WASHINGTON 
 THE MAN WHO MADE US 
 
 PERCY 
 
 BY 
 MACKAYE 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
WASHINGTON 
 
 THE MAN WHO MADE Us 
 
WORKS BY PERCY MACKAYE 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. A Comedy. 
 JEANNE D'ARC. A Tragedy. 
 SAPPHO AND PHAON. A Tragedy. 
 FENRIS, THE WOLF. A Tragedy. 
 A OAKLAND TO SYLVIA. A Dramatic Reverie, 
 THE SCARECROW. A Tragedy of the Ludicrous. 
 YANKEE FANTASIES. Five One-Act Plays. 
 MATER. An American Study in Comedy. 
 ANTI-MATRIMONY. A Satirical Comedy. 
 TO-MORROW. A Play in Three Acts. 
 A THOUSAND YEARS AGO. A Romance of the 
 
 Orient. 
 WASHINGTON. A Ballad Play. 
 
 COMMUNITY DRAMAS 
 CALIBAN. A Community Masque. 
 SAINT Louis. A Civic Masque. 
 SANCTUARY. A Bird Masque. 
 THE NEW CITIZENSHIP. A Civic Ritual. 
 THE EVERGREEN TREE. A Christmas Masque. 
 THE ROLL CALL. A Masque of the Red Cross. 
 
 OPERAS 
 
 SINBAD, THE SAILOR. A Fantasy. 
 THE IMMIGRANTS. A Tragedy. 
 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. A Comedy. 
 
 POEMS 
 
 THE SISTINE EVE, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 URIEL, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 LINCOLN. A Centenary Ode. 
 THE PRESENT HOUR. Poems of War and Peace. 
 POEMS AND PLAYS. In Two Volumes. 
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PLAY. 
 THE Civic THEATRE. 
 A SUBSTITUTE FOR WAR. 
 COMMUNITY DRAMA. An Interpretation. 
 
 ALSO (As Editor) 
 THE CANTERBURY TALES. A Modern Rendering 
 
 into Prose. 
 THE MODERN READER'S CHAUCER (with Professor 
 
 J. S. P. Tatlock). 
 
 AT ALL BOOKSELLERS 
 
EXITV5 -ACTA- PROBAT 
 
WASHINGTON 
 
 THE MAN WHO MADE Us 
 
 A BALLAD PLAY 
 BY 
 
 PERCY MACKAYE 
 
 WITH SCENE DESIGNS BY 
 ROBERT EDMOND JONES 
 
 NEW YORK ALFRED A. KNOPF MCMXIX 
 
 LIBKARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1919 
 
 BY 
 PERCY MACKAYE 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 In its printed form, this play is published for the 
 reading public only. Dramatic rights, and all rights 
 whatsoever, in the play are fully protected by copy 
 right in the United States, Great Britain and coun 
 tries of the copyright union. 
 
 No performances of this play amateur or pro 
 fessionalmay be given without the written per 
 mission of the author first obtained. 
 
 For permission to read in public this play, or any 
 other dramatic work by the author, application must 
 be made direct to the author, who may be ad 
 dressed in care of the publisher. 
 
TO 
 THE ARDENT YOUNG MEMORY OF 
 
 ADAIR ARCHER 
 
 SOLDIER, ARTIST, SCHOLAR, 
 
 KNIGHT-ERRANT OF A NEW THEATRE, 
 
 THOROUGHBRED OF WASHINGTON'S VIRGINIA, 
 
 THIS PLAY IS AFFECTIONATELY 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
PREFACE 
 
 On July Fourth, 1918, one hundred and forty-two 
 years after the Declaration at Independence Hall, 
 Philadelphia, in defiance of King George of Great 
 Britain, an immense shout went up from the first base 
 ball-field in England, out of the lusty lungs of Yankee 
 soldiers, ardent with unprecedented vernacular: 
 "What's the matter with King George? 
 He's all right!" 
 
 With that gust of New World youth, the ancient 
 connotation of kings was blown into oblivion, and the 
 prerogatives of Democracy over Royalty were whole 
 heartedly sanctioned by the united posterity of George 
 Washington and George the Third. 
 
 On that same Fourth of July, speaking to the rep 
 resentatives of thirty-three nationalities gathered on 
 the quiet slopes of Mt. Vernon by Washington's tomb, 
 President Wilson said: 
 
 "What we seek is the reign of law, based upon the 
 consent of the governed and sustained by the organ 
 ized opinion of mankind. 
 
 "I can fancy that the air of this place carries the 
 accents of such principles with a peculiar kindness. 
 
 Here were started forces which the great nation 
 
 ix 
 
x PREFACE 
 
 against which they were primarily directed at first 
 regarded as a revolt against its rightful authority, but 
 which it has long since seen to have been a step in the 
 liberation of its own people as well as the people of 
 the United States; and I stand here now to speak 
 speak proudly and with confident hope of the spread 
 of this revolt, this liberation, to the great stage of the 
 world itself." 
 
 This play the first published work for the theatre 
 to attempt to portray George Washington as its cen 
 tral figure has been long a plan projected in the 
 mind of the writer; but not until almost the hour it 
 was finished (which chanced on that Fourth of last 
 July) could its theme have taken on its full-rounded 
 significance today the relation of the will of Wash 
 ington to the world's will. 
 
 For not only Great Britain, France and America 
 the Dramatis Personae of the drama of Seventy-Six 
 hold now the stage of a vaster Theatre of the Peo 
 ples; now no nation or people of the earth is so ob 
 scure as to lack its relative role in the world drama 
 of LIBERTY VERSUS TYRANNY; and now, for all the 
 racial groups of insurgent Liberty in common, Wash 
 ington rises the proclaimed protagonist. 
 
 A theme such as this, so vast to imagination, might 
 well give pause to any writer, were it a question of 
 his compassing its magnitude. But, as it will require 
 centuries before the manifold meanings of the present 
 conflict can be illumined and wrought into art, so the 
 
PREFACE xi 
 
 image of Washington must remain a presence in ever 
 growing history, to be glimpsed and revealed by un 
 numbered artists, each according to his vision. 
 
 At the date of this Preface, the early production 
 of this play has already been announced to the public. 
 
 Concerning the two structural versions of the 
 play the version as here published, and the version 
 as abridged for the regular theatre the reader is re 
 ferred to the comments in the Appendix. 
 
 Concerning the ballads, historical references, and 
 certain aspects of a new craftsmanship implied in the 
 play's structure, further comments are made in the 
 Appendix, which contains, as well, the list of Charac 
 ters and Scenes. 
 
 The play's ballads together with their music, with 
 illustrations by Arvia MacKaye, may be had in broad 
 side form, published by the H. W. Gray Company, 
 2 West 45th St., New York City. 
 
 Without the sound of those age-old tunes in his ear 
 (tunes still sung in the Southern Appalachian moun 
 tains), the reader of this ballad-play will lack a charm 
 which these pages cannot supply in default of the 
 play's production. 
 
 Paul Leicester Ford has shown, by exhaustive re 
 search, how enthusiastic a lover of the theatre Wash 
 ington was throughout his life; and it is a pleasant 
 whim of the writer to fancy that the shade of the great 
 Virginian haply attendant at old haunts for a "first 
 
xii PREFACE 
 
 night" might find an old-time pleasure in the ballad- 
 tunes of his native region interwoven in this play, 
 
 PERCY MACKAYE. 
 
 Shirley Centre, Mass., 
 15 September, 1918. 
 
OUTLINE OF PLAY 
 
 PROLOGUE: THE FOREGROUND POSTERITY. 
 
 Prelude: Fiddler, Facts & Folk-Song. 
 
 First Transition: "The Golden Libertee." 
 
 Induction: Laurels for the Tomb. 
 
 Second Transition: The Fiddle Plays. 
 
 ACT I.: THE BACKGROUND MT. VERNON. 
 
 THIRD ACTION: THE LAD AND THE SOIL. 
 
 Third Transition: Fighting Frontiersman. 
 
 FOURTH ACTION: "A BIG ACRE TO GAR 
 
 DEN." 
 
 Fourth Transition: "Old Virgin-ee-ay." 
 
 FIFTH ACTION: HOME AND PEACE. 
 
 ACT II.: THE CONFLICT TAKING HOLD. 
 
 SIXTH ACTION: REVOLUTION. 
 
 Fifth Transition: "Bands & Rebels." 
 
 SEVENTH ACTION: HOME-LEAVING. 
 
 Sixth Transition: "Bunker's Hill." 
 
 "Yankee Doodle." 
 
 EIGHTH ACTION: GRAPPLING. 
 
 Seventh Transition: "Axes to Grind"; 
 
 "Free and Independent"; 
 
 "Raggle-Taggle Gypsies." 
 NINTH ACTION: "OVER THERE." 
 
OUTLINE OF PLAY 
 
 ACT III.: THE CONFLICT WINNING THROUGH. 
 TENTH ACTION: FAIR ENEMIES. 
 
 Eighth Transition: "Down by the Cold Hill- 
 
 sidey." 
 
 ELEVENTH ACTION: FAMINE AND FRIENDS. 
 
 Ninth Transition: Gypsies from France. 
 
 TWELFTH ACTION: THE NEW FLAG. 
 
 Tenth Transition: "Betsy Ross." 
 
 THIRTEENTH ACTION: "A MOMENT MORE." 
 Eleventh Transition: "Yorktown is fallen." 
 
 FOURTEENTH ACTION: (1) "LONG LIVE THE KING." 
 
 (2) THE ANSWER. 
 Twelfth Transition: "O, whar '11 I lay my heart 
 
 down?" 
 FIFTEENTH ACTION: PEACE AND "THE REAL 
 
 JOB." 
 
 EPILOGUE: THE FOREGROUND FUTURITY 
 
 Recession: The Will-Song of a World. 
 
 Finale: "The Golden Libertee." 
 
'Our cause is noble. It is the cause of mankind? 
 
 Geo. Washington 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 AND ACT I 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 FIRST ACTION 
 
 (Prelude) 
 
 In the theatre, the orchestra has played an overture 
 of themes from old ballad tunes of the Ken 
 tucky Mountains; the overture has just ceased; 
 the auditorium is growing dark, and the rise of 
 the theatre curtain reveals, behind it, inner cur 
 tains of blue, closed where they meet at the 
 centre. 
 
