University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Gen. Montgomery
to his Army.
My friends, and countrymen, of worth approv'd,
And nobly resolute, in this campaign,
From that first lay we gain'd Ticonderogue,
To Crown-Point taken, and the fort Chamblee,
St. John's strong garrison, and Montreal
The hour is come, when one important stroke,
Against this capital, this proud Quebec,
May wrest from Britain, her possessions claim'd,
And to the Thirteen States, add Canada.
The Frenchmen wish it, for they hate the rule,
Of sway monarchial, experienced,
And left unwillingly, when mighty Wolfe,
Subdu'd them into happiness, of which,
They since are sensible, and scorning laws,
By Britain 'stablished, now risk themselves,
On our fair patronage. Let then, my friends,
Our swords protect them, in each privilege,
And sacred right, which we claim birthright to.
Peers of the vicinage, shall try their suits.
No hand shall drag their free-born yeomanry
To death, and punishment, in climes remote.
No standing army shall remain, to spoil
The daughter's virgin innocence, or bathe
Their hands, in the sons blood, relentlessly.
Yet, fellow soldiers, if you exercise,
That noble spirit, which our cause inspires,
This day shall terminate, the bold career,
Of early tyranny in this north clime,
And drive far hence, the hell-born progeny,
With speed precipitate and fear compell'd
To leave the dry land and embark the wave—
To leave the dry land, which beneath them groans,
And feels the pressure of malignant sin.
Yes, these sad plains, beneath their pressure, groan;
St. Lawrence stream, weeps as it passes by;
Quebec's high buildings, echo in complaint,
And Nature sickens with the infernal crew.
Nor strange is it, for sure the miracle,
Would rather be, if earth, and conscious Heaven,
Could bear their rank impiety, their deeds
Of damned horror, shocking mortal ears.
As late, when offering up a roasted ox.
They call'd the Savages to taste the blood,
Till a Bostonian roasted in like sort,
Should give sweet relish and appease their rage.
Come on brave souls, and spoil their appetite.
But halt my troops—let first with upright thought,
Our prayer ascend to that Almighty Power,
Who guides the wheels of Providence, and rules
In empire over man, to bless our arms
With unstain'd victory. The Chaplain this,
As it is usual, in our names require.

Chaplain.
O thou, the God, and framer of the world,
High thron'd in light, and glory excellent!
The tempest and the wind obey thy word;
At thy command, the ebbing tide steals off,
With humble waters, from the assaulted shores;
And, as the wild waves, so the heart of man,
Is turn'd, at thy rebuke. Turn then, O God,
The imagination of Britannia's King,
From this fell purpose of reducing us
To slavery dire. Or, if his heart more obdurate
Than rock of adamant, resist thy grace;
Let not the hostile, and oppressive acts,
Meet triumph, and o'erwhelm us in the effect.
Our cause is just, we dare to call it so,
Even in thy presence, whom bright truth surrounds,
And sun-beam judgment gilds thy radiant throne.
O then, let uprightness, and truth prevail,
And these rude Britons, like Leviathan,
In the rough sea, be hook'd and turned back;
Or with the dragon of the infernal pit,
Chain'd down from hurting us. Soon may those years,
Those thousand years, in smooth-stream'd flow, succeed,
When the Arch-tyrant, Belzebub, confin'd,
With perjured Kings, and Ministers, below,
Shall leave the world, to harmony and peace.
Wash clean, O God, our sin affected souls,
In the Redeemer's blood; that, no foul stain,
Of taint original, or act of ours,
Yet unrepented of, may form a shade,
Between thy smiles, and our fair hopes to day.
Inspire each bosom, with cœlestial heat
Of sacred fortitude, steel up the soul,
To resolution, and heroic might,
Of extreme hardiness, and o'er our heads,
Raise thy broad shield, to turn aside the aim
Of swift-wing'd death, and anguish giving wounds.
But, if in Sovereignty, it is thy will,
To cloud the scene, and rather bear from us,
Some spirit doom'd to meet the approach of death,
O let it flourish in thy immortal love,
And take sweet floods of elemental joy,
With kindred spirits, and seraphic just,
Made pure, and perfect, and resembling thee.

Montgomery.
God's will be done, and let us humbly trust,
Not in ourselves, but in his grace divine.
Come, march the van—March yet more speedily
But stop, dear Sir, your place is not the field;
I would not have a gowns-man take the sword.

Chaplain.
The cause is sacred, and doth sanctify,
An action singular; I would go on,
If you forbid it not; it is my choice,
Full in the center of the war, to mix
In the hot combat, and the battle's rage.

Montgomery.
It is permitted, Sir, I see you have
A warrior's spirit, in a gowns-man's breast.
I love a clergy-man, the aid-de-camp,
As I may say, of the great God, to man;
Or rather him that holds the flag of truce,
And tells of mercy to the fin-slain'd soul.
But I have thought too little, of these things.
O, had I time, I could talk much with you,
Of man's prime happiness, and Heaven's grace.
Come on brave soldiery, and linger not—
I could talk much with you, of penitence,
High faith, and love—Move on brave countrymen—
A swift approach, may save us much hard toil—
Yet unalarm'd the town lies fast in sleep—
But here a messenger—see what he brings.

