded to the midnight slaughter. I +was not aware that any other force accompanied us than the +Grenadiers, and when we approached near the Creek, I ventured to +whisper to Col. Harvey, 'We are close to the enemy's camp, sir.' +'Hush! I know it,' was his reply. Shortly after a sentry challenged +sharply; Lieutenant Danford and the leading section rushed forward +and killed him with their bayonets; his bleeding corpse was cast +aside, and we moved on with breathless caution. A second +challenge—who comes there?—another rush and the poor +sentinel is transfixed, but his agonized dying groans alarmed a +third who stood near the watch fire; he challenged, and immediately +fired and fled. We all rushed forward upon the sleeping guard; few +escaped; many awoke in another world. The excitement now became +intense; the few who had escaped fired as they ran and aroused the +sleeping army. All fled precipitately beyond the Creek, leaving +their blankets and knapsacks behind.</p> +<p>"Our troops deployed into line and halted in the midst of the +camp fires, and immediately began to replace their flints. This, +though not a <i>very</i> lengthy operation, was one of intense +anxiety, for the enemy now opened a most terrific fire, and many a +brave fellow was laid low. We could only see the flash of the +enemy's firelocks while we were perfectly visible to them, standing +as we did in the midst of their camp fires. It was a grand and +beautiful sight. No one who has not witnessed a night engagement +can form any idea of the awful sublimity of the scene. The first +volley from the enemy, coming from a spot as 'dark as Erebus,' +seemed like the bursting forth of a volcano. Then again all was +dark and still, save the moans of the wounded, the confused click! +click!—noise made by our men in adjusting their flints, and +the ring of the enemy's ramrods in reloading. Again the flash and +roar of the musketry, the whistling of the bullets, and the crash +of the cannon. 'Chaos has come again.' The anxious moments (hours +in imagination) have passed; the trembling excited hands of our men +have at last fastened their flints; the comparatively merry sound +of the ramrod tells that the charge is driven home; soon the fire +is returned with animation; the sky is illumined with continued +flashes; after a sharp contest and some changes of position, our +men advance in a body and the enemy's troops retire. There were +many mistakes made in this action, the two greatest were removing +the men's flints, and halting in the midst of the camp fires; this +is the reason why the loss of the enemy was less than ours, their +wounds were mostly made by our bayonets. The changes of position by +different portions of each army in the dark accounts for the fact +of prisoners having been made by both parties. I must give the +enemy's troops great credit for having recovered from their +confusion, and for having shown a bold front so very soon after +their having been so suddenly and completely surprised.</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">"Yours, A 49TH MAN."</p> +<a name="page177"><!-- Begin Page 177 --></a> +<h4>NOTE 3, <a href="#page013">page 13</a>.</h4> +<center>Friend Penn.</center> +<p>Of this character, of whom the writer has made a somewhat free +use, Col. Coffin says: "There is a tradition in the neighbourhood +that Harvey himself having borrowed the garb and waggon of a +Quaker"—of which sect there were many settled in Upper Canada +at the time—"penetrated into the American lines, selling +potatoes and 'taking notes.' Those who can recall the commanding +stature and bearing of the gallant officer maintain that this was +the very last disguise in which he was likely to succeed. It is not +impossible that some patriotic 'Friend' really found a good market +for his produce and valuable information for Harvey."</p> +<h4>NOTE 4, <a href="#page015">page 15</a>.</h4> +<center>Hymn.</center> +<p>An air to this hymn has been composed.</p> +<h4>NOTE 5, <a href="#page016">page 16</a>.</h4> +<center>Pete and Flos.</center> +<p>That the rights of the slave-holder had legal recognition in +1812 is not to be doubted, and that nearly every family of any +means or repute held slaves is certain. The Bill abolishing slavery +in the British Dominions did not pass until 1832, when it was +introduced by Lord Stanley (the late Earl of Derby). A strong +feeling in favour of its abolition had however permeated society, +in consequence of the powerful representations made on the subject, +both in and out of the British Parliament, by Wilberforce and +Clarkson, "who had successfully shown," says Hamilton in his +"Outlines of the History of England," "that the effect of this +iniquitous system was no less injurious to the moral condition of +the people of England than it was to the physical well-being of the +African race." That no ill-feeling towards their masters generally +existed in Canada in the minds of the slaves may be fairly inferred +from the fact that, at their own request, a coloured regiment was +formed to assist in the defence of the country in 1812, and under +Captain Runchey did good service at the Battle of Queenston +Heights. In this connection it is also to be remembered that large +numbers of freedmen were to be found both in England and +Canada—men who for faithful or special services had received +the gift of freedom from their grateful and generous masters.</p> +<p>That the Legislature of Upper Canada was free even at that early +period to deal with its domestic questions is shown by the fact +that in 1793 an Act was passed at Newark, "forbidding the further +introduction of slaves into the province, and ordering that 'all +slave children born after the 9th of July in that year should be +free on attaining the age of twenty-five.'" To this Act is due the +fact that Canada was as early as 1800 a city of refuge for escaped +slaves, numbers of whom found their way hither from Baltimore and +Maryland. (<i>See</i> also <a href="#appendices">Appendix</a>.)</p> +<a name="page178"><!-- Begin Page 178 --></a> +<h4>NOTE 6, <a href="#page018">page 18</a>.</h4> +<center>We'll have it though, and more, if Boerstler.</center> +<p>It has generally been stated that Mr. Secord heard of the +intended surprise of Fitzgibbon by accident. The facts of the case +are, however, related in the poem, Mrs. Smith, a daughter of Mr. +and Mrs. Secord, who yet survives, being the authority.</p> +<p>Mrs. Smith states that with the insolence of the victorious +invader, Dearborn's men came and went, ordered, or possessed +themselves of, whatever they chose, and took every form of +familiarity in the homes of the residents within their lines, and +that it was fast becoming an anxious question with the farmers and +others, what they should do for supplies if Dearborn were not +ousted within the season.</p> +<h4>NOTE 7, <a href="#page019">page 19</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> + +—and fell a-talking, loud,<br> + As in defiance, of some private plan<br> + To make the British wince.</td></tr></table> +<p>The ill-feeling of the Americans towards British subjects can +scarcely be too strongly represented for the facts. A bitter +antagonism was naturally the feeling of each side so lately in the +deadly struggle of a civil war. To gloss over this state of things, +deplorable as it was, and as its results have often been, is to +belie history, and to no good or useful end. Had the contention +been akin to a mere friendly tug-of-war, as some would have it +represented now, lest a growing friendliness should be endangered, +it would be necessary for the historian to re-write all that has +been written, for otherwise the arguments of contention would have +no meaning, no <i>raison d'être</i>; in fact, they could +never have been formulated, for the premisses would have been +wanting. "He is the best cosmopolite, who for his country lives." +says some one, and it is to this truth that the peace of the world, +which we all wish to see established, will be owing, not to any +false representations in place of facts.</p> +<h4>NOTE 8, <a href="#page025">page 25</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>That hate to England, not our country's name<br> + And weal, impelled mad Madison upon this war,<br> + And shut the mouths of thousand higher men than +be.</td></tr></table> +<p>"The Democratic Party," says Col. Coffin (see "Chronicle of the +War," pp. 30-1-3), "eager to humble Britain, accepted any +humiliation rather than quarrel with France. They submitted to the +capture of ships, the sequestration of cargoes, the ransom of +merchandise, with a faint remonstrance. French war ships seized +American merchantmen at sea—plundered and burnt them. They +consoled themselves with the belief that the anticipated triumph of +the French Emperor in Europe would ensure their supremacy on this +continent. They were prepared to divide the world between them...." +In the words of the historian Alison, "the ostensible object of the +war was to establish the principle that the flag covers the +merchandise, <a name="page179"><!-- Begin Page 179 --></a> and that +the right of search for seamen who have deserted is inadmissible; +the real object was to wrest from Great Britain the Canadas, and, +in conjunction with Napoleon, extinguish its maritime and colonial +empire. Politicians, too, of this early American school had a +notion that French connection and the conquest of Canada were +synonymous terms. This was a great mistake ... but ... it had an +unexpected good effect, for the very suggestion of a French policy, +or the exercise of French influence, tested the British feeling +still latent in the hearts of thousands of Americans. In the New +England States a war with England was denounced.... Citizens of +these States expressed an abhorrence of France, and of its rule, +and protested against the contemplated introduction of French +troops on this continent, which, under the pretext of subduing or +seducing the French-Canadians, might prove to be subversive of +their own liberties.</p> +<p>"It is probable that to this spirit of truthful independence may +be ascribed the fact that during the whole of the ensuing war +(1812-15) the immense extent of frontier between Lower Canada and +the States of Vermont and New Hampshire and Maine was unassailed by +an enemy.... No hostile irruption was attempted upon the Province +from Lake Champlain to the ocean.... War was declared on the 18th +June, 1812, by Act of Congress. Mr. Madison, then President, who +had done all in his power to exasperate the existing ill-will, and +to lash the popular mind to frenzy, eluded the responsibility of +the fatal act, and made a cat's paw of the Legislature."</p> +<p>The people of the United States were disunited on the subject of +the war.... The Legislature of Maryland openly denounced the war. +The Governments of Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island had +refused the quota of militia demanded of these States respectively. +Such men as Quincey declared in the House of Representatives at +Washington that "since the invasion of the Buccaneers, there was +nothing in history more disgraceful than this war." The same view +of President Madison's action is also held by Auchinleck, Christie, +and, indeed, by every trustworthy historian of the time.</p> +<h4>NOTE 9, <a href="#page025">page 25</a>.</h4> +<center>In opening up a road to reach the great Pacific.</center> +<p>In 1812 the vast promise of the West had begun to attract public +interest. The discovery of the Columbia River in Oregon, including +what is now Washington Territory, was made by Captain Gray, of +Boston, in 1792, and upon this was based the general claim of the +United States to the Territory. The British, however, held a prior +claim of occupation and discovery. In 1804-6 Captains Lewis and +Clarke explored the whole country from the mouth of the Missouri to +the mouth of the Columbia, and in 1811 Fort Astoria was built. The +Treaty of 1845 settled the question of claim to this Territory in +common with other Western lands in favour of the United States. +Although California was not largely settled by United States +subjects until the Treaty of 1844, yet its reputation for being a +gold-bearing <a name="page180"><!-- Begin Page 180 --></a> country +was well established, and had been increasing in public regard from +the time of its first exploration by Sir Francis Drake in 1570, who +expressed a strong opinion as to its auriferous character. Long +before the famous expedition of Colonel Fremont across "the +plains," numerous trails, too often marked by the white bones of +their victims, bore testimony to the dauntless courage and sanguine +enterprise that has opened up the great empire of the West.</p> +<h4>NOTE 10, <a href="#page026">page 26</a>.</h4> +<center>Brock! MacDonell! Dennis!</center> +<p>It would be a work of supererogation to say anything of +Major-General Sir Isaac Brock here, so completely is his name +enshrined in Canadian history, literature, and tradition. I may, +however, be pardoned if I quote a few descriptive sentences to be +found in "A Chapter of the War of 1812," by Col. William Stanley +Hatch, Acting Assistant Quartermaster-General of the army with Hull +at Detroit.</p> +<p>"General Brock was an officer of distinction. His personal +appearance was commanding; he must have been six feet three or four +inches in height, very massive and large boned, though not fleshy, +and apparently of immense muscular power. His Aides were elegant +young men, very near, if not quite six feet in height, and in their +splendid uniforms all three presented a brilliant appearance. But +how transitory and evanescent the gratification of that day and +that event!" [the taking of Detroit]. "In a few short +weeks—less than two months—on the 13th October, 1812, +two of these noble men and gentlemanly officers had fallen. At this +distant day I feel it due to myself and to them to record the +sentiment of regret which impressed itself upon my mind when the +announcement came that General Brock and Colonel MacDonell, public +enemies as they were, had terminated their earthly career at +Queenston."