 And now one of the ballad themes (the tune of Ban- 
 gry Rewy^) is heard playing on a fiddle at the 
 back of the auditorium, where at the head of 
 one of the aisles out of the dark appears a 
 little lantern, borne on a pole by two Children, 
 a BOY and a GIRL in tattered raiment. 
 
 Close behind these, clad in old-time garb, comes a 
 FIDDLER, who is playing the tune. Under an old 
 felt hat, wisps of his long hair fall about his 
 weather-browned face, neither young nor old, but 
 wrinkled with lines of kindly shrewdness and 
 good cheer. Slung at his side are a flute and a 
 dulcimer. 
 
 3 
 
4 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 Down the aisle come the three Figures, in the lantern- 
 shine, and crossing a bridge over the orchestra 
 move along the front of the stage, till they 
 stop near the centre, where the blue curtains are 
 closed. 
 
 Leaving the BOY to hold the lantern pole, the little 
 GIRL tiptoes to the FIDDLER, who stops playing, 
 and bends down his ear to her, as she whispers 
 up to him. He answers with nod and smile, and 
 speaks in a quaint, drawling tone. 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 Yep, here we be, in time to see the show. 
 This-yere's the playhouse. Us must knock, ye know, 
 Three times for luck, to raise the play-folks. Rap! 
 
 [THE LITTLE GIRL touches the arm of the 
 BOY, who awesomely raps the stage thrice with 
 the lantern-pole. 
 
 At the third slow rap, suddenly the curtains 
 rustle, and out between them is thrust forth a 
 grotesque Head, wearing a Mask of Comedy. 
 As it peers down at them, the Children shrink 
 back, startled.] 
 
 THE COMIC MASK 
 
 [Shrilly.] 
 No, no; go 'way! 
 
 [It disappears.] 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 5 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 I swan! A nutty chap 
 He is! What ails him? Here: you try. 
 
 [He takes the pole from the BOY and gives it 
 to the GIRL, who raps it thrice on the stage, more 
 loudly. 
 
 At this, another Head this time in a Mask of 
 Tragedy stares out at her.] 
 
 THE TRAGIC MASK 
 
 [Deeply.] 
 
 Go 'way! 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 We come to see the play. 
 
 THE TRAGIC MAaK 
 
 [More deeply.] 
 
 There is no play! 
 [It disappears. 
 
 The Children rush to the FIDDLER and cling to 
 him, the GIRL whispering excitedly.] 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 [Chuckling.] 
 
 Eh what? No; don't we scare ourselves. I reck 
 oned 
 We come to see a show. Wall, wait a second! 
 
 [Taking from his belt an old wooden flute, 
 
6 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 he plays on it a snatch of the same tune he 
 played on the fiddle. 
 
 While he does so, there appears between the 
 curtains a third Head, wearing a Mask strangely 
 winning and serene.} 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 Who calls there? 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 Us: a boy and gal and me. 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 No more? 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 Jest us. 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 But who are those I see 
 With thousand strange eyes staring curious? 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 A boy and gal and me is all of us. 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 [Stepping forth in front of the curtains a 
 Figure robed in deeper blue removes his 
 mask, retaining it in his hand.] 
 And who are you, friend? 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 7 
 
 . THE FIDDLER 
 
 Me I'm Quilloquon: 
 
 My mother hatched me with a wild goose honkin' 
 West, and a bell-wether tinkle-tonkin' 
 East. Some, they calls me Dellum-a-down-derry. 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 Whom have you come to see? 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 George Washington. 
 
 These childers they've heerd tell about yon cherry 
 He chopped with his renowned-in-history hatchet. 
 I promised 'em a peep-in, and I'd catch it 
 If I went back on my word. 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 What made you come 
 This way? 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Oh, nosin' after news. I'm from 
 Virginy and Kentucky all along 
 The ridge to Caroliny. I belong 
 Where folks still sing and fiddle and have fun 
 Jest feelin' lazy in the mountain sun, 
 Atwangin' dulcimers aneath the holly, 
 To "Gypsen Davy" tune and "Soldier Polly," 
 And swappin' love-rhymes, what a hunderd years 
 Ain't rubbed the peach-bloom off'n. Little us keers 
 For far-off up-and-doin's, till we smells 
 
8 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 Gunpowder in the wind : then ups we tells 
 
 The mountain birds good-bye and jines the colours. 
 
 Not me in khaki: that's for reg'lar fellers; 
 
 The draft went by me. But I knowed some live 
 
 Tunes what I played the boys in Seventy -five 
 
 Down April lanes in Lexington and over 
 
 To Yorktown, so I resked a four-leaf-clover 
 
 Them songs 'ud set the boys a-marchin' quicker 
 
 To settle the same old Devil's tarnal dicker 
 
 He's raised agin from Hell. So yere's my kit: 
 
 Flute, fiddle, finger-strings and songs to fit. 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 [Examining it.] 
 Your flute is an old-timer. 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Yep: that's one 
 
 I borrowed off'n Tom the Piper's son 
 To fetch me over the hills and far away. 
 
 [THE LITTLE GIRL nudges the FIDDLER'S arm. 
 He starts, nods to her reassuringly, and turns 
 again to the Figure with the Mask.] 
 But now, your honour, what about the play? 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 They tell me there can be none. 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 They? Who's they? 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 9 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 My helpers, who inhibit me. Pass through 
 And meet them. 
 
 [Turning toward the curtains, the Figure claps 
 his palms thrice. Slowly, on either side } a hand 
 from within begins to draw back the curtains. 
 
 The Children come close to QUILLOQUON, who 
 rubs his chin, and speaks with hesitation.] 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Axin' pardon Who be you? 
 
 THE THIRD MASK 
 
 I am an art that knows not yet the way 
 To make the beauty of my dreams come true: 
 I am the Theatre : my thousand tasks 
 Obscure their object, and with many masks 
 I am myself bewildered. Pray, come in! 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 [Removing his hat.] 
 Thank ye! 
 
 [On either side, the Masks of Comedy and 
 Tragedy continue with their hands to draw back 
 the curtains, till their figures stand guarding a 
 medium aperture midway the opening of the 
 stage. 
 
 Through this aperture is revealed, with mys 
 terious lighting, an obscure space within, hung 
 round with the same blue curtains, except in the 
 
10 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 centre background. There at first hardly dis 
 tinguishable an arched panel frames, on blue 
 background, a great DIM-RED FIGURE, its limbs 
 cloaked in large folds, its visage cowled. Two 
 white, colonial columns support the panel's arch. 
 
 In the left middleground, a dark blue chair 
 of colonial design stands beside a blue table, 
 piled high with manuscripts, books and masks. 
 
 Taking the Children by the hand, QUILLOQUON 
 enters and gapes around curiously as the Figure 
 of THE THEATRE goes to the chair and, sitting, 
 places his mask on the table with others which 
 at times he lifts and examines. 
 
 Gradually the Children become aware of the 
 DIM-RED PRESENCE in the panel, and timidly 
 point it out to QUILLOQUON, who speaks to the 
 Figure of THE THEATRE, with lowered voice.] 
 Is somebody thar? 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 So you begin 
 To see? 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Not quite I can't, and yet I kin 
 Darkish. Don't never it look nor speak? 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 To me 
 
 No look nor speech, yet inexpressibly 
 
 Its silence grows upon me, like great words 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 11 
 
 That tease the mind at twilight, when the birds 
 'Twixt song and sleep commune with dawning stars. 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 What doos it want with ye? 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 Its will: a dream 
 
 Wrought into action: a majestic theme 
 Built nobly large, in measure meet for one 
 Whose soul was large and simple Washington; 
 But where I grope to build, the shadowy bars 
 Of time restrain me, and in nudging file 
 The gaolers of my art come forth, to pile 
 My plan with heaped confusion. Look, now! See 
 How patiently they come to furnish me 
 With hoarded facts and hoary inhibitions. 
 
 [From the right hardly distinguishable at 
 first from the blue curtained walls appear the 
 blue-black forms of the INHIBITORS, gowned with 
 bizarre strangeness. 
 
 Each carries in one hand a candle, in the other 
 a manuscript, chart or book. 
 
 Obscurely they approach, in file, and address 
 the Figure of THE THEATRE, successively laying 
 their offerings on the table, around which after 
 they have spoken they remain standing. 
 
 As they approach and speak, the DiM-RED 
 PRESENCE in the panel fades to a dullish grey, 
 
12 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 while QUILLOQUON and the CHILDREN draw aside 
 in the left background, listening.] 
 
 THE FIRST INHIBITOR 
 
 This map. 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 I thank you. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 All the main positions 
 
 Are clearly marked the British lines in red, 
 The Yankee in blue, and here in pencil lead 
 The progress of the battle. Some six score 
 Like this I have in set. I'll bring you more, 
 For you, of course, will need them all. 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 Of course. 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 A memorandum. 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 Thanks. 
 THE SECOND 
 
 The borrowed horse 
 
 He rode at Brandywine was either bay 
 Or dapple. One old chronicler says grey; 
 But on the whole and after much research 
 I stand for dapple. 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 13 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 Dapple. 
 
 THE THIRD 
 
 He went to church 
 
 Twice that December. Here you have the dates; 
 You may rely on them. 
 
 THE FOURTH 
 
 I'm one who hates 
 To differ, but I think I can adduce 
 Proofs to the contrary. 
 
 THE THIRD 
 
 [In tone offended.} 
 
 You! 
 [They confront each other.} 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 [Intervening.] 
 
 Please! A truce! 
 
 THE FIFTH 
 
 Pray, hear me, sir! A modern audience 
 
 Is gifted with a many-mirrored sense 
 
 Historical; it reads biographies, 
 
 Of which your hero has his legions : hence 
 
 It is not unaware of diaries, 
 
 All in your hero's hand, which tell his days 
 
 And hours from youth till death; it even essajr 
 
14 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 To draw his giant portrait 'twixt the poles 
 
 By picturing some thousand million souls 
 
 That have breathed his name in awe ; so, sir, I trust, 
 
 Before you launch your drama from the shoals, 
 
 You'll build it for the deeps. Indeed, you must. 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 You think I must. 
 
