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The Bride of Fort Edward by Bacon, Delia, 1811-1859

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_4th Sol_. Hush!--the Colonel!--Hush!

_2nd Sol_. And who is that proud-looking fellow, by his side?

_4th Sol_. Hush! General Arnold. He's a sharp one--roll it up--roll it up.

_6th Sol_. Get out,--you are rumpling it to death.

(_Two American officers are seen close at hand, in a bend
of the ascending road; the soldiers enter the woods_.)

* * * * *

DIALOGUE III.

SCENE. _The same_.

_1st Officer_. I cannot conceal it from you, Sir; there is but one feeling about it, as far as I can judge, and I had some chances in my brief journey--

_2nd Off_. Were you at head-quarters?

_1st Off_. Yes,--and every step of this retreating army only makes it more desperate. I never knew any thing like the mad, unreasonable terror this army inspires. Burgoyne and his Indians!--"_Burgoyne and the Indians_"--there is not a girl on the banks of the Connecticut that does not expect to see them by her father's door ere day-break. Colonel Leslie, what were those men concealing so carefully as we approached just now?--Did you mark them?

_2nd Off_. Yes. If I am not mistaken, it was the paper we were speaking of.

_1st Off_. Ay, ay,--I thought as much.

_2nd Off_. General Arnold, I am surprised you should do these honest men the injustice to suppose that such an impudent, flimsy, bombastic tirade as that same proclamation of Burgoyne's, should have a feather's weight with any mother's son of them.

_Arnold_. A feather's, ay a feather's, just so; but when the scales are turning, a feather counts too, and that is the predicament just now of more minds than you think for, Colonel Leslie. A pretty dark horizon around us just now, Sir,--another regiment goes off to-morrow, I hear. Hey?

_Leslie_. Why, no. At least we hope not. We think we shall be able to keep them yet, unless--that paper might work some mischief with them perhaps, and it would be rather a fatal affair too, I mean in the way of example.--These Green Mountain Boys----

_Arnold_. Colonel Leslie, Colonel Leslie, this army is melting away like a snow-wreath. There's no denying it. Your General misses it. The news of one brave battle would send the good blood to the fingers' ends from ten thousand chilled hearts; no matter how fearful the odds; the better, the better,--no matter how large the loss;--for every slain soldier, a hundred better would stand on the field;----

_Leslie_. But then----