</p> +<p>Lieutenant-Colonel MacDonell, A.D.C. to General Brock, was "one +of five sons of a brother of MacDonell, Laird of Glengarry, who +bore a prominent part in supporting Prince Charles, called the +Pretender.... The family came out to this country shortly after the +American Revolution, and settled in the County of Glengarry among +other Scotch settlers, who had been located on lands in that county +upon the disbanding of the regiment known as the Royal Highland +Emigrants. Lieutenant-Colonel MacDonell came up to Toronto (then +York) and studied law, and was appointed Attorney-General of the +Province when a very young man, and afterwards accompanied, as +aide-de-camp, General Brock at Detroit and Queenston," where he +gloriously fell in the gallant charge that followed the fall of +Brock.—<i>Extract of private letter</i>. (<i>See</i> also +<a href="#appendices">Appendix</a>.)</p> +<p>"I have heard that he (Lieut.-Col. MacDonell) was brought up by +the late Hon. Alexander MacDonell, who gave him a valuable piece of +property in the then Town of York to start him in the legal +profession. On his way up the Niagara River with General Brock, +having a kind of presentiment of <a name="page181"> +<!-- Begin Page 181 --></a> what might happen, the Colonel made his +will, and bequeathed the land referred to, to James MacDonell, +eldest son of the Hon. Alexander MacDonell. The land is now owned +by the widow of James (Mrs. M. S. MacDonell, living at 305 Bathurst +Street). It comprised the west side of Church Street, from +Wellington Street to King Street, and went some distance +west."—<i>Extract of private letter</i>.</p> +<p>Beside the lady above mentioned, several connections of +Lieut.-Col. MacDonell reside in Toronto, among them W. J. +MacDonell, Esq., French Vice-Consul; Angus D. MacDonell, Inland +Revenue Department; and Alex. MacDonell, Esq., Osgoode Hall. The +late Bishop MacDonell was also of this family, as were most of the +MacDonells who grace the pages of Canadian histories of the War of +1812.</p> +<p>Captain James Dennis—the third of the trio whom Mrs. +Secord apostrophises—then Lieutenant, had been among the +wounded on board the <i>Monarch</i> man-of-war at Copenhagen, but +recovered so as to accompany his regiment to Canada. In 1812 he was +in charge of one of the two flank companies of the 49th, stationed +at Queenston, and gallantly led the defence, directing the one-gun +battery and holding the enemy completely in check until their +discovery of a path to the summit of the Height turned the scale on +the wrong side, where it stood until the arrival of General Brock. +In the splendid charge up-hill Captain Dennis was wounded, and, it +was supposed, killed; he, however, bravely kept the field until the +day was won, despite pain and weakness. He was not related to the +Dennises of York, and Buttonwood, near Weston; but two members of +this family were in the York militia, and served at Queenston. The +late Bishop Richardson, an uncle of theirs, also served in the navy +on the lakes, where he lost an arm.</p> +<h4>NOTE 11, <a href="#page027">page 27</a>.</h4> +<center>The Widow, Stephen Secord.</center> +<p>This lady was the widow of Stephen, an elder brother of James +Secord, who, in conjunction with another brother, David, a major in +the militia, and after whom the village was named, built and owned +the grist mill at St. David's. Stephen Secord appears to have died +some years previous to the war, leaving a family of several sons. +With the wisdom and spirit of a sensible woman the widow carried on +the business, and thereby brought up her family. During the war all +her sons were variously engaged in it with the exception of the +youngest, and in the absence of sufficient help the widow worked +with her own hands, turning out flour for which the Government paid +her twenty dollars a barrel. Many of the Secords who are to be +found scattered through the Province at the present time are +children of her sons.</p> +<h4>NOTE 12, <a href="#page027">page 27</a>.</h4> +<center>Sergeant George Mosier.</center> +<p>This character is singular in being the only pure invention in +the poem; and the name was chosen as being most unlikely to be +borne by any one in the neighbourhood of Queenston. By one of those +coincidences, however, <a name="page182"> +<!-- Begin Page 182 --></a> that are not unknown, it appears that +there was a Captain Mosier living at Newark in 1812, and commanding +a vessel on Lake Ontario. Captain Mosier was of some service to the +British Government, and on one occasion was able to be of special +use in carrying off and concealing, until the mischievous effect +was over, a somewhat hot-headed gentleman who in the ardour of his +loyalty had thought it his solemn duty to cross the river and +bayonet the sentinel at Fort Niagara.</p> +<h4>NOTE 13, <a href="#page027">page 27</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> + + +—all is pretty quiet still<br> + Since Harvey struck them dumb at Stony Creek.<br> + Along the Lake bold Yeb holds them fast,<br> + And Erie-way, Bishopp and Evans back him,</td></tr></table> +<p>"On the withdrawal of the British troops, the battlefield of +Stony Creek was, as before said, for a short space re-occupied by +the Americans under Colonel Burns, a cavalry officer, upon whom the +command had devolved. He merely remained long enough to destroy the +tents ... and stores. He then rapidly retired to the protection of +the lines of Fort George, though in executing this manoeuvre he was +intercepted and suffered much. On their advance the Americans had +been accompanied all along the lake shore by a flotilla of boats +and batteaux. Burns fell back upon this support, and embarked his +wounded, and such of his men as had not yet got under cover, and +was slowly creeping down the coast to the place from whence he +came, when, on the 8th June, Sir James Yeo, who by this time had +become master of his own movements, and had got out of Kingston, +appeared in the offing; intelligence from the shore had apprised +him of the state of things, and of the position of the enemy; and +Richardson (the late James Richardson, D.D.) dwells with sailorly +impatience on the perversity of a calm.... A breeze sprung up and +the squadron closed in with the shore, cutting off the twelve +rearmost boats of the American flotilla, laden with valuable +supplies and stores. Perceiving an encampment in the woods on the +beach, the Commodore disembarked in the ship's boats two companies +of regulars under Major Evans of the 8th Regiment. This active +officer landed, and in the evening having been reinforced by two +companies from Burlington Heights under Colonel Bishopp, the second +deserted American camp was entered. It was in a state of +conflagration, ... but the captors saved from the flames 500 tents, +140 barrels of flour, 100 stand of arms.... Thus did this exploit +of Harvey free the whole Peninsula from the invaders, and threw +them back upon the mere edge of the frontier with a deep and +dangerous river in their rear, between them and their supports and +supplies."—<i>Col. Coffin's Chronicles of the War of +1812</i>. (<i>See</i> also <a href="#appendices">Appendix</a>.)</p> +<h4>NOTE 14, <a href="#page029">page 29</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> She, our neighbour +there<br> + At Queenston.</td></tr></table> +<p>This brave woman was Mrs. Maria Hill, a soldier's wife, who +pitying the hungry condition of men who had been called out before +day-break on a cold <a name="page183"><!-- Begin Page 183 --></a> +October morning, to meet a foe already in partial occupation and +temporarily victorious, had no means of procuring or cooking +supplies, and indeed could not even break their fast, except by the +intervention of those whose property they, for the time, had been +unable to defend. Mrs. Hill carried her little stores on to the +field, and leaving her babe, who crowed and cheered, it is said, as +though mightily diverted by the sight of the red-coats, under the +shelter of a wood-pile, lighted fires, boiled water, and carried +tea and food to as many of the men on the field as she could +supply.</p> +<h4>NOTE 15, <a href="#page030">page 30</a>.</h4> +<center>The Lady Harriet Acland.</center> +<p>This lady was the daughter of Stephen, first Earl of Ilchester, +and accompanied her husband, Major John Dyke-Acland, to Canada in +1776.</p> +<p>The story put into the mouth of Sergeant George Mosier may be +found in the <i>Saturday Magazine</i> for May, 1835, and also in +Burke's "Romance of the Aristocracy." Her beauty, bravery and +tender love for her husband made the name of Lady Harriet Acland an +honour and delight among the men of her husband's regiment, and +thus it is that Sergeant Mosier is made her historian with great +propriety.</p> +<p>In the <i>Gentleman's Magazine</i> for February, 1778, I also +find the following note, p. 69, in "Extracts from the Congress +Accounts of the Northern Expeditions":</p> +<p>"Oct. 11.—Some letters passed between the Generals, the +first from Gen. Burgoyne, by Lady Acland, whose husband was +dangerously wounded, recommending her Ladyship to the care and +protection of Gen. Gates. Gen. Gates's answer, in which he +expresses his surprise that his Excellency, after considering his +preceding conduct, should think that he could consider the greatest +attention to Lady Acland in the light of an <i>obligation</i>."</p> +<h4>NOTE 16, <a href="#page030">page 30</a>.</h4> +<center>Save perhaps the Baroness.</center> +<p>The Baroness Reidessel, the wife of one of the officers of the +Hessians. This lady, together with the wives of Major Harnage and +Lieutenant Reynell, was with Lady Acland during the painful march +that preceded the action of the 19th September, 1777. They had +followed the route of the artillery and baggage as being less +likely of attack on the road, and when the engagement begun found +themselves at a little uninhabited hut, from whence they could hear +the roll of the guns that were carrying death to scores of brave +men. Here they had to endure a great trial, for their only refuge +was also the only place to which the wounded, who soon began to +arrive in great numbers, could be brought for first care. Soon +Major Harnage was brought in desperately wounded. Not long after +the news arrived that Lieutenant Reynell was shot dead, and before +the day was done Major Acland was a prisoner dangerously wounded. +Herself saved for the present such terrible <a name="page184"> +<!-- Begin Page 184 --></a> trials, Baroness Reidessel +distinguished herself by her ministrations to her suffering +companions, and to the dying and wounded around, thus gaining the +affectionate remembrance of many a poor fellow who had no other ray +of comfort in his anguish.</p> +<h4>NOTE 17, <a href="#page037">page 37</a>.</h4> +<center>"Rule Britannia."</center> +<p>This, together with "The King: God bless him," and "The Duke of +York's March" were at this period new and favourite tunes all over +the British Empire. In the <i>Times</i>, Oct. 3, 1798, under the +heading "Drury Lane Theatre," it is reported that "after the play +the news of Admiral Nelson's victory (over the French under Admiral +Brueys at Rosetta) produced a burst of patriotic exultation that +has been rarely witnessed in a theatre. 'Rule Britannia' was +lustily called for from every part of the house, and Messrs. Kelly, +Dignum, Sedgwick, Miss Leak and Mrs. Bland came forward and sang +it, accompanied by numbers of the audience. It was called for and +sung a second time. The acclamations were the loudest and most +fervent we have ever witnessed. The following lines, written for +the occasion, were introduced by Mr. Dignum and Mr. Sedgwick:</p> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>"'Again the tributary strain<br> + Of grateful Britons, let us raise;<br> + And to the heroes on the main,<br> + Triumphant add a Nelson's praise.<br> + Though the "Great Nation" proudly boasts<br> + Herself invincible to be,<br> + Yet oft brave Nelson still can prove<br> + Britannia Mistress of the Sea.'</td></tr></table> +<p>"The audience was not satisfied with this repeated mark of +exultation, but in the effusion of enthusiasic loyalty called for +'God Save the King,' which was received with reiterated +plaudits."</p> +<p>In another column of the same issue it is told that, "A person +last night in the gallery of Drury Lane House calling frequently in +a boisterous manner for the tune of 'Britons, Strike Home!' was +immediately silenced by the appropriate observation of another at +some distance from him, 'Why, damn it, they have, haven't +they?'"</p> +<p>The great popularity of "Rule Britannia" was owing to its entire +consonance with the spirit of the nation, a popularity not even yet +diminished. A further instance of its use in the celebration of a +great national event is given in the <i>Times</i>, Nov. 7, 1805, in +which is recorded the official account of the Battle of Trafalgar +and the death of Nelson. At Covent Garden, where both the Kembles +were then playing together with Mrs. Siddons, a "hasty but elegant +compliment to the memory of Lord Nelson" was presented. It +"consisted of columns in the foreground decorated with medallions +of the naval heroes of Britain. In the distance a number of ships +were seen, and the front of the picture was filled by Mr. Taylor +and the principal singers of the theatre. <a name="page185"> +<!