The Bride Of Fort Edward: Founded On An Incident Of The Revolution Part 25

_Grey_. Ha! Murderer! art satisfied?

_Mait_. Ay.

_Grey_. What, do you mock me, Sir?

_Mait_. Let her be. She is mine!--all mine! my love, my bride,--my _bride_?--_Murderer_?--Stay!--Don't glare at me! I know you, Sir. I can hurl off these mountain shadows yet.--They'll send some stronger devil ere they wrench this hold from me! I know you well. What make you here?

_Grey_. Madness!--there's little wonder!--It's the only good that Heaven has left for him! My lovely playfellow,--my sister, is it so indeed?

Alas! all gently lies this hand in mine. There is no angry strength here now. Helen!--Ah! would to G.o.d our last words had not been in bitterness.

_Mait_. He weeps. I never thought to see tears there. List!--she should not lie there thus. Strange it should move you so!--Think it a picture now. 'Tis but a well-wrought painting after all, if one but thinks so.

See,--'tis but a sleeping girl, with the red summer light upon her cheek, and the slight breeze stirring her golden hair. Mark you that shoulder's grace?--They come.

(_Leslie, Elliston, and others enter_.)

_Leslie_. Oh G.o.d, was there none other? My lovely cousin, and--were _you_ the victim? In your bridal glory chosen,--nay, with your heart's holiest law lured to the b.l.o.o.d.y altar! Yet this day's history, and something in that calm, high mien, tells me, as freely you had moved unto it, though G.o.d had spoken by a higher voice, and with a martyr's garland beckoned you.

_Elliston_. Our cause is linked unto that ancient one, the cause of Love and Truth; in which Heaven moves with unrelenting hand, not sparing its own loveliest ones, but unto b.l.o.o.d.y death freely delivering them.

(_Grey and Leslie converse apart_.)

_Leslie_. Yes--we will bury her here. 'Tis a fitting spot; and unto distant days, this lonely grave, with its ever-verdant canopy, shall be even as Love's Shrine. Thither, in the calm and smiling summers of those bloodless times shall many a fair young pilgrim come, to wonder at such love; and living eyes shall weep, and living hearts shall heave over its cruel fate, when unto her the long-told tale, and all the anguish of this far-off day, shall be even as the dim pa.s.sage of some troubled dream. A martyr's garland she hath won indeed; true Love's young Martyr there she lies.

_Elliston_. Yet was that love but the wreathed and glittering weapon of a higher doom. In that holy cause, whose martyrs strew a thousand fields, truth's, freedom's, G.o.d's, darkly, by _Power Invisible_ hath this young life been offered here.

A thousand graves like this, over all this lovely land, in lanes and fields, on the lonely hill-side, by the laughing stream, and in the depths of many a silent wood, to distant days shall speak--of blood-sealed destinies; with voices that no tyrant's power can smother, they shall speak.--

_Leslie_. The light of that chamber window, through the soft summer evening will s.h.i.+ne here; no mournful memory of all the lovely past will it waken. The autumn blaze will flicker within those distant walls, and gather its pleasant circle again; but _she_ will lie calmly here. For ever at her feet the river of her childhood shall murmur on, and many a lovely spring-time, like the spring-times of her childhood, shall come and go, but no yearning hope shall it waken here; the winter shall sing through the desolate boughs, and rear its fairy temples around her, but nought shall break her dreamless rest.--

_Mait_. Graves! Is it graves they are talking of? Will they bury this gay young bride! 'Tis but the name; there's nothing sad in it. In the lovely summer twilight shall her burial be, and thus; in all her bridal array, with the glory of the crimson sunset s.h.i.+ning through the trees;--see what a fearful glow is kindling on her cheek, and that faint breeze--or, is it life that stirs these curls? Stay!--whose young brow is this?--Ha!--_whose_ smile is this? Who is this they would hurry away into the darkness of death? The grave! Could you fold the rosy and all-speading beauty of heaven in the narrow grave? Helen, is it thee?--my heaven, my long-lost heaven; and, even now, but for mine own deed--Oh G.o.d! was there no hand but mine?--but for me--They shall not utter it,--there, thus. There's but _one_ cry that could unfold this grief, but that would circle the round universe and fill eternity. A sad sight this! Is't known who killed this lady, Sir?

