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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:41:14 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13039-0.txt b/13039-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd7f6a8 --- /dev/null +++ b/13039-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4294 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13039 *** + +SHENANDOAH + + +_A MILITARY COMEDY_ + + + + +[Illustration: BRONSON HOWARD] + + + + +BRONSON HOWARD + +(1842-1908) + + +The present Editor has just read through some of the vivacious +correspondence of Bronson Howard--a sheaf of letters sent by him to +Brander Matthews during a long intercourse. The time thus spent brings +sharply to mind the salient qualities of the man--his nobility of +character, his soundness of mind, his graciousness of manner, and +his thorough understanding of the dramatic tools of his day and +generation. To know Bronson Howard was to be treated to just that +human quality which he put into even his hastily penned notes--and, as +in conversation with him, so in his letters there are repeated flashes +of sage comment and of good native wit. Not too often can we make the +plea for the gathering and preserving of such material. Autobiography, +after all, is what biography ought to be--it is the live portrait +by the side of which a mere appreciative sketch fades. I have looked +through the "Memorial" volume to Bronson Howard, issued by the +American Dramatists Club (1910), and read the well-tempered estimates, +the random reminiscences. But these do not recall the Bronson Howard +known to me, as to so many others--who gleams so charmingly in this +correspondence. Bronson Howard's plays may not last--"Fantine," +"Saratoga," "Diamonds," "Moorcraft," "Lillian's Last Love"--these are +mere names in theatre history, and they are very out of date on +the printed page. "The Banker's Daughter," "Old Love Letters" and +"Hurricanes" would scarcely revive, so changed our comedy treatment, +so differently psychologized our emotion. Not many years ago +the managerial expedient was resorted to of re-vamping "The +Henrietta"--but its spirit would not behave in new-fangled style, +and the magic of Robson and Crane was broken. In the American drama's +groping for "society" comedy, one might put "Saratoga," and even +"Aristocracy," in advance of Mrs. Mowatt's "Fashion" and Mrs. +Bateman's "Self;" in the evolution of domestic problems, "Young Mrs. +Winthrop" is interesting as an early breaker of American soil. But +one can hardly say that, either for the theatre or for the library, +Bronson Howard is a permanent factor. Yet his influence on the theatre +is permanent; his moral force is something that should be perpetuated. +Whatever he said on subjects pertaining to his craft--his comments on +play-making most especially,--was illuminating and judicious. I have +been privileged to read the comments sent by him to Professor +Matthews during the period of their collaboration together over "Peter +Stuyvesant;" they are practical suggestions, revealing the peculiar +way in which a dramatist's mind shapes material for a three hours' +traffic of the stage--the willingness to sacrifice situation, +expression--any detail, in fact, that clogs the action. Through the +years of their acquaintance, Howard and Matthews were continually +wrangling good-naturedly about the relation of drama to literature. +Apropos of an article by Matthews in _The Forum_, Howard once wrote: + + I note that you regard the 'divorce' of the drama from + literature as unfortunate. I think the divorce should be made + absolute and final; that the Drama should no more be wedded to + literature, on one hand, than it is to the art of painting on + the other, or to music or mechanical science. Rather, perhaps, + I should say, we should recognize poligamy for the Drama; and + all the arts, with literature, its Harem. Literature may be + Chief Sultana--but not too jealous. She is always claiming too + large a share of her master's attention, and turning up her + nose at the rest. I have felt this so strongly, at times, as + to warmly deny that I was a 'literary man', insisting on being + a 'dramatist'. + +Then, in the same note, he adds in pencil: "Saw 'Ghosts' last night. +Great work of art! Ibsen a brute, personally, for writing it." + +In one of the "Stuyvesant" communications, Howard is calculating +on the cumulative value of interest; and he analyzes it in this +mathematical way: + + So far as the important act is concerned, I have felt that + this part of it was the hardest part of the problem before + us. We were certain of a good beginning of the act and a good, + rapid, dramatic end; but the middle and body of it I felt + needed much attention to make the act substantial and + satisfactory. To tell the truth, I was quietly worrying a bit + over this part of the play, while you were expressing your + anxiety about the 2nd act--which never bothered me. There + _must_ be 2nd acts and there _must_ be last acts--audiences + resign themselves to them; but 3rd acts--in 4 and 5 act + plays--they insist on, and _will_ have them good. The only + exception is where you astonish them with a good 2nd act--then + they'll take their siesta in the 3rd--and wake up for the 4th. + +This psychological time-table shows how calculating the dramatist +has to be, how precise in his framework, how sparing of his number of +words. In another note, Howard says: + + This would leave the acts squeezed "dry", about as + follows:--Act I, 35 minutes; Act 2, 30; Act 3, 45; Act 4, + 20--total, 130--2 hrs., 10 min., curtain up: entr'acts, 25 + min. Total--2 hrs., 35 min.--8:20 to 10:55. + +There are a thousand extraneous considerations bothering a play that +never enter into the evolution of any other form of art. After seeing +W.H. Crane, who played "Peter Stuyvesant" when it was given, Howard +writes Matthews of the wisdom shown by the actor in his criticism of +"points" to be changed and strengthened in the manuscript. + +"A good actor," he declares, "whom I always regard as an original +creator in art--beginning at the point where the dramatist's pen +stops--approaches a subject from such a radically different direction +that we writers cannot study his impressions too carefully in revising +our work." Sometimes, conventions seized the humourous side of Howard. +From England, around 1883, he wrote, "Methinks there is danger in the +feeling expressed about 'local colouring.' English managers would put +the Garden of Eden in Devonshire, if you adapted Paradise Lost for +them--and insist on giving Adam an eye-glass and a title." + +Howard was above all an American; he was always emphasizing his +nationality; and this largely because the English managers changed +"Saratoga" to "Brighton," and "The Banker's Daughter" to "The Old Love +and the New." I doubt whether he relished William Archer's inclusion +of him in a volume of "English Dramatists of To-day," even though +that critic's excuse was that he "may be said to occupy a place among +English dramatists somewhat similar to that occupied by Mr. Henry +James among English novelists." Howard was quick to assert his +Americanism, and to his home town he wrote a letter from London, +in 1884, disclaiming the accusation that he was hiding his local +inheritance behind a French technique and a protracted stay abroad +on business. He married an English woman--the sister of the late Sir +Charles Wyndham--and it was due to the latter that several of his +plays were transplanted and that Howard planned collaboration with +Sir Charles Young. But Howard was part of American life--born of the +middle West, and shouldering a gun during the Civil War to guard the +Canadian border near Detroit against a possible sympathetic uprising +for the Confederacy. Besides which--a fact which makes the title of +"Dean of the American Drama" a legitimate insignia,--when, in 1870, he +stood firm against the prejudices of A.M. Palmer and Lester Wallack, +shown toward "home industry," he was maintaining the right of the +American dramatist. He was always preaching the American spirit, +always analyzing American character, always watching and encouraging +American thought. + +Howard was a scholar, with a sense of the fitness of things, as +a dramatist should have. Evidently, during the collaboration with +Professor Matthews on "Stuyvesant," discussion must have arisen as +to the form of English "New Amsterdamers," under Knickerbocker rule, +would use. For it called forth one of Howard's breezy but exact +comments, as follows: + + A few more words about the "English" question: As I said, + it seems to me, academical correctness, among the higher + characters, will give a prim, old-fashioned tone: and _you_ + can look after this, as all my own work has been in the + opposite direction in art. I have given it no thought in + writing this piece, so far. + + I would suggest the following special points to be on + the alert for, even in the _best_ present-day use of + English:--some words are absolutely correct, now, yet based + on events or movements in history since 1660. An evident + illustration is the word "boulevard" for a wide street or + road; so "avenue," in same sense, is New Yorkese and London + imitation--even imitated from us, I imagine, in Paris: this + would give a nineteenth century tone; while an "avenue lined + with trees in a bowery" would not. Don't understand that I + am telling you things. I'm only illustrating--to let you know + what especial things in language I hope you will keep your eye + on. Of course _Anneke_ couldn't be "electrified"--but you may + find many less evident blunders than that would be. She might + be shocked, but couldn't "receive a shock." We need free + colloquial slang and common expressions; but while "get out" + seems all right from _Stuyvesant_ to _Bogardus_, for _Barry_ + to say "Skedadle" would put him in the 87th New York Vols., + 1861-64. Yet I doubt whether we have any more classic and + revered slang than that word. + +The evident ease, yet thoroughness, with which Mr. Howard prepared +for his many tasks, is seen in his extended reading among Civil War +records, before writing "Shenandoah." The same "knowledge" sense +must have been a constant incentive to Professor Matthews, in the +preparation of "Peter Stuyvesant." + + "The manual of arms," Howard declares, "is simply _great_. I + think we can get the muskets pointed at _Barket_ in about 4 or + 5 orders, however; taking the more picturesque ones, so far + as may be possible. I went over the [State] librarian's letter + with a nephew with the most modern of military training: and + as I was at a military school in 1860--just two centuries + after our period--we had fun together. Even with an old + muzzle loader--Scott's Tactics--it was "Load and fire in ten + motions," _now_ antiquated with the breech-loaders of to-day. + The same operation, in 1662, required 28 motions, as + we counted. By the bye, did I tell you that I found the + flint-lock invented (in Spain) in 1625--and it "soon" spread + over Europe? I felt, however, that the intervening 37 years + would hardly have carried it to New Amsterdam; especially as + the colony was neglected in such matters." + +From these excerpts it is apparent that Howard had no delusions +regarding the "work" side of the theatre; he was continually insisting +that dramatic art was dependent upon the _artisan_ aspects which +underlay it. This he maintained, especially in contradiction to +fictional theories upheld by the adherents of W.D. Howells. + +One often asks why a man, thus so serious and thorough in his approach +toward life, should have been so transitorily mannered in his plays, +and the reason may be in the very _artisan_ character of his work. Mr. +Howard delivered a lecture before the Shakespeare Society of Harvard +University, at Sanders Theatre, in 1886 (later given, 1889, before +the Nineteenth Century Club, in New York), and he called it "The +Autobiography of a Play." In the course of it, he illustrated how, in +his own play, called "Lillian's Last Love," in 1873, which one year +later became "The Banker's Daughter," he had to obey certain unfailing +laws of dramatic construction during the alterations and re-writing. +He never stated a requirement he was not himself willing to abide by. +When he instructed the Harvard students, he was merely elucidating his +own theatre education. "Submit yourselves truly and unconditionally," +he admonished, "to the laws of dramatic truth, so far as you can +discover them by honest mental exertion and observation. Do not +mistake any mere defiance of these laws for originality. You might +as well show your originality by defying the law of gravitation." Mr. +Howard was not one to pose as the oracle of a new technique; in this +essay he merely stated sincerely his experience in a craft, as +a clinical lecturer demonstrates certain established methods of +treatment. + +In his plays, vivacity and quick humour are the distinguishing +characteristics. Like his contemporary workers, he was alive to topics +of the hour, but, unlike them, he looked ahead, and so, as I have +stated in my "The American Dramatist," one can find profit in +contrasting his "Baron Rudolph" with Charles Klein's "Daughters of +Men," his "The Henrietta" with Klein's "The Lion and Mouse," and his +"The Young Mrs. Winthrop" with Alfred Sutro's "The Walls of Jericho." +He was an ardent reader of plays, as his library--bequeathed to the +American Dramatists Club, which he founded--bears witness. The fact +is, he studied Restoration drama as closely as he did the modern +French stage. How often he had to defend himself in the press from +the accusation of plagiarism, merely because he was complying with the +stage conventions of the moment! + +It is unfortunate that his note-books are not available. But luckily +he wrote an article at one time which shows his method of thrashing +out the moral matrix of a scenario himself. It is called "Old Dry +Ink." Howard's irony slayed the vulgar, but, because in some quarters +his irony was not liked, he was criticized for his vulgarities. +Archer, for example, early laid this defect to the influence of the +Wyndham policy, in London, of courting blatant immorality in plays for +the stage. + +Howard's femininity, in comparison with Fitch's, was equally as +observant; it was not as literarily brilliant in its "small talk." But +though the effervescent chatter, handled with increasing dexterity by +him, is now old-fashioned, "Old Dry Ink" shows that the scenes in his +plays were not merely cleverly arrived at, but were philosophically +digested. How different the dialogue from the notes! + +This article was written in 1906; it conveys many impressions of early +feminine struggles for political independence. The fact is, Mr. Howard +often expressed his disappointment over the showing women made in the +creative arts, and that he was not willing to let the bars down in his +own profession is indicated by the fact that, during his life-time, +women dramatists were not admitted as members into the club he +founded. + +The reader is referred to two other articles by Mr. Howard--one, +"Trash on the Stage," included in the "Memorial" volume; the other, +on "The American Drama," which is reproduced here, because, written +in 1906, and published in a now obsolete newspaper magazine, it is +difficult of procuring, and stands, possibly, for Mr. Howard's final +perspective of a native drama he did so much to make known as native. + +The most national of Howard's plays is "Shenandoah;" it is chosen for +the present volume as representative of the military drama, of which +there are not many examples, considering the Civil War possibilities +for stage effect. Clyde Fitch's "Barbara Frietchie," James A. Herne's +"Griffith Davenport," Fyles and Belasco's "The Girl I Left Behind Me," +Gillette's "Secret Service," and William DeMille's "The Warrens of +Virginia"--a mere sheaf beside the Revolutionary list which might be +compiled. + +According to one authority, "Shenandoah" was built upon the +foundations of a play by Howard, produced at Macauley's Theatre, +Louisville, Kentucky. As stated by Professor Matthews, the facts are +that Howard took a piece, "Drum Taps," to Lester Wallack; who, true +to his English tradition, said that if it was changed in time from +the Civil War to the Crimean, he might consider it. It is certain, +however, that if the cast of characters, as first given under the +management of Montgomery Field, at the old Boston Museum, November +19, 1888, be compared with the program of the New York Star Theatre, +September 13, 1889, it will be found that the manuscript must have +been considerably altered and shifted, before it reached the shape now +offered here as the authentic text. The fact of the matter is, it was +not considered a "go" in Boston; we are informed that such managers +as Palmer and Henry E. Abbey prophesied dire end for the piece. But +Charles Frohman hastened to Boston, on the advice of his brother, +Daniel, and, giving half-interest in the piece to Al Hayman, he +arranged with Field for rights, procured "time" at the Star Theatre +with Burnham, and, as is told in "C.F.'s" biography, hastened to +Stamford, Connecticut, to talk with Howard. According to this source, +he said to the playwright: + + "You are a very great dramatist, Mr. Howard, and I am only + a theatrical manager, but I think I can see where a possible + improvement might be made in the play. For one thing, I think + two acts should be merged into one, and I don't think you have + made enough out of Sheridan's ride." + +The opening night, with General Sherman in the audience, was a +memorable occasion. It was the beginning of "C.F.'s" rapid rise +to managerial importance, it ushered in the era of numberless road +companies playing the same piece, it met with long "runs," and the +royalty statements mounted steadily in bulk for Howard. It was the +success of the hour. + +But "Shenandoah" is undoubtedly conventional; its melodramatic effects +are dependent on stage presentment rather than on the printed page. +In fact, so much an artisan of the theatre was Mr. Howard that he was +always somewhat skeptical of the modern drama in print. When he was +persuaded to issue his last piece, "Kate," in book form, he consented +to the publisher's masking it as a novel in dialogue, hoping thus, +as his prefatory note states, "to carry the imagination directly to +scenes of real life and not to the stage." To the last there was a +distinction in his mind between literature and the drama. It is since +this was written that the play form, nervous and quick, even in its +printed shape, has become widely accepted. + +"Shenandoah" is a play of pictorial effects and swiftly changing +sentiment. Were there a national repertory, this would be included +among the plays, not because of its literary quality, but because of +the spirit to be drawn from its situations, framed expressly for +the stage, and because of its pictures, dependent wholly upon stage +accessory. It is an actable play, and most of our prominent actors, +coming out of the period of the late 80's, had training in it. + + + + +THE AMERICAN DRAMA + +by + +BRONSON HOWARD + + +In considering the present standing of the American drama, compared +with the time when there was little or nothing worthy of the name, +the one significant fact has been the gradual growth of a body of men +engaged in writing plays. Up to the time I started in 1870, American +plays had been written only sporadically here and there by men and +women who never met each other, who had no personal acquaintance of +any kind, no sympathies, no exchange of views; in fact, no means of +building up such a body of thought in connection with their art as is +necessary to form what is called a school. + +In what we now style Broadway productions the late Augustin Daly stood +absolutely alone, seeing no other future for his own dramatic works +except by his own presentation of them. Except for Daly, I was +practically alone; but he offered me the same opportunity and promise +for the future that he had given to himself. From him developed a +school of managers willing and eager to produce American plays on +American subjects. Other writers began to drop into the profession; +but still they seldom met, and it was not until about 1890 that they +suddenly discovered themselves as a body of dramatists. This was at +a private supper given at the Lotos Club to the veteran playwright +Charles Gaylor, who far antedated Daly himself. To the astonishment of +those making the list of guests for that supper, upward of fifty men +writing in America who produced plays were professionally entitled to +invitations, and thirty-five were actually present at the supper. A +toast to seven women writers not present was also honoured. + +This was the origin of the American Dramatists Club. The moment these +men began to know each other personally, the process of intellectual +attrition began, which will probably result eventually in a strong +school. That supper took place only sixteen years ago; so we are yet +only in the beginning of the great movement. Incidentally, it is also +necessarily the beginning of a school of dramatic criticism of that +art. It is difficult to suppose that a body of critics, merely learned +in the dramatic art of Europe, can be regarded as forming a school of +America. + +To go to Paris to finish your education in dramatic art, and return to +New York and make comments on what you see in the theatre, is not to +be an American dramatic critic, nor does it tend in any way to found a +school of American dramatic criticism. The same is true of the man who +remains in New York and gets his knowledge of the drama from reading +foreign newspapers and books. + +I stated in a former article in this magazine, "First Nights in London +and New York," that is was only within the last twenty-five or thirty +years that a comparison between the cities and the conditions had +become possible, for the reason that prior to that time there was +really no American drama. There were a few American plays, and their +first productions did not assume the least importance as social +events. As far as any comparison is possible between the early +American dramatists (I mean the first of the dramatists who were the +starting point in the later '60's and early '70's) and those of the +present day, I think of only two important points. There was one +advantage in each case. The earlier dramatists had their choice of +many great typical American characters, such as represented in _Solon +Shingle, Colonel Sellers, Joshua Whitcomb, Bardwell Slote, Mose, Davy +Crockett, Pudd'nhead Wilson,_ and many others. + +This advantage was similar in a small way to the tremendous advantage +that the earliest Greek dramatists had in treating the elemental +emotions; on the other hand, we earlier writers in America were +liable to many errors, some of them actually childish, which the +young dramatist of to-day, in constant association with his fellow +playwrights, and placing his work almost in daily comparison with +theirs, could not commit. To do so a man would have to be a much +greater fool than were any of us; and the general improvement in the +technical work of plays by young dramatists now, even plays that +are essentially weak and which fail, is decided encouragement and +satisfaction to one of my age who can look back over the whole +movement. + +The American dramatist of to-day, without those great and specially +prominent American characters who stood, as it were, ready to go on +the stage, has come to make a closer study of American society than +his predecessors did. They are keen also in seizing strikingly marked +new types in American life as they developed before the public from +decade to decade. + +A notable instance is the exploitation by Charles Klein of the +present-day captain of industry in "The Lion and the Mouse." The +leading character in the play is differentiated on the stage, as in +life, from the Wall Street giant of about 1890, as illustrated in +one of my own plays, "The Henrietta." Mr. Klein's character of the +financial magnate has developed in this country since my active days +of playwriting, and the younger dramatist was lying in wait, ready for +him, and ready to seize his peculiarities for stage purposes. + +Another thing is the fact that our dramatists are doing what our +literary men have done, namely, availing themselves of the striking +local peculiarities in various parts of the country. A marked +illustration of this now before the public is Edward Milton Royle's +"Squawman," recently at Wallack's Theatre. The dramatist has caught +his picture just in the nick of time, just before the facts of life +in the Indian Territory are passing away. He has preserved the picture +for us as George W. Cable, the novelist, preserved pictures of Creole +life of old New Orleans, made at the last possible moment. + +I could go on mentioning many other plays illustrating phases of life +and society in America, and there could be no better or more positive +proof that a school of American dramatists already exists. This school +will undoubtedly continue to improve in the technical quality of +its work, exactly as it has done in the past, and probably with more +rapidity. + +The question has been discussed as to whether we are ever likely to +produce an Ibsen or a Shaw, and under what conditions he would be +received. As far as concerns what may happen in the future in the way +of producing absolutely great dramatists and great plays, using the +word 'great' in the international and historical sense, the opinion of +anyone on that subject is mere guesswork and absolutely valueless. + +The greatest drama in history was produced by Greece about four or +five centuries before Christ, and for a few generations afterward. +Since Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, Greece has scarcely given us +anything. Aristophanes and Menander are of course remembered, but the +writers who endeavoured to follow in the footsteps of the masters +were of far inferior merit. The Roman Empire existed for nearly two +thousand years without producing any drama of its own worthy of +the name. The Romans were not a dramatic people. The works of the +so-called Latin dramatists, such as those of Plautus and Terence, were +mere imitations of the Greek. + +France and England had sudden bursts of greatness followed by general +mediocrity, with occasional great writers whose advent could not +possibly have been predicted by anything in art preceding them. Even +the exception to this in France, in the middle of the nineteenth +century, was apparently a flash of light that disappeared almost as +suddenly as it came. What is the use of posing as a prophet with such +a record of the past? Anyone else is at liberty to do so. I would +as soon act as harlequin. Was there any wise man in England who, +twenty-four hours before that momentous event in April, 1564, could +predict that a baby named William Shakespeare would be born the next +day? To say that an American dramatist is to appear this year or in a +thousand years who will make an epoch is simply ridiculous. + +That Ibsen exercised and will exercise great influence on American +dramatists there can be little doubt. His skill was no mere accident. +He was the most finished development of the French school of the +nineteenth century, as well as the most highly artificial individual +dramatist of that school. I call it the strictly logical school +of dramatic construction. I use the word 'artificial' in its more +artistic sense, as opposed to the so-called natural school. His +subjects of course were national, and not French. Whether his +pessimism was national or personal, I have not been able to discover. +It seemed to me that he was a pessimistic man dealing with a nation +inclined to pessimism, but that had nothing to do with the technical +qualities of the man any more than the national peculiarities of +Denmark had to do with Thorvaldsen as a follower of Greek sculpture. + +As to the policy of our theatre managers, I confess that they do +follow each other; but it is simply because they think the leader they +happen to be following has discovered a current of temporary popular +taste. The authors have the same interest as the managers, and you +will always find them watching the public taste in the same manner. + +Occasionally an individual dramatist, and not always the best from a +technical point of view, will develop such a strong personal bias as +to write on subjects suggested by his own tastes, without any regard +to the current of popular wishes. If he is a strong enough man he will +become a leader of the public in his dramatic tastes. Sometimes in +rare instances he will influence the public so decidedly that he +compels the contemporary school of writers to follow him. This has +been the case in all periods. I need not mention Shakespeare, as +everything said about him is a matter of course. + +Take the vile dramatic era of Charles II. Wycherley led the brutes, +but Congreve came up and combatted with his brilliant comedies the +vileness of the Restoration school, and Hallam says of him that he +introduced decency to the stage that afterward drove his own comedies +off it. A little after Congreve, the school, so to speak, for we have +nothing but the school, was so stupid that it brought forth no great +writers, and produced weak, sentimental plays. Then came Goldsmith, +who wrote "She Stoops to Conquer" actually as a protest against the +feeble sentimentality I have referred to. Richard Brinsley Sheridan +was made possible by Goldsmith. We went on after that with a school +of old comedies. When we speak of the "old comedies," I am not talking +about Beaumont and Fletcher, nor Wycherley, nor Vanbrugh, nor even +Congreve, but of the comedy of Goldsmith in the third quarter of the +eighteenth century down to Bulwer Lytton's "Money" and Boucicault's +"London Assurance," bringing us to about 1840. Then there swung a +school of what we call the palmy days of old comedy, and in the '40's +it dwindled to nothing, and England and America waited until the early +'60's. Then came Tom Robertson with his so-called "tea-cup and saucer" +school, which consisted of sententious dialogue, simple situations, +conventional characterizations, and threads of plots, until Pinero and +Jones put a stop to the Robertson fad. + +This proves in my judgment that the school always starts by being +shown what the popular taste is, and follows that, until some +individual discovery that the popular taste is changed. The tendency +of the school is always to become academic and fixed in its ideas--it +is the individual who points to the necessary changes. Schools and +these special individuals are interdependent. + +As to the present comedies in America: in the first place, it is +impossible as a rule to decide fully what are the tendencies of a +school when one is living in the midst of its activities. There is no +marked tendency now; and as far as I can see it is only the occasional +man who discovers the tendency of the times. Pinero undoubtedly saw +that the public was tired of the "tea-cup and saucer." Probably had he +not thought so, he would have gone on in that school. + +Undoubtedly more plays are written to order than are written on the +mere impulse of authors, independently of popular demand. The "order" +play simply represents the popular demand as understood by managers, +and the meeting of that demand in each age produces the great mass +of any nation's drama. So far from lowering the standard of dramatic +writing, it is a necessary impulse in the development of any drama. It +is only when the school goes on blindly without seeing a change in the +popular taste that the occasional man I have spoken of comes on. When +the work of the school is legitimately in line with the public taste, +the merely eccentric dramatist is like _Lord Dundreary's_ bird with a +single feather that goes in a corner and flocks all by itself. He may +be a strong enough man to attract attention to his individuality, and +his plays may be really great in themselves, but his work has +little influence on the development of the art. In fact, there is +no development of the art except in the line of popular taste. The +specially great men mentioned have simply discovered the changes in +the popular taste, and to a certain extent perhaps guided it.[A] + + +[Footnote A: Originally published in "The Sunday Magazine" (New York) +for October 7, 1906.] + + + + +=BOSTON MUSEUM= + +1841 + +FORTY-EIGHTH REGULAR SEASON + +MR. R.M. FIELD, MANAGER + +=SHENANDOAH= + +COMMENCING MONDAY, NOV. 19, 1889. + + * * * * * + +Evenings at 7:45 and Wednesday and Saturday Afternoon at 2. + + * * * * * + +FIRST TIME ON ANY STAGE +OF THIS +NEW MILITARY COMEDY + +=SHENANDOAH!= + +Written Expressly for the Boston Museum by +BRONSON HOWARD, ESQ. + +Author of THE HENRIETTA, THE BANKER'S DAUGHTER, YOUNG MRS. WINTHROP, +ONE OF OUR GIRLS, OLD LOVE LETTER, ETC. + +WITH ENTIRELY NEW SCENERY BY LA MOSS, +AND THE FOLLOWING CAST: + + +PEACE + +COL. JOHN HAVERILL, Mr. THOS. L. COLEMAN +LIEUT. KERCHIVAL WEST, Mr. JOHN B. MASON [Transcribers note: some unreadable text here] +LIEUT. ROB'T ELLINGHAM, Mr. CHAS. J. BELL +FRANK HAVERILL, Mr. EDGAR L. DAVENPORT +EDW. THORNTON, a Southerner "by choice," Mr. WILLIS GRANGER +MRS. HAVERILL Miss ANNIE M. CLARKE +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM, a Southern girl, Miss VIOLA ALLEN +MADELINE WEST, a Northern girl, Miss HELEN DAYNE + + +WAR + +MAJ. GEN. FRANCIS BUCKTHORN, Commander of the + Nineteenth Army Corps Mr. C. LESLIE ALLEN +BRIG. GEN. HAVERILL, { Officers } Mr. THOS. L. COLEMAN +COL. KERCHIVAL WEST, { of } Mr. JOHN B. MASON +CAPT. HEARTSEASE, { Sheridan's } Mr. HENRY M. PITT +LIEUT. FRANK BEDLOE, { Cavalry } Mr. EDGAR L. DAVENPORT +SERGEANT BARKET, Mr. GEO. W. WILSON +COL. ROBERT ELLINGHAM, 10th Virginia C.S.A., Mr. CHAS. J. BELL +CAPT. THORNTON, Secret Service, C.S.A., Mr. WILLIS GRANGER +LIEUT. HARDWICK, Surgeon, C.S.A., Mr. GEORGE BLAKE +CORPORAL DUNN, Mr. JAMES NOLAN +CAPT. LOCKWOOD, Signal Officer Mr. HERBERT PATTEE +BENSON, {Cavalrymen } Mr. C.B. ABBE +WILKINS, { } Mr. HENRY MACDONNA +LIEUTENANTS, {Cavalry} MR. H.P. WHITTEMORE + {Infantry} Mr. THOS. FRANCIS +MRS. HAVERILL, Miss ANNIE M. CLARKE +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM, Miss VIOLA ALLEN +MADELINE WEST, Miss HELEN DAYNE +JENNY BUCKTHORN, U.S.A., Miss MIRIAM O'LEARY +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL, Miss GRACE ATWELL +OLD MARGERY Miss KATE RYAN +JANNETTE Miss HARDING + +There will be no intermission between Acts THIRD and FOURTH + +[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text.] + + +ACT FIRST + +Charleston Harbor in 1861 + +After the ball. Residence of the Ellinghams. + +The citizens of Charleston knew almost the exact hour at +which the attack on Fort Sumter would begin, and they gathered +in the gray twilight of the morning to view the bombardment +as a spectacle.--NICOLAY, _Campaigns of the Civil War, Vol. I._ + +"I shall open fire in one hour."--BEAUREGARD'S _last message +to_ MAJOR ANDERSON. _Sent at 3:20 A.M., April 12, 1861_. + + +ACT SECOND + +The Ellingham Homestead in Virginia + +When the Union Army under Gen. Sheridan and the Confederate Army +under Gen. Early were encamped at Cedar Creek, almost twenty miles +south of Winchester, there was a Confederate signal station on Three Top +Mountain, overlooking both camps; [Transcriber's note: Unreadable] another, near the summit of +North Mountain, on the opposite side of the valley.--_Official Records and +Maps_. + + +ACTS THIRD and FOURTH + +No Intermission between these Acts. + +The Shenandoah Valley. Night and Morning. Three Top mountain. + +[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text.] + +While the two armies lay opposite each other, General Sheridan was called +to Washington. Soon after he left, a startling despatch was taken by our +own Signal Officers from the Confederate Signal Station on Three Top +Mountain.--POND, _Camp. Civ. War, Vol. XI._ + +On the morning of October 19th, the Union Army was taken completely by +surprise. Thoburn's position was swept in an instant. The men who +escaped capture fled to the river. Gordon burst suddenly upon the left +flank.--POND, _supra._ + + +ACT FIFTH + +Washington, 1826. Residence of Gen. Buckthorn. + +_From Gen. Grant's Memoirs._ + +"I feel that we are on the eve of a great era when there is to be great harmony +between the Federal and Confederate." + + * * * * * + +The Orchestra, under the direction of MR. GEORGE PURDY, will perform +the following selections:-- + +1. Overture--Le Caïd Ambroise Thomas +2. Waltz--Ruby Royal Louis Gregh +3. Selection--War Songs Arr. by George Purdy + Introducing the following selections: Kingdom Coming, When + This Cruel War Is Over, Babylon Is Fallen, [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text], The Vacant + Chair, Tramp, Tramp, Johnny Comes Marching, Who Will Care For + Mother Now? Tenting on the Old Camp Ground, Rally Round the + Flag. +4. [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] +5. March--[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] + + * * * * * + +THANKSGIVING DAY, +EXTRA SHENANDOAH MATINEE + + * * * * * + +SEATS SECURED TWO WEEKS IN ADVANCE DURING +THE [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] OF SHENANDOAH. + + * * * * * + +ACTING AND STAGE MANAGER MR. HENRY M. PITT + + + + +SHENANDOAH + +_A MILITARY COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS_ + +_By_ BRONSON HOWARD + +1897 BY BRONSON HOWARD + +ALL RIGHTS INCLUDING THAT OF PERFORMANCE RESERVED + +Reprinted from a privately printed edition, by permission of the +Society of American Dramatists and Composers, from a copy furnished +by Samuel French. It is here to be noted that the Society of American +Dramatists and Composers reserves all rights in "Shenandoah." + + + + +ORIGINAL CAST OF CHARACTERS + + +First produced at the Star Theatre, New York City, September 9, 1889. + +GENERAL HAVERILL }Officers of{ Wilton Lackaye. +COLONEL KERCHIVAL WEST }Sheridan's { Henry Miller. +CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE }Cavalry { Morton Selton. +LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE } { G.W. Bailey. + +MAJOR-GENERAL FRANCIS BUCKTHORN, +Commander of the 19th Army Corps Harry Harwood. + +SERGEANT BARKET James O. Barrows. + +COLONEL ROBERT ELLINGHAM, 10th Virginia Lucius Henderson. + +CAPTAIN THORNTON, Secret Service, C.S.A. John E. Kellard. + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS Harry Thorn. + +LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY Geo. Maxwell. + +MRS. CONSTANCE HAVERILL Dorothy Dorr. + +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM Viola Allen. + +MADELINE WEST Nanette Comstock. + +JENNY BUCKTHORN, U.S.A. Effie Shannon. + +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL Alice B. Haines. + +HARDWICK (SURGEON) W.L. Dennison. + +CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD, U.S. Signal Corps C.C. Brandt. + +CORPORAL DUNN W.J. Cummings. + +BENSON Wm. Barnes. + +OLD MARGERY Mrs. Haslam. + +JANNETTE Esther Drew. + + + + +COSTUMES + + +HAVERILL.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Acts 2 and 3. Uniform of +Brigadier-General, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active Service, rough and +war-worn.--Act 4. Civil Costume, Prince Albert, &c. + +KERCHIVAL WEST.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Acts 2 and 3. Uniform +of Colonel of Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864 (with cloak in Act 3). Active +Service, rough and war-worn.--Act 4. Travelling. + +CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE.--Act 2. Uniform of Captain of Cavalry, 1864; +as neat and precise as is consistent with Active Service.--Act 4. +Afternoon; Civil. + +LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE.--Act 2. Lieutenant of Cavalry, 1864; Active +Service. He must have a full beard.--Act 3. Same, disarranged for +wounded man on stretcher. + +GENERAL BUCKTHORN.--Acts 2 and 3. Major-General, 1864. Active +Service.--Act 3. Same.--Act 4. Civil. Afternoon. + +SERGEANT BARKET.--Acts 2 and 3. Sergeant of Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. +Active Service.--Act 4. Plain undress uniform, sacque or jacket. + +ROBERT ELLINGHAM.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Act 2. Confederate +Colonel: Infantry, 1864. Active Service.--Act 4. Citizen; afternoon. +Prince Albert (Gray). + +EDWARD THORNTON.--Act I. Riding, but not present English Cut.--Act 2. +First, Confederate Captain of Cavalry. Active Service. Second costume, +same, in shirt sleeves and without hat or cap. + +HARDWICK.--Uniform of Confederate Surgeon, 1864. Active Service. + +CORPORAL DUNN.--Uniform of rank, Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +BENSON.--Uniform of 2nd Corporal, Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY.--Uniform of rank, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +MRS. HAVERILL.--Act I. Full evening ball dress.--Act 4. Mourning, but +not too deep. + +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM.--Act I. Riding habit.--Act 2. First costume, +afternoon at home; simple enough for the South during war. Second +costume, picturesque and not conventional dress and hat for +riding.--Act 3. First costume of Act 2, or similar.--Act 4. Neat +travelling costume. + +MADELINE WEST.--Act I. Full evening ball dress.--Act 2. Pretty +afternoon costume.--Act 3. Same or walking.--Act 4. Afternoon costume +at home. + +JENNY BUCKTHORN.--Act 2. Pretty afternoon costume, with military cut, +trimmings and general air.--Act 3. Same.--Act 4. Afternoon costume at +home. + +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL.--Young widow's costume. + +OLD MARGERY.--Neat old family servant. + +JANNETTE.--Young servant. + + + + +FOR PROGRAMME + + +In ACT I, just before the opening of the war, HAVERILL is a Colonel in +the Regular Army. KERCHIVAL WEST and ROBERT ELLINGHAM are Lieutenants +in his regiment, having been classmates at West Point. + + +ACT I. + +CHARLESTON HARBOUR IN 1861. AFTER THE BALL. + +The citizens of Charleston knew almost the exact hour at which the +attack on Fort Sumter would begin, and they gathered in the +gray twilight of the morning to view the bombardment as a +spectacle.--NICOLAY, _Campaigns of the Civil War, Vol. I._ + +"I shall open fire in one hour."--BEAUREGARD'S _last message to_ MAJOR +ANDERSON. _Sent at 3:20 A.M., April 12, 1861_. + + +ACTS II. AND III. + +The Union Army, under General Sheridan, and the Confederate Army, +under General Early, were encamped facing each other about twenty +miles south of Winchester, on Cedar Creek. * * * General Sheridan was +called to Washington. Soon after he left, a startling despatch was +taken by our own Signal Officers from the Confederate Signal Station +on Three Top Mountain.--POND, _Camp. Civ. War, Vol. XI._ + +On the morning of October 19th, the Union Army was taken completely +by surprise. Thoburn's position was swept in an instant. Gordon burst +suddenly upon the left flank. The men who escaped capture streamed +through the camps along the road to Winchester.--POND, _supra._ + +Far away in the rear was heard cheer after cheer.--_Three Years in the +Sixth Corps._ + + +ACT IV. + +WASHINGTON, 1865. RESIDENCE OF GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +I feel that we are on the eve of a new era, when there is to be great +harmony between the Federal and Confederate.--GEN. GRANT'S _Memoirs._ + + + + +SHENANDOAH + +ACT I. + +CHARLESTON HARBOUR IN 1861. "AFTER THE BALL." + + +SCENE. _A Southern Residence on the shore of Charleston Harbour. +Interior.--Large double doors up centre, open. Large, wide window, +with low sill. Veranda beyond the doors, and extending beyond window. +A wide opening with corridor beyond. Furniture and appointments quaint +and old-fashioned, but an air of brightness and of light; the general +tone of the walls and upholstery that of the old Colonial period in +its more ornamental and decorative phase, as shown in the early days +of Charleston. Old candlesticks and candelabra, with lighted candles +nearly burned down. Beyond the central doors and the window, there +is a lawn with Southern foliage, extending down to the shores of the +harbour; a part of the bay lies in the distance, with low-lying land +beyond. The lights of Charleston are seen over the water along the +shore. Moonlight. The gray twilight of early morning gradually steals +over the scene as the Act progresses._ + +DISCOVERED, _As the curtain rises_ KERCHIVAL WEST _is sitting in a +chair, his feet extended and his head thrown back, a handkerchief over +his face_. ROBERT ELLINGHAM _strolls in on veranda, beyond window, +smoking. He looks right, starts and moves to window; leans against the +upper side of the window and looks across._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Under handkerchief_.] Eh? H'm! + +ELLINGHAM. Can you sleep at a time like this? My own nerves are on +fire. + +KERCHIVAL. Fire? Oh--yes--I remember. Any more fire-works, Bob? + +ELLINGHAM. A signal rocket from one of the batteries, now and +then. [_Goes up beyond window_. KERCHIVAL _arouses himself, taking +handkerchief from his eyes._ + +KERCHIVAL. What a preposterous hour to be up. The ball was over an +hour ago, all the guests are gone, and it's nearly four o'clock. +[_Looks at his watch._] Exactly ten minutes of four. [_Takes out a +cigar._.] Our Southern friends assure us that General Beauregard is to +open fire on Fort Sumter this morning. I don't believe it. [_Lighting +cigar and rising, crosses and looks out through window._] There lies +the old fort--solemn and grim as ever, and the flagstaff stands above +it, like a warning finger. If they do fire upon it--[_Shutting his +teeth for a moment and looking down at the cigar in his hand._]--the +echo of that first shot will be heard above their graves, and heaven +knows how many of our own, also; but the flag will still float!--over +the graves of both sides. + +[ELLINGHAM _enters up centre and comes down_.] + +Are you Southerners all mad, Robert? + +ELLINGHAM. Are you Northerners all blind? [KERCHIVAL _sits_.] We +Virginians would prevent a war if we could. But your people in the +North do not believe that one is coming. You do not understand the +determined frenzy of my fellow-Southerners. Look! [_Pointing_.] Do +you see the lights of the city, over the water? The inhabitants of +Charleston are gathering, even now, in the gray, morning twilight, to +witness the long-promised bombardment of Fort Sumter. It is to be a +gala day for them. They have talked and dreamed of nothing else for +weeks. The preparations have become a part of their social life--of +their amusement--their gayeties. This very night at the ball--here--in +the house of my own relatives--what was their talk? What were the +jests they laughed at? Sumter! War! Ladies were betting bonbons that +the United States would not dare to fire a shot in return, and pinning +ribbons on the breasts of their "heroes." There was a signal rocket +from one of the forts, and the young men who were dancing here left +their partners standing on the floor to return to the batteries--as +if it were the night before another Waterloo. The ladies themselves +hurried away to watch the "spectacle" from their own verandas. You +won't see the truth! I tell you, Kerchival, a war between the North +and South is inevitable! + +KERCHIVAL. And if it does come, you Virginians will join the rest. + +ELLINGHAM. Our State will be the battle-ground, I fear. But every +loyal son of Virginia will follow her flag. It is our religion! + +KERCHIVAL. My State is New York. If New York should go against the old +flag, New York might go to the devil. That is my religion. + +ELLINGHAM. So differently have we been taught what the word +"patriotism" means! + +KERCHIVAL. You and I are officers in the same regiment of the United +States Regular Army, Robert; we were classmates at West Point, and we +have fought side by side on the plains. You saved my scalp once; I'd +have to wear a wig, now, if you hadn't. I say, old boy, are we to be +enemies? + +ELLINGHAM. [_Laying his hand over his shoulder._] My dear old comrade, +whatever else comes, our friendship shall be unbroken! + +KERCHIVAL. Bob! [_Looking up at him._] I only hope that we shall never +meet in battle! + +ELLINGHAM. In battle? [_Stepping down front._] The idea is horrible! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Rising and crossing to him._] My dear old comrade, one of +us will be wrong in this great fight, but we shall both be honest in +it. [_Gives hand_, ELLINGHAM _grasps it warmly, then turns away._ + +ELLINGHAM. Colonel Haverill is watching the forts, also; he has been +as sad to-night as we have. Next to leaving you, my greatest regret is +that I must resign from his regiment. + +KERCHIVAL. You are his favourite officer. + +ELLINGHAM. Naturally, perhaps; he was my guardian. + +_Enter_ HAVERILL. _He walks down, stopping centre._ + +HAVERILL. Kerchival! I secured the necessary passports? to the North +yesterday afternoon; this one is yours; I brought it down for you +early in the evening. [KERCHIVAL _takes paper. Goes to window._] I +am ordered direct to Washington at once, and shall start with Mrs. +Haverill this forenoon. You will report to Captain Lyon, of the 2d +Regiment, in St. Louis. Robert! I have hoped for peace to the last, +but it is hoping against hope. I feel certain, now, that the fatal +blow will be struck this morning. Our old regiment is already broken +up, and you, also, will now resign, I suppose, like nearly all your +fellow-Southerners in the service. + +ELLINGHAM. You know how sorry I am to leave your command, Colonel! + +HAVERILL. I served under your father in Mexico; he left me, at his +death, the guardian of you and your sister, Gertrude. Even since you +became of age, I have felt that I stood in his place. But you must be +your sister's only guardian now. Your father fell in battle, fighting +for our common country, but you-- + +ELLINGHAM. He would have done as I shall do, had he lived. He was a +Virginian! + +HAVERILL. I am glad, Robert, that he was never called upon to decide +between two flags. He never knew but one, and we fought under it +together. [_Exit._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! Something occurred in this house to-night +which--which I shouldn't mention under ordinary circumstances, but +I--I feel that it may require my further attention, and you, perhaps, +can be of service to me. Mrs. Haverill, the wife of the Colonel-- + +KERCHIVAL. Fainted away in her room. + +ELLINGHAM. You know? + +KERCHIVAL. I was one of the actors in the little drama. + +ELLINGHAM. Indeed! + +KERCHIVAL. About half-past nine this evening, while the ladies were +dressing for the ball, I was going up-stairs; I heard a quick, sharp +cry, sprang forward, found myself at an open door. Mrs. Haverill lay +on the floor inside, as if she had just reached the door to cry for +help, when she fell. After doing all the unnecessary and useless +things I could think of, I rushed out of the room to tell your sister, +Gertrude, and my own sister, Madeline, to go and take care of the +lady. Within less than twenty minutes afterwards, I saw Mrs. Haverill +sail into the drawing-room, a thing of beauty, and with the glow of +perfect health on her cheek. It was an immense relief to me when I saw +her. Up to that time I had a vague idea that I had committed a murder. + +ELLINGHAM. Murder! + +KERCHIVAL. M--m. A guilty conscience. Every man, of course, does +exactly the wrong thing when a woman faints. When I rushed out of Mrs. +Haverill's room, I left my handkerchief soaked with water upon her +face. I must ask her for it; it's a silk one. Luckily, the girls +got there in time to take it off; she wouldn't have come to if they +hadn't. It never occurred to me that she'd need to breathe in my +absence. That's all I know about the matter. What troubles you? I +suppose every woman has a right to faint whenever she chooses. The +scream that I heard was so sharp, quick and intense that-- + +ELLINGHAM. That the cause must have been a serious one. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes! So I thought. It must have been a mouse. + +ELLINGHAM. Mr. Edward Thornton has occupied the next room to that of +Mrs. Haverill to-night. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Crosses quickly._] What do you mean? + +ELLINGHAM. During the past month or more he has been pressing, not to +say insolent, in his attentions to Mrs. Haverill. + +KERCHIVAL. I've noticed that myself. + +ELLINGHAM. And he is an utterly unscrupulous man; it is no fault of +mine that he was asked to be a guest at this house to-night. He came +to Charleston, some years ago, from the North, but if there are any +vices and passions peculiarly strong in the South, he has carried them +all to the extreme. In one of the many scandals connected with Edward +Thornton's name, it was more than whispered that he entered a lady's +room unexpectedly at night. But, as he killed the lady's husband in a +duel a few days afterwards, the scandal dropped. + +KERCHIVAL. Of course; the gentleman received ample satisfaction as +an outraged husband, and Mr. Thornton apologized, I suppose, to his +widow. + +ELLINGHAM. He has repeated the adventure. + +KERCHIVAL. Do--you--think--that? + +ELLINGHAM. I was smoking on the lawn, and glanced up at the window; my +eyes may have deceived me, and I must move cautiously in the matter; +but it couldn't have been imagination; the shadow of Edward Thornton's +face and head appeared upon the curtain. + +KERCHIVAL. Whew! The devil! + +ELLINGHAM. Just at that moment I, too, heard the stifled scream. + +_Enter_ EDWARD THORNTON. + +THORNTON. Gentlemen! + +ELLINGHAM. Your name was just on my tongue, Mr. Thornton. + +THORNTON. I thought I heard it, but you are welcome to it. Miss +Gertrude has asked me to ride over to Mrs. Pinckney's with her, to +learn if there is any further news from the batteries. I am very glad +the time to attack Fort Sumter has come at last! + +ELLINGHAM. I do not share your pleasure. + +THORNTON. You are a Southern gentleman. + +ELLINGHAM. And you are a Northern "gentleman." + +THORNTON. A Southerner by choice; I shall join the cause. + +ELLINGHAM. We native Southerners will defend our own rights, sir; you +may leave them in our keeping. It is my wish, Mr. Thornton, that you +do not accompany my sister. + +THORNTON. Indeed! + +ELLINGHAM. Her groom, alone, will be sufficient. + +THORNTON. As you please, sir. Kindly offer my excuses to Miss +Gertrude. You and I can chat over the subject later in the day, when +we are alone. [_Moving up stage._ + +ELLINGHAM. By all means, and another subject, also, perhaps. + +THORNTON. I shall be entirely at your service. + +[_Exit and down on veranda._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival, I shall learn the whole truth, if possible, +to-day. If it is what I suspect--what I almost know--I will settle +with him myself. He has insulted our Colonel's wife and outraged the +hospitality of my friends. [_Walking right._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Walking left._] I think it ought to be my quarrel. I'm +sure I'm mixed up in it enough. + +MADELINE. [_Without, calling._] Kerchival! + +ELLINGHAM. Madeline. [_Aside, starting_, KERCHIVAL _looks across at +him sharply._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I distinctly saw Bob give a start when he heard +Madeline. Now, what can there be about my sister's voice to make a man +jump like that? + +GERTRUDE. [_Without._] Brother Robert! + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! [_Aside, starting,_ ELLINGHAM _looks at him +sharply._] How the tones of a woman's voice thrill through a man's +soul! + +_Enter_ MADELINE. + +MADELINE. Oh, Kerchival--here you are. + +_Enter_ GERTRUDE _from apartment, in a riding habit, with whip, etc._ + +GERTRUDE. Robert, dear! [_Coming down to_ ROBERT, _they converse in +dumb show._ + +MADELINE. Where are your field-glasses? I've been rummaging all +through your clothes, and swords, and sashes, and things. I've turned +everything in your room upside down. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you? + +MADELINE. I can't find your glasses anywhere. I want to look at the +forts. Another rocket went up just now. [_Runs and stands on piazza, +looking off right._ + +KERCHIVAL. A sister has all the privileges of a wife to upset a man's +things, without her legal obligation to put them straight again. +[_Glances at_ GERTRUDE.] I wish Bob's sister had the same privileges +in my room that my own has. + +GERTRUDE. Mr. Thornton isn't going with me, you say? + +ELLINGHAM. He requested me to offer you his apologies. + +KERCHIVAL. May I accompany you? [ELLINGHAM _turns to window._ + +GERTRUDE. My groom, old Pete, will be with me, of course; there's no +particular need of anyone else. But you may go along, if you like. +I've got my hands full of sugar-plums for Jack. Dear old Jack--he +always has his share when we have company. I'm going over to Mrs. +Pinckney's to see if she's had any more news from General Beauregard; +her son is on the General's staff. + +MADELINE. [_Looking off right_.] There's another rocket from Fort +Johnson; and it is answered from Fort Moultrie. Ah! [_Angrily._] +General Beauregard is a bad, wicked man! [_Coming down._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh! Madeline! You are a bad, wicked Northern girl to say +such a thing. + +MADELINE. I _am_ a Northern girl. + +GERTRUDE. And I am a Southern girl. [_They face each other._ + +KERCHIVAL. The war has begun. [_Dropping into chair._ + +ELLINGHAM _has turned from window; he strolls across, watching the +girls._ + +GERTRUDE. General Beauregard is a patriot. + +MADELINE. He is a Rebel. + +GERTRUDE. So am I. + +MADELINE. Gertrude!--You--you-- + +GERTRUDE. Madeline!--You-- + +MADELINE. I--I-- + +GERTRUDE. I-- + +BOTH. O--O-h! [_Bursting into tears and rushing into each other's +arms, sobbing, then suddenly kissing each other vigorously._ + +KERCHIVAL. I say, Bob, if the North and South do fight, that will be +the end of it. + +GERTRUDE. I've got something to say to you, Madeline, dear. +[_Confidentially and turning with her arms about her waist. The girls +sit, talking earnestly._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival, old boy! There's--there's something I'd like to +say to you before we part to-day. + +KERCHIVAL. I'd like a word with you, also! + +MADELINE. You don't really mean that, Gertrude--with me? + +ELLINGHAM. I'm in love with your sister Madeline. + +KERCHIVAL. The devil you are! + +ELLINGHAM. I never suspected such a thing until last night. + +GERTRUDE. Robert was in love with you six weeks ago. + +[MADELINE _kisses her._ + +KERCHIVAL. _I've_ made a discovery, too, Bob. + +MADELINE. _I've_ got something to say to _you_, Gertrude. + +KERCHIVAL. I'm in love with _your_ sister. + +ELLINGHAM. [_Astonished._] You are? + +MADELINE. Kerchival has been in love with you for the last three +months. [GERTRUDE _offers her lips--they kiss._ + +KERCHIVAL. I fell in love with her the day before yesterday. [_The two +gentlemen grasp each other's hand warmly._ + +ELLINGHAM. We understand each other, Kerchival. [_He turns up centre, +and stops at door._] Miss Madeline, you said just now that you wished +to watch the forts. Would you like to walk down to the shore? + +MADELINE. Yes! [_Rising and going up to him. He takes one of her hands +in his own and looks at her earnestly._ + +ELLINGHAM. This will be the last day that we shall be together for the +present. But we shall meet again--sometime--if we both live. + +MADELINE. If we both live! You mean--if _you_ live: You must go into +this dreadful war, if it comes. + +ELLINGHAM. Yes, Madeline, I must. Come, let us watch for our fate. + +[_Exeunt on veranda._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I must leave Charleston to-day. [_Sighs._] Does +she love me? + +GERTRUDE. I am ready to start, Mr. West, when you are. + +KERCHIVAL. Oh! Of course, I forgot. [_Rising._] I shall be delighted +to ride at your side. + +GERTRUDE. At my side! [_Rising._] There isn't a horse in America that +can keep by the side of my Jack, when I give him his head, and I'm +sure to do it. You may follow us. But you can hardly ride in that +costume; while you are changing it, I'll give Jack his bonbons. +[_Turning to window._] There he is, bless him! Pawing the ground, and +impatient for me to be on his back. Let him come, Pete. [_Holding up +bonbons at window_]. I love you. + +KERCHIVAL. Eh? [_Turning suddenly._ + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking at him._] What? + +KERCHIVAL. You were saying-- + +GERTRUDE. Jack! [_looking out. The head of a large black horse appears +through the window._] You dear old fellow! [_Feeds with bonbons._] +Jack has been my boy ever since he was a little colt. I brought you +up, didn't I, Jack? He's the truest, and kindest, and best of friends; +I wouldn't be parted from him for the world, and I'm the only woman +he'll allow to be near him. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Earnestly._] You are the only woman, Miss Gertrude, that +I-- + +GERTRUDE. Dear Jack! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] Jack embarrasses me. He's a third party. + +GERTRUDE. There! That will do for the present, Jack. Now go along with +Pete! If you are a very good boy, and don't let Lieutenant Kerchival +West come within a quarter of a mile of me, after the first three +minutes, you shall have some more sugar-plums when we get to Mrs. +Pinckney's. [_An old negro leads the horse away._ GERTRUDE _looks +around at_ KERCHIVAL.] You haven't gone to dress yet; we shall +be late. Mrs. Pinckney asked a party of friends to witness the +bombardment this morning, and breakfast together on the piazza while +they are looking at it. We can remain and join them, if you like. + +KERCHIVAL. I hope they won't wait for breakfast until the bombardment +begins. + +GERTRUDE. I'll bet you an embroidered cigar-case, Lieutenant, against +a box of gloves, that it will begin in less than an hour. + +KERCHIVAL. Done! You will lose the bet. But you shall have the gloves; +and one of the hands that go inside them shall be--[_Taking one of her +hands; she withdraws it._ + +GERTRUDE. My own--until some one wins it. You don't believe that +General Beauregard will open fire on Fort Sumter this morning? + +KERCHIVAL. No; I don't. + +GERTRUDE. Everything is ready. + +KERCHIVAL. It's so much easier to get everything ready to do a thing +than it is to do it. I have been ready a dozen times, this very night, +to say to you, Miss Gertrude, that I--that I--[_Pauses._ + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking down and tapping skirt with her whip._] Well? + +KERCHIVAL. But I didn't. + +GERTRUDE. [_Glancing up at him suddenly._] I dare say, General +Beauregard has more nerve than you have. + +KERCHIVAL. It is easy enough to set the batteries around Charleston +Harbour, but the man who fires the first shot at a woman-- + +GERTRUDE. Woman! + +KERCHIVAL. At the American flag--must have nerves of steel. + +GERTRUDE. You Northern men are so slow to-- + +KERCHIVAL. I have been slow; but I assure you, Miss Gertrude, that my +heart-- + +GERTRUDE. What subject are we on now? + +KERCHIVAL. You were complaining because I was too slow. + +GERTRUDE. I was doing nothing of the kind, sir!--let me finish, +please. You Northern men are so slow to believe that our Southern +heroes--Northern _men_ and Southern _heroes_--you recognize the +distinction I make--you won't believe that they will keep their +promises. They have sworn to attack Fort Sumter this morning, +and--they--will do it. This "American Flag" you talk of is no longer +our flag: it is foreign to us!--It is the flag of an enemy! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Tenderly and earnestly._] Am I your enemy? + +GERTRUDE. You have told me that you will return to the North, and take +the field. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes, I will. [_Decisively._ + +GERTRUDE. You will be fighting against my friends, against my own +brother, against me. We _shall_ be enemies. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Firmly_.] Even that, Gertrude--[_She looks around at him; +he looks squarely into her eyes as he proceeds._]--if you will have it +so. If my country needs my services, I shall not refuse them, though +it makes us enemies! [_She wavers a moment, under strong emotion, and +turns away; sinks upon the seat, her elbow on the back of it, and her +tightly-clenched fist against her cheek, looking away from him._ + +GERTRUDE. I will have it so! I am a Southern woman! + +KERCHIVAL. We have more at stake between us, this morning, than a +cigar-case and a box of gloves. [_Turning up stage._ + +_Enter_ MRS. HAVERILL _from apartment_. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Mr. West! I've been looking for you. I have a favour to +ask. + +KERCHIVAL. Of me?--with pleasure. + +MRS. HAVERILL. But I am sorry to have interrupted you and Gertrude. +[_Apart._] There are tears in your eyes, Gertrude, dear! + +GERTRUDE. [_Apart._] They have no right there. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Apart._] I'm afraid I know what has happened. A +quarrel! and you are to part with each other so soon. Do not let +a girl's coquetry trifle with her heart until it is too late. You +remember the confession you made to me last night? + +GERTRUDE. [_Apart._] Constance! [_Starting._] That is my secret; more +a secret now than ever. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Apart._] Yes, dear; but you do love him. [GERTRUDE +_moves away._ + +GERTRUDE. You need not ride over with me, Mr. West. + +KERCHIVAL. I can be ready in one moment. + +GERTRUDE. I choose to go alone! Old Pete will be with me; and Jack, +himself, is a charming companion. + +KERCHIVAL. If you prefer Jack's company to mine-- + +GERTRUDE. I do. [_Exit on veranda and down right._ + +KERCHIVAL. Damn Jack! But you will let me assist you to mount. [_Exit +after her._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. We leave for the North before noon, but every hour +seems a month. If my husband should learn what happened in my room +to-night, he would kill that man. What encouragement could I have +given him? Innocence is never on its guard--but, [_Drawing up._] the +last I remember before I fell unconscious, he was crouching before me +like a whipped cur! [_Starts as she looks out of the window._] There +is Mr. Thornton now--Ah! [_Angrily._] No,--I must control my own +indignation. I must keep him and Colonel Haverill from meeting before +we leave Charleston. Edward Thornton would shoot my husband down +without remorse. But poor Frank! I must not forget him, in my own +trouble. I have but little time left to care for his welfare. + +_Re-enter_ KERCHIVAL. + +KERCHIVAL. You said I could do you a favour, Mrs. Haverill? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, I wanted to speak with you about General +Haverill's son, Frank. I should like you to carry a message to +Charleston for me, as soon as it is light. It is a sad errand. You +know too well the great misfortune that has fallen upon my husband in +New York. + +KERCHIVAL. His only son has brought disgrace upon his family name, +and tarnished the reputation of a proud soldier. Colonel Haverill's +fellow-officers sympathize with him most deeply. + +MRS. HAVERILL. And poor young Frank! I could hardly have loved the boy +more if he had been my own son. If he had not himself confessed the +crime against the bank, I could not have believed him guilty. He has +escaped from arrest. He is in the city of Charleston. I am the only +one in all the world he could turn to. He was only a lad of fourteen +when his father and I were married, six years ago; and the boy has +loved me from the first. His father is stern and bitter now in his +humiliation. This note from Frank was handed to me while the company +were here last evening. I want you to find him and arrange for me to +meet him, if you can do it with safety. I shall give you a letter for +him. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll get ready at once; and I will do all I can for the +boy. [_Turning._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. And--Mr. West! Gertrude and Madeline have told me +that--that--I was under obligations to you last evening. + +KERCHIVAL. Don't mention it. I merely ran for them, and I--I'm very +glad you didn't choke--before they reached you. I trust you are quite +well now? + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am entirely recovered, thank you. And I will ask +another favour of you, for we are old friends. I desire very much that +General Haverill should not know that--that any accident occurred to +me to-night--or that my health has not been perfect. + +KERCHIVAL. Certainly, madam! + +MRS. HAVERILL. It would render him anxious without cause. + +KERCHIVAL [_Aside_.] It looks as if Robert was right; she doesn't want +the two men to meet. + +_Enter_ HAVERILL. _A white silk handkerchief is in his hand_. + +HAVERILL. Constance, my dear, I've been all over the place looking for +you. I thought you were in your room. But--by the way, Kerchival, this +is your handkerchief; your initials are on it. [KERCHIVAL _turns and +stares at him a second_. MRS. HAVERILL _starts slightly and turns +front_. HAVERILL _glances quickly from one to the other, then extends +his hands toward_ KERCHIVAL, _with the handkerchief_. KERCHIVAL _takes +it_. MRS. HAVERILL _drops into chair_. + +KERCHIVAL. Thank you. [_He exits with a quick glance back._ HAVERILL +_looks at_ MRS. HAVERILL, _who sits nervously looking away. He then +glances after_ KERCHIVAL. _A cloud comes over his face, and he stands +a second in thought. Then, with a movement as if brushing away a +passing suspicion, he smiles pleasantly and approaches_ MRS. HAVERILL; +_leans over her_. + +HAVERILL. My fair Desdemona! [_Smiling_.] I found Cassio's +handkerchief in your room. Have you a kiss for me? [_She looks up; he +raises her chin with a finger and kisses her_.] That's the way I shall +smother you. