 | The death of General Montgomery, in storming the city of Quebec |  |
SCENE I.
Camp before Quebec.Enter Montgomery and Arnold.
Montgomery.
The third hour turning from the midnight watch,
By no ray visited of moon or star,
Marks to our enterprize, its proper date.
Now from above, on every hill and copse,
The airy element, descends in snow,
And with the dark winds, from the howling north,
Commix'd and driven on the bounded fight,
Gives tumult privacy, and shrouds the march;
So that our troops, in reg'ment or brigade,
Move up secure, and scale the battlements:
May force the barr'd gates, of this lofty town,
On all sides, bound, with artificial rock,
Of cloud-cap'd eminence, impregnable.
Impregnable, so long, and fully proof,
To all our batt'ry, and sharp cannonade;
But yet assisti'd with vigour, and full force,
This morn, I trust, we enter it, in storm,
And, from its bosom long defiled, pluck,
This scorpion progeny, this mixed brood,
Of wild-wood Savages, and Englishmen,
Who 'gainst their brethren, in unrighteous cause,
With cruel perfidy, have waged war,
Against their brethren, did I say? O God!—
Are we the offspring of that cruel foe,
Who late, at Montreal, with symbol dire,
Did call, the Savages, to taste of blood,
Life-warm, and streaming, from the bullock slain,
And with fell language, told it was the blood,
Of a Bostonian, made the sacrament?
At this, the Hell-hounds, with infernal gust,
To the snuff'd wind, held up, their blood-stain'd mouths,
And fill'd, with howlings, the adjacent hills.
Yes, brave Montgomery, I have heard the tale;
When from the brow, of many a desart wood,
And wolf-resounding mountain top, came down
The yelling Savage. Onondago wild,
Fierce Outawae, and half extinguish'd brood,
Of aged Ifuron, native habitant,
Of those high plains, where long their wigwams stood,
And margined the banks of Quebec's streams.
With those the Mohawk, from the nether lakes,
Oneida, Shawnese, and an hundred names
Of uncouth accent; Savages inspir'd,
With horrid passion, of inhuman war,
By these our butchers butchers of the ox
For, while the blood, ran streaming from the wound,
The Indian warrior, tasted it, and sware,
By that fell Demon, whom he hates and prays,
That thus the blood of each Bostonian shed,
Should slake his appetite; which God avert,
And on their heads, the imprecation turn,
Who, with dire artifice, of story feign'd,
Wrought up the Savage, to such pitch of rage.
But, as for us, let indignation fire
Each patriot bosom, to resent the thought,
And turn to them, the meaning and the curse,
Of this dire contico, at Montreal.
All things, are favouring to our enterprize;
The scaling-ladders, for the assault, prepar'd,
And Heaven, the signal, which we waited for,
In this snow-driven storm, presents to us;
Nor is there one man, in that well tryed band,
Which many a region, hath travers'd with me,
But will exult, to hear the orders given.
Montgomery.
I know it Arnold, and revere their worth,
Who swiftly roused, at their country's call,
And nobly resolute, have brav'd all pain,
In such long march, of fifteen hundred miles,
Far from the south-west of Virginia's bounds,
To Massachusetts-Bay. Thence, after toil,
Sustain'd, in combat, with tyrannic foes,
O'er many a region, dolorous and drear,
Have pierc'd the wilds, to Canada's cold clime.
O gallant souls! a sacrifice more rich,
If such should fall, was never offer'd up.
On hill or mountain, to the sacred cause
Of Liberty; not even when Cato died
At Utica, or many a Roman brave,
With noble Brutus, on Pharsalia's plain.
Nor less eulogium, have those merited,
Who, from New-England's happy streams, more north.
With me experienced, and saw the fate
Of war's sore tragedy, on Bunker's-Hill.
And since, in common, with th' embodyed force.
Have borne sharp famine, and severest toil,
While up the rapid Kennebec, they stem'd,
Th' impetuous torrent, or at carrying place,
O'er broad morass, deep swamp, and craggy wild,
Urg'd their rough way. Thence over hill,
And dreary mountain top, to where Chaudiers
Doth mix his wave, with the Saint Lawrence tide.
And now encamp'd on the Abraham heights,
Await your orders to attack the town;
This proud-wall'd town, whose haughtiness hath mock'd
The incessant batt'ry, and sharp cannonade,
T' effect a breach; but soon possess'd by us,
Shall amply recompense the watching, cold,
Famine, and labour, which we have sustain'd;
And yet sustain, while with the wintry year,
We now contend, digging the ice-bound soil,
In deep entrenchment, and laboriously
Erecting batt'ries of hard frost congeal'd,
'Midst arrowy fleet, and face-corroding storm.
Montgomery.
Then gallant officer, be this our plan.
First Livingston, with the Canadian troops,
March to the Palace gate, and with a feint,
Of swift annoyance, to the Upper town,
Keep them attentive, and their guns aloof;
While with the main force, by the river bank,
We storm the Lower town. I on this side,
Along the precipior, and that sad stream,
Which washes their redoubts; with equal force,
St. Charles, and St. Lawrence, force your way.
Thus, under God, we haply may succeed,
And see, with joy of victory, to day,
Our standards planted, on Quebec's high walls.
Arnold.
The disposition, for the bold attack,
With all alacrity, shall be obeyed.
No shape of danger, shall deter my steps,
Swift moving, in this gallant enterprize.
I shun no combat, and I know no fear,
But count the honour a full recompense,
For ev'ry peril in this furious war,
If men in after times, shall say of me,
“Here Arnold lies, who with Montgomery fought,
“Stemming the torrent of tyrannic sway.”
The Honourable the Continental Congress, appear to have been so struck, with this fact, which was amply authenticated to them, in a letter from his Excellency General Schuyler, as to have caused it to be published a second time, for the consideration of every American. What indeed could serve, to give us a more horrible idea, of the diabolical spirit of tyranny, than to have presented to our view, General Carlton, or his officers, by his direction, convening the Indians, at Montreal; roasting an ox, and inviting them, under that symbol, to partake of a Bostonian? I know this may be called an Address to the Savages, in their own dialect, which is by strong imagery and visible representation; but certainly it is a style of figurative language, which only the imagination of an arbitrary and cruel Englishman, could on our age have conceived.
The Poet Eschylus, painting a transaction, which happened, in the barbarous times of Greece, though he had at his command the whole tribe of Furies, Demons, and triple-headed Monsters, with which the ancients had stored their infernals; yet could draw nothing from them, so black and terrible, as a representation of this nature. Little did he think, that what he then, in the heat of poetic fury, had conceived, would one day be reduced to matter of fact and plain practice, by those who call themselves a civilized people. In a dramatic piece, stiled The Seven Commanders at Thebes, we have the description.
The seven dark Chiefs, in gloomy attitude,Stood round; and o'er the brazen shield, they slew,
A sullen bull; then plunging deep their hands
Into the seaming gore, with oaths invoked,
Fierce war, mad fury, and blood-thirsting rage.
This would seem to be the very original whence General Carleton had copied the idea of his cantico; so true is it that the same black passions, will in every age, produce the same dark thoughts and purposes.
| The death of General Montgomery, in storming the city of Quebec | |