-- Begin Page 185 --></a> They were grouped in an interesting +manner with their eyes turned toward the clouds, from whence a +half-length portrait of Lord Nelson descended with the following +words underwritten, 'Horatio Nelson, Ob. 21st Oct.'" Mr. Taylor and +the other performers then sang "Rule Britannia," verse and chorus. +The following additional verse, written by Mr. Ashley, of Bath, was +introduced and sung by Mr. Taylor with the most affecting +expression. It was universally encored:—</p> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>"Again the loud-toned trump of fame,<br> + Proclaims Britannia rules the main;<br> + While sorrow whispers Nelson's name,<br> + And mourns the gallant hero slain.<br> + Rule, brave Britons, rule the main.<br> + Revenge the God-like hero +slain."</td></tr></table> +<h4>NOTE 18, <a href="#page037">page 37</a>.</h4> +<center>Can you wonder? ... shot at, etc.</center> +<p>The cruel treatment of the Loyalists, or <i>King's Men</i>, by +the <i>Continentals</i>, as they called themselves, is one of the +features of this painful time, records of which abound: the story +of Moody is well known: another as authentic may be here quoted. +The Rev. G. A. Anderson, late Chaplain to the Reformatory at +Penetanguishene, in writing to the press with reference to the U. +E. L. Celebration in 1884, says:</p> +<p>"My grandfather, Samuel Anderson, was born of Irish parents, +near Boston, 4th May, 1736.... He joined the King's forces, serving +under General Abercrombie ... then under General Amherst, ... and +was at the taking of Ticonderoga.... In 1775 he was offered a +captaincy in the <i>Continental</i> service which he peremptorily +refused. Some time after he was offered the command of a regiment; +this he also refused. He was at once suspected of being a <i>King's +Man</i>, taken prisoner, and with several others, confined in +Litchfield gaol, where he suffered almost death for two years. One +morning, having heard that he and his fellow-prisoners were to be +shot the following day, being a powerful man he wrenched the iron +bars from the windows, and, with his companions, escaped to +Canada....</p> +<p>A quotation from the "Boston Confiscation Act," Sept., 1778, ch. +48, speaks volumes as to the attitude of the new Republic towards +the Loyalists: "In Massachusetts a person suspected of enmity to +the Whig cause could be arrested under a magistrate's warrant, and +banished, unless he would swear fealty to the friends of liberty; +and the select-men of towns could prefer charges of political +treachery in town meetings, and the individual thus accused, if +convicted by a jury, could be sent into the enemy's jurisdiction. +Massachusetts also designated by name, and generally by occupation +and residence, three hundred and eight of her people, of whom +seventeen had been inhabitants of Maine who had fled from their +houses, and denounced against any one of them who should return +apprehension, imprisonment and <a name="page186"> +<!-- Begin Page 186 --></a> transportation to a place possessed by +the British, and for a second voluntary return, without leave, +death, without the benefit of clergy. By another law the property +of twenty-nine persons, who were denominated 'notorious +conspirators,' was confiscated; of these fifteen had been appointed +'Mandamus Councillors,' two had been Governors, one +Lieutenant-Governor, one Treasurer, one Attorney-General, one Chief +Justice and four Commissioners of Customs."—Lorenzo Sabine, +<i>Historical Essay prefixed to Biographical Sketches of the +American Loyalists</i>. (See further, chapters 39 and 41, vol. 2, +Ryerson's <i>Loyalists of America and Their Times</i>. <i>See</i> +also <a href="#appendices">Appendix</a>.)</p> +<h4>NOTE 19, <a href="#page038">page 38</a>.</h4> +<center>"James Coffin is good."</center> +<p>The name of Coffin is famous in the annals, military, naval and +civil, of Canada, and is scarcely less marked in the history of the +earlier United States of America. Two branches of the family came, +U. E. Loyalists, to Canada in 1775-78. One established itself on +the St. John, New Brunswick, the other in Quebec. "Twenty years +after the landing from the <i>Mayflower</i>, the first of the name +put in an appearance from Brixton, near Plymouth, South Devon, +England, at Newbury Port, in New Hampshire." James Coffin, +mentioned above, was the sixth son of John Coffin, who settled in +Quebec, and did such good service at the +<i>Près-de-ville</i>, when Montgomery and Arnold invaded the +Province. Like all the Coffins, James was of a genial and kindly +disposition, and his appointment as a Commissary Officer permitted +opportunities for consideration and courtesy to people of all +ranks, which he did not fail to avail himself of. He died Assistant +Commissary-General in 1835, at Quebec.</p> +<h4>NOTE 20, <a href="#page040">page 40</a>.</h4> +<center>From proffered gifts, or gold.</center> +<p>"To the soldiers of this regiment (the 41st), as indeed to all +others, every temptation had been presented to induce them to +desert and enlist in their service, by money, land, etc. After it +was found impossible to persuade any number of them to do so the +American Government encamped them, for nearly two months, in a +pestilential marsh near Sandusky without covering." (<i>See</i> Dr. +Strachan's letter, as Treasurer of the Loyal and Patriotic Society +of Upper Canada, to Thomas Jefferson, Esq., Ex-President of the +United States of America.)</p> +<h4>NOTE 21, <a href="#page041">page 41</a>.</h4> +<center>The beech-ridge.</center> +<p>This was a ridge of high land clad with beeches which overhung a +hollow in the road to Beaver Dam, and now forms the basin of the +Welland Canal. "The spot," says Colonel Coffin, "which then rang +with the outcries of the combatants now resounds with the hum of +industry and the working-chant of the sailor."</p> +<a name="page187"><!-- Begin Page 187 --></a> +<h4>NOTE 22, <a href="#page047">page 47</a>.</h4> +<center>The small, neglectful bird.</center> +<p>This is Tengmalm's Owl, or Death-bird. "The Indians of North +America," says Rev. J. G. Wood, "have a superstition that whoever +hears the note of this bird must whistle in reply, and if the bird +returns no answer the person will die within the year."</p> +<h4>NOTE 23, <a href="#page050">page 50</a>.</h4> +<center>Beaver Dam—Decau's house.</center> +<p>Decau's farm house at the Beaver Dam was British headquarters +more than once during the War of 1812. Close to this famous spot +the town of Thorold now stands, and the interested visitor may +reach it by tram-car from St. Catharines. Decau's Falls, near by, +preserve the memory of the ancient settler on the spot in less +correct orthography, Decew and less euphonious form than the +original, which is said to have been also, Decamps.</p> +<p>Another form of it may be found in "Loyalists of America," p, +243:</p> +<p>"In the summer of 1800 my mother had a very nice help as nurse. +Jenny Decow had been apprenticed to a relative, and at the age of +eighteen, she received her bed, her cow, and two or three suits of +clothing (those articles it was customary to give to a bound girl) +and she was considered legally of age, with the right to earn her +own living as best she could. ... Jenny had a wooer, ... young +Daniel McCall made his appearance."</p> +<h4>NOTE 24, <a href="#page050">page 50</a>.</h4> +<center>Fitzgibbon.</center> +<p>This brave officer is thus described in the letter of "A Green +'Un," I have elsewhere quoted, and which was written in 1852, at +which date Colonel Fitzgibbon was yet alive:—"Colonel +Fitzgibbon has long been known in Canada, in both a civil and a +military capacity, and if he was now present he would be able to +give you much more interesting and valuable information. At the +time of this attack" (Black Rock, July 12th, 1813), "he was a +Lieutenant in the 49th, and his daring spirit and energy of +character were well known to the whole army. General Vincent had +placed him in command of a sort of independent company of Rangers. +Volunteers from the different regiments were asked for, and strange +to say so many men offered that it was difficult to decide who +should be permitted to go. From the numerous young subs. desirous +of joining him he selected his friend Lieutenant Winder of the 49th +(now Dr. Winder, Librarian to the House of Assembly at Quebec), +Volunteer D. A. McDonnell of the 8th, Volunteer Augustus Thompson +of the 49th; and another youngster of the 49th (the late Judge +Jarvis, of Cornwall) who were permitted as a great favour to join +his corps." Colonel Coffin in his "Chronicles of the War of 1812," +gives a very full account of Colonel Fitzgibbon's career, of which +only a brief outline is proper here. Colonel James Fitzgibbon was +the son of an English farmer, had a little early education, and +acquired a <a name="page188"><!-- Begin Page 188 --></a> fondness +for reading; his passion for arms was irresistible. At seventeen he +enlisted, and the same day, 25th, October, 1798, was made a +sergeant. At twenty-one he was made Sergeant-Major. He served in +Ireland and before Copenhagen, where the 49th acted as marines. He +was appointed to an ensigncy and adjutancy, and came to Canada. In +1809 he succeeded to a lieutenancy; and resigned the adjutancy to +command a small detachment in the field. His exploits at the Beaver +Dam gave him his company. He thus rose by dint of meritorious +service, at a time when commissions and promotions were not so +freely given to deserving men as they are now. On this, and on all +other occasions, during the war, Fitzgibbon made his mark.</p> +<p>"At the close of the war, he settled in Canada, and filled many +offices of honour and emolument under the Government. His last +appointment was that of Clerk to the Legislative Council. He +retired on a pension, and returned to his native land, when, in +just appreciation of his services, he was made a Military Knight of +Windsor."</p> +<h4>NOTE 25, <a href="#page050">page 50</a>.</h4> +<center>"The Times." A newspaper of four pages.</center> +<p>The first name of this great newspaper was <i>The Daily +Universal Register</i>, but it had taken its latest title as early +as 1801. An issue of that date containing the official accounts of +the Battle of Copenhagen is in the writer's possession.</p> +<h4>NOTE 26, <a href="#page055">page 55</a>.</h4> +<center>And gray the dawn, and cold the morn of Rensellaer's +attack.</center> +<p>The 11th October had been first decided upon for the invasion of +Queenston, but it proved one of those fierce October days that +drench the earth with a cold rain, making roads into quagmires, and +rivers into torrents, stripping the trees of their leafy honours, +and not unfrequently tearing them up by the roots. The 13th opened +cold and gray, but developed into a fine fall day, much to the +convenience of the invaders. (<i>See</i> also <a href= +"#appendices">Appendix</a>.)</p> +<h4>NOTE 27, <a href="#page055">page 55</a>.</h4> +<center>Though sad to me, who caught Brock's latest +breath.</center> +<p>"And our gallant General fell on his left side within a few feet +of where I stood. Running up to him, I enquired, 'Are you much +hurt, sir?' He placed his hand on his breast but made no reply, and +sunk slowly down."—<i>Mr. G. S. Jarvis (the late Judge +Jarvis, of Cornwall), in Auchinleck's History of the War of</i> +1812, p. 105.</p> +<p>Mr. Jarvis was taken prisoner at Queenston, but was exchanged +for a Captain of militia within a week.</p> +<h4>NOTE 28, <a href="#page059">page 59</a>.</h4> +<center>Affliction leaves him in our hands to do him +justice.</center> +<p>The noble mind is always alert to see that he who cannot take +care of himself shall be tenderly cared for, and that the more +fully, the more he is exposed to injury by the prominence or +delicacy of his position.</p> +<a name="page189"><!-- Begin Page 189 --></a> +<p>In 1812 the King's malady, which in 1805 is recorded to have +affected his eyes to such a degree that "he had to wear a green +shade ... after candle-light," and could not "distinguish any +person unless he be very near," and by the assistance of a glass, +had increased to such an extent that Prince George had to be +appointed Regent, and there were not wanting those who chose the +opportunity to laugh at and depreciate the King's character.</p> +<h4>NOTE 28a, <a href="#page060">page 60</a>.</h4> +<center>Like dart of Annee-meekee.</center> +<p>Annee-meekee is the Ojibway for the thunder; "dart of" +consequently is the lightning.</p> +<h4>NOTE 29, <a href="#page059">page 59</a>.</h4> +<center>Of whom some fought for him at Copenhagen.</center> +<p>The majority of the men with Fitzgibbon at Beaver Dam belonged +to the 49th Regiment, to which Fitzgibbon himself belonged. It was +also Brock's regiment. He had joined it in 1791 at Barbadoes. The +regiment being removed to Jamaica, Brock was thence obliged to get +leave of absence in 1793 on account of his health. On June 24, +1795, after doing recruiting service both in England and Jersey, he +purchased his majority. Next year his regiment returned from +Jamaica, and on the 25th October, 1797, he purchased his +lieutenant-colonelcy, and soon after became senior +lieutenant-colonel. In August, 1799, the 49th Regiment was ordered +to Holland as part of the force under Sir Ralph Abercrombie. On the +return of the expedition, the 49th was again quartered in Jersey +until the spring of 1801, when it was despatched with the fleet for +the Baltic under Sir Hyde Parker. The same year the 49th returned +to England, and in the next spring was sent to Canada where it took +up its quarters at York (Toronto). On the flag of the regiment is +inscribed "Egmont-op-Zee," "Copenhagen," "Queenstown," and its +colours and appointments bear the word "China" and the device of +the Dragon.