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Rising and dropping her head upon his breast_.] +Husband! + +HAVERILL. But what is this they have been telling me? + +MRS. HAVERILL. What have they said to you? + +HAVERILL. There was something wrong with you in the early part of the +evening; you are trembling and excited, my girl! + +MRS. HAVERILL. It was nothing, John; I--I--was ill, for a few moments, +but I am well now. + +HAVERILL. You said nothing about it to me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Do not give it another thought. + +HAVERILL. Was there anything besides your health involved in the +affair? There was. [_Aside_.] How came this handkerchief in her room? + +MRS. HAVERILL. My husband! I do not want to say anything more--at--at +present--about what happened to-night. There has never been a shadow +between us--will you not trust me? + +HAVERILL. Shadow! You stand in a bright light of your own, my wife; +it shines upon my whole life--there can be no shadow there. Tell me +as much or as little as you like, and in your own time. I am sure you +will conceal nothing from me that I ought to know. I trust my honour +and my happiness to you, absolutely. + +MRS. HAVERILL. They will both be safe, John, in my keeping. But there +is something else that I wish to speak with you about; something very +near to your heart--your son! + +HAVERILL. My son! + +MRS. HAVERILL. He is in Charleston. + +HAVERILL. And not--in prison? To me he is nowhere. I am childless. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I hope to see him to-day; may I not take him some kind +word from you? + +HAVERILL. My lawyers in New York had instructions to provide him with +whatever he needed. + +MRS. HAVERILL. They have done so, and he wants for nothing; he asks +for nothing, except that I will seek out the poor young wife--only a +girl herself--whom he is obliged to desert, in New York. + +HAVERILL. His marriage was a piece of reckless folly, but I forgave +him that. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am sure that it was only after another was dependent +on him that the debts of a mere spendthrift were changed to fraud--and +crime. + +HAVERILL. You may tell him that I will provide for her. + +MRS. HAVERILL. And may I take him no warmer message from his father? + +HAVERILL. I am an officer of the United States Army. The name which +my son bears came to me from men who had borne it with honour, and I +transmitted it to him without a blot. He has disgraced it, by his own +confession. + +MRS. HAVERILL. _I_ cannot forget the poor mother who died when he was +born; her whose place I have tried to fill, to both Frank and to you. +I never saw her, and she is sleeping in the old graveyard at home. But +I am doing what she would do to-day, if she were living. No pride--no +disgrace--could have turned her face from him. The care and the love +of her son has been to me the most sacred duty which one woman can +assume for another. + +HAVERILL. You have fulfilled that duty, Constance. Go to my son! I +would go with you, but he is a man now; he could not look into my +eyes, and I could not trust myself. But I will send him something +which a man will understand. Frank loves you as if you were his own +mother; and I--I would like him to--to think tenderly of me, also. He +will do it when he looks at this picture. [_Taking a miniature from +his pocket._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Of me! + +HAVERILL. I have never been without it one hour, before, since we were +married. He will recognize it as the one that I have carried through +every campaign, in every scene of danger on the Plains; the one that +has always been with me. He is a fugitive from justice. At times, when +despair might overcome him, this may give him nerve to meet his +future life manfully. It has often nerved me, when I might have failed +without it. Give it to him, and tell him that I send it. [_Giving +her the miniature._] I could not send a kinder message, and he will +understand it. [_Turning, stands a moment in thought._ THORNTON +_appears at window, looking at them quietly over his shoulder, a cigar +in his hand._ MRS. HAVERILL _sees him and starts with a suppressed +breath, then looks at_ HAVERILL, _who moves left. Aside._] My son! My +son! We shall never meet again! [_Exit in thought._ + +MRS. HAVERILL _looks after him earnestly, then turns and looks at +THORNTON, drawing up to her full height._ THORNTON _moves up stage, +beyond window._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Will he dare to speak to me again? [_Enter_ THORNTON; +_he comes down quietly. He has thrown away cigar._ + +THORNTON. Mrs. Haverill! I wish to offer you an apology. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I have not asked for one, sir! + +THORNTON. Do you mean by that, that you will not accept one? + +MRS. THORNTON. [_Aside_] What can I say? [_Aloud._] Oh, Mr. +Thornton!--for my husband's sake, I-- + +THORNTON. Ah! You are afraid that your husband may become involved in +an unpleasant affair. Your solicitude for his safety, madame, makes +me feel that my offense to-night was indeed unpardonable. No gentleman +can excuse himself for making such a mistake as I have made. I had +supposed that it was Lieutenant Kerchival West, who-- + +MRS. HAVERILL. What do you mean, sir? + +THORNTON. But if it is your husband that stands between us-- + +MRS. HAVERILL. Let me say this, sir: whatever I may fear for my +husband, he fears nothing for himself. + +THORNTON. He knows? [_Looking at her, keenly._] [_Enter_ KERCHIVAL +WEST, _now in riding suit._] [_He stops, looking at them._] You are +silent. Your husband does know what occurred to-night; that relieves +my conscience. [_Lightly._] Colonel Haverill and I can now settle it +between us. + +MRS. HAVERILL. No, Mr. Thornton! My husband knows nothing, and, I beg +of you, do not let this horrible affair go further. [_Sees_ KERCHIVAL. + +KERCHIVAL. Pardon me. [_Stepping forward._] I hope I am not +interrupting you. [_Aside._] It _was_ Thornton. [_Aloud._] You said +you would have a letter for me to carry, Mrs. Haverill. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, I--I will go up and write it at once. [_Crosses; +stops and looks back. Aside._] I wonder how much he overheard. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] I suppose eight o'clock will be time enough +for me to go? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Oh, yes! [_Glancing at him a moment._]--quite. + +[_Exit, through apartment._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] Mr. Thornton! you are a scoundrel! Do I make +myself plain? + +THORNTON. You make the fact that you desire to pick a quarrel with me +quite plain, sir; but I choose my own quarrels and my own enemies. + +KERCHIVAL. Colonel Haverill is my commander, and he is beloved by +every officer in the regiment. + +THORNTON. On what authority, may I ask, do you-- + +KERCHIVAL. The honour of Colonel Haverill's wife is under our +protection. + +THORNTON. Under your protection? You have a better claim than that, +perhaps, to act as her champion. Lieutenant Kerchival West is Mrs. +Haverill's favourite officer in the regiment. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Approaching him._] You dare to suggest that I-- + +THORNTON. If I accept your challenge, I shall do so not because you +are her protector, but my rival. + +KERCHIVAL. Bah! [_Striking him sharply on the cheek with glove. The +two men stand facing each other a moment._] Is it my quarrel now? + +THORNTON. I think you are entitled to my attention, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. My time here is limited. + +THORNTON. We need not delay. The Bayou La Forge is convenient to this +place. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll meet you there, with a friend, at once. + +THORNTON. It will be light enough to see the sights of our weapons in +about one hour. [_They bow to each other, and_ THORNTON _goes out._ + +KERCHIVAL. I've got ahead of Bob. + +GERTRUDE. [_Without._] Whoa! Jack! Old boy! Steady, now--that's a good +fellow. + +KERCHIVAL. She has returned. I _must_ know whether Gertrude Ellingham +loves me--before Thornton and I meet. He is a good shot. + +GERTRUDE. [_Without, calling._] O-h! Pete! You may take Jack to the +stable. Ha--ha--ha! [_Appears at window. To_ KERCHIVAL.] Old Pete, on +the bay horse, has been doing his best to keep up with us; but Jack +and I have led him such a race! Ha--ha--ha--ha! [_Disappearing beyond +the window._ + +KERCHIVAL. Does she love me? + +GERTRUDE. [_Entering and coming down._] I have the very latest news +from the headquarters of the Confederate Army in South Carolina. At +twenty minutes after three this morning General Beauregard sent this +message to Major Anderson in Fort Sumter: "I shall open fire in one +hour!" The time is up!--and he will keep his word! [_Turning and +looking out of the window._ KERCHIVAL _moves across to her._ + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! I must speak to you; we may never meet again; but +I must know the truth. I love you. [_Seizing her hand._] Do you love +me? [_She looks around at him as if about to speak; hesitates._] +Answer me! [_She looks down with a coquettish smile, tapping her skirt +with her riding whip._] Well? [_A distant report of a cannon, and low +rumbling reverberations over the harbour._ GERTRUDE _turns suddenly, +looking out._ KERCHIVAL _draws up, also looking off._ + +GERTRUDE. A low--bright--line of fire--in the sky! It is a shell. [_A +second's pause; she starts slightly_.] It has burst upon the fort. +[_Looks over her shoulder at_ KERCHIVAL, _drawing up to her full +height_.] Now!--do you believe that we Southerners are in deadly +earnest? + +KERCHIVAL. We Northerners are in deadly earnest, too. I have received +my answer. We are--enemies! [_They look at each other for a moment_. +[_Exit_ KERCHIVAL. + +GERTRUDE. Kerchival! [_Moving quickly half across stage, looking +after him eagerly; stops._] Enemies! [_She drops into chair, sobbing +bitterly. Another distant report, and low, long reverberations as the +curtain descends_. + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE. _The Ellingham Homestead in the Shenandoah Valley. Exterior. +Three Top Mountain in the distance. A corner of the house, with +projecting end of veranda. Low wall extending up from veranda. A wide +opening in the wall, with a low, heavy stone post, with flat top, on +each side. Beyond the wall and opening, a road runs across stage. +At the back of this road, elevation of rock and turf. This slopes up +behind wood wing. It is level on the top about twelve feet; slopes +down to road, and also out behind wood wings. The level part in the +centre rises to about four feet above the stage. Beyond this elevation +the distance is a broad valley, with Three Top Mountain rising on the +right. Foliage appropriate to northern Virginia--walnut, cottonwood, +&c. Rustic seats and table. Seat near veranda. A low rock near the +stone post. Sunset when curtain rises. As the act proceeds this fades +into twilight and then bright moonlight. The number references for the +trumpet signals, in this and the next act, are to the official book, +entitled "Cavalry Tactics, United States Army," published by D. +Appleton & Co., N.Y., 1887. The number references for the Torch +Signals, in this act, are to the General Service Code. This code may +be found, with illustrations and instructions, in a book entitled +"Signal Tactics," by Lieutenant Hugh T. Reed, U.S. Army, published by +John Riley & Sons, N.Y., 1880. At rise of curtain, Trumpet Signal +No. 34 or No. 35 is heard very distant._ GERTRUDE _and_ MADELINE +_discovered on elevation up center._ GERTRUDE _is shading her eyes +with her hand and looking off._ MADELINE _stands a little below her, +on the incline, resting her arm about_ GERTRUDE'S _waist, also looking +off._ + +GERTRUDE. It is a regiment of Union Cavalry. The Federal troops now +have their lines three miles beyond us, and only a month ago the +Confederate Army was north of Winchester. One army or the other has +been marching up and down the Shenandoah Valley for three years. I +wonder what the next change will be. We in Virginia have had more than +our share of the war. [_Looking off._ + +MADELINE. You have, indeed, Gertrude. [_Walking down to seat._] And we +at home in Washington have pitied you so much. But everybody says that +there will be peace in the Valley after this. [_Dropping into seat._ + +GERTRUDE. Peace! [_Coming down._] That word means something very +different to us poor Southerners from what it means to you. + +MADELINE. I know, dear; and we in the North know how you have +suffered, too. We were very glad when General Buckthorn was appointed +to the command of the Nineteenth Army Corps, so that Jenny could get +permission for herself and me to come and visit you. + +GERTRUDE. The old General will do anything for Jenny, I suppose. + +MADELINE. Yes. [_Laughing._] We say in Washington that Jenny is in +command of the Nineteenth Army Corps herself. + +GERTRUDE. I was never more astonished or delighted in my life than +when you and Jenny Buckthorn rode up, this morning, with a guard from +Winchester; and Madeline, dear, I--I only wish that my brother Robert +could be here, too. Do you remember in Charleston, darling--that +morning--when I told you that--that Robert loved you? + +MADELINE. He--[_Looking down._]--he told me so himself only a little +while afterwards, and while we were standing there, on the shore of +the bay--the--the shot was fired which compelled him to enter this +awful war--and me to return to my home in the North. + +GERTRUDE. I was watching for that shot, too. [_Turning._ + +MADELINE. Yes--[_Rising_.]--you and brother Kerchival-- + +GERTRUDE. We won't talk about that, my dear. We were speaking of +Robert. As I told you this morning, I have not heard from him since +the battle of Winchester, a month ago. Oh, Madeline! the many, many +long weeks, like these, we have suffered, after some terrible battle +in which he has been engaged. I do not know, now, whether he is living +or dead. + +MADELINE. The whole war has been one long suspense to me. [_Dropping +her face into her hands_. + +GERTRUDE. My dear sister! [_Placing her arm about her waist and moving +left_.] You are a Northern girl, and I am a Rebel--but we are sisters. +[_They go up veranda and out_. An OLD COUNTRYMAN _comes in on a cane. +He stops and glances back, raises a broken portion of the capstone +of post, and places a letter under it_. GERTRUDE _has stepped back on +veranda and is watching him. He raises his head sharply, looking at +her and bringing his finger to his lips. He drops his head again, as +with age, and goes out._ + +GERTRUDE _moves down to stage and up to road, looks right and left, +raises the broken stone, glancing back as she does so; takes letter +and moves down_.] Robert is alive! It is his handwriting! [_Tears open +the wrapper_.] Only a line from him! and this--a despatch--and also a +letter to me! Why, it is from Mrs. Haverill--from Washington--with a +United States postmark. [_Reads from a scrap of paper_.] + +"The enclosed despatch must be in the hands of Captain Edward Thornton +before eight o'clock to-night. We have signaled to him from Three Top +Mountain, and he is waiting for it at the bend in Oak Run. Our trusty +scout at the Old Forge will carry it if you will put it in his hands." + +The scout is not there, now; I will carry it to Captain Thornton +myself. I--I haven't my own dear horse to depend on now; Jack knew +every foot of the way through the woods about here; he could have +carried a despatch himself. I can't bear to think of Jack; it's +two years since he was captured by the enemy--and if he is still +living--I--I suppose he is carrying one of their officers. No! Jack +wouldn't fight on that side. He was a Rebel--as I am. He was one of +the Black Horse Cavalry--his eyes always flashed towards the North. +Poor Jack! my pet. [_Brushing her eyes_.] But this is no time for +tears. I must do the best I can with the gray horse. Captain Thornton +shall have the despatch. [_Reads from note_.] + +"I also enclose a letter for you. I found it in a United States +mail-bag which we captured from the enemy." + +Oh--that's the way Mrs. Haverill's letter came--ha--ha--ha--by way of +the Rebel Army! [_Opens it; reads._] + +"My Darling Gertrude: When Colonel Kerchival West was in Washington +last week, on his way from Chattanooga, to serve under Sheridan in the +Shenandoah Valley, he called upon me. It was the first time I had seen +him since the opening of the war. I am certain that he still loves +you, dear." [_She kisses the letter eagerly, then draws up._ + +It is quite immaterial to me whether Kerchival West still loves me or +not. [_Reads._ + +"I have kept your secret, my darling."--Ah! my secret!--"but I +was sorely tempted to betray the confidence you reposed in me at +Charleston. If Kerchival West had heard you say, as I did, when your +face was hidden in my bosom, that night, that you loved him with your +whole heart--"--Oh! I could bite my tongue out now for making that +confession--[_Looks down at letter with a smile._] "I am certain +that he still loves you." [_Trumpet Signal No. 41. Kisses the letter +repeatedly. Trumpet Signal No. 41, louder than at first. She starts, +listening._ + +JENNY BUCKTHORN _runs in on the veranda._ + +JENNY. Do you hear, Gertrude, they are going to pass this very house. +[_Military band. "John Brown" playing in the distance. Chorus of +Soldiers._] I've been watching them through my glass; it is Colonel +Kerchival West's regiment. + +GERTRUDE. [_Eagerly, then coldly._] Colonel West's! It is perfectly +indifferent to me whose regiment it is. + +JENNY. Oh! Of course. [_Coming down._] It is equally indifferent to +me; Captain Heartsease is in command of the first troop. [_Trumpet +Signal No. 52._] Column right! [_She runs up to road. Looks._] They +are coming up the hill. + +GERTRUDE. At my very door! And Kerchival West in command! I will not +stand here and see them pass. The despatch for Captain Thornton! I +will carry it to him as soon as they are gone. [_Exit up veranda, the +band and chorus increasing in volume._ + +JENNY. Cavalry! That's the branch of the service I was born in; I was +in a fort at the time--on the Plains. Sergeant Barket always said that +my first baby squall was a command to the garrison; if any officer +or soldier, from my father down, failed to obey my orders, I +court-martialed him on the spot. I'll make 'em pass in review. +[_Jumping up on the rustic seat._] Yes! [_Looking off._] There's +Captain Heartsease himself, at the head of the first troop. Draw +sabre! [_With parasol._] Present! [_Imitating the action. Music. The +band and chorus now full and loud; she swings parasol in time. Trumpet +Signal No. 40. Band and chorus suddenly cease._] Halt! Why, they are +stopping here. [_Trumpet Signal No. 38._] Dismount! I--I wonder if +they are going to--I do believe--[_Looking left eagerly. Trumpet +Signal No. 17._] Assembly of Guard Details! As sure as fate, they +are going into camp here. We girls will have a jolly time. [_Jumping +down._] Ha--ha--ha--ha! Let me see. How shall I receive Captain +Heartsease? He deserves a court-martial, for he stole my lace +handkerchief--at Mrs. Grayson's reception--in Washington. He was +called away by orders to the West that very night, and we haven't met +since. [_Sighs._] He's been in lots of battles since then; I suppose +he's forgotten all about the handkerchief. We girls, at home, don't +forget such things. We aren't in battles. All we do is to--to scrape +lint and flirt with other officers. + +_Enter_ CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE, _followed by_ COLONEL ROBERT ELLINGHAM; +_stops at gate._ + +HEARTSEASE. This way, Colonel Ellingham. [_They enter. As they come +down,_ HEARTSEASE _stops suddenly, looking at_ JENNY; _puts up his +glasses._] Miss Buckthorn! + +JENNY. Captain Heartsease! + +HEARTSEASE. [_Very quietly and with perfect composure._] I am +thunderstruck. The unexpected sight of you has thrown me into a fever +of excitement. + +JENNY. Has it? [_Aside._] If he gets so excited as that in battle, it +must be awful. [_Aloud._] Colonel Ellingham! [_Crossing to him._ + +ELLINGHAM. Miss Buckthorn! You are visiting my sister? I am what may +be called a visitor--by force--myself. + +JENNY. Oh! You're a prisoner! + +ELLINGHAM. I ventured too far within the Union lines to-night, and +they have picked me up. But Major Wilson has kindly accepted my +parole, and I shall make the best of it. + +JENNY. Is Major Wilson in command of the regiment? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes. Colonel West is to join us at this point, during the +evening. + +ELLINGHAM. I am very glad you are here, Miss Buckthorn, with Gertrude. + +JENNY. Somebody here will be delighted to see you, Colonel. + +ELLINGHAM. My sister can hardly be pleased to see me as a prisoner. + +JENNY. Not your sister. [_Passing him and crossing to veranda, turns +and beckons to him. She motions with her thumb over her shoulder. He +goes up the steps of the veranda and turns._ + +ELLINGHAM. What do you mean? + +JENNY. I mean this--[_Reaching up her face, he leans down, placing his +ear near her lips._]--somebody else's sister! When she first sees you, +be near enough to catch her. + +ELLINGHAM. I understand you! Madeline! [_Exit on veranda._ JENNY _runs +up steps after him, stops and looks back at_ HEARTSEASE _over the +railing._ HEARTSEASE _takes a lace handkerchief from his pocket._ + +JENNY. I do believe that's my handkerchief. [A GUARD OF SENTRIES +_marches in and across stage in road. The_ CORPORAL _in command orders +halt and a_ SENTRY _to post, then marches_ GUARD _out. The_ SENTRY +_stands with his back to audience, afterwards moving out, appearing +and disappearing during Act._ + +HEARTSEASE. Miss Buckthorn! I owe you an apology. After I left +your side, the last time we met, I found your handkerchief in my +possession. I assure you, it was an accident. + +JENNY. [_Aside, pouting._] I thought he _intended_ to steal it. +[_Aloud._] That was more than a year ago. [_Then brightly._] Do you +always carry it with you? + +HEARTSEASE. Always; there. [_Indicating his left breast pocket._ + +JENNY. Next to his heart! + +HEARTSEASE. Shall I return it to you? + +JENNY. Oh, if a lace handkerchief can be of any use to you, Captain, +during the hardships of a campaign--you--you may keep that one. You +soldiers have so few comforts--and it's real lace. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Returning handkerchief to his pocket._] Miss +Buckthorn, your papa is in command of the Nineteenth Army Corps. He +doesn't like me. + +JENNY. I know it. + +HEARTSEASE. But you are in command of him, + +JENNY. Yes; I always have been. + +HEARTSEASE. If ever you decide to assume command of any other man, +I--I trust you will give _me_ your orders. + +JENNY. [_Aside, starting back._] If that was intended for a proposal, +it's the queerest-shaped one I ever heard of. [_Aloud._] Do you mean, +Captain, that--that you--I must command myself now. [_Shouldering her +parasol._] 'Bout--face! March! [_Turning squarely around, marches up +and out on veranda._ + +HEARTSEASE. I have been placed on waiting orders. [_Stepping up and +looking after her; then very quietly and without emotion._] I am in an +agony of suspense. The sight of that girl always arouses the strongest +emotions of my nature. + +[_Enter_ COLONEL KERCHIVAL WEST, _looking at paper in his hand. The_ +SENTINEL, _in road, comes to a salute._] + +Colonel West! + +KERCHIVAL. Captain! + +HEARTSEASE. You have rejoined the regiment sooner than we expected. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Looking at paper._] Yes; General Haverill is to meet me +here at seven o'clock. Major Wilson tells me that some of your company +captured Colonel Robert Ellingham, of the Tenth Virginia. + +HEARTSEASE. He is here under parole. + +KERCHIVAL. And this is the old Ellingham homestead. [_Aside._] +Gertrude herself is here, I suppose; almost a prisoner to me, like +her brother; and my troops surround their home. She must, indeed, feel +that I am her enemy now. Ah, well, war is war. [_Aloud._] By the bye, +Heartsease, a young Lieutenant, Frank Bedloe, has joined our troop? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes; an excellent young officer. + +KERCHIVAL. I sent for him as I came through the camp. Lieutenant Frank +"Bedloe" is the son of General Haverill. + +HEARTSEASE. Indeed! Under an assumed name! + +KERCHIVAL. He was supposed to have been killed in New Orleans more +than a year ago; but he was taken prisoner instead. [_Looking left._ + +HEARTSEASE. He is here. + +KERCHIVAL. I should never have known him--with his full beard and +bronzed face. His face was as smooth as a boy's when I last met him in +Charleston. + +_Enter_ LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE; _he stops, saluting._ + +FRANK. You wished me to report to you, Colonel? + +KERCHIVAL. You have been assigned to the regiment during my absence. + +FRANK. Yes, sir. [KERCHIVAL _moves to him and grasps his hand; looks +into his eyes a moment before speaking._ + +KERCHIVAL. Frank Haverill. + +FRANK. You--you know me, sir? + +KERCHIVAL. I saw Mrs. Haverill while I was passing through Washington +on Saturday. She told me that you had escaped from prison in Richmond, +and had re-entered the service. She did not know then that you +had been assigned to my regiment. I received a letter from her, in +Winchester, this morning, informing me of the fact, and asking for my +good offices in your behalf. But here is the letter. [_Taking letter +from wallet and giving it to him._] It is for you rather than for me. +I shall do everything I can for you, my dear fellow. + +FRANK. Thank you, sir. [_Opens letter, dropping the envelope upon the +table._] Kind, thoughtful and gentle to my faults, as ever--[_Looking +at the letter._]--and always thinking of my welfare. My poor little +wife, too, is under her protection. Gentlemen, I beg of you not to +reveal my secret to my father. + +KERCHIVAL. General Haverill shall know nothing from us, my boy; you +have my word for that. + +HEARTSEASE. Nothing. + +KERCHIVAL. And he cannot possibly recognize you. What with your full +beard, and thinking as he does, that you are-- + +FRANK. That I am dead. I am dead to him. It would have been better +if I had died. Nothing but my death--not even that--can wipe out the +disgrace which I brought upon his name. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Looking right._] General Haverill has arrived. + +_Enter_ GENERAL HAVERILL _with a_ STAFF OFFICER. + +FRANK. My father! + +HAVERILL. [_Exchanging salutes with the three officers. He turns to +the_ STAFF OFFICER, _giving him a paper and brief instructions in dumb +show. The_ OFFICER _goes out over the incline. Another_ STAFF OFFICER +_enters, salutes and hands him a paper, then stands up stage._] +Ah! The men are ready. [_Looking at the paper. Then to_ KERCHIVAL.] +Colonel! I have a very important matter to arrange with you; there +is not a moment to be lost. I will ask Captain Heartsease to remain. +[FRANK _salutes and starts up stage;_ HAVERILL _looks at him, starting +slightly; raises his hand to detain him._] One moment; your name! + +HEARTSEASE. Lieutenant Bedloe, General, of my own troop, and one of +our best officers. [HAVERILL _steps to_ FRANK, _looking into his face +a moment._ + +HAVERILL. Pardon me! [_Stepping down stage._ FRANK _moves up, stops +and looks back at him._ HAVERILL _stands a moment in thought, covers +his face with one hand, then draws up._] Colonel West! We have a +most dangerous piece of work for a young officer--[FRANK _starts +joyfully._]--to lead a party of men, whom I have already selected. I +cannot order an officer to undertake anything so nearly hopeless; he +must be a volunteer. + +FRANK. Oh, sir, General! Let me be their leader. + +HAVERILL. I thought you had passed on. + +FRANK. Do not refuse me, sir. [HAVERILL _looks at him a moment._ +HEARTSEASE _and_ KERCHIVAL _exchange glances._ + +HAVERILL. You are the man we need, my young friend. You shall go. +Listen! We wish to secure a key to the cipher despatches, which the +enemy are now sending from their signal station on Three Top Mountain. +There is another Confederate Signal Station in the Valley, just beyond +Buckton's Ford. [_Pointing._] Your duty will be this: First, to get +inside the enemy's line; then to follow a path through the woods, +with one of our scouts as your guide; attack the Station suddenly, and +secure their code, if possible. I have this moment received word that +the scout and the men are at the fort, now, awaiting their +leader. Major McCandless, of my staff, will take you to the place. +[_Indicating the_ STAFF OFFICER. FRANK _exchanges salutes with him._] +My young friend! I do not conceal from you the dangerous nature of the +work on which I am sending you. If--if you do not return, I--I will +write, myself, to your friends. [_Taking out note-book._] Have you a +father living? + +FRANK. My--father--is--is--he is-- + +HAVERILL. I understand you. A mother? Or-- + +KERCHIVAL. I have the address of Lieutenant Bedloe's friends, General. + +HAVERILL. I will ask you to give it to me, if necessary. [_Extends his +hand._] Good-bye, my lad. [FRANK _moves to him._ HAVERILL _grasps his +hand, warmly._] Keep a brave heart and come back to us. [FRANK _moves +up stage. Exit_ STAFF OFFICER. + +FRANK. He is my father still. [_Exit._ + +HAVERILL. My dead boy's face! [_Dropping his face into both hands._ + +HEARTSEASE. [_Apart to_ KERCHIVAL.] He shall not go alone. [_Aloud._] +General! Will you kindly give me leave of absence from the command? + +HAVERILL. Leave of absence! To an officer in active service--and in +the presence of the enemy? + +KERCHIVAL. [_Taking hand of_ HEARTSEASE. _Apart._] God bless you, old +fellow! Look after the boy. + +HAVERILL. A--h--[_With a sudden thought, turns._] I think I understand +you, Captain Heartsease. Yes; you may have leave of absence. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Salutes._ HAVERILL _and_ KERCHIVAL _salute. +Exit_ HEARTSEASE. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you any further orders for me, General? + +HAVERILL. I wish you to understand the great importance of the duty +to which I have just assigned this young officer. General Sheridan +started for Washington this noon, by way of Front Royal. Since his +departure, we have had reason to believe that the enemy are about +to move, and we must be able to read their signal despatches, if +possible. [_Sitting._] I have ordered Captain Lockwood, of our own +Signal Corps, to report to you here, with officers and men. [_Takes up +the empty envelope on table, unconsciously, as he speaks, tapping it +on the table._] If Lieutenant Bedloe succeeds in getting the key +to the enemy's cipher, we can signal from this point--[_Pointing +to elevation._]--to our station at Front Royal. Men and horses are +waiting there now, to carry forward a message, if necessary, to +General Sheridan himself. [_He starts suddenly, looking at the +envelope in his hand; reads address. Aside._] "Colonel Kerchival +West"--in my wife's handwriting. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll attend to your orders. + +HAVERILL. Postmarked at Washington, yesterday. [_Reads._] "Private and +confidential." [_Aloud._] Colonel West! I found a paragraph, to-day, +in a paper published in Richmond, taken from a prisoner. I will read +it to you. [_Takes newspaper slip from his wallet and reads._] + +"From the Charleston Mercury. Captain Edward Thornton, of the +Confederate Secret Service, has been assigned to duty in the +Shenandoah Valley. Our gallant Captain still bears upon his face the +mark of his meeting, in 1861, with Lieutenant, now Colonel Kerchival +West, who is also to serve in the Valley, with Sheridan's Army. +Another meeting between these two men would be one of the strange +coincidences of the war, as they were at one time, if not indeed at +present, interested in the same beautiful woman." [_Rises._] + +I will ask you to read the last few lines, yourself. [_Hands KERCHIVAL +the slip._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Reading._] "The scandal connected with the lovely wife +of a Northern officer, at the opening of the war, was overshadowed, +of course, by the attack on Fort Sumter; but many Charlestonians will +remember it. The lady in defense of whose good name Captain Thornton +fought the duel"--he defending her good name!--"is the wife of General +Haverill, who will be Colonel West's immediate commander." [_He pauses +a moment, then hands back the slip._] General! I struck Mr. Thornton, +after a personal quarrel. + +HAVERILL. And the cause of the blow? There is much more in this than +I have ever known of. I need hardly say that I do not accept the +statement of this scandalous paragraph as correct. I will ask you to +tell me the whole story, frankly, as man to man. + +KERCHIVAL. [_After a moment's thought._] I will tell +you--all--frankly, General. + +_Enter_ SERGEANT BARKET. + +BARKET. Colonel West? Adjutant Rollins wishes to report--a +prisoner--just captured. + +HAVERILL. We will meet again later, to-night, when the camp is at +rest. We are both soldiers, and have duties before us, at once. For +the present, Colonel, be on the alert; we must watch the enemy. +[_He moves up stage._ BARKET _salutes._ HAVERILL _stops and looks at +envelope in his hands, reading._] "Private and confidential." [_Exit._ + +KERCHIVAL. Sergeant Barket! Lieutenant Bedloe has crossed the enemy's +line, at Buckton's Ford, with a party of men. I wish you to ride to +the Ford yourself, and remain there, with your horse in readiness and +fresh. As soon as any survivor of the party returns, ride back with +the first news at full speed. + +BARKET. Yes, sir. [_Starting._ + +KERCHIVAL. You say a prisoner has been captured? Is it a spy? + +BARKET. Worse--a petticoat. + +KERCHIVAL. A female prisoner! [_Dropping into seat._ + +BARKET. I towld the byes your honour wouldn't thank us fer the +catchin' of her. The worst of it is she's a lady; and what's worse +still, it's a purty one. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell Major Wilson, for me, to let her take the oath, and +everything else she wants. The Government of the United States will +send her an apology and a new bonnet. + +BARKET. The young lady is to take the oath, is it? She says she'll see +us damned first. + +KERCHIVAL. A lady, Barket? + +BARKET. Well! she didn't use thim exact words. That's the way I +understand her emphasis. Ivery time she looks at me, I feel like +getting under a boom-proof. She was dashing through the woods on a +gray horse, sur; and we had the divil's own chase. But we came up wid +her, at last, down by the bend in Oak Run. Just at that moment we saw +the figure of a Confederate officer, disappearing among the trays on +the ither side. + +KERCHIVAL. A--h! + +BARKET. Two of us rayturned wid the girl; and the rist wint after the +officer. Nothing has been heard of thim yet. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you found any despatches on the prisoner? + +BARKET. Well!--yer honour, I'm a bachelor, meself; and I'm not familar +with the jayography of the sex. We byes are in mortal terror for fear +somebody might order us to go on an exploring expedition. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell them to send the prisoner here, Barket, and hurry to +Buckton's Ford yourself, at once. + +BARKET. As fast as me horse can carry me, sir, and it's a good one. +[_Exit._ + +KERCHIVAL. I'd rather deal with half the Confederate Army than with +one woman, but I must question her. They captured her down by the Bend +in Oak Run. [_Taking out map; looks at it._] I see. She had just +met, or was about to meet, a Confederate officer at that point. It +is evident that she was either taking him a despatch or was there to +receive one. Oak Run. [CORPORAL DUNN _and Two_ SOLDIERS _enter, with_ +GERTRUDE _as a prisoner. They stop;_ KERCHIVAL _sits studying map._ +GERTRUDE _glances at him and marches down with head erect; stops, with +her back to him._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. The prisoner, Colonel West! + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! Very well, Corporal; you can go. [_Rising; he motions +the_ GUARD _to retire._ CORPORAL DUNN _gives the necessary orders and +exit with_ GUARD.] Be seated, madam. [GERTRUDE _draws up, folding +her arms and planting her foot, spitefully._ KERCHIVAL _shrugs his +shoulder. Aside._] I wish they'd capture a tigress for me, or some +other female animal that I know how to manage better than I do a +woman. [_Aloud._] I am very sorry, madam, but, of course, my duty as +a military officer is paramount to all other considerations. You have +been captured within the lines of this army, and under circumstances +which lead me to think that you have important despatches upon your +person. I trust that you will give me whatever you have at once. I +shall be exceedingly sorry if you compel me to adopt the extreme--and +the very disagreeable course--for both of us--of having--you--I--I +hesitate even to use the word, madam--but military law is +absolute--having you-- + +GERTRUDE. Searched! If you dare, Colonel West! [_Turning to him +suddenly and drawing up to her full height._ + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude Ellingham! [_Springs across to her, with his arms +extended._] My dear Gertrude! + +GERTRUDE. [_Turning her back upon him._] Not "dear Gertrude" to you, +sir! + +KERCHIVAL. Not?--Oh! I forgot. + +GERTRUDE. [_Coldly._] I am your prisoner. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes. [_Drawing up firmly, with a change of manner._] We +will return to the painful realities of war. I am very sorry that +you have placed yourself in a position like this, and, believe me, +Gertrude--[_With growing tenderness._]--I am still more sorry to be in +such a position myself. [_Resting one hand on her arm, and his other +arm about her waist._ + +GERTRUDE. [_After looking down at his hands._] You don't like the +position? [_He starts back, drawing up with dignity._] Is that the +paramount duty of a military officer? + +KERCHIVAL. You will please hand me whatever despatches or other papers +may be in your possession. + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking away._] You will _force_ me, I suppose. I am a +woman; you have the power. Order in the guard! A corporal and two +men--you'd better make it a dozen--I am dangerous! Call the whole +regiment to arms! Beat the long roll! I won't give up, if all the +armies of the United States surround me. + +_Enter_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn! [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Colonel West. + +GERTRUDE. [_Aside._] Jenny's father! [BUCKTHORN _glances at_ GERTRUDE, +_who still stands looking away. He moves down to_ KERCHIVAL. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart, gruffly._] I was passing with my staff, and I +was informed that you had captured a woman bearing despatches to the +enemy. Is this the one? + +KERCHIVAL. Yes, General. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! [_Turning, looks at her._ + +GERTRUDE. I wonder if he will recognize me. He hasn't seen me since I +was a little girl. [_Turns toward, him._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Turning to_ KERCHIVAL; _punches him in the ribs._] Fine +young woman!--[_Turns and bows to her very gallantly, removing his +hat. She bows deeply in return._] A-h-e-m! [_Suddenly pulling himself +up to a stern, military air; then gruffly to_ KERCHIVAL, _extending +his hand._] Let me see the despatches. + +KERCHIVAL. She declines positively to give them up. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! Does she? [_Walks thoughtfully; turns._] My dear young +lady! I trust you will give us no further trouble. Kindly let us have +those despatches. + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking away._] I have no despatches, and I would not give +them to you if I had. + +BUCKTHORN. What! You defy my authority? Colonel West, I command you! +Search the prisoner! [GERTRUDE _turns suddenly towards_ KERCHIVAL, +_facing him defiantly. He looks across at her aghast. A moment's +pause._ + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn--I decline to obey that order. + +BUCKTHORN. You--you decline to obey my order! [_Moves down to him +fiercely._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Apart._] General! It is the woman I love. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart._] Is it? Damn you, sir! I wouldn't have an officer +in my army corps who would obey me, under such circumstances. I'll +have to look for those despatches myself. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Facing him, angrily._] If you dare, General Buckthorn! + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart._] Blast your eyes! I'd kick you out of the army if +you'd _let_ me search her; but it's my military duty to swear at you. +[_To_ GERTRUDE.] Colonel West has sacrificed his life to protect you. + +GERTRUDE. His life! + +BUCKTHORN. I shall have him shot for insubordination to his commander, +immediately. [_Gives_ KERCHIVAL _a huge wink, and turns._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh, sir! General! I have told you the truth. I have no +despatches. Believe me, sir, I haven't so much as a piece of paper +about me, except-- + +BUCKTHORN. Except? [_Turning sharply._ + +GERTRUDE. Only a letter. Here it is. [_Taking letter from the bosom of +her dress._] Upon my soul, it is all I have. Truly it is. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Taking letter._] Colonel West, you're reprieved. [_Winks +at_ KERCHIVAL, _who turns away, laughing._ BUCKTHORN _reads letter._] +"Washington"--Ho!--ho! From within our own lines!--"Colonel Kerchival +West--" + +KERCHIVAL. Eh? + +GERTRUDE. Please, General!--Don't read it aloud. + +BUCKTHORN. Very well! I won't. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I wonder what it has to do with me? + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading. Aside._] "If Kerchival West had heard you say, +as I did--m--m----that you loved him with your whole heart--" [_He +glances up at_ GERTRUDE, _who drops her head coyly._] This is a +very important military document. [_Turns to last page._] "Signed, +Constance Haverill." [_Turns to front page._] "My dear Gertrude!" Is +this Miss Gertrude Ellingham? + +GERTRUDE. Yes, General. + +BUCKTHORN. I sent my daughter, Jenny, to your house, with an escort, +this morning. + +GERTRUDE. She is here. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Tapping her under the chin._] You're an arrant little +Rebel, my dear; but I like you immensely. [_Draws up suddenly, +with an_ "Ahem!" _Turns to_ KERCHIVAL.] Colonel West, I leave this +dangerous young woman in your charge. [KERCHIVAL _approaches._] If +she disobeys you in any way, or attempts to escape--read that letter! +[_Giving him the letter._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh! General! + +BUCKTHORN. But not till then. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Tenderly, taking her hand_.] My--prisoner! + +GERTRUDE. [_Aside_.] I could scratch my own eyes out--or his, +either--rather than have him read that letter. + +_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN, _with_ GUARD _of four soldiers and_ CAPTAIN +EDWARD THORNTON _as a prisoner_. + +KERCHIVAL. Edward Thornton! + +GERTRUDE. They have taken him also! He has the despatch! + +CORPORAL DUNN. The Confederate Officer, Colonel, who was pursued by +our troops at Oak Run, after they captured the young lady. + +BUCKTHORN. The little witch has been communicating with the enemy! + +KERCHIVAL. [_To_ GERTRUDE.] You will give me your parole of honour +until we next meet? + +GERTRUDE. Yes. [_Aside_.] That letter! I _am_ his prisoner. [_She +walks up the steps and looks back at_ THORNTON. _Exit_. + +KERCHIVAL. [_To_ BUCKTHORN.] We will probably find the despatches we +have been looking for now, General. + +BUCKTHORN. Prisoner! You will hand us what papers you may have. + +THORNTON. I will hand you nothing. + +BUCKTHORN. Colonel! [KERCHIVAL _motions to_ THORNTON, _who looks at +him sullenly_. + +KERCHIVAL. Corporal Dunn!--search the prisoner. [DUNN _steps to_ +THORNTON, _taking him by the shoulder and turning him rather roughly_. +THORNTON'S _back to the audience._ DUNN _throws open his coat, takes +paper from his breast, hands it to_ KERCHIVAL, _who gives it to_ +BUCKTHORN.] Proceed with the search. [DUNN _continues the search_. +BUCKTHORN _drops upon seat, lights a match, looks at the paper._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading_.] "General Rosser will rejoin General Early with +all the cavalry in his command, at----" This is important. [_Continues +to read with matches. The_ CORPORAL _hands a packet to_ KERCHIVAL. _He +removes the covering_. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Starting_.] A portrait of Mrs. Haverill! [_He touches_ +CORPORAL DUNN _on the shoulder quickly and motions him to retire._ +DUNN _falls back to the_ GUARD. KERCHIVAL _speaks apart to_ THORNTON, +_who has turned front_.] How did this portrait come into your +possession? + +THORNTON. That is my affair, not yours! + +BUCKTHORN. Anything else, Colonel? + +KERCHIVAL. [_Placing the miniature in his pocket._] Nothing! + +THORNTON. [_Apart, over_ KERCHIVAL'S _shoulder._] A time will come, +perhaps, when I can avenge the insult of this search, and also this +scar. [_Pointing to a scar on his face._] Your aim was better than +mine in Charleston, but we shall meet again; give me back that +picture. + +KERCHIVAL. Corporal! Take your prisoner! + +THORNTON. Ah! [_Viciously springing at_ KERCHIVAL; CORPORAL DUNN +_springs forward, seizes_ THORNTON, _throws him back to the_ GUARD +_and stands with his carbine levelled at_ THORNTON; _looks at_ +KERCHIVAL, _who quietly motions him out._ CORPORAL DUNN _gives the +orders to the men and marches out with_ THORNTON. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! [_Still reading with matches._] Colonel! [_Rising._] +The enemy has a new movement on foot, and General Sheridan has left +the army! Listen! [_Reads from despatches with matches._] "Watch for a +signal from Three Top Mountain to-night." + +KERCHIVAL. We hope to be able to read that signal ourselves. + +BUCKTHORN. Yes, I know. Be on your guard. I will speak with General +Haverill, and then ride over to General Wright's headquarters. Keep us +informed. + +KERCHIVAL. I will, General. [_Saluting._ BUCKTHORN _salutes and +exit._] "Watch for a signal from Three Top Mountain to-night." +[_Looking up at mountain._] We shall be helpless to read it unless +Lieutenant Bedloe is successful. I only hope the poor boy is not lying +dead, already, in those dark woods beyond the Ford. [_Looking off; +turns down stage, taking the miniature from his pocket._] How +came Edward Thornton to have this portrait of Mrs. Haverill in his +possession? [GERTRUDE _runs in on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Colonel West! He's here! [_Looks back._] They are coming +this way with him. + +KERCHIVAL. Him! Who? + +GERTRUDE. Jack. + +KERCHIVAL. Jack! + +GERTRUDE. My own horse! + +KERCHIVAL. Ah, I remember! He and I were acquainted in Charleston. + +GERTRUDE. Two troopers are passing through the camp with him. + +KERCHIVAL. He is not in your possession? + +GERTRUDE. He was captured at the battle of Fair Oaks, but I recognized +him the moment I saw him; and I am sure he knew me, too, when I +went up to him. He whinnied and looked so happy. You are in command +here--[_Running down._]--you will compel them to give him up to me? + +KERCHIVAL. If he is in my command, your pet shall be returned to you. +I'll give one of my own horses to the Government as a substitute, if +necessary. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, thank you, my dear Kerchival! [_Going to him; he takes +her hand, looking into her eyes._] I--I could almost-- + +KERCHIVAL. Can you almost confess, at last, Gertrude, that you--love +me? [_Tenderly; she draws back, hanging her head, but leaving her hand +in his._] Have I been wrong? I felt that that confession was hovering +on your tongue when we were separated in Charleston. Have I seen that +confession in your eyes since we met again to-day--even among the +angry flashes which they have shot out at me? During all this terrible +war--in the camp and the trench--in the battle--I have dreamed of a +meeting like this. You are still silent? [_Her hand is still in his. +She is looking down. A smile steals over her face, and she raises her +eyes to his, taking his hand in both her own._ + +GERTRUDE. Kerchival! I--[_Enter_ BENSON. _She looks around over her +shoulder._ KERCHIVAL _looks up stage. A_ TROOPER, _leading the large +black horse of Act I, now caparisoned in military saddle, bridle, &c., +follows_ BENSON _across; another_ TROOPER _follows._] Jack! [_She runs +up stage, meeting horse._ KERCHIVAL _turns._ + +KERCHIVAL. Confound Jack! That infernal horse was always in my way! + +GERTRUDE. [_With her arm about her horse's neck._] My darling old +fellow! Is he not beautiful, Kerchival? They have taken good care of +him. How soft his coat is! + +KERCHIVAL. Benson, explain this! + +BENSON. I was instructed to show this horse and his leader through the +lines, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. What are your orders, my man? [_Moving up, the_ TROOPER +_hands him a paper. He moves a few steps down, reading it._ + +GERTRUDE. You are to be mine again, Jack, mine! [_Resting her cheek +against the horse's head and patting it._] The Colonel has promised it +to me. + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! [_With a start, as he reads the paper._ GERTRUDE +_raises her head and looks at him._] This is General Sheridan's horse, +on his way to Winchester, for the use of the General when he returns +from Washington. + +GERTRUDE. General Sheridan's horse? He is mine! + +KERCHIVAL. I have no authority to detain him. He must go on. + +GERTRUDE. I have hold of Jack's bridle, and you may order your men to +take out their sabres and cut my hand off. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Approaches her and gently takes her hand as it holds +the bridle._] I would rather have my own hand cut off, Gertrude, +than bring tears to your eyes, but there is no alternative! [GERTRUDE +_releases the bridle and turns front, brushing her eyes, her hand +still held in his, his back to the audience. He returns order, and +motions_ TROOPERS _out; they move out with horse._ GERTRUDE _starts +after the horse;_ KERCHIVAL _turns quickly to check her._] You +forget--that--you are my prisoner. + +GERTRUDE. I _will_ go! + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn left me special instructions--[_Taking +out wallet and letter._]--in case you declined to obey my orders-- + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Colonel! Please don't read that letter. [_She stands +near him, dropping her head. He glances up at her from the letter. She +glances up at him and drops her eyes again._] I will obey you. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] What the deuce can there be in that letter? + +GERTRUDE. Colonel West! Your men made me a prisoner this afternoon; +to-night you have robbed me, by your own orders, of--of--Jack is only +a pet, but I love him; and my brother is also a captive in your hands. +When we separated in Charleston you said that we were enemies. What is +there lacking to make those words true to-day? You _are_ my enemy! +A few moments ago you asked me to make a confession to you. You +can judge for yourself whether it is likely to be a confession +of--love--or of hatred! + +KERCHIVAL. Hatred! + +GERTRUDE. [_Facing him._] Listen to my confession, sir! From the +bottom of my heart-- + +KERCHIVAL. Stop! + +GERTRUDE. I will not stop! + +KERCHIVAL. I command you. + +GERTRUDE. Indeed! [_He throws open the wallet in his hand and raises +the letter._] Ah! [_She turns away; turns again, as if to speak. He +half opens the letter. She stamps her foot and walks up steps of the +veranda. Here she turns again._] I tell you, I--[_He opens the letter. +She turns, and exits with spiteful step._ + +KERCHIVAL. I wonder if that document orders me to cut her head off! +[_Returning it to wallet and pocket._] Was ever lover in such a +position? I am obliged to cross the woman I love at every step. + +_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN, _very hurriedly._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. A message from Adjutant Rollins, sir! The prisoner, +Captain Thornton, dashed away from the special guard which was placed +over him, and he has escaped. He had a knife concealed, and two of the +guard are badly wounded. Adjutant Rollins thinks the prisoner is still +within the lines of the camp--in one of the houses or the stables. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell Major Wilson to place the remainder of the guard under +arrest, and to take every possible means to recapture the prisoner. +[CORPORAL DUNN _salutes, and exits._] So! Thornton has jumped his +guard, and he is armed. I wonder if he is trying to get away, or to +find me. From what I know of the man, he doesn't much care which he +succeeds in doing. That scar which I gave him in Charleston is deeper +in his heart than it is in his face. [_A signal light suddenly appears +on Three Top Mountain. The "Call."_] Ah!--the enemy's signal! [_Enter_ +CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD, _followed by_ LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS.] Captain +Lockwood! You are here! Are your Signalmen with you? + +LOCKWOOD. Yes, Colonel; and one of my Lieutenants. + +[_The_ LIEUTENANT _is looking up at signal with glass._ CAPTAIN +LOCKWOOD _does the same._ HAVERILL _enters, followed by two_ STAFF +OFFICERS. + +HAVERILL. [_As he enters._] Can you make anything of it, Captain? + +LOCKWOOD. Nothing, General! Our services are quite useless unless +Lieutenant Bedloe returns with the key to their signals. + +HAVERILL. A--h! [_Coming down stage._] We shall fail. It is time he +had returned, if successful. + +SENTINEL. [_Without._] Halt! Who goes there? [KERCHIVAL _runs +up stage, and half way up incline, looking off._] Halt! [_A shot +without._ + +BARKET. [_Without._] Och!--Ye murtherin spalpeen! + +KERCHIVAL. Sentinel! Let him pass; it is Sergeant Barket. + +SENTINEL. [_Without._] Pass on. + +KERCHIVAL. He didn't give the countersign. News from Lieutenant +Bedloe, General! + +BARKET. [_Hurrying in, up slope._] Colonel Wist, our brave byes wiped +out the enemy, and here's the papers. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Taking papers.--Then to_ LOCKWOOD.] Is that the key? + +LOCKWOOD. Yes. Lieutenant! [LIEUTENANT _hurries up to elevation, +looking through his glass._ LOCKWOOD _opens book._ + +HAVERILL. What of Lieutenant Bedloe, Sergeant? + +BARKET. Sayreously wounded, and in the hands of the inimy! + +HAVERILL. [_Sighing._] A--h. + +BARKET. [_Coming down stone steps._] It is reported that Captain +Heartsease was shot dead at his side. + +KERCHIVAL. Heartsease dead! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. [_Reading signals._] +Twelve--Twenty-two--Eleven. + +BARKET. Begorra! I forgot the Sintinil entirely, but he didn't forget +me. [_Holding his left arm._ + +HAVERILL. Colonel West! We must make every possible sacrifice for the +immediate exchange of Lieutenant Bedloe, if he is still living. It is +due to him. Colonel Robert Ellingham is a prisoner in this camp; offer +him his own exchange for young Bedloe. + +KERCHIVAL. He will accept, of course. I will ride to the front with +him myself, General, and show him through the lines. + +HAVERILL. At once! [KERCHIVAL _crosses front and exit on veranda._ +HAVERILL _crosses._] Can you follow the despatch, Captain? + +LOCKWOOD. Perfectly; everything is here + +HAVERILL. Well! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Eleven--Twenty-two--One--Twelve. + +LOCKWOOD. [_From book._] "General Longstreet is coming with--" + +HAVERILL. Longstreet! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. One--Twenty-one. + +LOCKWOOD. "With eighteen thousand men." + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Two--Eleven--Twenty-two. + +LOCKWOOD. "Sheridan is away!" + +HAVERILL. They have discovered his absence! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Two--Twenty-two--Eleven--One--Twelve--One. + +LOCKWOOD. "We will crush the Union Army before he can return." + +HAVERILL. Signal that despatch from here to our Station at Front +Royal. [_Pointing._] Tell them to send it after General Sheridan--and +ride for their lives. [LOCKWOOD _hurries out._] Major Burton! We will +ride to General Wright's headquarters at once--our horses! [_Noise of +a struggle without._ + +BARKET. [_Looking._] What the devil is the row out there? [_Exit. Also +one of the_ STAFF OFFICERS. + +HAVERILL. [_Looking off._] What is this? Colonel West wounded! + +_Enter_ KERCHIVAL WEST, _his coat thrown open, with_ ELLINGHAM, BARKET +_assisting._ + +ELLINGHAM. Steady, Kerchival, old boy! You should have let us carry +you. + +KERCHIVAL. Nonsense, old fellow! It's a mere touch with the point of +the knife. I--I'm faint--with the loss of a little blood--that's all. +Bob!--I--[_Reels suddenly and is caught by_ ELLINGHAM _as he sinks to +the ground, insensible._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! [_Kneeling at his side._ + +HAVERILL. Go for the surgeon! [_To_ STAFF OFFICER, _who goes out +quickly on veranda._] How did this happen? [_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN +_and_ GUARD, _with_ THORNTON. _He is in his shirt sleeves and +disheveled, his arms folded. They march down._] Captain Thornton! + +ELLINGHAM. We were leaving the house together; a hunted animal +sprang suddenly across our path, like a panther. [_Looking over his +shoulder._] There it stands. Kerchival!--my brother! + +CORPORAL DUNN. We had just brought this prisoner to bay, but I'm +afraid we were too late. + +HAVERILL. This is assassination, sir, not war. If you have killed +him-- + +THORNTON. Do what you like with me; we need waste no words. I had an +old account to settle, and I have paid my debt. + +ELLINGHAM. General Haverill! I took these from his breast when he +first fell. [_Handing up wallet and miniature to_ HAVERILL. HAVERILL +_starts as he looks at the miniature._ THORNTON _watches him._ + +HAVERILL. [_Aside._] My wife's portrait! + +THORNTON. If I have killed him--your honour will be buried in the same +grave. + +HAVERILL. Her picture on his breast! She gave it to him--not to +my son! [_Dropping into seat._ CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD _enters with a_ +SIGNALMAN, _who has a burning torch on a long pole; he hurries up +the elevation._ CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD _stands below, facing him. Almost +simultaneously with the entrance of the_ SIGNALMAN, GERTRUDE _runs in +on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. They are calling for a surgeon! Who is it? Brother!--you are +safe,--ah! [_Uttering a scream, as she sees_ KERCHIVAL, _and falling +on her knees at his side._] Kerchival! Forget those last bitter words +I said to you. Can't you hear my confession? I do love you. Can't you +hear me? I love you! [_The_ SIGNALMAN _is swinging the torch as the +curtain descends,_ LOCKWOOD _looking right._ + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE. _Same. It is now bright daylight, with sunshine flecking the +foreground and bathing the distant valley and mountains._ + +DISCOVERED. JENNY, _on low stone post, looking left. As the curtain +rises, she imitates Trumpet Signal No._ 19 _on her closed fists._ + +JENNY. What a magnificent line! [_Looking._] Guides-posts! Every man +and every horse is eager for the next command. There comes the flag! +[_Trumpet Signal without, No._ 30.] To the standard! [_As the signal +begins._] The regiment is going to the front. Oh! I do wish I could +go with it. I always do, the moment I hear the trumpets. Boots and +saddles! [_Imitates No._ 16.] Mount! [_Imitates No._ 37.] I wish I was +in command of the regiment. It was born in me. [_Trumpet Signal No._ +48, _without._] Fours right! There they go! Look at those horses' +ears! [_Trumpet Signal No._ 39, _without._] Forward. [_Military band +heard without--"The Battle Cry of Freedom"_ JENNY _takes attitude of +holding bridle and trotting._] Rappity--plap--plap--plap, etc. [_She +imitates the motions of a soldier on horseback, stepping down to rock +at side of post; thence to ground and about stage, with the various +curvettings of a spirited horse. Chorus of soldiers without, with the +band. The music becomes more and more distant._ JENNY _gradually stops +as the music is dying away, and stands, listening. As it dies entirely +away, she suddenly starts to an enthusiastic attitude._] Ah! If I were +only a man! The enemy! On Third Battalion, left, front, into line, +march! Draw sabres! Charge! [_Imitates Trumpet Signal No._ 44. _As +she finishes, she rises to her full height, with both arms raised, +and trembling with enthusiasm._] Ah! [_She suddenly drops her arms and +changes to an attitude and expression of disappointment--pouting._] +And the first time Old Margery took me to papa, in her arms, she had +to tell him I was a girl. Papa was as much disgusted as I was. But +he'd never admit it; he says I'm as good a soldier as any of 'em--just +as I am. + +_Enter_ BARKET _on veranda, his arm in a sling._ + +BARKET. [_On veranda_] Miss Jenny! + +JENNY. Barket! The regiment has marched away to the front, and we +girls are left here, with just you and a corporal's guard to look +after us. + +BARKET. I've been watching the byes mesilf. [_Coming down._] If a +little milithary sugar-plum like you, Miss Jenny, objects to not goin' +wid' 'em, what do you think of an ould piece of hard tack like me? I +can't join the regiment till I've taken you and Miss Madeline back to +Winchester, by your father's orders. But it isn't the first time I've +escorted you, Miss Jenny. Many a time, when you was a baby, on the +Plains, I commanded a special guard to accompany ye's from one fort to +anither, and we gave the command in a whisper, so as not to wake ye's +up. + +JENNY. I told you to tell papa that I'd let him know when Madeline and +I were ready to go. + +BARKET. I tould him that I'd as soon move a train of army mules. + +JENNY. I suppose we must start for home again to-day? + +BARKET. Yes, Miss Jenny, in charge of an ould Sargeant wid his arm in +a sling and a couple of convalescent throopers. This department of the +United States Army will move to the rear in half an hour. + +JENNY. Madeline and I only came yesterday morning. + +BARKET. Whin your father got ye's a pass to the front, we all thought +the fightin' in the Shenandoey Valley was over. It looks now as if +it was just beginning. This is no place for women, now. Miss Gertrude +Ellingham ought to go wid us, but she won't. + +JENNY. Barket! Captain Heartsease left the regiment yesterday, and +he hasn't rejoined it; he isn't with them, now, at the head of his +company. Where is he? + +BARKET. I can't say where he is, Miss Jenny. [_Aside._] Lyin' unburied +in the woods, where he was shot, I'm afraid. + +JENNY. When Captain Heartsease does rejoin the regiment, Barket, +please say to him for me, that--that I--I may have some orders for +him, when we next meet. [_Exit on veranda._ + +BARKET. Whin they nixt mate. They tell us there is no such thing as +marriage in Hiven. If Miss Jenny and Captain Heartsease mate there, +they'll invint somethin' that's mighty like it. While I was lyin' +wounded in General Buckthorn's house at Washington, last summer, and +ould Margery was taking care of me, Margery tould me, confidentially, +that they was in love wid aitch ither; and I think she was about +right. I've often seen Captain Heartsease take a sly look at a little +lace handkerchief, just before we wint into battle. [_Looks off._] +Here's General Buckthorn himself. He and I must make it as aisy as we +can for Miss Jenny's poor heart. + +_Enter_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +BUCKTHORN. Sergeant Barket! You haven't started with those girls yet? + +BARKET. They're to go in half an hour, sir. + +BUCKTHORN. Be sure they do go. Is General Haverill here? + +BARKET. Yes, sir; in the house with some of his staff, and the +Surgeon. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! The Surgeon. How is Colonel West, this morning, after +the wound he received last night? + +BARKET. He says, himself, that he's as well as iver he was; but the +Colonel and Surgeon don't agray on that subject. The dochter says he +mustn't lave his room for a month. The knife wint dape; and there's +somethin' wrong inside of him. But the Colonel, bein' on the outside +himsilf, can't see it. He's as cross as a bear, baycause they wouldn't +let him go to the front this morning, at the head of his regiment. I +happened to raymark that the Chaplain was prayin' for his raycovery. +The Colonel said he'd court-martial him if he didn't stop that--quick; +there's more important things for the Chaplain to pray for in his +official capacity. Just at that moment the trumpets sounded, "Boots +and Saddles." I had to dodge one of his boots, and the Surgeon had a +narrow escape from the ither one. It was lucky for us both his saddle +wasn't in the room. + +BUCKTHORN. That looks encouraging. I think Kerchival will get on. + +BARKET. Might I say a word to you, sur, about Miss Jenny? + +BUCKTHORN. Certainly, Barket. You and old Margery and myself have been +a sort of triangular mother, so to speak, to the little girl--since +her own poor mother left her to our care, when she was only a baby, +in the old fort on the Plains. [_At his side and unconsciously resting +his arm over_ BARKET'S _shoulder, familiarly. Suddenly draws up._] +Ahem! [_Then gruffly._] What is it? Proceed. + +BARKET. Her mother's bosom would have been the softest place for her +poor little head to rest upon, now, sur. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Touching his eyes._] Well! + +BARKET. Ould Margery tould me in Washington that Miss Jenny and +Captain Heartsease were in love wid aitch ither. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Starting._] In love! + +BARKET. I approved of the match. + +BUCKTHORN. What the devil! [BARKET _salutes quickly and starts up +stage and out._ BUCKTHORN _moves up after him; stops at post._ BARKET +_stops in road._ + +BARKET. So did ould Margery. + +BUCKTHORN. March! [_Angrily._ BARKET _salutes suddenly, and exits._] +Heartsease! That young jackanapes! A mere fop; he'll never make a +soldier. My girl in love with--bah! I don't believe it; she's too good +a soldier, herself. + +[_Enter_ HAVERILL, _on veranda._] + +Ah, Haverill! + +HAVERILL. General Buckthorn! Have you heard anything of General +Sheridan since I sent that despatch to him last evening? + +BUCKTHORN. He received it at midnight and sent back word that he +considers it a ruse of the enemy. General Wright agrees with him. The +reconnaissance yesterday showed no hostile force, on our right, and +Crook reports that Early is retreating up the Valley. But General +Sheridan may, perhaps, give up his journey to Washington, and he has +ordered some changes in our line, to be executed this afternoon at +four o'clock. I rode over to give you your instructions in person. You +may order General McCuen to go into camp on the right of Meadow Brook, +with the second division. [HAVERILL _is writing in his note-book._ + +_Enter_ JENNY, _on veranda._ + +JENNY. Oh, papa! I'm so glad you've come. I've got something to say to +you. [_Running down and jumping into his arms, kissing him. He turns +with her, and sets her down, squarely on her feet and straight before +him._ + +BUCKTHORN. And I've got something to say to you--about Captain +Heartsease. + +JENNY. Oh! That's just what I wanted to talk about. + +BUCKTHORN. Fall in! Front face! [_She jumps into military position, +turning towards him._] What's this I hear from Sergeant Barket? He +says you've been falling in love. + +JENNY. I have. [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Young woman! Listen to my orders. Fallout! [_Turns sharply +and marches to_ HAVERILL.] Order the Third Brigade of Cavalry, under +Colonel Lowell, to occupy the left of the pike. + +JENNY. Papa! [_Running to him and seizing the tail of his coat._] +Papa, dear! + +BUCKTHORN. Close in Colonel Powell on the extreme left--[_Slapping his +coat-tails out of_ JENNY'S _hands, without looking around._]--and hold +Custer on the second line, at Old Forge Road. That is all at present. +[_Turns to_ JENNY.] Good-bye, my darling! [_Kisses her._] Remember +your orders! You little pet! [_Chuckling, as he taps her chin; draws +up suddenly; turns to_ HAVERILL.] General! I bid you good-day. + +HAVERILL. Good-day, General Buckthorn. [_They salute with great +dignity._ BUCKTHORN _starts up stage;_ JENNY _springs after him, +seizing his coat-tails._ + +JENNY. But I want to talk with you, papa; I can't fall out. I--I +haven't finished yet. [_Etc., clinging to his coat, as_ BUCKTHORN +_marches out rapidly, in road,--holding back with all her might._ + +HAVERILL. It may have been a ruse of the enemy, but I hope that +General Sheridan has turned back from Washington. [_Looking at his +note-book._] We are to make changes in our line at four o'clock this +afternoon. [_Returns book to pocket and stands in thought._] The +Surgeon tells me that Kerchival West will get on well enough if he +remains quiet; otherwise not. He shall not die by the hand of a +common assassin; he has no right to die like that. My wife gave my own +picture of herself to him--not to my son--and she looked so like an +angel when she took it from my hand! They were both false to me, and +they have been true to each other. I will save his life for myself. + +_Enter_ GERTRUDE, _on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. General Haverill! [_Anxiously, coming down._] Colonel West +persists in disobeying the injunctions of the Surgeon. He is preparing +to join his regiment at the front. Give him your orders to remain +here. Compel him to be prudent! + +HAVERILL. [_Quickly._] The honour of death at the front is not in +reserve for him. + +GERTRUDE. Eh? What did you say, General? + +HAVERILL. Gertrude! I wish to speak to you, as your father's old +friend; and I was once your guardian. Your father was my senior +officer in the Mexican War. Without his care I should have been left +dead in a foreign land. He, himself, afterwards fell fighting for the +old flag. + +GERTRUDE. The old flag. [_Aside._] My father died for it, and +he--[_Looking left._]--is suffering for it--the old flag! + +HAVERILL. I can now return the kindness your father did to me, by +protecting his daughter from something that may be worse than death. + +GERTRUDE. What do you mean? + +HAVERILL. Last night I saw you kneeling at the side of Kerchival West; +you spoke to him with all the tender passion of a Southern woman. You +said you loved him. But you spoke into ears that could not hear you. +Has he ever heard those words from your lips? Have you ever confessed +your love to him before? + +GERTRUDE. Never. Why do you ask? + +HAVERILL. Do not repeat those words. Keep your heart to yourself, my +girl. + +GERTRUDE. General! Why do you say this to me? And at such a +moment--when his life-- + +HAVERILL. His life! [_Turning sharply._] It belongs to me! + +GERTRUDE. Oh! + +KERCHIVAL. Sergeant! [_Without. He steps in front road, looking +back._] See that my horse is ready at once. General! [_Saluting._] Are +there any orders for my regiment, beyond those given to Major Wilson, +in my absence, this morning? I am about to ride on after the troops +and re-assume my command. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] It is my wish, Colonel, that you remain here +under the care of the Surgeon. + +KERCHIVAL. My wound is a mere trifle. This may be a critical moment in +the campaign, and I cannot rest here. I must be with my own men. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] I beg to repeat the wish I have already +expressed. [KERCHIVAL _walks to him, and speaks apart, almost under +his breath, but very earnest in tone._ + +KERCHIVAL. I have had no opportunity, yet, to explain certain matters, +as you requested me to do yesterday; but whatever there may be +between us, you are now interfering with my duty and my privilege as a +soldier; and it is my right to be at the head of my regiment. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] It is my positive order that you do not +reassume your command. + +KERCHIVAL. General Haverill, I protest against this-- + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] You are under arrest, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. Arrest! + +GERTRUDE. Ah! [KERCHIVAL _unclasps his belt and offers his sword to_ +HAVERILL. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] Keep your sword; I have no desire to humiliate +you; but hold yourself subject to further orders from me. [KERCHIVAL +_goes up veranda._ + +KERCHIVAL. My regiment at the front!--and I under arrest! [_Exit._ + +HAVERILL. Gertrude! If your heart refuses to be silent--if you feel +that you must confess your love to that man--first tell him what I +have said to you, and refer him to me for an explanation. [_Exit into +road._ + +GERTRUDE. What can he mean? He would save me from something worse +than death, he said. "His life--it belongs to me!" What can he mean? +Kerchival told me that he loved me--it seems many years since that +morning in Charleston--and when we met again, yesterday, he said that +he had never ceased to love me. I will not believe that he has told +me a falsehood. I have given him my love, my whole soul and my faith. +[_Drawing up to her full height._] My perfect faith! + +JENNY _runs in from road, and up the slope. She looks down the hill, +then enters._ + +JENNY. A flag of truce, Gertrude. And a party of Confederate soldiers, +with an escort, coming up the hill. They are carrying someone; he is +wounded. + +_Enter up the slope, a_ LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY _with an escort +of Union soldiers, their arms at right shoulder, and a party of +Confederate soldiers bearing a rustic stretcher._ LIEUTENANT FRANK +BEDLOE _lies on the stretcher._ MAJOR HARDWICK, _a Confederate +Surgeon, walks at his side._ MADELINE _appears at veranda, watching +them._ GERTRUDE _stands with her back to audience. The_ LIEUTENANT +_gives orders in a low tone, and the front escort moves to right, in +road. The Confederate bearers and the_ SURGEON _pass through the gate. +The rear escort moves to left, in road, under_ LIEUTENANT'S _orders. +The bearers halt, front; on a sign from the_ SURGEON, _they leave the +stretcher on the ground, stepping back._ + +MAJOR HARDWICK. Is General Haverill here? + +GERTRUDE. Yes; what can we do, sir? + +MADELINE. The General is just about mounting with his staff, to ride +away. Shall I go for him, sir? + +MAJOR. Say to him, please, that Colonel Robert Ellingham, of the Tenth +Virginia, sends his respects and sympathy. He instructed me to bring +this young officer to this point, in exchange for himself, as agreed +upon between them last evening. [_Exit_ MADELINE. + +JENNY. Is he unconscious or sleeping, sir? + +MAJOR. Hovering between life and death. I thought he would bear the +removal better. He is waking. Here, my lad! [_Placing his canteen to +the lips of_ FRANK, _who moves, reviving._] We have reached the end of +our journey. + +FRANK. My father! + +MAJOR. He is thinking of his home. [FRANK _rises on one arm, assisted +by the_ SURGEON. + +FRANK. I have obeyed General Haverill's orders, and I have a report to +make. + +GERTRUDE. We have already sent for him. [_Stepping to him._] He will +be here in a moment. + +FRANK. [_Looking into her face, brightly._] Is not +this--Miss--Gertrude Ellingham? + +GERTRUDE. You know me? You have seen me before? + +FRANK. Long ago! Long ago! You know the wife of General Haverill? + +GERTRUDE. I have no dearer friend in the world. + +FRANK. She will give a message for me to the dearest friend _I_ have +in the world. My little wife! I must not waste even the moment we are +waiting. Doctor! My note-book! [_Trying to get it from his coat. The_ +SURGEON _takes it out. A torn and blood-stained lace handkerchief also +falls out._ GERTRUDE _kneels at his side._] Ah! I--I--have a message +from another--[_Holding up handkerchief._]--from Captain Heartsease. +[JENNY _makes a quick start towards him._] He lay at my side in the +hospital, when they brought me away; he had only strength enough to +put this in my hand, and he spoke a woman's name; but I--I--forgot +what it is. The red spots upon it are the only message he sent. +[GERTRUDE _takes the handkerchief and looks back at_ JENNY, _extending +her hand._ JENNY _moves to her, takes the handkerchief and turns back, +looking down on it. She drops her face into her hands and goes out +sobbing._ + +_Enter_ MADELINE _on veranda._ + +MADELINE. General Haverill is coming. I was just in time. He was +already on his horse. + +FRANK. Ah! He is coming. [_Then suddenly._] Write! Write! [GERTRUDE +_writes in the note-book as he dictates._] "To--my wife--Edith:--Tell +our little son, when he is old enough to know--how his father died; +not how he lived. And tell her who filled my own mother's place so +lovingly--she is your mother, too--that my father's portrait of her, +which she gave to me in Charleston, helped me to be a better man!" +And--oh! I must not forget this--"It was taken away from me while I +was a prisoner in Richmond, and it is in the possession of Captain +Henry Thornton, of the Confederate Secret Service. But her face is +still beside your own in my heart. My best--warmest, last--love--to +you, darling." I will sign it. [GERTRUDE _holds the book, and he signs +it, then sinks back very quietly, supported by the_ SURGEON. GERTRUDE +_rises and walks right._ + +MADELINE. General Haverill is here. [_The_ SURGEON _lays the fold of +the blanket over_ FRANK'S _face and rises._ + +GERTRUDE. Doctor! + +MAJOR. He is dead. [MADELINE, _on veranda, turns and looks left. The_ +LIEUTENANT _orders the guard,_ "Present Arms". _Enter_ HAVERILL, _on +veranda. He salutes the guard as he passes. The_ LIEUTENANT _orders,_ +"Carry Arms." HAVERILL _comes down._ + +HAVERILL. I am too late? + +MAJOR. I'm sorry, General. His one eager thought as we came was to +reach here in time to see you. [HAVERILL _moves to the bier, looks +down at it, then folds back the blanket from the face. He starts +slightly as he first sees it._ + +HAVERILL. Brave boy! I hoped once to have a son like you. I shall +be in your father's place, to-day, at your grave. [_He replaces the +blanket and steps back._] We will carry him to his comrades in the +front. He shall have a soldier's burial, in sight of the mountain-top +beneath which he sacrificed his young life; that shall be his +monument. + +MAJOR. Pardon me, General. We Virginians are your enemies, but you +cannot honour this young soldier more than we do. Will you allow my +men the privilege of carrying him to his grave? [HAVERILL _inclines +his head. The_ SURGEON _motions to the Confederate soldiers, who step +to the bier and raise it gently._ + +HAVERILL. Lieutenant! [_The_ LIEUTENANT _orders the guard,_ "Left +Face." _The Confederate bearers move through the gate, preceded by_ +LIEUTENANT HARDWICK. HAVERILL _draws his sword, reverses it, and moves +up behind the bier with bowed head. The_ LIEUTENANT _orders_ "Forward +March," _and the cortège disappears. While the girls are still +watching it, the heavy sound of distant artillery is heard, with +booming reverberations among the hills and in the Valley._ + +MADELINE. What is that sound, Gertrude? + +GERTRUDE. Listen! [_Another and more prolonged distant sound, with +long reverberations._ + +MADELINE. Again! Gertrude! [GERTRUDE _raises her hand to command +silence; listens. Distant cannon again._ + +GERTRUDE. It is the opening of a battle. + +MADELINE. Ah! [_Running down stage. The sounds again. Prolonged +rumble._ + +GERTRUDE. How often have I heard that sound. [_Coming down._] This is +war, Madeline! You are face to face with it now. + +MADELINE. And Robert is there! He may be in the thickest of the +danger--at this very moment. + +GERTRUDE. Yes. Let our prayers go up for him; mine do, with all a +sister's heart. [KERCHIVAL _enters on veranda, without coat or vest, +his sash about his waist, looking back as he comes in._] Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. Go on! Go on! Keep the battle to yourselves. I'm out of it. +[_The distant cannon and reverberations rising in volume. Prolonged +and distant rumble._ + +MADELINE. I pray for Robert Ellingham--and for the _cause_ in which he +risks his life! [KERCHIVAL _looks at her, suddenly; also_ GERTRUDE.] +Heaven forgive me if I am wrong, but I am praying for the enemies +of my country. His people are my people, his enemies are my enemies. +Heaven defend him and his, in this awful hour. + +KERCHIVAL. Madeline! My sister! + +MADELINE. Oh, Kerchival! [_Turning and dropping her face on his +breast._] I cannot help it--I cannot help it! + +KERCHIVAL. My poor girl! Every woman's heart, the world over, belongs +not to any country or any flag, but to her husband--and her lover. +Pray for the man you love, sister--it would be treason not to. +[_Passes her before him to left. Looks across to_ GERTRUDE.] Am I +right? [GERTRUDE _drops her head._ MADELINE _moves up veranda and +out._] Is what I have said to Madeline true? + +GERTRUDE. Yes! [_Looks up._] Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! [_Hurries across to her, clasps her in his arms. +He suddenly staggers and brings his hand to his breast._ + +GERTRUDE. Your wound! [_Supporting him as he reels and sinks into +seat._ + +KERCHIVAL. Wound! I have no wound! You do love me! [_Seizing her +hand._ + +GERTRUDE. Let me call the Surgeon, Kerchival. + +KERCHIVAL. You can be of more service to me than he can. [_Detaining +her. Very heavy sounds of the battle; she starts, listening._] Never +mind that! It's only a battle. You love me! + +GERTRUDE. Be quiet, Kerchival, dear. I do love you. I told you so, +when you lay bleeding here, last night. But you could not hear me. +[_At his side, resting her arm about him, stroking his head._] I said +that same thing--to--to--another, more than three years ago. It is +in that letter that General Buckthorn gave you. [KERCHIVAL _starts._] +No--no--you must be very quiet, or I will not say another word. If you +obey me, I will repeat that part of the letter, every word; I know +it by heart, for I read it a dozen times. The letter is from Mrs. +Haverill. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] Go on. + +GERTRUDE. "I have kept your secret, my darling, but I was sorely +tempted to betray the confidence you reposed in me at Charleston. +If Kerchival West--[_She retires backward from him as she +proceeds._]--had heard you say, as I did, when your face was hidden in +my bosom, that night, that you loved him with your whole heart--" + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! [_Starting to his feet. He sinks back. She springs to +support him._ + +GERTRUDE. I will go for help. + +KERCHIVAL. Do not leave me at such a moment as this. You have brought +me a new life. [_Bringing her to her knees before him and looking down +at her._] Heaven is just opening before me. [_His hands drops suddenly +and his head falls back. Battle._ + +GERTRUDE. Ah! Kerchival! You are dying! [_Musketry. A sudden sharp +burst of musketry, mingled with the roar of artillery near by._ +KERCHIVAL _starts, seizing_ GERTRUDE'S _arm and holding her away, +still on her knees. He looks eagerly._ + +KERCHIVAL. The enemy is close upon us! + +BARKET _runs in, up the slope._ + +BARKET. Colonel Wist! The devils have sprung out of the ground. +They're pouring over our lift flank like Noah's own flood. The Union +Army has started back for Winchester, on its way to the North Pole; +our own regiment, Colonel, is coming over the hill in full retrate. + +KERCHIVAL. My own regiment! [_Starting up._] Get my horse, Barket. +[_Turns._] Gertrude, my life! [_Embraces_ GERTRUDE. + +BARKET. Your horse, is it? I'm wid ye! There's a row at Finnegan's +ball, and we're in it. [_Springs to road, and out._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Turns away. Stops._] I am under arrest. [_Retreat. +Fugitives begin to straggle across stage._ + +GERTRUDE. You must not go, Kerchival; it will kill you. + +KERCHIVAL. Arrest be damned! [_Starts up stage, raises his arms above +his head with clenched fist, rising to full height._] Stand out of my +way, you cowards! [_They cower away from him as he rushes out among +them. The stream of fugitives passing across stage swells in volume._ +GERTRUDE _runs through them and up to the elevation, turning._ + +GERTRUDE. Men! Are you soldiers? Turn back! There is a leader for you! +Turn back! Fight for your flag--and mine!--the flag my father died +for! Turn back! [_She looks out and turns front._] He has been marked +for death already, and I--I can only pray. [_Dropping to her knees._ + +_The stream of fugitives continues, now over the elevation also. Rough +and torn uniforms, bandaged arms and legs; some limping and supported +by others, some dragging their muskets after them, others without +muskets, others using them as crutches. Variety of uniforms, cavalry, +infantry, etc.; flags draggled on the ground, the rattle of near +musketry and roar of cannon continue; two or three wounded fugitives +drop down beside the hedge._ BENSON _staggers in and drops upon rock +or stump near post. Artillerists, rough, torn and wounded, drag and +force a field-piece across._ CORPORAL DUNN, _wounded, staggers to the +top of elevation. There is a lull in the sounds of the battle. Distant +cheers are heard without._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. Listen, fellows! Stop! Listen! Sheridan! General +Sheridan is coming! [_Cheers from those on stage._ GERTRUDE _rises +quickly. The wounded soldiers rise, looking over hedge. All on stage +stop, looking eagerly. The cheers without come nearer, with shouts of_ +"Sheridan! Sheridan!"] The horse is down; he is worn out. + +GERTRUDE. No! He is up again! He is on my Jack! Now, for your life, +Jack, and for me! You've never failed me yet. [_The cheers without now +swell to full volume and are taken up by those on the stage. The horse +sweeps by with_ GENERAL SHERIDAN.] Jack! Jack!! Jack!!! [_Waving her +arms as he passes. She throws up her arms and falls backward, caught +by_ DUNN. _The stream of men is reversed and surges across stage +to road and on elevation, with shouts, throwing up hats, etc. The +field-piece is forced up the slope with a few bold, rough movements; +the artillerists are loading it, and the stream of returning fugitives +is still surging by in the road as the curtain falls._ + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE. _Residence of_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN, _in Washington. Interior. +Fireplace slanting upward. Small alcove. Opening to hall, with +staircase beyond, and also entrance from out left. Door up stage. A +wide opening, with portières to apartment. Upright piano down stage. +Armchair and low stool before fireplace. Small table for tea, etc. +Ottoman. Other chairs, ottomans, etc., to taste._ + +TIME. _Afternoon._ + +DISCOVERED. MRS. HAVERILL, _in armchair, resting her face upon her +hand, and looking into the fire._ EDITH _is on a low stool at her +side, sewing a child's garment._ + +EDITH. It seems hardly possible that the war is over, and that General +Lee has really surrendered. [_Fife and drum, without._] There is +music in the streets nearly all the time, now, and everybody looks so +cheerful and bright. [_Distant fife and drums heard playing "Johnnie +Comes Marching Home."_ EDITH _springs up and runs up to window, +looking out._] More troops returning! The old tattered battle-flag +is waving in the wind, and people are running after them so merrily. +[_Music stops._] Every day, now, seems like a holiday. [_Coming +down._] The war is over. All the women ought to feel very happy, +whose--whose husbands are--coming back to them. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, Edith; those women whose--husbands are coming back +to them. [_Still looking into fire._ + +EDITH. Oh! [_Dropping upon the stool, her head upon the arm of the +chair._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Resting her arm over her._] My poor little darling! +_Your_ husband will not come back. + +EDITH. Frank's last message has never reached me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. No; but you have one sweet thought always with you. +Madeline West heard part of it, as Gertrude wrote it down. His last +thought was a loving one, of you. + +EDITH. Madeline says that he was thinking of you, too. He knew that +you were taking such loving care of his little one, and of me. You +have always done that, since you first came back from Charleston, and +found me alone in New York. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I found a dear, sweet little daughter. [_Stroking her +head._] Heaven sent you, darling! You have been a blessing to me. I +hardly know how I should have got through the past few months at all +without you at my side. + +EDITH. What is your own trouble, dear? I have found you in tears +so often; and since last October, after the battle of Cedar Creek, +you--you have never shown me a letter from--from my--Frank's father. +General Haverill arrived in Washington yesterday, but has not been +here yet. Is it because I am here? He has never seen me, and I feel +that he has never forgiven Frank for marrying me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Nonsense, my child; he did think the marriage was +imprudent, but he told me to do everything I could for you. If General +Haverill has not been to see either of us, since his arrival in +Washington, it is nothing that you need to worry your dear little head +about. How are you getting on with your son's wardrobe? + +EDITH. Oh! Splendidly! Frankie isn't a baby any longer; he's a man, +now, and he has to wear a man's clothes. [_Holding up a little pair of +trousers, with maternal pride._] He's rather young to be dressed like +a man, but I want Frank to grow up as soon as possible. I long to +have him old enough to understand me when I repeat to him the words +in which General Haverill told the whole world how his father died! +[_Rising._] And yet, even in his official report to the Government, he +only honoured him as Lieutenant Bedloe. He has never forgiven his son +for the disgrace he brought upon his name. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I know him so well--[_Rising._]--the unyielding pride, +that conquers even the deep tenderness of his nature. He can be +silent, though his own heart is breaking. [_Aside._] He can be silent, +too, though _my_ heart is breaking. [_Dropping her face in her hand._ + +EDITH. _Mother!_ [_Putting her arm about her._ + +_Enter_ JANNETTE. + +JANNETTE. A letter for you, Madam. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Taking note. Aside._] He has answered me. [_Opens and +reads; inclines her head to_ JANNETTE, _who goes out to hall. Aloud._] +General Haverill will be here this afternoon, Edith. [_Exit up the +stairs._ + +EDITH. There is something that she cannot confide to me, or to anyone. +General Haverill returned to Washington yesterday, and he has not been +here yet. He will be here to-day. I always tremble when I think of +meeting him. + +GENERAL BUCKTHORN _appears in hall._ + +BUCKTHORN. Come right in; this way, Barket. Ah, Edith! + +BARKET. [_Entering._] As I was saying, sur--just after the battle of +Sayder Creek began-- + +BUCKTHORN. [_To_ EDITH.] More good news! The war is, indeed, over, +now! + +BARKET. Whin Colonel Wist rode to the front to mate his raytrating +rigiment-- + +BUCKTHORN. General Johnson has surrendered his army, also; and that, +of course, does end the war. + +EDITH. I'm very glad that all the fighting is over. + +BUCKTHORN. So am I; but my occupation, and old Barket's, too, is gone. +Always at work on new clothes for our little soldier? + +EDITH. He's growing so, I can hardly make them fast enough for him. +But this is the time for his afternoon nap. I must go now, to see if +he is sleeping soundly. + +BUCKTHORN. Our dear little mother! [_Tapping her chin._] I always +claim the privilege of my white hair, you know. [_She, puts up her +lips; he kisses her. She goes out._] The sweetest young widow I ever +saw! [BARKET _coughs._ BUCKTHORN _turns sharply;_ BARKET _salutes._] +Well! What the devil are you thinking about now? + +BARKET. The ould time, sur. Yer honour used to claim the same +privilege for brown hair. + +BUCKTHORN. You old rascal! What a memory you have! You were telling me +for the hundredth time about the battle of Cedar Creek; go on. I can +never hear it often enough. Kerchival West was a favourite of mine, +poor fellow! + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, when the Colonel +rode to the front to mate his raytrating rigiment-- + +BUCKTHORN. I'll tell Old Margery to bring in tea for both of us, +Barket. + +BARKET. For both of us, sur? + +BUCKTHORN. Yes; and later in the evening we'll have something else, +together. This is a great day for all of us. I'm not your commander +to-day, but your old comrade in arms--[_Laying his arm over_ BARKET'S +_shoulder._]--and I'm glad I don't have to pull myself up now every +time I forget my dignity. Ah! you and I will be laid away before long, +but we'll be together again in the next world, won't we, Barket? + +BARKET. Wid yer honour's permission. [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Ha--ha--ha! [_Laughing._] If we do meet there I'm certain +you'll salute me as your superior officer. There's old Margery, now. +[_Looking to door. Calls._] Margery! Tea for two! + +MARGERY. [_Without._] The tay be waiting for ye, sur; and it be +boilin' over wid impatience. + +BUCKTHORN. Bring up a chair, Barket. [_Sitting in arm-chair._ + +BARKET. [_Having placed table and drawing up a chair._] Do you know, +Gineral, I don't fale quite aisy in my moind. I'm not quite sure that +Margery will let us take our tay together. [_Sits down, doubtfully._ + +BUCKTHORN. I hadn't thought of that. I--[_Glancing right._]--I +hope she will, Barket. But, of course, if she won't--she's been +commander-in-chief of my household ever since Jenny was a baby. + +BARKET. At Fort Duncan, in Texas. + +BUCKTHORN. You and Old Margery never got along very well in those +days; but I thought you had made it all up; she nursed you through +your wound, last summer, and after the battle of Cedar Creek, also. + +BARKET. Yis, sur, bliss her kind heart, she's been like a wife to me; +and that's the trouble. A man's wife is such an angel when he's ill +that he dreads to get well; good health is a misfortune to him. Auld +Margery and I have had anither misunderstanding. + +BUCKTHORN. I'll do the best I can for both of us, Barket. You were +telling me about the battle of-- + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, whin Colonel +Wist rode to the front to mate his raytrating rigiment-- + +_Enter_ OLD MARGERY, _tray, tea, &c. She stops abruptly, looking at_ +BARKET. _He squirms in his chair._ BUCKTHORN _rises and stands with +his back to the mantel._ OLD MARGERY _moves to the table, arranges +things on it, glances at_ BARKET, _then at_ BUCKTHORN, _who looks up +at ceiling, rubbing his chin, &c._ OLD MARGERY _takes up one of the +cups, with saucer._ + +OLD MARGERY. I misunderstood yer order, sur. I see there's no one here +but yerself. [_Going right._ + +BUCKTHORN. Ah, Margery! [_She stops._] Barket tells me that there has +been a slight misunderstanding between you and him. + +OLD MARGERY. Day before yisterday, the ould Hibernian dhrone had the +kitchen upside down, to show anither old milithary vagabone loike +himself how the battle of Sayder Creek was fought. He knocked the +crame pitcher into the basket of clane clothes, and overturned some +raspberry jam and the flat-irons into a pan of fresh eggs. There _has_ +been a misunderstanding betwane us. + +BUCKTHORN. I see there has. I suppose Barket was showing his friend +how Colonel Kerchival West rode forward to meet his regiment, when he +was already wounded dangerously. + +OLD MARGERY. Bliss the poor, dear young man! He and I was always good +frinds, though he was somethin' of a devil in the kitchen himself, +whin he got there. [_Wiping her eye with one corner of her apron._] +And bliss the young Southern lady that was in love wid him, too. +[_Changing the cup and wiping the other eye with the corner of her +apron._] Nothing was iver heard of ayther of thim after that battle +was over, to this very day. + +BUCKTHORN. Barket was at Kerchival's side when he rode to the front. +[OLD MARGERY _hesitates a moment, then moves to the table, sets down +the cup and marches out._ BUCKTHORN _sits in the arm-chair again, +pouring tea._] I could always find some way to get Old Margery to do +what I wanted her to do. + +BARKET. You're a great man, Ginerel; we'd niver have conquered the +South widout such men. + +BUCKTHORN. Now go on, Barket; you were interrupted. + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, whin-- + +_Enter_ JANNETTE _with card, which she hands to_ BUCKTHORN. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading card._] Robert Ellingham! [_Rises._] I will go to +him. [_To_ JANNETTE.] Go upstairs and tell Madeline to come down. + +JANNETTE. Yes, sir. [_Going._ + +BUCKTHORN. And, Jannette, simply say there is a caller; don't tell her +who is here. [_Exit_ JANNETTE _upstairs._ BUCKTHORN _follows her +out to hall._] Ellingham! My dear fellow! [_Extending his hand and +disappearing._ + +BARKET. Colonel Ellingham and Miss Madeline--lovers! That's the kind +o' volunteers the country nades now! + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN _and_ ELLINGHAM. + +BUCKTHORN. [_As he enters._] We've been fighting four years to keep +you out of Washington, Colonel, but we are delighted to see you within +the lines, now. + +ELLINGHAM. I am glad, indeed, General, to have so warm a welcome. But +can you tell me anything about my sister, Gertrude? + +BUCKTHORN. About your sister? Why, can't you tell us? And have you +heard nothing of Kerchival West on your side of the line? + +ELLINGHAM. All I can tell you is this: As soon as possible after our +surrender at Appomattox, I made my way to the Shenandoah Valley. Our +home there is utterly deserted. I have hurried down to Washington in +the hopes that I might learn something of you. There is no human being +about the old homestead; it is like a haunted house--empty, and dark, +and solitary. You do not even know where Gertrude is? + +BUCKTHORN. We only know that Kerchival was not found among the dead of +his own regiment at Cedar Creek, though he fell among them during +the fight. The three girls searched the field for him, but he was +not there. As darkness came on, and they were returning to the house, +Gertrude suddenly seized the bridle of a stray horse, sprang upon its +back and rode away to the South, into the woods at the foot of Three +Top Mountain. The other two girls watched for her in vain. She did not +return, and we have heard nothing from her since. + +ELLINGHAM. Poor girl! I understand what was in her thoughts, and she +was right. We captured fourteen hundred prisoners that day, although +we were defeated, and Kerchival must have been among them. Gertrude +rode away, alone, in the darkness, to find him. I shall return to the +South at once and learn where she now is. + +JANNETTE _has re-entered, down the stairs._ + +JANNETTE. Miss Madeline will be down in a moment. [_Exit in hall._ + +BARKET. [_Aside._] That name wint through his chist like a rifle ball. + +BUCKTHORN. Will you step into the drawing-room, Colonel? I will see +Madeline myself, first. She does not even know that you are living. + +ELLINGHAM. I hardly dared asked for her. [_Passing; turns._] Is she +well? + +BUCKTHORN. Yes; and happy--or soon will be. + +ELLINGHAM. Peace, at last! [_Exit to apartment._ BUCKTHORN _closes +portières._ + +BUCKTHORN. I ought to prepare Madeline a little, Barket; you must help +me. + +BARKET. Yis, sur, I will. + +_Enter_ MADELINE _down the stairs._ + +MADELINE. Uncle! Jannette said you wished to see me; there is a +visitor here. Who is it? + +BARKET. Colonel Robert Ellingham. + +MADELINE. Ah! [_Staggering._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Supporting her._] You infernal idiot! I'll put you in the +guard-house! + +BARKET. You wanted me to help ye, Gineral. + +MADELINE. Robert is alive--and here? [_Rising from his arms, she moves +to the portières, holds them aside, peeping in; gives a joyful start, +tosses aside the portières and runs through._ + +BUCKTHORN. Barket! There's nothing but that curtain between us and +Heaven. + +BARKET. I don't like stayin' out o' Hivin, myself, sur. Gineral! I'll +kiss Ould Margery--if I die for it! [_Exit._ + +BUCKTHORN. Kiss Old Margery! I'll give him a soldier's funeral. +[_Enter_ JENNY _from hall, demurely._] Ah! Jenny, my dear! I have news +for you. Colonel Robert Ellingham is in the drawing-room. + +JENNY. Oh! I am delighted. [_Starting._ + +BUCKTHORN. A-h-e-m! + +JENNY. Oh!--exactly. I see. I have some news for _you,_ papa. Captain +Heartsease has arrived in Washington. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! My dear! I have often confessed to you how utterly +mistaken I was about that young man. He is a soldier--as good a +soldier as you are. I'll ask him to the house. + +JENNY. [_Demurely._] He is here now. + +BUCKTHORN. Now? + +JENNY. He's been here an hour; in the library. + +BUCKTHORN. Why! Barket and I were in the library fifteen minutes ago. + +JENNY. Yes, sir. We were in the bay-window; the curtains were closed. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! exactly; I see. You may tell him he has my full +consent. + +JENNY. He hasn't asked for it. + +BUCKTHORN. Hasn't he? And you've been in the bay-window an hour? Well, +my darling--I was considered one of the best Indian fighters in the +old army, but it took me four years to propose to your mother. I'll go +and see the Captain. [_Exit to hall._ + +JENNY. I wonder if it will take Captain Heartsease four years to +propose to me. Before he left Washington, nearly two years ago, he +told everybody in the circle of my acquaintance, except me, that he +was in love with me. I'll be an old lady in caps before our engagement +commences. Poor, dear mother! The idea of a girl's waiting four years +for a chance to say "Yes." It's been on the tip of my tongue so often, +I'm afraid it'll pop out, at last, before he pops the question. + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN _and_ HEARTSEASE _from hall._ + +BUCKTHORN. Walk right in, Captain; this is the family room. You must +make yourself quite at home here. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Walking down._ + +BUCKTHORN. My dear! [_Apart to_ JENNY.] The very first thing he said +to me, after our greeting, was that he loved my daughter. + +JENNY. Now he's told my father! + +BUCKTHORN. He's on fire! + +JENNY. Is he? [_Looking at_ HEARTSEASE, _who stands quietly stroking +his mustache._] Why doesn't he tell _me?_ + +BUCKTHORN. You may have to help him a little; your mother assisted +me. [_Turning up stage._] When you and Jenny finish your chat, +Captain--[_Lighting a cigar at the mantel._]--you must join me in the +smoking-room. + +HEARTSEASE. I shall be delighted. By the way, General--I have been in +such a fever of excitement since I arrived at this house-- + +JENNY. [_Aside._] Fever? Chills! + +HEARTSEASE. That I forgot it entirely. I have omitted a very important +and a very sad commission. I have brought with me the note-book of +Lieutenant Frank Bedloe--otherwise Haverill--in which Miss Gertrude +Ellingham wrote down his last message to his young wife. + +JENNY. Have you seen Gertrude? + +BUCKTHORN. [_Taking book._] How did this note-book come into your +possession? + +HEARTSEASE. Miss Ellingham visited the prison in North Carolina where +I was detained. She was going from hospital to hospital, from prison +to prison, and from burial-place to burial-place, to find Colonel +Kerchival West, if living--or some record of his death. + +BUCKTHORN. Another Evangeline! Searching for her lover through the +wilderness of this great war! + +HEARTSEASE. I was about to be exchanged at the time, and she requested +me to bring this to her friends in Washington. She had not intended to +carry it away with her. I was not exchanged, as we then expected, but +I afterwards escaped from prison to General Sherman's army. + +BUCKTHORN. I will carry this long-delayed message to the widowed young +mother. [_Exit._ + +JENNY. I remember so well, when poor Lieutenant Haverill took out the +note-book and asked Gertrude to write for him. He--he brought me a +message at the same time. [_Their eyes meet. He puts up his glasses. +She turns away, touching her eyes._ + +HEARTSEASE. I--I remember the circumstances you probably allude to; +that is--when he left my side--I--I gave him my--I mean your--lace +handkerchief. + +JENNY. It is sacred to me! + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s--I would say--is it? + +JENNY. [_Wiping her eyes._] It was stained with the life-blood of a +hero! + +HEARTSEASE. I must apologize to you for its condition. I hadn't any +chance to have it washed and ironed. + +JENNY. [_Looking around at him, suddenly; then, aside._] What could +any girl do with a lover like that? [_Turning up stage._ + +HEARTSEASE. [_Aside._] She seems to remember that incident so +tenderly! My blood boils! + +JENNY. Didn't you long to see your--your friends at home--when you +were in prison, Captain? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes--especially--I longed especially, Miss Buckthorn, to +see-- + +JENNY. _Yes!--to see--_ + +HEARTSEASE. But there were lots of jolly fellows in the prison. [JENNY +_turns away._] We had a dramatic society, and a glee club, and an +orchestra. I was one of the orchestra. I had a banjo, with one string; +I played one tune on it, that I used to play on the piano with one +finger. But, Miss Buckthorn, I am a prisoner again, to-night--your +prisoner. + +JENNY. [_Aside._] At last! + +HEARTSEASE. I'll show you how that tune went. [_Turns to piano; sits._ + +JENNY. [_Aside._] Papa said I'd have to help him, but I don't see an +opening. [HEARTSEASE _plays part of an air with one finger; strikes +two or three wrong notes._ + +HEARTSEASE. There are two notes down there, somewhere, that I +never could get right. The fellows in prison used to dance while I +played--[_Playing._]--that is, the lame ones did; those that weren't +lame couldn't keep the time. + +JENNY. You must have been in great danger, Captain, when you escaped +from prison. + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s. I was badly frightened several times. One night +I came face to face, on the road, with a Confederate officer. It was +Captain Thornton. + +JENNY. Oh! What did you do? + +HEARTSEASE. I killed him. [_Very quietly, and trying the tune again +at once. Enter_ JANNETTE, _from in hall; she glances into the room +and goes up the stairs._] I used to skip those two notes on the banjo. +It's very nice for a soldier to come home from the war, and meet +those--I mean the one particular person--that he--you see, when a +soldier loves a woman, as--as-- + +JENNY. [_Aside._] As he loves me. [_Approaches him._ + +HEARTSEASE. As soldiers often do--[_Plays; she turns away, petulantly; +he plays the tune through correctly._] That's it! + +JENNY. [_Aside._] I'm not going to be made love to by piece-meal, +like this, any longer. [_Aloud._] Captain Heartsease! Have you +anything in particular to say to me? [_He looks up._ + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s. [_Rising._ + +JENNY. Say it! You told my father, and all my friends, that you were +in love with me. Whom are you going to tell next? + +HEARTSEASE. I _am_ in love with you. + +JENNY. It was my turn. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Going near to her._] Do you love me? + +JENNY. [_Laying her head quietly on his breast._] I must take time to +consider. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Quietly._] I assume that this means "Yes." + +JENNY. It isn't the way a girl says "No." + +HEARTSEASE. My darling! + +JENNY. Why! His heart is beating as fast as mine is! + +HEARTSEASE. [_Quietly._] I am frantic with joy. [_He kisses her. She +hides her face on his breast. Enter_ MRS. HAVERILL, _down-stairs, +followed by_ JANNETTE. MRS. HAVERILL _stops suddenly._ JANNETTE +_stands in the doorway._ HEARTSEASE _inclines his head to her, quietly +looking at her over_ JENNY.] I am delighted to see you, after so long +an absence; I trust that we shall meet more frequently hereafter. + +JENNY. [_Looking at him._] Eh? + +HEARTSEASE. [_Looking down at her._] I think, perhaps, it might be +as well for us to repair to another apartment, and continue our +interview, there! + +JENNY. [_Dropping her head on his breast again._] This room is very +comfortable. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Jenny, dear! [JENNY _starts up; looks from_ MRS. +HAVERILL _to_ HEARTSEASE. + +JENNY. Constance! I--'Bout face! March! [_Turns and goes out._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am glad to see you again, Captain, and happy as well +as safe. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you, Madam. I am happy. If you will excuse me, I +will join--my father--in the smoking-room. [MRS. HAVERILL _inclines +her head, and_ HEARTSEASE _walks out._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Jannette! You may ask General Haverill to come into +this room. [_Exit_ JANNETTE. MRS. HAVERILL _walks down, reading +a note._] "I have hesitated to come to you personally, as I have +hesitated to write to you. If I have been silent, it is because I +could not bring my hand to write what was in my mind and in my heart. +I do not know that I can trust my tongue to speak it, but I will +come." + +_Enter_ HAVERILL _from hall; he stops._ + +HAVERILL. Constance! + +MRS. HAVERILL. My husband! May I call you husband? After all these +months of separation, with your life in almost daily peril, and my +life--what? Only a weary longing for one loving word--and you are +silent. + +HAVERILL. May I call you wife? I do not wish to speak that word except +with reverence. You have asked me to come to you. I am here. I will +be plain, direct and brief. Where is the portrait of yourself, which I +gave you, in Charleston, for my son? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Your son is dead, sir; and my portrait lies upon his +breast, in the grave. [HAVERILL _takes the miniature from his pocket +and holds it towards her in his extended hand. She starts back._] He +gave it to you? And you ask me where it is? + +HAVERILL. It might have lain in the grave of Kerchival West! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Ah! + +HAVERILL. Not in my son's. I found it upon _his_ breast. [_She turns +front, dazed._] Well! I am listening! It was not I that sought this +interview, Madam; and if you prefer to remain silent, I will go. You +know, now, why I have been silent so long. + +MRS. HAVERILL. My only witnesses to the truth are both dead. I shall +remain silent. [_Turning towards him._] We stand before each other, +living, but not so happy as they. We are parted, forever. Even if you +should accept my unsupported word--if I could so far forget my pride +as to give it to you--suspicion would still hang between us. I +remain silent. [HAVERILL _looks at her, earnestly, for a moment; then +approaches her._ + +HAVERILL. I cannot look into your eyes and not see truth and loyalty +there. Constance! + +MRS. HAVERILL. No, John! [_Checking him._] I will not accept your +blind faith! + +HAVERILL. [_Looking down at the picture in his hand._] My faith is +blind; blind as my love! I do not wish to see! [_Enter_ EDITH. _She +stops; looks at_ HAVERILL. _He raises his head and looks at her._ + +EDITH. This is General Haverill? [_Dropping her eyes._] I am Edith, +sir. + +HAVERILL. [_Gently._] My son's wife. [_Kisses her forehead._] You +shall take the place he once filled in my heart. His crime and his +disgrace are buried in a distant grave. + +EDITH. And you have not forgiven him, even yet? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Is there no atonement for poor Frank's sin--not even +his death? Can you only bury the wrong and forget the good? + +HAVERILL. The good? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Your own words to the Government, as his commander! + +HAVERILL. What do you mean? + +MRS. HAVERILL. "The victory of Cedar Creek would have been impossible +without the sacrifice of this young officer." + +HAVERILL. My own words, yes--but-- + +EDITH. "His name must take its place, forever, in the roll of names +which his countrymen honour." + +HAVERILL. Lieutenant Bedloe! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Haverill! You did not know? + +HAVERILL. My--son. + +EDITH. You did not receive mother's letter?--after his death? + +HAVERILL. My son! [_Sinking upon chair or ottoman._] I left him alone +in his grave, unknown; but my tears fell for him then, as they do now. +He died before I reached him. + +EDITH. Father! [_Laying her hand gently on his shoulder._] You shall +see Frank's face again. His little son is lying asleep upstairs; and +when he wakes up, Frank's own eyes will look into yours. I have +just received his last message. I will read it to you. [_Note-book. +Reads._] "Tell our little son how his father died, not how he lived. +And tell her who filled my own mother's place so lovingly." [_She +looks at_ MRS. HAVERILL, _moves to her and hides her face in her +bosom._] My mother! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Edith--my child! Frank loved us both. + +EDITH. [_Reading._] "Father's portrait of her, which she gave to me in +Charleston--[HAVERILL _starts._]--helped me to be a better man." + +HAVERILL. [_Rising to his feet._] Constance! + +EDITH. [_Reading._] "It was taken from me in Richmond, and it is in +the possession of Captain Edward Thornton." + +HAVERILL. One moment! Stop! Let me think! [EDITH _looks at him; +retires up stage._] Thornton was a prisoner--and to Kerchival West. A +despatch had been found upon him--he was searched! [_He moves to her +and takes both her hands in his own, bowing his head over them._] My +head is bowed in shame. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Speak to me, John, as you used to speak! Tell me you +still love me! + +HAVERILL. The--the words will come--but they are--choking me--now. +[_Presses her hand to his lips._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. We will think no more of the past, except of what +was bright in it. Frank's memory, and our own love, will be with us +always. + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN, _followed by_ HEARTSEASE. + +BUCKTHORN. Haverill! You are back from the war, too. It begins to look +like peace in earnest. + +HAVERILL. Yes. Peace and home. [_Shaking hands with him._ MRS. +HAVERILL _joins_ EDITH. + +_Enter_ BARKET. + +BARKET. Gineral! [BUCKTHORN _moves to him._ HAVERILL _joins_ MRS. +HAVERILL _and_ EDITH. BARKET _speaks apart, twisting one side of his +face._] I kissed her! + +BUCKTHORN. Have you sent for a surgeon? + +BARKET. I felt as if the inimy had surprised us agin, and Sheridan was +sixty miles away. + +HAVERILL. This is old Sergeant Barket. [BARKET _salutes._] You were +the last man of us all that saw Colonel West. + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began--whin Colonel +Wist rode to the front to mate his retreating rigiment--the byes +formed in line, at sight of him, to raysist the victorious inimy. It +was just at the brow of a hill--about there, sur--[_Pointing with +his cane._] and--here! [_He takes tray from table and sets it on the +carpet. Lays the slices of bread in a row._] That be the rigiment. +[_All interested._ MADELINE _and_ ELLINGHAM _enter, and look on._ +BARKET _arranges the two cups and saucers in a row._] That be the +inimy's batthery, sur. [_Enter_ MARGERY. _She goes to the table; then +looks around, sharply, at_ BARKET. + +MARGERY. Ye ould Hibernian dhrone! What are yez doin' wid the china on +the floor? You'll break it all! + +BUCKTHORN. Ah--Margery! Barket is telling us where he last saw Colonel +Kerchival West. + +MARGERY. The young Colonel! The tay-cups and saucers be's the inimy's +batthery? Yez may smash 'em, if ye loike! + +BUCKTHORN. Go on, Barket. [JENNY _and_ HEARTSEASE _have entered as_ +BARKET _proceeds; the whole party lean forward, intensely interested._ +GERTRUDE _enters in hall, looks in, beckons out left._ KERCHIVAL +_follows. They move up stage, back of the rest and unseen, listening._ + +BARKET. Just as the rigiment was rayformed in line, and Colonel Wist +was out in front--widout any coat or hat, and wid only a shtick in his +hand--we heard cheers in the rear. Gineral Sheridan was coming! One +word to the men--and we swept over the batthery like a whirlwind! +[_Slashing his cane through the cups and saucers._ + +MARGERY. Hoo-roo! + +BARKET. The attack on the lift flank was checked. But when we shtopped +to take breath, Colonel Wist wasn't wid us. [GERTRUDE _turns lovingly +to_ KERCHIVAL. _He places his arm about her._] Heaven knows where he +is now. Afther the battle was over, poor Miss Gertrude wint off by +hersilf into the wilderness to find him. + +KERCHIVAL. My wife! You saved my life, at last! [_Embracing her._ + +BARKET. They'll niver come together in this world. I saw Miss +Gertrude, myself, ride away into the woods and disappear behind a +school-house on the battle-field, over there. + +GERTRUDE. No, Barket--[_All start and look._]--it was the little +church; we were married there this morning! + +CURTAIN. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shenandoah, by Bronson Howard + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13039 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..72b6041 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13039 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13039) diff --git a/old/13039-8.txt b/old/13039-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f652c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13039-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4683 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shenandoah, by Bronson Howard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Shenandoah + Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911 + +Author: Bronson Howard + +Release Date: July 28, 2004 [EBook #13039] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHENANDOAH *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + +SHENANDOAH + + +_A MILITARY COMEDY_ + + + + +[Illustration: BRONSON HOWARD] + + + + +BRONSON HOWARD + +(1842-1908) + + +The present Editor has just read through some of the vivacious +correspondence of Bronson Howard--a sheaf of letters sent by him to +Brander Matthews during a long intercourse. The time thus spent brings +sharply to mind the salient qualities of the man--his nobility of +character, his soundness of mind, his graciousness of manner, and +his thorough understanding of the dramatic tools of his day and +generation. To know Bronson Howard was to be treated to just that +human quality which he put into even his hastily penned notes--and, as +in conversation with him, so in his letters there are repeated flashes +of sage comment and of good native wit. Not too often can we make the +plea for the gathering and preserving of such material. Autobiography, +after all, is what biography ought to be--it is the live portrait +by the side of which a mere appreciative sketch fades. I have looked +through the "Memorial" volume to Bronson Howard, issued by the +American Dramatists Club (1910), and read the well-tempered estimates, +the random reminiscences. But these do not recall the Bronson Howard +known to me, as to so many others--who gleams so charmingly in this +correspondence. Bronson Howard's plays may not last--"Fantine," +"Saratoga," "Diamonds," "Moorcraft," "Lillian's Last Love"--these are +mere names in theatre history, and they are very out of date on +the printed page. "The Banker's Daughter," "Old Love Letters" and +"Hurricanes" would scarcely revive, so changed our comedy treatment, +so differently psychologized our emotion. Not many years ago +the managerial expedient was resorted to of re-vamping "The +Henrietta"--but its spirit would not behave in new-fangled style, +and the magic of Robson and Crane was broken. In the American drama's +groping for "society" comedy, one might put "Saratoga," and even +"Aristocracy," in advance of Mrs. Mowatt's "Fashion" and Mrs. +Bateman's "Self;" in the evolution of domestic problems, "Young Mrs. +Winthrop" is interesting as an early breaker of American soil. But +one can hardly say that, either for the theatre or for the library, +Bronson Howard is a permanent factor. Yet his influence on the theatre +is permanent; his moral force is something that should be perpetuated. +Whatever he said on subjects pertaining to his craft--his comments on +play-making most especially,--was illuminating and judicious. I have +been privileged to read the comments sent by him to Professor +Matthews during the period of their collaboration together over "Peter +Stuyvesant;" they are practical suggestions, revealing the peculiar +way in which a dramatist's mind shapes material for a three hours' +traffic of the stage--the willingness to sacrifice situation, +expression--any detail, in fact, that clogs the action. Through the +years of their acquaintance, Howard and Matthews were continually +wrangling good-naturedly about the relation of drama to literature. +Apropos of an article by Matthews in _The Forum_, Howard once wrote: + + I note that you regard the 'divorce' of the drama from + literature as unfortunate. I think the divorce should be made + absolute and final; that the Drama should no more be wedded to + literature, on one hand, than it is to the art of painting on + the other, or to music or mechanical science. Rather, perhaps, + I should say, we should recognize poligamy for the Drama; and + all the arts, with literature, its Harem. Literature may be + Chief Sultana--but not too jealous. She is always claiming too + large a share of her master's attention, and turning up her + nose at the rest. I have felt this so strongly, at times, as + to warmly deny that I was a 'literary man', insisting on being + a 'dramatist'. + +Then, in the same note, he adds in pencil: "Saw 'Ghosts' last night. +Great work of art! Ibsen a brute, personally, for writing it." + +In one of the "Stuyvesant" communications, Howard is calculating +on the cumulative value of interest; and he analyzes it in this +mathematical way: + + So far as the important act is concerned, I have felt that + this part of it was the hardest part of the problem before + us. We were certain of a good beginning of the act and a good, + rapid, dramatic end; but the middle and body of it I felt + needed much attention to make the act substantial and + satisfactory. To tell the truth, I was quietly worrying a bit + over this part of the play, while you were expressing your + anxiety about the 2nd act--which never bothered me. There + _must_ be 2nd acts and there _must_ be last acts--audiences + resign themselves to them; but 3rd acts--in 4 and 5 act + plays--they insist on, and _will_ have them good. The only + exception is where you astonish them with a good 2nd act--then + they'll take their siesta in the 3rd--and wake up for the 4th. + +This psychological time-table shows how calculating the dramatist +has to be, how precise in his framework, how sparing of his number of +words. In another note, Howard says: + + This would leave the acts squeezed "dry", about as + follows:--Act I, 35 minutes; Act 2, 30; Act 3, 45; Act 4, + 20--total, 130--2 hrs., 10 min., curtain up: entr'acts, 25 + min. Total--2 hrs., 35 min.--8:20 to 10:55. + +There are a thousand extraneous considerations bothering a play that +never enter into the evolution of any other form of art. After seeing +W.H. Crane, who played "Peter Stuyvesant" when it was given, Howard +writes Matthews of the wisdom shown by the actor in his criticism of +"points" to be changed and strengthened in the manuscript. + +"A good actor," he declares, "whom I always regard as an original +creator in art--beginning at the point where the dramatist's pen +stops--approaches a subject from such a radically different direction +that we writers cannot study his impressions too carefully in revising +our work." Sometimes, conventions seized the humourous side of Howard. +From England, around 1883, he wrote, "Methinks there is danger in the +feeling expressed about 'local colouring.' English managers would put +the Garden of Eden in Devonshire, if you adapted Paradise Lost for +them--and insist on giving Adam an eye-glass and a title." + +Howard was above all an American; he was always emphasizing his +nationality; and this largely because the English managers changed +"Saratoga" to "Brighton," and "The Banker's Daughter" to "The Old Love +and the New." I doubt whether he relished William Archer's inclusion +of him in a volume of "English Dramatists of To-day," even though +that critic's excuse was that he "may be said to occupy a place among +English dramatists somewhat similar to that occupied by Mr. Henry +James among English novelists." Howard was quick to assert his +Americanism, and to his home town he wrote a letter from London, +in 1884, disclaiming the accusation that he was hiding his local +inheritance behind a French technique and a protracted stay abroad +on business. He married an English woman--the sister of the late Sir +Charles Wyndham--and it was due to the latter that several of his +plays were transplanted and that Howard planned collaboration with +Sir Charles Young. But Howard was part of American life--born of the +middle West, and shouldering a gun during the Civil War to guard the +Canadian border near Detroit against a possible sympathetic uprising +for the Confederacy. Besides which--a fact which makes the title of +"Dean of the American Drama" a legitimate insignia,--when, in 1870, he +stood firm against the prejudices of A.M. Palmer and Lester Wallack, +shown toward "home industry," he was maintaining the right of the +American dramatist. He was always preaching the American spirit, +always analyzing American character, always watching and encouraging +American thought. + +Howard was a scholar, with a sense of the fitness of things, as +a dramatist should have. Evidently, during the collaboration with +Professor Matthews on "Stuyvesant," discussion must have arisen as +to the form of English "New Amsterdamers," under Knickerbocker rule, +would use. For it called forth one of Howard's breezy but exact +comments, as follows: + + A few more words about the "English" question: As I said, + it seems to me, academical correctness, among the higher + characters, will give a prim, old-fashioned tone: and _you_ + can look after this, as all my own work has been in the + opposite direction in art. I have given it no thought in + writing this piece, so far. + + I would suggest the following special points to be on + the alert for, even in the _best_ present-day use of + English:--some words are absolutely correct, now, yet based + on events or movements in history since 1660. An evident + illustration is the word "boulevard" for a wide street or + road; so "avenue," in same sense, is New Yorkese and London + imitation--even imitated from us, I imagine, in Paris: this + would give a nineteenth century tone; while an "avenue lined + with trees in a bowery" would not. Don't understand that I + am telling you things. I'm only illustrating--to let you know + what especial things in language I hope you will keep your eye + on. Of course _Anneke_ couldn't be "electrified"--but you may + find many less evident blunders than that would be. She might + be shocked, but couldn't "receive a shock." We need free + colloquial slang and common expressions; but while "get out" + seems all right from _Stuyvesant_ to _Bogardus_, for _Barry_ + to say "Skedadle" would put him in the 87th New York Vols., + 1861-64. Yet I doubt whether we have any more classic and + revered slang than that word. + +The evident ease, yet thoroughness, with which Mr. Howard prepared +for his many tasks, is seen in his extended reading among Civil War +records, before writing "Shenandoah." The same "knowledge" sense +must have been a constant incentive to Professor Matthews, in the +preparation of "Peter Stuyvesant." + + "The manual of arms," Howard declares, "is simply _great_. I + think we can get the muskets pointed at _Barket_ in about 4 or + 5 orders, however; taking the more picturesque ones, so far + as may be possible. I went over the [State] librarian's letter + with a nephew with the most modern of military training: and + as I was at a military school in 1860--just two centuries + after our period--we had fun together. Even with an old + muzzle loader--Scott's Tactics--it was "Load and fire in ten + motions," _now_ antiquated with the breech-loaders of to-day. + The same operation, in 1662, required 28 motions, as + we counted. By the bye, did I tell you that I found the + flint-lock invented (in Spain) in 1625--and it "soon" spread + over Europe? I felt, however, that the intervening 37 years + would hardly have carried it to New Amsterdam; especially as + the colony was neglected in such matters." + +From these excerpts it is apparent that Howard had no delusions +regarding the "work" side of the theatre; he was continually insisting +that dramatic art was dependent upon the _artisan_ aspects which +underlay it. This he maintained, especially in contradiction to +fictional theories upheld by the adherents of W.D. Howells. + +One often asks why a man, thus so serious and thorough in his approach +toward life, should have been so transitorily mannered in his plays, +and the reason may be in the very _artisan_ character of his work. Mr. +Howard delivered a lecture before the Shakespeare Society of Harvard +University, at Sanders Theatre, in 1886 (later given, 1889, before +the Nineteenth Century Club, in New York), and he called it "The +Autobiography of a Play." In the course of it, he illustrated how, in +his own play, called "Lillian's Last Love," in 1873, which one year +later became "The Banker's Daughter," he had to obey certain unfailing +laws of dramatic construction during the alterations and re-writing. +He never stated a requirement he was not himself willing to abide by. +When he instructed the Harvard students, he was merely elucidating his +own theatre education. "Submit yourselves truly and unconditionally," +he admonished, "to the laws of dramatic truth, so far as you can +discover them by honest mental exertion and observation. Do not +mistake any mere defiance of these laws for originality. You might +as well show your originality by defying the law of gravitation." Mr. +Howard was not one to pose as the oracle of a new technique; in this +essay he merely stated sincerely his experience in a craft, as +a clinical lecturer demonstrates certain established methods of +treatment. + +In his plays, vivacity and quick humour are the distinguishing +characteristics. Like his contemporary workers, he was alive to topics +of the hour, but, unlike them, he looked ahead, and so, as I have +stated in my "The American Dramatist," one can find profit in +contrasting his "Baron Rudolph" with Charles Klein's "Daughters of +Men," his "The Henrietta" with Klein's "The Lion and Mouse," and his +"The Young Mrs. Winthrop" with Alfred Sutro's "The Walls of Jericho." +He was an ardent reader of plays, as his library--bequeathed to the +American Dramatists Club, which he founded--bears witness. The fact +is, he studied Restoration drama as closely as he did the modern +French stage. How often he had to defend himself in the press from +the accusation of plagiarism, merely because he was complying with the +stage conventions of the moment! + +It is unfortunate that his note-books are not available. But luckily +he wrote an article at one time which shows his method of thrashing +out the moral matrix of a scenario himself. It is called "Old Dry +Ink." Howard's irony slayed the vulgar, but, because in some quarters +his irony was not liked, he was criticized for his vulgarities. +Archer, for example, early laid this defect to the influence of the +Wyndham policy, in London, of courting blatant immorality in plays for +the stage. + +Howard's femininity, in comparison with Fitch's, was equally as +observant; it was not as literarily brilliant in its "small talk." But +though the effervescent chatter, handled with increasing dexterity by +him, is now old-fashioned, "Old Dry Ink" shows that the scenes in his +plays were not merely cleverly arrived at, but were philosophically +digested. How different the dialogue from the notes! + +This article was written in 1906; it conveys many impressions of early +feminine struggles for political independence. The fact is, Mr. Howard +often expressed his disappointment over the showing women made in the +creative arts, and that he was not willing to let the bars down in his +own profession is indicated by the fact that, during his life-time, +women dramatists were not admitted as members into the club he +founded. + +The reader is referred to two other articles by Mr. Howard--one, +"Trash on the Stage," included in the "Memorial" volume; the other, +on "The American Drama," which is reproduced here, because, written +in 1906, and published in a now obsolete newspaper magazine, it is +difficult of procuring, and stands, possibly, for Mr. Howard's final +perspective of a native drama he did so much to make known as native. + +The most national of Howard's plays is "Shenandoah;" it is chosen for +the present volume as representative of the military drama, of which +there are not many examples, considering the Civil War possibilities +for stage effect. Clyde Fitch's "Barbara Frietchie," James A. Herne's +"Griffith Davenport," Fyles and Belasco's "The Girl I Left Behind Me," +Gillette's "Secret Service," and William DeMille's "The Warrens of +Virginia"--a mere sheaf beside the Revolutionary list which might be +compiled. + +According to one authority, "Shenandoah" was built upon the +foundations of a play by Howard, produced at Macauley's Theatre, +Louisville, Kentucky. As stated by Professor Matthews, the facts are +that Howard took a piece, "Drum Taps," to Lester Wallack; who, true +to his English tradition, said that if it was changed in time from +the Civil War to the Crimean, he might consider it. It is certain, +however, that if the cast of characters, as first given under the +management of Montgomery Field, at the old Boston Museum, November +19, 1888, be compared with the program of the New York Star Theatre, +September 13, 1889, it will be found that the manuscript must have +been considerably altered and shifted, before it reached the shape now +offered here as the authentic text. The fact of the matter is, it was +not considered a "go" in Boston; we are informed that such managers +as Palmer and Henry E. Abbey prophesied dire end for the piece. But +Charles Frohman hastened to Boston, on the advice of his brother, +Daniel, and, giving half-interest in the piece to Al Hayman, he +arranged with Field for rights, procured "time" at the Star Theatre +with Burnham, and, as is told in "C.F.'s" biography, hastened to +Stamford, Connecticut, to talk with Howard. According to this source, +he said to the playwright: + + "You are a very great dramatist, Mr. Howard, and I am only + a theatrical manager, but I think I can see where a possible + improvement might be made in the play. For one thing, I think + two acts should be merged into one, and I don't think you have + made enough out of Sheridan's ride." + +The opening night, with General Sherman in the audience, was a +memorable occasion. It was the beginning of "C.F.'s" rapid rise +to managerial importance, it ushered in the era of numberless road +companies playing the same piece, it met with long "runs," and the +royalty statements mounted steadily in bulk for Howard. It was the +success of the hour. + +But "Shenandoah" is undoubtedly conventional; its melodramatic effects +are dependent on stage presentment rather than on the printed page. +In fact, so much an artisan of the theatre was Mr. Howard that he was +always somewhat skeptical of the modern drama in print. When he was +persuaded to issue his last piece, "Kate," in book form, he consented +to the publisher's masking it as a novel in dialogue, hoping thus, +as his prefatory note states, "to carry the imagination directly to +scenes of real life and not to the stage." To the last there was a +distinction in his mind between literature and the drama. It is since +this was written that the play form, nervous and quick, even in its +printed shape, has become widely accepted. + +"Shenandoah" is a play of pictorial effects and swiftly changing +sentiment. Were there a national repertory, this would be included +among the plays, not because of its literary quality, but because of +the spirit to be drawn from its situations, framed expressly for +the stage, and because of its pictures, dependent wholly upon stage +accessory. It is an actable play, and most of our prominent actors, +coming out of the period of the late 80's, had training in it. + + + + +THE AMERICAN DRAMA + +by + +BRONSON HOWARD + + +In considering the present standing of the American drama, compared +with the time when there was little or nothing worthy of the name, +the one significant fact has been the gradual growth of a body of men +engaged in writing plays. Up to the time I started in 1870, American +plays had been written only sporadically here and there by men and +women who never met each other, who had no personal acquaintance of +any kind, no sympathies, no exchange of views; in fact, no means of +building up such a body of thought in connection with their art as is +necessary to form what is called a school. + +In what we now style Broadway productions the late Augustin Daly stood +absolutely alone, seeing no other future for his own dramatic works +except by his own presentation of them. Except for Daly, I was +practically alone; but he offered me the same opportunity and promise +for the future that he had given to himself. From him developed a +school of managers willing and eager to produce American plays on +American subjects. Other writers began to drop into the profession; +but still they seldom met, and it was not until about 1890 that they +suddenly discovered themselves as a body of dramatists. This was at +a private supper given at the Lotos Club to the veteran playwright +Charles Gaylor, who far antedated Daly himself. To the astonishment of +those making the list of guests for that supper, upward of fifty men +writing in America who produced plays were professionally entitled to +invitations, and thirty-five were actually present at the supper. A +toast to seven women writers not present was also honoured. + +This was the origin of the American Dramatists Club. The moment these +men began to know each other personally, the process of intellectual +attrition began, which will probably result eventually in a strong +school. That supper took place only sixteen years ago; so we are yet +only in the beginning of the great movement. Incidentally, it is also +necessarily the beginning of a school of dramatic criticism of that +art. It is difficult to suppose that a body of critics, merely learned +in the dramatic art of Europe, can be regarded as forming a school of +America. + +To go to Paris to finish your education in dramatic art, and return to +New York and make comments on what you see in the theatre, is not to +be an American dramatic critic, nor does it tend in any way to found a +school of American dramatic criticism. The same is true of the man who +remains in New York and gets his knowledge of the drama from reading +foreign newspapers and books. + +I stated in a former article in this magazine, "First Nights in London +and New York," that is was only within the last twenty-five or thirty +years that a comparison between the cities and the conditions had +become possible, for the reason that prior to that time there was +really no American drama. There were a few American plays, and their +first productions did not assume the least importance as social +events. As far as any comparison is possible between the early +American dramatists (I mean the first of the dramatists who were the +starting point in the later '60's and early '70's) and those of the +present day, I think of only two important points. There was one +advantage in each case. The earlier dramatists had their choice of +many great typical American characters, such as represented in _Solon +Shingle, Colonel Sellers, Joshua Whitcomb, Bardwell Slote, Mose, Davy +Crockett, Pudd'nhead Wilson,_ and many others. + +This advantage was similar in a small way to the tremendous advantage +that the earliest Greek dramatists had in treating the elemental +emotions; on the other hand, we earlier writers in America were +liable to many errors, some of them actually childish, which the +young dramatist of to-day, in constant association with his fellow +playwrights, and placing his work almost in daily comparison with +theirs, could not commit. To do so a man would have to be a much +greater fool than were any of us; and the general improvement in the +technical work of plays by young dramatists now, even plays that +are essentially weak and which fail, is decided encouragement and +satisfaction to one of my age who can look back over the whole +movement. + +The American dramatist of to-day, without those great and specially +prominent American characters who stood, as it were, ready to go on +the stage, has come to make a closer study of American society than +his predecessors did. They are keen also in seizing strikingly marked +new types in American life as they developed before the public from +decade to decade. + +A notable instance is the exploitation by Charles Klein of the +present-day captain of industry in "The Lion and the Mouse." The +leading character in the play is differentiated on the stage, as in +life, from the Wall Street giant of about 1890, as illustrated in +one of my own plays, "The Henrietta." Mr. Klein's character of the +financial magnate has developed in this country since my active days +of playwriting, and the younger dramatist was lying in wait, ready for +him, and ready to seize his peculiarities for stage purposes. + +Another thing is the fact that our dramatists are doing what our +literary men have done, namely, availing themselves of the striking +local peculiarities in various parts of the country. A marked +illustration of this now before the public is Edward Milton Royle's +"Squawman," recently at Wallack's Theatre. The dramatist has caught +his picture just in the nick of time, just before the facts of life +in the Indian Territory are passing away. He has preserved the picture +for us as George W. Cable, the novelist, preserved pictures of Creole +life of old New Orleans, made at the last possible moment. + +I could go on mentioning many other plays illustrating phases of life +and society in America, and there could be no better or more positive +proof that a school of American dramatists already exists. This school +will undoubtedly continue to improve in the technical quality of +its work, exactly as it has done in the past, and probably with more +rapidity. + +The question has been discussed as to whether we are ever likely to +produce an Ibsen or a Shaw, and under what conditions he would be +received. As far as concerns what may happen in the future in the way +of producing absolutely great dramatists and great plays, using the +word 'great' in the international and historical sense, the opinion of +anyone on that subject is mere guesswork and absolutely valueless. + +The greatest drama in history was produced by Greece about four or +five centuries before Christ, and for a few generations afterward. +Since Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, Greece has scarcely given us +anything. Aristophanes and Menander are of course remembered, but the +writers who endeavoured to follow in the footsteps of the masters +were of far inferior merit. The Roman Empire existed for nearly two +thousand years without producing any drama of its own worthy of +the name. The Romans were not a dramatic people. The works of the +so-called Latin dramatists, such as those of Plautus and Terence, were +mere imitations of the Greek. + +France and England had sudden bursts of greatness followed by general +mediocrity, with occasional great writers whose advent could not +possibly have been predicted by anything in art preceding them. Even +the exception to this in France, in the middle of the nineteenth +century, was apparently a flash of light that disappeared almost as +suddenly as it came. What is the use of posing as a prophet with such +a record of the past? Anyone else is at liberty to do so. I would +as soon act as harlequin. Was there any wise man in England who, +twenty-four hours before that momentous event in April, 1564, could +predict that a baby named William Shakespeare would be born the next +day? To say that an American dramatist is to appear this year or in a +thousand years who will make an epoch is simply ridiculous. + +That Ibsen exercised and will exercise great influence on American +dramatists there can be little doubt. His skill was no mere accident. +He was the most finished development of the French school of the +nineteenth century, as well as the most highly artificial individual +dramatist of that school. I call it the strictly logical school +of dramatic construction. I use the word 'artificial' in its more +artistic sense, as opposed to the so-called natural school. His +subjects of course were national, and not French. Whether his +pessimism was national or personal, I have not been able to discover. +It seemed to me that he was a pessimistic man dealing with a nation +inclined to pessimism, but that had nothing to do with the technical +qualities of the man any more than the national peculiarities of +Denmark had to do with Thorvaldsen as a follower of Greek sculpture. + +As to the policy of our theatre managers, I confess that they do +follow each other; but it is simply because they think the leader they +happen to be following has discovered a current of temporary popular +taste. The authors have the same interest as the managers, and you +will always find them watching the public taste in the same manner. + +Occasionally an individual dramatist, and not always the best from a +technical point of view, will develop such a strong personal bias as +to write on subjects suggested by his own tastes, without any regard +to the current of popular wishes. If he is a strong enough man he will +become a leader of the public in his dramatic tastes. Sometimes in +rare instances he will influence the public so decidedly that he +compels the contemporary school of writers to follow him. This has +been the case in all periods. I need not mention Shakespeare, as +everything said about him is a matter of course. + +Take the vile dramatic era of Charles II. Wycherley led the brutes, +but Congreve came up and combatted with his brilliant comedies the +vileness of the Restoration school, and Hallam says of him that he +introduced decency to the stage that afterward drove his own comedies +off it. A little after Congreve, the school, so to speak, for we have +nothing but the school, was so stupid that it brought forth no great +writers, and produced weak, sentimental plays. Then came Goldsmith, +who wrote "She Stoops to Conquer" actually as a protest against the +feeble sentimentality I have referred to. Richard Brinsley Sheridan +was made possible by Goldsmith. We went on after that with a school +of old comedies. When we speak of the "old comedies," I am not talking +about Beaumont and Fletcher, nor Wycherley, nor Vanbrugh, nor even +Congreve, but of the comedy of Goldsmith in the third quarter of the +eighteenth century down to Bulwer Lytton's "Money" and Boucicault's +"London Assurance," bringing us to about 1840. Then there swung a +school of what we call the palmy days of old comedy, and in the '40's +it dwindled to nothing, and England and America waited until the early +'60's. Then came Tom Robertson with his so-called "tea-cup and saucer" +school, which consisted of sententious dialogue, simple situations, +conventional characterizations, and threads of plots, until Pinero and +Jones put a stop to the Robertson fad. + +This proves in my judgment that the school always starts by being +shown what the popular taste is, and follows that, until some +individual discovery that the popular taste is changed. The tendency +of the school is always to become academic and fixed in its ideas--it +is the individual who points to the necessary changes. Schools and +these special individuals are interdependent. + +As to the present comedies in America: in the first place, it is +impossible as a rule to decide fully what are the tendencies of a +school when one is living in the midst of its activities. There is no +marked tendency now; and as far as I can see it is only the occasional +man who discovers the tendency of the times. Pinero undoubtedly saw +that the public was tired of the "tea-cup and saucer." Probably had he +not thought so, he would have gone on in that school. + +Undoubtedly more plays are written to order than are written on the +mere impulse of authors, independently of popular demand. The "order" +play simply represents the popular demand as understood by managers, +and the meeting of that demand in each age produces the great mass +of any nation's drama. So far from lowering the standard of dramatic +writing, it is a necessary impulse in the development of any drama. It +is only when the school goes on blindly without seeing a change in the +popular taste that the occasional man I have spoken of comes on. When +the work of the school is legitimately in line with the public taste, +the merely eccentric dramatist is like _Lord Dundreary's_ bird with a +single feather that goes in a corner and flocks all by itself. He may +be a strong enough man to attract attention to his individuality, and +his plays may be really great in themselves, but his work has +little influence on the development of the art. In fact, there is +no development of the art except in the line of popular taste. The +specially great men mentioned have simply discovered the changes in +the popular taste, and to a certain extent perhaps guided it.