 THE FIFTH 
 Indeed ! 
 
 THE SIXTH 
 
 My neighbour's mystics 
 
 May serve some purpose possibly discussed 
 By poets. What / stand for is statistics. 
 
 THE FIFTH 
 
 / mentioned some. 
 
 THE SIXTH 
 
 In short, sir: give 'em facts. 
 
 THE FIFTH 
 
 That's what 7 said. 
 
 THE SIXTH 
 
 And make your drama's acts 
 Toe line to history. 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 My friends, I see, 
 Are strangely in accord. 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 15 
 
 THE SEVENTH 
 
 Sir, seriously 
 
 I beg a word. These others give well-meant 
 Advice; but, sir, / stand for precedent. 
 Your chosen subject, Washington: when, sir, 
 Was that great theme claimed by the Theatre 
 I mean with such bold title and intent 
 Till now before? And what, sir, is your Stage 
 Built to exhibit baubles of our age 
 That you should raise your hand toward him, and 
 
 dare 
 
 To show the Father of his Country where 
 Puppets and clowns are shown? 
 
 THE FIFTH 
 
 In the public square 
 He stands before the people. 
 
 THE SEVENTH 
 
 A statue yes, 
 
 Sculptured in bronze, austere in nobleness! 
 A poem, grandly couched ; a popular 
 Oration; a laurel wreath those truly are 
 Forms of admitted precedent, but there 
 Must we not pause? Sir not to damp your spirit 
 How do you dare this thing? Do you not hear it 
 What all the world will say? 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 [After a pause, speaks with dreamy quiet.] 
 
16 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 Out there over there 
 
 The mouth of all the world, cratered with fire 
 The Sibyl of heaven and hell I seem to hear it 
 Speaking one name. 
 
 There over there out of the pits of ire, 
 Oracular with anguish and eclipse, 
 The heart of all the world through tortured lips 
 Crushed with despair, crimson with torn desire 
 Speaking that name. 
 
 There, where the looming cloud-banks of our boys 
 Storm after storm snowflake the yawning pyre 
 Whose hunger never cloys, 
 One will the will that tyrants cannot tire 
 Speaks that one name, 
 Blows one undying faith 
 Through bugles calling: "Youth! You shining 
 
 boys, 
 That sheathe your glad souls in the rusting dark, 
 
 dream not Death 
 
 Leaves you uncaptained when the day is done. 
 Above the Dragon shines your own St. George: 
 He leads you still, who blew a dying spark 
 To smithy Freedom's blade at Valley Forge. 
 Tonight, in sleep, you camp with Washington: 
 At dawn, he rises with you and the sun!" 
 
 THE SEVENTH 
 
 1 do not, sir, quite follow: do you speak 
 In propria persona, or in "quotes"? 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 17 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 What does it matter, friend? All words are weak 
 
 To echo the eternal organ notes 
 
 That sound my drama's theme. Reality 
 
 Renders an aping thing of masks like me 
 
 Most impotent and dumb. I fancied ha, 
 
 How pale are fancies now! I saw a page, 
 
 Torn from a starry volume called The Stage, 
 
 Signed with a fiery hand: America 
 
 To Washington. Oh, you are right, 
 
 So very right, my kind Inhibitors, 
 
 To nail your warning knowledge on my doors, 
 
 That I, with thanks, will bid you now goodnigh 
 
 So blow your candles out, and go your way 
 
 With minds at ease: Tonight, there is no play. 
 
 [At his gesture, the INHIBITORS blow out their 
 candles, leaving the place in darkness, out from 
 which the grey-cloaked PRESENCE in the panel 
 glows steadily brighter into luminous red, while 
 silhouetted against it QUILLOQUON, with the 
 CHILDREN, steps forth and speaks from the dim 
 ness.] 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Axin' your pardon where do us come in? 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 I beg your pardon. 
 
18 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Axin' yours agin, 
 
 We see your poster sign outside, and so 
 These childers took a ehanct to see a show, 
 And took my word on 't 'twas George Washington. 
 Now him, sir, when I knowed him, by his look 
 He wa'n't nuther a statye, nor a book, 
 Nor a state-house paintin', but a human critter, 
 Like most o' folks in Mother Natur's litter, 
 Only grittier stocked; so, when bad times come on, 
 They grabbed him for a general walkin'-stick 
 To help 'em outen the mud, and nary a crick 
 He cracked in the grain, but stood like hickory 
 Hef tin' one-half the world. 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 With all my heart 
 I wish- 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 [Goes on, with a dreamy smile.] 
 
 Aye, sir: on winter-lonesome nights 
 And black hell hangin' over airth and sea 
 Thar was a man could trim the northern lights, 
 Or tend a taller-dip. 
 
 THE THEATRE 
 
 I wish my art 
 
 Could serve his sturdy truth; but you have descried 
 The webs that weave me round: my hands are tied. 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 19 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Then s'pos'n I try my hand. These fiddle strings 
 
 Have set some folks and kids to seem' things 
 
 Evenin's, when chimbley pots begin to simmer 
 
 The sap, and Sammy shuts his Yankee primer 
 
 To stare in to the burnin' of the logs; 
 
 And this-yere flute has whistled it with the frogs 
 
 All night till mornin'-up ; so, by and yon, 
 
 To young and old through all Amerikee, 
 
 When hankerin's of home and spring comes on, 
 
 I fiddle and pipe my songs of Quilloquon 
 
 A dream-bird singin', or a rollin' drum. 
 
 So, childers, come! 
 
 In this-yere fiddle-kit I keep my show 
 
 What draws ye pictur's, as I draw my bow. 
 
 And if I blow my flute, or twang a string, 
 
 You shet your eyes and watch the sights I sing. 
 
 These theatre pieces th' ain't jest in my way, 
 
 But yere I'll show ye now a ballad-play. 
 
 (First Transition) 
 
 [Thrumming low on his dulcimer, QUILLO 
 QUON begins to sing, in a quaint, sweet voice, 
 while the shadowy space around him quivers and 
 clouds with the dawn of a transforming scene. 
 
 Beside him, THE LITTLE GIRL and BOY sit- 
 
20 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 ting on the ground gaze up at him, and listen.] 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 [Sings] 
 
 There was a little ship in the North Amerikee, 
 She went by the name of the Golden Libertee, 
 As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 
 
 0, red red was the dawn-shine that spangled in her 
 
 spars, 
 
 And blue was her wave-line beneath the morning stars, 
 As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 
 
 0, richer than the Indies the cargo that she bore 
 Agliding up the stream by the sweet Potomeek's shore, 
 As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 
 
 Her cargo was of hearts, heaped as high as she could 
 
 hold, 
 Of men's hearts and women's hearts, more wonderful 
 
 than gold, 
 As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 
 
 The red red hearts were burning her golden decks 
 
 aboard ; 
 Her Captain he was standing where cloudy eagles 
 
 soared, 
 As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 21 
 
 The hearts they sang, the stars sang: "0 Captain of 
 
 the Free, 
 You have brought us through the tempest in our 
 
 Golden Libertee, 
 As she sails in the Low-de-lands low." 
 
 SECOND ACTION 
 
 (Induction) 
 
 With the end of his song, a booming sound is heard, 
 and QUILLOQUON and the CHILDREN are seen sit 
 ting, in broad sunshine, on a long, low doorstep 
 of stone beside the door of a grey-white, wide- 
 clapboarded house. 
 
 One end of the house only is visible, with a lower and 
 an upper window, the green blinds open. On 
 the right, this end of the house is connected by 
 an arched, roofed colonnade (curving the centre 
 background) with the end of a kitchen, corres 
 pondingly visible with doorway and windows 
 -on the left. Between the door and lower 
 window is a bench. Within the colonnade, an 
 other passage-way leads left in to the kitchen 
 its doorway unseen. 
 
 The colonnade consists of double arches with col- 
 
22 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 umns, spaced and proportioned with noble sim 
 plicity and charm. Under its arches the eye 
 looks away toward low, wooded hills and the 
 placid blue bend of a river, panelled by the 
 white columns. 
 
 A broad road-path skirts the buildings and colonnade 
 as far as the house doorstep, and defines by its 
 curve a patch of lawn in the foreground. 
 
 On this pathway and lawn alone, or few in groups 
 Tourists are scattered; men and women, 
 quietly standing, or passing with movements and 
 voices subdued by spell of some unseen presence, 
 which pervades with gentle awe the common 
 places of their speech and action. 
 
 Some are Civilians; others are Soldiers, in American 
 khaki, French light-blue, Scottish plaid, and 
 other colours of the Allies 9 uniforms. 
 
 Now, through this scene, when QUILLOQUON'S re 
 frain ("As she sails in the Low-de-lands low") 
 has hardly ceased a distant booming resounds. 
 
 Some of the Tourists stand still and listen. 
 
 Twice more the low booming is repeated. 
 
 ONE IN KHAKI 
 
 What sound is that? guns? 
 
 A CIVILIAN 
 
 A ship on the river. They always salute his home, 
 where they pass on the Potomac. 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 23 
 
 A SECOND CIVILIAN 
 
 [In another group.] 
 Nearly two hundred years, you say? 
 
 A THIRD CIVILIAN 
 
 [Turning the pages of a book.] 
 Yes: the date's in the guide-book. 
 
 THE ONE IN KHAKI 
 
 [To ONE IN LIGHT-BLUE.] 
 
 I have always wanted to stand here at Mt. Vernon 
 before I went over there. 
 
 THE ONE IN LIGHT-BLUE 
 
 [With a French accent.] 
 I comprehend, lieutenant. 
 
 THE THIRD CIVILIAN 
 
 [Pointing in the book.] 
 
 There you are: 1743: ^The present house was built 
 then by his half brother Lawrence Washington. 
 Later, after George himself became proprietor, he 
 made additions and improvements before and after 
 the Revolution. 
 
 A FOURTH CIVILIAN 
 
 He was born down the river, on his mother's farm; 
 but he came here to live as a boy. 
 