</p> +<p>Of the career of the 49th Regiment in Canada during the war of +1812-15, it is impossible to speak too highly. From their +brilliancy of attack and energy in action the American soldiers +dubbed them the "Green Tigers," and on the fatal day at Queenston, +those of the wounded who had passed over "had described the charge +of the 'Green Tigers' and militia in the morning, and had warned +them what they might expect if they came in contact with troops +infuriated by the loss of their beloved General" (Auchinleck, p. +106.) That the 49th revelled in the honour conferred by such a +<i>soubriquet</i> is clear from the fact that Fitzgibbon's company +dubbed themselves "Fitzgibbon's Green 'Uns," and one of them, the +late Judge Jarvis, of Cornwall, then a cadet of eighteen, says, +over the <i>nom de plume</i>' "A Green 'Un," in Auchinleck: "We +were all dressed in green uniform made from clothing which had been +taken from the enemy."</p> +<a name="page190"><!-- Begin Page 190 --></a> +<p>In a private letter to the writer Judge Jarvis says, under date +<i>Cornwall, 7th November</i>, 1876: "The uniform of the 49th was, +of course, of a scarlet colour with green facings, rather a light +green. Around the edges of the cuffs and collar was a band of gold +lace one inch wide, thus (a drawing is given).</p> +<p>"The militia had no uniform during the War of 1812; they were +furnished with a blanket only." At the taking of Fort Detroit the +militia are generally said to have been in uniform, but these were +only a few and in the first engagement.</p> +<p>"The Americans wore coarse grey or blue cloth, mostly the +former." Homespun; in pursuance of the line of action required by +the blockade. "One regiment, the Irish Greens, wore dark green +cloth, but they were not at either Stony Creek or Beaver Dam."</p> +<h4>NOTE 30, <a href="#page059">page 59</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td> —and the Queen's, too,<br> + Who loves all nobleness.</td></tr></table> +<p>Queen Charlotte's intense admiration for all nobility of +character is well exemplified by Sir Walter Scott in Jennie Deans +("Heart of Midlothian"), to whom she showed the most marked +kindness and sympathy. This was but one instance out of many which +were well known and duly appreciated by the British people.</p> +<h4>NOTE 31, <a href="#page060">page 60</a>.</h4> +<center>You, Cummings, mount.</center> +<p>James Cummings, of Chippewa, was engaged in the Indian trade. He +accompanied Clark's plucky expedition on Black Rock, when they +surprised the work, captured the guard together with several stand +of arms, one brass six-pounder, and a large store of provisions. On +Bishopp hearing of this exploit, he fired up, "Hang the fellow, he +has got before me. By Jove, it was well done; we'll try it again." +And he did, as history tells.</p> +<h4>NOTE 32, <a href="#page060">page 60</a>.</h4> +<center>Twelve-Mile Creek.</center> +<p>"The site of St. Catharines, formerly known as the Twelve-Mile +Creek or Shipman's Corners, after the oldest inhabitant of the +place, was first selected as a country residence by the Hon. Robert +Hamilton, father of the Hamilton who gave his name to the +flourishing and rising city which still bears it, so early as the +year 1800, at which period he owned the mills afterwards known as +the Thomas's Mills, upon the Twelve-Mile Creek, up to which point +boats at that time ascended. But it was not until after the war, +viz., in 1816, that the town-plot of St. Catharines was first +purchased and laid out as a village by the Hon. W. H. Merritt and +Jonathan H. Clendennen, and received the name of St. Catharines, in +honour of Mrs. Robert Hamilton, whose name was Catharine."</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">—<i>Anglo-American +Magazine</i>, vol. 3, p. 129.</p> +<a name="page191"><!-- Begin Page 191 --></a> +<h4>NOTE 33, <a href="#page060">page 60</a>.</h4> +<center>I have friends beyond.</center> +<p>These were the household of Miss Tourney, an intimate friend of +Mrs. Secord, and owner of a large farm some three miles beyond +Beaver Dam. To this house Mrs. Secord proceeded, accompanied by an +escort furnished by Lieut. Fitzgibbon, but, it need hardly be said, +not exactly in the manner described. Here "she slept right off, for +she had journeyed on foot twenty miles, and safely, God be +praised." Mrs. Secord returned to her anxious husband on the third +day after having started on her perilous undertaking, but neither +through the woods, nor on foot, thanks to her brave deed, and the +success of British arms.</p> +<h4>NOTE 34, <a href="#page063">page 63</a>.</h4> +<center>Ye Yankee rogue! ye coward!</center> +<p>This incident, which Col. Coffin places as preceding the +occupation of Beaver Dam by Fitzgibbon, is thus described by Judge +Jarvis in a letter subsequent to the one already quoted, and which +was apparently dictated by the awakening of did memories by the +enquiries that led to the former letter: "Although I write with +great labour and pain" [the result of rheumatism] "I cannot refrain +from giving you the following incident. Lieut. Fitzgibbon, who +always preferred going on any dangerous expedition to sending any +other person, on receiving the information of the patriotic woman, +went forward to reconnoitre. On approaching a small tavern two +American soldiers came out of the door, and immediately presented +their rifles. He seized the rifles, and crossed them in front of +his person" [Col. Coffin says: He seized the musket of the more +advanced man and by main strength threw him upon his fellow, whose +musket he also grappled with the other hand'] "so that neither +could fire without shooting his fellow-soldier. Here he held them +until one of them drew Lieut. Fitzgibbon's sword, and held it up +over his head, of course intending to stab him forthwith. The woman +of the house saw the position, and rushed out and seized the sword, +and got it from the soldier's hand. Fitzgibbon then tripped up one +of the soldiers and felled the other with a blow, then took them +both prisoners and marched them into the line occupied by his +company."</p> +<p>It is a pity this brave woman's name cannot be discovered in +order that it might be added to the roll of those patriotic women +whose names adorn Canadian history.</p> +<h4>NOTE 35, <a href="#page064">page 64</a>.</h4> +<center>Lieut.-Col. Thomas Clark.</center> +<p>Lieutenant-Colonel Clark, of the 2nd Lincoln Militia, was, says +Colonel Coffin, "a Scotchman by birth." He "was an Indian trader +and forwarder of goods to the Western hunting grounds; a member of +the firm of Street & Clark.... From the first outbreak of the +war Clark was foremost in frontier frail. He had acquired the +confidence of his men, and obtained the cordial co-operation of +those who, like Bishopp, understood volunteers, and could +appreciate the merits of the extemporaneous soldier."</p> +<a name="page192"><!-- Begin Page 192 --></a> +<h4>NOTE 36, <a href="#page064">page 64</a>.</h4> +<center>"But twenty sir, all told."</center> +<p>These were militia. "Old Isaac Kelly," says Colonel Coffin +(Chronicles of the War of 1812), "born and raised on 48 Thorold, a +septuagenarian, hale and hearty, who still [in 1864] lives not a +mile from the spot, tells how, when he was a boy of eighteen, and +was in the act of 'hitching up' his horses for the plough, he heard +the firing in the wood, and outcries of the Indians; how he ran to +his two brothers, both a-field; how the three got their +muskets—they were all militiamen—men home to put in a +crop; how, led by the sounds, they crossed the country to the beech +grove, meeting eight or ten more by the way, suddenly roused, like +themselves; how, from behind the trees, they opened fire on the +American train, and on the guns which were then unlimbering to the +rear, and how the Americans, more worried and bothered than hurt, +changed their position, and took-up ground in David Millar's apple +orchard."</p> +<h4>NOTE 37, <a href="#page064">page 64</a>.</h4> +<center>Boerstler's lost his head.</center> +<p>Not altogether without reason. "We frightened the enemy," says +Judge Jarvis, in a letter before quoted, "with our Indians, and +from sounding the bugle on different positions to make them suppose +we were numerous, and had them surrounded."</p> +<h4>NOTE 38, <a href="#page065">page 65</a>.</h4> +<center>Terms generous and honourable, sir.</center> +<p>"Particulars of the capitulation made between Captain McDowell, +on the part of Lieutenant-Colonel Boerstler, of the United States +Army, and Major De Haren, of his Britannic Majesty's Canadian +Regiment, on the part of Lieutenant Colonel Bishopp, commanding the +advance of the British, respecting the force under the command of +Lieutenant-Colonel Boerstler:</p> +<p>"Article 1.—That Lieutenant-Colonel Boerstler and the +forces under his command shall surrender prisoners of war.</p> +<p>"Article 2.—That the officers shall retain their arms, +horses and baggage.</p> +<p>"Article 3.—That the non-commissioned officers and +soldiers shall lay down their arms at the head of the British +column, and shall become prisoners of war.</p> +<p>"Article 4.—That the militia and volunteers with +Lieutenant-Colonel Boerstler shall be permitted to return to the +United States on parole.</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">"ANDREW MCDOWELL,<br> + "<i>Captain of the United States Light Artillery</i>.</p> +<p>"Acceded to and signed,</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">"P. G. BOERSTLER,<br> + "<i>Lieut.-Col. commanding detachment United States Army</i>.<br> + "P. V. DE HAREN,<br> + "<i>Major Canadian Regiment</i>."<br> +<br> + —<i>Auchinleck's History of the War</i>, p. 175.</p> +<a name="page193"><!-- Begin Page 193 --></a> +<h4>NOTE 39, <a href="#page065">page 65</a>.</h4> +<center>The golden epaulettes.</center> +<p>These were the insignia of a captain's rank in those days, and +as Major De Haren is made to predict, Lieutenant Fitzgibbon won his +company by the exploit of Beaver Dam.</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>A BALLAD OF 1812.</h3> +<h4>NOTE 1, <a href="#page070">page 70</a>.</h4> +<center>Irresolution ruled.</center> +<p>Proctor's irresolution, timidity, or want of promptness, led to +many disasters, notably that at Moraviantown, and at length was his +own destruction.</p> +<h4>NOTE 2, <a href="#page070">page 70</a>.</h4> +<center>Our people, by forced parole held.</center> +<p>James says, "No sooner had the American Army got possession of +the Niagara frontier [27th May, 1813] than officers with parties +were sent to every farmhouse and hovel in the neighbourhood to +exact a parole from the male inhabitants of almost every age. Some +were glad of this excuse for remaining peaceably at their houses, +and those who made any opposition were threatened to be sent across +the river, and thrown into a noisome prison."</p> +<h4>NOTE 3, <a href="#page072">page 72</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>The substance all too poor and sparse<br> + Our stinted fields may grow.</td></tr></table> +<p>The war was declared on the 18th of June, and at once every able +male in the Provinces sprang to arms. The necessary absence from +their farms thus forced upon them curtailed the sowing, and +lessened the harvest, though the women and children of every rank +did their utmost to countervail the losses thus threatened. The +next year there was less to sow and less, consequently, to reap, +notwithstanding the leave granted to the militia at all possible +junctures, to attend to their work; but intermittent farming is not +more successful than other occasionally prosecuted labour, and the +war laid bare many previously fruitful clearings.</p> +<h4>NOTE 4, <a href="#page073">page 73</a>.</h4> +<center>Or many-rattled snake.</center> +<p>An extraordinary danger attended the bite of the rattlesnake in +the case of a married woman. The Jenny Decow alluded to in Note 23 +had become Mrs. McCall, and while working in the field with her +husband was bitten. Her husband killed the snake, thinking, +according to the ideas of the time, that by so doing he should save +his wife's life; he also sucked the poison from <a name="page194"> +<!-- Begin Page 194 --></a> the wound; but before he had carried +her to her cottage the foot had burst. An Indian remedy was +applied, but it was years before she recovered from the effects of +that bite. In the meantime two children were born, each of whom +turned spotted and sore, and then died. A third born after her +recovery was strong and healthy, and grew to manhood.</p> +<h4>NOTE 5, <a href="#page073">page 73</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Oh, at the mill my brother lies<br> + Just at the point of death.</td></tr></table> +<p>This was Mr. Charles Ingersoll, after whom Mrs. Secord named her +only son. He had been wounded, and lay at St. David's Mill in a +very precarious condition. He recovered, however, to fight again, +and to become one of Woodstock's most prominent citizens.</p> +<h4>NOTE 6, <a href="#page074">page 74</a>.</h4> +<center>The fritil' butterfly.</center> +<p>This is the small fritillary, a beautiful little creature that +may be seen flitting from blossom to blossom, or careering in the +early summer air in the manner almost of a tumbler pigeon, before +any other of its kind has left its winter's cradle. It is +beautifully marked, of a golden brown, and the edges, of the wings +are bordered with a narrow vandyking of pearly gray.</p> +<h4>NOTE 7, <a href="#page074">page 74</a>.</h4> +<center>She hears the wolves' dread bands.</center> +<p>"Wolves were the pests of the country for many years, and even +after they were partially expelled by the settlers, they used to +make occasional descents upon the settlements, and many a farmer +that counted his sheep by twenties at night would be thankful if he +could muster half a score in the morning."