[A] + + +[Footnote A: Originally published in "The Sunday Magazine" (New York) +for October 7, 1906.] + + + + +=BOSTON MUSEUM= + +1841 + +FORTY-EIGHTH REGULAR SEASON + +MR. R.M. FIELD, MANAGER + +=SHENANDOAH= + +COMMENCING MONDAY, NOV. 19, 1889. + + * * * * * + +Evenings at 7:45 and Wednesday and Saturday Afternoon at 2. + + * * * * * + +FIRST TIME ON ANY STAGE +OF THIS +NEW MILITARY COMEDY + +=SHENANDOAH!= + +Written Expressly for the Boston Museum by +BRONSON HOWARD, ESQ. + +Author of THE HENRIETTA, THE BANKER'S DAUGHTER, YOUNG MRS. WINTHROP, +ONE OF OUR GIRLS, OLD LOVE LETTER, ETC. + +WITH ENTIRELY NEW SCENERY BY LA MOSS, +AND THE FOLLOWING CAST: + + +PEACE + +COL. JOHN HAVERILL, Mr. THOS. L. COLEMAN +LIEUT. KERCHIVAL WEST, Mr. JOHN B. MASON [Transcribers note: some unreadable text here] +LIEUT. ROB'T ELLINGHAM, Mr. CHAS. J. BELL +FRANK HAVERILL, Mr. EDGAR L. DAVENPORT +EDW. THORNTON, a Southerner "by choice," Mr. WILLIS GRANGER +MRS. HAVERILL Miss ANNIE M. CLARKE +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM, a Southern girl, Miss VIOLA ALLEN +MADELINE WEST, a Northern girl, Miss HELEN DAYNE + + +WAR + +MAJ. GEN. FRANCIS BUCKTHORN, Commander of the + Nineteenth Army Corps Mr. C. LESLIE ALLEN +BRIG. GEN. HAVERILL, { Officers } Mr. THOS. L. COLEMAN +COL. KERCHIVAL WEST, { of } Mr. JOHN B. MASON +CAPT. HEARTSEASE, { Sheridan's } Mr. HENRY M. PITT +LIEUT. FRANK BEDLOE, { Cavalry } Mr. EDGAR L. DAVENPORT +SERGEANT BARKET, Mr. GEO. W. WILSON +COL. ROBERT ELLINGHAM, 10th Virginia C.S.A., Mr. CHAS. J. BELL +CAPT. THORNTON, Secret Service, C.S.A., Mr. WILLIS GRANGER +LIEUT. HARDWICK, Surgeon, C.S.A., Mr. GEORGE BLAKE +CORPORAL DUNN, Mr. JAMES NOLAN +CAPT. LOCKWOOD, Signal Officer Mr. HERBERT PATTEE +BENSON, {Cavalrymen } Mr. C.B. ABBE +WILKINS, { } Mr. HENRY MACDONNA +LIEUTENANTS, {Cavalry} MR. H.P. WHITTEMORE + {Infantry} Mr. THOS. FRANCIS +MRS. HAVERILL, Miss ANNIE M. CLARKE +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM, Miss VIOLA ALLEN +MADELINE WEST, Miss HELEN DAYNE +JENNY BUCKTHORN, U.S.A., Miss MIRIAM O'LEARY +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL, Miss GRACE ATWELL +OLD MARGERY Miss KATE RYAN +JANNETTE Miss HARDING + +There will be no intermission between Acts THIRD and FOURTH + +[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text.] + + +ACT FIRST + +Charleston Harbor in 1861 + +After the ball. Residence of the Ellinghams. + +The citizens of Charleston knew almost the exact hour at +which the attack on Fort Sumter would begin, and they gathered +in the gray twilight of the morning to view the bombardment +as a spectacle.--NICOLAY, _Campaigns of the Civil War, Vol. I._ + +"I shall open fire in one hour."--BEAUREGARD'S _last message +to_ MAJOR ANDERSON. _Sent at 3:20 A.M., April 12, 1861_. + + +ACT SECOND + +The Ellingham Homestead in Virginia + +When the Union Army under Gen. Sheridan and the Confederate Army +under Gen. Early were encamped at Cedar Creek, almost twenty miles +south of Winchester, there was a Confederate signal station on Three Top +Mountain, overlooking both camps; [Transcriber's note: Unreadable] another, near the summit of +North Mountain, on the opposite side of the valley.--_Official Records and +Maps_. + + +ACTS THIRD and FOURTH + +No Intermission between these Acts. + +The Shenandoah Valley. Night and Morning. Three Top mountain. + +[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text.] + +While the two armies lay opposite each other, General Sheridan was called +to Washington. Soon after he left, a startling despatch was taken by our +own Signal Officers from the Confederate Signal Station on Three Top +Mountain.--POND, _Camp. Civ. War, Vol. XI._ + +On the morning of October 19th, the Union Army was taken completely by +surprise. Thoburn's position was swept in an instant. The men who +escaped capture fled to the river. Gordon burst suddenly upon the left +flank.--POND, _supra._ + + +ACT FIFTH + +Washington, 1826. Residence of Gen. Buckthorn. + +_From Gen. Grant's Memoirs._ + +"I feel that we are on the eve of a great era when there is to be great harmony +between the Federal and Confederate." + + * * * * * + +The Orchestra, under the direction of MR. GEORGE PURDY, will perform +the following selections:-- + +1. Overture--Le Caïd Ambroise Thomas +2. Waltz--Ruby Royal Louis Gregh +3. Selection--War Songs Arr. by George Purdy + Introducing the following selections: Kingdom Coming, When + This Cruel War Is Over, Babylon Is Fallen, [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text], The Vacant + Chair, Tramp, Tramp, Johnny Comes Marching, Who Will Care For + Mother Now? Tenting on the Old Camp Ground, Rally Round the + Flag. +4. [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] +5. March--[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] + + * * * * * + +THANKSGIVING DAY, +EXTRA SHENANDOAH MATINEE + + * * * * * + +SEATS SECURED TWO WEEKS IN ADVANCE DURING +THE [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] OF SHENANDOAH. + + * * * * * + +ACTING AND STAGE MANAGER MR. HENRY M. PITT + + + + +SHENANDOAH + +_A MILITARY COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS_ + +_By_ BRONSON HOWARD + +1897 BY BRONSON HOWARD + +ALL RIGHTS INCLUDING THAT OF PERFORMANCE RESERVED + +Reprinted from a privately printed edition, by permission of the +Society of American Dramatists and Composers, from a copy furnished +by Samuel French. It is here to be noted that the Society of American +Dramatists and Composers reserves all rights in "Shenandoah." + + + + +ORIGINAL CAST OF CHARACTERS + + +First produced at the Star Theatre, New York City, September 9, 1889. + +GENERAL HAVERILL }Officers of{ Wilton Lackaye. +COLONEL KERCHIVAL WEST }Sheridan's { Henry Miller. +CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE }Cavalry { Morton Selton. +LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE } { G.W. Bailey. + +MAJOR-GENERAL FRANCIS BUCKTHORN, +Commander of the 19th Army Corps Harry Harwood. + +SERGEANT BARKET James O. Barrows. + +COLONEL ROBERT ELLINGHAM, 10th Virginia Lucius Henderson. + +CAPTAIN THORNTON, Secret Service, C.S.A. John E. Kellard. + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS Harry Thorn. + +LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY Geo. Maxwell. + +MRS. CONSTANCE HAVERILL Dorothy Dorr. + +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM Viola Allen. + +MADELINE WEST Nanette Comstock. + +JENNY BUCKTHORN, U.S.A. Effie Shannon. + +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL Alice B. Haines. + +HARDWICK (SURGEON) W.L. Dennison. + +CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD, U.S. Signal Corps C.C. Brandt. + +CORPORAL DUNN W.J. Cummings. + +BENSON Wm. Barnes. + +OLD MARGERY Mrs. Haslam. + +JANNETTE Esther Drew. + + + + +COSTUMES + + +HAVERILL.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Acts 2 and 3. Uniform of +Brigadier-General, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active Service, rough and +war-worn.--Act 4. Civil Costume, Prince Albert, &c. + +KERCHIVAL WEST.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Acts 2 and 3. Uniform +of Colonel of Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864 (with cloak in Act 3). Active +Service, rough and war-worn.--Act 4. Travelling. + +CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE.--Act 2. Uniform of Captain of Cavalry, 1864; +as neat and precise as is consistent with Active Service.--Act 4. +Afternoon; Civil. + +LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE.--Act 2. Lieutenant of Cavalry, 1864; Active +Service. He must have a full beard.--Act 3. Same, disarranged for +wounded man on stretcher. + +GENERAL BUCKTHORN.--Acts 2 and 3. Major-General, 1864. Active +Service.--Act 3. Same.--Act 4. Civil. Afternoon. + +SERGEANT BARKET.--Acts 2 and 3. Sergeant of Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. +Active Service.--Act 4. Plain undress uniform, sacque or jacket. + +ROBERT ELLINGHAM.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Act 2. Confederate +Colonel: Infantry, 1864. Active Service.--Act 4. Citizen; afternoon. +Prince Albert (Gray). + +EDWARD THORNTON.--Act I. Riding, but not present English Cut.--Act 2. +First, Confederate Captain of Cavalry. Active Service. Second costume, +same, in shirt sleeves and without hat or cap. + +HARDWICK.--Uniform of Confederate Surgeon, 1864. Active Service. + +CORPORAL DUNN.--Uniform of rank, Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +BENSON.--Uniform of 2nd Corporal, Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY.--Uniform of rank, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +MRS. HAVERILL.--Act I. Full evening ball dress.--Act 4. Mourning, but +not too deep. + +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM.--Act I. Riding habit.--Act 2. First costume, +afternoon at home; simple enough for the South during war. Second +costume, picturesque and not conventional dress and hat for +riding.--Act 3. First costume of Act 2, or similar.--Act 4. Neat +travelling costume. + +MADELINE WEST.--Act I. Full evening ball dress.--Act 2. Pretty +afternoon costume.--Act 3. Same or walking.--Act 4. Afternoon costume +at home. + +JENNY BUCKTHORN.--Act 2. Pretty afternoon costume, with military cut, +trimmings and general air.--Act 3. Same.--Act 4. Afternoon costume at +home. + +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL.--Young widow's costume. + +OLD MARGERY.--Neat old family servant. + +JANNETTE.--Young servant. + + + + +FOR PROGRAMME + + +In ACT I, just before the opening of the war, HAVERILL is a Colonel in +the Regular Army. KERCHIVAL WEST and ROBERT ELLINGHAM are Lieutenants +in his regiment, having been classmates at West Point. + + +ACT I. + +CHARLESTON HARBOUR IN 1861. AFTER THE BALL. + +The citizens of Charleston knew almost the exact hour at which the +attack on Fort Sumter would begin, and they gathered in the +gray twilight of the morning to view the bombardment as a +spectacle.--NICOLAY, _Campaigns of the Civil War, Vol. I._ + +"I shall open fire in one hour."--BEAUREGARD'S _last message to_ MAJOR +ANDERSON. _Sent at 3:20 A.M., April 12, 1861_. + + +ACTS II. AND III. + +The Union Army, under General Sheridan, and the Confederate Army, +under General Early, were encamped facing each other about twenty +miles south of Winchester, on Cedar Creek. * * * General Sheridan was +called to Washington. Soon after he left, a startling despatch was +taken by our own Signal Officers from the Confederate Signal Station +on Three Top Mountain.--POND, _Camp. Civ. War, Vol. XI._ + +On the morning of October 19th, the Union Army was taken completely +by surprise. Thoburn's position was swept in an instant. Gordon burst +suddenly upon the left flank. The men who escaped capture streamed +through the camps along the road to Winchester.--POND, _supra._ + +Far away in the rear was heard cheer after cheer.--_Three Years in the +Sixth Corps._ + + +ACT IV. + +WASHINGTON, 1865. RESIDENCE OF GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +I feel that we are on the eve of a new era, when there is to be great +harmony between the Federal and Confederate.--GEN. GRANT'S _Memoirs._ + + + + +SHENANDOAH + +ACT I. + +CHARLESTON HARBOUR IN 1861. "AFTER THE BALL." + + +SCENE. _A Southern Residence on the shore of Charleston Harbour. +Interior.--Large double doors up centre, open. Large, wide window, +with low sill. Veranda beyond the doors, and extending beyond window. +A wide opening with corridor beyond. Furniture and appointments quaint +and old-fashioned, but an air of brightness and of light; the general +tone of the walls and upholstery that of the old Colonial period in +its more ornamental and decorative phase, as shown in the early days +of Charleston. Old candlesticks and candelabra, with lighted candles +nearly burned down. Beyond the central doors and the window, there +is a lawn with Southern foliage, extending down to the shores of the +harbour; a part of the bay lies in the distance, with low-lying land +beyond. The lights of Charleston are seen over the water along the +shore. Moonlight. The gray twilight of early morning gradually steals +over the scene as the Act progresses._ + +DISCOVERED, _As the curtain rises_ KERCHIVAL WEST _is sitting in a +chair, his feet extended and his head thrown back, a handkerchief over +his face_. ROBERT ELLINGHAM _strolls in on veranda, beyond window, +smoking. He looks right, starts and moves to window; leans against the +upper side of the window and looks across._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Under handkerchief_.] Eh? H'm! + +ELLINGHAM. Can you sleep at a time like this? My own nerves are on +fire. + +KERCHIVAL. Fire? Oh--yes--I remember. Any more fire-works, Bob? + +ELLINGHAM. A signal rocket from one of the batteries, now and +then. [_Goes up beyond window_. KERCHIVAL _arouses himself, taking +handkerchief from his eyes._ + +KERCHIVAL. What a preposterous hour to be up. The ball was over an +hour ago, all the guests are gone, and it's nearly four o'clock. +[_Looks at his watch._] Exactly ten minutes of four. [_Takes out a +cigar._.] Our Southern friends assure us that General Beauregard is to +open fire on Fort Sumter this morning. I don't believe it. [_Lighting +cigar and rising, crosses and looks out through window._] There lies +the old fort--solemn and grim as ever, and the flagstaff stands above +it, like a warning finger. If they do fire upon it--[_Shutting his +teeth for a moment and looking down at the cigar in his hand._]--the +echo of that first shot will be heard above their graves, and heaven +knows how many of our own, also; but the flag will still float!--over +the graves of both sides. + +[ELLINGHAM _enters up centre and comes down_.] + +Are you Southerners all mad, Robert? + +ELLINGHAM. Are you Northerners all blind? [KERCHIVAL _sits_.] We +Virginians would prevent a war if we could. But your people in the +North do not believe that one is coming. You do not understand the +determined frenzy of my fellow-Southerners. Look! [_Pointing_.] Do +you see the lights of the city, over the water? The inhabitants of +Charleston are gathering, even now, in the gray, morning twilight, to +witness the long-promised bombardment of Fort Sumter. It is to be a +gala day for them. They have talked and dreamed of nothing else for +weeks. The preparations have become a part of their social life--of +their amusement--their gayeties. This very night at the ball--here--in +the house of my own relatives--what was their talk? What were the +jests they laughed at? Sumter! War! Ladies were betting bonbons that +the United States would not dare to fire a shot in return, and pinning +ribbons on the breasts of their "heroes." There was a signal rocket +from one of the forts, and the young men who were dancing here left +their partners standing on the floor to return to the batteries--as +if it were the night before another Waterloo. The ladies themselves +hurried away to watch the "spectacle" from their own verandas. You +won't see the truth! I tell you, Kerchival, a war between the North +and South is inevitable! + +KERCHIVAL. And if it does come, you Virginians will join the rest. + +ELLINGHAM. Our State will be the battle-ground, I fear. But every +loyal son of Virginia will follow her flag. It is our religion! + +KERCHIVAL. My State is New York. If New York should go against the old +flag, New York might go to the devil. That is my religion. + +ELLINGHAM. So differently have we been taught what the word +"patriotism" means! + +KERCHIVAL. You and I are officers in the same regiment of the United +States Regular Army, Robert; we were classmates at West Point, and we +have fought side by side on the plains. You saved my scalp once; I'd +have to wear a wig, now, if you hadn't. I say, old boy, are we to be +enemies? + +ELLINGHAM. [_Laying his hand over his shoulder._] My dear old comrade, +whatever else comes, our friendship shall be unbroken! + +KERCHIVAL. Bob! [_Looking up at him._] I only hope that we shall never +meet in battle! + +ELLINGHAM. In battle? [_Stepping down front._] The idea is horrible! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Rising and crossing to him._] My dear old comrade, one of +us will be wrong in this great fight, but we shall both be honest in +it. [_Gives hand_, ELLINGHAM _grasps it warmly, then turns away._ + +ELLINGHAM. Colonel Haverill is watching the forts, also; he has been +as sad to-night as we have. Next to leaving you, my greatest regret is +that I must resign from his regiment. + +KERCHIVAL. You are his favourite officer. + +ELLINGHAM. Naturally, perhaps; he was my guardian. + +_Enter_ HAVERILL. _He walks down, stopping centre._ + +HAVERILL. Kerchival! I secured the necessary passports? to the North +yesterday afternoon; this one is yours; I brought it down for you +early in the evening. [KERCHIVAL _takes paper. Goes to window._] I +am ordered direct to Washington at once, and shall start with Mrs. +Haverill this forenoon. You will report to Captain Lyon, of the 2d +Regiment, in St. Louis. Robert! I have hoped for peace to the last, +but it is hoping against hope. I feel certain, now, that the fatal +blow will be struck this morning. Our old regiment is already broken +up, and you, also, will now resign, I suppose, like nearly all your +fellow-Southerners in the service. + +ELLINGHAM. You know how sorry I am to leave your command, Colonel! + +HAVERILL. I served under your father in Mexico; he left me, at his +death, the guardian of you and your sister, Gertrude. Even since you +became of age, I have felt that I stood in his place. But you must be +your sister's only guardian now. Your father fell in battle, fighting +for our common country, but you-- + +ELLINGHAM. He would have done as I shall do, had he lived. He was a +Virginian! + +HAVERILL. I am glad, Robert, that he was never called upon to decide +between two flags. He never knew but one, and we fought under it +together. [_Exit._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! Something occurred in this house to-night +which--which I shouldn't mention under ordinary circumstances, but +I--I feel that it may require my further attention, and you, perhaps, +can be of service to me. Mrs. Haverill, the wife of the Colonel-- + +KERCHIVAL. Fainted away in her room. + +ELLINGHAM. You know? + +KERCHIVAL. I was one of the actors in the little drama. + +ELLINGHAM. Indeed! + +KERCHIVAL. About half-past nine this evening, while the ladies were +dressing for the ball, I was going up-stairs; I heard a quick, sharp +cry, sprang forward, found myself at an open door. Mrs. Haverill lay +on the floor inside, as if she had just reached the door to cry for +help, when she fell. After doing all the unnecessary and useless +things I could think of, I rushed out of the room to tell your sister, +Gertrude, and my own sister, Madeline, to go and take care of the +lady. Within less than twenty minutes afterwards, I saw Mrs. Haverill +sail into the drawing-room, a thing of beauty, and with the glow of +perfect health on her cheek. It was an immense relief to me when I saw +her. Up to that time I had a vague idea that I had committed a murder. + +ELLINGHAM. Murder! + +KERCHIVAL. M--m. A guilty conscience. Every man, of course, does +exactly the wrong thing when a woman faints. When I rushed out of Mrs. +Haverill's room, I left my handkerchief soaked with water upon her +face. I must ask her for it; it's a silk one. Luckily, the girls +got there in time to take it off; she wouldn't have come to if they +hadn't. It never occurred to me that she'd need to breathe in my +absence. That's all I know about the matter. What troubles you? I +suppose every woman has a right to faint whenever she chooses. The +scream that I heard was so sharp, quick and intense that-- + +ELLINGHAM. That the cause must have been a serious one. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes! So I thought. It must have been a mouse. + +ELLINGHAM. Mr. Edward Thornton has occupied the next room to that of +Mrs. Haverill to-night. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Crosses quickly._] What do you mean? + +ELLINGHAM. During the past month or more he has been pressing, not to +say insolent, in his attentions to Mrs. Haverill. + +KERCHIVAL. I've noticed that myself. + +ELLINGHAM. And he is an utterly unscrupulous man; it is no fault of +mine that he was asked to be a guest at this house to-night. He came +to Charleston, some years ago, from the North, but if there are any +vices and passions peculiarly strong in the South, he has carried them +all to the extreme. In one of the many scandals connected with Edward +Thornton's name, it was more than whispered that he entered a lady's +room unexpectedly at night. But, as he killed the lady's husband in a +duel a few days afterwards, the scandal dropped. + +KERCHIVAL. Of course; the gentleman received ample satisfaction as +an outraged husband, and Mr. Thornton apologized, I suppose, to his +widow. + +ELLINGHAM. He has repeated the adventure. + +KERCHIVAL. Do--you--think--that? + +ELLINGHAM. I was smoking on the lawn, and glanced up at the window; my +eyes may have deceived me, and I must move cautiously in the matter; +but it couldn't have been imagination; the shadow of Edward Thornton's +face and head appeared upon the curtain. + +KERCHIVAL. Whew! The devil! + +ELLINGHAM. Just at that moment I, too, heard the stifled scream. + +_Enter_ EDWARD THORNTON. + +THORNTON. Gentlemen! + +ELLINGHAM. Your name was just on my tongue, Mr. Thornton. + +THORNTON. I thought I heard it, but you are welcome to it. Miss +Gertrude has asked me to ride over to Mrs. Pinckney's with her, to +learn if there is any further news from the batteries. I am very glad +the time to attack Fort Sumter has come at last! + +ELLINGHAM. I do not share your pleasure. + +THORNTON. You are a Southern gentleman. + +ELLINGHAM. And you are a Northern "gentleman." + +THORNTON. A Southerner by choice; I shall join the cause. + +ELLINGHAM. We native Southerners will defend our own rights, sir; you +may leave them in our keeping. It is my wish, Mr. Thornton, that you +do not accompany my sister. + +THORNTON. Indeed! + +ELLINGHAM. Her groom, alone, will be sufficient. + +THORNTON. As you please, sir. Kindly offer my excuses to Miss +Gertrude. You and I can chat over the subject later in the day, when +we are alone. [_Moving up stage._ + +ELLINGHAM. By all means, and another subject, also, perhaps. + +THORNTON. I shall be entirely at your service. + +[_Exit and down on veranda._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival, I shall learn the whole truth, if possible, +to-day. If it is what I suspect--what I almost know--I will settle +with him myself. He has insulted our Colonel's wife and outraged the +hospitality of my friends. [_Walking right._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Walking left._] I think it ought to be my quarrel. I'm +sure I'm mixed up in it enough. + +MADELINE. [_Without, calling._] Kerchival! + +ELLINGHAM. Madeline. [_Aside, starting_, KERCHIVAL _looks across at +him sharply._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I distinctly saw Bob give a start when he heard +Madeline. Now, what can there be about my sister's voice to make a man +jump like that? + +GERTRUDE. [_Without._] Brother Robert! + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! [_Aside, starting,_ ELLINGHAM _looks at him +sharply._] How the tones of a woman's voice thrill through a man's +soul! + +_Enter_ MADELINE. + +MADELINE. Oh, Kerchival--here you are. + +_Enter_ GERTRUDE _from apartment, in a riding habit, with whip, etc._ + +GERTRUDE. Robert, dear! [_Coming down to_ ROBERT, _they converse in +dumb show._ + +MADELINE. Where are your field-glasses? I've been rummaging all +through your clothes, and swords, and sashes, and things. I've turned +everything in your room upside down. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you? + +MADELINE. I can't find your glasses anywhere. I want to look at the +forts. Another rocket went up just now. [_Runs and stands on piazza, +looking off right._ + +KERCHIVAL. A sister has all the privileges of a wife to upset a man's +things, without her legal obligation to put them straight again. +[_Glances at_ GERTRUDE.] I wish Bob's sister had the same privileges +in my room that my own has. + +GERTRUDE. Mr. Thornton isn't going with me, you say? + +ELLINGHAM. He requested me to offer you his apologies. + +KERCHIVAL. May I accompany you? [ELLINGHAM _turns to window._ + +GERTRUDE. My groom, old Pete, will be with me, of course; there's no +particular need of anyone else. But you may go along, if you like. +I've got my hands full of sugar-plums for Jack. Dear old Jack--he +always has his share when we have company. I'm going over to Mrs. +Pinckney's to see if she's had any more news from General Beauregard; +her son is on the General's staff. + +MADELINE. [_Looking off right_.] There's another rocket from Fort +Johnson; and it is answered from Fort Moultrie. Ah! [_Angrily._] +General Beauregard is a bad, wicked man! [_Coming down._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh! Madeline! You are a bad, wicked Northern girl to say +such a thing. + +MADELINE. I _am_ a Northern girl. + +GERTRUDE. And I am a Southern girl. [_They face each other._ + +KERCHIVAL. The war has begun. [_Dropping into chair._ + +ELLINGHAM _has turned from window; he strolls across, watching the +girls._ + +GERTRUDE. General Beauregard is a patriot. + +MADELINE. He is a Rebel. + +GERTRUDE. So am I. + +MADELINE. Gertrude!--You--you-- + +GERTRUDE. Madeline!--You-- + +MADELINE. I--I-- + +GERTRUDE. I-- + +BOTH. O--O-h! [_Bursting into tears and rushing into each other's +arms, sobbing, then suddenly kissing each other vigorously._ + +KERCHIVAL. I say, Bob, if the North and South do fight, that will be +the end of it. + +GERTRUDE. I've got something to say to you, Madeline, dear. +[_Confidentially and turning with her arms about her waist. The girls +sit, talking earnestly._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival, old boy! There's--there's something I'd like to +say to you before we part to-day. + +KERCHIVAL. I'd like a word with you, also! + +MADELINE. You don't really mean that, Gertrude--with me? + +ELLINGHAM. I'm in love with your sister Madeline. + +KERCHIVAL. The devil you are! + +ELLINGHAM. I never suspected such a thing until last night. + +GERTRUDE. Robert was in love with you six weeks ago. + +[MADELINE _kisses her._ + +KERCHIVAL. _I've_ made a discovery, too, Bob. + +MADELINE. _I've_ got something to say to _you_, Gertrude. + +KERCHIVAL. I'm in love with _your_ sister. + +ELLINGHAM. [_Astonished._] You are? + +MADELINE. Kerchival has been in love with you for the last three +months. [GERTRUDE _offers her lips--they kiss._ + +KERCHIVAL. I fell in love with her the day before yesterday. [_The two +gentlemen grasp each other's hand warmly._ + +ELLINGHAM. We understand each other, Kerchival. [_He turns up centre, +and stops at door._] Miss Madeline, you said just now that you wished +to watch the forts. Would you like to walk down to the shore? + +MADELINE. Yes! [_Rising and going up to him. He takes one of her hands +in his own and looks at her earnestly._ + +ELLINGHAM. This will be the last day that we shall be together for the +present. But we shall meet again--sometime--if we both live. + +MADELINE. If we both live! You mean--if _you_ live: You must go into +this dreadful war, if it comes. + +ELLINGHAM. Yes, Madeline, I must. Come, let us watch for our fate. + +[_Exeunt on veranda._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I must leave Charleston to-day. [_Sighs._] Does +she love me? + +GERTRUDE. I am ready to start, Mr. West, when you are. + +KERCHIVAL. Oh! Of course, I forgot. [_Rising._] I shall be delighted +to ride at your side. + +GERTRUDE. At my side! [_Rising._] There isn't a horse in America that +can keep by the side of my Jack, when I give him his head, and I'm +sure to do it. You may follow us. But you can hardly ride in that +costume; while you are changing it, I'll give Jack his bonbons. +[_Turning to window._] There he is, bless him! Pawing the ground, and +impatient for me to be on his back. Let him come, Pete. [_Holding up +bonbons at window_]. I love you. + +KERCHIVAL. Eh? [_Turning suddenly._ + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking at him._] What? + +KERCHIVAL. You were saying-- + +GERTRUDE. Jack! [_looking out. The head of a large black horse appears +through the window._] You dear old fellow! [_Feeds with bonbons._] +Jack has been my boy ever since he was a little colt. I brought you +up, didn't I, Jack? He's the truest, and kindest, and best of friends; +I wouldn't be parted from him for the world, and I'm the only woman +he'll allow to be near him. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Earnestly._] You are the only woman, Miss Gertrude, that +I-- + +GERTRUDE. Dear Jack! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] Jack embarrasses me. He's a third party. + +GERTRUDE. There! That will do for the present, Jack. Now go along with +Pete! If you are a very good boy, and don't let Lieutenant Kerchival +West come within a quarter of a mile of me, after the first three +minutes, you shall have some more sugar-plums when we get to Mrs. +Pinckney's. [_An old negro leads the horse away._ GERTRUDE _looks +around at_ KERCHIVAL.] You haven't gone to dress yet; we shall +be late. Mrs. Pinckney asked a party of friends to witness the +bombardment this morning, and breakfast together on the piazza while +they are looking at it. We can remain and join them, if you like. + +KERCHIVAL. I hope they won't wait for breakfast until the bombardment +begins. + +GERTRUDE. I'll bet you an embroidered cigar-case, Lieutenant, against +a box of gloves, that it will begin in less than an hour. + +KERCHIVAL. Done! You will lose the bet. But you shall have the gloves; +and one of the hands that go inside them shall be--[_Taking one of her +hands; she withdraws it._ + +GERTRUDE. My own--until some one wins it. You don't believe that +General Beauregard will open fire on Fort Sumter this morning? + +KERCHIVAL. No; I don't. + +GERTRUDE. Everything is ready. + +KERCHIVAL. It's so much easier to get everything ready to do a thing +than it is to do it. I have been ready a dozen times, this very night, +to say to you, Miss Gertrude, that I--that I--[_Pauses._ + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking down and tapping skirt with her whip._] Well? + +KERCHIVAL. But I didn't. + +GERTRUDE. [_Glancing up at him suddenly._] I dare say, General +Beauregard has more nerve than you have. + +KERCHIVAL. It is easy enough to set the batteries around Charleston +Harbour, but the man who fires the first shot at a woman-- + +GERTRUDE. Woman! + +KERCHIVAL. At the American flag--must have nerves of steel. + +GERTRUDE. You Northern men are so slow to-- + +KERCHIVAL. I have been slow; but I assure you, Miss Gertrude, that my +heart-- + +GERTRUDE. What subject are we on now? + +KERCHIVAL. You were complaining because I was too slow. + +GERTRUDE. I was doing nothing of the kind, sir!--let me finish, +please. You Northern men are so slow to believe that our Southern +heroes--Northern _men_ and Southern _heroes_--you recognize the +distinction I make--you won't believe that they will keep their +promises. They have sworn to attack Fort Sumter this morning, +and--they--will do it. This "American Flag" you talk of is no longer +our flag: it is foreign to us!--It is the flag of an enemy! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Tenderly and earnestly._] Am I your enemy? + +GERTRUDE. You have told me that you will return to the North, and take +the field. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes, I will. [_Decisively._ + +GERTRUDE. You will be fighting against my friends, against my own +brother, against me. We _shall_ be enemies. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Firmly_.] Even that, Gertrude--[_She looks around at him; +he looks squarely into her eyes as he proceeds._]--if you will have it +so. If my country needs my services, I shall not refuse them, though +it makes us enemies! [_She wavers a moment, under strong emotion, and +turns away; sinks upon the seat, her elbow on the back of it, and her +tightly-clenched fist against her cheek, looking away from him._ + +GERTRUDE. I will have it so! I am a Southern woman! + +KERCHIVAL. We have more at stake between us, this morning, than a +cigar-case and a box of gloves. [_Turning up stage._ + +_Enter_ MRS. HAVERILL _from apartment_. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Mr. West! I've been looking for you. I have a favour to +ask. + +KERCHIVAL. Of me?--with pleasure. + +MRS. HAVERILL. But I am sorry to have interrupted you and Gertrude. +[_Apart._] There are tears in your eyes, Gertrude, dear! + +GERTRUDE. [_Apart._] They have no right there. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Apart._] I'm afraid I know what has happened. A +quarrel! and you are to part with each other so soon. Do not let +a girl's coquetry trifle with her heart until it is too late. You +remember the confession you made to me last night? + +GERTRUDE. [_Apart._] Constance! [_Starting._] That is my secret; more +a secret now than ever. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Apart._] Yes, dear; but you do love him. [GERTRUDE +_moves away._ + +GERTRUDE. You need not ride over with me, Mr. West. + +KERCHIVAL. I can be ready in one moment. + +GERTRUDE. I choose to go alone! Old Pete will be with me; and Jack, +himself, is a charming companion. + +KERCHIVAL. If you prefer Jack's company to mine-- + +GERTRUDE. I do. [_Exit on veranda and down right._ + +KERCHIVAL. Damn Jack! But you will let me assist you to mount. [_Exit +after her._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. We leave for the North before noon, but every hour +seems a month. If my husband should learn what happened in my room +to-night, he would kill that man. What encouragement could I have +given him? Innocence is never on its guard--but, [_Drawing up._] the +last I remember before I fell unconscious, he was crouching before me +like a whipped cur! [_Starts as she looks out of the window._] There +is Mr. Thornton now--Ah! [_Angrily._] No,--I must control my own +indignation. I must keep him and Colonel Haverill from meeting before +we leave Charleston. Edward Thornton would shoot my husband down +without remorse. But poor Frank! I must not forget him, in my own +trouble. I have but little time left to care for his welfare. + +_Re-enter_ KERCHIVAL. + +KERCHIVAL. You said I could do you a favour, Mrs. Haverill? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, I wanted to speak with you about General +Haverill's son, Frank. I should like you to carry a message to +Charleston for me, as soon as it is light. It is a sad errand. You +know too well the great misfortune that has fallen upon my husband in +New York. + +KERCHIVAL. His only son has brought disgrace upon his family name, +and tarnished the reputation of a proud soldier. Colonel Haverill's +fellow-officers sympathize with him most deeply. + +MRS. HAVERILL. And poor young Frank! I could hardly have loved the boy +more if he had been my own son. If he had not himself confessed the +crime against the bank, I could not have believed him guilty. He has +escaped from arrest. He is in the city of Charleston. I am the only +one in all the world he could turn to. He was only a lad of fourteen +when his father and I were married, six years ago; and the boy has +loved me from the first. His father is stern and bitter now in his +humiliation. This note from Frank was handed to me while the company +were here last evening. I want you to find him and arrange for me to +meet him, if you can do it with safety. I shall give you a letter for +him. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll get ready at once; and I will do all I can for the +boy. [_Turning._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. And--Mr. West! Gertrude and Madeline have told me +that--that--I was under obligations to you last evening. + +KERCHIVAL. Don't mention it. I merely ran for them, and I--I'm very +glad you didn't choke--before they reached you. I trust you are quite +well now? + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am entirely recovered, thank you. And I will ask +another favour of you, for we are old friends. I desire very much that +General Haverill should not know that--that any accident occurred to +me to-night--or that my health has not been perfect. + +KERCHIVAL. Certainly, madam! + +MRS. HAVERILL. It would render him anxious without cause. + +KERCHIVAL [_Aside_.] It looks as if Robert was right; she doesn't want +the two men to meet. + +_Enter_ HAVERILL. _A white silk handkerchief is in his hand_. + +HAVERILL. Constance, my dear, I've been all over the place looking for +you. I thought you were in your room. But--by the way, Kerchival, this +is your handkerchief; your initials are on it. [KERCHIVAL _turns and +stares at him a second_. MRS. HAVERILL _starts slightly and turns +front_. HAVERILL _glances quickly from one to the other, then extends +his hands toward_ KERCHIVAL, _with the handkerchief_. KERCHIVAL _takes +it_. MRS. HAVERILL _drops into chair_. + +KERCHIVAL. Thank you. [_He exits with a quick glance back._ HAVERILL +_looks at_ MRS. HAVERILL, _who sits nervously looking away. He then +glances after_ KERCHIVAL. _A cloud comes over his face, and he stands +a second in thought. Then, with a movement as if brushing away a +passing suspicion, he smiles pleasantly and approaches_ MRS. HAVERILL; +_leans over her_. + +HAVERILL. My fair Desdemona! [_Smiling_.] I found Cassio's +handkerchief in your room. Have you a kiss for me? [_She looks up; he +raises her chin with a finger and kisses her_.] That's the way I shall +smother you. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Rising and dropping her head upon his breast_.] +Husband! + +HAVERILL. But what is this they have been telling me? + +MRS. HAVERILL. What have they said to you? + +HAVERILL. There was something wrong with you in the early part of the +evening; you are trembling and excited, my girl! + +MRS. HAVERILL. It was nothing, John; I--I--was ill, for a few moments, +but I am well now. + +HAVERILL. You said nothing about it to me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Do not give it another thought. + +HAVERILL. Was there anything besides your health involved in the +affair? There was. [_Aside_.] How came this handkerchief in her room? + +MRS. HAVERILL. My husband! I do not want to say anything more--at--at +present--about what happened to-night. There has never been a shadow +between us--will you not trust me? + +HAVERILL. Shadow! You stand in a bright light of your own, my wife; +it shines upon my whole life--there can be no shadow there. Tell me +as much or as little as you like, and in your own time. I am sure you +will conceal nothing from me that I ought to know. I trust my honour +and my happiness to you, absolutely. + +MRS. HAVERILL. They will both be safe, John, in my keeping. But there +is something else that I wish to speak with you about; something very +near to your heart--your son! + +HAVERILL. My son! + +MRS. HAVERILL. He is in Charleston. + +HAVERILL. And not--in prison? To me he is nowhere. I am childless. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I hope to see him to-day; may I not take him some kind +word from you? + +HAVERILL. My lawyers in New York had instructions to provide him with +whatever he needed. + +MRS. HAVERILL. They have done so, and he wants for nothing; he asks +for nothing, except that I will seek out the poor young wife--only a +girl herself--whom he is obliged to desert, in New York. + +HAVERILL. His marriage was a piece of reckless folly, but I forgave +him that. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am sure that it was only after another was dependent +on him that the debts of a mere spendthrift were changed to fraud--and +crime. + +HAVERILL. You may tell him that I will provide for her. + +MRS. HAVERILL. And may I take him no warmer message from his father? + +HAVERILL. I am an officer of the United States Army. The name which +my son bears came to me from men who had borne it with honour, and I +transmitted it to him without a blot. He has disgraced it, by his own +confession. + +MRS. HAVERILL. _I_ cannot forget the poor mother who died when he was +born; her whose place I have tried to fill, to both Frank and to you. +I never saw her, and she is sleeping in the old graveyard at home. But +I am doing what she would do to-day, if she were living. No pride--no +disgrace--could have turned her face from him. The care and the love +of her son has been to me the most sacred duty which one woman can +assume for another. + +HAVERILL. You have fulfilled that duty, Constance. Go to my son! I +would go with you, but he is a man now; he could not look into my +eyes, and I could not trust myself. But I will send him something +which a man will understand. Frank loves you as if you were his own +mother; and I--I would like him to--to think tenderly of me, also. He +will do it when he looks at this picture. [_Taking a miniature from +his pocket._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Of me! + +HAVERILL. I have never been without it one hour, before, since we were +married. He will recognize it as the one that I have carried through +every campaign, in every scene of danger on the Plains; the one that +has always been with me. He is a fugitive from justice. At times, when +despair might overcome him, this may give him nerve to meet his +future life manfully. It has often nerved me, when I might have failed +without it. Give it to him, and tell him that I send it. [_Giving +her the miniature._] I could not send a kinder message, and he will +understand it. [_Turning, stands a moment in thought._ THORNTON +_appears at window, looking at them quietly over his shoulder, a cigar +in his hand._ MRS. HAVERILL _sees him and starts with a suppressed +breath, then looks at_ HAVERILL, _who moves left. Aside._] My son! My +son! We shall never meet again! [_Exit in thought._ + +MRS. HAVERILL _looks after him earnestly, then turns and looks at +THORNTON, drawing up to her full height._ THORNTON _moves up stage, +beyond window._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Will he dare to speak to me again? [_Enter_ THORNTON; +_he comes down quietly. He has thrown away cigar._ + +THORNTON. Mrs. Haverill! I wish to offer you an apology. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I have not asked for one, sir! + +THORNTON. Do you mean by that, that you will not accept one? + +MRS. THORNTON. [_Aside_] What can I say? [_Aloud._] Oh, Mr. +Thornton!--for my husband's sake, I-- + +THORNTON. Ah! You are afraid that your husband may become involved in +an unpleasant affair. Your solicitude for his safety, madame, makes +me feel that my offense to-night was indeed unpardonable. No gentleman +can excuse himself for making such a mistake as I have made. I had +supposed that it was Lieutenant Kerchival West, who-- + +MRS. HAVERILL. What do you mean, sir? + +THORNTON. But if it is your husband that stands between us-- + +MRS. HAVERILL. Let me say this, sir: whatever I may fear for my +husband, he fears nothing for himself. + +THORNTON. He knows? [_Looking at her, keenly._] [_Enter_ KERCHIVAL +WEST, _now in riding suit._] [_He stops, looking at them._] You are +silent. Your husband does know what occurred to-night; that relieves +my conscience. [_Lightly._] Colonel Haverill and I can now settle it +between us. + +MRS. HAVERILL. No, Mr. Thornton! My husband knows nothing, and, I beg +of you, do not let this horrible affair go further. [_Sees_ KERCHIVAL. + +KERCHIVAL. Pardon me. [_Stepping forward._] I hope I am not +interrupting you. [_Aside._] It _was_ Thornton. [_Aloud._] You said +you would have a letter for me to carry, Mrs. Haverill. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, I--I will go up and write it at once. [_Crosses; +stops and looks back. Aside._] I wonder how much he overheard. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] I suppose eight o'clock will be time enough +for me to go? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Oh, yes! [_Glancing at him a moment._]--quite. + +[_Exit, through apartment._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] Mr. Thornton! you are a scoundrel! Do I make +myself plain? + +THORNTON. You make the fact that you desire to pick a quarrel with me +quite plain, sir; but I choose my own quarrels and my own enemies. + +KERCHIVAL. Colonel Haverill is my commander, and he is beloved by +every officer in the regiment. + +THORNTON. On what authority, may I ask, do you-- + +KERCHIVAL. The honour of Colonel Haverill's wife is under our +protection. + +THORNTON. Under your protection? You have a better claim than that, +perhaps, to act as her champion. Lieutenant Kerchival West is Mrs. +Haverill's favourite officer in the regiment. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Approaching him._] You dare to suggest that I-- + +THORNTON. If I accept your challenge, I shall do so not because you +are her protector, but my rival. + +KERCHIVAL. Bah! [_Striking him sharply on the cheek with glove. The +two men stand facing each other a moment._] Is it my quarrel now? + +THORNTON. I think you are entitled to my attention, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. My time here is limited. + +THORNTON. We need not delay. The Bayou La Forge is convenient to this +place. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll meet you there, with a friend, at once. + +THORNTON. It will be light enough to see the sights of our weapons in +about one hour. [_They bow to each other, and_ THORNTON _goes out._ + +KERCHIVAL. I've got ahead of Bob. + +GERTRUDE. [_Without._] Whoa! Jack! Old boy! Steady, now--that's a good +fellow. + +KERCHIVAL. She has returned. I _must_ know whether Gertrude Ellingham +loves me--before Thornton and I meet. He is a good shot. + +GERTRUDE. [_Without, calling._] O-h! Pete! You may take Jack to the +stable. Ha--ha--ha! [_Appears at window. To_ KERCHIVAL.] Old Pete, on +the bay horse, has been doing his best to keep up with us; but Jack +and I have led him such a race! Ha--ha--ha--ha! [_Disappearing beyond +the window._ + +KERCHIVAL. Does she love me? + +GERTRUDE. [_Entering and coming down._] I have the very latest news +from the headquarters of the Confederate Army in South Carolina. At +twenty minutes after three this morning General Beauregard sent this +message to Major Anderson in Fort Sumter: "I shall open fire in one +hour!" The time is up!--and he will keep his word! [_Turning and +looking out of the window._ KERCHIVAL _moves across to her._ + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! I must speak to you; we may never meet again; but +I must know the truth. I love you. [_Seizing her hand._] Do you love +me? [_She looks around at him as if about to speak; hesitates._] +Answer me! [_She looks down with a coquettish smile, tapping her skirt +with her riding whip._] Well? [_A distant report of a cannon, and low +rumbling reverberations over the harbour._ GERTRUDE _turns suddenly, +looking out._ KERCHIVAL _draws up, also looking off._ + +GERTRUDE. A low--bright--line of fire--in the sky! It is a shell. [_A +second's pause; she starts slightly_.] It has burst upon the fort. +[_Looks over her shoulder at_ KERCHIVAL, _drawing up to her full +height_.] Now!--do you believe that we Southerners are in deadly +earnest? + +KERCHIVAL. We Northerners are in deadly earnest, too. I have received +my answer. We are--enemies! [_They look at each other for a moment_. +[_Exit_ KERCHIVAL. + +GERTRUDE. Kerchival! [_Moving quickly half across stage, looking +after him eagerly; stops._] Enemies! [_She drops into chair, sobbing +bitterly. Another distant report, and low, long reverberations as the +curtain descends_. + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE. _The Ellingham Homestead in the Shenandoah Valley. Exterior. +Three Top Mountain in the distance. A corner of the house, with +projecting end of veranda. Low wall extending up from veranda. A wide +opening in the wall, with a low, heavy stone post, with flat top, on +each side. Beyond the wall and opening, a road runs across stage. +At the back of this road, elevation of rock and turf. This slopes up +behind wood wing. It is level on the top about twelve feet; slopes +down to road, and also out behind wood wings. The level part in the +centre rises to about four feet above the stage. Beyond this elevation +the distance is a broad valley, with Three Top Mountain rising on the +right. Foliage appropriate to northern Virginia--walnut, cottonwood, +&c. Rustic seats and table. Seat near veranda. A low rock near the +stone post. Sunset when curtain rises. As the act proceeds this fades +into twilight and then bright moonlight. The number references for the +trumpet signals, in this and the next act, are to the official book, +entitled "Cavalry Tactics, United States Army," published by D. +Appleton & Co., N.Y., 1887. The number references for the Torch +Signals, in this act, are to the General Service Code. This code may +be found, with illustrations and instructions, in a book entitled +"Signal Tactics," by Lieutenant Hugh T. Reed, U.S. Army, published by +John Riley & Sons, N.Y., 1880. At rise of curtain, Trumpet Signal +No. 34 or No. 35 is heard very distant._ GERTRUDE _and_ MADELINE +_discovered on elevation up center._ GERTRUDE _is shading her eyes +with her hand and looking off._ MADELINE _stands a little below her, +on the incline, resting her arm about_ GERTRUDE'S _waist, also looking +off._ + +GERTRUDE. It is a regiment of Union Cavalry. The Federal troops now +have their lines three miles beyond us, and only a month ago the +Confederate Army was north of Winchester. One army or the other has +been marching up and down the Shenandoah Valley for three years. I +wonder what the next change will be. We in Virginia have had more than +our share of the war. [_Looking off._ + +MADELINE. You have, indeed, Gertrude. [_Walking down to seat._] And we +at home in Washington have pitied you so much. But everybody says that +there will be peace in the Valley after this. [_Dropping into seat._ + +GERTRUDE. Peace! [_Coming down._] That word means something very +different to us poor Southerners from what it means to you. + +MADELINE. I know, dear; and we in the North know how you have +suffered, too. We were very glad when General Buckthorn was appointed +to the command of the Nineteenth Army Corps, so that Jenny could get +permission for herself and me to come and visit you. + +GERTRUDE. The old General will do anything for Jenny, I suppose. + +MADELINE. Yes. [_Laughing._] We say in Washington that Jenny is in +command of the Nineteenth Army Corps herself. + +GERTRUDE. I was never more astonished or delighted in my life than +when you and Jenny Buckthorn rode up, this morning, with a guard from +Winchester; and Madeline, dear, I--I only wish that my brother Robert +could be here, too. Do you remember in Charleston, darling--that +morning--when I told you that--that Robert loved you? + +MADELINE. He--[_Looking down._]--he told me so himself only a little +while afterwards, and while we were standing there, on the shore of +the bay--the--the shot was fired which compelled him to enter this +awful war--and me to return to my home in the North. + +GERTRUDE. I was watching for that shot, too. [_Turning._ + +MADELINE. Yes--[_Rising_.]--you and brother Kerchival-- + +GERTRUDE. We won't talk about that, my dear. We were speaking of +Robert. As I told you this morning, I have not heard from him since +the battle of Winchester, a month ago. Oh, Madeline! the many, many +long weeks, like these, we have suffered, after some terrible battle +in which he has been engaged. I do not know, now, whether he is living +or dead. + +MADELINE. The whole war has been one long suspense to me. [_Dropping +her face into her hands_. + +GERTRUDE. My dear sister! [_Placing her arm about her waist and moving +left_.] You are a Northern girl, and I am a Rebel--but we are sisters. +[_They go up veranda and out_. An OLD COUNTRYMAN _comes in on a cane. +He stops and glances back, raises a broken portion of the capstone +of post, and places a letter under it_. GERTRUDE _has stepped back on +veranda and is watching him. He raises his head sharply, looking at +her and bringing his finger to his lips. He drops his head again, as +with age, and goes out._ + +GERTRUDE _moves down to stage and up to road, looks right and left, +raises the broken stone, glancing back as she does so; takes letter +and moves down_.] Robert is alive! It is his handwriting! [_Tears open +the wrapper_.] Only a line from him! and this--a despatch--and also a +letter to me! Why, it is from Mrs. Haverill--from Washington--with a +United States postmark. [_Reads from a scrap of paper_.] + +"The enclosed despatch must be in the hands of Captain Edward Thornton +before eight o'clock to-night. We have signaled to him from Three Top +Mountain, and he is waiting for it at the bend in Oak Run. Our trusty +scout at the Old Forge will carry it if you will put it in his hands." + +The scout is not there, now; I will carry it to Captain Thornton +myself. I--I haven't my own dear horse to depend on now; Jack knew +every foot of the way through the woods about here; he could have +carried a despatch himself. I can't bear to think of Jack; it's +two years since he was captured by the enemy--and if he is still +living--I--I suppose he is carrying one of their officers. No! Jack +wouldn't fight on that side. He was a Rebel--as I am. He was one of +the Black Horse Cavalry--his eyes always flashed towards the North. +Poor Jack! my pet. [_Brushing her eyes_.] But this is no time for +tears. I must do the best I can with the gray horse. Captain Thornton +shall have the despatch. [_Reads from note_.] + +"I also enclose a letter for you. I found it in a United States +mail-bag which we captured from the enemy." + +Oh--that's the way Mrs. Haverill's letter came--ha--ha--ha--by way of +the Rebel Army! [_Opens it; reads._] + +"My Darling Gertrude: When Colonel Kerchival West was in Washington +last week, on his way from Chattanooga, to serve under Sheridan in the +Shenandoah Valley, he called upon me. It was the first time I had seen +him since the opening of the war. I am certain that he still loves +you, dear." [_She kisses the letter eagerly, then draws up._ + +It is quite immaterial to me whether Kerchival West still loves me or +not. [_Reads._ + +"I have kept your secret, my darling."--Ah! my secret!--"but I +was sorely tempted to betray the confidence you reposed in me at +Charleston. If Kerchival West had heard you say, as I did, when your +face was hidden in my bosom, that night, that you loved him with your +whole heart--"--Oh! I could bite my tongue out now for making that +confession--[_Looks down at letter with a smile._] "I am certain +that he still loves you." [_Trumpet Signal No. 41. Kisses the letter +repeatedly. Trumpet Signal No. 41, louder than at first. She starts, +listening._ + +JENNY BUCKTHORN _runs in on the veranda._ + +JENNY. Do you hear, Gertrude, they are going to pass this very house. +[_Military band. "John Brown" playing in the distance. Chorus of +Soldiers._] I've been watching them through my glass; it is Colonel +Kerchival West's regiment. + +GERTRUDE. [_Eagerly, then coldly._] Colonel West's! It is perfectly +indifferent to me whose regiment it is. + +JENNY. Oh! Of course. [_Coming down._] It is equally indifferent to +me; Captain Heartsease is in command of the first troop. [_Trumpet +Signal No. 52._] Column right! [_She runs up to road. Looks._] They +are coming up the hill. + +GERTRUDE. At my very door! And Kerchival West in command! I will not +stand here and see them pass. The despatch for Captain Thornton! I +will carry it to him as soon as they are gone. [_Exit up veranda, the +band and chorus increasing in volume._ + +JENNY. Cavalry! That's the branch of the service I was born in; I was +in a fort at the time--on the Plains. Sergeant Barket always said that +my first baby squall was a command to the garrison; if any officer +or soldier, from my father down, failed to obey my orders, I +court-martialed him on the spot. I'll make 'em pass in review. +[_Jumping up on the rustic seat._] Yes! [_Looking off._] There's +Captain Heartsease himself, at the head of the first troop. Draw +sabre! [_With parasol._] Present! [_Imitating the action. Music. The +band and chorus now full and loud; she swings parasol in time. Trumpet +Signal No. 40. Band and chorus suddenly cease._] Halt! Why, they are +stopping here. [_Trumpet Signal No. 38._] Dismount! I--I wonder if +they are going to--I do believe--[_Looking left eagerly. Trumpet +Signal No. 17._] Assembly of Guard Details! As sure as fate, they +are going into camp here. We girls will have a jolly time. [_Jumping +down._] Ha--ha--ha--ha! Let me see. How shall I receive Captain +Heartsease? He deserves a court-martial, for he stole my lace +handkerchief--at Mrs. Grayson's reception--in Washington. He was +called away by orders to the West that very night, and we haven't met +since. [_Sighs._] He's been in lots of battles since then; I suppose +he's forgotten all about the handkerchief. We girls, at home, don't +forget such things. We aren't in battles. All we do is to--to scrape +lint and flirt with other officers. + +_Enter_ CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE, _followed by_ COLONEL ROBERT ELLINGHAM; +_stops at gate._ + +HEARTSEASE. This way, Colonel Ellingham. [_They enter. As they come +down,_ HEARTSEASE _stops suddenly, looking at_ JENNY; _puts up his +glasses._] Miss Buckthorn! + +JENNY. Captain Heartsease! + +HEARTSEASE. [_Very quietly and with perfect composure._] I am +thunderstruck. The unexpected sight of you has thrown me into a fever +of excitement. + +JENNY. Has it? [_Aside._] If he gets so excited as that in battle, it +must be awful. [_Aloud._] Colonel Ellingham! [_Crossing to him._ + +ELLINGHAM. Miss Buckthorn! You are visiting my sister? I am what may +be called a visitor--by force--myself. + +JENNY. Oh! You're a prisoner! + +ELLINGHAM. I ventured too far within the Union lines to-night, and +they have picked me up. But Major Wilson has kindly accepted my +parole, and I shall make the best of it. + +JENNY. Is Major Wilson in command of the regiment? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes. Colonel West is to join us at this point, during the +evening. + +ELLINGHAM. I am very glad you are here, Miss Buckthorn, with Gertrude. + +JENNY. Somebody here will be delighted to see you, Colonel. + +ELLINGHAM. My sister can hardly be pleased to see me as a prisoner. + +JENNY. Not your sister. [_Passing him and crossing to veranda, turns +and beckons to him. She motions with her thumb over her shoulder. He +goes up the steps of the veranda and turns._ + +ELLINGHAM. What do you mean? + +JENNY. I mean this--[_Reaching up her face, he leans down, placing his +ear near her lips._]--somebody else's sister! When she first sees you, +be near enough to catch her. + +ELLINGHAM. I understand you! Madeline! [_Exit on veranda._ JENNY _runs +up steps after him, stops and looks back at_ HEARTSEASE _over the +railing._ HEARTSEASE _takes a lace handkerchief from his pocket._ + +JENNY. I do believe that's my handkerchief. [A GUARD OF SENTRIES +_marches in and across stage in road. The_ CORPORAL _in command orders +halt and a_ SENTRY _to post, then marches_ GUARD _out. The_ SENTRY +_stands with his back to audience, afterwards moving out, appearing +and disappearing during Act._ + +HEARTSEASE. Miss Buckthorn! I owe you an apology. After I left +your side, the last time we met, I found your handkerchief in my +possession. I assure you, it was an accident. + +JENNY. [_Aside, pouting._] I thought he _intended_ to steal it. +[_Aloud._] That was more than a year ago. [_Then brightly._] Do you +always carry it with you? + +HEARTSEASE. Always; there. [_Indicating his left breast pocket._ + +JENNY. Next to his heart! + +HEARTSEASE. Shall I return it to you? + +JENNY. Oh, if a lace handkerchief can be of any use to you, Captain, +during the hardships of a campaign--you--you may keep that one. You +soldiers have so few comforts--and it's real lace. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Returning handkerchief to his pocket._] Miss +Buckthorn, your papa is in command of the Nineteenth Army Corps. He +doesn't like me. + +JENNY. I know it. + +HEARTSEASE. But you are in command of him, + +JENNY. Yes; I always have been. + +HEARTSEASE. If ever you decide to assume command of any other man, +I--I trust you will give _me_ your orders. + +JENNY. [_Aside, starting back._] If that was intended for a proposal, +it's the queerest-shaped one I ever heard of. [_Aloud._] Do you mean, +Captain, that--that you--I must command myself now. [_Shouldering her +parasol._] 'Bout--face! March! [_Turning squarely around, marches up +and out on veranda._ + +HEARTSEASE. I have been placed on waiting orders. [_Stepping up and +looking after her; then very quietly and without emotion._] I am in an +agony of suspense. The sight of that girl always arouses the strongest +emotions of my nature. + +[_Enter_ COLONEL KERCHIVAL WEST, _looking at paper in his hand. The_ +SENTINEL, _in road, comes to a salute._] + +Colonel West! + +KERCHIVAL. Captain! + +HEARTSEASE. You have rejoined the regiment sooner than we expected. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Looking at paper._] Yes; General Haverill is to meet me +here at seven o'clock. Major Wilson tells me that some of your company +captured Colonel Robert Ellingham, of the Tenth Virginia. + +HEARTSEASE. He is here under parole. + +KERCHIVAL. And this is the old Ellingham homestead. [_Aside._] +Gertrude herself is here, I suppose; almost a prisoner to me, like +her brother; and my troops surround their home. She must, indeed, feel +that I am her enemy now. Ah, well, war is war. [_Aloud._] By the bye, +Heartsease, a young Lieutenant, Frank Bedloe, has joined our troop? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes; an excellent young officer. + +KERCHIVAL. I sent for him as I came through the camp. Lieutenant Frank +"Bedloe" is the son of General Haverill. + +HEARTSEASE. Indeed! Under an assumed name! + +KERCHIVAL. He was supposed to have been killed in New Orleans more +than a year ago; but he was taken prisoner instead. [_Looking left._ + +HEARTSEASE. He is here. + +KERCHIVAL. I should never have known him--with his full beard and +bronzed face. His face was as smooth as a boy's when I last met him in +Charleston. + +_Enter_ LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE; _he stops, saluting._ + +FRANK. You wished me to report to you, Colonel? + +KERCHIVAL. You have been assigned to the regiment during my absence. + +FRANK. Yes, sir. [KERCHIVAL _moves to him and grasps his hand; looks +into his eyes a moment before speaking._ + +KERCHIVAL. Frank Haverill. + +FRANK. You--you know me, sir? + +KERCHIVAL. I saw Mrs. Haverill while I was passing through Washington +on Saturday. She told me that you had escaped from prison in Richmond, +and had re-entered the service. She did not know then that you +had been assigned to my regiment. I received a letter from her, in +Winchester, this morning, informing me of the fact, and asking for my +good offices in your behalf. But here is the letter. [_Taking letter +from wallet and giving it to him._] It is for you rather than for me. +I shall do everything I can for you, my dear fellow. + +FRANK. Thank you, sir. [_Opens letter, dropping the envelope upon the +table._] Kind, thoughtful and gentle to my faults, as ever--[_Looking +at the letter._]--and always thinking of my welfare. My poor little +wife, too, is under her protection. Gentlemen, I beg of you not to +reveal my secret to my father. + +KERCHIVAL. General Haverill shall know nothing from us, my boy; you +have my word for that. + +HEARTSEASE. Nothing. + +KERCHIVAL. And he cannot possibly recognize you. What with your full +beard, and thinking as he does, that you are-- + +FRANK. That I am dead. I am dead to him. It would have been better +if I had died. Nothing but my death--not even that--can wipe out the +disgrace which I brought upon his name. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Looking right._] General Haverill has arrived. + +_Enter_ GENERAL HAVERILL _with a_ STAFF OFFICER. + +FRANK. My father! + +HAVERILL. [_Exchanging salutes with the three officers. He turns to +the_ STAFF OFFICER, _giving him a paper and brief instructions in dumb +show. The_ OFFICER _goes out over the incline. Another_ STAFF OFFICER +_enters, salutes and hands him a paper, then stands up stage._] +Ah! The men are ready. [_Looking at the paper. Then to_ KERCHIVAL.] +Colonel! I have a very important matter to arrange with you; there +is not a moment to be lost. I will ask Captain Heartsease to remain. +[FRANK _salutes and starts up stage;_ HAVERILL _looks at him, starting +slightly; raises his hand to detain him._] One moment; your name! + +HEARTSEASE. Lieutenant Bedloe, General, of my own troop, and one of +our best officers. [HAVERILL _steps to_ FRANK, _looking into his face +a moment._ + +HAVERILL. Pardon me! [_Stepping down stage._ FRANK _moves up, stops +and looks back at him._ HAVERILL _stands a moment in thought, covers +his face with one hand, then draws up._] Colonel West! We have a +most dangerous piece of work for a young officer--[FRANK _starts +joyfully._]--to lead a party of men, whom I have already selected. I +cannot order an officer to undertake anything so nearly hopeless; he +must be a volunteer. + +FRANK. Oh, sir, General! Let me be their leader. + +HAVERILL. I thought you had passed on. + +FRANK. Do not refuse me, sir. [HAVERILL _looks at him a moment._ +HEARTSEASE _and_ KERCHIVAL _exchange glances._ + +HAVERILL. You are the man we need, my young friend. You shall go. +Listen! We wish to secure a key to the cipher despatches, which the +enemy are now sending from their signal station on Three Top Mountain. +There is another Confederate Signal Station in the Valley, just beyond +Buckton's Ford. [_Pointing._] Your duty will be this: First, to get +inside the enemy's line; then to follow a path through the woods, +with one of our scouts as your guide; attack the Station suddenly, and +secure their code, if possible. I have this moment received word that +the scout and the men are at the fort, now, awaiting their +leader. Major McCandless, of my staff, will take you to the place. +[_Indicating the_ STAFF OFFICER. FRANK _exchanges salutes with him._] +My young friend! I do not conceal from you the dangerous nature of the +work on which I am sending you. If--if you do not return, I--I will +write, myself, to your friends. [_Taking out note-book._] Have you a +father living? + +FRANK. My--father--is--is--he is-- + +HAVERILL. I understand you. A mother? Or-- + +KERCHIVAL. I have the address of Lieutenant Bedloe's friends, General. + +HAVERILL. I will ask you to give it to me, if necessary. [_Extends his +hand._] Good-bye, my lad. [FRANK _moves to him._ HAVERILL _grasps his +hand, warmly._] Keep a brave heart and come back to us. [FRANK _moves +up stage. Exit_ STAFF OFFICER. + +FRANK. He is my father still. [_Exit._ + +HAVERILL. My dead boy's face! [_Dropping his face into both hands._ + +HEARTSEASE. [_Apart to_ KERCHIVAL.] He shall not go alone. [_Aloud._] +General! Will you kindly give me leave of absence from the command? + +HAVERILL. Leave of absence! To an officer in active service--and in +the presence of the enemy? + +KERCHIVAL. [_Taking hand of_ HEARTSEASE. _Apart._] God bless you, old +fellow! Look after the boy. + +HAVERILL. A--h--[_With a sudden thought, turns._] I think I understand +you, Captain Heartsease. Yes; you may have leave of absence. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Salutes._ HAVERILL _and_ KERCHIVAL _salute. +Exit_ HEARTSEASE. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you any further orders for me, General? + +HAVERILL. I wish you to understand the great importance of the duty +to which I have just assigned this young officer. General Sheridan +started for Washington this noon, by way of Front Royal. Since his +departure, we have had reason to believe that the enemy are about +to move, and we must be able to read their signal despatches, if +possible. [_Sitting._] I have ordered Captain Lockwood, of our own +Signal Corps, to report to you here, with officers and men. [_Takes up +the empty envelope on table, unconsciously, as he speaks, tapping it +on the table._] If Lieutenant Bedloe succeeds in getting the key +to the enemy's cipher, we can signal from this point--[_Pointing +to elevation._]--to our station at Front Royal. Men and horses are +waiting there now, to carry forward a message, if necessary, to +General Sheridan himself. [_He starts suddenly, looking at the +envelope in his hand; reads address. Aside._] "Colonel Kerchival +West"--in my wife's handwriting. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll attend to your orders. + +HAVERILL. Postmarked at Washington, yesterday. [_Reads._] "Private and +confidential." [_Aloud._] Colonel West! I found a paragraph, to-day, +in a paper published in Richmond, taken from a prisoner. I will read +it to you. [_Takes newspaper slip from his wallet and reads._] + +"From the Charleston Mercury. Captain Edward Thornton, of the +Confederate Secret Service, has been assigned to duty in the +Shenandoah Valley. Our gallant Captain still bears upon his face the +mark of his meeting, in 1861, with Lieutenant, now Colonel Kerchival +West, who is also to serve in the Valley, with Sheridan's Army. +Another meeting between these two men would be one of the strange +coincidences of the war, as they were at one time, if not indeed at +present, interested in the same beautiful woman." [_Rises._] + +I will ask you to read the last few lines, yourself. [_Hands KERCHIVAL +the slip._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Reading._] "The scandal connected with the lovely wife +of a Northern officer, at the opening of the war, was overshadowed, +of course, by the attack on Fort Sumter; but many Charlestonians will +remember it. The lady in defense of whose good name Captain Thornton +fought the duel"--he defending her good name!--"is the wife of General +Haverill, who will be Colonel West's immediate commander." [_He pauses +a moment, then hands back the slip._] General! I struck Mr. Thornton, +after a personal quarrel. + +HAVERILL. And the cause of the blow? There is much more in this than +I have ever known of. I need hardly say that I do not accept the +statement of this scandalous paragraph as correct. I will ask you to +tell me the whole story, frankly, as man to man. + +KERCHIVAL. [_After a moment's thought._] I will tell +you--all--frankly, General. + +_Enter_ SERGEANT BARKET. + +BARKET. Colonel West? Adjutant Rollins wishes to report--a +prisoner--just captured. + +HAVERILL. We will meet again later, to-night, when the camp is at +rest. We are both soldiers, and have duties before us, at once. For +the present, Colonel, be on the alert; we must watch the enemy. +[_He moves up stage._ BARKET _salutes._ HAVERILL _stops and looks at +envelope in his hands, reading._] "Private and confidential." [_Exit._ + +KERCHIVAL. Sergeant Barket! Lieutenant Bedloe has crossed the enemy's +line, at Buckton's Ford, with a party of men. I wish you to ride to +the Ford yourself, and remain there, with your horse in readiness and +fresh. As soon as any survivor of the party returns, ride back with +the first news at full speed. + +BARKET. Yes, sir. [_Starting._ + +KERCHIVAL. You say a prisoner has been captured? Is it a spy? + +BARKET. Worse--a petticoat. + +KERCHIVAL. A female prisoner! [_Dropping into seat._ + +BARKET. I towld the byes your honour wouldn't thank us fer the +catchin' of her. The worst of it is she's a lady; and what's worse +still, it's a purty one. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell Major Wilson, for me, to let her take the oath, and +everything else she wants. The Government of the United States will +send her an apology and a new bonnet. + +BARKET. The young lady is to take the oath, is it? She says she'll see +us damned first. + +KERCHIVAL. A lady, Barket? + +BARKET. Well! she didn't use thim exact words. That's the way I +understand her emphasis. Ivery time she looks at me, I feel like +getting under a boom-proof. She was dashing through the woods on a +gray horse, sur; and we had the divil's own chase. But we came up wid +her, at last, down by the bend in Oak Run. Just at that moment we saw +the figure of a Confederate officer, disappearing among the trays on +the ither side. + +KERCHIVAL. A--h! + +BARKET. Two of us rayturned wid the girl; and the rist wint after the +officer. Nothing has been heard of thim yet. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you found any despatches on the prisoner? + +BARKET. Well!--yer honour, I'm a bachelor, meself; and I'm not familar +with the jayography of the sex. We byes are in mortal terror for fear +somebody might order us to go on an exploring expedition. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell them to send the prisoner here, Barket, and hurry to +Buckton's Ford yourself, at once. + +BARKET. As fast as me horse can carry me, sir, and it's a good one. +[_Exit._ + +KERCHIVAL. I'd rather deal with half the Confederate Army than with +one woman, but I must question her. They captured her down by the Bend +in Oak Run. [_Taking out map; looks at it._] I see. She had just +met, or was about to meet, a Confederate officer at that point. It +is evident that she was either taking him a despatch or was there to +receive one. Oak Run. [CORPORAL DUNN _and Two_ SOLDIERS _enter, with_ +GERTRUDE _as a prisoner. They stop;_ KERCHIVAL _sits studying map._ +GERTRUDE _glances at him and marches down with head erect; stops, with +her back to him._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. The prisoner, Colonel West! + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! Very well, Corporal; you can go. [_Rising; he motions +the_ GUARD _to retire._ CORPORAL DUNN _gives the necessary orders and +exit with_ GUARD.] Be seated, madam. [GERTRUDE _draws up, folding +her arms and planting her foot, spitefully._ KERCHIVAL _shrugs his +shoulder. Aside._] I wish they'd capture a tigress for me, or some +other female animal that I know how to manage better than I do a +woman. [_Aloud._] I am very sorry, madam, but, of course, my duty as +a military officer is paramount to all other considerations. You have +been captured within the lines of this army, and under circumstances +which lead me to think that you have important despatches upon your +person. I trust that you will give me whatever you have at once. I +shall be exceedingly sorry if you compel me to adopt the extreme--and +the very disagreeable course--for both of us--of having--you--I--I +hesitate even to use the word, madam--but military law is +absolute--having you-- + +GERTRUDE. Searched! If you dare, Colonel West! [_Turning to him +suddenly and drawing up to her full height._ + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude Ellingham! [_Springs across to her, with his arms +extended._] My dear Gertrude! + +GERTRUDE. [_Turning her back upon him._] Not "dear Gertrude" to you, +sir! + +KERCHIVAL. Not?--Oh! I forgot. + +GERTRUDE. [_Coldly._] I am your prisoner. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes. [_Drawing up firmly, with a change of manner._] We +will return to the painful realities of war. I am very sorry that +you have placed yourself in a position like this, and, believe me, +Gertrude--[_With growing tenderness._]--I am still more sorry to be in +such a position myself. [_Resting one hand on her arm, and his other +arm about her waist._ + +GERTRUDE. [_After looking down at his hands._] You don't like the +position? [_He starts back, drawing up with dignity._] Is that the +paramount duty of a military officer? + +KERCHIVAL. You will please hand me whatever despatches or other papers +may be in your possession. + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking away._] You will _force_ me, I suppose. I am a +woman; you have the power. Order in the guard! A corporal and two +men--you'd better make it a dozen--I am dangerous! Call the whole +regiment to arms! Beat the long roll! I won't give up, if all the +armies of the United States surround me. + +_Enter_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn! [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Colonel West. + +GERTRUDE. [_Aside._] Jenny's father! [BUCKTHORN _glances at_ GERTRUDE, +_who still stands looking away. He moves down to_ KERCHIVAL. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart, gruffly._] I was passing with my staff, and I +was informed that you had captured a woman bearing despatches to the +enemy. Is this the one? + +KERCHIVAL. Yes, General. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! [_Turning, looks at her._ + +GERTRUDE. I wonder if he will recognize me. He hasn't seen me since I +was a little girl. [_Turns toward, him._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Turning to_ KERCHIVAL; _punches him in the ribs._] Fine +young woman!--[_Turns and bows to her very gallantly, removing his +hat. She bows deeply in return._] A-h-e-m! [_Suddenly pulling himself +up to a stern, military air; then gruffly to_ KERCHIVAL, _extending +his hand._] Let me see the despatches. + +KERCHIVAL. She declines positively to give them up. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! Does she? [_Walks thoughtfully; turns._] My dear young +lady! I trust you will give us no further trouble. Kindly let us have +those despatches. + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking away._] I have no despatches, and I would not give +them to you if I had. + +BUCKTHORN. What! You defy my authority? Colonel West, I command you! +Search the prisoner! [GERTRUDE _turns suddenly towards_ KERCHIVAL, +_facing him defiantly. He looks across at her aghast. A moment's +pause._ + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn--I decline to obey that order. + +BUCKTHORN. You--you decline to obey my order! [_Moves down to him +fiercely._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Apart._] General! It is the woman I love. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart._] Is it? Damn you, sir! I wouldn't have an officer +in my army corps who would obey me, under such circumstances. I'll +have to look for those despatches myself. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Facing him, angrily._] If you dare, General Buckthorn! + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart._] Blast your eyes! I'd kick you out of the army if +you'd _let_ me search her; but it's my military duty to swear at you. +[_To_ GERTRUDE.] Colonel West has sacrificed his life to protect you. + +GERTRUDE. His life! + +BUCKTHORN. I shall have him shot for insubordination to his commander, +immediately. [_Gives_ KERCHIVAL _a huge wink, and turns._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh, sir! General! I have told you the truth. I have no +despatches. Believe me, sir, I haven't so much as a piece of paper +about me, except-- + +BUCKTHORN. Except? [_Turning sharply._ + +GERTRUDE. Only a letter. Here it is. [_Taking letter from the bosom of +her dress._] Upon my soul, it is all I have. Truly it is. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Taking letter._] Colonel West, you're reprieved. [_Winks +at_ KERCHIVAL, _who turns away, laughing._ BUCKTHORN _reads letter._] +"Washington"--Ho!--ho! From within our own lines!--"Colonel Kerchival +West--" + +KERCHIVAL. Eh? + +GERTRUDE. Please, General!--Don't read it aloud. + +BUCKTHORN. Very well! I won't. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I wonder what it has to do with me? + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading. Aside._] "If Kerchival West had heard you say, +as I did--m--m----that you loved him with your whole heart--" [_He +glances up at_ GERTRUDE, _who drops her head coyly._] This is a +very important military document. [_Turns to last page._] "Signed, +Constance Haverill." [_Turns to front page._] "My dear Gertrude!" Is +this Miss Gertrude Ellingham? + +GERTRUDE. Yes, General. + +BUCKTHORN. I sent my daughter, Jenny, to your house, with an escort, +this morning. + +GERTRUDE. She is here. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Tapping her under the chin._] You're an arrant little +Rebel, my dear; but I like you immensely. [_Draws up suddenly, +with an_ "Ahem!" _Turns to_ KERCHIVAL.] Colonel West, I leave this +dangerous young woman in your charge. [KERCHIVAL _approaches._] If +she disobeys you in any way, or attempts to escape--read that letter! +[_Giving him the letter._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh! General! + +BUCKTHORN. But not till then. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Tenderly, taking her hand_.] My--prisoner! + +GERTRUDE. [_Aside_.] I could scratch my own eyes out--or his, +either--rather than have him read that letter. + +_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN, _with_ GUARD _of four soldiers and_ CAPTAIN +EDWARD THORNTON _as a prisoner_. + +KERCHIVAL. Edward Thornton! + +GERTRUDE. They have taken him also! He has the despatch! + +CORPORAL DUNN. The Confederate Officer, Colonel, who was pursued by +our troops at Oak Run, after they captured the young lady. + +BUCKTHORN. The little witch has been communicating with the enemy! + +KERCHIVAL. [_To_ GERTRUDE.] You will give me your parole of honour +until we next meet? + +GERTRUDE. Yes. [_Aside_.] That letter! I _am_ his prisoner. [_She +walks up the steps and looks back at_ THORNTON. _Exit_. + +KERCHIVAL. [_To_ BUCKTHORN.] We will probably find the despatches we +have been looking for now, General. + +BUCKTHORN. Prisoner! You will hand us what papers you may have. + +THORNTON. I will hand you nothing. + +BUCKTHORN. Colonel! [KERCHIVAL _motions to_ THORNTON, _who looks at +him sullenly_. + +KERCHIVAL. Corporal Dunn!--search the prisoner. [DUNN _steps to_ +THORNTON, _taking him by the shoulder and turning him rather roughly_. +THORNTON'S _back to the audience._ DUNN _throws open his coat, takes +paper from his breast, hands it to_ KERCHIVAL, _who gives it to_ +BUCKTHORN.] Proceed with the search. [DUNN _continues the search_. +BUCKTHORN _drops upon seat, lights a match, looks at the paper._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading_.] "General Rosser will rejoin General Early with +all the cavalry in his command, at----" This is important. [_Continues +to read with matches. The_ CORPORAL _hands a packet to_ KERCHIVAL. _He +removes the covering_. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Starting_.] A portrait of Mrs. Haverill! [_He touches_ +CORPORAL DUNN _on the shoulder quickly and motions him to retire._ +DUNN _falls back to the_ GUARD. KERCHIVAL _speaks apart to_ THORNTON, +_who has turned front_.] How did this portrait come into your +possession? + +THORNTON. That is my affair, not yours! + +BUCKTHORN. Anything else, Colonel? + +KERCHIVAL. [_Placing the miniature in his pocket._] Nothing! + +THORNTON. [_Apart, over_ KERCHIVAL'S _shoulder._] A time will come, +perhaps, when I can avenge the insult of this search, and also this +scar. [_Pointing to a scar on his face._] Your aim was better than +mine in Charleston, but we shall meet again; give me back that +picture. + +KERCHIVAL. Corporal! Take your prisoner! + +THORNTON. Ah! [_Viciously springing at_ KERCHIVAL; CORPORAL DUNN +_springs forward, seizes_ THORNTON, _throws him back to the_ GUARD +_and stands with his carbine levelled at_ THORNTON; _looks at_ +KERCHIVAL, _who quietly motions him out._ CORPORAL DUNN _gives the +orders to the men and marches out with_ THORNTON. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! [_Still reading with matches._] Colonel! [_Rising._] +The enemy has a new movement on foot, and General Sheridan has left +the army! Listen! [_Reads from despatches with matches._] "Watch for a +signal from Three Top Mountain to-night." + +KERCHIVAL. We hope to be able to read that signal ourselves. + +BUCKTHORN. Yes, I know. Be on your guard. I will speak with General +Haverill, and then ride over to General Wright's headquarters. Keep us +informed. + +KERCHIVAL. I will, General. [_Saluting._ BUCKTHORN _salutes and +exit._] "Watch for a signal from Three Top Mountain to-night." +[_Looking up at mountain._] We shall be helpless to read it unless +Lieutenant Bedloe is successful. I only hope the poor boy is not lying +dead, already, in those dark woods beyond the Ford. [_Looking off; +turns down stage, taking the miniature from his pocket._] How +came Edward Thornton to have this portrait of Mrs. Haverill in his +possession? [GERTRUDE _runs in on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Colonel West! He's here! [_Looks back._] They are coming +this way with him. + +KERCHIVAL. Him! Who? + +GERTRUDE. Jack. + +KERCHIVAL. Jack! + +GERTRUDE. My own horse! + +KERCHIVAL. Ah, I remember! He and I were acquainted in Charleston. + +GERTRUDE. Two troopers are passing through the camp with him. + +KERCHIVAL. He is not in your possession? + +GERTRUDE. He was captured at the battle of Fair Oaks, but I recognized +him the moment I saw him; and I am sure he knew me, too, when I +went up to him. He whinnied and looked so happy. You are in command +here--[_Running down._]--you will compel them to give him up to me? + +KERCHIVAL. If he is in my command, your pet shall be returned to you. +I'll give one of my own horses to the Government as a substitute, if +necessary. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, thank you, my dear Kerchival! [_Going to him; he takes +her hand, looking into her eyes._] I--I could almost-- + +KERCHIVAL. Can you almost confess, at last, Gertrude, that you--love +me? [_Tenderly; she draws back, hanging her head, but leaving her hand +in his._] Have I been wrong? I felt that that confession was hovering +on your tongue when we were separated in Charleston. Have I seen that +confession in your eyes since we met again to-day--even among the +angry flashes which they have shot out at me? During all this terrible +war--in the camp and the trench--in the battle--I have dreamed of a +meeting like this. You are still silent? [_Her hand is still in his. +She is looking down. A smile steals over her face, and she raises her +eyes to his, taking his hand in both her own._ + +GERTRUDE. Kerchival! I--[_Enter_ BENSON. _She looks around over her +shoulder._ KERCHIVAL _looks up stage. A_ TROOPER, _leading the large +black horse of Act I, now caparisoned in military saddle, bridle, &c., +follows_ BENSON _across; another_ TROOPER _follows._] Jack! [_She runs +up stage, meeting horse._ KERCHIVAL _turns._ + +KERCHIVAL. Confound Jack! That infernal horse was always in my way! + +GERTRUDE. [_With her arm about her horse's neck._] My darling old +fellow! Is he not beautiful, Kerchival? They have taken good care of +him. How soft his coat is! + +KERCHIVAL. Benson, explain this! + +BENSON. I was instructed to show this horse and his leader through the +lines, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. What are your orders, my man? [_Moving up, the_ TROOPER +_hands him a paper. He moves a few steps down, reading it._ + +GERTRUDE. You are to be mine again, Jack, mine! [_Resting her cheek +against the horse's head and patting it._] The Colonel has promised it +to me. + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! [_With a start, as he reads the paper._ GERTRUDE +_raises her head and looks at him._] This is General Sheridan's horse, +on his way to Winchester, for the use of the General when he returns +from Washington. + +GERTRUDE. General Sheridan's horse? He is mine! + +KERCHIVAL. I have no authority to detain him. He must go on. + +GERTRUDE. I have hold of Jack's bridle, and you may order your men to +take out their sabres and cut my hand off. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Approaches her and gently takes her hand as it holds +the bridle._] I would rather have my own hand cut off, Gertrude, +than bring tears to your eyes, but there is no alternative! [GERTRUDE +_releases the bridle and turns front, brushing her eyes, her hand +still held in his, his back to the audience. He returns order, and +motions_ TROOPERS _out; they move out with horse._ GERTRUDE _starts +after the horse;_ KERCHIVAL _turns quickly to check her._] You +forget--that--you are my prisoner. + +GERTRUDE. I _will_ go! + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn left me special instructions--[_Taking +out wallet and letter._]--in case you declined to obey my orders-- + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Colonel! Please don't read that letter. [_She stands +near him, dropping her head. He glances up at her from the letter. She +glances up at him and drops her eyes again._] I will obey you. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] What the deuce can there be in that letter? + +GERTRUDE. Colonel West! Your men made me a prisoner this afternoon; +to-night you have robbed me, by your own orders, of--of--Jack is only +a pet, but I love him; and my brother is also a captive in your hands. +When we separated in Charleston you said that we were enemies. What is +there lacking to make those words true to-day? You _are_ my enemy! +A few moments ago you asked me to make a confession to you. You +can judge for yourself whether it is likely to be a confession +of--love--or of hatred! + +KERCHIVAL. Hatred! + +GERTRUDE. [_Facing him._] Listen to my confession, sir! From the +bottom of my heart-- + +KERCHIVAL. Stop! + +GERTRUDE. I will not stop! + +KERCHIVAL. I command you. + +GERTRUDE. Indeed! [_He throws open the wallet in his hand and raises +the letter._] Ah! [_She turns away; turns again, as if to speak. He +half opens the letter. She stamps her foot and walks up steps of the +veranda. Here she turns again._] I tell you, I--[_He opens the letter. +She turns, and exits with spiteful step._ + +KERCHIVAL. I wonder if that document orders me to cut her head off! +[_Returning it to wallet and pocket._] Was ever lover in such a +position? I am obliged to cross the woman I love at every step. + +_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN, _very hurriedly._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. A message from Adjutant Rollins, sir! The prisoner, +Captain Thornton, dashed away from the special guard which was placed +over him, and he has escaped. He had a knife concealed, and two of the +guard are badly wounded. Adjutant Rollins thinks the prisoner is still +within the lines of the camp--in one of the houses or the stables. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell Major Wilson to place the remainder of the guard under +arrest, and to take every possible means to recapture the prisoner. +[CORPORAL DUNN _salutes, and exits._] So! Thornton has jumped his +guard, and he is armed. I wonder if he is trying to get away, or to +find me. From what I know of the man, he doesn't much care which he +succeeds in doing. That scar which I gave him in Charleston is deeper +in his heart than it is in his face. [_A signal light suddenly appears +on Three Top Mountain. The "Call."_] Ah!--the enemy's signal! [_Enter_ +CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD, _followed by_ LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS.] Captain +Lockwood! You are here! Are your Signalmen with you? + +LOCKWOOD. Yes, Colonel; and one of my Lieutenants. + +[_The_ LIEUTENANT _is looking up at signal with glass._ CAPTAIN +LOCKWOOD _does the same._ HAVERILL _enters, followed by two_ STAFF +OFFICERS. + +HAVERILL. [_As he enters._] Can you make anything of it, Captain? + +LOCKWOOD. Nothing, General! Our services are quite useless unless +Lieutenant Bedloe returns with the key to their signals. + +HAVERILL. A--h! [_Coming down stage._] We shall fail. It is time he +had returned, if successful. + +SENTINEL. [_Without._] Halt! Who goes there? [KERCHIVAL _runs +up stage, and half way up incline, looking off._] Halt! [_A shot +without._ + +BARKET. [_Without._] Och!--Ye murtherin spalpeen! + +KERCHIVAL. Sentinel! Let him pass; it is Sergeant Barket. + +SENTINEL. [_Without._] Pass on. + +KERCHIVAL. He didn't give the countersign. News from Lieutenant +Bedloe, General! + +BARKET. [_Hurrying in, up slope._] Colonel Wist, our brave byes wiped +out the enemy, and here's the papers. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Taking papers.--Then to_ LOCKWOOD.] Is that the key? + +LOCKWOOD. Yes. Lieutenant! [LIEUTENANT _hurries up to elevation, +looking through his glass._ LOCKWOOD _opens book._ + +HAVERILL. What of Lieutenant Bedloe, Sergeant? + +BARKET. Sayreously wounded, and in the hands of the inimy! + +HAVERILL. [_Sighing._] A--h. + +BARKET. [_Coming down stone steps._] It is reported that Captain +Heartsease was shot dead at his side. + +KERCHIVAL. Heartsease dead! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. [_Reading signals._] +Twelve--Twenty-two--Eleven. + +BARKET. Begorra! I forgot the Sintinil entirely, but he didn't forget +me. [_Holding his left arm._ + +HAVERILL. Colonel West! We must make every possible sacrifice for the +immediate exchange of Lieutenant Bedloe, if he is still living. It is +due to him. Colonel Robert Ellingham is a prisoner in this camp; offer +him his own exchange for young Bedloe. + +KERCHIVAL. He will accept, of course. I will ride to the front with +him myself, General, and show him through the lines. + +HAVERILL. At once! [KERCHIVAL _crosses front and exit on veranda._ +HAVERILL _crosses._] Can you follow the despatch, Captain? + +LOCKWOOD. Perfectly; everything is here + +HAVERILL. Well! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Eleven--Twenty-two--One--Twelve. + +LOCKWOOD. [_From book._] "General Longstreet is coming with--" + +HAVERILL. Longstreet! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. One--Twenty-one. + +LOCKWOOD. "With eighteen thousand men." + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Two--Eleven--Twenty-two. + +LOCKWOOD. "Sheridan is away!" + +HAVERILL. They have discovered his absence! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Two--Twenty-two--Eleven--One--Twelve--One. + +LOCKWOOD. "We will crush the Union Army before he can return." + +HAVERILL. Signal that despatch from here to our Station at Front +Royal. [_Pointing._] Tell them to send it after General Sheridan--and +ride for their lives. [LOCKWOOD _hurries out._] Major Burton! We will +ride to General Wright's headquarters at once--our horses! [_Noise of +a struggle without._ + +BARKET. [_Looking._] What the devil is the row out there? [_Exit. Also +one of the_ STAFF OFFICERS. + +HAVERILL. [_Looking off._] What is this? Colonel West wounded! + +_Enter_ KERCHIVAL WEST, _his coat thrown open, with_ ELLINGHAM, BARKET +_assisting._ + +ELLINGHAM. Steady, Kerchival, old boy! You should have let us carry +you. + +KERCHIVAL. Nonsense, old fellow! It's a mere touch with the point of +the knife. I--I'm faint--with the loss of a little blood--that's all. +Bob!--I--[_Reels suddenly and is caught by_ ELLINGHAM _as he sinks to +the ground, insensible._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! [_Kneeling at his side._ + +HAVERILL. Go for the surgeon! [_To_ STAFF OFFICER, _who goes out +quickly on veranda._] How did this happen? [_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN +_and_ GUARD, _with_ THORNTON. _He is in his shirt sleeves and +disheveled, his arms folded. They march down._] Captain Thornton! + +ELLINGHAM. We were leaving the house together; a hunted animal +sprang suddenly across our path, like a panther. [_Looking over his +shoulder._] There it stands. Kerchival!--my brother! + +CORPORAL DUNN. We had just brought this prisoner to bay, but I'm +afraid we were too late. + +HAVERILL. This is assassination, sir, not war. If you have killed +him-- + +THORNTON. Do what you like with me; we need waste no words. I had an +old account to settle, and I have paid my debt. + +ELLINGHAM. General Haverill! I took these from his breast when he +first fell. [_Handing up wallet and miniature to_ HAVERILL. HAVERILL +_starts as he looks at the miniature._ THORNTON _watches him._ + +HAVERILL. [_Aside._] My wife's portrait! + +THORNTON. If I have killed him--your honour will be buried in the same +grave. + +HAVERILL. Her picture on his breast! She gave it to him--not to +my son! [_Dropping into seat._ CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD _enters with a_ +SIGNALMAN, _who has a burning torch on a long pole; he hurries up +the elevation._ CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD _stands below, facing him. Almost +simultaneously with the entrance of the_ SIGNALMAN, GERTRUDE _runs in +on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. They are calling for a surgeon! Who is it? Brother!--you are +safe,--ah! [_Uttering a scream, as she sees_ KERCHIVAL, _and falling +on her knees at his side._] Kerchival! Forget those last bitter words +I said to you. Can't you hear my confession? I do love you. Can't you +hear me? I love you! [_The_ SIGNALMAN _is swinging the torch as the +curtain descends,_ LOCKWOOD _looking right._ + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE. _Same. It is now bright daylight, with sunshine flecking the +foreground and bathing the distant valley and mountains._ + +DISCOVERED. JENNY, _on low stone post, looking left. As the curtain +rises, she imitates Trumpet Signal No._ 19 _on her closed fists._ + +JENNY. What a magnificent line! [_Looking._] Guides-posts! Every man +and every horse is eager for the next command. There comes the flag! +[_Trumpet Signal without, No._ 30.] To the standard! [_As the signal +begins._] The regiment is going to the front. Oh! I do wish I could +go with it. I always do, the moment I hear the trumpets. Boots and +saddles! [_Imitates No._ 16.] Mount! [_Imitates No._ 37.] I wish I was +in command of the regiment. It was born in me. [_Trumpet Signal No._ +48, _without._] Fours right! There they go! Look at those horses' +ears! [_Trumpet Signal No._ 39, _without._] Forward. [_Military band +heard without--"The Battle Cry of Freedom"_ JENNY _takes attitude of +holding bridle and trotting._] Rappity--plap--plap--plap, etc. [_She +imitates the motions of a soldier on horseback, stepping down to rock +at side of post; thence to ground and about stage, with the various +curvettings of a spirited horse. Chorus of soldiers without, with the +band. The music becomes more and more distant._ JENNY _gradually stops +as the music is dying away, and stands, listening. As it dies entirely +away, she suddenly starts to an enthusiastic attitude._] Ah! If I were +only a man! The enemy! On Third Battalion, left, front, into line, +march! Draw sabres! Charge! [_Imitates Trumpet Signal No._ 44. _As +she finishes, she rises to her full height, with both arms raised, +and trembling with enthusiasm._] Ah! [_She suddenly drops her arms and +changes to an attitude and expression of disappointment--pouting._] +And the first time Old Margery took me to papa, in her arms, she had +to tell him I was a girl. Papa was as much disgusted as I was. But +he'd never admit it; he says I'm as good a soldier as any of 'em--just +as I am. + +_Enter_ BARKET _on veranda, his arm in a sling._ + +BARKET. [_On veranda_] Miss Jenny! + +JENNY. Barket! The regiment has marched away to the front, and we +girls are left here, with just you and a corporal's guard to look +after us. + +BARKET. I've been watching the byes mesilf. [_Coming down._] If a +little milithary sugar-plum like you, Miss Jenny, objects to not goin' +wid' 'em, what do you think of an ould piece of hard tack like me? I +can't join the regiment till I've taken you and Miss Madeline back to +Winchester, by your father's orders. But it isn't the first time I've +escorted you, Miss Jenny. Many a time, when you was a baby, on the +Plains, I commanded a special guard to accompany ye's from one fort to +anither, and we gave the command in a whisper, so as not to wake ye's +up. + +JENNY. I told you to tell papa that I'd let him know when Madeline and +I were ready to go. + +BARKET. I tould him that I'd as soon move a train of army mules. + +JENNY. I suppose we must start for home again to-day? + +BARKET. Yes, Miss Jenny, in charge of an ould Sargeant wid his arm in +a sling and a couple of convalescent throopers. This department of the +United States Army will move to the rear in half an hour. + +JENNY. Madeline and I only came yesterday morning. + +BARKET. Whin your father got ye's a pass to the front, we all thought +the fightin' in the Shenandoey Valley was over. It looks now as if +it was just beginning. This is no place for women, now. Miss Gertrude +Ellingham ought to go wid us, but she won't. + +JENNY. Barket! Captain Heartsease left the regiment yesterday, and +he hasn't rejoined it; he isn't with them, now, at the head of his +company. Where is he? + +BARKET. I can't say where he is, Miss Jenny. [_Aside._] Lyin' unburied +in the woods, where he was shot, I'm afraid. + +JENNY. When Captain Heartsease does rejoin the regiment, Barket, +please say to him for me, that--that I--I may have some orders for +him, when we next meet. [_Exit on veranda._ + +BARKET. Whin they nixt mate. They tell us there is no such thing as +marriage in Hiven. If Miss Jenny and Captain Heartsease mate there, +they'll invint somethin' that's mighty like it. While I was lyin' +wounded in General Buckthorn's house at Washington, last summer, and +ould Margery was taking care of me, Margery tould me, confidentially, +that they was in love wid aitch ither; and I think she was about +right. I've often seen Captain Heartsease take a sly look at a little +lace handkerchief, just before we wint into battle. [_Looks off._] +Here's General Buckthorn himself. He and I must make it as aisy as we +can for Miss Jenny's poor heart. + +_Enter_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +BUCKTHORN. Sergeant Barket! You haven't started with those girls yet? + +BARKET. They're to go in half an hour, sir. + +BUCKTHORN. Be sure they do go. Is General Haverill here? + +BARKET. Yes, sir; in the house with some of his staff, and the +Surgeon. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! The Surgeon. How is Colonel West, this morning, after +the wound he received last night? + +BARKET. He says, himself, that he's as well as iver he was; but the +Colonel and Surgeon don't agray on that subject. The dochter says he +mustn't lave his room for a month. The knife wint dape; and there's +somethin' wrong inside of him. But the Colonel, bein' on the outside +himsilf, can't see it. He's as cross as a bear, baycause they wouldn't +let him go to the front this morning, at the head of his regiment. I +happened to raymark that the Chaplain was prayin' for his raycovery. +The Colonel said he'd court-martial him if he didn't stop that--quick; +there's more important things for the Chaplain to pray for in his +official capacity. Just at that moment the trumpets sounded, "Boots +and Saddles." I had to dodge one of his boots, and the Surgeon had a +narrow escape from the ither one. It was lucky for us both his saddle +wasn't in the room. + +BUCKTHORN. That looks encouraging. I think Kerchival will get on. + +BARKET. Might I say a word to you, sur, about Miss Jenny? + +BUCKTHORN. Certainly, Barket. You and old Margery and myself have been +a sort of triangular mother, so to speak, to the little girl--since +her own poor mother left her to our care, when she was only a baby, +in the old fort on the Plains. [_At his side and unconsciously resting +his arm over_ BARKET'S _shoulder, familiarly. Suddenly draws up._] +Ahem! [_Then gruffly._] What is it? Proceed. + +BARKET. Her mother's bosom would have been the softest place for her +poor little head to rest upon, now, sur. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Touching his eyes._] Well! + +BARKET. Ould Margery tould me in Washington that Miss Jenny and +Captain Heartsease were in love wid aitch ither. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Starting._] In love! + +BARKET. I approved of the match. + +BUCKTHORN. What the devil! [BARKET _salutes quickly and starts up +stage and out._ BUCKTHORN _moves up after him; stops at post._ BARKET +_stops in road._ + +BARKET. So did ould Margery. + +BUCKTHORN. March! [_Angrily._ BARKET _salutes suddenly, and exits._] +Heartsease! That young jackanapes! A mere fop; he'll never make a +soldier. My girl in love with--bah! I don't believe it; she's too good +a soldier, herself. + +[_Enter_ HAVERILL, _on veranda._] + +Ah, Haverill! + +HAVERILL. General Buckthorn! Have you heard anything of General +Sheridan since I sent that despatch to him last evening? + +BUCKTHORN. He received it at midnight and sent back word that he +considers it a ruse of the enemy. General Wright agrees with him. The +reconnaissance yesterday showed no hostile force, on our right, and +Crook reports that Early is retreating up the Valley. But General +Sheridan may, perhaps, give up his journey to Washington, and he has +ordered some changes in our line, to be executed this afternoon at +four o'clock. I rode over to give you your instructions in person. You +may order General McCuen to go into camp on the right of Meadow Brook, +with the second division. [HAVERILL _is writing in his note-book._ + +_Enter_ JENNY, _on veranda._ + +JENNY. Oh, papa! I'm so glad you've come. I've got something to say to +you. [_Running down and jumping into his arms, kissing him. He turns +with her, and sets her down, squarely on her feet and straight before +him._ + +BUCKTHORN. And I've got something to say to you--about Captain +Heartsease. + +JENNY. Oh! That's just what I wanted to talk about. + +BUCKTHORN. Fall in! Front face! [_She jumps into military position, +turning towards him._] What's this I hear from Sergeant Barket? He +says you've been falling in love. + +JENNY. I have. [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Young woman! Listen to my orders. Fallout! [_Turns sharply +and marches to_ HAVERILL.] Order the Third Brigade of Cavalry, under +Colonel Lowell, to occupy the left of the pike. + +JENNY. Papa! [_Running to him and seizing the tail of his coat._] +Papa, dear! + +BUCKTHORN. Close in Colonel Powell on the extreme left--[_Slapping his +coat-tails out of_ JENNY'S _hands, without looking around._]--and hold +Custer on the second line, at Old Forge Road. That is all at present. +[_Turns to_ JENNY.] Good-bye, my darling! [_Kisses her._] Remember +your orders! You little pet! [_Chuckling, as he taps her chin; draws +up suddenly; turns to_ HAVERILL.] General! I bid you good-day. + +HAVERILL. Good-day, General Buckthorn. [_They salute with great +dignity._ BUCKTHORN _starts up stage;_ JENNY _springs after him, +seizing his coat-tails._ + +JENNY. But I want to talk with you, papa; I can't fall out. I--I +haven't finished yet. [_Etc., clinging to his coat, as_ BUCKTHORN +_marches out rapidly, in road,--holding back with all her might._ + +HAVERILL. It may have been a ruse of the enemy, but I hope that +General Sheridan has turned back from Washington. [_Looking at his +note-book._] We are to make changes in our line at four o'clock this +afternoon. [_Returns book to pocket and stands in thought._] The +Surgeon tells me that Kerchival West will get on well enough if he +remains quiet; otherwise not. He shall not die by the hand of a +common assassin; he has no right to die like that. My wife gave my own +picture of herself to him--not to my son--and she looked so like an +angel when she took it from my hand! They were both false to me, and +they have been true to each other. I will save his life for myself. + +_Enter_ GERTRUDE, _on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. General Haverill! [_Anxiously, coming down._] Colonel West +persists in disobeying the injunctions of the Surgeon. He is preparing +to join his regiment at the front. Give him your orders to remain +here. Compel him to be prudent! + +HAVERILL. [_Quickly._] The honour of death at the front is not in +reserve for him. + +GERTRUDE. Eh? What did you say, General? + +HAVERILL. Gertrude! I wish to speak to you, as your father's old +friend; and I was once your guardian. Your father was my senior +officer in the Mexican War. Without his care I should have been left +dead in a foreign land. He, himself, afterwards fell fighting for the +old flag. + +GERTRUDE. The old flag. [_Aside._] My father died for it, and +he--[_Looking left._]--is suffering for it--the old flag! + +HAVERILL. I can now return the kindness your father did to me, by +protecting his daughter from something that may be worse than death. + +GERTRUDE. What do you mean? + +HAVERILL. Last night I saw you kneeling at the side of Kerchival West; +you spoke to him with all the tender passion of a Southern woman. You +said you loved him. But you spoke into ears that could not hear you. +Has he ever heard those words from your lips? Have you ever confessed +your love to him before? + +GERTRUDE. Never. Why do you ask? + +HAVERILL. Do not repeat those words. Keep your heart to yourself, my +girl. + +GERTRUDE. General! Why do you say this to me? And at such a +moment--when his life-- + +HAVERILL. His life! [_Turning sharply._] It belongs to me! + +GERTRUDE. Oh! + +KERCHIVAL. Sergeant! [_Without. He steps in front road, looking +back._] See that my horse is ready at once. General! [_Saluting._] Are +there any orders for my regiment, beyond those given to Major Wilson, +in my absence, this morning? I am about to ride on after the troops +and re-assume my command. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] It is my wish, Colonel, that you remain here +under the care of the Surgeon. + +KERCHIVAL. My wound is a mere trifle. This may be a critical moment in +the campaign, and I cannot rest here. I must be with my own men. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] I beg to repeat the wish I have already +expressed. [KERCHIVAL _walks to him, and speaks apart, almost under +his breath, but very earnest in tone._ + +KERCHIVAL. I have had no opportunity, yet, to explain certain matters, +as you requested me to do yesterday; but whatever there may be +between us, you are now interfering with my duty and my privilege as a +soldier; and it is my right to be at the head of my regiment. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] It is my positive order that you do not +reassume your command. + +KERCHIVAL. General Haverill, I protest against this-- + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] You are under arrest, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. Arrest! + +GERTRUDE. Ah! [KERCHIVAL _unclasps his belt and offers his sword to_ +HAVERILL. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] Keep your sword; I have no desire to humiliate +you; but hold yourself subject to further orders from me. [KERCHIVAL +_goes up veranda._ + +KERCHIVAL. My regiment at the front!--and I under arrest! [_Exit._ + +HAVERILL. Gertrude! If your heart refuses to be silent--if you feel +that you must confess your love to that man--first tell him what I +have said to you, and refer him to me for an explanation. [_Exit into +road._ + +GERTRUDE. What can he mean? He would save me from something worse +than death, he said. "His life--it belongs to me!" What can he mean? +Kerchival told me that he loved me--it seems many years since that +morning in Charleston--and when we met again, yesterday, he said that +he had never ceased to love me. I will not believe that he has told +me a falsehood. I have given him my love, my whole soul and my faith. +[_Drawing up to her full height._] My perfect faith! + +JENNY _runs in from road, and up the slope. She looks down the hill, +then enters._ + +JENNY. A flag of truce, Gertrude. And a party of Confederate soldiers, +with an escort, coming up the hill. They are carrying someone; he is +wounded. + +_Enter up the slope, a_ LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY _with an escort +of Union soldiers, their arms at right shoulder, and a party of +Confederate soldiers bearing a rustic stretcher._ LIEUTENANT FRANK +BEDLOE _lies on the stretcher._ MAJOR HARDWICK, _a Confederate +Surgeon, walks at his side._ MADELINE _appears at veranda, watching +them._ GERTRUDE _stands with her back to audience. The_ LIEUTENANT +_gives orders in a low tone, and the front escort moves to right, in +road. The Confederate bearers and the_ SURGEON _pass through the gate. +The rear escort moves to left, in road, under_ LIEUTENANT'S _orders. +The bearers halt, front; on a sign from the_ SURGEON, _they leave the +stretcher on the ground, stepping back._ + +MAJOR HARDWICK. Is General Haverill here? + +GERTRUDE. Yes; what can we do, sir? + +MADELINE. The General is just about mounting with his staff, to ride +away. Shall I go for him, sir? + +MAJOR. Say to him, please, that Colonel Robert Ellingham, of the Tenth +Virginia, sends his respects and sympathy. He instructed me to bring +this young officer to this point, in exchange for himself, as agreed +upon between them last evening. [_Exit_ MADELINE. + +JENNY. Is he unconscious or sleeping, sir? + +MAJOR. Hovering between life and death. I thought he would bear the +removal better. He is waking. Here, my lad! [_Placing his canteen to +the lips of_ FRANK, _who moves, reviving._] We have reached the end of +our journey. + +FRANK. My father! + +MAJOR. He is thinking of his home. [FRANK _rises on one arm, assisted +by the_ SURGEON. + +FRANK. I have obeyed General Haverill's orders, and I have a report to +make. + +GERTRUDE. We have already sent for him. [_Stepping to him._] He will +be here in a moment. + +FRANK. [_Looking into her face, brightly._] Is not +this--Miss--Gertrude Ellingham? + +GERTRUDE. You know me? You have seen me before? + +FRANK. Long ago! Long ago! You know the wife of General Haverill? + +GERTRUDE. I have no dearer friend in the world. + +FRANK. She will give a message for me to the dearest friend _I_ have +in the world. My little wife! I must not waste even the moment we are +waiting. Doctor! My note-book! [_Trying to get it from his coat. The_ +SURGEON _takes it out. A torn and blood-stained lace handkerchief also +falls out._ GERTRUDE _kneels at his side._] Ah! I--I--have a message +from another--[_Holding up handkerchief._]--from Captain Heartsease. +[JENNY _makes a quick start towards him._] He lay at my side in the +hospital, when they brought me away; he had only strength enough to +put this in my hand, and he spoke a woman's name; but I--I--forgot +what it is. The red spots upon it are the only message he sent. +[GERTRUDE _takes the handkerchief and looks back at_ JENNY, _extending +her hand._ JENNY _moves to her, takes the handkerchief and turns back, +looking down on it. She drops her face into her hands and goes out +sobbing._ + +_Enter_ MADELINE _on veranda._ + +MADELINE. General Haverill is coming. I was just in time. He was +already on his horse. + +FRANK. Ah! He is coming. [_Then suddenly._] Write! Write! [GERTRUDE +_writes in the note-book as he dictates._] "To--my wife--Edith:--Tell +our little son, when he is old enough to know--how his father died; +not how he lived. And tell her who filled my own mother's place so +lovingly--she is your mother, too--that my father's portrait of her, +which she gave to me in Charleston, helped me to be a better man!" +And--oh! I must not forget this--"It was taken away from me while I +was a prisoner in Richmond, and it is in the possession of Captain +Henry Thornton, of the Confederate Secret Service. But her face is +still beside your own in my heart. My best--warmest, last--love--to +you, darling." I will sign it. [GERTRUDE _holds the book, and he signs +it, then sinks back very quietly, supported by the_ SURGEON. GERTRUDE +_rises and walks right._ + +MADELINE. General Haverill is here. [_The_ SURGEON _lays the fold of +the blanket over_ FRANK'S _face and rises._ + +GERTRUDE. Doctor! + +MAJOR. He is dead. [MADELINE, _on veranda, turns and looks left. The_ +LIEUTENANT _orders the guard,_ "Present Arms". _Enter_ HAVERILL, _on +veranda. He salutes the guard as he passes. The_ LIEUTENANT _orders,_ +"Carry Arms." HAVERILL _comes down._ + +HAVERILL. I am too late? + +MAJOR. I'm sorry, General. His one eager thought as we came was to +reach here in time to see you. [HAVERILL _moves to the bier, looks +down at it, then folds back the blanket from the face. He starts +slightly as he first sees it._ + +HAVERILL. Brave boy! I hoped once to have a son like you. I shall +be in your father's place, to-day, at your grave. [_He replaces the +blanket and steps back._] We will carry him to his comrades in the +front. He shall have a soldier's burial, in sight of the mountain-top +beneath which he sacrificed his young life; that shall be his +monument. + +MAJOR. Pardon me, General. We Virginians are your enemies, but you +cannot honour this young soldier more than we do. Will you allow my +men the privilege of carrying him to his grave? [HAVERILL _inclines +his head. The_ SURGEON _motions to the Confederate soldiers, who step +to the bier and raise it gently._ + +HAVERILL. Lieutenant! [_The_ LIEUTENANT _orders the guard,_ "Left +Face." _The Confederate bearers move through the gate, preceded by_ +LIEUTENANT HARDWICK. HAVERILL _draws his sword, reverses it, and moves +up behind the bier with bowed head. The_ LIEUTENANT _orders_ "Forward +March," _and the cortège disappears. While the girls are still +watching it, the heavy sound of distant artillery is heard, with +booming reverberations among the hills and in the Valley._ + +MADELINE. What is that sound, Gertrude? + +GERTRUDE. Listen! [_Another and more prolonged distant sound, with +long reverberations._ + +MADELINE. Again! Gertrude! [GERTRUDE _raises her hand to command +silence; listens. Distant cannon again._ + +GERTRUDE. It is the opening of a battle. + +MADELINE. Ah! [_Running down stage. The sounds again. Prolonged +rumble._ + +GERTRUDE. How often have I heard that sound. [_Coming down._] This is +war, Madeline! You are face to face with it now. + +MADELINE. And Robert is there! He may be in the thickest of the +danger--at this very moment. + +GERTRUDE. Yes. Let our prayers go up for him; mine do, with all a +sister's heart. [KERCHIVAL _enters on veranda, without coat or vest, +his sash about his waist, looking back as he comes in._] Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. Go on! Go on! Keep the battle to yourselves. I'm out of it. +[_The distant cannon and reverberations rising in volume. Prolonged +and distant rumble._ + +MADELINE. I pray for Robert Ellingham--and for the _cause_ in which he +risks his life! [KERCHIVAL _looks at her, suddenly; also_ GERTRUDE.] +Heaven forgive me if I am wrong, but I am praying for the enemies +of my country. His people are my people, his enemies are my enemies. +Heaven defend him and his, in this awful hour. + +KERCHIVAL. Madeline! My sister! + +MADELINE. Oh, Kerchival! [_Turning and dropping her face on his +breast._] I cannot help it--I cannot help it! + +KERCHIVAL. My poor girl! Every woman's heart, the world over, belongs +not to any country or any flag, but to her husband--and her lover. +Pray for the man you love, sister--it would be treason not to. +[_Passes her before him to left. Looks across to_ GERTRUDE.] Am I +right? [GERTRUDE _drops her head._ MADELINE _moves up veranda and +out._] Is what I have said to Madeline true? + +GERTRUDE. Yes! [_Looks up._] Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! [_Hurries across to her, clasps her in his arms. +He suddenly staggers and brings his hand to his breast._ + +GERTRUDE. Your wound! [_Supporting him as he reels and sinks into +seat._ + +KERCHIVAL. Wound! I have no wound! You do love me! [_Seizing her +hand._ + +GERTRUDE. Let me call the Surgeon, Kerchival. + +KERCHIVAL. You can be of more service to me than he can. [_Detaining +her. Very heavy sounds of the battle; she starts, listening._] Never +mind that! It's only a battle. You love me! + +GERTRUDE. Be quiet, Kerchival, dear. I do love you. I told you so, +when you lay bleeding here, last night. But you could not hear me. +[_At his side, resting her arm about him, stroking his head._] I said +that same thing--to--to--another, more than three years ago. It is +in that letter that General Buckthorn gave you. [KERCHIVAL _starts._] +No--no--you must be very quiet, or I will not say another word. If you +obey me, I will repeat that part of the letter, every word; I know +it by heart, for I read it a dozen times. The letter is from Mrs. +Haverill. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] Go on. + +GERTRUDE. "I have kept your secret, my darling, but I was sorely +tempted to betray the confidence you reposed in me at Charleston. +If Kerchival West--[_She retires backward from him as she +proceeds._]--had heard you say, as I did, when your face was hidden in +my bosom, that night, that you loved him with your whole heart--" + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! [_Starting to his feet. He sinks back. She springs to +support him._ + +GERTRUDE. I will go for help. + +KERCHIVAL. Do not leave me at such a moment as this. You have brought +me a new life. [_Bringing her to her knees before him and looking down +at her._] Heaven is just opening before me. [_His hands drops suddenly +and his head falls back. Battle._ + +GERTRUDE. Ah! Kerchival! You are dying! [_Musketry. A sudden sharp +burst of musketry, mingled with the roar of artillery near by._ +KERCHIVAL _starts, seizing_ GERTRUDE'S _arm and holding her away, +still on her knees. He looks eagerly._ + +KERCHIVAL. The enemy is close upon us! + +BARKET _runs in, up the slope._ + +BARKET. Colonel Wist! The devils have sprung out of the ground. +They're pouring over our lift flank like Noah's own flood. The Union +Army has started back for Winchester, on its way to the North Pole; +our own regiment, Colonel, is coming over the hill in full retrate. + +KERCHIVAL. My own regiment! [_Starting up._] Get my horse, Barket. +[_Turns._] Gertrude, my life! [_Embraces_ GERTRUDE. + +BARKET. Your horse, is it? I'm wid ye! There's a row at Finnegan's +ball, and we're in it. [_Springs to road, and out._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Turns away. Stops._] I am under arrest. [_Retreat. +Fugitives begin to straggle across stage._ + +GERTRUDE. You must not go, Kerchival; it will kill you. + +KERCHIVAL. Arrest be damned! [_Starts up stage, raises his arms above +his head with clenched fist, rising to full height._] Stand out of my +way, you cowards! [_They cower away from him as he rushes out among +them. The stream of fugitives passing across stage swells in volume._ +GERTRUDE _runs through them and up to the elevation, turning._ + +GERTRUDE. Men! Are you soldiers? Turn back! There is a leader for you! +Turn back! Fight for your flag--and mine!--the flag my father died +for! Turn back! [_She looks out and turns front._] He has been marked +for death already, and I--I can only pray. [_Dropping to her knees._ + +_The stream of fugitives continues, now over the elevation also. Rough +and torn uniforms, bandaged arms and legs; some limping and supported +by others, some dragging their muskets after them, others without +muskets, others using them as crutches. Variety of uniforms, cavalry, +infantry, etc.; flags draggled on the ground, the rattle of near +musketry and roar of cannon continue; two or three wounded fugitives +drop down beside the hedge._ BENSON _staggers in and drops upon rock +or stump near post. Artillerists, rough, torn and wounded, drag and +force a field-piece across._ CORPORAL DUNN, _wounded, staggers to the +top of elevation. There is a lull in the sounds of the battle. Distant +cheers are heard without._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. Listen, fellows! Stop! Listen! Sheridan! General +Sheridan is coming! [_Cheers from those on stage._ GERTRUDE _rises +quickly. The wounded soldiers rise, looking over hedge. All on stage +stop, looking eagerly. The cheers without come nearer, with shouts of_ +"Sheridan! Sheridan!"] The horse is down; he is worn out. + +GERTRUDE. No! He is up again! He is on my Jack! Now, for your life, +Jack, and for me! You've never failed me yet. [_The cheers without now +swell to full volume and are taken up by those on the stage. The horse +sweeps by with_ GENERAL SHERIDAN.] Jack! Jack!! Jack!!! [_Waving her +arms as he passes. She throws up her arms and falls backward, caught +by_ DUNN. _The stream of men is reversed and surges across stage +to road and on elevation, with shouts, throwing up hats, etc. The +field-piece is forced up the slope with a few bold, rough movements; +the artillerists are loading it, and the stream of returning fugitives +is still surging by in the road as the curtain falls._ + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE. _Residence of_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN, _in Washington. Interior. +Fireplace slanting upward. Small alcove. Opening to hall, with +staircase beyond, and also entrance from out left. Door up stage. A +wide opening, with portières to apartment. Upright piano down stage. +Armchair and low stool before fireplace. Small table for tea, etc. +Ottoman. Other chairs, ottomans, etc., to taste._ + +TIME. _Afternoon._ + +DISCOVERED. MRS. HAVERILL, _in armchair, resting her face upon her +hand, and looking into the fire._ EDITH _is on a low stool at her +side, sewing a child's garment._ + +EDITH. It seems hardly possible that the war is over, and that General +Lee has really surrendered. [_Fife and drum, without._] There is +music in the streets nearly all the time, now, and everybody looks so +cheerful and bright. [_Distant fife and drums heard playing "Johnnie +Comes Marching Home."_ EDITH _springs up and runs up to window, +looking out._] More troops returning! The old tattered battle-flag +is waving in the wind, and people are running after them so merrily. +[_Music stops._] Every day, now, seems like a holiday. [_Coming +down._] The war is over. All the women ought to feel very happy, +whose--whose husbands are--coming back to them. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, Edith; those women whose--husbands are coming back +to them. [_Still looking into fire._ + +EDITH. Oh! [_Dropping upon the stool, her head upon the arm of the +chair._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Resting her arm over her._] My poor little darling! +_Your_ husband will not come back. + +EDITH. Frank's last message has never reached me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. No; but you have one sweet thought always with you. +Madeline West heard part of it, as Gertrude wrote it down. His last +thought was a loving one, of you. + +EDITH. Madeline says that he was thinking of you, too. He knew that +you were taking such loving care of his little one, and of me. You +have always done that, since you first came back from Charleston, and +found me alone in New York. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I found a dear, sweet little daughter. [_Stroking her +head._] Heaven sent you, darling! You have been a blessing to me. I +hardly know how I should have got through the past few months at all +without you at my side. + +EDITH. What is your own trouble, dear? I have found you in tears +so often; and since last October, after the battle of Cedar Creek, +you--you have never shown me a letter from--from my--Frank's father. +General Haverill arrived in Washington yesterday, but has not been +here yet. Is it because I am here? He has never seen me, and I feel +that he has never forgiven Frank for marrying me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Nonsense, my child; he did think the marriage was +imprudent, but he told me to do everything I could for you. If General +Haverill has not been to see either of us, since his arrival in +Washington, it is nothing that you need to worry your dear little head +about. How are you getting on with your son's wardrobe? + +EDITH. Oh! Splendidly! Frankie isn't a baby any longer; he's a man, +now, and he has to wear a man's clothes. [_Holding up a little pair of +trousers, with maternal pride._] He's rather young to be dressed like +a man, but I want Frank to grow up as soon as possible. I long to +have him old enough to understand me when I repeat to him the words +in which General Haverill told the whole world how his father died! +[_Rising._] And yet, even in his official report to the Government, he +only honoured him as Lieutenant Bedloe. He has never forgiven his son +for the disgrace he brought upon his name. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I know him so well--[_Rising._]--the unyielding pride, +that conquers even the deep tenderness of his nature. He can be +silent, though his own heart is breaking. [_Aside._] He can be silent, +too, though _my_ heart is breaking. [_Dropping her face in her hand._ + +EDITH. _Mother!_ [_Putting her arm about her._ + +_Enter_ JANNETTE. + +JANNETTE. A letter for you, Madam. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Taking note. Aside._] He has answered me. [_Opens and +reads; inclines her head to_ JANNETTE, _who goes out to hall. Aloud._] +General Haverill will be here this afternoon, Edith. [_Exit up the +stairs._ + +EDITH. There is something that she cannot confide to me, or to anyone. +General Haverill returned to Washington yesterday, and he has not been +here yet. He will be here to-day. I always tremble when I think of +meeting him. + +GENERAL BUCKTHORN _appears in hall._ + +BUCKTHORN. Come right in; this way, Barket. Ah, Edith! + +BARKET. [_Entering._] As I was saying, sur--just after the battle of +Sayder Creek began-- + +BUCKTHORN. [_To_ EDITH.] More good news! The war is, indeed, over, +now! + +BARKET. Whin Colonel Wist rode to the front to mate his raytrating +rigiment-- + +BUCKTHORN. General Johnson has surrendered his army, also; and that, +of course, does end the war. + +EDITH. I'm very glad that all the fighting is over. + +BUCKTHORN. So am I; but my occupation, and old Barket's, too, is gone. +Always at work on new clothes for our little soldier? + +EDITH. He's growing so, I can hardly make them fast enough for him. +But this is the time for his afternoon nap. I must go now, to see if +he is sleeping soundly. + +BUCKTHORN. Our dear little mother! [_Tapping her chin._] I always +claim the privilege of my white hair, you know. [_She, puts up her +lips; he kisses her. She goes out._] The sweetest young widow I ever +saw! [BARKET _coughs._ BUCKTHORN _turns sharply;_ BARKET _salutes._] +Well! What the devil are you thinking about now? + +BARKET. The ould time, sur. Yer honour used to claim the same +privilege for brown hair. + +BUCKTHORN. You old rascal! What a memory you have! You were telling me +for the hundredth time about the battle of Cedar Creek; go on. I can +never hear it often enough. Kerchival West was a favourite of mine, +poor fellow! + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, when the Colonel +rode to the front to mate his raytrating rigiment-- + +BUCKTHORN. I'll tell Old Margery to bring in tea for both of us, +Barket. + +BARKET. For both of us, sur? + +BUCKTHORN. Yes; and later in the evening we'll have something else, +together. This is a great day for all of us. I'm not your commander +to-day, but your old comrade in arms--[_Laying his arm over_ BARKET'S +_shoulder._]--and I'm glad I don't have to pull myself up now every +time I forget my dignity. Ah! you and I will be laid away before long, +but we'll be together again in the next world, won't we, Barket? + +BARKET. Wid yer honour's permission. [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Ha--ha--ha! [_Laughing._] If we do meet there I'm certain +you'll salute me as your superior officer. There's old Margery, now. +[_Looking to door. Calls._] Margery! Tea for two! + +MARGERY. [_Without._] The tay be waiting for ye, sur; and it be +boilin' over wid impatience. + +BUCKTHORN. Bring up a chair, Barket. [_Sitting in arm-chair._ + +BARKET. [_Having placed table and drawing up a chair._] Do you know, +Gineral, I don't fale quite aisy in my moind. I'm not quite sure that +Margery will let us take our tay together. [_Sits down, doubtfully._ + +BUCKTHORN. I hadn't thought of that. I--[_Glancing right._]--I +hope she will, Barket. But, of course, if she won't--she's been +commander-in-chief of my household ever since Jenny was a baby. + +BARKET. At Fort Duncan, in Texas. + +BUCKTHORN. You and Old Margery never got along very well in those +days; but I thought you had made it all up; she nursed you through +your wound, last summer, and after the battle of Cedar Creek, also. + +BARKET. Yis, sur, bliss her kind heart, she's been like a wife to me; +and that's the trouble. A man's wife is such an angel when he's ill +that he dreads to get well; good health is a misfortune to him. Auld +Margery and I have had anither misunderstanding. + +BUCKTHORN. I'll do the best I can for both of us, Barket. You were +telling me about the battle of-- + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, whin Colonel +Wist rode to the front to mate his raytrating rigiment-- + +_Enter_ OLD MARGERY, _tray, tea, &c. She stops abruptly, looking at_ +BARKET. _He squirms in his chair._ BUCKTHORN _rises and stands with +his back to the mantel._ OLD MARGERY _moves to the table, arranges +things on it, glances at_ BARKET, _then at_ BUCKTHORN, _who looks up +at ceiling, rubbing his chin, &c._ OLD MARGERY _takes up one of the +cups, with saucer._ + +OLD MARGERY. I misunderstood yer order, sur. I see there's no one here +but yerself. [_Going right._ + +BUCKTHORN. Ah, Margery! [_She stops._] Barket tells me that there has +been a slight misunderstanding between you and him. + +OLD MARGERY. Day before yisterday, the ould Hibernian dhrone had the +kitchen upside down, to show anither old milithary vagabone loike +himself how the battle of Sayder Creek was fought. He knocked the +crame pitcher into the basket of clane clothes, and overturned some +raspberry jam and the flat-irons into a pan of fresh eggs. There _has_ +been a misunderstanding betwane us. + +BUCKTHORN. I see there has. I suppose Barket was showing his friend +how Colonel Kerchival West rode forward to meet his regiment, when he +was already wounded dangerously. + +OLD MARGERY. Bliss the poor, dear young man! He and I was always good +frinds, though he was somethin' of a devil in the kitchen himself, +whin he got there. [_Wiping her eye with one corner of her apron._] +And bliss the young Southern lady that was in love wid him, too. +[_Changing the cup and wiping the other eye with the corner of her +apron._] Nothing was iver heard of ayther of thim after that battle +was over, to this very day. + +BUCKTHORN. Barket was at Kerchival's side when he rode to the front. +[OLD MARGERY _hesitates a moment, then moves to the table, sets down +the cup and marches out._ BUCKTHORN _sits in the arm-chair again, +pouring tea._] I could always find some way to get Old Margery to do +what I wanted her to do. + +BARKET. You're a great man, Ginerel; we'd niver have conquered the +South widout such men. + +BUCKTHORN. Now go on, Barket; you were interrupted. + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, whin-- + +_Enter_ JANNETTE _with card, which she hands to_ BUCKTHORN. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading card._] Robert Ellingham! [_Rises._] I will go to +him. [_To_ JANNETTE.] Go upstairs and tell Madeline to come down. + +JANNETTE. Yes, sir. [_Going._ + +BUCKTHORN. And, Jannette, simply say there is a caller; don't tell her +who is here. [_Exit_ JANNETTE _upstairs._ BUCKTHORN _follows her +out to hall._] Ellingham! My dear fellow! [_Extending his hand and +disappearing._ + +BARKET. Colonel Ellingham and Miss Madeline--lovers! That's the kind +o' volunteers the country nades now! + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN _and_ ELLINGHAM. + +BUCKTHORN. [_As he enters._] We've been fighting four years to keep +you out of Washington, Colonel, but we are delighted to see you within +the lines, now. + +ELLINGHAM. I am glad, indeed, General, to have so warm a welcome. But +can you tell me anything about my sister, Gertrude? + +BUCKTHORN. About your sister? Why, can't you tell us? And have you +heard nothing of Kerchival West on your side of the line? + +ELLINGHAM. All I can tell you is this: As soon as possible after our +surrender at Appomattox, I made my way to the Shenandoah Valley. Our +home there is utterly deserted. I have hurried down to Washington in +the hopes that I might learn something of you. There is no human being +about the old homestead; it is like a haunted house--empty, and dark, +and solitary. You do not even know where Gertrude is? + +BUCKTHORN. We only know that Kerchival was not found among the dead of +his own regiment at Cedar Creek, though he fell among them during +the fight. The three girls searched the field for him, but he was +not there. As darkness came on, and they were returning to the house, +Gertrude suddenly seized the bridle of a stray horse, sprang upon its +back and rode away to the South, into the woods at the foot of Three +Top Mountain. The other two girls watched for her in vain. She did not +return, and we have heard nothing from her since. + +ELLINGHAM. Poor girl! I understand what was in her thoughts, and she +was right. We captured fourteen hundred prisoners that day, although +we were defeated, and Kerchival must have been among them. Gertrude +rode away, alone, in the darkness, to find him. I shall return to the +South at once and learn where she now is. + +JANNETTE _has re-entered, down the stairs._ + +JANNETTE. Miss Madeline will be down in a moment. [_Exit in hall._ + +BARKET. [_Aside._] That name wint through his chist like a rifle ball. + +BUCKTHORN. Will you step into the drawing-room, Colonel? I will see +Madeline myself, first. She does not even know that you are living. + +ELLINGHAM. I hardly dared asked for her. [_Passing; turns._] Is she +well? + +BUCKTHORN. Yes; and happy--or soon will be. + +ELLINGHAM. Peace, at last! [_Exit to apartment._ BUCKTHORN _closes +portières._ + +BUCKTHORN. I ought to prepare Madeline a little, Barket; you must help +me. + +BARKET. Yis, sur, I will. + +_Enter_ MADELINE _down the stairs._ + +MADELINE. Uncle! Jannette said you wished to see me; there is a +visitor here. Who is it? + +BARKET. Colonel Robert Ellingham. + +MADELINE. Ah! [_Staggering._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Supporting her._] You infernal idiot! I'll put you in the +guard-house! + +BARKET. You wanted me to help ye, Gineral. + +MADELINE. Robert is alive--and here? [_Rising from his arms, she moves +to the portières, holds them aside, peeping in; gives a joyful start, +tosses aside the portières and runs through._ + +BUCKTHORN. Barket! There's nothing but that curtain between us and +Heaven. + +BARKET. I don't like stayin' out o' Hivin, myself, sur. Gineral! I'll +kiss Ould Margery--if I die for it! [_Exit._ + +BUCKTHORN. Kiss Old Margery! I'll give him a soldier's funeral. +[_Enter_ JENNY _from hall, demurely._] Ah! Jenny, my dear! I have news +for you. Colonel Robert Ellingham is in the drawing-room. + +JENNY. Oh! I am delighted. [_Starting._ + +BUCKTHORN. A-h-e-m! + +JENNY. Oh!--exactly. I see. I have some news for _you,_ papa. Captain +Heartsease has arrived in Washington. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! My dear! I have often confessed to you how utterly +mistaken I was about that young man. He is a soldier--as good a +soldier as you are. I'll ask him to the house. + +JENNY. [_Demurely._] He is here now. + +BUCKTHORN. Now? + +JENNY. He's been here an hour; in the library. + +BUCKTHORN. Why! Barket and I were in the library fifteen minutes ago. + +JENNY. Yes, sir. We were in the bay-window; the curtains were closed. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! exactly; I see. You may tell him he has my full +consent. + +JENNY. He hasn't asked for it. + +BUCKTHORN. Hasn't he? And you've been in the bay-window an hour? Well, +my darling--I was considered one of the best Indian fighters in the +old army, but it took me four years to propose to your mother. I'll go +and see the Captain. [_Exit to hall._ + +JENNY. I wonder if it will take Captain Heartsease four years to +propose to me. Before he left Washington, nearly two years ago, he +told everybody in the circle of my acquaintance, except me, that he +was in love with me. I'll be an old lady in caps before our engagement +commences. Poor, dear mother! The idea of a girl's waiting four years +for a chance to say "Yes." It's been on the tip of my tongue so often, +I'm afraid it'll pop out, at last, before he pops the question. + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN _and_ HEARTSEASE _from hall._ + +BUCKTHORN. Walk right in, Captain; this is the family room. You must +make yourself quite at home here. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Walking down._ + +BUCKTHORN. My dear! [_Apart to_ JENNY.] The very first thing he said +to me, after our greeting, was that he loved my daughter. + +JENNY. Now he's told my father! + +BUCKTHORN. He's on fire! + +JENNY. Is he? [_Looking at_ HEARTSEASE, _who stands quietly stroking +his mustache._] Why doesn't he tell _me?_ + +BUCKTHORN. You may have to help him a little; your mother assisted +me. [_Turning up stage._] When you and Jenny finish your chat, +Captain--[_Lighting a cigar at the mantel._]--you must join me in the +smoking-room. + +HEARTSEASE. I shall be delighted. By the way, General--I have been in +such a fever of excitement since I arrived at this house-- + +JENNY. [_Aside._] Fever? Chills! + +HEARTSEASE. That I forgot it entirely. I have omitted a very important +and a very sad commission. I have brought with me the note-book of +Lieutenant Frank Bedloe--otherwise Haverill--in which Miss Gertrude +Ellingham wrote down his last message to his young wife. + +JENNY. Have you seen Gertrude? + +BUCKTHORN. [_Taking book._] How did this note-book come into your +possession? + +HEARTSEASE. Miss Ellingham visited the prison in North Carolina where +I was detained. She was going from hospital to hospital, from prison +to prison, and from burial-place to burial-place, to find Colonel +Kerchival West, if living--or some record of his death. + +BUCKTHORN. Another Evangeline! Searching for her lover through the +wilderness of this great war! + +HEARTSEASE. I was about to be exchanged at the time, and she requested +me to bring this to her friends in Washington. She had not intended to +carry it away with her. I was not exchanged, as we then expected, but +I afterwards escaped from prison to General Sherman's army. + +BUCKTHORN. I will carry this long-delayed message to the widowed young +mother. [_Exit._ + +JENNY. I remember so well, when poor Lieutenant Haverill took out the +note-book and asked Gertrude to write for him. He--he brought me a +message at the same time. [_Their eyes meet. He puts up his glasses. +She turns away, touching her eyes._ + +HEARTSEASE. I--I remember the circumstances you probably allude to; +that is--when he left my side--I--I gave him my--I mean your--lace +handkerchief. + +JENNY. It is sacred to me! + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s--I would say--is it? + +JENNY. [_Wiping her eyes._] It was stained with the life-blood of a +hero! + +HEARTSEASE. I must apologize to you for its condition. I hadn't any +chance to have it washed and ironed. + +JENNY. [_Looking around at him, suddenly; then, aside._] What could +any girl do with a lover like that? [_Turning up stage._ + +HEARTSEASE. [_Aside._] She seems to remember that incident so +tenderly! My blood boils! + +JENNY. Didn't you long to see your--your friends at home--when you +were in prison, Captain? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes--especially--I longed especially, Miss Buckthorn, to +see-- + +JENNY. _Yes!--to see--_ + +HEARTSEASE. But there were lots of jolly fellows in the prison. [JENNY +_turns away._] We had a dramatic society, and a glee club, and an +orchestra. I was one of the orchestra. I had a banjo, with one string; +I played one tune on it, that I used to play on the piano with one +finger. But, Miss Buckthorn, I am a prisoner again, to-night--your +prisoner. + +JENNY. [_Aside._] At last! + +HEARTSEASE. I'll show you how that tune went. [_Turns to piano; sits._ + +JENNY. [_Aside._] Papa said I'd have to help him, but I don't see an +opening. [HEARTSEASE _plays part of an air with one finger; strikes +two or three wrong notes._ + +HEARTSEASE. There are two notes down there, somewhere, that I +never could get right. The fellows in prison used to dance while I +played--[_Playing._]--that is, the lame ones did; those that weren't +lame couldn't keep the time. + +JENNY. You must have been in great danger, Captain, when you escaped +from prison. + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s. I was badly frightened several times. One night +I came face to face, on the road, with a Confederate officer. It was +Captain Thornton. + +JENNY. Oh! What did you do? + +HEARTSEASE. I killed him. [_Very quietly, and trying the tune again +at once. Enter_ JANNETTE, _from in hall; she glances into the room +and goes up the stairs._] I used to skip those two notes on the banjo. +It's very nice for a soldier to come home from the war, and meet +those--I mean the one particular person--that he--you see, when a +soldier loves a woman, as--as-- + +JENNY. [_Aside._] As he loves me. [_Approaches him._ + +HEARTSEASE. As soldiers often do--[_Plays; she turns away, petulantly; +he plays the tune through correctly._] That's it! + +JENNY. [_Aside._] I'm not going to be made love to by piece-meal, +like this, any longer. [_Aloud._] Captain Heartsease! Have you +anything in particular to say to me? [_He looks up._ + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s. [_Rising._ + +JENNY. Say it! You told my father, and all my friends, that you were +in love with me. Whom are you going to tell next? + +HEARTSEASE. I _am_ in love with you. + +JENNY. It was my turn. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Going near to her._] Do you love me? + +JENNY. [_Laying her head quietly on his breast._] I must take time to +consider. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Quietly._] I assume that this means "Yes." + +JENNY. It isn't the way a girl says "No." + +HEARTSEASE. My darling! + +JENNY. Why! His heart is beating as fast as mine is! + +HEARTSEASE. [_Quietly._] I am frantic with joy. [_He kisses her. She +hides her face on his breast. Enter_ MRS. HAVERILL, _down-stairs, +followed by_ JANNETTE. MRS. HAVERILL _stops suddenly._ JANNETTE +_stands in the doorway._ HEARTSEASE _inclines his head to her, quietly +looking at her over_ JENNY.] I am delighted to see you, after so long +an absence; I trust that we shall meet more frequently hereafter. + +JENNY. [_Looking at him._] Eh? + +HEARTSEASE. [_Looking down at her._] I think, perhaps, it might be +as well for us to repair to another apartment, and continue our +interview, there! + +JENNY. [_Dropping her head on his breast again._] This room is very +comfortable. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Jenny, dear! [JENNY _starts up; looks from_ MRS. +HAVERILL _to_ HEARTSEASE. + +JENNY. Constance! I--'Bout face! March! [_Turns and goes out._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am glad to see you again, Captain, and happy as well +as safe. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you, Madam. I am happy. If you will excuse me, I +will join--my father--in the smoking-room. [MRS. HAVERILL _inclines +her head, and_ HEARTSEASE _walks out._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Jannette! You may ask General Haverill to come into +this room. [_Exit_ JANNETTE. MRS. HAVERILL _walks down, reading +a note._] "I have hesitated to come to you personally, as I have +hesitated to write to you. If I have been silent, it is because I +could not bring my hand to write what was in my mind and in my heart. +I do not know that I can trust my tongue to speak it, but I will +come." + +_Enter_ HAVERILL _from hall; he stops._ + +HAVERILL. Constance! + +MRS. HAVERILL. My husband! May I call you husband? After all these +months of separation, with your life in almost daily peril, and my +life--what? Only a weary longing for one loving word--and you are +silent. + +HAVERILL. May I call you wife? I do not wish to speak that word except +with reverence. You have asked me to come to you. I am here. I will +be plain, direct and brief. Where is the portrait of yourself, which I +gave you, in Charleston, for my son? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Your son is dead, sir; and my portrait lies upon his +breast, in the grave. [HAVERILL _takes the miniature from his pocket +and holds it towards her in his extended hand. She starts back._] He +gave it to you? And you ask me where it is? + +HAVERILL. It might have lain in the grave of Kerchival West! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Ah! + +HAVERILL. Not in my son's. I found it upon _his_ breast. [_She turns +front, dazed._] Well! I am listening! It was not I that sought this +interview, Madam; and if you prefer to remain silent, I will go. You +know, now, why I have been silent so long. + +MRS. HAVERILL. My only witnesses to the truth are both dead. I shall +remain silent. [_Turning towards him._] We stand before each other, +living, but not so happy as they. We are parted, forever. Even if you +should accept my unsupported word--if I could so far forget my pride +as to give it to you--suspicion would still hang between us. I +remain silent. [HAVERILL _looks at her, earnestly, for a moment; then +approaches her._ + +HAVERILL. I cannot look into your eyes and not see truth and loyalty +there. Constance! + +MRS. HAVERILL. No, John! [_Checking him._] I will not accept your +blind faith! + +HAVERILL. [_Looking down at the picture in his hand._] My faith is +blind; blind as my love! I do not wish to see! [_Enter_ EDITH. _She +stops; looks at_ HAVERILL. _He raises his head and looks at her._ + +EDITH. This is General Haverill? [_Dropping her eyes._] I am Edith, +sir. + +HAVERILL. [_Gently._] My son's wife. [_Kisses her forehead._] You +shall take the place he once filled in my heart. His crime and his +disgrace are buried in a distant grave. + +EDITH. And you have not forgiven him, even yet? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Is there no atonement for poor Frank's sin--not even +his death? Can you only bury the wrong and forget the good? + +HAVERILL. The good? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Your own words to the Government, as his commander! + +HAVERILL. What do you mean? + +MRS. HAVERILL. "The victory of Cedar Creek would have been impossible +without the sacrifice of this young officer." + +HAVERILL. My own words, yes--but-- + +EDITH. "His name must take its place, forever, in the roll of names +which his countrymen honour." + +HAVERILL. Lieutenant Bedloe! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Haverill! You did not know? + +HAVERILL. My--son. + +EDITH. You did not receive mother's letter?--after his death? + +HAVERILL. My son! [_Sinking upon chair or ottoman._] I left him alone +in his grave, unknown; but my tears fell for him then, as they do now. +He died before I reached him. + +EDITH. Father! [_Laying her hand gently on his shoulder._] You shall +see Frank's face again. His little son is lying asleep upstairs; and +when he wakes up, Frank's own eyes will look into yours. I have +just received his last message. I will read it to you. [_Note-book. +Reads._] "Tell our little son how his father died, not how he lived. +And tell her who filled my own mother's place so lovingly." [_She +looks at_ MRS. HAVERILL, _moves to her and hides her face in her +bosom._] My mother! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Edith--my child! Frank loved us both. + +EDITH. [_Reading._] "Father's portrait of her, which she gave to me in +Charleston--[HAVERILL _starts._]--helped me to be a better man." + +HAVERILL. [_Rising to his feet._] Constance! + +EDITH. [_Reading._] "It was taken from me in Richmond, and it is in +the possession of Captain Edward Thornton." + +HAVERILL. One moment! Stop! Let me think! [EDITH _looks at him; +retires up stage._] Thornton was a prisoner--and to Kerchival West. A +despatch had been found upon him--he was searched! [_He moves to her +and takes both her hands in his own, bowing his head over them._] My +head is bowed in shame. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Speak to me, John, as you used to speak! Tell me you +still love me! + +HAVERILL. The--the words will come--but they are--choking me--now. +[_Presses her hand to his lips._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. We will think no more of the past, except of what +was bright in it. Frank's memory, and our own love, will be with us +always. + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN, _followed by_ HEARTSEASE. + +BUCKTHORN. Haverill! You are back from the war, too. It begins to look +like peace in earnest. + +HAVERILL. Yes. Peace and home. [_Shaking hands with him._ MRS. +HAVERILL _joins_ EDITH. + +_Enter_ BARKET. + +BARKET. Gineral! [BUCKTHORN _moves to him._ HAVERILL _joins_ MRS. +HAVERILL _and_ EDITH. BARKET _speaks apart, twisting one side of his +face._] I kissed her! + +BUCKTHORN. Have you sent for a surgeon? + +BARKET. I felt as if the inimy had surprised us agin, and Sheridan was +sixty miles away. + +HAVERILL. This is old Sergeant Barket. [BARKET _salutes._] You were +the last man of us all that saw Colonel West. + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began--whin Colonel +Wist rode to the front to mate his retreating rigiment--the byes +formed in line, at sight of him, to raysist the victorious inimy. It +was just at the brow of a hill--about there, sur--[_Pointing with +his cane._] and--here! [_He takes tray from table and sets it on the +carpet. Lays the slices of bread in a row._] That be the rigiment. +[_All interested._ MADELINE _and_ ELLINGHAM _enter, and look on._ +BARKET _arranges the two cups and saucers in a row._] That be the +inimy's batthery, sur. [_Enter_ MARGERY. _She goes to the table; then +looks around, sharply, at_ BARKET. + +MARGERY. Ye ould Hibernian dhrone! What are yez doin' wid the china on +the floor? You'll break it all! + +BUCKTHORN. Ah--Margery! Barket is telling us where he last saw Colonel +Kerchival West. + +MARGERY. The young Colonel! The tay-cups and saucers be's the inimy's +batthery? Yez may smash 'em, if ye loike! + +BUCKTHORN. Go on, Barket. [JENNY _and_ HEARTSEASE _have entered as_ +BARKET _proceeds; the whole party lean forward, intensely interested._ +GERTRUDE _enters in hall, looks in, beckons out left._ KERCHIVAL +_follows. They move up stage, back of the rest and unseen, listening._ + +BARKET. Just as the rigiment was rayformed in line, and Colonel Wist +was out in front--widout any coat or hat, and wid only a shtick in his +hand--we heard cheers in the rear. Gineral Sheridan was coming! One +word to the men--and we swept over the batthery like a whirlwind! +[_Slashing his cane through the cups and saucers._ + +MARGERY. Hoo-roo! + +BARKET. The attack on the lift flank was checked. But when we shtopped +to take breath, Colonel Wist wasn't wid us. [GERTRUDE _turns lovingly +to_ KERCHIVAL. _He places his arm about her._] Heaven knows where he +is now. Afther the battle was over, poor Miss Gertrude wint off by +hersilf into the wilderness to find him. + +KERCHIVAL. My wife! You saved my life, at last! [_Embracing her._ + +BARKET. They'll niver come together in this world. I saw Miss +Gertrude, myself, ride away into the woods and disappear behind a +school-house on the battle-field, over there. + +GERTRUDE. No, Barket--[_All start and look._]--it was the little +church; we were married there this morning! + +CURTAIN. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shenandoah, by Bronson Howard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHENANDOAH *** + +***** This file should be named 13039-8.txt or 13039-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/0/3/13039/ + +Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/13039-8.zip b/old/13039-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ebaa19 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13039-8.zip diff --git a/old/13039.txt b/old/13039.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..be29d7e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13039.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4683 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shenandoah, by Bronson Howard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Shenandoah + Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911 + +Author: Bronson Howard + +Release Date: July 28, 2004 [EBook #13039] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHENANDOAH *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + +SHENANDOAH + + +_A MILITARY COMEDY_ + + + + +[Illustration: BRONSON HOWARD] + + + + +BRONSON HOWARD + +(1842-1908) + + +The present Editor has just read through some of the vivacious +correspondence of Bronson Howard--a sheaf of letters sent by him to +Brander Matthews during a long intercourse. The time thus spent brings +sharply to mind the salient qualities of the man--his nobility of +character, his soundness of mind, his graciousness of manner, and +his thorough understanding of the dramatic tools of his day and +generation. To know Bronson Howard was to be treated to just that +human quality which he put into even his hastily penned notes--and, as +in conversation with him, so in his letters there are repeated flashes +of sage comment and of good native wit. Not too often can we make the +plea for the gathering and preserving of such material. Autobiography, +after all, is what biography ought to be--it is the live portrait +by the side of which a mere appreciative sketch fades. I have looked +through the "Memorial" volume to Bronson Howard, issued by the +American Dramatists Club (1910), and read the well-tempered estimates, +the random reminiscences. But these do not recall the Bronson Howard +known to me, as to so many others--who gleams so charmingly in this +correspondence. Bronson Howard's plays may not last--"Fantine," +"Saratoga," "Diamonds," "Moorcraft," "Lillian's Last Love"--these are +mere names in theatre history, and they are very out of date on +the printed page. "The Banker's Daughter," "Old Love Letters" and +"Hurricanes" would scarcely revive, so changed our comedy treatment, +so differently psychologized our emotion. Not many years ago +the managerial expedient was resorted to of re-vamping "The +Henrietta"--but its spirit would not behave in new-fangled style, +and the magic of Robson and Crane was broken. In the American drama's +groping for "society" comedy, one might put "Saratoga," and even +"Aristocracy," in advance of Mrs. Mowatt's "Fashion" and Mrs. +Bateman's "Self;" in the evolution of domestic problems, "Young Mrs. +Winthrop" is interesting as an early breaker of American soil. But +one can hardly say that, either for the theatre or for the library, +Bronson Howard is a permanent factor. Yet his influence on the theatre +is permanent; his moral force is something that should be perpetuated. +Whatever he said on subjects pertaining to his craft--his comments on +play-making most especially,--was illuminating and judicious. I have +been privileged to read the comments sent by him to Professor +Matthews during the period of their collaboration together over "Peter +Stuyvesant;" they are practical suggestions, revealing the peculiar +way in which a dramatist's mind shapes material for a three hours' +traffic of the stage--the willingness to sacrifice situation, +expression--any detail, in fact, that clogs the action. Through the +years of their acquaintance, Howard and Matthews were continually +wrangling good-naturedly about the relation of drama to literature. +Apropos of an article by Matthews in _The Forum_, Howard once wrote: + + I note that you regard the 'divorce' of the drama from + literature as unfortunate. I think the divorce should be made + absolute and final; that the Drama should no more be wedded to + literature, on one hand, than it is to the art of painting on + the other, or to music or mechanical science. Rather, perhaps, + I should say, we should recognize poligamy for the Drama; and + all the arts, with literature, its Harem. Literature may be + Chief Sultana--but not too jealous. She is always claiming too + large a share of her master's attention, and turning up her + nose at the rest. I have felt this so strongly, at times, as + to warmly deny that I was a 'literary man', insisting on being + a 'dramatist'. + +Then, in the same note, he adds in pencil: "Saw 'Ghosts' last night. +Great work of art! Ibsen a brute, personally, for writing it." + +In one of the "Stuyvesant" communications, Howard is calculating +on the cumulative value of interest; and he analyzes it in this +mathematical way: + + So far as the important act is concerned, I have felt that + this part of it was the hardest part of the problem before + us. We were certain of a good beginning of the act and a good, + rapid, dramatic end; but the middle and body of it I felt + needed much attention to make the act substantial and + satisfactory. To tell the truth, I was quietly worrying a bit + over this part of the play, while you were expressing your + anxiety about the 2nd act--which never bothered me. There + _must_ be 2nd acts and there _must_ be last acts--audiences + resign themselves to them; but 3rd acts--in 4 and 5 act + plays--they insist on, and _will_ have them good. The only + exception is where you astonish them with a good 2nd act--then + they'll take their siesta in the 3rd--and wake up for the 4th. + +This psychological time-table shows how calculating the dramatist +has to be, how precise in his framework, how sparing of his number of +words. In another note, Howard says: + + This would leave the acts squeezed "dry", about as + follows:--Act I, 35 minutes; Act 2, 30; Act 3, 45; Act 4, + 20--total, 130--2 hrs., 10 min., curtain up: entr'acts, 25 + min. Total--2 hrs., 35 min.--8:20 to 10:55. + +There are a thousand extraneous considerations bothering a play that +never enter into the evolution of any other form of art. After seeing +W.H. Crane, who played "Peter Stuyvesant" when it was given, Howard +writes Matthews of the wisdom shown by the actor in his criticism of +"points" to be changed and strengthened in the manuscript. + +"A good actor," he declares, "whom I always regard as an original +creator in art--beginning at the point where the dramatist's pen +stops--approaches a subject from such a radically different direction +that we writers cannot study his impressions too carefully in revising +our work." Sometimes, conventions seized the humourous side of Howard. +From England, around 1883, he wrote, "Methinks there is danger in the +feeling expressed about 'local colouring.' English managers would put +the Garden of Eden in Devonshire, if you adapted Paradise Lost for +them--and insist on giving Adam an eye-glass and a title." + +Howard was above all an American; he was always emphasizing his +nationality; and this largely because the English managers changed +"Saratoga" to "Brighton," and "The Banker's Daughter" to "The Old Love +and the New." I doubt whether he relished William Archer's inclusion +of him in a volume of "English Dramatists of To-day," even though +that critic's excuse was that he "may be said to occupy a place among +English dramatists somewhat similar to that occupied by Mr. Henry +James among English novelists." Howard was quick to assert his +Americanism, and to his home town he wrote a letter from London, +in 1884, disclaiming the accusation that he was hiding his local +inheritance behind a French technique and a protracted stay abroad +on business. He married an English woman--the sister of the late Sir +Charles Wyndham--and it was due to the latter that several of his +plays were transplanted and that Howard planned collaboration with +Sir Charles Young. But Howard was part of American life--born of the +middle West, and shouldering a gun during the Civil War to guard the +Canadian border near Detroit against a possible sympathetic uprising +for the Confederacy. Besides which--a fact which makes the title of +"Dean of the American Drama" a legitimate insignia,--when, in 1870, he +stood firm against the prejudices of A.M. Palmer and Lester Wallack, +shown toward "home industry," he was maintaining the right of the +American dramatist. He was always preaching the American spirit, +always analyzing American character, always watching and encouraging +American thought. + +Howard was a scholar, with a sense of the fitness of things, as +a dramatist should have. Evidently, during the collaboration with +Professor Matthews on "Stuyvesant," discussion must have arisen as +to the form of English "New Amsterdamers," under Knickerbocker rule, +would use. For it called forth one of Howard's breezy but exact +comments, as follows: + + A few more words about the "English" question: As I said, + it seems to me, academical correctness, among the higher + characters, will give a prim, old-fashioned tone: and _you_ + can look after this, as all my own work has been in the + opposite direction in art. I have given it no thought in + writing this piece, so far. + + I would suggest the following special points to be on + the alert for, even in the _best_ present-day use of + English:--some words are absolutely correct, now, yet based + on events or movements in history since 1660. An evident + illustration is the word "boulevard" for a wide street or + road; so "avenue," in same sense, is New Yorkese and London + imitation--even imitated from us, I imagine, in Paris: this + would give a nineteenth century tone; while an "avenue lined + with trees in a bowery" would not. Don't understand that I + am telling you things. I'm only illustrating--to let you know + what especial things in language I hope you will keep your eye + on. Of course _Anneke_ couldn't be "electrified"--but you may + find many less evident blunders than that would be. She might + be shocked, but couldn't "receive a shock." We need free + colloquial slang and common expressions; but while "get out" + seems all right from _Stuyvesant_ to _Bogardus_, for _Barry_ + to say "Skedadle" would put him in the 87th New York Vols., + 1861-64. Yet I doubt whether we have any more classic and + revered slang than that word. + +The evident ease, yet thoroughness, with which Mr. Howard prepared +for his many tasks, is seen in his extended reading among Civil War +records, before writing "Shenandoah." The same "knowledge" sense +must have been a constant incentive to Professor Matthews, in the +preparation of "Peter Stuyvesant." + + "The manual of arms," Howard declares, "is simply _great_. I + think we can get the muskets pointed at _Barket_ in about 4 or + 5 orders, however; taking the more picturesque ones, so far + as may be possible. I went over the [State] librarian's letter + with a nephew with the most modern of military training: and + as I was at a military school in 1860--just two centuries + after our period--we had fun together. Even with an old + muzzle loader--Scott's Tactics--it was "Load and fire in ten + motions," _now_ antiquated with the breech-loaders of to-day. + The same operation, in 1662, required 28 motions, as + we counted. By the bye, did I tell you that I found the + flint-lock invented (in Spain) in 1625--and it "soon" spread + over Europe? I felt, however, that the intervening 37 years + would hardly have carried it to New Amsterdam; especially as + the colony was neglected in such matters." + +From these excerpts it is apparent that Howard had no delusions +regarding the "work" side of the theatre; he was continually insisting +that dramatic art was dependent upon the _artisan_ aspects which +underlay it. This he maintained, especially in contradiction to +fictional theories upheld by the adherents of W.D. Howells. + +One often asks why a man, thus so serious and thorough in his approach +toward life, should have been so transitorily mannered in his plays, +and the reason may be in the very _artisan_ character of his work. Mr. +Howard delivered a lecture before the Shakespeare Society of Harvard +University, at Sanders Theatre, in 1886 (later given, 1889, before +the Nineteenth Century Club, in New York), and he called it "The +Autobiography of a Play." In the course of it, he illustrated how, in +his own play, called "Lillian's Last Love," in 1873, which one year +later became "The Banker's Daughter," he had to obey certain unfailing +laws of dramatic construction during the alterations and re-writing. +He never stated a requirement he was not himself willing to abide by. +When he instructed the Harvard students, he was merely elucidating his +own theatre education. "Submit yourselves truly and unconditionally," +he admonished, "to the laws of dramatic truth, so far as you can +discover them by honest mental exertion and observation. Do not +mistake any mere defiance of these laws for originality. You might +as well show your originality by defying the law of gravitation." Mr. +Howard was not one to pose as the oracle of a new technique; in this +essay he merely stated sincerely his experience in a craft, as +a clinical lecturer demonstrates certain established methods of +treatment. + +In his plays, vivacity and quick humour are the distinguishing +characteristics. Like his contemporary workers, he was alive to topics +of the hour, but, unlike them, he looked ahead, and so, as I have +stated in my "The American Dramatist," one can find profit in +contrasting his "Baron Rudolph" with Charles Klein's "Daughters of +Men," his "The Henrietta" with Klein's "The Lion and Mouse," and his +"The Young Mrs. Winthrop" with Alfred Sutro's "The Walls of Jericho." +He was an ardent reader of plays, as his library--bequeathed to the +American Dramatists Club, which he founded--bears witness. The fact +is, he studied Restoration drama as closely as he did the modern +French stage. How often he had to defend himself in the press from +the accusation of plagiarism, merely because he was complying with the +stage conventions of the moment! + +It is unfortunate that his note-books are not available. But luckily +he wrote an article at one time which shows his method of thrashing +out the moral matrix of a scenario himself. It is called "Old Dry +Ink." Howard's irony slayed the vulgar, but, because in some quarters +his irony was not liked, he was criticized for his vulgarities. +Archer, for example, early laid this defect to the influence of the +Wyndham policy, in London, of courting blatant immorality in plays for +the stage. + +Howard's femininity, in comparison with Fitch's, was equally as +observant; it was not as literarily brilliant in its "small talk." But +though the effervescent chatter, handled with increasing dexterity by +him, is now old-fashioned, "Old Dry Ink" shows that the scenes in his +plays were not merely cleverly arrived at, but were philosophically +digested. How different the dialogue from the notes! + +This article was written in 1906; it conveys many impressions of early +feminine struggles for political independence. The fact is, Mr. Howard +often expressed his disappointment over the showing women made in the +creative arts, and that he was not willing to let the bars down in his +own profession is indicated by the fact that, during his life-time, +women dramatists were not admitted as members into the club he +founded. + +The reader is referred to two other articles by Mr. Howard--one, +"Trash on the Stage," included in the "Memorial" volume; the other, +on "The American Drama," which is reproduced here, because, written +in 1906, and published in a now obsolete newspaper magazine, it is +difficult of procuring, and stands, possibly, for Mr. Howard's final +perspective of a native drama he did so much to make known as native. + +The most national of Howard's plays is "Shenandoah;" it is chosen for +the present volume as representative of the military drama, of which +there are not many examples, considering the Civil War possibilities +for stage effect. Clyde Fitch's "Barbara Frietchie," James A. Herne's +"Griffith Davenport," Fyles and Belasco's "The Girl I Left Behind Me," +Gillette's "Secret Service," and William DeMille's "The Warrens of +Virginia"--a mere sheaf beside the Revolutionary list which might be +compiled. + +According to one authority, "Shenandoah" was built upon the +foundations of a play by Howard, produced at Macauley's Theatre, +Louisville, Kentucky. As stated by Professor Matthews, the facts are +that Howard took a piece, "Drum Taps," to Lester Wallack; who, true +to his English tradition, said that if it was changed in time from +the Civil War to the Crimean, he might consider it. It is certain, +however, that if the cast of characters, as first given under the +management of Montgomery Field, at the old Boston Museum, November +19, 1888, be compared with the program of the New York Star Theatre, +September 13, 1889, it will be found that the manuscript must have +been considerably altered and shifted, before it reached the shape now +offered here as the authentic text. The fact of the matter is, it was +not considered a "go" in Boston; we are informed that such managers +as Palmer and Henry E. Abbey prophesied dire end for the piece. But +Charles Frohman hastened to Boston, on the advice of his brother, +Daniel, and, giving half-interest in the piece to Al Hayman, he +arranged with Field for rights, procured "time" at the Star Theatre +with Burnham, and, as is told in "C.F.'s" biography, hastened to +Stamford, Connecticut, to talk with Howard. According to this source, +he said to the playwright: + + "You are a very great dramatist, Mr. Howard, and I am only + a theatrical manager, but I think I can see where a possible + improvement might be made in the play. For one thing, I think + two acts should be merged into one, and I don't think you have + made enough out of Sheridan's ride." + +The opening night, with General Sherman in the audience, was a +memorable occasion. It was the beginning of "C.F.'s" rapid rise +to managerial importance, it ushered in the era of numberless road +companies playing the same piece, it met with long "runs," and the +royalty statements mounted steadily in bulk for Howard. It was the +success of the hour. + +But "Shenandoah" is undoubtedly conventional; its melodramatic effects +are dependent on stage presentment rather than on the printed page. +In fact, so much an artisan of the theatre was Mr. Howard that he was +always somewhat skeptical of the modern drama in print. When he was +persuaded to issue his last piece, "Kate," in book form, he consented +to the publisher's masking it as a novel in dialogue, hoping thus, +as his prefatory note states, "to carry the imagination directly to +scenes of real life and not to the stage." To the last there was a +distinction in his mind between literature and the drama. It is since +this was written that the play form, nervous and quick, even in its +printed shape, has become widely accepted. + +"Shenandoah" is a play of pictorial effects and swiftly changing +sentiment. Were there a national repertory, this would be included +among the plays, not because of its literary quality, but because of +the spirit to be drawn from its situations, framed expressly for +the stage, and because of its pictures, dependent wholly upon stage +accessory. It is an actable play, and most of our prominent actors, +coming out of the period of the late 80's, had training in it. + + + + +THE AMERICAN DRAMA + +by + +BRONSON HOWARD + + +In considering the present standing of the American drama, compared +with the time when there was little or nothing worthy of the name, +the one significant fact has been the gradual growth of a body of men +engaged in writing plays. Up to the time I started in 1870, American +plays had been written only sporadically here and there by men and +women who never met each other, who had no personal acquaintance of +any kind, no sympathies, no exchange of views; in fact, no means of +building up such a body of thought in connection with their art as is +necessary to form what is called a school. + +In what we now style Broadway productions the late Augustin Daly stood +absolutely alone, seeing no other future for his own dramatic works +except by his own presentation of them. Except for Daly, I was +practically alone; but he offered me the same opportunity and promise +for the future that he had given to himself. From him developed a +school of managers willing and eager to produce American plays on +American subjects. Other writers began to drop into the profession; +but still they seldom met, and it was not until about 1890 that they +suddenly discovered themselves as a body of dramatists. This was at +a private supper given at the Lotos Club to the veteran playwright +Charles Gaylor, who far antedated Daly himself. To the astonishment of +those making the list of guests for that supper, upward of fifty men +writing in America who produced plays were professionally entitled to +invitations, and thirty-five were actually present at the supper. A +toast to seven women writers not present was also honoured. + +This was the origin of the American Dramatists Club. The moment these +men began to know each other personally, the process of intellectual +attrition began, which will probably result eventually in a strong +school. That supper took place only sixteen years ago; so we are yet +only in the beginning of the great movement. Incidentally, it is also +necessarily the beginning of a school of dramatic criticism of that +art. It is difficult to suppose that a body of critics, merely learned +in the dramatic art of Europe, can be regarded as forming a school of +America. + +To go to Paris to finish your education in dramatic art, and return to +New York and make comments on what you see in the theatre, is not to +be an American dramatic critic, nor does it tend in any way to found a +school of American dramatic criticism. The same is true of the man who +remains in New York and gets his knowledge of the drama from reading +foreign newspapers and books. + +I stated in a former article in this magazine, "First Nights in London +and New York," that is was only within the last twenty-five or thirty +years that a comparison between the cities and the conditions had +become possible, for the reason that prior to that time there was +really no American drama. There were a few American plays, and their +first productions did not assume the least importance as social +events. As far as any comparison is possible between the early +American dramatists (I mean the first of the dramatists who were the +starting point in the later '60's and early '70's) and those of the +present day, I think of only two important points. There was one +advantage in each case. The earlier dramatists had their choice of +many great typical American characters, such as represented in _Solon +Shingle, Colonel Sellers, Joshua Whitcomb, Bardwell Slote, Mose, Davy +Crockett, Pudd'nhead Wilson,_ and many others. + +This advantage was similar in a small way to the tremendous advantage +that the earliest Greek dramatists had in treating the elemental +emotions; on the other hand, we earlier writers in America were +liable to many errors, some of them actually childish, which the +young dramatist of to-day, in constant association with his fellow +playwrights, and placing his work almost in daily comparison with +theirs, could not commit. To do so a man would have to be a much +greater fool than were any of us; and the general improvement in the +technical work of plays by young dramatists now, even plays that +are essentially weak and which fail, is decided encouragement and +satisfaction to one of my age who can look back over the whole +movement. + +The American dramatist of to-day, without those great and specially +prominent American characters who stood, as it were, ready to go on +the stage, has come to make a closer study of American society than +his predecessors did. They are keen also in seizing strikingly marked +new types in American life as they developed before the public from +decade to decade. + +A notable instance is the exploitation by Charles Klein of the +present-day captain of industry in "The Lion and the Mouse." The +leading character in the play is differentiated on the stage, as in +life, from the Wall Street giant of about 1890, as illustrated in +one of my own plays, "The Henrietta." Mr. Klein's character of the +financial magnate has developed in this country since my active days +of playwriting, and the younger dramatist was lying in wait, ready for +him, and ready to seize his peculiarities for stage purposes. + +Another thing is the fact that our dramatists are doing what our +literary men have done, namely, availing themselves of the striking +local peculiarities in various parts of the country. A marked +illustration of this now before the public is Edward Milton Royle's +"Squawman," recently at Wallack's Theatre. The dramatist has caught +his picture just in the nick of time, just before the facts of life +in the Indian Territory are passing away. He has preserved the picture +for us as George W. Cable, the novelist, preserved pictures of Creole +life of old New Orleans, made at the last possible moment. + +I could go on mentioning many other plays illustrating phases of life +and society in America, and there could be no better or more positive +proof that a school of American dramatists already exists. This school +will undoubtedly continue to improve in the technical quality of +its work, exactly as it has done in the past, and probably with more +rapidity. + +The question has been discussed as to whether we are ever likely to +produce an Ibsen or a Shaw, and under what conditions he would be +received. As far as concerns what may happen in the future in the way +of producing absolutely great dramatists and great plays, using the +word 'great' in the international and historical sense, the opinion of +anyone on that subject is mere guesswork and absolutely valueless. + +The greatest drama in history was produced by Greece about four or +five centuries before Christ, and for a few generations afterward. +Since AEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, Greece has scarcely given us +anything. Aristophanes and Menander are of course remembered, but the +writers who endeavoured to follow in the footsteps of the masters +were of far inferior merit. The Roman Empire existed for nearly two +thousand years without producing any drama of its own worthy of +the name. The Romans were not a dramatic people. The works of the +so-called Latin dramatists, such as those of Plautus and Terence, were +mere imitations of the Greek. + +France and England had sudden bursts of greatness followed by general +mediocrity, with occasional great writers whose advent could not +possibly have been predicted by anything in art preceding them. Even +the exception to this in France, in the middle of the nineteenth +century, was apparently a flash of light that disappeared almost as +suddenly as it came. What is the use of posing as a prophet with such +a record of the past? Anyone else is at liberty to do so. I would +as soon act as harlequin. Was there any wise man in England who, +twenty-four hours before that momentous event in April, 1564, could +predict that a baby named William Shakespeare would be born the next +day? To say that an American dramatist is to appear this year or in a +thousand years who will make an epoch is simply ridiculous. + +That Ibsen exercised and will exercise great influence on American +dramatists there can be little doubt. His skill was no mere accident. +He was the most finished development of the French school of the +nineteenth century, as well as the most highly artificial individual +dramatist of that school. I call it the strictly logical school +of dramatic construction. I use the word 'artificial' in its more +artistic sense, as opposed to the so-called natural school. His +subjects of course were national, and not French. Whether his +pessimism was national or personal, I have not been able to discover. +It seemed to me that he was a pessimistic man dealing with a nation +inclined to pessimism, but that had nothing to do with the technical +qualities of the man any more than the national peculiarities of +Denmark had to do with Thorvaldsen as a follower of Greek sculpture. + +As to the policy of our theatre managers, I confess that they do +follow each other; but it is simply because they think the leader they +happen to be following has discovered a current of temporary popular +taste. The authors have the same interest as the managers, and you +will always find them watching the public taste in the same manner. + +Occasionally an individual dramatist, and not always the best from a +technical point of view, will develop such a strong personal bias as +to write on subjects suggested by his own tastes, without any regard +to the current of popular wishes. If he is a strong enough man he will +become a leader of the public in his dramatic tastes. Sometimes in +rare instances he will influence the public so decidedly that he +compels the contemporary school of writers to follow him. This has +been the case in all periods. I need not mention Shakespeare, as +everything said about him is a matter of course. + +Take the vile dramatic era of Charles II. Wycherley led the brutes, +but Congreve came up and combatted with his brilliant comedies the +vileness of the Restoration school, and Hallam says of him that he +introduced decency to the stage that afterward drove his own comedies +off it. A little after Congreve, the school, so to speak, for we have +nothing but the school, was so stupid that it brought forth no great +writers, and produced weak, sentimental plays. Then came Goldsmith, +who wrote "She Stoops to Conquer" actually as a protest against the +feeble sentimentality I have referred to. Richard Brinsley Sheridan +was made possible by Goldsmith. We went on after that with a school +of old comedies. When we speak of the "old comedies," I am not talking +about Beaumont and Fletcher, nor Wycherley, nor Vanbrugh, nor even +Congreve, but of the comedy of Goldsmith in the third quarter of the +eighteenth century down to Bulwer Lytton's "Money" and Boucicault's +"London Assurance," bringing us to about 1840. Then there swung a +school of what we call the palmy days of old comedy, and in the '40's +it dwindled to nothing, and England and America waited until the early +'60's. Then came Tom Robertson with his so-called "tea-cup and saucer" +school, which consisted of sententious dialogue, simple situations, +conventional characterizations, and threads of plots, until Pinero and +Jones put a stop to the Robertson fad. + +This proves in my judgment that the school always starts by being +shown what the popular taste is, and follows that, until some +individual discovery that the popular taste is changed. The tendency +of the school is always to become academic and fixed in its ideas--it +is the individual who points to the necessary changes. Schools and +these special individuals are interdependent. + +As to the present comedies in America: in the first place, it is +impossible as a rule to decide fully what are the tendencies of a +school when one is living in the midst of its activities. There is no +marked tendency now; and as far as I can see it is only the occasional +man who discovers the tendency of the times. Pinero undoubtedly saw +that the public was tired of the "tea-cup and saucer." Probably had he +not thought so, he would have gone on in that school. + +Undoubtedly more plays are written to order than are written on the +mere impulse of authors, independently of popular demand. The "order" +play simply represents the popular demand as understood by managers, +and the meeting of that demand in each age produces the great mass +of any nation's drama. So far from lowering the standard of dramatic +writing, it is a necessary impulse in the development of any drama. It +is only when the school goes on blindly without seeing a change in the +popular taste that the occasional man I have spoken of comes on. When +the work of the school is legitimately in line with the public taste, +the merely eccentric dramatist is like _Lord Dundreary's_ bird with a +single feather that goes in a corner and flocks all by itself. He may +be a strong enough man to attract attention to his individuality, and +his plays may be really great in themselves, but his work has +little influence on the development of the art. In fact, there is +no development of the art except in the line of popular taste. The +specially great men mentioned have simply discovered the changes in +the popular taste, and to a certain extent perhaps guided it.[A] + + +[Footnote A: Originally published in "The Sunday Magazine" (New York) +for October 7, 1906.] + + + + +=BOSTON MUSEUM= + +1841 + +FORTY-EIGHTH REGULAR SEASON + +MR. R.M. FIELD, MANAGER + +=SHENANDOAH= + +COMMENCING MONDAY, NOV. 19, 1889. + + * * * * * + +Evenings at 7:45 and Wednesday and Saturday Afternoon at 2. + + * * * * * + +FIRST TIME ON ANY STAGE +OF THIS +NEW MILITARY COMEDY + +=SHENANDOAH!= + +Written Expressly for the Boston Museum by +BRONSON HOWARD, ESQ. + +Author of THE HENRIETTA, THE BANKER'S DAUGHTER, YOUNG MRS. WINTHROP, +ONE OF OUR GIRLS, OLD LOVE LETTER, ETC. + +WITH ENTIRELY NEW SCENERY BY LA MOSS, +AND THE FOLLOWING CAST: + + +PEACE + +COL. JOHN HAVERILL, Mr. THOS. L. COLEMAN +LIEUT. KERCHIVAL WEST, Mr. JOHN B. MASON [Transcribers note: some unreadable text here] +LIEUT. ROB'T ELLINGHAM, Mr. CHAS. J. BELL +FRANK HAVERILL, Mr. EDGAR L. DAVENPORT +EDW. THORNTON, a Southerner "by choice," Mr. WILLIS GRANGER +MRS. HAVERILL Miss ANNIE M. CLARKE +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM, a Southern girl, Miss VIOLA ALLEN +MADELINE WEST, a Northern girl, Miss HELEN DAYNE + + +WAR + +MAJ. GEN. FRANCIS BUCKTHORN, Commander of the + Nineteenth Army Corps Mr. C. LESLIE ALLEN +BRIG. GEN. HAVERILL, { Officers } Mr. THOS. L. COLEMAN +COL. KERCHIVAL WEST, { of } Mr. JOHN B. MASON +CAPT. HEARTSEASE, { Sheridan's } Mr. HENRY M. PITT +LIEUT. FRANK BEDLOE, { Cavalry } Mr. EDGAR L. DAVENPORT +SERGEANT BARKET, Mr. GEO. W. WILSON +COL. ROBERT ELLINGHAM, 10th Virginia C.S.A., Mr. CHAS. J. BELL +CAPT. THORNTON, Secret Service, C.S.A., Mr. WILLIS GRANGER +LIEUT. HARDWICK, Surgeon, C.S.A., Mr. GEORGE BLAKE +CORPORAL DUNN, Mr. JAMES NOLAN +CAPT. LOCKWOOD, Signal Officer Mr. HERBERT PATTEE +BENSON, {Cavalrymen } Mr. C.B. ABBE +WILKINS, { } Mr. HENRY MACDONNA +LIEUTENANTS, {Cavalry} MR. H.P. WHITTEMORE + {Infantry} Mr. THOS. FRANCIS +MRS. HAVERILL, Miss ANNIE M. CLARKE +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM, Miss VIOLA ALLEN +MADELINE WEST, Miss HELEN DAYNE +JENNY BUCKTHORN, U.S.A., Miss MIRIAM O'LEARY +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL, Miss GRACE ATWELL +OLD MARGERY Miss KATE RYAN +JANNETTE Miss HARDING + +There will be no intermission between Acts THIRD and FOURTH + +[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text.] + + +ACT FIRST + +Charleston Harbor in 1861 + +After the ball. Residence of the Ellinghams. + +The citizens of Charleston knew almost the exact hour at +which the attack on Fort Sumter would begin, and they gathered +in the gray twilight of the morning to view the bombardment +as a spectacle.--NICOLAY, _Campaigns of the Civil War, Vol. I._ + +"I shall open fire in one hour."--BEAUREGARD'S _last message +to_ MAJOR ANDERSON. _Sent at 3:20 A.M., April 12, 1861_. + + +ACT SECOND + +The Ellingham Homestead in Virginia + +When the Union Army under Gen. Sheridan and the Confederate Army +under Gen. Early were encamped at Cedar Creek, almost twenty miles +south of Winchester, there was a Confederate signal station on Three Top +Mountain, overlooking both camps; [Transcriber's note: Unreadable] another, near the summit of +North Mountain, on the opposite side of the valley.--_Official Records and +Maps_. + + +ACTS THIRD and FOURTH + +No Intermission between these Acts. + +The Shenandoah Valley. Night and Morning. Three Top mountain. + +[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text.] + +While the two armies lay opposite each other, General Sheridan was called +to Washington. Soon after he left, a startling despatch was taken by our +own Signal Officers from the Confederate Signal Station on Three Top +Mountain.--POND, _Camp. Civ. War, Vol. XI._ + +On the morning of October 19th, the Union Army was taken completely by +surprise. Thoburn's position was swept in an instant. The men who +escaped capture fled to the river. Gordon burst suddenly upon the left +flank.--POND, _supra._ + + +ACT FIFTH + +Washington, 1826. Residence of Gen. Buckthorn. + +_From Gen. Grant's Memoirs._ + +"I feel that we are on the eve of a great era when there is to be great harmony +between the Federal and Confederate." + + * * * * * + +The Orchestra, under the direction of MR. GEORGE PURDY, will perform +the following selections:-- + +1. Overture--Le Caid Ambroise Thomas +2. Waltz--Ruby Royal Louis Gregh +3. Selection--War Songs Arr. by George Purdy + Introducing the following selections: Kingdom Coming, When + This Cruel War Is Over, Babylon Is Fallen, [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text], The Vacant + Chair, Tramp, Tramp, Johnny Comes Marching, Who Will Care For + Mother Now? Tenting on the Old Camp Ground, Rally Round the + Flag. +4. [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] +5. March--[Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] + + * * * * * + +THANKSGIVING DAY, +EXTRA SHENANDOAH MATINEE + + * * * * * + +SEATS SECURED TWO WEEKS IN ADVANCE DURING +THE [Transcriber's note: Unreadable text] OF SHENANDOAH. + + * * * * * + +ACTING AND STAGE MANAGER MR. HENRY M. PITT + + + + +SHENANDOAH + +_A MILITARY COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS_ + +_By_ BRONSON HOWARD + +1897 BY BRONSON HOWARD + +ALL RIGHTS INCLUDING THAT OF PERFORMANCE RESERVED + +Reprinted from a privately printed edition, by permission of the +Society of American Dramatists and Composers, from a copy furnished +by Samuel French. It is here to be noted that the Society of American +Dramatists and Composers reserves all rights in "Shenandoah." + + + + +ORIGINAL CAST OF CHARACTERS + + +First produced at the Star Theatre, New York City, September 9, 1889. + +GENERAL HAVERILL }Officers of{ Wilton Lackaye. +COLONEL KERCHIVAL WEST }Sheridan's { Henry Miller. +CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE }Cavalry { Morton Selton. +LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE } { G.W. Bailey. + +MAJOR-GENERAL FRANCIS BUCKTHORN, +Commander of the 19th Army Corps Harry Harwood. + +SERGEANT BARKET James O. Barrows. + +COLONEL ROBERT ELLINGHAM, 10th Virginia Lucius Henderson. + +CAPTAIN THORNTON, Secret Service, C.S.A. John E. Kellard. + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS Harry Thorn. + +LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY Geo. Maxwell. + +MRS. CONSTANCE HAVERILL Dorothy Dorr. + +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM Viola Allen. + +MADELINE WEST Nanette Comstock. + +JENNY BUCKTHORN, U.S.A. Effie Shannon. + +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL Alice B. Haines. + +HARDWICK (SURGEON) W.L. Dennison. + +CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD, U.S. Signal Corps C.C. Brandt. + +CORPORAL DUNN W.J. Cummings. + +BENSON Wm. Barnes. + +OLD MARGERY Mrs. Haslam. + +JANNETTE Esther Drew. + + + + +COSTUMES + + +HAVERILL.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Acts 2 and 3. Uniform of +Brigadier-General, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active Service, rough and +war-worn.--Act 4. Civil Costume, Prince Albert, &c. + +KERCHIVAL WEST.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Acts 2 and 3. Uniform +of Colonel of Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864 (with cloak in Act 3). Active +Service, rough and war-worn.--Act 4. Travelling. + +CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE.--Act 2. Uniform of Captain of Cavalry, 1864; +as neat and precise as is consistent with Active Service.--Act 4. +Afternoon; Civil. + +LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE.--Act 2. Lieutenant of Cavalry, 1864; Active +Service. He must have a full beard.--Act 3. Same, disarranged for +wounded man on stretcher. + +GENERAL BUCKTHORN.--Acts 2 and 3. Major-General, 1864. Active +Service.--Act 3. Same.--Act 4. Civil. Afternoon. + +SERGEANT BARKET.--Acts 2 and 3. Sergeant of Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. +Active Service.--Act 4. Plain undress uniform, sacque or jacket. + +ROBERT ELLINGHAM.--Act I. Full Evening Dress.--Act 2. Confederate +Colonel: Infantry, 1864. Active Service.--Act 4. Citizen; afternoon. +Prince Albert (Gray). + +EDWARD THORNTON.--Act I. Riding, but not present English Cut.--Act 2. +First, Confederate Captain of Cavalry. Active Service. Second costume, +same, in shirt sleeves and without hat or cap. + +HARDWICK.--Uniform of Confederate Surgeon, 1864. Active Service. + +CORPORAL DUNN.--Uniform of rank, Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +BENSON.--Uniform of 2nd Corporal, Cavalry, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY.--Uniform of rank, U.S. Vol., 1864. Active +Service. + +MRS. HAVERILL.--Act I. Full evening ball dress.--Act 4. Mourning, but +not too deep. + +GERTRUDE ELLINGHAM.--Act I. Riding habit.--Act 2. First costume, +afternoon at home; simple enough for the South during war. Second +costume, picturesque and not conventional dress and hat for +riding.--Act 3. First costume of Act 2, or similar.--Act 4. Neat +travelling costume. + +MADELINE WEST.--Act I. Full evening ball dress.--Act 2. Pretty +afternoon costume.--Act 3. Same or walking.--Act 4. Afternoon costume +at home. + +JENNY BUCKTHORN.--Act 2. Pretty afternoon costume, with military cut, +trimmings and general air.--Act 3. Same.--Act 4. Afternoon costume at +home. + +MRS. EDITH HAVERILL.--Young widow's costume. + +OLD MARGERY.--Neat old family servant. + +JANNETTE.--Young servant. + + + + +FOR PROGRAMME + + +In ACT I, just before the opening of the war, HAVERILL is a Colonel in +the Regular Army. KERCHIVAL WEST and ROBERT ELLINGHAM are Lieutenants +in his regiment, having been classmates at West Point. + + +ACT I. + +CHARLESTON HARBOUR IN 1861. AFTER THE BALL. + +The citizens of Charleston knew almost the exact hour at which the +attack on Fort Sumter would begin, and they gathered in the +gray twilight of the morning to view the bombardment as a +spectacle.--NICOLAY, _Campaigns of the Civil War, Vol. I._ + +"I shall open fire in one hour."--BEAUREGARD'S _last message to_ MAJOR +ANDERSON. _Sent at 3:20 A.M., April 12, 1861_. + + +ACTS II. AND III. + +The Union Army, under General Sheridan, and the Confederate Army, +under General Early, were encamped facing each other about twenty +miles south of Winchester, on Cedar Creek. * * * General Sheridan was +called to Washington. Soon after he left, a startling despatch was +taken by our own Signal Officers from the Confederate Signal Station +on Three Top Mountain.--POND, _Camp. Civ. War, Vol. XI._ + +On the morning of October 19th, the Union Army was taken completely +by surprise. Thoburn's position was swept in an instant. Gordon burst +suddenly upon the left flank. The men who escaped capture streamed +through the camps along the road to Winchester.--POND, _supra._ + +Far away in the rear was heard cheer after cheer.--_Three Years in the +Sixth Corps._ + + +ACT IV. + +WASHINGTON, 1865. RESIDENCE OF GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +I feel that we are on the eve of a new era, when there is to be great +harmony between the Federal and Confederate.--GEN. GRANT'S _Memoirs._ + + + + +SHENANDOAH + +ACT I. + +CHARLESTON HARBOUR IN 1861. "AFTER THE BALL." + + +SCENE. _A Southern Residence on the shore of Charleston Harbour. +Interior.--Large double doors up centre, open. Large, wide window, +with low sill. Veranda beyond the doors, and extending beyond window. +A wide opening with corridor beyond. Furniture and appointments quaint +and old-fashioned, but an air of brightness and of light; the general +tone of the walls and upholstery that of the old Colonial period in +its more ornamental and decorative phase, as shown in the early days +of Charleston. Old candlesticks and candelabra, with lighted candles +nearly burned down. Beyond the central doors and the window, there +is a lawn with Southern foliage, extending down to the shores of the +harbour; a part of the bay lies in the distance, with low-lying land +beyond. The lights of Charleston are seen over the water along the +shore. Moonlight. The gray twilight of early morning gradually steals +over the scene as the Act progresses._ + +DISCOVERED, _As the curtain rises_ KERCHIVAL WEST _is sitting in a +chair, his feet extended and his head thrown back, a handkerchief over +his face_. ROBERT ELLINGHAM _strolls in on veranda, beyond window, +smoking. He looks right, starts and moves to window; leans against the +upper side of the window and looks across._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Under handkerchief_.] Eh? H'm! + +ELLINGHAM. Can you sleep at a time like this? My own nerves are on +fire. + +KERCHIVAL. Fire? Oh--yes--I remember. Any more fire-works, Bob? + +ELLINGHAM. A signal rocket from one of the batteries, now and +then. [_Goes up beyond window_. KERCHIVAL _arouses himself, taking +handkerchief from his eyes._ + +KERCHIVAL. What a preposterous hour to be up. The ball was over an +hour ago, all the guests are gone, and it's nearly four o'clock. +[_Looks at his watch._] Exactly ten minutes of four. [_Takes out a +cigar._.] Our Southern friends assure us that General Beauregard is to +open fire on Fort Sumter this morning. I don't believe it. [_Lighting +cigar and rising, crosses and looks out through window._] There lies +the old fort--solemn and grim as ever, and the flagstaff stands above +it, like a warning finger. If they do fire upon it--[_Shutting his +teeth for a moment and looking down at the cigar in his hand._]--the +echo of that first shot will be heard above their graves, and heaven +knows how many of our own, also; but the flag will still float!