24 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 THE THIRD 
 
 Used to fox-hunt with his neighbour, Lord Fairfax. 
 
 THE ONE IN KHAKI 
 
 [To THE ONE IN LIGHT-BLUE, pointing toward 
 the house.] 
 
 The key of your Bastile: it hangs in the hallway. 
 When he was old, it was sent to him by Lafayette. 
 
 THE SECOND CIVILIAN 
 
 [To THE FOURTH.] 
 
 And so here he was a boy and a man in his great 
 prime and here he died. 
 
 THE FOURTH 
 
 Yes; and they say that the picture of Mt. Vernon 
 was with him everywhere he went. 
 
 THE THIRD 
 
 You mean a painting? Where is it kept in the 
 museum? 
 
 THE FOURTH 
 
 No: I fancy those children are looking at it. 
 
 [His glance falls on THE LITTLE GIRL and 
 BOY, who are still sitting on the far end of the 
 doorstep, while QUILLOQUON has drawn back in 
 the shadow of a pillar. 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 25 
 
 Two OFFICERS an Italian and a British 
 now come out of the house and are passing to 
 ward the colonnade, when they are saluted by the 
 OFFICER IN LIGHT-BLUE and pause, returning his 
 salute.] 
 
 THE ONE IN LIGHT-BLUE 
 
 Ah, Messieurs les Colonels! Listen! Is not there 
 I hear La Marseillaise? 
 
 [Faintly , a distant band is heard playing the 
 last strains of the Marseillaise chorus. 
 
 Through the colonnade several Men pass off, 
 bearing large wreaths of laurel.] 
 
 THE BRITISH OFFICER 
 
 Yes, the Envoys of the Allies have arrived. They 
 will place their laurel wreaths on the General's tomb. 
 
 THE ONE IN LIGHT-BLUE 
 
 Bien: allons! 
 
 THE THIRD CIVILIAN 
 
 Come ; let's go to the tomb. There will be speeches. 
 
 THE FOURTH 
 
 [Following quietly.] 
 Yes and there will be silence. 
 
 THE BRITISH OFFICER 
 
 [Going, with the Italian and French Officers.] 
 The High Commissioner of England yes. 
 
26 WASHINGTON [PROLOGUE 
 
 THE ITALIAN OFFICER 
 
 [With an accent.] 
 
 And the people of Garibaldi they too remember. 
 [They pass off through the colonnade, fol 
 lowed by the men Civilians.] 
 
 AN ELDERLY WOMAN 
 
 [Walking slowly.] 
 The days don't last long. It'll be a lovely sunset. 
 
 A YOUNGER WOMAN 
 
 [Beside her.] 
 
 And quite warm outdoors. Isn't this April just 
 perfect at Mt. Vernon! 
 
 THE ELDER 
 
 [Pausing, as a whiff of breeze brings to their 
 ears the first strains of "America," played re 
 motely. ] 
 I wonder what his mother would have thought. 
 
 THE YOUNGER 
 
 And his wife. I picked this sweet verbena in the 
 kitchen garden. Let's take it to the tomb from 
 them. 
 
 THE ELDER 
 
 [Lifting the green leaves to her face, smiles 
 back at the other.] 
 Smells sweet and it lasts. 
 
 [They pass off through the colonnade.] 
 
PROLOGUE] WASHINGTON 27 
 
 (Second Transition) 
 
 QUILLOQUON rises with the CHILDREN. 
 
 They are alone now. 
 
 With a smile and mysterious gesture, QUILLO 
 QUON points with his fiddle-bow, off left, down 
 the path, where a splotch of bright scarlet colour 
 is approaching. 
 
 Then, raising his bow, he begins to play very 
 softly, taking up the melody of "America," 
 where the far off wind-instruments are playing it, 
 as they die away. So peering down the path, 
 the Children pointing, with whispers they tip 
 toe through the colonnade. There they linger 
 momentarily (before going off, right) as along 
 the path, left, two strangely costumed Persons 
 enter, conversing. 
 
 [End of Prologue. The Curtains do not 
 close and the action proceeds with no interrup 
 tion.] 
 
28 WASHINGTON [Acr I 
 
 ACT I 
 THIRD ACTION 
 
 The Persons who enter are two Men both in garb of 
 the Middle Eighteenth Century. 
 
 One, in bright scarlet riding-habit, is an alert short 
 sighted gentleman of about sixty, ruddy and ur 
 bane. 
 
 The other, A YOUNGER MAN of about thirty quiet- 
 moving, large-framed, slightly stooped, his 
 strong face pale is clad, more dull, in working 
 clothes, over which he wears the cloak of a Co 
 lonial Major. Occasionally he pauses, to check 
 a slight coughing. 
 
 THE ELDER MAN speaks with gusto, twining his riding 
 whip with a sprig of ivy. 
 
 THE ELDER MAN 
 
 Ha, Lawrence, this April heigh? and young 
 sap! Who wouldn't be alive, .to go a-hunting? A 
 clear horn and your horse limber, a live pack and 
 the red devil for a fox, why, here's old England 
 even in your new world wilderness. Tom Fairfax 
 never felt more at home in Yorkshire. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 29 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 Your lordship is always welcome at Mt. Vernon. 
 I wish only a bad lung didn't keep me from the hunt. 
 
 LORD FAIRFAX 
 
 Clever hounds, yours, Major Washington, clever 
 hounds! Throats chimed like bells in a belfry! Sir 
 Roger de Coverley's weren't tuned more nice. But 
 my beagles are quicker at the scent. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 Have you rid far, Sir, today? 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 A good turn. I'll lay 't was twenty miles round 
 before we run down old Reynard at Dogue's Creek. 
 How I wish George had been along! He's the blue- 
 ribbon lad in the saddle: a Virginian centaur! Aye, 
 Sir, Master Addison could have drawn a pretty myth 
 ological portrait of George the young centaur of 
 Lost Atlantis! Damme, Major; I miss your brother. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 We all do. He's been gone a month now, survey 
 ing your lordship's frontier lands. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 One month? one? It seems a dozen. I miss the 
 boy. Ever since I've neighboured you at Belvoir, he 
 and I we've been old dog and pup. 
 
30 WASHINGTON [Aer I 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [Smiling.] 
 
 You have watched the pup grow to match his paws, 
 my lord. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Aye, 't is a big thoroughbred! Sun-up and moon- 
 down, indoors and out, books and brooks, we've trailed 
 it together. Now he's gone, I'm clean off my feed. 
 
 Ah, but, Lawrence, I can never tell thee how deep it 
 grips me the wonder of him. For me, he's your 
 new world the bigness of it, the young vigour, the 
 large quiet, the bright far look-off towards an im 
 mense tomorrow. George: my young George Wash 
 ington! What's he to do, eh? What's he to become? 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 That's on my own mind, Sir, constantly. Indeed, 
 we've been holding a family council on George's 
 career. Since he makes his home now with me, his 
 mother has come over from her farm, to confer about 
 it. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 [Starting.] 
 Madam Washington here? 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 She arrived this morning. I wish your lordship 
 would join us with your advice. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 31 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Advice? Now, now, Lawrence! I'm a daring 
 man but no Daniel! I was once presented to Queen 
 Anne: I durst offer advice to the Majesty of Eng 
 land but not to George's mother. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [Smiling.] 
 For so quiet a person, she knows her own will, Sir. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Say, rather, the will of the elements. Madam 
 Washington is more than a person she is a presence. 
 Hers is the majesty of Nature, to which mere man 
 must bow. So as for giving family advice 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [Laughing, takes FAIRFAX'S arm.] 
 Well, Sir, stay the night with us anyway. 
 
 [They go up the steps to the house door. 
 LORD FAIRFAX enters the house, followed by 
 LAWRENCE his laughter constrained by cough 
 ing. 
 
 From the side-door of the kitchen appears now 
 a bright-turbanned Negress, bringing a copper 
 kettle and a small wooden box. She is followed 
 down the steps by two half-naked little black 
 children, whom she chases in again. ] 
 
32 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 THE NEGRESS 
 
 Heah! Run 'long back, yo' chilluns; run 'long in, 
 
 now. 
 
 [Meanwhile, through the colonnade, from the 
 right, have entered two picturesque persons, 
 semi-military in appearance. 
 
 One is a big, raw-boned figure, a Man of about 
 forty, out at knee and elbow; he is comfortably 
 drunk, and carries in one hand a small wooden 
 coop, in which is a game-cock; when he talks, his 
 speech has the broad drawl of a native back 
 woodsman. 
 
 The Other older, stocky, and Dutch-featured 
 carries two broadswords, which he fondles 
 with visible affection. He enters, speaking with 
 heated affirmation.] 
 
 THE DUTCHMAN 
 
 No, tamn it, Master Adjutant Muse, game-cocks is 
 no gentlemans' substitutes for proadswords. My tis- 
 ciplines here is for to learn Master George Vashington 
 proadswords. And your tisciplines, Sir, is for to 
 learn him his military manuals. 
 
 MUSE 
 
 [Saluting, bows very low.] 
 
 Cap'n Van Bramm your mos' obedient! Come 
 along, then, and have some rum punch. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 33 
 
 [Backing toward the inner kitchen door, he 
 stumbles against the Negress.] 
 Kep' it hot, eh, Mammy Sal? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Waitin' right inside, Marse Muse, ri'chover by de 
 chimbley. 
 
 MUSE 
 
 All right, Jacob: Ain't that Dutch treat 'nough 
 for gentry? 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 Aye, Sir: rum punch is tamn all right Tutch. 
 
 [They go into the kitchen. 
 
 Outside, Mammy Sal squats on the ground 
 and begins leisurely to clean and burnish the 
 copper kettle with fine sand from the box. 
 
 Along the path, left, enters quietly a Woman of 
 quaint stateliness, elderly and alert. Of middle 
 height, with features pleasing but strongly 
 marked, she is dressed plainly in short skirt, 
 sack and mob-cap. From one of her great side- 
 pockets protrude knitting needles and yarn. In 
 one hand she carries a garden rake. When she 
 speaks, her low voice is musical in its cadence, 
 absolute in its command.] 
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Mammy Sal! 
 