-<i>See Ryerson's +Loyalists</i>, p. 246.</p> +<h4>NOTE 8, <a href="#page075">page 75</a>.</h4> +<center>Doomed St. David's Mill.</center> +<p>Auchinleck says, "From the 8th of July" [Chippewa was fought on +the 4th] "to the 23rd of the month, General Brown, with his +enormous force, was content to remain without striking a blow, +unless an occasional demonstration before Forts George and +Mississaga, or the wanton conflagration of the village of St +David's, be considered as such."</p> +<p>Of this atrocity an American officer, a Major McFarland, +writes:—"The militia and Indians plundered and burnt every +thing. The whole population is against us; not a foraging party but +is fired on, and not infrequently returns with missing numbers. +This state was to be anticipated The militia have burnt several +private dwelling-houses, and, on the 19th instant, burnt the +village of St. David's, consisting of about thirty or forty houses. +This was done within three miles of camp, and my battalion was sent +to cover the retreat, as they [the militia] had been sent to scour +the country, and it <a name="page195"><!-- Begin Page 195 --></a> +was presumed they might be pursued. My God, what a service! I never +witnessed such a scene, and had not the commanding officer of the +party, Lieutenant-Colonel Stone, been disgraced" [he was dismissed +the service by sentence of a court-martial for this deed] "and sent +out of the army, I should have resigned my commission."</p> +<p>This disgust was not caused by any half-heartedness in the war +on the part of Major McFarland, for he says in the same letter that +"he desires no better fun than to fight the British troops."</p> +<h4>NOTE 9, <a href="#page080">page 80</a>.</h4> +<center>Oh, chief, indeed no spy am I.</center> +<p>So impossible did it appear to the Indian that a woman should be +found traversing alone so strongly invested a section of the +country, that it was with the greatest difficulty Mrs. Secord +persuaded him of the truth of her story.</p> +<h4>NOTE 10, <a href="#page082">page 82</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Nay, five and forty, one by one,<br> + Have borne her from the day.</td></tr></table> +<p>From 1813 to 1860, seven and forty. Five is, however, used as a +division of equality.</p> +<h4>NOTE 11, <a href="#page083">page 83</a>.</h4> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>And when from o'er the parting seas,<br> + A royal letter came.</td></tr></table> +<p>"When, in 1860, the Prince of Wales was at Niagara, he went to +see the aged lady, and from her own lips heard the tale; and, +learning that her fortune did not equal her fame, he sent her, most +delicately and most gracefully, the sum of one hundred guineas. God +bless him for <i>that</i>, is the aspiration of every true Canadian +heart. He is his mother's true son."—<i>Col. Coffin's +Chronicles of the War of 1812</i>.</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>JUBILEE POEM.</h3> +<h4>NOTE 1, <a href="#page084">page 84</a>.</h4> +<center>Mercy, whose message bore thy first command.</center> +<p>The first act of the Crown which Her Majesty was called upon to +perform was the signing of the death-warrant of a soldier who had +been sentenced to be shot for desertion. The Queen took it keenly, +and asked the Duke of Wellington if there was no possible plea on +which the man could be respited: had he <i>no</i> good quality?</p> +<p>"Your Majesty, he is a very bad soldier, having deserted three +times; but I believe he is a good husband."</p> +<p>"Oh, thank you," the Queen replied, and wrote "Pardoned" across +the document.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page196"><!-- Begin Page 196 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>THE HERO OF ST. HELEN'S ISLAND.</h3> +<h4>NOTE 1, <a href="#page086">page 86</a>.</h4> +<p>This touching incident, bright example as it is of that fine +sense of duty that has built up the renown of the British Army, is +related in his charming volume, "The Emigrant," by Sir Francis Bond +Head. The author, in introducing it, says: "In the different +regions of the globe it has been my fortune to visit, I have always +experienced great pleasure in pausing for a few minutes at the +various spots which have been distinguished by some feat or other +of British enterprise, British mercy, British honesty, British +generosity or British valour.</p> +<p>"About the time I was in Canada a trifling circumstance occurred +on the breaking up of the ice, which I feel proud to record.</p> +<p>"In the middle of the great St. Lawrence there is, nearly +opposite Montreal, an island called St. Helen's, between which and +the shore the stream, about three quarters of a mile broad, runs +with very great rapidity, and yet, notwithstanding this current, +the intense cold of winter invariably freezes its surface.</p> +<p>"The winter which I am speaking of was unusually severe, and the +ice on the St. Lawrence particularly thick; however, while the +river beneath was rushing towards the sea, the ice was waiting in +abeyance in the middle of the stream until the narrow fastness +between Montreal and St. Helen's should burst, and allow the whole +mass to break into pieces, and then in stupendous confusion to +hurry downwards towards Quebec." The story follows, and in winding +up the account Sir Francis says: "Colour-Sergeant William Delaney, +and Private George Morgan, of the 24th Regiment now at Chatham, +were eye-witnesses of the above occurrence."</p> +<p>The dangers Sergeant Neill so bravely encountered are thus +graphically depicted by Sir Francis B. Head on p. 42 of the same +volume, in describing the breaking up of the ice of the River +Humber, a stream not a tenth of the length or breadth of the St. +Lawrence, so that the scene bears but a slight comparison to that +witnessed on the larger river. "... As soon as the great movement +commenced, these trees and the ice were hurried before my eyes in +indescribable confusion. Every piece of ice, whatever might be its +shape or size, as it proceeded, was either revolving horizontally +or rearing up on end until it reeled over; sometimes a tree +striking against the bottom would rise slowly up, and for a moment +stand erect as if it grew out of the river; at other times it +would, apparently for variety's sake, stand on its head with its +roots uppermost and then turn over; sometimes the ice as it +proceeded would rise up like a house and chimneys, and then rolling +head over heels, sink, leaving in its place clear water.</p> +<p>"In a few hours the turmoil was completely at an end, the +torrent had diminished, the stream had shrunk to its ordinary +limits, and nothing. remained to tell of the struggle." (<i>See</i> +also <a href="#appendices">Appendix</a>.)</p> +<hr> +<a name="page197"><!-- Begin Page 197 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>LIVINGSTONE.</h3> +<h4>NOTE 1, <a href="#page101">page 101</a>.</h4> +<center>Snatched by the hand of God his groaning millions.</center> +<p>The representations by Livingstone of the terrible condition +among the inland peoples of Africa by slavery, tribe enslaving +tribe, people making war upon people for the sake of prisoners to +be sent to the slave market, and the horrors endured by the poor +wretches, thus given over to a fate worse than death, by the greed +of the Arabian and certain white merchants of the coast, led to +action on the part of the British and other Governments, which has +done much to break up the inhuman traffic, and will never cease +"till that wide wound be healed."</p> +<hr> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE.</h3> +<h4>NOTE 1, <a href="#page122">page 122</a>.</h4> +<p>This little comedy appeared in <i>Gripsack</i> for 1882, and was +written at the request of the editor of <i>Grip</i>, who was, and +is, in full sympathy with all efforts to secure the rights of +women. At that date the Council of University College had refused +to entertain the application of ladies to be admitted to the +lectures of University College, and that such an adventure with its +<i>denouement</i> did not become a fact is only to be credited to +the wisdom that, on further consideration, withdrew the objection, +for history affords many instances of woman's use of a disguise in +order to attain her wishes, and the annals of co-education furnish +numerous proofs of her equality with, and not unfrequently her +superiority to, her rivals of the other sex in competitive +examinations.</p> +<h4>NOTE 2, <a href="#page127">page 127</a>.</h4> +<center>To think that down in Canterbury, girls.</center> +<p>The circumstance here so mournfully quoted by Kate was a fact. +The University of Canterbury, New Zealand, was open alike to men +and women. The examination papers used were prepared by Cambridge +University (England) on the same standing as their own, and were +returned to Cambridge for adjudication thereon. In 1881 a lady took +the degree of B.A., the first in the world, and was invested with +the hood with some <i>eclat</i>.</p> +<a name="page198"><!-- Begin Page 198 --></a> +<h4>NOTE 3, <a href="#page136">page 136</a>.</h4> +<center>Who in this city form a ladies' club.</center> +<p>The Toronto Women's Literary Club, incepted by Dr. Emily H. +Stowe, of Toronto, and meeting at her house from 1876 until its +resolution into the Canadian Women's Suffrage Association in 1883, +was responsible for the public agitation of the right of women to +admission to University College; and also for the circulation of +the petition to that end, which, by the kind help of many of +members of the Legislature, won from the Provincial Parliament a +recommendation to the Senate of the University that women should be +admitted. Several of the leading fourth year men of 1882 offered +their assistance in circulating the petition among the students; +and the greatest sympathy was shown by educators in every part of +the Dominion.</p> +<hr> +<a name="page199"><!-- Begin Page 199 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h2><a name="appendices">APPENDICES.</a></h2> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <a name="page200"><!-- Begin Page 200 --></a> <a name="page201"> +<!-- Begin Page 201 --></a> +<h3><a name="appendix1">APPENDIX NO. 1.</a></h3> +<p>[The following account of 13th Oct., 1812, written by +Lieut.-Colonel Evans, of the Eighth or King's Regiment, Acting +Brigade-Major to the Forces at that date, will be read with +interest, and is doubly valuable as being a piece of well-attested +history.]</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">GOVERNMENT HOUSE, Fort George. Oct. +15, 1812.</p> +<p>After dinner on the evening of the 11th inst., Major-General +Brock handed me a note from Captain Dennis, commanding flank +companies of the 49th Regiment at Queenstown. After perusing its +contents, which were of an alarming nature, setting forth the +highly mutinous state of his detachment, his men having +deliberately threatened to shoot their officers, etc., the General +said, "Evans, you will proceed early in the morning and investigate +this business, and march, as prisoners, in here, half-a-dozen of +those most culpable, and I will make an example of them. You can +also cross the river and tell Van Rensellaer I expect he will +immediately exchange the prisoners taken in the <i>Detroit</i> and +<i>Caledonia</i> [two vessels coming from Amherstburgh cut out by +Americans whilst at anchor at Fort Erie] for an equal number of +Americans I released after the capture of Detroit."</p> +<p>I reached Queenstown early in the morning of the 12th, and +finding many of the grenadier company confined, and the guard-house +gutted, and Captain Dennis himself in apparent alarm at the state +of things, I proposed proceeding at once to select those most +prominent, for example. At this juncture, however, and when about +leaving Hamilton's house [Captain Dennis' quarters] a scattered +fire of musquetry from the American shore took place, and on a +musket ball entering the room passing betwixt us, I inquired with +surprise the meaning of such unusual insolence. Captain Dennis +stating the practice to have existed more or less for some days, +insomuch as to render ingress by the river door hazardous, I deemed +it fitting first to cross the river, desiring Captain Dennis would +prepare his men against my return. On passing along the river bank +for Mr. T. Dickson, the enemy kept up an incessant fire of +musquetry till I entered that gentleman's house, but happily +without mischief. I now begged Mrs. Dickson kindly to, prepare a +white handkerchief as a flag of truce, asking Mr. Dickson, who was +a Captain of Militia, would he accompany me across the water; he +had no objection, but both Mrs. Dickson and all present urged the +danger of any attempt to cross, convinced as they were, in the +enemy's then temper, the flag would not be respected. Feeling +<a name="page202"><!