--over +the graves of both sides. + +[ELLINGHAM _enters up centre and comes down_.] + +Are you Southerners all mad, Robert? + +ELLINGHAM. Are you Northerners all blind? [KERCHIVAL _sits_.] We +Virginians would prevent a war if we could. But your people in the +North do not believe that one is coming. You do not understand the +determined frenzy of my fellow-Southerners. Look! [_Pointing_.] Do +you see the lights of the city, over the water? The inhabitants of +Charleston are gathering, even now, in the gray, morning twilight, to +witness the long-promised bombardment of Fort Sumter. It is to be a +gala day for them. They have talked and dreamed of nothing else for +weeks. The preparations have become a part of their social life--of +their amusement--their gayeties. This very night at the ball--here--in +the house of my own relatives--what was their talk? What were the +jests they laughed at? Sumter! War! Ladies were betting bonbons that +the United States would not dare to fire a shot in return, and pinning +ribbons on the breasts of their "heroes." There was a signal rocket +from one of the forts, and the young men who were dancing here left +their partners standing on the floor to return to the batteries--as +if it were the night before another Waterloo. The ladies themselves +hurried away to watch the "spectacle" from their own verandas. You +won't see the truth! I tell you, Kerchival, a war between the North +and South is inevitable! + +KERCHIVAL. And if it does come, you Virginians will join the rest. + +ELLINGHAM. Our State will be the battle-ground, I fear. But every +loyal son of Virginia will follow her flag. It is our religion! + +KERCHIVAL. My State is New York. If New York should go against the old +flag, New York might go to the devil. That is my religion. + +ELLINGHAM. So differently have we been taught what the word +"patriotism" means! + +KERCHIVAL. You and I are officers in the same regiment of the United +States Regular Army, Robert; we were classmates at West Point, and we +have fought side by side on the plains. You saved my scalp once; I'd +have to wear a wig, now, if you hadn't. I say, old boy, are we to be +enemies? + +ELLINGHAM. [_Laying his hand over his shoulder._] My dear old comrade, +whatever else comes, our friendship shall be unbroken! + +KERCHIVAL. Bob! [_Looking up at him._] I only hope that we shall never +meet in battle! + +ELLINGHAM. In battle? [_Stepping down front._] The idea is horrible! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Rising and crossing to him._] My dear old comrade, one of +us will be wrong in this great fight, but we shall both be honest in +it. [_Gives hand_, ELLINGHAM _grasps it warmly, then turns away._ + +ELLINGHAM. Colonel Haverill is watching the forts, also; he has been +as sad to-night as we have. Next to leaving you, my greatest regret is +that I must resign from his regiment. + +KERCHIVAL. You are his favourite officer. + +ELLINGHAM. Naturally, perhaps; he was my guardian. + +_Enter_ HAVERILL. _He walks down, stopping centre._ + +HAVERILL. Kerchival! I secured the necessary passports? to the North +yesterday afternoon; this one is yours; I brought it down for you +early in the evening. [KERCHIVAL _takes paper. Goes to window._] I +am ordered direct to Washington at once, and shall start with Mrs. +Haverill this forenoon. You will report to Captain Lyon, of the 2d +Regiment, in St. Louis. Robert! I have hoped for peace to the last, +but it is hoping against hope. I feel certain, now, that the fatal +blow will be struck this morning. Our old regiment is already broken +up, and you, also, will now resign, I suppose, like nearly all your +fellow-Southerners in the service. + +ELLINGHAM. You know how sorry I am to leave your command, Colonel! + +HAVERILL. I served under your father in Mexico; he left me, at his +death, the guardian of you and your sister, Gertrude. Even since you +became of age, I have felt that I stood in his place. But you must be +your sister's only guardian now. Your father fell in battle, fighting +for our common country, but you-- + +ELLINGHAM. He would have done as I shall do, had he lived. He was a +Virginian! + +HAVERILL. I am glad, Robert, that he was never called upon to decide +between two flags. He never knew but one, and we fought under it +together. [_Exit._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! Something occurred in this house to-night +which--which I shouldn't mention under ordinary circumstances, but +I--I feel that it may require my further attention, and you, perhaps, +can be of service to me. Mrs. Haverill, the wife of the Colonel-- + +KERCHIVAL. Fainted away in her room. + +ELLINGHAM. You know? + +KERCHIVAL. I was one of the actors in the little drama. + +ELLINGHAM. Indeed! + +KERCHIVAL. About half-past nine this evening, while the ladies were +dressing for the ball, I was going up-stairs; I heard a quick, sharp +cry, sprang forward, found myself at an open door. Mrs. Haverill lay +on the floor inside, as if she had just reached the door to cry for +help, when she fell. After doing all the unnecessary and useless +things I could think of, I rushed out of the room to tell your sister, +Gertrude, and my own sister, Madeline, to go and take care of the +lady. Within less than twenty minutes afterwards, I saw Mrs. Haverill +sail into the drawing-room, a thing of beauty, and with the glow of +perfect health on her cheek. It was an immense relief to me when I saw +her. Up to that time I had a vague idea that I had committed a murder. + +ELLINGHAM. Murder! + +KERCHIVAL. M--m. A guilty conscience. Every man, of course, does +exactly the wrong thing when a woman faints. When I rushed out of Mrs. +Haverill's room, I left my handkerchief soaked with water upon her +face. I must ask her for it; it's a silk one. Luckily, the girls +got there in time to take it off; she wouldn't have come to if they +hadn't. It never occurred to me that she'd need to breathe in my +absence. That's all I know about the matter. What troubles you? I +suppose every woman has a right to faint whenever she chooses. The +scream that I heard was so sharp, quick and intense that-- + +ELLINGHAM. That the cause must have been a serious one. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes! So I thought. It must have been a mouse. + +ELLINGHAM. Mr. Edward Thornton has occupied the next room to that of +Mrs. Haverill to-night. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Crosses quickly._] What do you mean? + +ELLINGHAM. During the past month or more he has been pressing, not to +say insolent, in his attentions to Mrs. Haverill. + +KERCHIVAL. I've noticed that myself. + +ELLINGHAM. And he is an utterly unscrupulous man; it is no fault of +mine that he was asked to be a guest at this house to-night. He came +to Charleston, some years ago, from the North, but if there are any +vices and passions peculiarly strong in the South, he has carried them +all to the extreme. In one of the many scandals connected with Edward +Thornton's name, it was more than whispered that he entered a lady's +room unexpectedly at night. But, as he killed the lady's husband in a +duel a few days afterwards, the scandal dropped. + +KERCHIVAL. Of course; the gentleman received ample satisfaction as +an outraged husband, and Mr. Thornton apologized, I suppose, to his +widow. + +ELLINGHAM. He has repeated the adventure. + +KERCHIVAL. Do--you--think--that? + +ELLINGHAM. I was smoking on the lawn, and glanced up at the window; my +eyes may have deceived me, and I must move cautiously in the matter; +but it couldn't have been imagination; the shadow of Edward Thornton's +face and head appeared upon the curtain. + +KERCHIVAL. Whew! The devil! + +ELLINGHAM. Just at that moment I, too, heard the stifled scream. + +_Enter_ EDWARD THORNTON. + +THORNTON. Gentlemen! + +ELLINGHAM. Your name was just on my tongue, Mr. Thornton. + +THORNTON. I thought I heard it, but you are welcome to it. Miss +Gertrude has asked me to ride over to Mrs. Pinckney's with her, to +learn if there is any further news from the batteries. I am very glad +the time to attack Fort Sumter has come at last! + +ELLINGHAM. I do not share your pleasure. + +THORNTON. You are a Southern gentleman. + +ELLINGHAM. And you are a Northern "gentleman." + +THORNTON. A Southerner by choice; I shall join the cause. + +ELLINGHAM. We native Southerners will defend our own rights, sir; you +may leave them in our keeping. It is my wish, Mr. Thornton, that you +do not accompany my sister. + +THORNTON. Indeed! + +ELLINGHAM. Her groom, alone, will be sufficient. + +THORNTON. As you please, sir. Kindly offer my excuses to Miss +Gertrude. You and I can chat over the subject later in the day, when +we are alone. [_Moving up stage._ + +ELLINGHAM. By all means, and another subject, also, perhaps. + +THORNTON. I shall be entirely at your service. + +[_Exit and down on veranda._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival, I shall learn the whole truth, if possible, +to-day. If it is what I suspect--what I almost know--I will settle +with him myself. He has insulted our Colonel's wife and outraged the +hospitality of my friends. [_Walking right._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Walking left._] I think it ought to be my quarrel. I'm +sure I'm mixed up in it enough. + +MADELINE. [_Without, calling._] Kerchival! + +ELLINGHAM. Madeline. [_Aside, starting_, KERCHIVAL _looks across at +him sharply._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I distinctly saw Bob give a start when he heard +Madeline. Now, what can there be about my sister's voice to make a man +jump like that? + +GERTRUDE. [_Without._] Brother Robert! + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! [_Aside, starting,_ ELLINGHAM _looks at him +sharply._] How the tones of a woman's voice thrill through a man's +soul! + +_Enter_ MADELINE. + +MADELINE. Oh, Kerchival--here you are. + +_Enter_ GERTRUDE _from apartment, in a riding habit, with whip, etc._ + +GERTRUDE. Robert, dear! [_Coming down to_ ROBERT, _they converse in +dumb show._ + +MADELINE. Where are your field-glasses? I've been rummaging all +through your clothes, and swords, and sashes, and things. I've turned +everything in your room upside down. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you? + +MADELINE. I can't find your glasses anywhere. I want to look at the +forts. Another rocket went up just now. [_Runs and stands on piazza, +looking off right._ + +KERCHIVAL. A sister has all the privileges of a wife to upset a man's +things, without her legal obligation to put them straight again. +[_Glances at_ GERTRUDE.] I wish Bob's sister had the same privileges +in my room that my own has. + +GERTRUDE. Mr. Thornton isn't going with me, you say? + +ELLINGHAM. He requested me to offer you his apologies. + +KERCHIVAL. May I accompany you? [ELLINGHAM _turns to window._ + +GERTRUDE. My groom, old Pete, will be with me, of course; there's no +particular need of anyone else. But you may go along, if you like. +I've got my hands full of sugar-plums for Jack. Dear old Jack--he +always has his share when we have company. I'm going over to Mrs. +Pinckney's to see if she's had any more news from General Beauregard; +her son is on the General's staff. + +MADELINE. [_Looking off right_.] There's another rocket from Fort +Johnson; and it is answered from Fort Moultrie. Ah! [_Angrily._] +General Beauregard is a bad, wicked man! [_Coming down._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh! Madeline! You are a bad, wicked Northern girl to say +such a thing. + +MADELINE. I _am_ a Northern girl. + +GERTRUDE. And I am a Southern girl. [_They face each other._ + +KERCHIVAL. The war has begun. [_Dropping into chair._ + +ELLINGHAM _has turned from window; he strolls across, watching the +girls._ + +GERTRUDE. General Beauregard is a patriot. + +MADELINE. He is a Rebel. + +GERTRUDE. So am I. + +MADELINE. Gertrude!--You--you-- + +GERTRUDE. Madeline!--You-- + +MADELINE. I--I-- + +GERTRUDE. I-- + +BOTH. O--O-h! [_Bursting into tears and rushing into each other's +arms, sobbing, then suddenly kissing each other vigorously._ + +KERCHIVAL. I say, Bob, if the North and South do fight, that will be +the end of it. + +GERTRUDE. I've got something to say to you, Madeline, dear. +[_Confidentially and turning with her arms about her waist. The girls +sit, talking earnestly._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival, old boy! There's--there's something I'd like to +say to you before we part to-day. + +KERCHIVAL. I'd like a word with you, also! + +MADELINE. You don't really mean that, Gertrude--with me? + +ELLINGHAM. I'm in love with your sister Madeline. + +KERCHIVAL. The devil you are! + +ELLINGHAM. I never suspected such a thing until last night. + +GERTRUDE. Robert was in love with you six weeks ago. + +[MADELINE _kisses her._ + +KERCHIVAL. _I've_ made a discovery, too, Bob. + +MADELINE. _I've_ got something to say to _you_, Gertrude. + +KERCHIVAL. I'm in love with _your_ sister. + +ELLINGHAM. [_Astonished._] You are? + +MADELINE. Kerchival has been in love with you for the last three +months. [GERTRUDE _offers her lips--they kiss._ + +KERCHIVAL. I fell in love with her the day before yesterday. [_The two +gentlemen grasp each other's hand warmly._ + +ELLINGHAM. We understand each other, Kerchival. [_He turns up centre, +and stops at door._] Miss Madeline, you said just now that you wished +to watch the forts. Would you like to walk down to the shore? + +MADELINE. Yes! [_Rising and going up to him. He takes one of her hands +in his own and looks at her earnestly._ + +ELLINGHAM. This will be the last day that we shall be together for the +present. But we shall meet again--sometime--if we both live. + +MADELINE. If we both live! You mean--if _you_ live: You must go into +this dreadful war, if it comes. + +ELLINGHAM. Yes, Madeline, I must. Come, let us watch for our fate. + +[_Exeunt on veranda._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I must leave Charleston to-day. [_Sighs._] Does +she love me? + +GERTRUDE. I am ready to start, Mr. West, when you are. + +KERCHIVAL. Oh! Of course, I forgot. [_Rising._] I shall be delighted +to ride at your side. + +GERTRUDE. At my side! [_Rising._] There isn't a horse in America that +can keep by the side of my Jack, when I give him his head, and I'm +sure to do it. You may follow us. But you can hardly ride in that +costume; while you are changing it, I'll give Jack his bonbons. +[_Turning to window._] There he is, bless him! Pawing the ground, and +impatient for me to be on his back. Let him come, Pete. [_Holding up +bonbons at window_]. I love you. + +KERCHIVAL. Eh? [_Turning suddenly._ + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking at him._] What? + +KERCHIVAL. You were saying-- + +GERTRUDE. Jack! [_looking out. The head of a large black horse appears +through the window._] You dear old fellow! [_Feeds with bonbons._] +Jack has been my boy ever since he was a little colt. I brought you +up, didn't I, Jack? He's the truest, and kindest, and best of friends; +I wouldn't be parted from him for the world, and I'm the only woman +he'll allow to be near him. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Earnestly._] You are the only woman, Miss Gertrude, that +I-- + +GERTRUDE. Dear Jack! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] Jack embarrasses me. He's a third party. + +GERTRUDE. There! That will do for the present, Jack. Now go along with +Pete! If you are a very good boy, and don't let Lieutenant Kerchival +West come within a quarter of a mile of me, after the first three +minutes, you shall have some more sugar-plums when we get to Mrs. +Pinckney's. [_An old negro leads the horse away._ GERTRUDE _looks +around at_ KERCHIVAL.] You haven't gone to dress yet; we shall +be late. Mrs. Pinckney asked a party of friends to witness the +bombardment this morning, and breakfast together on the piazza while +they are looking at it. We can remain and join them, if you like. + +KERCHIVAL. I hope they won't wait for breakfast until the bombardment +begins. + +GERTRUDE. I'll bet you an embroidered cigar-case, Lieutenant, against +a box of gloves, that it will begin in less than an hour. + +KERCHIVAL. Done! You will lose the bet. But you shall have the gloves; +and one of the hands that go inside them shall be--[_Taking one of her +hands; she withdraws it._ + +GERTRUDE. My own--until some one wins it. You don't believe that +General Beauregard will open fire on Fort Sumter this morning? + +KERCHIVAL. No; I don't. + +GERTRUDE. Everything is ready. + +KERCHIVAL. It's so much easier to get everything ready to do a thing +than it is to do it. I have been ready a dozen times, this very night, +to say to you, Miss Gertrude, that I--that I--[_Pauses._ + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking down and tapping skirt with her whip._] Well? + +KERCHIVAL. But I didn't. + +GERTRUDE. [_Glancing up at him suddenly._] I dare say, General +Beauregard has more nerve than you have. + +KERCHIVAL. It is easy enough to set the batteries around Charleston +Harbour, but the man who fires the first shot at a woman-- + +GERTRUDE. Woman! + +KERCHIVAL. At the American flag--must have nerves of steel. + +GERTRUDE. You Northern men are so slow to-- + +KERCHIVAL. I have been slow; but I assure you, Miss Gertrude, that my +heart-- + +GERTRUDE. What subject are we on now? + +KERCHIVAL. You were complaining because I was too slow. + +GERTRUDE. I was doing nothing of the kind, sir!--let me finish, +please. You Northern men are so slow to believe that our Southern +heroes--Northern _men_ and Southern _heroes_--you recognize the +distinction I make--you won't believe that they will keep their +promises. They have sworn to attack Fort Sumter this morning, +and--they--will do it. This "American Flag" you talk of is no longer +our flag: it is foreign to us!--It is the flag of an enemy! + +KERCHIVAL. [_Tenderly and earnestly._] Am I your enemy? + +GERTRUDE. You have told me that you will return to the North, and take +the field. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes, I will. [_Decisively._ + +GERTRUDE. You will be fighting against my friends, against my own +brother, against me. We _shall_ be enemies. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Firmly_.] Even that, Gertrude--[_She looks around at him; +he looks squarely into her eyes as he proceeds._]--if you will have it +so. If my country needs my services, I shall not refuse them, though +it makes us enemies! [_She wavers a moment, under strong emotion, and +turns away; sinks upon the seat, her elbow on the back of it, and her +tightly-clenched fist against her cheek, looking away from him._ + +GERTRUDE. I will have it so! I am a Southern woman! + +KERCHIVAL. We have more at stake between us, this morning, than a +cigar-case and a box of gloves. [_Turning up stage._ + +_Enter_ MRS. HAVERILL _from apartment_. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Mr. West! I've been looking for you. I have a favour to +ask. + +KERCHIVAL. Of me?--with pleasure. + +MRS. HAVERILL. But I am sorry to have interrupted you and Gertrude. +[_Apart._] There are tears in your eyes, Gertrude, dear! + +GERTRUDE. [_Apart._] They have no right there. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Apart._] I'm afraid I know what has happened. A +quarrel! and you are to part with each other so soon. Do not let +a girl's coquetry trifle with her heart until it is too late. You +remember the confession you made to me last night? + +GERTRUDE. [_Apart._] Constance! [_Starting._] That is my secret; more +a secret now than ever. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Apart._] Yes, dear; but you do love him. [GERTRUDE +_moves away._ + +GERTRUDE. You need not ride over with me, Mr. West. + +KERCHIVAL. I can be ready in one moment. + +GERTRUDE. I choose to go alone! Old Pete will be with me; and Jack, +himself, is a charming companion. + +KERCHIVAL. If you prefer Jack's company to mine-- + +GERTRUDE. I do. [_Exit on veranda and down right._ + +KERCHIVAL. Damn Jack! But you will let me assist you to mount. [_Exit +after her._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. We leave for the North before noon, but every hour +seems a month. If my husband should learn what happened in my room +to-night, he would kill that man. What encouragement could I have +given him? Innocence is never on its guard--but, [_Drawing up._] the +last I remember before I fell unconscious, he was crouching before me +like a whipped cur! [_Starts as she looks out of the window._] There +is Mr. Thornton now--Ah! [_Angrily._] No,--I must control my own +indignation. I must keep him and Colonel Haverill from meeting before +we leave Charleston. Edward Thornton would shoot my husband down +without remorse. But poor Frank! I must not forget him, in my own +trouble. I have but little time left to care for his welfare. + +_Re-enter_ KERCHIVAL. + +KERCHIVAL. You said I could do you a favour, Mrs. Haverill? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, I wanted to speak with you about General +Haverill's son, Frank. I should like you to carry a message to +Charleston for me, as soon as it is light. It is a sad errand. You +know too well the great misfortune that has fallen upon my husband in +New York. + +KERCHIVAL. His only son has brought disgrace upon his family name, +and tarnished the reputation of a proud soldier. Colonel Haverill's +fellow-officers sympathize with him most deeply. + +MRS. HAVERILL. And poor young Frank! I could hardly have loved the boy +more if he had been my own son. If he had not himself confessed the +crime against the bank, I could not have believed him guilty. He has +escaped from arrest. He is in the city of Charleston. I am the only +one in all the world he could turn to. He was only a lad of fourteen +when his father and I were married, six years ago; and the boy has +loved me from the first. His father is stern and bitter now in his +humiliation. This note from Frank was handed to me while the company +were here last evening. I want you to find him and arrange for me to +meet him, if you can do it with safety. I shall give you a letter for +him. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll get ready at once; and I will do all I can for the +boy. [_Turning._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. And--Mr. West! Gertrude and Madeline have told me +that--that--I was under obligations to you last evening. + +KERCHIVAL. Don't mention it. I merely ran for them, and I--I'm very +glad you didn't choke--before they reached you. I trust you are quite +well now? + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am entirely recovered, thank you. And I will ask +another favour of you, for we are old friends. I desire very much that +General Haverill should not know that--that any accident occurred to +me to-night--or that my health has not been perfect. + +KERCHIVAL. Certainly, madam! + +MRS. HAVERILL. It would render him anxious without cause. + +KERCHIVAL [_Aside_.] It looks as if Robert was right; she doesn't want +the two men to meet. + +_Enter_ HAVERILL. _A white silk handkerchief is in his hand_. + +HAVERILL. Constance, my dear, I've been all over the place looking for +you. I thought you were in your room. But--by the way, Kerchival, this +is your handkerchief; your initials are on it. [KERCHIVAL _turns and +stares at him a second_. MRS. HAVERILL _starts slightly and turns +front_. HAVERILL _glances quickly from one to the other, then extends +his hands toward_ KERCHIVAL, _with the handkerchief_. KERCHIVAL _takes +it_. MRS. HAVERILL _drops into chair_. + +KERCHIVAL. Thank you. [_He exits with a quick glance back._ HAVERILL +_looks at_ MRS. HAVERILL, _who sits nervously looking away. He then +glances after_ KERCHIVAL. _A cloud comes over his face, and he stands +a second in thought. Then, with a movement as if brushing away a +passing suspicion, he smiles pleasantly and approaches_ MRS. HAVERILL; +_leans over her_. + +HAVERILL. My fair Desdemona! [_Smiling_.] I found Cassio's +handkerchief in your room. Have you a kiss for me? [_She looks up; he +raises her chin with a finger and kisses her_.] That's the way I shall +smother you. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Rising and dropping her head upon his breast_.] +Husband! + +HAVERILL. But what is this they have been telling me? + +MRS. HAVERILL. What have they said to you? + +HAVERILL. There was something wrong with you in the early part of the +evening; you are trembling and excited, my girl! + +MRS. HAVERILL. It was nothing, John; I--I--was ill, for a few moments, +but I am well now. + +HAVERILL. You said nothing about it to me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Do not give it another thought. + +HAVERILL. Was there anything besides your health involved in the +affair? There was. [_Aside_.] How came this handkerchief in her room? + +MRS. HAVERILL. My husband! I do not want to say anything more--at--at +present--about what happened to-night. There has never been a shadow +between us--will you not trust me? + +HAVERILL. Shadow! You stand in a bright light of your own, my wife; +it shines upon my whole life--there can be no shadow there. Tell me +as much or as little as you like, and in your own time. I am sure you +will conceal nothing from me that I ought to know. I trust my honour +and my happiness to you, absolutely. + +MRS. HAVERILL. They will both be safe, John, in my keeping. But there +is something else that I wish to speak with you about; something very +near to your heart--your son! + +HAVERILL. My son! + +MRS. HAVERILL. He is in Charleston. + +HAVERILL. And not--in prison? To me he is nowhere. I am childless. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I hope to see him to-day; may I not take him some kind +word from you? + +HAVERILL. My lawyers in New York had instructions to provide him with +whatever he needed. + +MRS. HAVERILL. They have done so, and he wants for nothing; he asks +for nothing, except that I will seek out the poor young wife--only a +girl herself--whom he is obliged to desert, in New York. + +HAVERILL. His marriage was a piece of reckless folly, but I forgave +him that. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am sure that it was only after another was dependent +on him that the debts of a mere spendthrift were changed to fraud--and +crime. + +HAVERILL. You may tell him that I will provide for her. + +MRS. HAVERILL. And may I take him no warmer message from his father? + +HAVERILL. I am an officer of the United States Army. The name which +my son bears came to me from men who had borne it with honour, and I +transmitted it to him without a blot. He has disgraced it, by his own +confession. + +MRS. HAVERILL. _I_ cannot forget the poor mother who died when he was +born; her whose place I have tried to fill, to both Frank and to you. +I never saw her, and she is sleeping in the old graveyard at home. But +I am doing what she would do to-day, if she were living. No pride--no +disgrace--could have turned her face from him. The care and the love +of her son has been to me the most sacred duty which one woman can +assume for another. + +HAVERILL. You have fulfilled that duty, Constance. Go to my son! I +would go with you, but he is a man now; he could not look into my +eyes, and I could not trust myself. But I will send him something +which a man will understand. Frank loves you as if you were his own +mother; and I--I would like him to--to think tenderly of me, also. He +will do it when he looks at this picture. [_Taking a miniature from +his pocket._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Of me! + +HAVERILL. I have never been without it one hour, before, since we were +married. He will recognize it as the one that I have carried through +every campaign, in every scene of danger on the Plains; the one that +has always been with me. He is a fugitive from justice. At times, when +despair might overcome him, this may give him nerve to meet his +future life manfully. It has often nerved me, when I might have failed +without it. Give it to him, and tell him that I send it. [_Giving +her the miniature._] I could not send a kinder message, and he will +understand it. [_Turning, stands a moment in thought._ THORNTON +_appears at window, looking at them quietly over his shoulder, a cigar +in his hand._ MRS. HAVERILL _sees him and starts with a suppressed +breath, then looks at_ HAVERILL, _who moves left. Aside._] My son! My +son! We shall never meet again! [_Exit in thought._ + +MRS. HAVERILL _looks after him earnestly, then turns and looks at +THORNTON, drawing up to her full height._ THORNTON _moves up stage, +beyond window._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Will he dare to speak to me again? [_Enter_ THORNTON; +_he comes down quietly. He has thrown away cigar._ + +THORNTON. Mrs. Haverill! I wish to offer you an apology. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I have not asked for one, sir! + +THORNTON. Do you mean by that, that you will not accept one? + +MRS. THORNTON. [_Aside_] What can I say? [_Aloud._] Oh, Mr. +Thornton!--for my husband's sake, I-- + +THORNTON. Ah! You are afraid that your husband may become involved in +an unpleasant affair. Your solicitude for his safety, madame, makes +me feel that my offense to-night was indeed unpardonable. No gentleman +can excuse himself for making such a mistake as I have made. I had +supposed that it was Lieutenant Kerchival West, who-- + +MRS. HAVERILL. What do you mean, sir? + +THORNTON. But if it is your husband that stands between us-- + +MRS. HAVERILL. Let me say this, sir: whatever I may fear for my +husband, he fears nothing for himself. + +THORNTON. He knows? [_Looking at her, keenly._] [_Enter_ KERCHIVAL +WEST, _now in riding suit._] [_He stops, looking at them._] You are +silent. Your husband does know what occurred to-night; that relieves +my conscience. [_Lightly._] Colonel Haverill and I can now settle it +between us. + +MRS. HAVERILL. No, Mr. Thornton! My husband knows nothing, and, I beg +of you, do not let this horrible affair go further. [_Sees_ KERCHIVAL. + +KERCHIVAL. Pardon me. [_Stepping forward._] I hope I am not +interrupting you. [_Aside._] It _was_ Thornton. [_Aloud._] You said +you would have a letter for me to carry, Mrs. Haverill. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, I--I will go up and write it at once. [_Crosses; +stops and looks back. Aside._] I wonder how much he overheard. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] I suppose eight o'clock will be time enough +for me to go? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Oh, yes! [_Glancing at him a moment._]--quite. + +[_Exit, through apartment._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] Mr. Thornton! you are a scoundrel! Do I make +myself plain? + +THORNTON. You make the fact that you desire to pick a quarrel with me +quite plain, sir; but I choose my own quarrels and my own enemies. + +KERCHIVAL. Colonel Haverill is my commander, and he is beloved by +every officer in the regiment. + +THORNTON. On what authority, may I ask, do you-- + +KERCHIVAL. The honour of Colonel Haverill's wife is under our +protection. + +THORNTON. Under your protection? You have a better claim than that, +perhaps, to act as her champion. Lieutenant Kerchival West is Mrs. +Haverill's favourite officer in the regiment. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Approaching him._] You dare to suggest that I-- + +THORNTON. If I accept your challenge, I shall do so not because you +are her protector, but my rival. + +KERCHIVAL. Bah! [_Striking him sharply on the cheek with glove. The +two men stand facing each other a moment._] Is it my quarrel now? + +THORNTON. I think you are entitled to my attention, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. My time here is limited. + +THORNTON. We need not delay. The Bayou La Forge is convenient to this +place. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll meet you there, with a friend, at once. + +THORNTON. It will be light enough to see the sights of our weapons in +about one hour. [_They bow to each other, and_ THORNTON _goes out._ + +KERCHIVAL. I've got ahead of Bob. + +GERTRUDE. [_Without._] Whoa! Jack! Old boy! Steady, now--that's a good +fellow. + +KERCHIVAL. She has returned. I _must_ know whether Gertrude Ellingham +loves me--before Thornton and I meet. He is a good shot. + +GERTRUDE. [_Without, calling._] O-h! Pete! You may take Jack to the +stable. Ha--ha--ha! [_Appears at window. To_ KERCHIVAL.] Old Pete, on +the bay horse, has been doing his best to keep up with us; but Jack +and I have led him such a race! Ha--ha--ha--ha! [_Disappearing beyond +the window._ + +KERCHIVAL. Does she love me? + +GERTRUDE. [_Entering and coming down._] I have the very latest news +from the headquarters of the Confederate Army in South Carolina. At +twenty minutes after three this morning General Beauregard sent this +message to Major Anderson in Fort Sumter: "I shall open fire in one +hour!" The time is up!--and he will keep his word! [_Turning and +looking out of the window._ KERCHIVAL _moves across to her._ + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! I must speak to you; we may never meet again; but +I must know the truth. I love you. [_Seizing her hand._] Do you love +me? [_She looks around at him as if about to speak; hesitates._] +Answer me! [_She looks down with a coquettish smile, tapping her skirt +with her riding whip._] Well? [_A distant report of a cannon, and low +rumbling reverberations over the harbour._ GERTRUDE _turns suddenly, +looking out._ KERCHIVAL _draws up, also looking off._ + +GERTRUDE. A low--bright--line of fire--in the sky! It is a shell. [_A +second's pause; she starts slightly_.] It has burst upon the fort. +[_Looks over her shoulder at_ KERCHIVAL, _drawing up to her full +height_.] Now!--do you believe that we Southerners are in deadly +earnest? + +KERCHIVAL. We Northerners are in deadly earnest, too. I have received +my answer. We are--enemies! [_They look at each other for a moment_. +[_Exit_ KERCHIVAL. + +GERTRUDE. Kerchival! [_Moving quickly half across stage, looking +after him eagerly; stops._] Enemies! [_She drops into chair, sobbing +bitterly. Another distant report, and low, long reverberations as the +curtain descends_. + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE. _The Ellingham Homestead in the Shenandoah Valley. Exterior. +Three Top Mountain in the distance. A corner of the house, with +projecting end of veranda. Low wall extending up from veranda. A wide +opening in the wall, with a low, heavy stone post, with flat top, on +each side. Beyond the wall and opening, a road runs across stage. +At the back of this road, elevation of rock and turf. This slopes up +behind wood wing. It is level on the top about twelve feet; slopes +down to road, and also out behind wood wings. The level part in the +centre rises to about four feet above the stage. Beyond this elevation +the distance is a broad valley, with Three Top Mountain rising on the +right. Foliage appropriate to northern Virginia--walnut, cottonwood, +&c. Rustic seats and table. Seat near veranda. A low rock near the +stone post. Sunset when curtain rises. As the act proceeds this fades +into twilight and then bright moonlight. The number references for the +trumpet signals, in this and the next act, are to the official book, +entitled "Cavalry Tactics, United States Army," published by D. +Appleton & Co., N.Y., 1887. The number references for the Torch +Signals, in this act, are to the General Service Code. This code may +be found, with illustrations and instructions, in a book entitled +"Signal Tactics," by Lieutenant Hugh T. Reed, U.S. Army, published by +John Riley & Sons, N.Y., 1880. At rise of curtain, Trumpet Signal +No. 34 or No. 35 is heard very distant._ GERTRUDE _and_ MADELINE +_discovered on elevation up center._ GERTRUDE _is shading her eyes +with her hand and looking off._ MADELINE _stands a little below her, +on the incline, resting her arm about_ GERTRUDE'S _waist, also looking +off._ + +GERTRUDE. It is a regiment of Union Cavalry. The Federal troops now +have their lines three miles beyond us, and only a month ago the +Confederate Army was north of Winchester. One army or the other has +been marching up and down the Shenandoah Valley for three years. I +wonder what the next change will be. We in Virginia have had more than +our share of the war. [_Looking off._ + +MADELINE. You have, indeed, Gertrude. [_Walking down to seat._] And we +at home in Washington have pitied you so much. But everybody says that +there will be peace in the Valley after this. [_Dropping into seat._ + +GERTRUDE. Peace! [_Coming down._] That word means something very +different to us poor Southerners from what it means to you. + +MADELINE. I know, dear; and we in the North know how you have +suffered, too. We were very glad when General Buckthorn was appointed +to the command of the Nineteenth Army Corps, so that Jenny could get +permission for herself and me to come and visit you. + +GERTRUDE. The old General will do anything for Jenny, I suppose. + +MADELINE. Yes. [_Laughing._] We say in Washington that Jenny is in +command of the Nineteenth Army Corps herself. + +GERTRUDE. I was never more astonished or delighted in my life than +when you and Jenny Buckthorn rode up, this morning, with a guard from +Winchester; and Madeline, dear, I--I only wish that my brother Robert +could be here, too. Do you remember in Charleston, darling--that +morning--when I told you that--that Robert loved you? + +MADELINE. He--[_Looking down._]--he told me so himself only a little +while afterwards, and while we were standing there, on the shore of +the bay--the--the shot was fired which compelled him to enter this +awful war--and me to return to my home in the North. + +GERTRUDE. I was watching for that shot, too. [_Turning._ + +MADELINE. Yes--[_Rising_.]--you and brother Kerchival-- + +GERTRUDE. We won't talk about that, my dear. We were speaking of +Robert. As I told you this morning, I have not heard from him since +the battle of Winchester, a month ago. Oh, Madeline! the many, many +long weeks, like these, we have suffered, after some terrible battle +in which he has been engaged. I do not know, now, whether he is living +or dead. + +MADELINE. The whole war has been one long suspense to me. [_Dropping +her face into her hands_. + +GERTRUDE. My dear sister! [_Placing her arm about her waist and moving +left_.] You are a Northern girl, and I am a Rebel--but we are sisters. +[_They go up veranda and out_. An OLD COUNTRYMAN _comes in on a cane. +He stops and glances back, raises a broken portion of the capstone +of post, and places a letter under it_. GERTRUDE _has stepped back on +veranda and is watching him. He raises his head sharply, looking at +her and bringing his finger to his lips. He drops his head again, as +with age, and goes out._ + +GERTRUDE _moves down to stage and up to road, looks right and left, +raises the broken stone, glancing back as she does so; takes letter +and moves down_.] Robert is alive! It is his handwriting! [_Tears open +the wrapper_.] Only a line from him! and this--a despatch--and also a +letter to me! Why, it is from Mrs. Haverill--from Washington--with a +United States postmark. [_Reads from a scrap of paper_.] + +"The enclosed despatch must be in the hands of Captain Edward Thornton +before eight o'clock to-night. We have signaled to him from Three Top +Mountain, and he is waiting for it at the bend in Oak Run. Our trusty +scout at the Old Forge will carry it if you will put it in his hands." + +The scout is not there, now; I will carry it to Captain Thornton +myself. I--I haven't my own dear horse to depend on now; Jack knew +every foot of the way through the woods about here; he could have +carried a despatch himself. I can't bear to think of Jack; it's +two years since he was captured by the enemy--and if he is still +living--I--I suppose he is carrying one of their officers. No! Jack +wouldn't fight on that side. He was a Rebel--as I am. He was one of +the Black Horse Cavalry--his eyes always flashed towards the North. +Poor Jack! my pet. [_Brushing her eyes_.] But this is no time for +tears. I must do the best I can with the gray horse. Captain Thornton +shall have the despatch. [_Reads from note_.] + +"I also enclose a letter for you. I found it in a United States +mail-bag which we captured from the enemy." + +Oh--that's the way Mrs. Haverill's letter came--ha--ha--ha--by way of +the Rebel Army! [_Opens it; reads._] + +"My Darling Gertrude: When Colonel Kerchival West was in Washington +last week, on his way from Chattanooga, to serve under Sheridan in the +Shenandoah Valley, he called upon me. It was the first time I had seen +him since the opening of the war. I am certain that he still loves +you, dear." [_She kisses the letter eagerly, then draws up._ + +It is quite immaterial to me whether Kerchival West still loves me or +not. [_Reads._ + +"I have kept your secret, my darling."--Ah! my secret!--"but I +was sorely tempted to betray the confidence you reposed in me at +Charleston. If Kerchival West had heard you say, as I did, when your +face was hidden in my bosom, that night, that you loved him with your +whole heart--"--Oh! I could bite my tongue out now for making that +confession--[_Looks down at letter with a smile._] "I am certain +that he still loves you." [_Trumpet Signal No. 41. Kisses the letter +repeatedly. Trumpet Signal No. 41, louder than at first. She starts, +listening._ + +JENNY BUCKTHORN _runs in on the veranda._ + +JENNY. Do you hear, Gertrude, they are going to pass this very house. +[_Military band. "John Brown" playing in the distance. Chorus of +Soldiers._] I've been watching them through my glass; it is Colonel +Kerchival West's regiment. + +GERTRUDE. [_Eagerly, then coldly._] Colonel West's! It is perfectly +indifferent to me whose regiment it is. + +JENNY. Oh! Of course. [_Coming down._] It is equally indifferent to +me; Captain Heartsease is in command of the first troop. [_Trumpet +Signal No. 52._] Column right! [_She runs up to road. Looks._] They +are coming up the hill. + +GERTRUDE. At my very door! And Kerchival West in command! I will not +stand here and see them pass. The despatch for Captain Thornton! I +will carry it to him as soon as they are gone. [_Exit up veranda, the +band and chorus increasing in volume._ + +JENNY. Cavalry! That's the branch of the service I was born in; I was +in a fort at the time--on the Plains. Sergeant Barket always said that +my first baby squall was a command to the garrison; if any officer +or soldier, from my father down, failed to obey my orders, I +court-martialed him on the spot. I'll make 'em pass in review. +[_Jumping up on the rustic seat._] Yes! [_Looking off._] There's +Captain Heartsease himself, at the head of the first troop. Draw +sabre! [_With parasol._] Present! [_Imitating the action. Music. The +band and chorus now full and loud; she swings parasol in time. Trumpet +Signal No. 40. Band and chorus suddenly cease._] Halt! Why, they are +stopping here. [_Trumpet Signal No. 38._] Dismount! I--I wonder if +they are going to--I do believe--[_Looking left eagerly. Trumpet +Signal No. 17._] Assembly of Guard Details! As sure as fate, they +are going into camp here. We girls will have a jolly time. [_Jumping +down._] Ha--ha--ha--ha! Let me see. How shall I receive Captain +Heartsease? He deserves a court-martial, for he stole my lace +handkerchief--at Mrs. Grayson's reception--in Washington. He was +called away by orders to the West that very night, and we haven't met +since. [_Sighs._] He's been in lots of battles since then; I suppose +he's forgotten all about the handkerchief. We girls, at home, don't +forget such things. We aren't in battles. All we do is to--to scrape +lint and flirt with other officers. + +_Enter_ CAPTAIN HEARTSEASE, _followed by_ COLONEL ROBERT ELLINGHAM; +_stops at gate._ + +HEARTSEASE. This way, Colonel Ellingham. [_They enter. As they come +down,_ HEARTSEASE _stops suddenly, looking at_ JENNY; _puts up his +glasses._] Miss Buckthorn! + +JENNY. Captain Heartsease! + +HEARTSEASE. [_Very quietly and with perfect composure._] I am +thunderstruck. The unexpected sight of you has thrown me into a fever +of excitement. + +JENNY. Has it? [_Aside._] If he gets so excited as that in battle, it +must be awful. [_Aloud._] Colonel Ellingham! [_Crossing to him._ + +ELLINGHAM. Miss Buckthorn! You are visiting my sister? I am what may +be called a visitor--by force--myself. + +JENNY. Oh! You're a prisoner! + +ELLINGHAM. I ventured too far within the Union lines to-night, and +they have picked me up. But Major Wilson has kindly accepted my +parole, and I shall make the best of it. + +JENNY. Is Major Wilson in command of the regiment? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes. Colonel West is to join us at this point, during the +evening. + +ELLINGHAM. I am very glad you are here, Miss Buckthorn, with Gertrude. + +JENNY. Somebody here will be delighted to see you, Colonel. + +ELLINGHAM. My sister can hardly be pleased to see me as a prisoner. + +JENNY. Not your sister. [_Passing him and crossing to veranda, turns +and beckons to him. She motions with her thumb over her shoulder. He +goes up the steps of the veranda and turns._ + +ELLINGHAM. What do you mean? + +JENNY. I mean this--[_Reaching up her face, he leans down, placing his +ear near her lips._]--somebody else's sister! When she first sees you, +be near enough to catch her. + +ELLINGHAM. I understand you! Madeline! [_Exit on veranda._ JENNY _runs +up steps after him, stops and looks back at_ HEARTSEASE _over the +railing._ HEARTSEASE _takes a lace handkerchief from his pocket._ + +JENNY. I do believe that's my handkerchief. [A GUARD OF SENTRIES +_marches in and across stage in road. The_ CORPORAL _in command orders +halt and a_ SENTRY _to post, then marches_ GUARD _out. The_ SENTRY +_stands with his back to audience, afterwards moving out, appearing +and disappearing during Act._ + +HEARTSEASE. Miss Buckthorn! I owe you an apology. After I left +your side, the last time we met, I found your handkerchief in my +possession. I assure you, it was an accident. + +JENNY. [_Aside, pouting._] I thought he _intended_ to steal it. +[_Aloud._] That was more than a year ago. [_Then brightly._] Do you +always carry it with you? + +HEARTSEASE. Always; there. [_Indicating his left breast pocket._ + +JENNY. Next to his heart! + +HEARTSEASE. Shall I return it to you? + +JENNY. Oh, if a lace handkerchief can be of any use to you, Captain, +during the hardships of a campaign--you--you may keep that one. You +soldiers have so few comforts--and it's real lace. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Returning handkerchief to his pocket._] Miss +Buckthorn, your papa is in command of the Nineteenth Army Corps. He +doesn't like me. + +JENNY. I know it. + +HEARTSEASE. But you are in command of him, + +JENNY. Yes; I always have been. + +HEARTSEASE. If ever you decide to assume command of any other man, +I--I trust you will give _me_ your orders. + +JENNY. [_Aside, starting back._] If that was intended for a proposal, +it's the queerest-shaped one I ever heard of. [_Aloud._] Do you mean, +Captain, that--that you--I must command myself now. [_Shouldering her +parasol._] 'Bout--face! March! [_Turning squarely around, marches up +and out on veranda._ + +HEARTSEASE. I have been placed on waiting orders. [_Stepping up and +looking after her; then very quietly and without emotion._] I am in an +agony of suspense. The sight of that girl always arouses the strongest +emotions of my nature. + +[_Enter_ COLONEL KERCHIVAL WEST, _looking at paper in his hand. The_ +SENTINEL, _in road, comes to a salute._] + +Colonel West! + +KERCHIVAL. Captain! + +HEARTSEASE. You have rejoined the regiment sooner than we expected. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Looking at paper._] Yes; General Haverill is to meet me +here at seven o'clock. Major Wilson tells me that some of your company +captured Colonel Robert Ellingham, of the Tenth Virginia. + +HEARTSEASE. He is here under parole. + +KERCHIVAL. And this is the old Ellingham homestead. [_Aside._] +Gertrude herself is here, I suppose; almost a prisoner to me, like +her brother; and my troops surround their home. She must, indeed, feel +that I am her enemy now. Ah, well, war is war. [_Aloud._] By the bye, +Heartsease, a young Lieutenant, Frank Bedloe, has joined our troop? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes; an excellent young officer. + +KERCHIVAL. I sent for him as I came through the camp. Lieutenant Frank +"Bedloe" is the son of General Haverill. + +HEARTSEASE. Indeed! Under an assumed name! + +KERCHIVAL. He was supposed to have been killed in New Orleans more +than a year ago; but he was taken prisoner instead. [_Looking left._ + +HEARTSEASE. He is here. + +KERCHIVAL. I should never have known him--with his full beard and +bronzed face. His face was as smooth as a boy's when I last met him in +Charleston. + +_Enter_ LIEUTENANT FRANK BEDLOE; _he stops, saluting._ + +FRANK. You wished me to report to you, Colonel? + +KERCHIVAL. You have been assigned to the regiment during my absence. + +FRANK. Yes, sir. [KERCHIVAL _moves to him and grasps his hand; looks +into his eyes a moment before speaking._ + +KERCHIVAL. Frank Haverill. + +FRANK. You--you know me, sir? + +KERCHIVAL. I saw Mrs. Haverill while I was passing through Washington +on Saturday. She told me that you had escaped from prison in Richmond, +and had re-entered the service. She did not know then that you +had been assigned to my regiment. I received a letter from her, in +Winchester, this morning, informing me of the fact, and asking for my +good offices in your behalf. But here is the letter. [_Taking letter +from wallet and giving it to him._] It is for you rather than for me. +I shall do everything I can for you, my dear fellow. + +FRANK. Thank you, sir. [_Opens letter, dropping the envelope upon the +table._] Kind, thoughtful and gentle to my faults, as ever--[_Looking +at the letter._]--and always thinking of my welfare. My poor little +wife, too, is under her protection. Gentlemen, I beg of you not to +reveal my secret to my father. + +KERCHIVAL. General Haverill shall know nothing from us, my boy; you +have my word for that. + +HEARTSEASE. Nothing. + +KERCHIVAL. And he cannot possibly recognize you. What with your full +beard, and thinking as he does, that you are-- + +FRANK. That I am dead. I am dead to him. It would have been better +if I had died. Nothing but my death--not even that--can wipe out the +disgrace which I brought upon his name. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Looking right._] General Haverill has arrived. + +_Enter_ GENERAL HAVERILL _with a_ STAFF OFFICER. + +FRANK. My father! + +HAVERILL. [_Exchanging salutes with the three officers. He turns to +the_ STAFF OFFICER, _giving him a paper and brief instructions in dumb +show. The_ OFFICER _goes out over the incline. Another_ STAFF OFFICER +_enters, salutes and hands him a paper, then stands up stage._] +Ah! The men are ready. [_Looking at the paper. Then to_ KERCHIVAL.] +Colonel! I have a very important matter to arrange with you; there +is not a moment to be lost. I will ask Captain Heartsease to remain. +[FRANK _salutes and starts up stage;_ HAVERILL _looks at him, starting +slightly; raises his hand to detain him._] One moment; your name! + +HEARTSEASE. Lieutenant Bedloe, General, of my own troop, and one of +our best officers. [HAVERILL _steps to_ FRANK, _looking into his face +a moment._ + +HAVERILL. Pardon me! [_Stepping down stage._ FRANK _moves up, stops +and looks back at him._ HAVERILL _stands a moment in thought, covers +his face with one hand, then draws up._] Colonel West! We have a +most dangerous piece of work for a young officer--[FRANK _starts +joyfully._]--to lead a party of men, whom I have already selected. I +cannot order an officer to undertake anything so nearly hopeless; he +must be a volunteer. + +FRANK. Oh, sir, General! Let me be their leader. + +HAVERILL. I thought you had passed on. + +FRANK. Do not refuse me, sir. [HAVERILL _looks at him a moment._ +HEARTSEASE _and_ KERCHIVAL _exchange glances._ + +HAVERILL. You are the man we need, my young friend. You shall go. +Listen! We wish to secure a key to the cipher despatches, which the +enemy are now sending from their signal station on Three Top Mountain. +There is another Confederate Signal Station in the Valley, just beyond +Buckton's Ford. [_Pointing._] Your duty will be this: First, to get +inside the enemy's line; then to follow a path through the woods, +with one of our scouts as your guide; attack the Station suddenly, and +secure their code, if possible. I have this moment received word that +the scout and the men are at the fort, now, awaiting their +leader. Major McCandless, of my staff, will take you to the place. +[_Indicating the_ STAFF OFFICER. FRANK _exchanges salutes with him._] +My young friend! I do not conceal from you the dangerous nature of the +work on which I am sending you. If--if you do not return, I--I will +write, myself, to your friends. [_Taking out note-book._] Have you a +father living? + +FRANK. My--father--is--is--he is-- + +HAVERILL. I understand you. A mother? Or-- + +KERCHIVAL. I have the address of Lieutenant Bedloe's friends, General. + +HAVERILL. I will ask you to give it to me, if necessary. [_Extends his +hand._] Good-bye, my lad. [FRANK _moves to him._ HAVERILL _grasps his +hand, warmly._] Keep a brave heart and come back to us. [FRANK _moves +up stage. Exit_ STAFF OFFICER. + +FRANK. He is my father still. [_Exit._ + +HAVERILL. My dead boy's face! [_Dropping his face into both hands._ + +HEARTSEASE. [_Apart to_ KERCHIVAL.] He shall not go alone. [_Aloud._] +General! Will you kindly give me leave of absence from the command? + +HAVERILL. Leave of absence! To an officer in active service--and in +the presence of the enemy? + +KERCHIVAL. [_Taking hand of_ HEARTSEASE. _Apart._] God bless you, old +fellow! Look after the boy. + +HAVERILL. A--h--[_With a sudden thought, turns._] I think I understand +you, Captain Heartsease. Yes; you may have leave of absence. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Salutes._ HAVERILL _and_ KERCHIVAL _salute. +Exit_ HEARTSEASE. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you any further orders for me, General? + +HAVERILL. I wish you to understand the great importance of the duty +to which I have just assigned this young officer. General Sheridan +started for Washington this noon, by way of Front Royal. Since his +departure, we have had reason to believe that the enemy are about +to move, and we must be able to read their signal despatches, if +possible. [_Sitting._] I have ordered Captain Lockwood, of our own +Signal Corps, to report to you here, with officers and men. [_Takes up +the empty envelope on table, unconsciously, as he speaks, tapping it +on the table._] If Lieutenant Bedloe succeeds in getting the key +to the enemy's cipher, we can signal from this point--[_Pointing +to elevation._]--to our station at Front Royal. Men and horses are +waiting there now, to carry forward a message, if necessary, to +General Sheridan himself. [_He starts suddenly, looking at the +envelope in his hand; reads address. Aside._] "Colonel Kerchival +West"--in my wife's handwriting. + +KERCHIVAL. I'll attend to your orders. + +HAVERILL. Postmarked at Washington, yesterday. [_Reads._] "Private and +confidential." [_Aloud._] Colonel West! I found a paragraph, to-day, +in a paper published in Richmond, taken from a prisoner. I will read +it to you. [_Takes newspaper slip from his wallet and reads._] + +"From the Charleston Mercury. Captain Edward Thornton, of the +Confederate Secret Service, has been assigned to duty in the +Shenandoah Valley. Our gallant Captain still bears upon his face the +mark of his meeting, in 1861, with Lieutenant, now Colonel Kerchival +West, who is also to serve in the Valley, with Sheridan's Army. +Another meeting between these two men would be one of the strange +coincidences of the war, as they were at one time, if not indeed at +present, interested in the same beautiful woman." [_Rises._] + +I will ask you to read the last few lines, yourself. [_Hands KERCHIVAL +the slip._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Reading._] "The scandal connected with the lovely wife +of a Northern officer, at the opening of the war, was overshadowed, +of course, by the attack on Fort Sumter; but many Charlestonians will +remember it. The lady in defense of whose good name Captain Thornton +fought the duel"--he defending her good name!--"is the wife of General +Haverill, who will be Colonel West's immediate commander." [_He pauses +a moment, then hands back the slip._] General! I struck Mr. Thornton, +after a personal quarrel. + +HAVERILL. And the cause of the blow? There is much more in this than +I have ever known of. I need hardly say that I do not accept the +statement of this scandalous paragraph as correct. I will ask you to +tell me the whole story, frankly, as man to man. + +KERCHIVAL. [_After a moment's thought._] I will tell +you--all--frankly, General. + +_Enter_ SERGEANT BARKET. + +BARKET. Colonel West? Adjutant Rollins wishes to report--a +prisoner--just captured. + +HAVERILL. We will meet again later, to-night, when the camp is at +rest. We are both soldiers, and have duties before us, at once. For +the present, Colonel, be on the alert; we must watch the enemy. +[_He moves up stage._ BARKET _salutes._ HAVERILL _stops and looks at +envelope in his hands, reading._] "Private and confidential." [_Exit._ + +KERCHIVAL. Sergeant Barket! Lieutenant Bedloe has crossed the enemy's +line, at Buckton's Ford, with a party of men. I wish you to ride to +the Ford yourself, and remain there, with your horse in readiness and +fresh. As soon as any survivor of the party returns, ride back with +the first news at full speed. + +BARKET. Yes, sir. [_Starting._ + +KERCHIVAL. You say a prisoner has been captured? Is it a spy? + +BARKET. Worse--a petticoat. + +KERCHIVAL. A female prisoner! [_Dropping into seat._ + +BARKET. I towld the byes your honour wouldn't thank us fer the +catchin' of her. The worst of it is she's a lady; and what's worse +still, it's a purty one. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell Major Wilson, for me, to let her take the oath, and +everything else she wants. The Government of the United States will +send her an apology and a new bonnet. + +BARKET. The young lady is to take the oath, is it? She says she'll see +us damned first. + +KERCHIVAL. A lady, Barket? + +BARKET. Well! she didn't use thim exact words. That's the way I +understand her emphasis. Ivery time she looks at me, I feel like +getting under a boom-proof. She was dashing through the woods on a +gray horse, sur; and we had the divil's own chase. But we came up wid +her, at last, down by the bend in Oak Run. Just at that moment we saw +the figure of a Confederate officer, disappearing among the trays on +the ither side. + +KERCHIVAL. A--h! + +BARKET. Two of us rayturned wid the girl; and the rist wint after the +officer. Nothing has been heard of thim yet. + +KERCHIVAL. Have you found any despatches on the prisoner? + +BARKET. Well!--yer honour, I'm a bachelor, meself; and I'm not familar +with the jayography of the sex. We byes are in mortal terror for fear +somebody might order us to go on an exploring expedition. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell them to send the prisoner here, Barket, and hurry to +Buckton's Ford yourself, at once. + +BARKET. As fast as me horse can carry me, sir, and it's a good one. +[_Exit._ + +KERCHIVAL. I'd rather deal with half the Confederate Army than with +one woman, but I must question her. They captured her down by the Bend +in Oak Run. [_Taking out map; looks at it._] I see. She had just +met, or was about to meet, a Confederate officer at that point. It +is evident that she was either taking him a despatch or was there to +receive one. Oak Run. [CORPORAL DUNN _and Two_ SOLDIERS _enter, with_ +GERTRUDE _as a prisoner. They stop;_ KERCHIVAL _sits studying map._ +GERTRUDE _glances at him and marches down with head erect; stops, with +her back to him._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. The prisoner, Colonel West! + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! Very well, Corporal; you can go. [_Rising; he motions +the_ GUARD _to retire._ CORPORAL DUNN _gives the necessary orders and +exit with_ GUARD.] Be seated, madam. [GERTRUDE _draws up, folding +her arms and planting her foot, spitefully._ KERCHIVAL _shrugs his +shoulder. Aside._] I wish they'd capture a tigress for me, or some +other female animal that I know how to manage better than I do a +woman. [_Aloud._] I am very sorry, madam, but, of course, my duty as +a military officer is paramount to all other considerations. You have +been captured within the lines of this army, and under circumstances +which lead me to think that you have important despatches upon your +person. I trust that you will give me whatever you have at once. I +shall be exceedingly sorry if you compel me to adopt the extreme--and +the very disagreeable course--for both of us--of having--you--I--I +hesitate even to use the word, madam--but military law is +absolute--having you-- + +GERTRUDE. Searched! If you dare, Colonel West! [_Turning to him +suddenly and drawing up to her full height._ + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude Ellingham! [_Springs across to her, with his arms +extended._] My dear Gertrude! + +GERTRUDE. [_Turning her back upon him._] Not "dear Gertrude" to you, +sir! + +KERCHIVAL. Not?--Oh! I forgot. + +GERTRUDE. [_Coldly._] I am your prisoner. + +KERCHIVAL. Yes. [_Drawing up firmly, with a change of manner._] We +will return to the painful realities of war. I am very sorry that +you have placed yourself in a position like this, and, believe me, +Gertrude--[_With growing tenderness._]--I am still more sorry to be in +such a position myself. [_Resting one hand on her arm, and his other +arm about her waist._ + +GERTRUDE. [_After looking down at his hands._] You don't like the +position? [_He starts back, drawing up with dignity._] Is that the +paramount duty of a military officer? + +KERCHIVAL. You will please hand me whatever despatches or other papers +may be in your possession. + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking away._] You will _force_ me, I suppose. I am a +woman; you have the power. Order in the guard! A corporal and two +men--you'd better make it a dozen--I am dangerous! Call the whole +regiment to arms! Beat the long roll! I won't give up, if all the +armies of the United States surround me. + +_Enter_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn! [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Colonel West. + +GERTRUDE. [_Aside._] Jenny's father! [BUCKTHORN _glances at_ GERTRUDE, +_who still stands looking away. He moves down to_ KERCHIVAL. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart, gruffly._] I was passing with my staff, and I +was informed that you had captured a woman bearing despatches to the +enemy. Is this the one? + +KERCHIVAL. Yes, General. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! [_Turning, looks at her._ + +GERTRUDE. I wonder if he will recognize me. He hasn't seen me since I +was a little girl. [_Turns toward, him._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Turning to_ KERCHIVAL; _punches him in the ribs._] Fine +young woman!--[_Turns and bows to her very gallantly, removing his +hat. She bows deeply in return._] A-h-e-m! [_Suddenly pulling himself +up to a stern, military air; then gruffly to_ KERCHIVAL, _extending +his hand._] Let me see the despatches. + +KERCHIVAL. She declines positively to give them up. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! Does she? [_Walks thoughtfully; turns._] My dear young +lady! I trust you will give us no further trouble. Kindly let us have +those despatches. + +GERTRUDE. [_Looking away._] I have no despatches, and I would not give +them to you if I had. + +BUCKTHORN. What! You defy my authority? Colonel West, I command you! +Search the prisoner! [GERTRUDE _turns suddenly towards_ KERCHIVAL, +_facing him defiantly. He looks across at her aghast. A moment's +pause._ + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn--I decline to obey that order. + +BUCKTHORN. You--you decline to obey my order! [_Moves down to him +fiercely._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Apart._] General! It is the woman I love. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart._] Is it? Damn you, sir! I wouldn't have an officer +in my army corps who would obey me, under such circumstances. I'll +have to look for those despatches myself. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Facing him, angrily._] If you dare, General Buckthorn! + +BUCKTHORN. [_Apart._] Blast your eyes! I'd kick you out of the army if +you'd _let_ me search her; but it's my military duty to swear at you. +[_To_ GERTRUDE.] Colonel West has sacrificed his life to protect you. + +GERTRUDE. His life! + +BUCKTHORN. I shall have him shot for insubordination to his commander, +immediately. [_Gives_ KERCHIVAL _a huge wink, and turns._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh, sir! General! I have told you the truth. I have no +despatches. Believe me, sir, I haven't so much as a piece of paper +about me, except-- + +BUCKTHORN. Except? [_Turning sharply._ + +GERTRUDE. Only a letter. Here it is. [_Taking letter from the bosom of +her dress._] Upon my soul, it is all I have. Truly it is. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Taking letter._] Colonel West, you're reprieved. [_Winks +at_ KERCHIVAL, _who turns away, laughing._ BUCKTHORN _reads letter._] +"Washington"--Ho!--ho! From within our own lines!--"Colonel Kerchival +West--" + +KERCHIVAL. Eh? + +GERTRUDE. Please, General!--Don't read it aloud. + +BUCKTHORN. Very well! I won't. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] I wonder what it has to do with me? + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading. Aside._] "If Kerchival West had heard you say, +as I did--m--m----that you loved him with your whole heart--" [_He +glances up at_ GERTRUDE, _who drops her head coyly._] This is a +very important military document. [_Turns to last page._] "Signed, +Constance Haverill." [_Turns to front page._] "My dear Gertrude!" Is +this Miss Gertrude Ellingham? + +GERTRUDE. Yes, General. + +BUCKTHORN. I sent my daughter, Jenny, to your house, with an escort, +this morning. + +GERTRUDE. She is here. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Tapping her under the chin._] You're an arrant little +Rebel, my dear; but I like you immensely. [_Draws up suddenly, +with an_ "Ahem!" _Turns to_ KERCHIVAL.] Colonel West, I leave this +dangerous young woman in your charge. [KERCHIVAL _approaches._] If +she disobeys you in any way, or attempts to escape--read that letter! +[_Giving him the letter._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh! General! + +BUCKTHORN. But not till then. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Tenderly, taking her hand_.] My--prisoner! + +GERTRUDE. [_Aside_.] I could scratch my own eyes out--or his, +either--rather than have him read that letter. + +_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN, _with_ GUARD _of four soldiers and_ CAPTAIN +EDWARD THORNTON _as a prisoner_. + +KERCHIVAL. Edward Thornton! + +GERTRUDE. They have taken him also! He has the despatch! + +CORPORAL DUNN. The Confederate Officer, Colonel, who was pursued by +our troops at Oak Run, after they captured the young lady. + +BUCKTHORN. The little witch has been communicating with the enemy! + +KERCHIVAL. [_To_ GERTRUDE.] You will give me your parole of honour +until we next meet? + +GERTRUDE. Yes. [_Aside_.] That letter! I _am_ his prisoner. [_She +walks up the steps and looks back at_ THORNTON. _Exit_. + +KERCHIVAL. [_To_ BUCKTHORN.] We will probably find the despatches we +have been looking for now, General. + +BUCKTHORN. Prisoner! You will hand us what papers you may have. + +THORNTON. I will hand you nothing. + +BUCKTHORN. Colonel! [KERCHIVAL _motions to_ THORNTON, _who looks at +him sullenly_. + +KERCHIVAL. Corporal Dunn!--search the prisoner. [DUNN _steps to_ +THORNTON, _taking him by the shoulder and turning him rather roughly_. +THORNTON'S _back to the audience._ DUNN _throws open his coat, takes +paper from his breast, hands it to_ KERCHIVAL, _who gives it to_ +BUCKTHORN.] Proceed with the search. [DUNN _continues the search_. +BUCKTHORN _drops upon seat, lights a match, looks at the paper._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading_.] "General Rosser will rejoin General Early with +all the cavalry in his command, at----" This is important. [_Continues +to read with matches. The_ CORPORAL _hands a packet to_ KERCHIVAL. _He +removes the covering_. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Starting_.] A portrait of Mrs. Haverill! [_He touches_ +CORPORAL DUNN _on the shoulder quickly and motions him to retire._ +DUNN _falls back to the_ GUARD. KERCHIVAL _speaks apart to_ THORNTON, +_who has turned front_.] How did this portrait come into your +possession? + +THORNTON. That is my affair, not yours! + +BUCKTHORN. Anything else, Colonel? + +KERCHIVAL. [_Placing the miniature in his pocket._] Nothing! + +THORNTON. [_Apart, over_ KERCHIVAL'S _shoulder._] A time will come, +perhaps, when I can avenge the insult of this search, and also this +scar. [_Pointing to a scar on his face._] Your aim was better than +mine in Charleston, but we shall meet again; give me back that +picture. + +KERCHIVAL. Corporal! Take your prisoner! + +THORNTON. Ah! [_Viciously springing at_ KERCHIVAL; CORPORAL DUNN +_springs forward, seizes_ THORNTON, _throws him back to the_ GUARD +_and stands with his carbine levelled at_ THORNTON; _looks at_ +KERCHIVAL, _who quietly motions him out._ CORPORAL DUNN _gives the +orders to the men and marches out with_ THORNTON. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! [_Still reading with matches._] Colonel! [_Rising._] +The enemy has a new movement on foot, and General Sheridan has left +the army! Listen! [_Reads from despatches with matches._] "Watch for a +signal from Three Top Mountain to-night." + +KERCHIVAL. We hope to be able to read that signal ourselves. + +BUCKTHORN. Yes, I know. Be on your guard. I will speak with General +Haverill, and then ride over to General Wright's headquarters. Keep us +informed. + +KERCHIVAL. I will, General. [_Saluting._ BUCKTHORN _salutes and +exit._] "Watch for a signal from Three Top Mountain to-night." +[_Looking up at mountain._] We shall be helpless to read it unless +Lieutenant Bedloe is successful. I only hope the poor boy is not lying +dead, already, in those dark woods beyond the Ford. [_Looking off; +turns down stage, taking the miniature from his pocket._] How +came Edward Thornton to have this portrait of Mrs. Haverill in his +possession? [GERTRUDE _runs in on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Colonel West! He's here! [_Looks back._] They are coming +this way with him. + +KERCHIVAL. Him! Who? + +GERTRUDE. Jack. + +KERCHIVAL. Jack! + +GERTRUDE. My own horse! + +KERCHIVAL. Ah, I remember! He and I were acquainted in Charleston. + +GERTRUDE. Two troopers are passing through the camp with him. + +KERCHIVAL. He is not in your possession? + +GERTRUDE. He was captured at the battle of Fair Oaks, but I recognized +him the moment I saw him; and I am sure he knew me, too, when I +went up to him. He whinnied and looked so happy. You are in command +here--[_Running down._]--you will compel them to give him up to me? + +KERCHIVAL. If he is in my command, your pet shall be returned to you. +I'll give one of my own horses to the Government as a substitute, if +necessary. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, thank you, my dear Kerchival! [_Going to him; he takes +her hand, looking into her eyes._] I--I could almost-- + +KERCHIVAL. Can you almost confess, at last, Gertrude, that you--love +me? [_Tenderly; she draws back, hanging her head, but leaving her hand +in his._] Have I been wrong? I felt that that confession was hovering +on your tongue when we were separated in Charleston. Have I seen that +confession in your eyes since we met again to-day--even among the +angry flashes which they have shot out at me? During all this terrible +war--in the camp and the trench--in the battle--I have dreamed of a +meeting like this. You are still silent? [_Her hand is still in his. +She is looking down. A smile steals over her face, and she raises her +eyes to his, taking his hand in both her own._ + +GERTRUDE. Kerchival! I--[_Enter_ BENSON. _She looks around over her +shoulder._ KERCHIVAL _looks up stage. A_ TROOPER, _leading the large +black horse of Act I, now caparisoned in military saddle, bridle, &c., +follows_ BENSON _across; another_ TROOPER _follows._] Jack! [_She runs +up stage, meeting horse._ KERCHIVAL _turns._ + +KERCHIVAL. Confound Jack! That infernal horse was always in my way! + +GERTRUDE. [_With her arm about her horse's neck._] My darling old +fellow! Is he not beautiful, Kerchival? They have taken good care of +him. How soft his coat is! + +KERCHIVAL. Benson, explain this! + +BENSON. I was instructed to show this horse and his leader through the +lines, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. What are your orders, my man? [_Moving up, the_ TROOPER +_hands him a paper. He moves a few steps down, reading it._ + +GERTRUDE. You are to be mine again, Jack, mine! [_Resting her cheek +against the horse's head and patting it._] The Colonel has promised it +to me. + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! [_With a start, as he reads the paper._ GERTRUDE +_raises her head and looks at him._] This is General Sheridan's horse, +on his way to Winchester, for the use of the General when he returns +from Washington. + +GERTRUDE. General Sheridan's horse? He is mine! + +KERCHIVAL. I have no authority to detain him. He must go on. + +GERTRUDE. I have hold of Jack's bridle, and you may order your men to +take out their sabres and cut my hand off. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Approaches her and gently takes her hand as it holds +the bridle._] I would rather have my own hand cut off, Gertrude, +than bring tears to your eyes, but there is no alternative! [GERTRUDE +_releases the bridle and turns front, brushing her eyes, her hand +still held in his, his back to the audience. He returns order, and +motions_ TROOPERS _out; they move out with horse._ GERTRUDE _starts +after the horse;_ KERCHIVAL _turns quickly to check her._] You +forget--that--you are my prisoner. + +GERTRUDE. I _will_ go! + +KERCHIVAL. General Buckthorn left me special instructions--[_Taking +out wallet and letter._]--in case you declined to obey my orders-- + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Colonel! Please don't read that letter. [_She stands +near him, dropping her head. He glances up at her from the letter. She +glances up at him and drops her eyes again._] I will obey you. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Aside._] What the deuce can there be in that letter? + +GERTRUDE. Colonel West! Your men made me a prisoner this afternoon; +to-night you have robbed me, by your own orders, of--of--Jack is only +a pet, but I love him; and my brother is also a captive in your hands. +When we separated in Charleston you said that we were enemies. What is +there lacking to make those words true to-day? You _are_ my enemy! +A few moments ago you asked me to make a confession to you. You +can judge for yourself whether it is likely to be a confession +of--love--or of hatred! + +KERCHIVAL. Hatred! + +GERTRUDE. [_Facing him._] Listen to my confession, sir! From the +bottom of my heart-- + +KERCHIVAL. Stop! + +GERTRUDE. I will not stop! + +KERCHIVAL. I command you. + +GERTRUDE. Indeed! [_He throws open the wallet in his hand and raises +the letter._] Ah! [_She turns away; turns again, as if to speak. He +half opens the letter. She stamps her foot and walks up steps of the +veranda. Here she turns again._] I tell you, I--[_He opens the letter. +She turns, and exits with spiteful step._ + +KERCHIVAL. I wonder if that document orders me to cut her head off! +[_Returning it to wallet and pocket._] Was ever lover in such a +position? I am obliged to cross the woman I love at every step. + +_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN, _very hurriedly._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. A message from Adjutant Rollins, sir! The prisoner, +Captain Thornton, dashed away from the special guard which was placed +over him, and he has escaped. He had a knife concealed, and two of the +guard are badly wounded. Adjutant Rollins thinks the prisoner is still +within the lines of the camp--in one of the houses or the stables. + +KERCHIVAL. Tell Major Wilson to place the remainder of the guard under +arrest, and to take every possible means to recapture the prisoner. +[CORPORAL DUNN _salutes, and exits._] So! Thornton has jumped his +guard, and he is armed. I wonder if he is trying to get away, or to +find me. From what I know of the man, he doesn't much care which he +succeeds in doing. That scar which I gave him in Charleston is deeper +in his heart than it is in his face. [_A signal light suddenly appears +on Three Top Mountain. The "Call."_] Ah!--the enemy's signal! [_Enter_ +CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD, _followed by_ LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS.] Captain +Lockwood! You are here! Are your Signalmen with you? + +LOCKWOOD. Yes, Colonel; and one of my Lieutenants. + +[_The_ LIEUTENANT _is looking up at signal with glass._ CAPTAIN +LOCKWOOD _does the same._ HAVERILL _enters, followed by two_ STAFF +OFFICERS. + +HAVERILL. [_As he enters._] Can you make anything of it, Captain? + +LOCKWOOD. Nothing, General! Our services are quite useless unless +Lieutenant Bedloe returns with the key to their signals. + +HAVERILL. A--h! [_Coming down stage._] We shall fail. It is time he +had returned, if successful. + +SENTINEL. [_Without._] Halt! Who goes there? [KERCHIVAL _runs +up stage, and half way up incline, looking off._] Halt! [_A shot +without._ + +BARKET. [_Without._] Och!--Ye murtherin spalpeen! + +KERCHIVAL. Sentinel! Let him pass; it is Sergeant Barket. + +SENTINEL. [_Without._] Pass on. + +KERCHIVAL. He didn't give the countersign. News from Lieutenant +Bedloe, General! + +BARKET. [_Hurrying in, up slope._] Colonel Wist, our brave byes wiped +out the enemy, and here's the papers. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Taking papers.--Then to_ LOCKWOOD.] Is that the key? + +LOCKWOOD. Yes. Lieutenant! [LIEUTENANT _hurries up to elevation, +looking through his glass._ LOCKWOOD _opens book._ + +HAVERILL. What of Lieutenant Bedloe, Sergeant? + +BARKET. Sayreously wounded, and in the hands of the inimy! + +HAVERILL. [_Sighing._] A--h. + +BARKET. [_Coming down stone steps._] It is reported that Captain +Heartsease was shot dead at his side. + +KERCHIVAL. Heartsease dead! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. [_Reading signals._] +Twelve--Twenty-two--Eleven. + +BARKET. Begorra! I forgot the Sintinil entirely, but he didn't forget +me. [_Holding his left arm._ + +HAVERILL. Colonel West! We must make every possible sacrifice for the +immediate exchange of Lieutenant Bedloe, if he is still living. It is +due to him. Colonel Robert Ellingham is a prisoner in this camp; offer +him his own exchange for young Bedloe. + +KERCHIVAL. He will accept, of course. I will ride to the front with +him myself, General, and show him through the lines. + +HAVERILL. At once! [KERCHIVAL _crosses front and exit on veranda._ +HAVERILL _crosses._] Can you follow the despatch, Captain? + +LOCKWOOD. Perfectly; everything is here + +HAVERILL. Well! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Eleven--Twenty-two--One--Twelve. + +LOCKWOOD. [_From book._] "General Longstreet is coming with--" + +HAVERILL. Longstreet! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. One--Twenty-one. + +LOCKWOOD. "With eighteen thousand men." + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Two--Eleven--Twenty-two. + +LOCKWOOD. "Sheridan is away!" + +HAVERILL. They have discovered his absence! + +LIEUTENANT OF SIGNAL CORPS. Two--Twenty-two--Eleven--One--Twelve--One. + +LOCKWOOD. "We will crush the Union Army before he can return." + +HAVERILL. Signal that despatch from here to our Station at Front +Royal. [_Pointing._] Tell them to send it after General Sheridan--and +ride for their lives. [LOCKWOOD _hurries out._] Major Burton! We will +ride to General Wright's headquarters at once--our horses! [_Noise of +a struggle without._ + +BARKET. [_Looking._] What the devil is the row out there? [_Exit. Also +one of the_ STAFF OFFICERS. + +HAVERILL. [_Looking off._] What is this? Colonel West wounded! + +_Enter_ KERCHIVAL WEST, _his coat thrown open, with_ ELLINGHAM, BARKET +_assisting._ + +ELLINGHAM. Steady, Kerchival, old boy! You should have let us carry +you. + +KERCHIVAL. Nonsense, old fellow! It's a mere touch with the point of +the knife. I--I'm faint--with the loss of a little blood--that's all. +Bob!--I--[_Reels suddenly and is caught by_ ELLINGHAM _as he sinks to +the ground, insensible._ + +ELLINGHAM. Kerchival! [_Kneeling at his side._ + +HAVERILL. Go for the surgeon! [_To_ STAFF OFFICER, _who goes out +quickly on veranda._] How did this happen? [_Enter_ CORPORAL DUNN +_and_ GUARD, _with_ THORNTON. _He is in his shirt sleeves and +disheveled, his arms folded. They march down._] Captain Thornton! + +ELLINGHAM. We were leaving the house together; a hunted animal +sprang suddenly across our path, like a panther. [_Looking over his +shoulder._] There it stands. Kerchival!--my brother! + +CORPORAL DUNN. We had just brought this prisoner to bay, but I'm +afraid we were too late. + +HAVERILL. This is assassination, sir, not war. If you have killed +him-- + +THORNTON. Do what you like with me; we need waste no words. I had an +old account to settle, and I have paid my debt. + +ELLINGHAM. General Haverill! I took these from his breast when he +first fell. [_Handing up wallet and miniature to_ HAVERILL. HAVERILL +_starts as he looks at the miniature._ THORNTON _watches him._ + +HAVERILL. [_Aside._] My wife's portrait! + +THORNTON. If I have killed him--your honour will be buried in the same +grave. + +HAVERILL. Her picture on his breast! She gave it to him--not to +my son! [_Dropping into seat._ CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD _enters with a_ +SIGNALMAN, _who has a burning torch on a long pole; he hurries up +the elevation._ CAPTAIN LOCKWOOD _stands below, facing him. Almost +simultaneously with the entrance of the_ SIGNALMAN, GERTRUDE _runs in +on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. They are calling for a surgeon! Who is it? Brother!--you are +safe,--ah! [_Uttering a scream, as she sees_ KERCHIVAL, _and falling +on her knees at his side._] Kerchival! Forget those last bitter words +I said to you. Can't you hear my confession? I do love you. Can't you +hear me? I love you! [_The_ SIGNALMAN _is swinging the torch as the +curtain descends,_ LOCKWOOD _looking right._ + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE. _Same. It is now bright daylight, with sunshine flecking the +foreground and bathing the distant valley and mountains._ + +DISCOVERED. JENNY, _on low stone post, looking left. As the curtain +rises, she imitates Trumpet Signal No._ 19 _on her closed fists._ + +JENNY. What a magnificent line! [_Looking._] Guides-posts! Every man +and every horse is eager for the next command. There comes the flag! +[_Trumpet Signal without, No._ 30.] To the standard! [_As the signal +begins._] The regiment is going to the front. Oh! I do wish I could +go with it. I always do, the moment I hear the trumpets. Boots and +saddles! [_Imitates No._ 16.] Mount! [_Imitates No._ 37.] I wish I was +in command of the regiment. It was born in me. [_Trumpet Signal No._ +48, _without._] Fours right! There they go! Look at those horses' +ears! [_Trumpet Signal No._ 39, _without._] Forward. [_Military band +heard without--"The Battle Cry of Freedom"_ JENNY _takes attitude of +holding bridle and trotting._] Rappity--plap--plap--plap, etc. [_She +imitates the motions of a soldier on horseback, stepping down to rock +at side of post; thence to ground and about stage, with the various +curvettings of a spirited horse. Chorus of soldiers without, with the +band. The music becomes more and more distant._ JENNY _gradually stops +as the music is dying away, and stands, listening. As it dies entirely +away, she suddenly starts to an enthusiastic attitude._] Ah! If I were +only a man! The enemy! On Third Battalion, left, front, into line, +march! Draw sabres! Charge! [_Imitates Trumpet Signal No._ 44. _As +she finishes, she rises to her full height, with both arms raised, +and trembling with enthusiasm._] Ah! [_She suddenly drops her arms and +changes to an attitude and expression of disappointment--pouting._] +And the first time Old Margery took me to papa, in her arms, she had +to tell him I was a girl. Papa was as much disgusted as I was. But +he'd never admit it; he says I'm as good a soldier as any of 'em--just +as I am. + +_Enter_ BARKET _on veranda, his arm in a sling._ + +BARKET. [_On veranda_] Miss Jenny! + +JENNY. Barket! The regiment has marched away to the front, and we +girls are left here, with just you and a corporal's guard to look +after us. + +BARKET. I've been watching the byes mesilf. [_Coming down._] If a +little milithary sugar-plum like you, Miss Jenny, objects to not goin' +wid' 'em, what do you think of an ould piece of hard tack like me? I +can't join the regiment till I've taken you and Miss Madeline back to +Winchester, by your father's orders. But it isn't the first time I've +escorted you, Miss Jenny. Many a time, when you was a baby, on the +Plains, I commanded a special guard to accompany ye's from one fort to +anither, and we gave the command in a whisper, so as not to wake ye's +up. + +JENNY. I told you to tell papa that I'd let him know when Madeline and +I were ready to go. + +BARKET. I tould him that I'd as soon move a train of army mules. + +JENNY. I suppose we must start for home again to-day? + +BARKET. Yes, Miss Jenny, in charge of an ould Sargeant wid his arm in +a sling and a couple of convalescent throopers. This department of the +United States Army will move to the rear in half an hour. + +JENNY. Madeline and I only came yesterday morning. + +BARKET. Whin your father got ye's a pass to the front, we all thought +the fightin' in the Shenandoey Valley was over. It looks now as if +it was just beginning. This is no place for women, now. Miss Gertrude +Ellingham ought to go wid us, but she won't. + +JENNY. Barket! Captain Heartsease left the regiment yesterday, and +he hasn't rejoined it; he isn't with them, now, at the head of his +company. Where is he? + +BARKET. I can't say where he is, Miss Jenny. [_Aside._] Lyin' unburied +in the woods, where he was shot, I'm afraid. + +JENNY. When Captain Heartsease does rejoin the regiment, Barket, +please say to him for me, that--that I--I may have some orders for +him, when we next meet. [_Exit on veranda._ + +BARKET. Whin they nixt mate. They tell us there is no such thing as +marriage in Hiven. If Miss Jenny and Captain Heartsease mate there, +they'll invint somethin' that's mighty like it. While I was lyin' +wounded in General Buckthorn's house at Washington, last summer, and +ould Margery was taking care of me, Margery tould me, confidentially, +that they was in love wid aitch ither; and I think she was about +right. I've often seen Captain Heartsease take a sly look at a little +lace handkerchief, just before we wint into battle. [_Looks off._] +Here's General Buckthorn himself. He and I must make it as aisy as we +can for Miss Jenny's poor heart. + +_Enter_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN. + +BUCKTHORN. Sergeant Barket! You haven't started with those girls yet? + +BARKET. They're to go in half an hour, sir. + +BUCKTHORN. Be sure they do go. Is General Haverill here? + +BARKET. Yes, sir; in the house with some of his staff, and the +Surgeon. + +BUCKTHORN. Ah! The Surgeon. How is Colonel West, this morning, after +the wound he received last night? + +BARKET. He says, himself, that he's as well as iver he was; but the +Colonel and Surgeon don't agray on that subject. The dochter says he +mustn't lave his room for a month. The knife wint dape; and there's +somethin' wrong inside of him. But the Colonel, bein' on the outside +himsilf, can't see it. He's as cross as a bear, baycause they wouldn't +let him go to the front this morning, at the head of his regiment. I +happened to raymark that the Chaplain was prayin' for his raycovery. +The Colonel said he'd court-martial him if he didn't stop that--quick; +there's more important things for the Chaplain to pray for in his +official capacity. Just at that moment the trumpets sounded, "Boots +and Saddles." I had to dodge one of his boots, and the Surgeon had a +narrow escape from the ither one. It was lucky for us both his saddle +wasn't in the room. + +BUCKTHORN. That looks encouraging. I think Kerchival will get on. + +BARKET. Might I say a word to you, sur, about Miss Jenny? + +BUCKTHORN. Certainly, Barket. You and old Margery and myself have been +a sort of triangular mother, so to speak, to the little girl--since +her own poor mother left her to our care, when she was only a baby, +in the old fort on the Plains. [_At his side and unconsciously resting +his arm over_ BARKET'S _shoulder, familiarly. Suddenly draws up._] +Ahem! [_Then gruffly._] What is it? Proceed. + +BARKET. Her mother's bosom would have been the softest place for her +poor little head to rest upon, now, sur. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Touching his eyes._] Well! + +BARKET. Ould Margery tould me in Washington that Miss Jenny and +Captain Heartsease were in love wid aitch ither. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Starting._] In love! + +BARKET. I approved of the match. + +BUCKTHORN. What the devil! [BARKET _salutes quickly and starts up +stage and out._ BUCKTHORN _moves up after him; stops at post._ BARKET +_stops in road._ + +BARKET. So did ould Margery. + +BUCKTHORN. March! [_Angrily._ BARKET _salutes suddenly, and exits._] +Heartsease! That young jackanapes! A mere fop; he'll never make a +soldier. My girl in love with--bah! I don't believe it; she's too good +a soldier, herself. + +[_Enter_ HAVERILL, _on veranda._] + +Ah, Haverill! + +HAVERILL. General Buckthorn! Have you heard anything of General +Sheridan since I sent that despatch to him last evening? + +BUCKTHORN. He received it at midnight and sent back word that he +considers it a ruse of the enemy. General Wright agrees with him. The +reconnaissance yesterday showed no hostile force, on our right, and +Crook reports that Early is retreating up the Valley. But General +Sheridan may, perhaps, give up his journey to Washington, and he has +ordered some changes in our line, to be executed this afternoon at +four o'clock. I rode over to give you your instructions in person. You +may order General McCuen to go into camp on the right of Meadow Brook, +with the second division. [HAVERILL _is writing in his note-book._ + +_Enter_ JENNY, _on veranda._ + +JENNY. Oh, papa! I'm so glad you've come. I've got something to say to +you. [_Running down and jumping into his arms, kissing him. He turns +with her, and sets her down, squarely on her feet and straight before +him._ + +BUCKTHORN. And I've got something to say to you--about Captain +Heartsease. + +JENNY. Oh! That's just what I wanted to talk about. + +BUCKTHORN. Fall in! Front face! [_She jumps into military position, +turning towards him._] What's this I hear from Sergeant Barket? He +says you've been falling in love. + +JENNY. I have. [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Young woman! Listen to my orders. Fallout! [_Turns sharply +and marches to_ HAVERILL.] Order the Third Brigade of Cavalry, under +Colonel Lowell, to occupy the left of the pike. + +JENNY. Papa! [_Running to him and seizing the tail of his coat._] +Papa, dear! + +BUCKTHORN. Close in Colonel Powell on the extreme left--[_Slapping his +coat-tails out of_ JENNY'S _hands, without looking around._]--and hold +Custer on the second line, at Old Forge Road. That is all at present. +[_Turns to_ JENNY.] Good-bye, my darling! [_Kisses her._] Remember +your orders! You little pet! [_Chuckling, as he taps her chin; draws +up suddenly; turns to_ HAVERILL.] General! I bid you good-day. + +HAVERILL. Good-day, General Buckthorn. [_They salute with great +dignity._ BUCKTHORN _starts up stage;_ JENNY _springs after him, +seizing his coat-tails._ + +JENNY. But I want to talk with you, papa; I can't fall out. I--I +haven't finished yet. [_Etc., clinging to his coat, as_ BUCKTHORN +_marches out rapidly, in road,--holding back with all her might._ + +HAVERILL. It may have been a ruse of the enemy, but I hope that +General Sheridan has turned back from Washington. [_Looking at his +note-book._] We are to make changes in our line at four o'clock this +afternoon. [_Returns book to pocket and stands in thought._] The +Surgeon tells me that Kerchival West will get on well enough if he +remains quiet; otherwise not. He shall not die by the hand of a +common assassin; he has no right to die like that. My wife gave my own +picture of herself to him--not to my son--and she looked so like an +angel when she took it from my hand! They were both false to me, and +they have been true to each other. I will save his life for myself. + +_Enter_ GERTRUDE, _on veranda._ + +GERTRUDE. General Haverill! [_Anxiously, coming down._] Colonel West +persists in disobeying the injunctions of the Surgeon. He is preparing +to join his regiment at the front. Give him your orders to remain +here. Compel him to be prudent! + +HAVERILL. [_Quickly._] The honour of death at the front is not in +reserve for him. + +GERTRUDE. Eh? What did you say, General? + +HAVERILL. Gertrude! I wish to speak to you, as your father's old +friend; and I was once your guardian. Your father was my senior +officer in the Mexican War. Without his care I should have been left +dead in a foreign land. He, himself, afterwards fell fighting for the +old flag. + +GERTRUDE. The old flag. [_Aside._] My father died for it, and +he--[_Looking left._]--is suffering for it--the old flag! + +HAVERILL. I can now return the kindness your father did to me, by +protecting his daughter from something that may be worse than death. + +GERTRUDE. What do you mean? + +HAVERILL. Last night I saw you kneeling at the side of Kerchival West; +you spoke to him with all the tender passion of a Southern woman. You +said you loved him. But you spoke into ears that could not hear you. +Has he ever heard those words from your lips? Have you ever confessed +your love to him before? + +GERTRUDE. Never. Why do you ask? + +HAVERILL. Do not repeat those words. Keep your heart to yourself, my +girl. + +GERTRUDE. General! Why do you say this to me? And at such a +moment--when his life-- + +HAVERILL. His life! [_Turning sharply._] It belongs to me! + +GERTRUDE. Oh! + +KERCHIVAL. Sergeant! [_Without. He steps in front road, looking +back._] See that my horse is ready at once. General! [_Saluting._] Are +there any orders for my regiment, beyond those given to Major Wilson, +in my absence, this morning? I am about to ride on after the troops +and re-assume my command. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] It is my wish, Colonel, that you remain here +under the care of the Surgeon. + +KERCHIVAL. My wound is a mere trifle. This may be a critical moment in +the campaign, and I cannot rest here. I must be with my own men. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] I beg to repeat the wish I have already +expressed. [KERCHIVAL _walks to him, and speaks apart, almost under +his breath, but very earnest in tone._ + +KERCHIVAL. I have had no opportunity, yet, to explain certain matters, +as you requested me to do yesterday; but whatever there may be +between us, you are now interfering with my duty and my privilege as a +soldier; and it is my right to be at the head of my regiment. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] It is my positive order that you do not +reassume your command. + +KERCHIVAL. General Haverill, I protest against this-- + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] You are under arrest, sir. + +KERCHIVAL. Arrest! + +GERTRUDE. Ah! [KERCHIVAL _unclasps his belt and offers his sword to_ +HAVERILL. + +HAVERILL. [_Quietly._] Keep your sword; I have no desire to humiliate +you; but hold yourself subject to further orders from me. [KERCHIVAL +_goes up veranda._ + +KERCHIVAL. My regiment at the front!--and I under arrest! [_Exit._ + +HAVERILL. Gertrude! If your heart refuses to be silent--if you feel +that you must confess your love to that man--first tell him what I +have said to you, and refer him to me for an explanation. [_Exit into +road._ + +GERTRUDE. What can he mean? He would save me from something worse +than death, he said. "His life--it belongs to me!" What can he mean? +Kerchival told me that he loved me--it seems many years since that +morning in Charleston--and when we met again, yesterday, he said that +he had never ceased to love me. I will not believe that he has told +me a falsehood. I have given him my love, my whole soul and my faith. +[_Drawing up to her full height._] My perfect faith! + +JENNY _runs in from road, and up the slope. She looks down the hill, +then enters._ + +JENNY. A flag of truce, Gertrude. And a party of Confederate soldiers, +with an escort, coming up the hill. They are carrying someone; he is +wounded. + +_Enter up the slope, a_ LIEUTENANT OF INFANTRY _with an escort +of Union soldiers, their arms at right shoulder, and a party of +Confederate soldiers bearing a rustic stretcher._ LIEUTENANT FRANK +BEDLOE _lies on the stretcher._ MAJOR HARDWICK, _a Confederate +Surgeon, walks at his side._ MADELINE _appears at veranda, watching +them._ GERTRUDE _stands with her back to audience. The_ LIEUTENANT +_gives orders in a low tone, and the front escort moves to right, in +road. The Confederate bearers and the_ SURGEON _pass through the gate. +The rear escort moves to left, in road, under_ LIEUTENANT'S _orders. +The bearers halt, front; on a sign from the_ SURGEON, _they leave the +stretcher on the ground, stepping back._ + +MAJOR HARDWICK. Is General Haverill here? + +GERTRUDE. Yes; what can we do, sir? + +MADELINE. The General is just about mounting with his staff, to ride +away. Shall I go for him, sir? + +MAJOR. Say to him, please, that Colonel Robert Ellingham, of the Tenth +Virginia, sends his respects and sympathy. He instructed me to bring +this young officer to this point, in exchange for himself, as agreed +upon between them last evening. [_Exit_ MADELINE. + +JENNY. Is he unconscious or sleeping, sir? + +MAJOR. Hovering between life and death. I thought he would bear the +removal better. He is waking. Here, my lad! [_Placing his canteen to +the lips of_ FRANK, _who moves, reviving._] We have reached the end of +our journey. + +FRANK. My father! + +MAJOR. He is thinking of his home. [FRANK _rises on one arm, assisted +by the_ SURGEON. + +FRANK. I have obeyed General Haverill's orders, and I have a report to +make. + +GERTRUDE. We have already sent for him. [_Stepping to him._] He will +be here in a moment. + +FRANK. [_Looking into her face, brightly._] Is not +this--Miss--Gertrude Ellingham? + +GERTRUDE. You know me? You have seen me before? + +FRANK. Long ago! Long ago! You know the wife of General Haverill? + +GERTRUDE. I have no dearer friend in the world. + +FRANK. She will give a message for me to the dearest friend _I_ have +in the world. My little wife! I must not waste even the moment we are +waiting. Doctor! My note-book! [_Trying to get it from his coat. The_ +SURGEON _takes it out. A torn and blood-stained lace handkerchief also +falls out._ GERTRUDE _kneels at his side._] Ah! I--I--have a message +from another--[_Holding up handkerchief._]--from Captain Heartsease. +[JENNY _makes a quick start towards him._] He lay at my side in the +hospital, when they brought me away; he had only strength enough to +put this in my hand, and he spoke a woman's name; but I--I--forgot +what it is. The red spots upon it are the only message he sent. +[GERTRUDE _takes the handkerchief and looks back at_ JENNY, _extending +her hand._ JENNY _moves to her, takes the handkerchief and turns back, +looking down on it. She drops her face into her hands and goes out +sobbing._ + +_Enter_ MADELINE _on veranda._ + +MADELINE. General Haverill is coming. I was just in time. He was +already on his horse. + +FRANK. Ah! He is coming. [_Then suddenly._] Write! Write! [GERTRUDE +_writes in the note-book as he dictates._] "To--my wife--Edith:--Tell +our little son, when he is old enough to know--how his father died; +not how he lived. And tell her who filled my own mother's place so +lovingly--she is your mother, too--that my father's portrait of her, +which she gave to me in Charleston, helped me to be a better man!" +And--oh! I must not forget this--"It was taken away from me while I +was a prisoner in Richmond, and it is in the possession of Captain +Henry Thornton, of the Confederate Secret Service. But her face is +still beside your own in my heart. My best--warmest, last--love--to +you, darling." I will sign it. [GERTRUDE _holds the book, and he signs +it, then sinks back very quietly, supported by the_ SURGEON. GERTRUDE +_rises and walks right._ + +MADELINE. General Haverill is here. [_The_ SURGEON _lays the fold of +the blanket over_ FRANK'S _face and rises._ + +GERTRUDE. Doctor! + +MAJOR. He is dead. [MADELINE, _on veranda, turns and looks left. The_ +LIEUTENANT _orders the guard,_ "Present Arms". _Enter_ HAVERILL, _on +veranda. He salutes the guard as he passes. The_ LIEUTENANT _orders,_ +"Carry Arms." HAVERILL _comes down._ + +HAVERILL. I am too late? + +MAJOR. I'm sorry, General. His one eager thought as we came was to +reach here in time to see you. [HAVERILL _moves to the bier, looks +down at it, then folds back the blanket from the face. He starts +slightly as he first sees it._ + +HAVERILL. Brave boy! I hoped once to have a son like you. I shall +be in your father's place, to-day, at your grave. [_He replaces the +blanket and steps back._] We will carry him to his comrades in the +front. He shall have a soldier's burial, in sight of the mountain-top +beneath which he sacrificed his young life; that shall be his +monument. + +MAJOR. Pardon me, General. We Virginians are your enemies, but you +cannot honour this young soldier more than we do. Will you allow my +men the privilege of carrying him to his grave? [HAVERILL _inclines +his head. The_ SURGEON _motions to the Confederate soldiers, who step +to the bier and raise it gently._ + +HAVERILL. Lieutenant! [_The_ LIEUTENANT _orders the guard,_ "Left +Face." _The Confederate bearers move through the gate, preceded by_ +LIEUTENANT HARDWICK. HAVERILL _draws his sword, reverses it, and moves +up behind the bier with bowed head. The_ LIEUTENANT _orders_ "Forward +March," _and the cortege disappears. While the girls are still +watching it, the heavy sound of distant artillery is heard, with +booming reverberations among the hills and in the Valley._ + +MADELINE. What is that sound, Gertrude? + +GERTRUDE. Listen! [_Another and more prolonged distant sound, with +long reverberations._ + +MADELINE. Again! Gertrude! [GERTRUDE _raises her hand to command +silence; listens. Distant cannon again._ + +GERTRUDE. It is the opening of a battle. + +MADELINE. Ah! [_Running down stage. The sounds again. Prolonged +rumble._ + +GERTRUDE. How often have I heard that sound. [_Coming down._] This is +war, Madeline! You are face to face with it now. + +MADELINE. And Robert is there! He may be in the thickest of the +danger--at this very moment. + +GERTRUDE. Yes. Let our prayers go up for him; mine do, with all a +sister's heart. [KERCHIVAL _enters on veranda, without coat or vest, +his sash about his waist, looking back as he comes in._] Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. Go on! Go on! Keep the battle to yourselves. I'm out of it. +[_The distant cannon and reverberations rising in volume. Prolonged +and distant rumble._ + +MADELINE. I pray for Robert Ellingham--and for the _cause_ in which he +risks his life! [KERCHIVAL _looks at her, suddenly; also_ GERTRUDE.] +Heaven forgive me if I am wrong, but I am praying for the enemies +of my country. His people are my people, his enemies are my enemies. +Heaven defend him and his, in this awful hour. + +KERCHIVAL. Madeline! My sister! + +MADELINE. Oh, Kerchival! [_Turning and dropping her face on his +breast._] I cannot help it--I cannot help it! + +KERCHIVAL. My poor girl! Every woman's heart, the world over, belongs +not to any country or any flag, but to her husband--and her lover. +Pray for the man you love, sister--it would be treason not to. +[_Passes her before him to left. Looks across to_ GERTRUDE.] Am I +right? [GERTRUDE _drops her head._ MADELINE _moves up veranda and +out._] Is what I have said to Madeline true? + +GERTRUDE. Yes! [_Looks up._] Kerchival! + +KERCHIVAL. Gertrude! [_Hurries across to her, clasps her in his arms. +He suddenly staggers and brings his hand to his breast._ + +GERTRUDE. Your wound! [_Supporting him as he reels and sinks into +seat._ + +KERCHIVAL. Wound! I have no wound! You do love me! [_Seizing her +hand._ + +GERTRUDE. Let me call the Surgeon, Kerchival. + +KERCHIVAL. You can be of more service to me than he can. [_Detaining +her. Very heavy sounds of the battle; she starts, listening._] Never +mind that! It's only a battle. You love me! + +GERTRUDE. Be quiet, Kerchival, dear. I do love you. I told you so, +when you lay bleeding here, last night. But you could not hear me. +[_At his side, resting her arm about him, stroking his head._] I said +that same thing--to--to--another, more than three years ago. It is +in that letter that General Buckthorn gave you. [KERCHIVAL _starts._] +No--no--you must be very quiet, or I will not say another word. If you +obey me, I will repeat that part of the letter, every word; I know +it by heart, for I read it a dozen times. The letter is from Mrs. +Haverill. + +KERCHIVAL. [_Quietly._] Go on. + +GERTRUDE. "I have kept your secret, my darling, but I was sorely +tempted to betray the confidence you reposed in me at Charleston. +If Kerchival West--[_She retires backward from him as she +proceeds._]--had heard you say, as I did, when your face was hidden in +my bosom, that night, that you loved him with your whole heart--" + +KERCHIVAL. Ah! [_Starting to his feet. He sinks back. She springs to +support him._ + +GERTRUDE. I will go for help. + +KERCHIVAL. Do not leave me at such a moment as this. You have brought +me a new life. [_Bringing her to her knees before him and looking down +at her._] Heaven is just opening before me. [_His hands drops suddenly +and his head falls back. Battle._ + +GERTRUDE. Ah! Kerchival! You are dying! [_Musketry. A sudden sharp +burst of musketry, mingled with the roar of artillery near by._ +KERCHIVAL _starts, seizing_ GERTRUDE'S _arm and holding her away, +still on her knees. He looks eagerly._ + +KERCHIVAL. The enemy is close upon us! + +BARKET _runs in, up the slope._ + +BARKET. Colonel Wist! The devils have sprung out of the ground. +They're pouring over our lift flank like Noah's own flood. The Union +Army has started back for Winchester, on its way to the North Pole; +our own regiment, Colonel, is coming over the hill in full retrate. + +KERCHIVAL. My own regiment! [_Starting up._] Get my horse, Barket. +[_Turns._] Gertrude, my life! [_Embraces_ GERTRUDE. + +BARKET. Your horse, is it? I'm wid ye! There's a row at Finnegan's +ball, and we're in it. [_Springs to road, and out._ + +KERCHIVAL. [_Turns away. Stops._] I am under arrest. [_Retreat. +Fugitives begin to straggle across stage._ + +GERTRUDE. You must not go, Kerchival; it will kill you. + +KERCHIVAL. Arrest be damned! [_Starts up stage, raises his arms above +his head with clenched fist, rising to full height._] Stand out of my +way, you cowards! [_They cower away from him as he rushes out among +them. The stream of fugitives passing across stage swells in volume._ +GERTRUDE _runs through them and up to the elevation, turning._ + +GERTRUDE. Men! Are you soldiers? Turn back! There is a leader for you! +Turn back! Fight for your flag--and mine!--the flag my father died +for! Turn back! [_She looks out and turns front._] He has been marked +for death already, and I--I can only pray. [_Dropping to her knees._ + +_The stream of fugitives continues, now over the elevation also. Rough +and torn uniforms, bandaged arms and legs; some limping and supported +by others, some dragging their muskets after them, others without +muskets, others using them as crutches. Variety of uniforms, cavalry, +infantry, etc.; flags draggled on the ground, the rattle of near +musketry and roar of cannon continue; two or three wounded fugitives +drop down beside the hedge._ BENSON _staggers in and drops upon rock +or stump near post. Artillerists, rough, torn and wounded, drag and +force a field-piece across._ CORPORAL DUNN, _wounded, staggers to the +top of elevation. There is a lull in the sounds of the battle. Distant +cheers are heard without._ + +CORPORAL DUNN. Listen, fellows! Stop! Listen! Sheridan! General +Sheridan is coming! [_Cheers from those on stage._ GERTRUDE _rises +quickly. The wounded soldiers rise, looking over hedge. All on stage +stop, looking eagerly. The cheers without come nearer, with shouts of_ +"Sheridan! Sheridan!"] The horse is down; he is worn out. + +GERTRUDE. No! He is up again! He is on my Jack! Now, for your life, +Jack, and for me! You've never failed me yet. [_The cheers without now +swell to full volume and are taken up by those on the stage. The horse +sweeps by with_ GENERAL SHERIDAN.] Jack! Jack!! Jack!!! [_Waving her +arms as he passes. She throws up her arms and falls backward, caught +by_ DUNN. _The stream of men is reversed and surges across stage +to road and on elevation, with shouts, throwing up hats, etc. The +field-piece is forced up the slope with a few bold, rough movements; +the artillerists are loading it, and the stream of returning fugitives +is still surging by in the road as the curtain falls._ + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE. _Residence of_ GENERAL BUCKTHORN, _in Washington. Interior. +Fireplace slanting upward. Small alcove. Opening to hall, with +staircase beyond, and also entrance from out left. Door up stage. A +wide opening, with portieres to apartment. Upright piano down stage. +Armchair and low stool before fireplace. Small table for tea, etc. +Ottoman. Other chairs, ottomans, etc., to taste._ + +TIME. _Afternoon._ + +DISCOVERED. MRS. HAVERILL, _in armchair, resting her face upon her +hand, and looking into the fire._ EDITH _is on a low stool at her +side, sewing a child's garment._ + +EDITH. It seems hardly possible that the war is over, and that General +Lee has really surrendered. [_Fife and drum, without._] There is +music in the streets nearly all the time, now, and everybody looks so +cheerful and bright. [_Distant fife and drums heard playing "Johnnie +Comes Marching Home."_ EDITH _springs up and runs up to window, +looking out._] More troops returning! The old tattered battle-flag +is waving in the wind, and people are running after them so merrily. +[_Music stops._] Every day, now, seems like a holiday. [_Coming +down._] The war is over. All the women ought to feel very happy, +whose--whose husbands are--coming back to them. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Yes, Edith; those women whose--husbands are coming back +to them. [_Still looking into fire._ + +EDITH. Oh! [_Dropping upon the stool, her head upon the arm of the +chair._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Resting her arm over her._] My poor little darling! +_Your_ husband will not come back. + +EDITH. Frank's last message has never reached me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. No; but you have one sweet thought always with you. +Madeline West heard part of it, as Gertrude wrote it down. His last +thought was a loving one, of you. + +EDITH. Madeline says that he was thinking of you, too. He knew that +you were taking such loving care of his little one, and of me. You +have always done that, since you first came back from Charleston, and +found me alone in New York. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I found a dear, sweet little daughter. [_Stroking her +head._] Heaven sent you, darling! You have been a blessing to me. I +hardly know how I should have got through the past few months at all +without you at my side. + +EDITH. What is your own trouble, dear? I have found you in tears +so often; and since last October, after the battle of Cedar Creek, +you--you have never shown me a letter from--from my--Frank's father. +General Haverill arrived in Washington yesterday, but has not been +here yet. Is it because I am here? He has never seen me, and I feel +that he has never forgiven Frank for marrying me. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Nonsense, my child; he did think the marriage was +imprudent, but he told me to do everything I could for you. If General +Haverill has not been to see either of us, since his arrival in +Washington, it is nothing that you need to worry your dear little head +about. How are you getting on with your son's wardrobe? + +EDITH. Oh! Splendidly! Frankie isn't a baby any longer; he's a man, +now, and he has to wear a man's clothes. [_Holding up a little pair of +trousers, with maternal pride._] He's rather young to be dressed like +a man, but I want Frank to grow up as soon as possible. I long to +have him old enough to understand me when I repeat to him the words +in which General Haverill told the whole world how his father died! +[_Rising._] And yet, even in his official report to the Government, he +only honoured him as Lieutenant Bedloe. He has never forgiven his son +for the disgrace he brought upon his name. + +MRS. HAVERILL. I know him so well--[_Rising._]--the unyielding pride, +that conquers even the deep tenderness of his nature. He can be +silent, though his own heart is breaking. [_Aside._] He can be silent, +too, though _my_ heart is breaking. [_Dropping her face in her hand._ + +EDITH. _Mother!_ [_Putting her arm about her._ + +_Enter_ JANNETTE. + +JANNETTE. A letter for you, Madam. + +MRS. HAVERILL. [_Taking note. Aside._] He has answered me. [_Opens and +reads; inclines her head to_ JANNETTE, _who goes out to hall. Aloud._] +General Haverill will be here this afternoon, Edith. [_Exit up the +stairs._ + +EDITH. There is something that she cannot confide to me, or to anyone. +General Haverill returned to Washington yesterday, and he has not been +here yet. He will be here to-day. I always tremble when I think of +meeting him. + +GENERAL BUCKTHORN _appears in hall._ + +BUCKTHORN. Come right in; this way, Barket. Ah, Edith! + +BARKET. [_Entering._] As I was saying, sur--just after the battle of +Sayder Creek began-- + +BUCKTHORN. [_To_ EDITH.] More good news! The war is, indeed, over, +now! + +BARKET. Whin Colonel Wist rode to the front to mate his raytrating +rigiment-- + +BUCKTHORN. General Johnson has surrendered his army, also; and that, +of course, does end the war. + +EDITH. I'm very glad that all the fighting is over. + +BUCKTHORN. So am I; but my occupation, and old Barket's, too, is gone. +Always at work on new clothes for our little soldier? + +EDITH. He's growing so, I can hardly make them fast enough for him. +But this is the time for his afternoon nap. I must go now, to see if +he is sleeping soundly. + +BUCKTHORN. Our dear little mother! [_Tapping her chin._] I always +claim the privilege of my white hair, you know. [_She, puts up her +lips; he kisses her. She goes out._] The sweetest young widow I ever +saw! [BARKET _coughs._ BUCKTHORN _turns sharply;_ BARKET _salutes._] +Well! What the devil are you thinking about now? + +BARKET. The ould time, sur. Yer honour used to claim the same +privilege for brown hair. + +BUCKTHORN. You old rascal! What a memory you have! You were telling me +for the hundredth time about the battle of Cedar Creek; go on. I can +never hear it often enough. Kerchival West was a favourite of mine, +poor fellow! + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, when the Colonel +rode to the front to mate his raytrating rigiment-- + +BUCKTHORN. I'll tell Old Margery to bring in tea for both of us, +Barket. + +BARKET. For both of us, sur? + +BUCKTHORN. Yes; and later in the evening we'll have something else, +together. This is a great day for all of us. I'm not your commander +to-day, but your old comrade in arms--[_Laying his arm over_ BARKET'S +_shoulder._]--and I'm glad I don't have to pull myself up now every +time I forget my dignity. Ah! you and I will be laid away before long, +but we'll be together again in the next world, won't we, Barket? + +BARKET. Wid yer honour's permission. [_Saluting._ + +BUCKTHORN. Ha--ha--ha! [_Laughing._] If we do meet there I'm certain +you'll salute me as your superior officer. There's old Margery, now. +[_Looking to door. Calls._] Margery! Tea for two! + +MARGERY. [_Without._] The tay be waiting for ye, sur; and it be +boilin' over wid impatience. + +BUCKTHORN. Bring up a chair, Barket. [_Sitting in arm-chair._ + +BARKET. [_Having placed table and drawing up a chair._] Do you know, +Gineral, I don't fale quite aisy in my moind. I'm not quite sure that +Margery will let us take our tay together. [_Sits down, doubtfully._ + +BUCKTHORN. I hadn't thought of that. I--[_Glancing right._]--I +hope she will, Barket. But, of course, if she won't--she's been +commander-in-chief of my household ever since Jenny was a baby. + +BARKET. At Fort Duncan, in Texas. + +BUCKTHORN. You and Old Margery never got along very well in those +days; but I thought you had made it all up; she nursed you through +your wound, last summer, and after the battle of Cedar Creek, also. + +BARKET. Yis, sur, bliss her kind heart, she's been like a wife to me; +and that's the trouble. A man's wife is such an angel when he's ill +that he dreads to get well; good health is a misfortune to him. Auld +Margery and I have had anither misunderstanding. + +BUCKTHORN. I'll do the best I can for both of us, Barket. You were +telling me about the battle of-- + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, whin Colonel +Wist rode to the front to mate his raytrating rigiment-- + +_Enter_ OLD MARGERY, _tray, tea, &c. She stops abruptly, looking at_ +BARKET. _He squirms in his chair._ BUCKTHORN _rises and stands with +his back to the mantel._ OLD MARGERY _moves to the table, arranges +things on it, glances at_ BARKET, _then at_ BUCKTHORN, _who looks up +at ceiling, rubbing his chin, &c._ OLD MARGERY _takes up one of the +cups, with saucer._ + +OLD MARGERY. I misunderstood yer order, sur. I see there's no one here +but yerself. [_Going right._ + +BUCKTHORN. Ah, Margery! [_She stops._] Barket tells me that there has +been a slight misunderstanding between you and him. + +OLD MARGERY. Day before yisterday, the ould Hibernian dhrone had the +kitchen upside down, to show anither old milithary vagabone loike +himself how the battle of Sayder Creek was fought. He knocked the +crame pitcher into the basket of clane clothes, and overturned some +raspberry jam and the flat-irons into a pan of fresh eggs. There _has_ +been a misunderstanding betwane us. + +BUCKTHORN. I see there has. I suppose Barket was showing his friend +how Colonel Kerchival West rode forward to meet his regiment, when he +was already wounded dangerously. + +OLD MARGERY. Bliss the poor, dear young man! He and I was always good +frinds, though he was somethin' of a devil in the kitchen himself, +whin he got there. [_Wiping her eye with one corner of her apron._] +And bliss the young Southern lady that was in love wid him, too. +[_Changing the cup and wiping the other eye with the corner of her +apron._] Nothing was iver heard of ayther of thim after that battle +was over, to this very day. + +BUCKTHORN. Barket was at Kerchival's side when he rode to the front. +[OLD MARGERY _hesitates a moment, then moves to the table, sets down +the cup and marches out._ BUCKTHORN _sits in the arm-chair again, +pouring tea._] I could always find some way to get Old Margery to do +what I wanted her to do. + +BARKET. You're a great man, Ginerel; we'd niver have conquered the +South widout such men. + +BUCKTHORN. Now go on, Barket; you were interrupted. + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began, whin-- + +_Enter_ JANNETTE _with card, which she hands to_ BUCKTHORN. + +BUCKTHORN. [_Reading card._] Robert Ellingham! [_Rises._] I will go to +him. [_To_ JANNETTE.] Go upstairs and tell Madeline to come down. + +JANNETTE. Yes, sir. [_Going._ + +BUCKTHORN. And, Jannette, simply say there is a caller; don't tell her +who is here. [_Exit_ JANNETTE _upstairs._ BUCKTHORN _follows her +out to hall._] Ellingham! My dear fellow! [_Extending his hand and +disappearing._ + +BARKET. Colonel Ellingham and Miss Madeline--lovers! That's the kind +o' volunteers the country nades now! + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN _and_ ELLINGHAM. + +BUCKTHORN. [_As he enters._] We've been fighting four years to keep +you out of Washington, Colonel, but we are delighted to see you within +the lines, now. + +ELLINGHAM. I am glad, indeed, General, to have so warm a welcome. But +can you tell me anything about my sister, Gertrude? + +BUCKTHORN. About your sister? Why, can't you tell us? And have you +heard nothing of Kerchival West on your side of the line? + +ELLINGHAM. All I can tell you is this: As soon as possible after our +surrender at Appomattox, I made my way to the Shenandoah Valley. Our +home there is utterly deserted. I have hurried down to Washington in +the hopes that I might learn something of you. There is no human being +about the old homestead; it is like a haunted house--empty, and dark, +and solitary. You do not even know where Gertrude is? + +BUCKTHORN. We only know that Kerchival was not found among the dead of +his own regiment at Cedar Creek, though he fell among them during +the fight. The three girls searched the field for him, but he was +not there. As darkness came on, and they were returning to the house, +Gertrude suddenly seized the bridle of a stray horse, sprang upon its +back and rode away to the South, into the woods at the foot of Three +Top Mountain. The other two girls watched for her in vain. She did not +return, and we have heard nothing from her since. + +ELLINGHAM. Poor girl! I understand what was in her thoughts, and she +was right. We captured fourteen hundred prisoners that day, although +we were defeated, and Kerchival must have been among them. Gertrude +rode away, alone, in the darkness, to find him. I shall return to the +South at once and learn where she now is. + +JANNETTE _has re-entered, down the stairs._ + +JANNETTE. Miss Madeline will be down in a moment. [_Exit in hall._ + +BARKET. [_Aside._] That name wint through his chist like a rifle ball. + +BUCKTHORN. Will you step into the drawing-room, Colonel? I will see +Madeline myself, first. She does not even know that you are living. + +ELLINGHAM. I hardly dared asked for her. [_Passing; turns._] Is she +well? + +BUCKTHORN. Yes; and happy--or soon will be. + +ELLINGHAM. Peace, at last! [_Exit to apartment._ BUCKTHORN _closes +portieres._ + +BUCKTHORN. I ought to prepare Madeline a little, Barket; you must help +me. + +BARKET. Yis, sur, I will. + +_Enter_ MADELINE _down the stairs._ + +MADELINE. Uncle! Jannette said you wished to see me; there is a +visitor here. Who is it? + +BARKET. Colonel Robert Ellingham. + +MADELINE. Ah! [_Staggering._ + +BUCKTHORN. [_Supporting her._] You infernal idiot! I'll put you in the +guard-house! + +BARKET. You wanted me to help ye, Gineral. + +MADELINE. Robert is alive--and here? [_Rising from his arms, she moves +to the portieres, holds them aside, peeping in; gives a joyful start, +tosses aside the portieres and runs through._ + +BUCKTHORN. Barket! There's nothing but that curtain between us and +Heaven. + +BARKET. I don't like stayin' out o' Hivin, myself, sur. Gineral! I'll +kiss Ould Margery--if I die for it! [_Exit._ + +BUCKTHORN. Kiss Old Margery! I'll give him a soldier's funeral. +[_Enter_ JENNY _from hall, demurely._] Ah! Jenny, my dear! I have news +for you. Colonel Robert Ellingham is in the drawing-room. + +JENNY. Oh! I am delighted. [_Starting._ + +BUCKTHORN. A-h-e-m! + +JENNY. Oh!--exactly. I see. I have some news for _you,_ papa. Captain +Heartsease has arrived in Washington. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! My dear! I have often confessed to you how utterly +mistaken I was about that young man. He is a soldier--as good a +soldier as you are. I'll ask him to the house. + +JENNY. [_Demurely._] He is here now. + +BUCKTHORN. Now? + +JENNY. He's been here an hour; in the library. + +BUCKTHORN. Why! Barket and I were in the library fifteen minutes ago. + +JENNY. Yes, sir. We were in the bay-window; the curtains were closed. + +BUCKTHORN. Oh! exactly; I see. You may tell him he has my full +consent. + +JENNY. He hasn't asked for it. + +BUCKTHORN. Hasn't he? And you've been in the bay-window an hour? Well, +my darling--I was considered one of the best Indian fighters in the +old army, but it took me four years to propose to your mother. I'll go +and see the Captain. [_Exit to hall._ + +JENNY. I wonder if it will take Captain Heartsease four years to +propose to me. Before he left Washington, nearly two years ago, he +told everybody in the circle of my acquaintance, except me, that he +was in love with me. I'll be an old lady in caps before our engagement +commences. Poor, dear mother! The idea of a girl's waiting four years +for a chance to say "Yes." It's been on the tip of my tongue so often, +I'm afraid it'll pop out, at last, before he pops the question. + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN _and_ HEARTSEASE _from hall._ + +BUCKTHORN. Walk right in, Captain; this is the family room. You must +make yourself quite at home here. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you. [_Walking down._ + +BUCKTHORN. My dear! [_Apart to_ JENNY.] The very first thing he said +to me, after our greeting, was that he loved my daughter. + +JENNY. Now he's told my father! + +BUCKTHORN. He's on fire! + +JENNY. Is he? [_Looking at_ HEARTSEASE, _who stands quietly stroking +his mustache._] Why doesn't he tell _me?_ + +BUCKTHORN. You may have to help him a little; your mother assisted +me. [_Turning up stage._] When you and Jenny finish your chat, +Captain--[_Lighting a cigar at the mantel._]--you must join me in the +smoking-room. + +HEARTSEASE. I shall be delighted. By the way, General--I have been in +such a fever of excitement since I arrived at this house-- + +JENNY. [_Aside._] Fever? Chills! + +HEARTSEASE. That I forgot it entirely. I have omitted a very important +and a very sad commission. I have brought with me the note-book of +Lieutenant Frank Bedloe--otherwise Haverill--in which Miss Gertrude +Ellingham wrote down his last message to his young wife. + +JENNY. Have you seen Gertrude? + +BUCKTHORN. [_Taking book._] How did this note-book come into your +possession? + +HEARTSEASE. Miss Ellingham visited the prison in North Carolina where +I was detained. She was going from hospital to hospital, from prison +to prison, and from burial-place to burial-place, to find Colonel +Kerchival West, if living--or some record of his death. + +BUCKTHORN. Another Evangeline! Searching for her lover through the +wilderness of this great war! + +HEARTSEASE. I was about to be exchanged at the time, and she requested +me to bring this to her friends in Washington. She had not intended to +carry it away with her. I was not exchanged, as we then expected, but +I afterwards escaped from prison to General Sherman's army. + +BUCKTHORN. I will carry this long-delayed message to the widowed young +mother. [_Exit._ + +JENNY. I remember so well, when poor Lieutenant Haverill took out the +note-book and asked Gertrude to write for him. He--he brought me a +message at the same time. [_Their eyes meet. He puts up his glasses. +She turns away, touching her eyes._ + +HEARTSEASE. I--I remember the circumstances you probably allude to; +that is--when he left my side--I--I gave him my--I mean your--lace +handkerchief. + +JENNY. It is sacred to me! + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s--I would say--is it? + +JENNY. [_Wiping her eyes._] It was stained with the life-blood of a +hero! + +HEARTSEASE. I must apologize to you for its condition. I hadn't any +chance to have it washed and ironed. + +JENNY. [_Looking around at him, suddenly; then, aside._] What could +any girl do with a lover like that? [_Turning up stage._ + +HEARTSEASE. [_Aside._] She seems to remember that incident so +tenderly! My blood boils! + +JENNY. Didn't you long to see your--your friends at home--when you +were in prison, Captain? + +HEARTSEASE. Yes--especially--I longed especially, Miss Buckthorn, to +see-- + +JENNY. _Yes!--to see--_ + +HEARTSEASE. But there were lots of jolly fellows in the prison. [JENNY +_turns away._] We had a dramatic society, and a glee club, and an +orchestra. I was one of the orchestra. I had a banjo, with one string; +I played one tune on it, that I used to play on the piano with one +finger. But, Miss Buckthorn, I am a prisoner again, to-night--your +prisoner. + +JENNY. [_Aside._] At last! + +HEARTSEASE. I'll show you how that tune went. [_Turns to piano; sits._ + +JENNY. [_Aside._] Papa said I'd have to help him, but I don't see an +opening. [HEARTSEASE _plays part of an air with one finger; strikes +two or three wrong notes._ + +HEARTSEASE. There are two notes down there, somewhere, that I +never could get right. The fellows in prison used to dance while I +played--[_Playing._]--that is, the lame ones did; those that weren't +lame couldn't keep the time. + +JENNY. You must have been in great danger, Captain, when you escaped +from prison. + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s. I was badly frightened several times. One night +I came face to face, on the road, with a Confederate officer. It was +Captain Thornton. + +JENNY. Oh! What did you do? + +HEARTSEASE. I killed him. [_Very quietly, and trying the tune again +at once. Enter_ JANNETTE, _from in hall; she glances into the room +and goes up the stairs._] I used to skip those two notes on the banjo. +It's very nice for a soldier to come home from the war, and meet +those--I mean the one particular person--that he--you see, when a +soldier loves a woman, as--as-- + +JENNY. [_Aside._] As he loves me. [_Approaches him._ + +HEARTSEASE. As soldiers often do--[_Plays; she turns away, petulantly; +he plays the tune through correctly._] That's it! + +JENNY. [_Aside._] I'm not going to be made love to by piece-meal, +like this, any longer. [_Aloud._] Captain Heartsease! Have you +anything in particular to say to me? [_He looks up._ + +HEARTSEASE. Y-e-s. [_Rising._ + +JENNY. Say it! You told my father, and all my friends, that you were +in love with me. Whom are you going to tell next? + +HEARTSEASE. I _am_ in love with you. + +JENNY. It was my turn. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Going near to her._] Do you love me? + +JENNY. [_Laying her head quietly on his breast._] I must take time to +consider. + +HEARTSEASE. [_Quietly._] I assume that this means "Yes." + +JENNY. It isn't the way a girl says "No." + +HEARTSEASE. My darling! + +JENNY. Why! His heart is beating as fast as mine is! + +HEARTSEASE. [_Quietly._] I am frantic with joy. [_He kisses her. She +hides her face on his breast. Enter_ MRS. HAVERILL, _down-stairs, +followed by_ JANNETTE. MRS. HAVERILL _stops suddenly._ JANNETTE +_stands in the doorway._ HEARTSEASE _inclines his head to her, quietly +looking at her over_ JENNY.] I am delighted to see you, after so long +an absence; I trust that we shall meet more frequently hereafter. + +JENNY. [_Looking at him._] Eh? + +HEARTSEASE. [_Looking down at her._] I think, perhaps, it might be +as well for us to repair to another apartment, and continue our +interview, there! + +JENNY. [_Dropping her head on his breast again._] This room is very +comfortable. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Jenny, dear! [JENNY _starts up; looks from_ MRS. +HAVERILL _to_ HEARTSEASE. + +JENNY. Constance! I--'Bout face! March! [_Turns and goes out._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. I am glad to see you again, Captain, and happy as well +as safe. + +HEARTSEASE. Thank you, Madam. I am happy. If you will excuse me, I +will join--my father--in the smoking-room. [MRS. HAVERILL _inclines +her head, and_ HEARTSEASE _walks out._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. Jannette! You may ask General Haverill to come into +this room. [_Exit_ JANNETTE. MRS. HAVERILL _walks down, reading +a note._] "I have hesitated to come to you personally, as I have +hesitated to write to you. If I have been silent, it is because I +could not bring my hand to write what was in my mind and in my heart. +I do not know that I can trust my tongue to speak it, but I will +come." + +_Enter_ HAVERILL _from hall; he stops._ + +HAVERILL. Constance! + +MRS. HAVERILL. My husband! May I call you husband? After all these +months of separation, with your life in almost daily peril, and my +life--what? Only a weary longing for one loving word--and you are +silent. + +HAVERILL. May I call you wife? I do not wish to speak that word except +with reverence. You have asked me to come to you. I am here. I will +be plain, direct and brief. Where is the portrait of yourself, which I +gave you, in Charleston, for my son? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Your son is dead, sir; and my portrait lies upon his +breast, in the grave. [HAVERILL _takes the miniature from his pocket +and holds it towards her in his extended hand. She starts back._] He +gave it to you? And you ask me where it is? + +HAVERILL. It might have lain in the grave of Kerchival West! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Ah! + +HAVERILL. Not in my son's. I found it upon _his_ breast. [_She turns +front, dazed._] Well! I am listening! It was not I that sought this +interview, Madam; and if you prefer to remain silent, I will go. You +know, now, why I have been silent so long. + +MRS. HAVERILL. My only witnesses to the truth are both dead. I shall +remain silent. [_Turning towards him._] We stand before each other, +living, but not so happy as they. We are parted, forever. Even if you +should accept my unsupported word--if I could so far forget my pride +as to give it to you--suspicion would still hang between us. I +remain silent. [HAVERILL _looks at her, earnestly, for a moment; then +approaches her._ + +HAVERILL. I cannot look into your eyes and not see truth and loyalty +there. Constance! + +MRS. HAVERILL. No, John! [_Checking him._] I will not accept your +blind faith! + +HAVERILL. [_Looking down at the picture in his hand._] My faith is +blind; blind as my love! I do not wish to see! [_Enter_ EDITH. _She +stops; looks at_ HAVERILL. _He raises his head and looks at her._ + +EDITH. This is General Haverill? [_Dropping her eyes._] I am Edith, +sir. + +HAVERILL. [_Gently._] My son's wife. [_Kisses her forehead._] You +shall take the place he once filled in my heart. His crime and his +disgrace are buried in a distant grave. + +EDITH. And you have not forgiven him, even yet? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Is there no atonement for poor Frank's sin--not even +his death? Can you only bury the wrong and forget the good? + +HAVERILL. The good? + +MRS. HAVERILL. Your own words to the Government, as his commander! + +HAVERILL. What do you mean? + +MRS. HAVERILL. "The victory of Cedar Creek would have been impossible +without the sacrifice of this young officer." + +HAVERILL. My own words, yes--but-- + +EDITH. "His name must take its place, forever, in the roll of names +which his countrymen honour." + +HAVERILL. Lieutenant Bedloe! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Haverill! You did not know? + +HAVERILL. My--son. + +EDITH. You did not receive mother's letter?--after his death? + +HAVERILL. My son! [_Sinking upon chair or ottoman._] I left him alone +in his grave, unknown; but my tears fell for him then, as they do now. +He died before I reached him. + +EDITH. Father! [_Laying her hand gently on his shoulder._] You shall +see Frank's face again. His little son is lying asleep upstairs; and +when he wakes up, Frank's own eyes will look into yours. I have +just received his last message. I will read it to you. [_Note-book. +Reads._] "Tell our little son how his father died, not how he lived. +And tell her who filled my own mother's place so lovingly." [_She +looks at_ MRS. HAVERILL, _moves to her and hides her face in her +bosom._] My mother! + +MRS. HAVERILL. Edith--my child! Frank loved us both. + +EDITH. [_Reading._] "Father's portrait of her, which she gave to me in +Charleston--[HAVERILL _starts._]--helped me to be a better man." + +HAVERILL. [_Rising to his feet._] Constance! + +EDITH. [_Reading._] "It was taken from me in Richmond, and it is in +the possession of Captain Edward Thornton." + +HAVERILL. One moment! Stop! Let me think! [EDITH _looks at him; +retires up stage._] Thornton was a prisoner--and to Kerchival West. A +despatch had been found upon him--he was searched! [_He moves to her +and takes both her hands in his own, bowing his head over them._] My +head is bowed in shame. + +MRS. HAVERILL. Speak to me, John, as you used to speak! Tell me you +still love me! + +HAVERILL. The--the words will come--but they are--choking me--now. +[_Presses her hand to his lips._ + +MRS. HAVERILL. We will think no more of the past, except of what +was bright in it. Frank's memory, and our own love, will be with us +always. + +_Enter_ BUCKTHORN, _followed by_ HEARTSEASE. + +BUCKTHORN. Haverill! You are back from the war, too. It begins to look +like peace in earnest. + +HAVERILL. Yes. Peace and home. [_Shaking hands with him._ MRS. +HAVERILL _joins_ EDITH. + +_Enter_ BARKET. + +BARKET. Gineral! [BUCKTHORN _moves to him._ HAVERILL _joins_ MRS. +HAVERILL _and_ EDITH. BARKET _speaks apart, twisting one side of his +face._] I kissed her! + +BUCKTHORN. Have you sent for a surgeon? + +BARKET. I felt as if the inimy had surprised us agin, and Sheridan was +sixty miles away. + +HAVERILL. This is old Sergeant Barket. [BARKET _salutes._] You were +the last man of us all that saw Colonel West. + +BARKET. Just afther the battle of Sayder Creek began--whin Colonel +Wist rode to the front to mate his retreating rigiment--the byes +formed in line, at sight of him, to raysist the victorious inimy. It +was just at the brow of a hill--about there, sur--[_Pointing with +his cane._] and--here! [_He takes tray from table and sets it on the +carpet. Lays the slices of bread in a row._] That be the rigiment. +[_All interested._ MADELINE _and_ ELLINGHAM _enter, and look on._ +BARKET _arranges the two cups and saucers in a row._] That be the +inimy's batthery, sur. [_Enter_ MARGERY. _She goes to the table; then +looks around, sharply, at_ BARKET. + +MARGERY. Ye ould Hibernian dhrone! What are yez doin' wid the china on +the floor? You'll break it all! + +BUCKTHORN. Ah--Margery! Barket is telling us where he last saw Colonel +Kerchival West. + +MARGERY. The young Colonel! The tay-cups and saucers be's the inimy's +batthery? Yez may smash 'em, if ye loike! + +BUCKTHORN. Go on, Barket. [JENNY _and_ HEARTSEASE _have entered as_ +BARKET _proceeds; the whole party lean forward, intensely interested._ +GERTRUDE _enters in hall, looks in, beckons out left._ KERCHIVAL +_follows. They move up stage, back of the rest and unseen, listening._ + +BARKET. Just as the rigiment was rayformed in line, and Colonel Wist +was out in front--widout any coat or hat, and wid only a shtick in his +hand--we heard cheers in the rear. Gineral Sheridan was coming! One +word to the men--and we swept over the batthery like a whirlwind! +[_Slashing his cane through the cups and saucers._ + +MARGERY. Hoo-roo! + +BARKET. The attack on the lift flank was checked. But when we shtopped +to take breath, Colonel Wist wasn't wid us. [GERTRUDE _turns lovingly +to_ KERCHIVAL. _He places his arm about her._] Heaven knows where he +is now. Afther the battle was over, poor Miss Gertrude wint off by +hersilf into the wilderness to find him. + +KERCHIVAL. My wife! You saved my life, at last! [_Embracing her._ + +BARKET. They'll niver come together in this world. I saw Miss +Gertrude, myself, ride away into the woods and disappear behind a +school-house on the battle-field, over there. + +GERTRUDE. No, Barket--[_All start and look._]--it was the little +church; we were married there this morning! + +CURTAIN. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shenandoah, by Bronson Howard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHENANDOAH *** + +***** This file should be named 13039.txt or 13039.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/0/3/13039/ + +Produced by David Starner, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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