Messenger.
Alas! the intention of our arms is known.
I saw a scout just turning from the walls,
And have out ran him, who inform'd me thus
That a deserter, from our camp, this night,
Gave swift intelligence, and now the foe,
Lie on their arms, and wait our first attack:
Each barrier foil; the engineers prepar'd,
With matches lighted, and directed guns.

Montgomery.
Unhappy circumstance! but God our aid,
We may atchieve, and carry the assault,
E'en in the face of their collected force.
Come, give the wide-stream'd standard to the gale,
And march, brave souls. Say guide is this the way
Say, must we march along that precipice?

Guide.
Along the precipice, by these redoubts.

Montgomery.
My God! the task is amply perilous;
But why, alas, why halts my infantry?
Come then, brave officers, march on with me;
They sure, will follow, where their General leads—
March on with me, and storm this first redoubt.
One fire, brave souls, and push with bayonet.
The battery's ours. These slave-born renegades,
Dare not confront us. Slavery, slavery dire,
Cowards the spirit, and unmans the soul.
Now to the next, my gallant officers;
Mean time, young Burr, wait and conduct the troops.

Burr
, Aid-de Camp.
Why, Gentlemen, with such slow tardy steps,
Moves up the van? See where your General leads,
With few attendants; yet the first redoubt,
So well defended and secur'd, is ours.
Move up brave soldiers, and preserve your fame.

Montgomery.
The post is ours; the second barrier storm'd;
But in our troops, why such a tardiness?
I must fall back, and with deep-piercing words,
Prevent their ignominy. Gentlemen,
What means this phlegm, this cold and mildew damp,
Which turns the current of the life-warm blood
To winter's ice, and freezes up the tide,
Of noble, bold, and manly resolution?
Why, Gentlemen, so slow and heavily,
Moves up the van-guard, to attack that foe
Which oft we vanquish'd? Ticonderogue
Could not defend them, nor strong-barr'd Crown-point.
Driven o'er the lakes, we beat them, at St. John's;
At Montreal; and now it were a slain,
Of ignominy, not to be retriev'd.
If sickly cowardice, phrenetic power
Of some sad circumstance, prevent, this day,
To storm this capital, this last retreat,
Where they have shut themselves. O this,
This is the juncture critical, the point
Of time clapsing, which may not return,
Which makes it ours to crush the tyranny,
By vengeful Britain, here established.
The poor Canadians, whose effects and lives,
Hang on the fortune of our enterprize,
Shall imprecate dire curses on our steps,
I falling back, from such fair promises,
We now desert them, fenceless and unarm'd,
A certain prey, because they gave us aid,
To savages, and haughty Englishmen.
Come on my soldiers, let me pray your haste,
By all that lives in man, of noble fortitude.
By this your country, and those natal ties,
Which binds the memory to the place of birth;
By your spoil'd liberty, and injur'd rights;
By the religion, which you owe to God;
By your own safety, and the love of life.
Come on my gallant countrymen, come on;
Or if you come not on, at least do this;
Advance to me, and in this deep-pain'd breast,
Pour one sure shot, and ease my amazed soul,
My bleeding soul, of what I feel for you.
Move on, my countrymen, move on;
I first, myself, will in the charge advance.

Cheesman.
Nay, rather, Sir, do not expose yourself;
For much artillery, that strong pass defends,
Which soon must rake us; and should you the head,
And source of action, be cut off from us,
The trembling limbs must loose their energy,
And the fair enterprize, abortive prove
Let me advance, with this small chosen band,
And bear the first fire of the cannonade.

Montgomery.
Your warm benevolence, heroic youth,
Demands my gratitude; I honour you,
And this small band, that bears me company;
But such, the backwardness, of these my troops,
That of necessity, I risk myself.
Can I survive their infamy, their shame?
Nay death, swift death, is rather my sad choice;
And God hath sent it—But alas, for you.
My sons, my brothers, who are join'd with me,
In equal fate, on this unhappy day.

