It is a good thing when a young hero dies; for so is he safe. His immortality is meted to him. O spare us a trial like this man's who is on the brink of great misfortune.
_Arnold_. [_Starting up._] They have betrayed me! Who goes there?
_Arnold_. Arnold, my man. Good God! you startled me. I must have slept. What news? Will André come?
_Joshua Smith_. He's just behind me. All is as we planned. The British sloop-of-war hangs in the tide. The _Vulture_ brought him, and she waits for him Not two miles to the south. I boarded her. With every point Raised in your letters André is agreed; And back of him, Sir Henry Clinton stands; And back of _him_,--ye'll hear it now?--King George! Packt, stamped upon, agreed, and understood, The bargain's struck. Your hand, my Lord! Sir Benedict! Lord Ruler Benedict, The Lord Protector of the Colonies, And Duke of,--what you will. Young André follows. I chased ahead to find you. Put it high! You'll put the figure high?--I'm out of breath--
_Arnold_. I'll put it high enough to help a friend.-- No fear of that, my lad. Go rest awhile: Stand sentinel upon the shore below.
[_Exit_ Smith. _As he goes out he indicates_ Arnold _to_ André _by a gesture. Enter_ André. _His slender, refined, almost girlish youth is in contrast with_ Arnold's _battle-worn, gigantic figure._]
_Arnold_. [_Aside._] At last my arrows strike! [_To_ André.] What! Major André! This is a crazy meeting,--somewhat strange After your jigging nights in Philadelphia,-- A _Mischianza_, where we play a masque, And act a drama fraught with consequence More serious than any since the Duke Brought back King Charles. Two true-born Englishmen, If you'll accept my hand, shall this day place A jewel in old England's diadem, Which some rash spirits would shake out of it.
_Arnold_. They are here; The plans of all the out-posts to the dot, And every man on duty in the Fortress.
_Arnold_. And returns Not for some days. Our garrison I'll post Distributively on the distant hills; While from the _Vulture_ half a thousand men Land in the darkness. Thus without a blow, But with the magic of a countersign, West Point becomes your own.
_André_. Is there some house Or tavern, where with more deliberate mind We may o'erlook the papers, and make note Of our exacter meanings?