Chapter 3

agitation_.

_Enter_ MR. SECORD.

_Mrs. Secord_ (_springing to meet him_). Oh, James, where have you been?

_Mr. Secord_. I did but ramble through the pasture, dear, And round the orchard. 'Twas so sweet and still. Save for the echo of the sentry's tread O'er the hard road, it might have been old times. But--but--you're agitated, dear; what's wrong? I see our unasked visitors were here. Was that--?

_Mrs. Secord_. Not that; yet that. Oh, James, I scarce can bear The stormy swell that surges o'er my heart, Awaked by what they have revealed this night.

_Mr. Secord_. Dear wife, what is't?

_Mrs. Secord_. Oh, sit you down and rest, for you will need All strength you may command to hear me tell.

[_Mr. Secord sits down, his wife by him_.

That saucy fellow, Winter, and a guard Came and demanded supper; and, of course, They had to get it. Pete and Flos I left To wait on them, but soon they sent them off, Their jugs supplied,--and fell a-talking, loud, As in defiance, of some private plan To make the British wince. Word followed word, Till I, who could not help but hear their gibes, Suspected mischief, and, listening, learned the whole. To-morrow night a large detachment leaves Fort George for Beaver Dam. Five hundred men, With some dragoons, artillery, and a train Of baggage-waggons, under Boerstler, go To fall upon Fitzgibbon by surprise, Capture the stores, and pay for Stony Creek.

_Mr. Secord_. My God! and here am I, a paroled cripple! Oh, Canada, my chosen country! Now-- Is't now, in this thy dearest strait, I fail? I, who for thee would pour my blood with joy-- Would give my life for thy prosperity-- Most I stand by, and see thy foes prevail Without one thrust?

[_In his agitation he rises_.

_Mrs. Secord_. Oh, calm thee, dear; thy strength is all to me. Fitzgibbon shall be warned, or aid be sent.

_Mr. Secord_. But how, wife? how? Let this attempt succeed, As well it may, and vain last year's success; In vain fell Brock: in vain was Queenston fought: In vain we pour out blood and gold in streams: For Dearborn then may push his heavy force Along the lakes, with long odds in his favour. And I, unhappy wretch, in such a strait Am here, unfit for service. Thirty men Are all Fitzgibbon has to guard the stores And keep a road 'twixt Bisshopp and De Haren. Those stores, that road, would give the Yankee all.

_Mrs. Secord_. Why, be content now, dear. Had we not heard, This plot might have passed on to its dire end, Like the pale owl that noiseless cleaves the dark, And, on its dreaming prey, swoops with fell claw.

_Mr. Secord_. What better is it?

_Mrs. Secord_. This; that myself will go to Beaver Dam, And warn Fitzgibbon: there is yet a day.

_Mr. Secord_. Thou! thou take a task at which a man might shrink? No, no, dear wife! Not so.

_Mrs. Secord_. Ay, prithee, let me go; 'Tis not so far. And I can pass unharmed Where you would be made prisoner, or worse. They'll not hurt me--my sex is my protection.

_Mr. Secord_. Oh, not in times like these. Let them suspect A shadow wrong, and neither sex, nor tears, Nor tenderness would save thy fate.

_Mrs. Secord_. Fear not for me. I'll be for once so wise The sentries shall e'en put me on my way. Once past the lines, the dove is not more swift Nor sure to find her distant home than I To reach Fitzgibbon. Say I may go.

_Mr. Secord_ (_putting his arm 'round her tenderly_). How can I let thee go? Thy tender feet Would bleed ere half the way was done. Thy strength Would fail 'twixt the rough road and summer heat, And in some, gloomy depth, faint and alone, Thou would'st lie down to die. Or, chased and hurt By wolf or catamount, thy task undone, Thy precious life would then be thrown away. I cannot let thee go.

_Mrs. Secord_. Not thrown away! Nay, say not that, dear James. No life is thrown away that's spent in doing duty. But why raise up these phantoms of dismay? I did not so when, at our country's call, You leapt to answer. Said I one word To keep you back? and yet my risk was greater Then than now--a woman left with children On a frontier farm, where yelling savages, Urged on, or led, by renegades, might burn, And kill, and outrage with impunity Under the name of war. Yet I blenched not, But helped you clean your musket, clasped your belt, And sent you forth, with many a cheery word. Did I not so?

_Mr. Secord_. Thou didst indeed, dear wife, thou didst. But yet,-- I cannot let thee go, my darling. Did I not promise in our marriage vow, And to thy mother, to guard thee as myself.

_Mrs. Secord_. And so you will if now you let me go. For you would go yourself, without a word Of parley, were you able; leaving me The while in His good hands; not doubting once But I was willing. Leave me there now, James, And let me go; it is our country calls.

_Mr. Secord_. Ah, dearest wife, thou dost not realize All my deep promise, "guard thee as myself?" I meant to guard thee doubly, trebly more.

_Mrs. Secord_. There you were wrong. The law says "as thyself Thou shalt regard thy neighbour."

_Mr. Secord_. My neighbour! Then is that all that thou art To me, thy husband? Shame! thou lovest me not. My neighbour!

_Mrs. Secord_. Why now, fond ingrate! What saith _the Book?_ "THE GOOD, with all thy soul and mind and strength; Thy neighbour as thyself." Thou must _not_ love Thyself, nor me, as thou _must_ love the Good. Therefore, I am thy neighbour; loved as thyself: And as thyself wouldst go to warn Fitzgibbon If thou wert able, so I, being able, Thou must let me go--thy other self. Pray let me go!

_Mr. Secord_ (_after a pause_). Thou shalt, dear wife, thou shalt. I'll say no more. Thy courage meets the occasion. Hope shall be My standard-bearer, and put to shame The cohorts black anxiety calls up. But how shall I explain to prying folks Thine absence?

_Mrs. Secord_. Say I am gone to see my brother, 'Tis known he's sick; and if I venture now 'Twill serve to make the plot seem still secure. I must start early.

_Mr. Secord_. Yet not too soon, lest ill surmise Aroused by guilty conscience doubt thy aim.

_Mrs. Secord_. That's true. Yet at this time of year do travellers start Almost at dawn to avoid the midday heats. Tell not the children whither I am bound; Poor darlings! Soon enough anxiety Will fall upon them; 'tis the heritage Of all; high, low, rich, poor; he chiefly blest Who travels farthest ere he meets the foe. There's much to do to leave the household straight, I'll not retire to-night.

_Mr. Secord_. Oh, yes, dear wife, thou shalt not spend thy strength On household duties, for thou'lt need it all Ere thy long task be done. O, but I fear--

_Mrs. Secord_ (_quickly_). Fear nothing! Trust heaven and do your best, is wiser. Should I meet harm,'twill be in doing duty: Fail I shall not!

_Mr. Secord_. Retire, dear wife, and rest; I'll watch the hours Beside thee.

_Mrs. Secord_. No need to watch me, James, I shall awake.

[_Aside_. And yet perhaps 'tis best. If he wake now he'll sleep to-morrow Perforce of nature; and banish thus Some hours of sad anxiety.]

_Mr. Secord_. I'd better watch.

_Mrs. Secord_. Well then, to please you! But call me on the turn Of night, lest I should lose an hour or two Of cooler travel.

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