The death of General Montgomery, in storming the city of Quebec ::

ACT. V.

SCENE I.

Arnold, with his Division.
Arnold.
Hard by the conflux of these sister tides,
It is determin'd, that we storm the wall.
This is the place, as fame reports to us,
By Montmorenci, where the Frenchmen lay,
T' oppose the British arms, what time great Wolfe
Rode on the bosom of that winding stream,
And meditated a debarkment here.
A shot—come on my veteran soldiery—
The salutation of their cannonade
Return with equal compliment. Wheel round
And circle this redoubt. Some rifle-men
Advance before, in silent ambuscade,
And pick them from that eminence. Long us'd
To strew the swift deer on the mountain top,
You need no council to direct your fire,
Save this, brave souls, take down their officers.
O, if this day, we stumble not, Quebec
With all her stores and magazines is ours
And thro' America the sound shall ring,
Of unstain'd victory; thro' all her groves,
The bold atchievment shall be mentioned,
And every hill shall echo with our fame.
A shot—A full platoon—Sad accident.
My ankle splintered with a musket ball.
I'm like Achilles, wounded in the heel,
And lose much blood. Be not discouraged,
My brave companions, but advance to fame.
I lose much blood, but yet will stay with you,
While one drop circles in the life-warm vein.

Oswald.
Nay Sir not so, the wound is dangerous.
Let these men bear you from the ensanguin'd field.
He faints with loss of blood. Support him hence
My gallant soldiers—let the wound be drest.

Morgan.
Come gallant souls, and patriots eminent,
Next in command on me devolves the task
Of Generalship; then may I pray from you
Obedience prompt, in this fair enterprize?
Say, shall I draw you off ingloriously,
With speediest step? or shall we yet advance,
And pour revenge on the indignant foe?
Think, Gentlemen, it will be base to leave
The brave Montgomery, who the other wall
By this time storming, will expect our aid,
And rendezvous in the besieged town.

Soldiery.
Lead on—lead on—we follow your command.

Morgan.
Come then brave Hendricks, in the charge advance
With these sure rifle-men, and from the mound
Of the first barrier pick the officers.

Oswald.
The barrier's ours, and the rude enemy
Lie in vast numbers wounded and cut off.

Captain Lamb.
Let some skill'd surgeon dress the wounded men;
For even an enemy, soft pity and love
Should have from us, if low and vanquished
They ask for mercy, and implore our aid.

Surgeon.
I dress them, Sir, with my best skill and speed,
For many lie deep wounded on the plain.
Some with their legs shot off, and some their arms
With grape-shot shatter'd. Some a musket-ball
Hath deeply pierc'd—

Captain Hendricks.
Bring up the ladders, plant them speedily.
One hundred Dollars Continental Bills,
Or gold of equal value to the man,
Distinguished with honour and fair fame,
Who first ascends the thirty-feet high wall.
Nor needs he doubt of firm and full support,
With the full corps of infantry, sustain'd.
Ye Pennsylvanian's, make the honour yours,
And shew the world, that Safquehanna's banks
Bred one adorn'd with this bright heraldry,
This standing monument of peerless praise,
That of this army, he the first assail'd
The ramparts of Quebec, swift-planting there,
The wide-stream'd standard, representative
With Thirteen streaks of ivory and blue,
The extended provinces. A fatal shot—

Oswald.
Fell tyranny, these are thy vestiges
In crimson battle and vindictive war,
Unpitying wag'd. The hero immature
Full in the vigour and fresh bloom of life,
With eye star-beaming, and high beating heart,
By thee cut down. The roseate glow of health
Fades on his cheek, and the sweet breath no more
Heaves in his bosom, yet soul-cheering thought!
Not unlamented, nor unwept he lies,
For many a tear, O Hendricks, shall bedew,
By Safquehanna's flood, the annual flowers,

When the sad story of thy mournful fate,
Is hence resounded to her rocky stream.

SCENE II.

Col. Maclean
returning from his success against the division under General Montgomery.
Thus far success, and noble victory
Breathes on our fortitude. The great arch-chief
Of this rebellion, that so rudely pierc'd
Redoubts and barriers hedging in his way,
Is now cut off. The great arch-chief and head
Of this their daring enterprize, struck down
From his rebellious hope of victory,
Lies haply prostrate on the snow-clad earth,
Discolouring with his blood its virgin tint.
Nought then remains, but that we swiftly charge
This other band, which the fam'd Arnold leads.
This still holds out, and would bespeak sore wil.
In opposition to our arms this day.

SCENE III.

Major Meggs.
We are surrounded by the enemy.
See where Maclean collecting their whole force,
Hems in our regiment, and cuts off retreat.
I did not dream of numbers in Quebec
To face at once our thus divided troops
With such superior force. Sure they have not
Repell'd Montgomery, from the assaulted wall,
And brought their whole force, to resist our arms?

Lamb.
Come engineers, bring that field piece to bear.
Ye gallant veterans, from the mountain stream

Of Hudson's river visiting New-York,
Shrink not from danger; 'tis the hero's joy
To live in thunder and the noise of war.
Light up with flame, the air's wide element,
And rock the deep ground with your cannonade.