34 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 [Jumping up.] 
 Howdy evenin', Missy Washin'n! 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 Has my son, Master George, come home yet? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 No 'm, Missy Washin'n, not him. 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 I have been taking a turn round the buildings. 
 Who left this rake in the dairy? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 [With awe.] 
 De Lo'd he know all, Missy Washin'n. 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 [Handing the rake.] 
 Take it to the tool house. Wait: 
 
 [Pulling from one of her pockets two strips 
 of coloured cloth.] 
 
 Who has been weaving this cotton-jump stripe, and 
 this huccabac? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Dunno 'm. Sophronie, she might-a-be'. 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 I found them in the kitchen-garden. Who is re 
 sponsible? 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 35 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Dunno who-all, Missy Washin'n. 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 What do you know, Mammy Sal? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Knows ma Sabba-day chatachasm; yas 'm! 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 That 's good. And if / was Mistress of Mt. Ver- 
 non, Mammy, I would learn you your week-day chat- 
 echism. 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Yas 'm. Amen! 
 
 [MARY WASHINGTON goes in to the house. 
 
 MAMMY SAL starts to go off, left, with the 
 rake, but glancing back at the house door 
 pauses, leans the rake against the building, and 
 slowly returns.] 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Oh, by 'n by! 
 
 [She begins a low singing:] 
 
 "I know my robe goin' ter fit me well. 
 I'm agoin' ter lay down de heabby load. 
 
 "I tried it on at de gates ob hell. 
 
 I'm agoin' ter lay down de heabby load." 
 
36 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 [Picking up the copper kettle, she begins to 
 thrum and beat on it to her song, swaying her 
 body in rhythmic motion.} 
 
 "Oh, by-an'-by, by-an'-by, 
 
 I'm agoin' ter lay down de heabby load! 
 
 "Oh, by-an'-by, by-an'-by, 
 
 I'm agoin' ter lay down de heabby load!" 
 
 [While the black Woman, in her scarlet tur 
 ban and yellow garment, increases her dance to 
 the burnished kettle's music, the immense Figure 
 of an Indian moves in to the colonnade, from 
 behind the kitchen building, and stands sil 
 houetted against the brightening sunset. 
 
 In long, red blanket, overtopped by high, 
 white-feathered headdress flowing behind to the 
 ground, his painted wooden mask turns enigmat 
 ical eyes toward the dancing Negress. 
 
 For a moment the Mammy does not behold 
 this Figure, who watches, motionless. Then 
 in deep, guttural voice it speaks.] 
 
 THE FIGURE 
 
 Woman! 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 [Transfixed drops the kettle, with a stifled 
 cry.] 
 Angel ob de Abysm! 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 37 
 
 THE FIGURE 
 
 Woman! Canst thou fill the hollow places of hun 
 ger? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 [Sinking to her knees.] 
 Marse Abaddon, what his name is Apollyon! 
 
 THE FIGURE 
 
 Mammy Sal! Canst thou cook corn pone? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 yas 'r, Marse Apollyon ! 
 
 THE FIGURE 
 
 Corn pone, and roast fowl therewith, and sturgeon 
 broiled? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 yas 'r, glory salvation! Fse sassafras fire an' 
 beech-nut coals, what '11 cook 'em gran' on de spit. 
 
 THE FIGURE 
 
 Rise up, then, Mammy Sal, and be thou numbered 
 among the saints! 
 
 [From behind the mask explodes a loud roar 
 of laughter. 
 
 Then dropping off the blanket, feathers and 
 painted face a tall, great-limbed Youth, with 
 glowing face and light-brown hair grown long, 
 steps forth in mud-spattered gear and boots of a 
 backwoodsman. 
 
38 WASHINGTON [Acr I 
 
 Pointing with a surveyor's tripod at the 
 aghast Woman, he shouts with huge, boyish de 
 light. 
 
 For an instant, MAMMY SAL stares dumbly, 
 then leaps up with a scream of welcome.] 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Marse George! Ah-ya! honey Marse George! 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 [Roaring with laughter.] 
 Oho-ho, Mammy Sal! Scart ye, did I? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 'Lijah an' prophets, honey! Whar yo' done git all 
 dat debbel-Injun truck? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Swapped it off a redskin, up country. What all's 
 the good news at home? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Marse George come home: dat all's de good news. 
 My, my! honey belubed: yo' feet upon de mounting, 
 dey's beautifu' 's de lilies ob de fieF. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Never mind my muddy boots, Mammy. Just mind 
 my belt strap and that corn pone. I've been a-fast- 
 in' since sun-up. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 39 
 
 [Stooping behind the kitchen colonnade, he 
 lifts forth a gun, knapsack and kit, from which 
 he detaches two large limp birds.] 
 Here; run along and cook these wild turkeys 
 I shot. And mind: corn-pone roast-fowl stur 
 geon 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Broil' wid de sassafras fire! Ri'choff, honey! 
 
 [Seizing up her kettle, she is rushing in at the 
 kitchen inner door, when a dog bolts past her 
 there from inside and springs toward young 
 Washington.] 
 
 My Lo'd! heah 's yo' Mopsey-houn' ! 
 [She disappears within.] 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Patting and fondling the hound.] 
 Halloa, Mopsey, Mopsey gal! Well, well, old 
 Mopsey mine: ain't forgot your master? 
 
 [Squatting on the ground, he rolls over, laugh 
 ing and playing with the dog.] 
 Come here, you darling bitch; kiss me quick! 
 Aha! get away: quit your slatherin'. What you nosin' 
 for maple sugar? 
 
 [Sitting up, he pulls out some maple sugar, 
 and holds it teasingly.] 
 
 Here: have a lick, old Mops! How's all the dog 
 gone family? How's Musick and Pilot and True- 
 love? And the pupsies: where's little Chaunter 
 
40 WASHINGTON [Acr I 
 
 and Tipsy? Has your ladyship weaned 'em? 
 [ADJUTANT MUSE comes stumbling down 
 from the kitchen inner doorway, followed by 
 VAN BRAMM. The former carries a long punch- 
 glass, from which he is drinking.} 
 
 MUSE 
 
 Tipsy, says he! Listen thar, Jacob! 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 [Spying George.] 
 
 Veil, de tefel! Master George Vashington! God 
 save you and tamn you, and velcome you pack! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Still fondling the dog.] 
 
 God save you both, gentlemen, and pardon me not 
 rising. Mopsey has the floor, you see. 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 And how is vent all your surveyings and vorks in 
 de vilderness? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 'Twas a grand trip, Cap'n: big woods, March 
 winds, wonderful mountains, villainous weather. 
 Forty miles a day, lots of work and lousy nights. 
 
 [He lifts himself up on the bench, where he 
 feeds the dog maple sugar.] 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 Ah! nights it was lousy so? 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 41 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Aye, Sir, indoors we catched some big game. In 
 the loggers' huts, that was. The first night, I stripped 
 off and laid me on a bunk in the dark pitch black. 
 Then begun the campaign: the March of the Legions, 
 I called it. Tell about David among the Philistines! 
 I'll lay a doubloon I slew ten score o' Goliahs. After 
 that, I swore off on beds, and slept out nights by the 
 fire. 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 On de ground? And vild peasts all apout? 
 
 MUSE 
 
 Why not, Dutchy? Bear baitin' 's bigger sport 
 than flea stalkin'. 
 
 [Offering his punch-glass.] 
 George, have a swig! 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 Master Adjutant Muse, you are trunk; and trunk 
 is no manual tisciplines for young gentlemans. Look 
 now, Master George; here pe our veapons: vill you 
 practise? 
 
 MUSE 
 
 [Loudly.] 
 
 Jury! A jury, says I! George, I appoint you 
 gran' jury. Who's drunk? What's the verdict? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Rising, with a laugh.] 
 Nay, Master Adjutant, I plead non compos. 
 
42 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 Having had no punch, I beg your indulgence. 
 
 MUSE 
 
 [Flourishing his empty glass.] 
 Indulgence? Indulgence is a fair verdict. A 
 mos' hon'rable gran' jury! Jacob, George begs 
 my indulgence in s' more punch. Your mos' obed 
 ient! 
 
 [Bowing unsteadily, he goes in to the kitchen. 
 The dog follows him in.] 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 [Handing GEORGE one of his swords. ] 
 And now, young Sir, you is rememper your posi 
 tions yes? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 I guess so, Cap'n; though they ain't exactly Injun 
 tactics. 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 No, tamn it: proadswords is tactics of Christian 
 gentries. Gif me my proadsword and my piple, and 
 I vill learn you ampitions pigger as de vorld and 
 de kingdoms of heaven dereof . 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Thank you, Captain; but my ambitions are no big 
 ger than Mt. Vernon. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 43 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 Ah? And ven some odder young gentleman vill 
 insult your honour, and tefy you to a tuel vat? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 My honour is my own, Sir, and not another's. I 
 would call the young gentleman an ass, and invite 
 him to wrastle me. 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 My poy, mark my vords! No man can tell ven 
 vill come his testiny to fight. V(3ne day yet you vill 
 tank God on your knees down for old Jacob Van 
 Bramm and his proadswords. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 I thank him now, Sir, on my feet. Will you show 
 me those positions? 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 Ah! positions is petter! 
 
 [Drawing himself up with military precision, 
 he demonstrates the sword positions and strokes, 
 while GEORGE watches, attentive. ,] 
 Vone so; two and so; t'ree and so. Pegin, 
 now! 
 
 [They practise together the broadsword exer 
 cises. 
 
 GEORGE strikes and parries with carefulness 
 and quick decision. 
 
44 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 The blades clatter briskly, amid occasional 
 sharp and gay interjections. 
 
 Soon the house door opens and LORD FAIRFAX 
 steps out, peering short-sightedly.] 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 What's the racket there? Who's that? George! 
 Him! [Calling back.] Lawrence! He's come; 
 'tis George. [Hastening forward.] Lad! My dear 
 lad! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Turning round.] 
 Ha your lordship! 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Home again! [He grasps GEORGE'S hand.] 
 Grips, laddie, grips! Nay, both on 'em! 
 