-- Begin Page 202 --></a> this to be no time +for discussing about personal safety, I took Dickson by one hand +and the flag in the other, then descending the precipitous steep to +the water's edge, we launched our frail canoe amidst an unsparing +shower of shot which fell all around us; nor did the firing cease +till the canoe, become quite unmanageable, tossed about in the +waters of the strong eddies; when, as if struck by shame at his +dastardly attempt to deter us from our purpose the enemy gave the +signal to cease fire. I was thus relieved (and enabled) on +approaching the shore to observe more calmly all that was passing. +On touching the ground, with water in the leaky canoe ankle deep, I +was about, as was my custom, leaping ashore, when a sentinel from a +guard brought to the spot, came to the charge with fixed bayonet, +authoritatively commanding me not to leave the boat. To my enquiry +for Colonel Solomon Van Rensellaer, (the Adjutant-General) with +whom I usually conferred, I was told he was sick. I then stated +having an important message from General Brock for their Commander, +which if inconvenient for their General to receive from me +personally, I begged an official person might be immediately +deputed to convey it to him. After some delay, Mr. Toock, the +General's Secretary, made his appearance, but his reply to General +Brock's request being abrupt, and as I thought somewhat +significant, "that nothing could be done till the day after +to-orrow," I ventured to remind him of General Brock's liberality +towards their people which the fortune of war had thrown into his +hands, entreating that he would again consult his General, and +enable me to carry to mine something more satisfactory. In +compliance, as he stated, with my wishes, but as it appeared to me, +more with the intent to consume my time, rendered precious from its +being after midday, he detained me in my miserable position for +more than two hours, and then returned expressing the General's +regret "that the prisoners having been marched for Albany they +could not instanter be brought back, but that might assure General +Brock with his respects that all should be settled to their mutual +satisfaction the day after to-morrow." I was now too anxious to +depart to wish the parley prolonged, my mind being quite made up as +to the enemy's intentions, and to the course it was most fitting +for me to pursue under the circumstances. It had not escaped me +that their saucy numbers had been prodigiously swelled by a horde +of half-savage troops from Kentucky, Ohio and Tennessee, which +evidently made it hazardous for their northern countrymen to show +their accustomed respect for a flag of truce from a foe; but my +most important discovery was their boats slung in the sides or +fissures on the river bank covered only by the brush, with indeed +many decided indications that an attack on our shores could not be +prudently delayed for a single day. Under such impression the first +thing on reaching our own side was the removal by Mr. Dickson of +his family from his own house on the beach, the very site of the +prospective struggle, and giving note of preparation to the few +militia which, with the 49th flank companies, were all the +immediate disposable force for the defence of Queenstown. Aware of +the imminence and magnitude of the danger, the lateness of the +hour, after <a name="page203"><!-- Begin Page 203 --></a> three +p.m., and distance from Fort George, Headquarters more than six +miles, I hesitated not assuming the responsibility of liberating +all the 49th prisoners, on the specious plea of their offence +proceeding from a too free indulgence in drink, appealing to them +for proof of their loyalty and courage, which they were assured +would be severely tested ere another day dawned. Then, after a +rapid but effective arrangement of the several points requiring +attention, seeing to the re-supply of fresh ammunition, and +infusing all the spirit and animation in my power to impart, I left +Captain Dennis, exhorting his utmost diligence in keeping his +charge on the alert for repelling the enemy's attempt, which I +foresaw would not be deferred. Having to put the many posts on the +line of communication on the <i>qui vive</i>, although I rode at +full speed, it was past six p.m. ere I reached Fort George, and +then from having been exposed for thirteen hours, under much +anxiety, to wet feet and extreme heat, without refreshment of any +kind, I was so exhausted as to be unequal to further immediate +effort. Refreshed, I narrated to General Brock all that had +occurred, the precautionary steps I had taken, and the +responsibility I had assumed as to the 49th prisoners, which, under +the stated circumstances, I trusted he would approve, and at once +authorize my making preparations for coming events, so +indispensably required. The General evidently doubting at first, +hesitated, but seeing my earnestness in rebuking his attendants of +charging my being over-sanguine, and chagrin at their proffered +bets against my predictions, he became unusually grave, desired I +would follow him to the office, where at his request I succinctly +recapitulated the day's occurrences, adding my solemn conviction +that a moment was not to be lost in effectually preparing for +defence.</p> +<p>The General now thanked me, approved of all that I had done, +and, returning to the dining room, directed officials to be +immediately written and despatched by Provincial Dragoons, calling +in the militia of the vicinity that same evening, those more +distant to follow with all alacrity. I was directed to make all +requisite preparations at Headquarters. In this work I was busied +till near eleven p.m., with but few converts, however, to my +convictions, when, worn down by fatigue, I stretched myself on my +mattrass. After a slumber of a few hours I was aroused by a distant +cannonade soon after two a.m., 13th October, but without surprise, +well knowing the quarters where the ominous sound came. The General +who, himself, had all in readiness at once mounted his horse and +proceeded for the post attacked. His Aides-de-Camp were awoke, and +soon followed. Major-General Sheaffe, second in command, assumed +charge at Headquarters, but the impression on General Brock's mind +being that the attempt at Queenstown would prove only a feint to +disguise his (the enemy's) real object from the creek in rear of +Fort Niagara, his apparent wish was that whilst all were held in +readiness to act in any quarter, no decisive movement by the troops +should take place till the enemy's intentions were fully developed. +The Indians and regular Artillery were, however, promptly +despatched, and the <i>elite</i> of the 41st with an equal + <a name="page204"><!-- Begin Page 204 --></a> number of + well-drilled militia flank companies ready to follow on the + first summons. As the day dawned, the scouts I had sent out + reporting no symptoms of hostile movement in the quarter + indicated, these troops all proceeded at double quick for the + succour of Queenstown, the debouching of the head of which + column on the main road appeared to be the signal for opening a + brisk cannonade from Fort Niagara on the troops, the town, and + Fort.</p> +<p>Soon after, the news of the gallant Brock's unhappy fall reached +us, which, by necessarily removing General Sheaffe to Queenstown, +the command at Fort George devolved on me as next senior officer. +At this moment the scene around was awfully discouraging, the gaol +and court house were suddenly wrapped in flames, which as +containing many political prisoners, I at first imagined the act of +an incendiary, but other buildings soon appearing in a similar +state of conflagration left me no longer in doubt as to the new +enemy of hot shot with which we had to grapple, and its easy +distance, on wooden edifices I foresaw, must be attended with very +destructive effect. Luckily, a <i>posse</i> of militia-men had now +come in, which I distributed in separate bodies, collecting all the +water-buckets and requisite implements from the inhabitants of the +town.</p> +<p>This arrangement, though in part effective, from the energy and +courage displayed in extinguishing the flames as they occurred, I +felt to be insufficient in itself for our security; selecting +therefore, all the old veteran militia artillerymen with two +intelligent staff non-commissioned officers of the 41st, by bending +our whole efforts to the attainment of one object, we at length +succeeded in stopping the mischief by diminishing and crippling the +enemy's guns, but not before he had burnt to the ground many +buildings, amongst the number, beside the gaol and court house, the +Chief Engineer's quarters; the more important ones, however, the +"Royal Barracks," "Block House," "King's Stores" and other public +buildings, though repeatedly fired were, by steady and untiring +intrepidity, preserved. Thus temporarily relieved, I was enabled to +attend to Capt. Derinzy's (commanding 41st Batt.) note, from which +it appeared, he found on arriving at Queenstown, the enemy in +possession of the opposite heights, and our heavy one-gun battery +there:—that the enfilading on our side, too distant from the +landing to be quite effective—then protected by his +division—had been powerfully aided by Capt. Holcroft, of the +Royal Artillery, who, unmindful of consequences, boldly dashed his +gun through the valley into Hamilton's court-yard within point +blank range, thus succeeding in sinking some of the enemy's crowded +boats and damping the ardour of his troops for crossing. Seeing his +critical position Capt. Derinzy had sustained him by a party of the +41st Regiment. He briefly mentioned that the spirited Brock finding +on his arrival the 49th grenadiers and militia, though resolutely +defending the landing-place, hard pressed, had called to their aid +the 49th light company from the Height's summit, the key of the +position. The enemy, profiting by this step, moved unperceived +about 150 men—and over a precipitous steep it was deemed +impracticable for a human <a name="page205"> +<!-- Begin Page 205 --></a> being to ascend—who suddenly +appeared to the astonished General just on the mountain summit, and +the next instant in possession of the redoubt, putting its +defenders to the sword. The gallant spirit of Brock, ill brooking +to be thus foiled, with a courage deserving a better fate, hastily +collected the weak 49th company and a few militia; debouching from +a stone building at the mountain's brow, with these little bands, +he spiritedly strove to regain his lost position, but in which +daring attempt he was killed by a rifle ball entering under the +left breast, passing out by the right shoulder. Capt. Williams by +taking a wider range, made a second effort, but as the result +proved with too inadequate a force, the A.D.C. (McDonell), being +mortally wounded and Capt. Williams' head partially scalped by a +rifle ball.</p> +<p>These circumstances convinced me General Sheaffe would be more +circumspect than attack without a concentration of every disposable +man. Under such impressions, after first despatching Lieutenant +McIntyre, 41st Regiment, with about 140 men of his regiment and +militia, and afterwards Wm. Martin with every regular soldier and a +few active militia from Fort George, I hastened to forward, at all +hazards, the most active of the men from the many posts on the line +of communication. On starting those from Young's Battery, the +enemy, as though by signal, re-opened his cannonade from Fort +Niagara on Fort George and the town. However mortified by this +unlooked-for occurrence, prudence required that whilst sending our +whole effective force to Queenstown, Fort George and its +dependencies should not be neglected, for what with the alien and +prisoners in the Block House, with those set at liberty by firing +the gaol, their number was little short of 300, with but a few raw +militia left for their security, or that of the fort or town. I +was, therefore, left no alternative but to gallop back and +ascertain the enemy's power for further mischief. Well it was that +I did so, for on reaching the gate of Fort George, I met a crowd of +the militia with consternation in their countenances, exclaiming +the magazine was on fire. Knowing it to contain 800 barrels of +powder, with vent side-walls, not an instant was to be lost. +Captain Vigoreux, of the Engineers, therefore, at my suggestion, +was promptly on its roof, which movement was with alacrity followed +by the requisite number of volunteers, when by the tin being +stripped off the blazing wood was extinguished. Thus was confidence +reassured. The enemy, taking advantage of a bend in the river, had +brought a battery with hot shot to enfilade the barracks, magazine +and King's stores, and despite all our efforts to dislodge him he +had effectively consumed the store-houses with all the lower +buildings, and repeatedly set on fire the barracks and magazine. +Our success was perfect: the enemy's fire being again silenced and +the necessary precautions taken to avert future disaster, I made +another effort to reach Queenstown, when I met Captain Chambers, +41st Regiment, with the glad tidings that General Sheaffe, by a +spirited and judicious movement away to his right, and crossing the +vale high up with his collected forces, had approached—as to +ground—his enemy on more favourable terms, and that his +operations had <a name="page206"><!-- Begin Page 206 --></a> +resulted in the enemy's complete destruction. But, for the details +of this brilliant success I must refer to the despatches of the +distinguished officer who, with his gallant troops, achieved +it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">(Signed) THOMAS EVANS,<br> + <i>Brigade-Major to the Forces</i>.</p> +<p>[The statement made above by Lieut.-Col. Evans that in the 49th +were still smouldering the fires of the insubordination that Brock +himself had summarily dealt with several years before, is as +remarkable as it is painful to those who would fain think a +regiment famed for its brave achievements in so many engagements, +and to which Brock had belonged for many years, could not be guilty +of anything so disgraceful as is insubordination. It must, however, +be remembered that of all duties, garrison duty is most trying to +the soldier, and to these men, the greater part of whom were +veterans who had fought at Bergen-op-Zoom and Copenhagen, where +they had acted as marines, anything approaching to the spirit of +the martinet in their superior officers must have been very +galling.</p> +<p>To this want of tact on the part of certain officers is +attributed, by those who have enquired most carefully into the +matter, the uncomfortable state of the gallant 49th at and before +the epoch of the war.