Burr
, Aid-de-Camp.
Let Heav'n be clouded, and her face wrapt up,
In equal gloom with this deed tragedy.
Montgomery slain, and all my fairest hopes,
In this sad hour, cropt off and withered!
O father, father, groaning, fainting, dead!
Let me embrace thee to my grief-sick heart,
And pour my warm soul in thy bleeding veins,
Wet with the crimson of thy noble blood,
Unchang'd, I'll wear these sprinkled garments home,
And shew my countrymen each ruddy drop,
Each ruddy drop, and with my words wake up,
In every breast, susceptible of rage,
The sullen anger of an injured soul.
O, I could follow from the impoverish'd world,
With thy great spirit mingle mighty man,
And visit scenes invisible, and new
To the released soul. O bleeding corpse,
Let me not leave you to the insulting foe,
Who will exult and trample on thy tomb,
Or tear thy body uninhum'd, expos'd
To the wild Savages, or birds of Heav'n.
O, no, the vultures shall not have thy corpse,
If I can bear it from the blood-stain'd field,
On these poor shoulders. Sight deplorable!
What youth is this pierc'd thro' with streaming wounds
It is Macpherson, who is likewise fall'n;
Fall'n alas, and with him every charm
Of conversation, and behaviours grace.
With comely beauty, ravishing the heart.
Sweet youth, most lovely in thy shape and mein,
Gay, pleasant, chearful, courteous and tost
To thy companion, as the summers gale
Loose scattering roses. See, alas! the change;
The mournful ruins, which grim death has made.
Eclips'd and dim the Heav'n-sparkling eye,
The fair skin pallid, and the lithsome joints
Cold, stiff, and motionless. But who is this?
Ah! hapless Cheesman, art thou likewise slain
Belov'd companion, of my jocund years
Tall, graceful, manly in thy stately step;
The bloom of nineteen, withers on thy cheek—
The red lip quivers, and is red no more—
Deep sleep sits heavy on thy midnight brow—
O shades illustrious, join'd in equal fate,
Here will I slay and wake your funeral,
Covering your bodies from the snow-cold wind,
And bidding stars, in the noctural sky,
Come down and weep with me—

Chaplain.
Not so, fond stripling, but retire with me,
The dead themselves, insensible of pain,
Or ignominy, to their bodies shewn,
Fear not the tyrant. Haste and save thyself
For in swift solly from the western gates,
The crafty foe aims to encompass us.
Away, sweet youth, accelerate thy speed,
And save thy valour for a better hour.

Burr
, Aid-de-Camp.
Nay, see that form, in obscure march this way,
With shadowy sword, stuck in the incircling zone:
His wrist bound up, and bleeding wound before,
Just where the jasper faint embass'd in gold,
Sits on his warrior breast. My heart is sad.
O awful, sober shade, if thou art come
From ghostly kingdoms dreary and unknown,
To walk the earth and choose a solemn scene
Congenial with thyself, detain with me.
There lies our General, brave Montgomery slain;
And here sweet Cheesman, gentle, placid youth.
This was Macpherson, whom in life I knew;
And O pale form, if you can weep one tear,
Be it for him in soft compassion shed.
He was the flower and hyacinth of youths,
So fair, so lovely, that he ravished
Each heart that knew him—ravished the love,
The heart-warm love of every soul that gaz'd
On his soft beauty, and first rising years.

The Ghost of General Wolfe.
From realms celestial and sweet fields of light,
I come once more to visit this sad spot,
New-ting'd and red'ning with a hero's blood;
With the rich blood, Montgomery, and these youths,
Of this same ground, so immaturely doom'd
To taste mortality, in their first years,
Amidst the hopes and bright ey'd premises,
Of early life, relentlessly cut off;
Not in contention with the rival Gaul,
But Britain's self, Medea-like, dispos'd
To tear her children, merciless of heart.
False-council'd King and venal Parliament!
Have I then sought, and was my life-blood shed,
To raise your power to this ambitious height,
Disdainful height, of framing laws to bind,
In cases whatsoever, free-born men,
Of the same lineage, name, and quality?
Have I then fought, and was my life-blood shed,
To lay foundation for such dire event,
That you, my friends, should bleed, alas! to day,
In opposition to the unrighteous aim
Of British power, by my atchievements, rais'd?
Yet must it be, for such the will of God,
Who wraps the dark night in a sable shade,
That thence clear light may spring, and a new morn,
Rise with fresh lustre on the hill and dale.
For from your death, shall spring the mighty thought
Of separation, from the step-dame rule
Of moon-struck Britain. Rage shall fire the breast
Of each American, and fathers hence,
Shall like Hamilcar at the altar, swear,
Their sons and Hannibals of future days,
To hold no more, conjunction, with the name
Of hard and cruel-hearted Englishmen.
But hence remain, as nations of the world,
In war their enemies, in peace their friends.
Yes, from your death shall amply vegetate,
The grand idea of an empire new,
Clear independance and self-ballanc'd power,
In those fair provinces, United States,
Each independent, yet rein'd in and brac'd,
By one great council, buckling them to strength,
And lasting firmness of immortal date.
O happy empire, 'stablished in truth,
Of high wrought structure, from first principles;
In golden commerce, and in literature,
Of many a bard, and wisdom writing sage,
High flourishing, and filling length of time,
With peerless glory and immortal acts.
In this sweet hope, soft-mourning, gentle youth,
That look'st so sadly on this scene of woe,
Be amply chear'd. Full recompence
In retribution, of dire loss in war,
Awaits these murderers, yet hence compel'd
To reimbark, ingloriously struck down
From every hope to win the Continent.