SCENE IV.

Carleton,
from the wall of the Upper-Town, exposing the body of Montgomery.
Say rebel brood, why stubbornly maintain
That ground, encircled by superior force?
Why so reluctantly give up the field,
When now my squadrons from each fort and gate,
All opposition broke, collect themselves,
Pouring their whole fire on your shatter'd ranks?
Front, flank, and rear, nay, overhead the storm
Of battle rages; but if so much trust,
And hope of conquest plays upon your minds,
Behold the body of your General slain.
The great Montgomery bleeds upon the wall.

Lamb
to his Countrymen.
The hapless fortune of the day is sunk!
Montgomery slain, and wither'd every hope!
Mysterious Providence, thy ways are just,
And we submit in deep humility.
But O let fire or pestilence from Heaven,
Avenge the butchery; let Englishmen,
The cause and agents in this horrid war,
In tenfold amplitude, meet gloomy death.
What do I say? can hecatombs of slaves
And villains sacrific'd, repay one drop
Of this pure vital scarlet-streaming blood?
No, not ten thousand of life-gushing veins,
From perjur'd Kings, and venal parasites,
Can rise in value, to one heart-warm drop,

Of that pure patriot; yet this alone we can,
That in revenge, the battle be renew'd,
And indignation be the word to day.

Carleton.
Once more I offer you the terms of peace,
Ye stubborn combatants. If I'm oblig'd
To hold the battle up, and lose more men
Slain by your obstinacy; rest assur'd,
The gate of mercy shall be shut. No hope
Of quarter shall remain, but the red flag
Of blood hung out, shall amply testify
The irreversible consign of death.
Nor in sepulture of a grassy grave,
Shall you meet burial; but your carcases
Shall feed the fowls and vultures of the Heaven,
Left long expos'd, and rotting on the earth;
But on submission you shall be receiv'd,
With arms of love and pity honouring
Your noble valour eminent and great,
Who these three hours such odds have combated,
And struggled hard with us for victory.

Oswald.
Methinks no man, my hapless countrymen,
Can throw suspicion of base cowardice,
On my behaviour, or my words this day;
For I have fought and ventured with you,
Where the hot battle did most fiercely rage,
But in my judgment, we contend in vain,
And risk our persons, without equal chance,
Against this enemy. Fair terms and words,
By them are offer'd, better then submit
And take their mercy, than see butchered,
So many brave men, in such circumstance,
That nought avails their courage and bright flame

Of true heroic excellence approv'd.

Morgan.
True, gallant Oswald, we attempt in vain,
To urge the war with such unequal strength,
And disadvantage of encompass'd ground,
On our side, visible. Lay down your arms,
Then hapless countrymen, and put yourselves
On that fair law and custom 'stablished
'Mong christian nations, that the life be spar'd,
And with humanity and gentleness,
The victor foe shall treat his prisoners.

SCENE V.

Carleton
to the Prisoners.
Now in my power disarmed and reduc'd,
I will give scope, and scorn you with my tongue,
You vile rebellious progeny of wrath,
Fierce and malignant in Don Quixotism
Of moon-mad liberty. You Bedlam-brood,
You viper-lip'd, and serpent-hearted race,
Bred on the poison of soul fraud and hate,
Scum and off-scouring of humanity,
Whom laws of government to the sure cord
Have ever destined; and were it not,
That the black vengeance of your countrymen
Might dare retaliate, and gibbet up
Some British prisoner, each soul should hang,
And die, this day, in execrable form,
The death of traitors. Yet, whatever shape
Of suffering horrible, can be devis'd,
In dreary dungeon, and in obscure jail,
Cold, dark, and comfortless, and lacking bread,
Shall be your lot, snake venom'd parricides.
And first, three victims from your shattered band,
Must, to the Savages be given up.

Some three Bostanians, sacrific'd and slain,
To glut the appetite of Indian chiefs,
Who at our cantico, at Montreal,
Drank of the ox-blood, roasting his large limbs,
Symbolical of rebels burnt with fire.
Take these three men, ye Indians warriors,
And use them wantonly, with every pain,
Which flame's fierce element can exercise.
And with the sound of each loud instrument,
The drum, the horn, in wildest symphony
With your own howlings, shall the scene be grac'd,
Save, that in terror, oftentimes, a while
The noise shall cease, and their own cries be heard.

The Captives.
O gentle Sir, where are the promises
Of life untouched and fair acts of love?
Where is the memory of that faith and word,
That sacred honour, which a soldier wears?
Is there no mercy in the soul of man?
But O whatever we are doom'd to feel,
Of death, or torment, let it not be fire.
The flame is terrible, and none can bear,
On the soft eye, the scorching element;
The sinewy nerve bent up and withered;
The body rolling, crisping in the flames.
Let us be sentenced to some dark pit,
Or subterranean cavity, where light
Of sun, or star shall never cast a ray:
In some lone island destitute of food,
Let us be bound, and slowly waste ourselves,
With painful hunger, and life-pinching want
O could we but obtain immediate death,
By some sharp bayonet, or musket-ball,
Even should our bodies, afterwards be burnt,
And bones reduc'd to ashes in the flame.

