SCENE II.--_An ancient stone building in the Dutch taste. Three

officers_, VINCENT, AMBROSE, ASMITH. VINCENT _and_ ASMITH _entering_.

_Am._ Well are we met in these sequestered wilds; Whence come ye, brothers, at so late an hour?

_Vin._ From scouring all the country up and down, To seize, if fortune please, illicit traders, Who are so bold and unscrupulous grown That oft in open day, as well as night, They bear large cargoes of provision down To yonder ships that still infest our river. How I detest these underhanded scoundrels, Who, hungry as the grave for British gold, Feed the vile foe that lurks within our harbours.

_Am._ Gods! Can they be so base,--but there are they Who sell their country for a mess of pottage,-- A servile, scheming race whose god is gain, Who for a little gold would stab their fathers And plunder life from her who gave them life. These are not true Americans. They are A spurious race--scum, dregs, and bastards all. They are not true Americans, I say.

_As._ They cannot be, they help toward our ruin. But, gentlemen, I'll tell you what I think; We have so many lurking foes within, And such a potent enemy without, That I almost despair, I must confess, That ever we shall rend these thirteen States From persevering Britain, and compel Acknowledgment of independence here.

_Vin._ Say not so. The rights of humanity, 'tis these we fight for, And not to carry ruin round the globe. Appearances are so much in our favour That he who doubts that this event shall be, Must be as blind as he whose useless orbs Have never drank the radiated light. Nay, he who doubts of this, who dares to doubt (If nature be not ----[37] to miracles And devils rule with delegated sway) Deserves not nor is worthy to enjoy The paradise we look for.

_Amb._ Be it so. But let us leave the great event to fate, Who soon or late will bring to light its purpose; Our duty to our country must be done, And in so doing we its freedom hasten. But, friends, why stay we here? By yonder stars That still revolving point toward the pole, I find it must be midnight.

_Vin._ I do expect a score of peasants here, A set of hardy, bold, and faithful fellows, Whom I can trust in all emergencies. In different parties I shall these despatch Toward the hostile lines, for I suspect That intercourse too often doth subsist Between our disaffected and the foe.

_Amb._ And are these peasants armed?

_Vin._ Armed with a musquet and a bayonet; A true and desperate soldier wants no more.

_As._ And thirty cartridges to every man, With three days' victuals in their knapsacks stored.

_Amb._ It is enough. I hope they will not tarry.