 [GEORGE tosses his sword away, and gives his 
 other hand.] 
 
 VAN BRAMM 
 
 [Picking the sword up.] 
 Tamn! 
 
 [After a moment, he goes off, grumbling.] 
 
 GEORGE 
 I'm right happy to see you, my lord. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 [Rapping him with his knuckles.] 
 Sound? safe? solid all through? No mishaps? 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 45 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 None, Sir. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 And your trip? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Oh, a grand trip, Sir! Over the Blue Ridge, and 
 up the Shenandoah valley. Your lordship's estates 
 are all surveyed. I've fetched you home a map in my 
 kit. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [Appearing in the house doorway, calls.] 
 Brother George! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Waving to him.] 
 Halloa, brother Lawrence! 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 [To GEORGE, portentously.] 
 
 Hearkee: he's fetching your mother. Tis a con 
 clave. We're settling your future career! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Mine? 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [To MARY WASHINGTON, who comes down the 
 steps with him.] 
 There he is. 
 
 [Spying his Mother, GEORGE hastens toward 
 
46 WASHINGTON [Acr I 
 
 her with eager affection. Meeting, they greet 
 each other with a controlled gladness.] 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 [Giving her hand, speaks low.] 
 George, my dear son. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Awkwardly kisses her hand; then looks in 
 her face.] 
 Madam, I hope you are well. 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 I am very well, George. Your shirt is wet and 
 very muddy. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Aye, Madam, 'tis; the creek was muddy; I swam 
 over. 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 You will need some cherry cordial. Come in. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 Your pardon, Madam, for a moment; I will first 
 help George in with his kit. Will your lordship be 
 so good ? 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 [Visibly flustered, offers his arm.] 
 Mistress Washington, your son appears to have 
 done nobly. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 47 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 [Intensely serene.] 
 Appears, Sir? 
 
 [Ujinoticing his proffered arm, she walks 
 beside him toward the house door.] 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 [Fidgeting.] 
 
 He tells me he has surveyed all my estates in the 
 wilderness. 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 [Simply.] 
 Then, Sir, 'tis so. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 [Stammering.] 
 
 In four weeks, Madam, four weeks that is really 
 astonishing. 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 [With gracious finality.] 
 
 Not at all, Sir. George always does what he sets 
 out to do. 
 
 [Calling back from the doorstep.] 
 George, there's dry shirts in your second drawer. 
 Make haste and shift. [She goes in.] 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 [Following her, murmurs audibly.] 
 Shade of Queen Anne, succour thy subject! 
 
48 'WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 [^5 GEORGE stoops to pick up his kit, LAW 
 RENCE stands for a moment silent looking off 
 through the colonnade, where the twilight colours 
 are deepening in the distance. 
 
 When he speaks, GEORGE turns at his tone, 
 and approaches him, quietly anxious.] 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 George, before we go in, I've wanted a word with 
 you. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 You are troubled, brother Lawrence! What is 
 it? What's in your mind for me? 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [Dreamily.] 
 
 This, George: home Mt. Vernon. That's in my 
 mind for you, always. Look, a moment: look away 
 down the river the bend, there, in the sunset: quiet, 
 full of God's fire. 
 
 GEORGE 
 'T is very quiet. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 Yet it moves on, always. George, what is 
 home? 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 49 
 
 GEORGE 
 Why, this, where we stand here. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [With strangeness.] 
 
 Aye, and there, where we look off that bend in 
 the river, moving on always. So quiet! yet far 
 down there's the sea, the roar of great waters the 
 sea, that leads out to Europe the whole world, and 
 the stars over it. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Gently.} 
 Why do you speak like this? 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [With sudden impulse.] 
 George what are you to be? 
 
 I? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Puzzled.] 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 Our father's father his father came first up that 
 river. For a hundred years, this valley has been 
 home and country to our race; and for them the river 
 was moving on then, like now quiet, full of God's 
 fire at sundown. So it always moves on and re 
 mains. So does our home, and our country. 
 
50 WASHINGTON [ACT I 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Broodingly.] 
 
 Home, and our country. [Starting.] But what 
 makes you say this to me? 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 George, one day Mt. Vernon may be yours not 
 mine. Aye, sooner than later, for this one lung of 
 mine can't serve me much longer. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Your lung? 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 When you were away, the doctor tested me. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Lawrence! 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [Smiling faintly.] 
 
 I won't last. So I asked your mother to come over, 
 and confer about you. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Me! 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 Your career. They're discussing it now, in there: 
 England, America, army, navy, the country: which 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 51 
 
 would you choose yourself, George: sea, sword, or 
 the soil? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Me? The mud on my boots, Lawrence: this soil 
 of America home. Farming for me! 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 Ah, so I guessed. God bless you, George! Mt. 
 Vernon is a good farm. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 We will make it still better. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 We will? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Us both. We'll plan it out together soon. 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [Murmurs.} 
 Soon. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 I will make a survey, and we'll study improvements. 
 [The house door opens.] 
 
 MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 [Calls from the doorway.] 
 
 George! When are you coming in? 'T is grow 
 ing dark. 
 
52 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Directly, Madam. 
 
 [The door closes. 
 
 Together they go toward the doorstep. 
 
 Behind them, as they go, panelled momen 
 tarily by the central arch of the colonnade a 
 DIM-RED FIGURE, mysteriously cloaked and 
 cowled, blends obscurely with the last dull red 
 of the sunset.] 
 
 LAWRENCE 
 
 [Pausing at the doorway.] 
 
 Brother, your hand! How quiet the dark comes 
 on! Can you hear any sound? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [Slowly listening. ] 
 
 Yes I can hear frogs piping. That swamp by the 
 creek must be drained. 
 
 [Darkness deepens over the scene, as vaguely 
 thjir dim forms pass within. 
 
 '(Third Transition) 
 
 Now only the piping of frogs is heard. 
 Now the piping takes on a peculiar flute-like 
 one, and grows musically louder, assuming the 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 53 
 
 notes of a melody the tune of Bangry Rewy 
 ballad. 
 
 And now the fluting ceases, as the voice of 
 QUILLOQUON begins to sing:] 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Bangry Rewy acourting did ride, 3 
 
 His sword and pistol by his side. 
 
 Cambokey, 
 
 Quiddledown, quilloquon! 
 
 Bangry rode to the wild boar's den 
 And spied the bones of a thousand men. 
 
 Cambokey, 
 
 Quiddledown, quilloquon! 
 
 There Bangry drew his warring knife 
 And speared the wild boar of his life. 
 
 Cambokey, 
 
 Quiddledown, quilloquon! 
 
 Then Bangry rode him home again 
 Amid the cheers of a thousand men. 
 
 [From the dark, excited Voices begin to shout: 
 "Hurrah! Hurrah! 9 ' and the voice of QUILLO 
 QUON grows shriller as he sings: 
 
 Cambokey! 
 
 And now in a sudden burst of golden sun 
 shine the cocked hat and face of the Singer 
 
54 WASHINGTON [Acr I 
 
 are seen disappearing round the corner of the 
 kitchen, left, flipping out the final refrain: 
 Quiddledown, quilloquon! 
 
 FOURTH ACTION 
 
 Meanwhile through the colonnade, right, three Girls 
 and a young Man all about twenty come 
 running on, shouting in gay excitement: "Hur 
 rah! Colonel Washington!" 
 
 They are accompanied by a soldierly Fellow, in rusty 
 British uniform. 
 
 THE FIRST GIRL 
 
 Colonel Washington! Colonel Washington! 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 Where is the hero of the Monongahela? 
 
 THE THIRD 
 
 Run, George Fairfax: find him for us. Tell him 
 the three Graces are come to laurel-crown him for 
 his glorious survival of the French and Indians. 
 
 GEORGE FAIRFAX 
 
 And you think that will fetch him? Ladies, you 
 miscalculate your hero. He may face the arms of a 
 
ACT I] . WASHINGTON 55 
 
 thousand fighting men, but the arms of three wor 
 shipping females never! I'll tell him three ancient 
 market-women are come to purchase his vegetables. 
 [Laughing, he runs off, left.] 
 
 THE SECOND GIRL 
 
 Scurrilous man! "Ancient," indeed! 
 
 THE THIRD 
 
 He'll announce us as the weird witches, with humps 
 and broomsticks. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 Ann Spearing, Elizabeth Dent, bow ye down with 
 envy! Here on this spot, even I, Sally Fairfax of 
 Belvoir, once played "Button to get Pawns for Re 
 demption" with the renowned George Washington, 
 and redeemed the pawns with kisses! 
 
 ANN 
 
 (The Second.) 
 Sally! 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 (The Third.) 
 You kissed the master of Mt. Vernon? 
 
 SALLY 
 
 Not the master then: that was long before his 
 brother Lawrence died when George was a cub, 
 and I was a kitten. 
 
56 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 ANN 
 
 Tush! I will envy no felines. [Showing a mili 
 tary coat which she carries.] Behold our hero's coat, 
 that Bishop here poached for me! In this he fought 
 when Braddock fell; in this he fought, leading our 
 glorious Virginians, while the yelling savages fired 
 from the woods, and the stupid regulars ran away in 
 their red coats. [Turning to the Man in British uni 
 form.] Am not I right, Bishop? 
 
 BISHOP 
 
 Aye, ma'am: you can see four bullet-holes there, 
 was shot in it then. 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 [Examining the coat with SALLY.] 
 How awful! And his horse was shot under him, 
 you say? 
 
 BISHOP 
 
 Two horses, ma'am. Then he mounted a third, 
 what I fetched him. That un belonged to my old Gen 
 eral Braddock, what the General, just afore he died, 
 he give Colonel Washington and me to go along 
 in his sarvice. 
 
 ANN 
 
 Think of it, girls: the whole king's army routed 
 seven hundred killed and wounded and only our 
 despised American militia to give real fight to the 
 enemy. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 57 
 
 BISHOP 
 
 Right enough, ma'am: your Virginia boys they 
 fought back o' trees, like the Injuns. Clever they 
 was! I'm a red-coat, but I says it: If my old Gen 
 eral he'd a-took the Colonel's advice, we'd a-never 
 been licked. 
 