Carleton.
Hah, I could laugh, to see your skeletons,
Unflesh'd, and whit'ning in the light-wood blaze.
(Aside to Maclean.)
But yet, Maclean, we dare not execute,
Stern justice due; for still the rebel foe,
That part of them which with Montgomery fought,
Recruit their forces and block up the gates;
And should we urge extremity of wrath,
It may be ours to taste an equal fate.
The chance of war is various and unfix'd.
Go then Maclean, and countermand the word
Of pain and burning to the Savages.

Restrain their wild rage with the certain hope
Of mirth, and cantico, and the war song,
To be indulg'd, with many a captive burnt,
If we prevail, and drive them from the walls.
(To the Captives.)
Yes, I could laugh, to see the flame involve,
With spiral wavings, your black carcases.
For so enhanc'd and aggravate your guils,
That well its merits every horrid woe
Denounc'd to murder, sacrilege, and sin
Through all its shapes; but yet the gentleness,
And meek-ey'd majesty of Britain's King,
Will not admit all stretch of punishment.
For Heaven's long suffering imitating, still

He waits your penitence, and better mind.
But this receive, in certainty of faith,
That if your countrymen persist t' oppose,
The peace and order of our government,
Our long endurance shall turn into rage
Of tenfold enmity; yes, perjured brood,
If soon they crush not each rebellious thought,
Keen torture shall excruciate their joints;
And if I conquer, Hell lend every plague,
To give them torment, in all shapes of death.
How then, vile scorpion, will you bear your fate;
The deep-struck tomahawk, in the trembling heart;
The curv'd knife, ready to unroof the scull;
And body roasted in slow-scorching fires.

Morgan.
Sad thought of cruelty, and outrage dire!
Not to be parallel'd, 'mongst human kind,
Save in the tales of flesh-devouring men,
The one ey'd Cyclops, and fierce Cannibal,
For what we hear of Saracen or Turk,
Mogul, or Tartar of Siberia,
Is far behind the deed of infamy,
And horror mixt, which Britons meditate.
Nature, herself, degenerate from the fall,
In the curs'd earth, can scarcely furnish out,
So much black poison, from the beasts and herbs,
As swells the dark hearts of these Royalists.
The toads foul mouth, the snake's in venom'd bits,
Black spider, asp, or froth or rabid dog,
Is not so deadly as these murderers,
When men far off, in civilized states.
Shall know the perfidy and breach of faith,
The thought remorsless, and dire act of these,
In every language, they shall execrate,
The earth-disgracing name of Englishmen.
And at the Last Day, when the pit receives
Her gloomy brood, and seen among the rest,

Some spirit distinguished by ampler swell
Of malice, envy, and soul-griping hate,
Pointing to him, the foul and ugly Ghosts
Of Hell, shall say, “That was an Englishman.”

It may be thought by some grave people, that the speech put into the mouth of Gen. Carlston is inconsistent with his Excellency's character, who is in reality, as they believe, a mild and good natured gentleman.

I honestly confess I have not had the happiness of a very intimate acquaintance with his Excellency, either in England or America, and therefore cannot say, certainly, what be may be in his more sober hours, when the moon and the evil spirit of tyranny ceases to act upon him. In this, however, I am clear, that at least once or twice in his life, he has discovered in his language, some degree of venom and malignity. His speech, in this place, is little more than a love translation of his most famous proclamation, and his answer to the letter of the Congress addressed to him, concerning his treatment of the prisoners in Canada. We can easily remember the good-natured epithets bestowed upon us in those very extraordinary compositions. Rebels, traitors, planairers, murderers, parricides, lawless, faithless, perjured, base, ungrateful, bloody-minded men, were the smooth terms he made use of. The Congress, in his opinion, were a contemptible set of men, with whom no exchange of prisoners was to be made, from whom no flag was to be received. Nay every letter of theirs, or writing of any kind, was to be rejected with disdain, or burned by the hands of the common hangman.

Want of candour is very blameable, even in the account given of an enemy. For this reason I have been sometimes uneasy, least these words put into the mouth of General Carleton, should seem to give a colouring to his character, beyond the real complexion of his Excellency's conduct. But I find my conscience pretty much at cost in this matter, when I give my memory time to recollect the inhumanity of the officers and soldiers under his command to our prisoners, from the moment our affairs began to be on the decline in Canada. While the issue of the siege was yet doubtful, be affected to speak with great moderation, and, as some have told us, buried with the honours of war the corpse of Montgomery. As soon, however, as fortune began to shine folly out upon him, be grew warm in her rays, and like the viper in the summer, drew unusual poison from the more that usual heat, until his spirit in its every thought and purpose became virulent, and like the nature of a Devil, capable of feeding on the misery of mankind. I have conversed with those who saw the scalp; warm from the heads of our countrymen. I have had the relation from their mouth who beheld the fires lighted up, and heard, with a soul paining sympathy, the horrid shrieks and gloomy howlings of the Savage tribes in the execution of the poor captives, who according to the throat of Carleton, were burned on an island in the river St. Lawrence, after our unfortunate surrender at the Cedars.