_Leslie_. Of all the wrecks of beautiful humanity that strew these paths, we have found none so sad as this!

_Elliston_. Mark you those groups of soldiers loitering on the road-side there?

_An Officer_. Curiosity. The regiment that was dismissed to-day. They'll be here anon.

_Leslie_. Ay, let them come.

_Off_. Look,--who comes up that winding pathway through the trees, with such a swift and stately movement? A woman! See how the rude soldiers turn aside with awe. Ah, she comes. .h.i.ther.

(_A voice without_.)

Where is she?--stand aside!--What have you here in this dark ring?--Henry--nay, let me come.

(_Mrs. Grey enters the glen_.)

_Grey_. For G.o.d's sake, Madam, let me lead you hence. This is no place for you. Look at this group of men, officers, soldiers--

_Mrs. G_. Would you cheat me _thus_? Is it no place for _me_? What kind of place is't then for her, whose--Oh G.o.d!--think you I do not see that slippered foot, nor know whose it is,--and whose plumed bonnet is it that lies crushed there at their feet?--unhand me, Henry.

_Leslie_. Nay, let her come,--'tis best.

(_She pa.s.ses swiftly through the parting group_.)

_Mrs. G_. My daughter!--_Blood_? My stricken child smile you? No pity was there then? Speak to me, speak! Your mother's tears are on your brow, and heed you not? Nay, tell me all, my smitten one. This day's dark history will you never pour into my ear, that hath treasured so often your lightest grief? Alone through that wild anguish have you pa.s.sed, and smile you now? I bade her trust in G.o.d. Did _G.o.d_ see this?

(_Arnold, and a group of Soldiers, enter the glen_.)

_Arnold_. Look there. Ay, ay, look there. You were right, Leslie;--this _is_ better than a battle-field. They'll find that this day's work will cost them dear.

_Mrs. G_. Did _G.o.d_, who loves as mothers love their babes, see this I Had I been there, with my love, in the heavens, could _I_ have given up this innocent and tender child a prey to the wild Indians? No!--and legions of pitying angels waiting but my word. No,--no.

_Elliston_. Had you been there,--from that far centre whence G.o.d's eye sees all, you had beheld what lies in darkness here. Forth from this fearful hour you might have seen Peace, like a river, flowing o'er the years to come; and smiles, ten thousand, thousand smiles, down the long ages brightening, sown in this day's tears. Had you been there with G.o.d's _all_-pitying eye, the pitying legions had waited your word in vain, for once, unto a sterner doom, for the world's sake he gave his Son.

_Mrs. G_. Words! Look there. That mother warned me yesterday. "_Words, words! My own child's blood_,"--I _see_ it now.

(_A group of Soldiers enter_.)

_A. Soldier_. (_Whispering_.) Who would have thought to see tears on _his_ face; look you, Jack Richards.

_Another Sol_. 'Twas his sister, hus.h.!.+--

_Arnold_. Ay, ay, come hither. Look you there! Lay down your arms. Seek the royal mercy;--here it is. Your wives, your sisters, and your innocent children;--let them seek the royal shelter;--it is a safe one.

See.

_3d Sol_. It was just so in Jersey last winter;--made no difference which side you were.

_Arnold_. Ask no reasons.--'Twas in sport may be. 'Tis but one, in many such. Shameless tyranny we have borne long, and now, for resistance, to red butchery we are given over. The sport of lawless soldiers, and savages more cruel than the fiends in h.e.l.l, are we, and the gentle beings of our homes;--but, 'tis the Royal power. Lay down your arms.

_Soldiers_. (_Shouting_.) _No_.

_Arnold_. Nay, nay,--in its caprice some will be safe,--it may not light on you. See, here's the proclamation. (_Throwing it among them_.) Pardon for rebles.

_Soldiers_. No--no. (_Shouting_.) Away with pardon!--(_Tearing the proclamation_.) To the death! Freedom for ever!