The Treason and Death of Benedict Arnold Part 7

_Mrs. Arnold_. My dearest Lord There's fever in your cheek. The day's distress Has worked some downfall to your shattered brain, You're very sick.--

_Arnold_. The boys, I asked about-- Are they away, or here?

_Mrs. Arnold_. The elder three At school and college, and our little Will Just home from school.

_Arnold_. I pray you let him come; My blessings on them all must fall through him; Nor will they wait: the pa.s.sage of an hour May find me gone.--Stay; there is yet one son.

_Mrs. Arnold_. No, Benedict, you have described them all.

_Arnold_. Ay, but there is one, born in Canada, My natural son, whose mother is no more; And yet my son,--and brother to the rest, And ever at my cost I've brought him up.

I cannot leave him out. He is of age And elder than your boys.

_Mrs. Arnold_. A son of yours--

_Arnold_. A natural son of mine, whose bringing up Is at my charge. I cannot cut him off.

Though of my name I scanted him the curse, I ever sent him help.

[_Gives her a paper._]

_Mrs. Arnold_. You have done right To count him in; and I accept him, And will provide a portion like the rest Though at my children's cost.

_Arnold_. Send William here: The time grows short.

[_Enter servant bringing the sword which_ Mrs. Arnold _takes and gives to_ Arnold.]

_Mrs. Arnold_. [_To servant._] Send Master William here.

[_Exit servant. Enter_ William Arnold, _a boy of eight._]

_Arnold_. William, you are a soldier:-- This old sword Was once your brother Ben's,--my eldest boy.

He served his G.o.d, his Country, and his King, And found a soldier's death. It is a record We may be proud of in the family.

You and your brothers, Edward, George, and Robert, Are dedicated soldiers to the King.

England, to all of you, is generous To overflowing: See ye pay her back In overflowing measure with your lives.

You are a soldier, Sir, and understand The duties of a soldier; when you grow A little older you will read, perhaps, Something about your father; for his name Is written on a page of history; You cannot miss it. When you find it there, Remember only all the soldier part; The soldier part he leaves you: all the rest Was something suffered, that was meant for him But not for you. There, go my boy; good-bye.

You must to all your brothers tell this news, And say I blessed them. They will understand, Each in his measure, on the appointed day, My message to them. See you bear it safe.

It is a charge of honor and becomes you.

[Arnold _kisses the little boy, and gives him the sword with which he walks toward the door. The child feels that something very serious is happening, although he does not entirely understand it. When near the door he turns, runs back and embraces the old man again; and then exit._]

_Both Choruses_. Now will I say that children add to life a glory not belonging to it; and a pang beyond the pain of this world.

In them is pain; in their birth, danger; and in their tender years, a care; thereafter, sorrow or joy, too keen, too keen, too poignant, too sharp,--cutting the heart in twain.

Happy are they who know it not. Happy are the childless; for the great sufferings are kept from them. Blessed are they: I will praise and envy them always.

_Arnold_. Now is my burden lightened.

One adieu,-- The worst, remains; and then,--I know not what,--some relaxation Or sweetness of the grave.

[_To_ Mrs. Arnold.] Good-bye, great soul; I leave thee sorrows, many-pointed cares, The stress of growing sons and straightening means; Yet one great blackness pa.s.ses from your life, Unshadowing you all. I see ye stand Safe in the port,--as on a margent sh.o.r.e Cl.u.s.tered in sunlight,--while my bark moves on.

I am not of ye; I am far away And long ago; one of those Argonauts That in the western seas, with st.u.r.dy oar, Urging their venturesome and sacred bark, Steered a new course,--a band, a brotherhood,-- And, though a Judas, I was one of them.

Get me my uniform. I wore it last On that last day on which my sun went down.

And I, descending now to seek the sun, Must put it on.

_Mrs. Arnold_. Dear Benedict, your uniform?

You have it on.

_Arnold_. No, no! not this, not this!

Ring; call a servant!

_Mrs. Arnold_. [_Rings. To servant._]

Whate'er he asks for, get it quickly for him, But make no questions.

[Arnold _speaks to servant in dumb-show. Exit servant._]

_Arnold_. The very coat I did the treason in, By accident preserved, and then,--and then-- I could not cast it off: it clung to me-- Waiting this day. It lay there like a dog, Patient against a master's drunkenness, Watching his face.

[_Enter servant with the coat of the American uniform, and the sword-knots._]

Thou one unbroken link with all the men I walked with on the mountain heights of youth, When glory shone, and trumpets heralded, And drums were rolling! We were patriots then, Warren, and Putnam, Lincoln, Knox, and Schuyler, Morgan, and Stark, Montgomery, Sullivan-- And scores of faces burnished by the winds, That shone with glory--

[_He takes off the coat of his British uniform, the servant a.s.sisting, and puts on the coat of his old American uniform._]

Never weep, dear wife.

I seek the truth you teach me. It is thus Your thoughts do guide me;--and I must go back To where I lost the way.

[_Showing sword-knots._] That ornament Was.h.i.+ngton gave me,--with such words of praise As must preserve it till the judgment day Against corruption. Should I meet that man, Will his reluctant and offended shade Pa.s.s sadly on? Or will he greet me there,-- There, but not here. There, there, but never here!

On toward that shadowy spot I blindly go, Claiming the past.

[_He lies down on the couch, and_ Mrs. Arnold _kneels by his side.

Exit_ Death.]

_Both Choruses_. Surely the past must be allowed to all men; and not to him alone. What good there was in us cannot be lost.

G.o.d forgets not the virtue of those who have failed; and why should man seek to judge them? Verily all courage is immortal: the man himself cannot kill it.

Lo, what great things are done through even bad men; and this man had in him much goodness.

[_A pause. Distant military music. Four young boys dressed in white, and bearing tall spears with little banners attached to the tips, enter and stand each at one corner of the couch. The arrangement suggests a medieval church tomb, of which_ Mrs. Arnold's _kneeling figure forms a part._]

_Both Choruses_. Not on the sh.o.r.es of America-- Not on our shuddering strand, Can Arnold's tomb be laid.

Nor in his land of illusions-- Britain's contemptuous Isle, Can stone be added to stone.

Yet in a corner of Memory, Hallowed by terrible pain, Stand the stones of his grave.

There, his trophies of victory, Piled in marshal array, Gorgeous, perennial--