</p> +<p>Even Brock himself was tired of garrison life at such a stirring +time at home, and had applied for active service in Europe, and +Major-General Sheaffe had actually been appointed to his offices, +both civil and military, when the declaration of war by President +Madison gave him the employment he was looking for.]</p> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>APPENDIX NO. 2.</h3> +<p>[From the other end of the Niagara Frontier comes an equally +interesting account of that notable day—the 13th Oct., 1812, +that of Lieutenant Driscoll of the 100th Regiment. (See Ryerson's +"Loyalists of America and their Times." Vol. 2, pages 36-81.)]</p> +<p>"I was stationed at Fort Erie on the memorable 13th Oct., 1812. +At daybreak, having returned with my escort as visiting rounds, +after a march of about six miles in muddy roads through the +forests, and about to refresh the inward man after my fatiguing +trudge, I heard a booming of distant artillery very faintly +articulated.</p> +<p>"Having satisfied myself of the certainty of my belief, wet and +fatigue were no longer remembered; excitement banishes these +trifling matters from the mind; and I posted off to my commanding +officer to report the firing, now more audible and rapid.</p> +<p>"I found my chief, booted and spurred and snoring—lying, +as was his wont, on a small hair mattrass on the floor in his +barrack room, which boasted of furniture, one oak table covered +with green baize, a writing desk, a tin basin containing water and +a brass candlestick, which had planted in it a regulation +mutton-dip, dimly flickering its last ray of light, paling before +the dawn, now making its appearance through the curtainless +window.</p> +<a name="page207"><!-- Begin Page 207 --></a> +<p>"The noise I made on entering the Major's sleeping and other +apartment awoke him. As he sat up on his low mattrass he said, +'What is the matter?' 'Heavy firing down the river, sir.' 'Turn the +men out.' 'All under arms, sir.' 'That'll do.'</p> +<p>"By this time he was on his legs—his hat and gloves on. +His hutman was at the door with his charger, and his spurs in his +horses' flanks in an instant—leaving the orderly, hutman, and +myself to double after him up to the fort, some hundred yards +off.</p> +<p>"As we reached it, the men were emerging through the gate in +measured cadence, and we were on our way to the batteries opposite +the enemy's station at Black Rock.</p> +<p>"Before we reached our post of alarm the sun was up and bright. +We had not assumed our position long before an orderly officer of +the Provincial Dragoons rode up, and gave us the information that +the enemy were attempting to cross at Queenston, and that we must +annoy them along the whole line, as was being done from Niagara to +Queenston, by any and every means in our power short of crossing +the river. Everything was ready on our part. The enemy all appeared +asleep, judging from the apparent quiet that prevailed on their +side the river.</p> +<p>"The command to annoy the enemy was no sooner given than bang! +bang! went off every gun that we had in position.</p> +<p>"Now there was a stir. The enemy's guns were in a short time +manned, and returned our fire; and the day's work was begun, which +was carried on briskly the greater part of the day on both sides of +the Niagara.</p> +<p>"About two o'clock, another Provincial Dragoon, bespattered, +horse and man, with foam and mud, made his appearance, not wearing +sword or helmet.</p> +<p>"Said an old Green Tiger to me: 'Horse and man jaded, sir; +depend upon it he brings bad news.' 'Step down and ascertain what +intelligence he brings.' Away my veteran doubles, and soon returns +at a funeral pace.</p> +<p>"Light heart, light step," were my inward thoughts. I knew by +poor old Clibborn's style of return something dreadful had +occurred. 'What news, Clibborn? What news, man? Speak out,' said I, +as be advanced towards the battery that was still keeping up a +brisk fire. Clibborn walked on, perfectly unconscious of the balls +that were ploughing up the ground, uttered not a word but shook his +head.</p> +<p>"When in the battery the old man sat down on the platform; still +no word, but the pallor and expression of his countenance indicated +the sorrow of his soul.</p> +<p>"I could stand it no longer. I placed my hand on his shoulder. +'For Heaven's sake, tell us what you know.' 'In choking accents he +revealed his melancholy information: 'The General is killed; the +enemy has possession of Queenstown Heights.'</p> +<p>"Every man in the battery was paralyzed; the battery ceased +firing.</p> +<p>"A cheer by the enemy from the opposite side of the river +recalled us to our duty. They had heard of their success down the +river. Our men, who <a name="page208"><!-- Begin Page 208 --></a> +had in various ways evinced their feelings—some in weeping, +some in swearing—some in mournful silence—now exhibit +demoniac energy. The heavy guns are loaded, traversed and fired, as +if they were field pieces.</p> +<p>"Too much hurry for precision. 'Take your time, men; don't throw +away your fire, my lads.' 'No, sir, but we'll give it to them hot +and heavy.'</p> +<p>"All the guns were worked by the 49th men of my own company, and +they wished to avenge their beloved chief. Brock, whom they knew +and valued with that correct appreciation peculiar to the British +soldier. They had all served under him in Holland and at +Copenhagen.</p> +<p>"I had a very excellent reconnoitering glass; and as I kept a +sharp lookout for the effect of our fire, and the movements of the +enemy, I observed that powder was being removed from a large wooden +barrack into ammunition waggons. The only man of the Royal +Artillery I had with me was a bombardier, Walker. I called his +attention to the fact I had observed, and directed him to lay a gun +for that part of the building wherefrom the powder was being taken. +At my request he took a look through my glass, and, having +satisfied himself, he laid the gun as I ordered. I, with my glass, +watched the spot aimed at. I saw one plank of the building fall +out, and at the same instant the whole fabric went up in a pillar +of black smoke, with but little noise, and it was no +more—horses, waggons, men and building all disappeared; not a +vestige of any was to be seen.</p> +<p>"Now was our turn to cheer; and we plied the enemy in a style so +quick and accurate that we silenced all their guns just as a third +dragoon came galloping up to us, shouting 'Victory! Victory!' Then +again we cheered lustily, but no response came from the other side. +Night now hid the enemy from our sight.</p> +<p>"The commissariat made its appearance with biscuit, pork, rum +and potatoes, and we broke our fast for that day about nine +p.m.</p> +<p>"How strange and unaccountable are the feelings induced by war! +Here were men of two nations, but of a common origin, speaking the +same language, of the same creed, intent on mutual destruction, +rejoicing with fiendish pleasure at their address in perpetrating +murder by wholesale, shouting for joy as disasters propagated by +the chance of war hurled death and agonizing wounds into the ranks +of their opponents! And yet the very same men, when chance gave +them the opportunity, would readily exchange, in their own peculiar +way, all the amenities of social life, extending to one another a +draw of the pipe, a quid or glass; obtaining and exchanging +information from one and the other of their respective services, as +to pay, rations, etc., the victors with delicacy abstaining from +any mention of the victorious day. Though the vanquished would +allude to their disaster, the victors never named their +triumphs.</p> +<p>"Such is the character of acts and words between British and +American soldiers, which I have witnessed, as officer commanding a +guard over American prisoners.</p> +<p style="text-align: right;">"JAMES DRISCOLL,<br> + "<i>Of the 100th Regiment</i>."</p> +<a name="page209"><!-- Begin Page 209 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>APPENDIX NO. 3.</h3> +<p>[Lieutenant-Colonel Bishopp was a son of Sir Cecil Bishopp, +Bart., afterwards Lord de la Zouche. He was an accomplished +gentleman. He had served in the Guards. Had represented Newport, in +the Isle of Wight, in Parliament. Had been attached to a Russian +embassy. Had served with distinction in Flanders, in Spain, in +Portugal and died full of hope and promise in Canada, gallantly +"doing his duty," and not without avail, for his example still +lives.]</p> +<p>"At two a.m. on the morning of the 11th July, 1813, accompanied +by Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Clark, and Lieutenant James Cummings +(both of the Lincoln Militia), backed by about 240 men—200 +being regulars, and forty of the 2nd and 3rd Lincoln Militia, +Bishopp swooped down upon Black Rock, the American naval depot on +the River Niagara.</p> +<p>"The assault was a success; the work of destruction of the naval +stores, chiefly by sinking them in the river, was complete. But +Porter's force was aroused, and a speedy retreat on the part of +Bishopp necessary. The men re-embarked unmolested, and Bishopp was +the last to retire. Scarcely had they left the bank when the +Indians who had crawled to the top commenced to fire. Part of +Bishopp's men were landed and drove the enemy back into the +woods.... Bishopp was everywhere commanding, directing, getting his +men off. In the confusion of the moment some of the oars of his own +boat were lost, and she drifted helplessly down stream exposed to +an ever-increasing fire. Here Bishopp received his death-wound. He +was borne back to his quarters, where, in a few days he expired at +the early age of twenty-seven. 'Never was any officer, save always +the lamented Brock, regretted more than he was.' His remains lie +beneath a modest monument erected to his memory by the pious care +of his sisters, the Baroness de la Zouche and Mrs. Pechall, in the +churchyard at Lundy's Lane."—<i>Coffin's Chronicles</i>.</p> +<p>A tablet to his memory is also to be seen at the family +burial-place, Parham, Sussex, England, with the following +epitaph:—</p> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>"His pillow—not of sturdy oak;<br> + His shroud—a simple soldier's cloak;<br> + His dirge will sound till Time's no more—<br> + Niagara's loud and solemn roar.<br> + There Cecil lies—say where the grave<br> + More worthy of a Briton brave?"<br></td></tr></table> +<p>[Lieutenant-Colonel (afterwards General) Evans, Brigade Major, +was one of the most valuable officers of the War of 1812. His cool +head, sound judgment, energy, and capability in administration made +him a tower of strength to his superiors, all of whom at various +times, took an opportunity of testifying to his merits.]</p> +<p>On the 17th August, 1812, the day after the surrender of +Detroit, General Brock wrote to him:—</p> +<p>"Dear Evans,—Detroit is ours, and with it the whole +Michigan Territory, the American Army Prisoners of War. The force +you so skilfully prepared <a name="page210"> +<!-- Begin Page 210 --></a> and forwarded at so much risk, met me +at "Point au Pins" in high spirits and most effective state. Your +thought of clothing the militia in the 41st cast-off clothing +proved a most happy one, it having more than doubled our own +regular force in the enemy's eye. I am not without anxiety about +the Niagara with your scanty means for its defence, notwithstanding +my confidence in your vigilance and admirable address in keeping +the enemy so long in ignorance of my absence and movements, etc. +(Signed) I. BROCK."</p> +<p>There is no need here to allude to the events of the 13th +October, 1812, at Fort George, since they are given in Lieut.-Col. +Evans' own account of that day, to be found at <a href= +"#appendix1">Appendix No. 1</a>, and show that his Generals had +good reason for the esteem in which they held him. Suffice it to +say that in the despatches of General Sheaffe from Queenstown; of +General Vincent from Burlington Heights; of Deputy Adjutant-General +Harvey, Burlington Heights, with reference to the successful attack +on Forty-mile Creek by a wing of the 8th or King's Regiment under +Lieut-Col. Evans; of General Riall, after Chippawa, Fort Erie, and +Lundy's Lane; and of General Drummond, after Lundy's Lane, +Lieut.-Col. Evans is always mentioned with special approbation. And +the same feeling is evident in the public prints of the day, +notably the London <i>Gazette</i>, the official organ, as well as +in histories of the war.</p> +<p>Previous to his removal to Canada with his regiment, Lieut.-Col. +Evans had been officially connected with the Government of +Gibraltar in 1802, at the time that the Duke of Kent, as Governor, +was trying to introduce some much-needed reforms, by doing which he +brought a hornet's nest about his ears. In this affair the Royal +Duke was ably backed by his subordinate, and in 1826, when +Lieut.-Col. Evans was applying for a staff situation in Canada, his +Royal Highness gratefully supported his request.</p> +<p>Brigade-Major Evans' local rank throughout the War of 1812 was +that of Lieutenant-Colonel.</p> +<p>General Evans was an Englishman of Welsh ancestry. He married a +daughter of Mr. Chief Justice Ogden, of Three Rivers, and after +occupying several important appointments, returned to Canada, dying +in Quebec in February, 1863, and was buried with military honours. +His body was afterwards removed to Three Rivers, and lies by the +side of his wife.</p> +<p>Major R. J. Evans, now resident in Toronto, to whom I am +indebted for the above particulars, as also for the valuable paper +to be found elsewhere, is a son of General Evans.</p> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>APPENDIX NO. 4.