 ANN 
 
 And now the whole colony is calling for Colonel 
 Washington to raise a new army. 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 [Flourishing her wreath of wild laurel.] 
 Oh, where is he? I'm just dying to crown him! 
 
 SALLY 
 
 Here's Humphrey Knight, his farmer; he'll know. 
 
 [Through the colonnade, right, a Man about 
 thirty, in working clothes, is entering with an 
 older Man about fifty, wearing a Miller's sack. 
 SALLY speaks to the younger Man.] 
 
 Humphrey, where is Colonel Washington? 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Well, ma'am, you might find him to the red barn, 
 and then you mightn't. 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 Come on, girls: hurry! 
 
58 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 ANN 
 
 Wait for me! I've a Latin quotation to go with 
 that laurel. 
 
 [They run off, left. 
 
 Following HUMPHREY, several Negroes enter, 
 carrying a long wooden box, divided in six open 
 compartments, with supporting timbers to stand 
 ore.] 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Set her thar, boys, and wait for orders. Marse 
 Washington he'll be along soon. 
 
 [The Negroes set down the box, and seat them 
 selves beside the kitchen building, in the left 
 background, where they commence a low, 
 drowsy singing among themselves. 
 
 HUMPHREY leaning against one of the colon 
 nade pillars takes from his pocket one of sev 
 eral wooden pins, and begins to whittle it smooth, 
 speaking to his companion.'} 
 
 Hot weather, William. 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 [Pulling his fingers uneasily.] 
 Aye; 'tis warm waitin'. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Waitin' for who-all? him? 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 59 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 Aye, him. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 [Curious.] 
 For what-all? 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 [Importantly reticent.] 
 Confidential. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Oh! Mill ain't runnin'? 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 [Shaking his head.] 
 She's gone dry. 
 
 [Turning the conversation to the box.] 
 What's this-yere? 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Seed plantin' outfit. 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 This late a-season? 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 War times, he takes his seasons when he catches 
 'em. Sperriments, William: sperriments in soil mix- 
 in's for wheat, oats and barley. The Cornal he's goin' 
 in deep. 
 
60 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 Aye; he do that. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Six compartments, you see, all numbered orderly. 
 Each one we mixes different like marie and half 
 marie, mud and earth sandish, cow dung, sheep dung, 
 clay and such like. Look: he's a-comin' now with 
 river muck. 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 Who's with 'm? 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Yon's Cap'n John Posey come round, I reckon, to 
 borrer more cash off the Cornal. 
 
 [Through the colonnade, right, WASHINGTON 
 enters wheeling a hand-barrow, containing black 
 earth and cloth bags. He wears an old straw 
 hat and farming clothes. Seeing HUMPHREY 
 and the box, he sets down the barrow, and re 
 moves his hat, mopping heavily his sun-reddened 
 face. 
 
 He is close followed by CAPTAIN JOHN POSEY, 
 a pleasant-faced, out-at-ends country squire 
 about forty, clothed with an indigent elegance. 
 He toys irresolutely with a bone-topped cane, 
 and speaks with a gentle drawling.] 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 Col. George, don't that wheelin' make ye perspire? 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 61 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Sweat buckets, Sir, thank God! [Pointing to the 
 barrow.] Humphrey, how's that? [To the MILLER 
 who, with HUMPHREY, has pulled off his cap.] Good 
 day, William. 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 [Pulling his forelock.] 
 Aye, your honour! 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 [Testing a chunk of earth from the barrow 
 with his fingers.] 
 Right smart muck I calls it, Cornal. 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 I'd a-thought now, Col. George, I'd a-thought 
 a-wheelin' dirt was work for niggers. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Dirt, Cap'n John! This here is wealth of the In 
 dies gold ore, Sir. Humphrey and me we've struck 
 a mine down the creek; eh, Humphrey? 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 So we hopes, Sir. 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 Then I'm in luck, Colonel. I come over to ask 
 your advice. 
 
62 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Gold ore advice, Cap'n? 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 Well, kind o' mixed: lucre and love combined: 
 Mammon and Venus, Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Laughing. ] 
 That sounds like a love match! 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 [Solemnly. ] 
 
 Wait till you hear. [Glancing at HUMPHREY and 
 WILLIAM.] Could I state my case confidential? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Of course; certainly. 
 
 {Exchanging a look with HUMPHREY, who 
 
 grins, he moves off with CAPTAIN JOHN toward 
 
 the house.] 
 What's your case, Cap'n? 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 Why, Col. George, as you pretty well know, I'm 
 hard up, but I could a-been able to have satisfied all 
 my old arrears some months ago by marrying an old 
 widow woman in this county. She has large sums o' 
 cash by her, and pretty good estate. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 63 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Sounds promising. 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 Yes, but damme 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 What's wrong? 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 Well, Sir, she's as thick as she is high, and she gits 
 drunk at least three or four a week, which is disagree 
 able to me, seein' when drunk she has a viliant sperrit. 
 So it's been a great dispute in my mind what to do. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Too risky? 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 Why, Sir, if my last wife had a-been an even-tem 
 pered woman, I believe I should run all risks ; but her 
 sperrit has given me such a shock, I'm afraid to run 
 the risk again. Yet, damme, I must marry right soon, 
 bein' hard up. For short, Col. George, could you 
 advise me? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Well, for short, Cap'n John, if you must marry and 
 time presses, here at least are ready assets: one avail 
 able widow, with cash and estate, sober three days in 
 
64 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 the week. The other days, Sir, you are very welcome 
 at Mt. Vernon. 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 [As they turn again toward the wheelbarrow.] 
 Right neighbourly, Colonel; I call that downright 
 neighbourly. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 So, Sir, if you should yield to Venus, I will propi 
 tiate Mammon with twenty bales of tobacco. Hum 
 phrey here will give you my order for 'em when the 
 chimes ring. 
 
 [Taking out a note pad, he writes on it.] 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 [Striking an oratorical attitude.] 
 Col. George, posterity will beatify your name, Sir, 
 as the best neighbour in the Potomac valley. I will 
 yield to Venus, Sir; I will yield promptly. 
 
 [He goes off, left.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Handing a slip of paper to HUMPHREY.] 
 Memorandum for Captain John Posey. 
 
 [Turning to the MILLER.] 
 
 Now, William, you have a report for me on the 
 mill? 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 65 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 [Looking hard at the cap in his hands, twists 
 it with slow fidgeting.] 
 Aye, your honour without offence confidential. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Oh! certainly. 
 
 [With a wink at HUMPHREY, he walks away a 
 few paces with the MILLER. While they stand 
 conversing together, the Negroes continue, more 
 loud, their drowsy singing. After a moment, 
 WASHINGTON shakes the MILLER'S hand, with a 
 smile, and speaks to him cheerfully as they re 
 turn to HUMPHREY.] 
 
 All right, friend William, I am pleased with your 
 services. Call at my barn office tomorrow morning at 
 quarter past five punctual. 
 
 WILLIAM 
 
 Thank ye kindly, Cornal me and the mill too! 
 
 [He goes off through the colonnade, left, smil 
 ing and muttering to himself. 
 
 WASHINGTON looks at HUMPHREY, and both 
 grin broadly.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Confidential, Humphrey, where are you taking our 
 experiment box? 
 
66 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Thought likely, Sir, you'd have her set by the green 
 house. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Quite right. [To one of the Negroes.] Here, 
 Zekiel, you and Isaiah tote this along. 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 Yas'r, massa. 
 
 [The Negroes lift the box and start off with 
 it.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Wait. [To HUMPHREY.] You understand, when 
 we fill these compartments, the different soils must be 
 mixed very fine with the manures. [Lifting a sack 
 from the barrow.] We can use a bag like this, to 
 jabble all well together before using. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 I get ye, Cornal. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Then in each division we plant three grains of 
 wheat, three of oats, and three of barley all at equal 
 distance and depth. I'll show you later. Run along 
 now, Zekiel. How's little Jerry and his Mammy? 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 Oh, dey's right smartish, massa. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 67 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Tell Jerry I fetched him home a rattler's skin, with 
 nine rattles. 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 
 Golly! nine fotches de luck; I'se tell 'm, massa: he 
 sho pop 'is eyes wif ticklement, yas'r! 
 
 [He goes out, left, with the box. 
 
 For a moment, WASHINGTON stands gazing off; 
 then, dropping the sack in the barrow, he turns 
 suddenly and strides back and forth, stretching 
 his arms with relish in the sunlight.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ho, Humphrey, Humphrey, here's the life! By 
 the etarnal, 'tis grand to get back home to real living 
 again! War is a silly interruption of farming. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 It do set us back, Cornal. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 More than some great folks guess. If every king 
 would raise his own vegetables, our military manuals 
 might all be almanacks. Here's the kings of France 
 and England, now, warring for a new world, and me 
 helping his British Majesty, God save him, to prove 
 his argument with gunpowder; and meantime, Hum 
 phrey, here's our home ploughing is full of stumps, 
 and the old swamp only half drained! 
 
68 WASHINGTON [Aer I 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Gunpowder, they say, is rare snuff for the gentry, 
 Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Yes, yes, it hets the blood, man, like rum punch! 
 I've knowed days myself when I'd rather hear the 
 bullets whistling than the robins, and a tom-tom drum 
 ming than a partridge. For all that, gunpowder is 
 poor truck for farmers: 'tis a hot snuff, but a cold 
 fertilizer. [He looks at HUMPHREY whittling.] 
 What's that a timber pin? 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Aye, Sir; for the new cow shed. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Taking out a pocket knife.] 
 Let me finish it. Have a seat. I've something to 
 say to you. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 [Taking another piece of wood from his 
 pocket, sits on the bench.] 
 Thank ye, Sir. 
 
 [WASHINGTON sits on the bag in the wheel 
 barrow. 
 