</h3> +<p>Guests from the 'Royal' stroll frequently to the grassy ramparts +of old Fort George, whose irregular outlines are still to be traced +in the open plains which now surround it. Here landed in 1783-84, +ten thousand United <a name="page211"><!-- Begin Page 211 --></a> +Empire Loyalists who, to keep inviolate their oaths of allegiance +to the King, quitted their freeholds and positions of trust and +honour in the States to begin life anew in the unbroken wilds of +Upper Canada.</p> +<p>"History has made us somewhat familiar with the settlement of +Nova Scotia and New Brunswick by the expatriated Loyalists. Little +has been written of the sufferings and privations endured by 'the +makers' of Upper Canada.</p> +<p>"With the present revival of interest in American history, it is +singular that writers do not awaken a curiosity about the Loyalists +of the Revolution. Students and specialists who have investigated +the story of a flight, equalled only by that of the Huguenots after +the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, have been led to admire the +spirit of unselfish patriotism which led over one hundred thousand +fugitives to self-exile. While the Pilgrim Fathers came to America +leisurely, bringing their household goods and their charters with +them, the United Empire Loyalists, it has been well said, 'bleeding +with the wounds of seven years of war, left ungathered the crops of +their rich farms on the Mohawk and in New Jersey, and, stripped of +every earthly possession, braved the terrors of the unbroken +wilderness from the Mohawk to Lake Ontario.'"—<i>Jane Meade +Welsh, in Harper's New Monthly for August</i>, 1887.</p> +<p>"1812—like the characters on the labarum of +Constantine—is a sign of solemn import to the people of +Canada. It carries with it the virtue of an incantation. Like the +magic numerals of the Arabian sage, these words, in their +utterance, quicken the pulse, and vibrate through the frame, +summoning from the pregnant past memories of suffering and +endurance and of honourable exertion. They are inscribed on the +banner and stamped on the hearts of the Canadian people—a +watchword rather than a war cry. With these words upon his lips, +the loyal Canadian, as a vigilant sentinel, locks forth into the +gloom, ready with his challenge, hopeful for a friendly response +but prepared for any other. The people of Canada are proud of the +men, and of the deeds, and of the recollections of those days. They +feel that the War of 1812 is an episode in the story of a young +people, glorious, in itself and full of promise. They believe that +the infant which, in its very cradle, could strangle invasion, +struggle and endure bravely and without repining, is capable of a +nobler development, if God wills further trial."—<i>Coffin's +Chronicles of the War, Chapter I., preamble</i>.</p> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>APPENDIX NO. 5.</h3> +<p>[Mr. Le Moine, in "Quebec Past and Present," states that slavery +was finally abolished in Canada in 1803.] "Near Fort George, less +than a century ago, stood the first Parliament House of Upper +Canada—a building rude in comparison with the massive pile, +the Bishop's Palace, used for a similar purpose at Quebec—but +memorable for one at least of the many liberal laws <a name= +"page212"><!-- Begin Page 212 --></a> its homespun representatives +enacted. Here, seventy years before President Lincoln's +Emancipation Proclamation, the first United Empire Loyalist +Parliament, like the embattled farmers at Concord, 'fired a shot +heard round the world.' For one of the first measures of the exiled +patricians was to pass an act forbidding slavery. Few readers know +that at Newark—now Niagara, Ontario—was enacted that +law by which Canada became, not only the first country in the world +to abolish slavery, but as such, a safe refuge for the fugitive +slaves from the Southern States."—<i>Jane Meade Welsh, in +Harper's New Monthly, August</i>, 1887.</p> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>APPENDIX NO. 6.</h3> +<p>[The Twenty-fourth or Second Warwickshire Regiment, now the +South Wales Borderers, is of ancient and gallant fame. On its +colours are inscribed "Egypt," "Cape of Good Hope," "Talavera," +"Fuentes d'Onor," "Salamanca," "Vittoria," "Pyrenees," "Nivelle," +"Orthes," "Peninsula"—a goodly show.]</p> +<p>To us, perhaps, the claims of the Regiment upon our admiration +are eclipsed by those upon our pity when we remember the terrible +disaster of Isandula in 1879, when six companies of the Regiment +were cut to pieces, and as it was at first feared, the colours +lost. But it was not so; several companies of the 1st Battalion had +fought in the victorious affair of Rorke's Drift the day before, +and "Lieutenant Bromhead" says the <i>Daily News</i> of Feb. 21, +1879: "1st Battalion, 24th Regiment, and Lieutenant Chard, R.E., +left in charge of the Drift with a company of the 24th Regiment, +first received intimation of the disaster [at Isandula] from +fugitives making for the Drift. Lieutenant Coghill with others rode +away to communicate with Helgmakaar, and were killed by Zulus in +crossing the river."</p> +<p>With Lieutenant Coghill was Lieutenant Melville carrying the +colours. The company holding the Drift was annihilated by the +on-rushing savages, and no tidings of the colours could be gained +until some days after when, behind a mound, were found the bodies +of the two brave Lieutenants, one of whom grasped the pole with +hands stiffened in death and around the other the precious flag was +wound, "safe on the heart of a soldier."</p> +<p>The following touching lines will be welcome to the lover of +noble deeds; it is to be regretted that the name of the poet cannot +also be given:—</p> +<center>THE LOST COLOURS.</center> +<table align="center" summary="poem positioner"> +<tr> +<td>Who said we had lost the Colours?<br> + Who carried the tale away.<br> + And whispered it low in England,<br> + With the deeds of that awful day?<br> + The story was washed, they tell us,<br> + Freed from a touch of shame—<br> + Washed in the blood of those who died.<br> + Told in their sacred name.<br> +<br> + <a name="page213"><!-- Begin Page 213 --></a> But they said we had +lost the Colours,<br> + And the Colours were safe, you see;<br> + While the story was told in England,<br> + Over the restless sea.<br> + They had not the heart to blame us.<br> + When they knew what the day had cost;<br> + But we felt the shame of the silence laid<br> + On the Colours they thought were lost.<br> +<br> + And now to its farthest limit<br> + They will listen and hear our cry;<br> + How could the Colours be lost, I say,<br> + While one was left to die?<br> + Safe on the heart of a soldier,<br> + Where else could the Colours be!<br> + I do not say they were found again,<br> + For they never were lost, you see.<br> +<br> + Safe on the heart of a soldier,<br> + Knotted close to his side,<br> + Proudly lie on the quiet breast,<br> + Washed in the crimson tide!<br> + For the heart is silent forever,<br> + Stirred by no flitting breath,<br> + And the Colours he saved are a fitting shroud,<br> + And meet for a soldier's death.<br> +<br> + What more would they know in England?<br> + The Colours were lost, they said;<br> + And all the time they were safe, of course,<br> + Though the soldier himself was dead.<br> + The band was stiff, and the heart was cold<br> + And feeble the stalwart limb;<br> + But he was one of the Twenty-fourth,<br> + So the Colours were safe with him.</td></tr></table> +<p>The following which appeared in the Toronto <i>World</i>, +Saturday, July 16, 1887, will also be found of interest to those +whose sympathies have been awakened by the poem:</p> +<center>"NO LONGER THE TWENTY-FOURTH."<br> +<br> + <i>How the Heroes of Isandklwana came to be called South Wales +Borderers</i>.</center> +<p>"In the London <i>Graphic</i> there have appeared lately several +good articles headed 'Types of the British Army,' with excellent +full-sheet coloured cuts, by eminent artists, of men in marching +order or otherwise belonging to the corps on which the article is +written. The last one is in the <i>Graphic</i> of April 30, being +the fourth to appear, and the picture represents a soldier of the +gallant 24th Regiment. Much has been said by old officers and +soldiers in the press relative to the abolition of the +time-honoured numbers of the old corps, and now this splendid old +regiment is no longer the 24th, but since 1881 is called the 'South +Wales Borderers.' And not only did the historical old <a name= +"page214"><!-- Begin Page 214 --></a> number disappear from the +Army List, according to the new system, but they lost their green +facings, and now wear the white, which all regiments, English and +Welsh, according to the territorial system, have to wear. The Irish +wear green, the Scotch yellow, and all Royal regiments wear blue. +The Artillery and 60th Rifles have red facings, and the Rifle +Brigade black. Corps on the line now go by territorial titles. +First and second battalions and many old regiments are joined to +other old corps which formerly had nothing whatever to do with the +county or province from which they now derive their title." In +connection with this a former captain in the 46th writes to the +Montreal <i>Witness</i> as follows:</p> +<p>"It may be interesting to many to know the reason why regiments +now bear their new titles; and, as the writer was intimately +acquainted with the 24th before the fearful calamity at +Isandhlwana—where they were annihilated in 1879 by the +Zulus—and was stationed with them in Brecon, South Wales, he +can give the rather curious origin of their present title.</p> +<p>"Some time before the Zulu campaign, there were many sweeping +changes made in the army, amongst them being the abolition of +numbers, and an order was issued that all members of militia, +yeomanry and volunteers at home should have their adjutants +appointed from officers serving on full pay with the regiments of +cavalry or infantry, and that the artillery, militia and +volunteers, should have their adjutants from the Royal Artillery or +Marine Artillery; the appointment to last for five years, and at +the expiration of that time the officer to return to his corps, and +another one to succeed him. The writer was at that time adjutant of +the 46th Regiment, and the first to be thus appointed to the Royal +Brecon Rifles, South Wales—a small corps of only four +companies. There was another smaller corps of only two companies in +the adjoining county, Radnorshire, and, perhaps for economy's sake, +it was ordered that both of these corps should be made one +regiment. Each wanted to retain its old militia designation, but it +was decided by the officers to give them a totally new one, and +they were christened the 'South Wales Borderers.'</p> +<p>"Brecon was made a depot centre, and the 24th Regiment were to +recruit and have their depots there. Being then without a title +they took that of the local militia, and are, therefore, now the +'1st and 2nd Battalions South Wales Borderers.' But they will +always be known as the time-honoured 24th, who lost one colonel, +one major, four captains, fourteen lieutenants and seven entire +companies, including band, buglers and drummer boys, at +Isandhlwana. Lieutenants Melville and Coghill, on that occasion, +seeing that all was lost, attempted to save the colours. Melville +was first hit, and Coghill turned back to share his fate. The +colours were afterwards found in the bed of the Buffalo River, and +when brought home Her Majesty tied a small wreath of immortelles on +the staff head at Osborn. They are still in the possession of the +regiment, and the wreath presented by Her Majesty is preserved in a +handsome hermetically-sealed oak box, mounted in silver."</p> +<a name="page215"><!-- Begin Page 215 --></a> <br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<h3>APPENDIX NO. 7.</h3> +<p>[In his "La Littérature au Canada Français" M. +Bender says of M. L. Pamphile Le May:]</p> +<p>"Le May sings in a clear and tender voice, reminding one of +Alfred de Vigny, and approaching the elegance and polish of that +poet.... In words of melody he celebrates the beauties of rural +life and scenery. He is touching, pleasing and sympathetic. He +knows his subject well; he has seen it, he has felt it, he has +loved it; indeed he yields too much to inspiration, and does not +sufficiently finish his verse, nor does he fully develop his idea +so as to reap all its wealth.... His creations evince originality +and beauty of form." In his preface to "Essais Poétiques," +published 1865, M. Leon P. Le May tells his readers that his +friends discouraged him in his worship of the Muse; they said +verse-making did not pay, that it cost a man too much to devote +himself to an art so little esteemed. But he sang nevertheless, and +Canadian literature in the French language is the richer by much +that is sweet, tender, beautiful and inspiring. We ought to thank +M. Le May for being wiser than his advisers; and such of us as have +not yet considered Canadian Literature worthy of especial regard +would do well to hunt up the numerous volumes that lie all but +unknown upon booksellers' shelves, and convince themselves that +there is a field of intellectual enjoyment open to them of which +they may be justly proud to be the heirs.</p> +<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + +<hr> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812. +by Sarah Anne Curzon + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812. *** + +This file should be named secrd10h.htm or secrd10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, secrd11h.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, secrd10a.txt + +Produced by David Garcia, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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