 For a while, both whittle in silence; then 
 WASHINGTON without looking up speaks 
 slowly.] 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 69 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Humphrey, do you ever find it hard to express 
 yourself? 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Never find it nothin' else, Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I guess 'tis mostly so. I guess that all the elo 
 quence of the prophets is just to proclaim man's 
 dumbness. As for me, Humphrey, to get back from 
 war and watch plants growing 'tis like getting back 
 to the first garden, and talking with the Almighty in 
 his own language wonder, not words. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Tis a kind of sarvice, Sir, without the preacher. I 
 often thought that. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Just so. And so I guess we can rightly call it that 
 gardening real gardening is the Word of God. 
 And there's three great things, Humphrey, in that 
 religion: first, there's quiet; and second, there's order; 
 and third, there's growth. Quiet, order, growth: 
 there, I believe, is sound faith for a man or a nation. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 I inkles your meanin', Sir. 
 
70 WASHINGTON [Acr I 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Tis a big meaning. Here's our country, America 
 a big acre to garden: Not just the clearing, stump 
 ing, fencing, furrows to turn; not just ditching and 
 ploughing God's earth, mixing of soils: 'tis the right 
 planting, Humphrey planting and mixing of men, 
 aye, and the weeding the sowing and harvest of 
 peace and war. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Judgin', Sir, by public meetin's in war times, there's 
 some would plough with their tongues, and harrer with 
 their wind-pipes. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Aye quiet hell with hullaballoo: 'tis a common 
 instinct. God puts in each man and nation one great 
 desire for liberty, liberty to grow: so most of us 
 begin by grabbing our neighbour's garden by the 
 Grace of God. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 Livin' together is sure kind of a tarnal tangle-patch. 
 What do you reckon, Sir, is the way out? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Order the order of liberty: and that means 
 method and will to practise the love of our neighbour. 
 Order, Humphrey, is the most beautiful thing in crea 
 tion. 'T was God's command to chaos. 
 
 [Through the colonnade, left, re-enter the 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 71 
 
 three GIRLS and BISHOP. Tiptoeing behind the 
 pillars, they peep out and listen.~\ 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 I wish you was home more oftener, Cornal. A 
 feller would raise more out o' farmin' and you 
 along to talk with. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Somehow talking comes easier here along with a 
 few home folks. Out there fighting, they call me a 
 shut-mouth man. 
 
 HUMPHREY 
 
 [With a chuckle.] 
 You, Sir? That is a good un! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Anyhow, here I am home, and now, Humphrey, 
 we'll right enough farm it, eh? I've a new plan to 
 tell you about cattle feeding. Listen here: If we 
 should fat one bullock altogether with potatoes, an 
 other with Indian meal, and a third 
 
 [Shrill cries break short his speaking. 
 With a rush from the colonnade, the three 
 GIRLS, followed by BISHOP, surround the ivheel- 
 barrow, where ELIZABETH from behind waves 
 high the laurel wreath, and lowers it on WASH 
 INGTON'S head.] 
 
72 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 ANN AND SALLY 
 
 Crown him! Crown him! 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 Hail to the hero of battles! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Rising, flustered.] 
 Ladies! 
 
 ANN 
 
 Laurels for the temple of Mars! 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 Oh, don't take it off! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Removing the wreath from his brow, looks at 
 it, and stutters.] 
 L-ladies 
 
 SALLY 
 
 George! How wonderful to be a real triumvirate! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 A what, Sally? 
 
 SALLY 
 
 A Roman warrior with three lives, and a horse 
 apiece. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 73 
 
 ANN 
 
 [With a grand courtesy. ~\ 
 Exitus acta probat! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Beg pardon? 
 
 ANN 
 
 That's the motto on your shield of arms. I'm sure 
 it must fit it sounds so glorious: Exitus acta 
 
 SALLY 
 
 Be quiet, Ann! George, now, tell us all about 
 the bloodshed. But do come away from that dirty 
 wheelbarrow. 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 Please tell us! 
 
 ANN 
 
 Everything! Don't hold back the worst, will you? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ladies, everything to oblige! Where shall I 
 begin? You have heard, I believe, of my death and 
 dying speech 
 
 SALLY 
 
 Oh, several versions of each. 
 
74 WASHINGTON [Acr I 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Permit me, then, to correct the former, while I com 
 pose the latter. 
 
 [He attempts to withdraw.] 
 
 ELIZABETH AND ANN 
 
 No, no! You can't run. Go on! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Next, ladies, I will narrate how our conquering 
 army was tarnally thrashed to thunder by the enemy, 
 who knows how to fight. 
 
 SALLY 
 
 George, that isn't heroic! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Raising the laurel wreath.] 
 
 And, last, permit me to lay this tribute where it 
 belongs on the head of Bishop, who found me the 
 horse that fetched me home from Ohio, to find my 
 self a Roman. 
 
 [Putting the laurel on BISHOP'S head, he bows 
 himself out of the girls 9 circle, and starts off.] 
 
 SALLY 
 
 Don't let him escape, girls! 
 
 ANN 
 
 Nay, indeed, he sha'n't! Here's a warrant for his 
 
I 
 
 ACT I] WASHINGTON 75 
 
 captivity. Look! [She holds up a slip of paper.} 
 Read what I found iif a coat pocket! 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 [Snatching it.} 
 What is it? [Reading aloud.] 
 
 ONE ENGAGEMENT RING 
 2 Pounds, 6 Shillings, Pence 
 
 [The GIRLS shout with excitement: "Engage 
 ment ring!"] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Bursting out.] 
 Young ladies! Where ? 
 [He stops, confused.] 
 
 SALLY 
 
 Oho! where indeed? Where does this pledge hold 
 him captive? 
 
 ANN 
 
 Rumour answers in a certain white house, on the 
 Pamunkey. 
 
 SALLY 
 
 The White House! 
 
76 WASHINGTON [Acx I 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 Oh, the White House! [To WASHINGTON.] Nay, 
 really the charming Custis? 
 
 ANN 
 
 Look at him frozen image of Guilt! Girls, we 
 must deliver him to his fate. You see, now, where all 
 this pathway of war is leading! to the doorstep of a 
 certain White House and a charming widow! 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 [Coaxingly.] 
 Honest, Colonel George, are you engaged? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Idly.] 
 
 Yes, madam: I am engaged in farming; and I am 
 busy. 
 
 SALLY 
 
 [Under her breath.] 
 
 You hear, girls? We'd best stop teasing. [With 
 bated tone.] Forgive us, George: we've been silly, 
 but we're serious now. Do tell us about the war 
 what's to happen. When are you going back to take 
 command? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Flashing a look of grave feeling.] 
 Never till I am offered it. His Majesty has never 
 yet commissioned me to honourable command. I will 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 77 
 
 never again accept of less, while brave men are butch 
 ered wholesale, with flags flying. 
 
 [From the left, an OFFICER in British uni 
 form* carrying a document with seals, is hurry 
 ing in. He is about to pass WASHINGTON, but 
 stops, speaking short of breath.] 
 
 He is followed, more slowly, by a tattered 
 country Fellow, carrying a fiddle.] 
 
 THE OFFICER 
 
 I beg pardon, Sir. Is this Colonel Washington? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 It is, Sir. 
 
 THE OFFICER 
 
 [Saluting, hands him the document.] 
 I come from headquarters, Colonel. I bring you 
 here his Majesty's commission. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Takes it, clenching his jaw; then speaks, 
 slowly.] 
 What commission, Sir? 
 
 THE OFFICER 
 
 As Commander of all the Colonial forces in Vir 
 ginia. 
 
 [WASHINGTON stares at him.] 
 The GIRLS cry out exultantly, clapping their 
 hands.] 
 
78 WASHINGTON [Acr I 
 
 THE GIRLS 
 
 Colonel Washington commander by commission! 
 Called back to his country! 
 
 [In the midst of their cries, the FIDDLER draws 
 his bow on his fiddle strings. At its sound, 
 pitched high and sweet like the GIRLS' voices, 
 black darkness blots out the scene to a tune 
 still playing from the darkness.} 
 
 (Fourth Transition) 
 
 The tune deepens to an old plantation melody, to 
 which the strings of the fiddle now are struck 
 with low strumming. 
 
 Very faintly, at first, the mellow voices of NEGRO MEN 
 begin to sing in choral harmony, with which soon 
 the voices of WOMEN and CHILDREN join. 
 
 THE VOICES 
 Adam and Eba, wipe yo' eyes, 
 
 'Tain't no good fo' ter gaze at de garden; 
 Closed is de do's ob Paradise; 
 
 'Tain't no good fo' ter axe no pardon. 
 
 Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down? 
 Oh, whar 9 ll I lay my heart down? 
 Eden home is far away. 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 79 
 
 Oh, nebber mind! 
 
 Fll lay my heart down. 
 
 Down in de lap ob ol 9 Virgin-ee-ay! 
 
 Moses, drop dat of staf in yo' hand, 
 'Tain't no use yo' eyesight strainin'; 
 
 'Tain't fo' you no promise' land; 
 
 Egypt won't nebber turn into Canaan. 
 
 Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down? 
 Oh, wharll I lay my heart down? 
 
 Eden home is far away. 
 Oh, nebber mind! 
 I'll lay my heart down, 
 
 Down in de lap ob ol 9 Virgin-ee-ay! 
 
 While this Chorus is growing louder, out of the dark 
 ness one by one lanterns begin to shine, cast 
 ing mysterious shadows through the colonnade, 
 gradually revealing grouped forms and colour 
 ful movements of festal preparation. 
 
 FIFTH ACTION 
 
 Like a moving frieze in the background to and fro 
 between house and kitchen Negroes are pass 
 ing, some in gay liveries, others with bright body- 
 
80 WASHINGTON [ACT I 
 
 cloths, that set off the burnished ebony of their 
 limbs. All bear on their heads, or in their 
 hands, trenchers and trays, heaped with dishes 
 from the meal indoors, from which the hum of 
 after-supper talk and laughter resounds through 
 the open house-door. 
 
 Among the Negroes are MAMMY SAL, ZEKIEL and 
 ISAIAH. 
 
 MAMMY SAL appearing slightly older than before 
 resplendent in pied head-gear, bustles proudly 
 in her overseering. 
 
 Through the Chorus as it dies away, her voice is heard 
 in half -chanted cadence speaking to the pass 
 ing Figures. 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Keep on a-movin' on: ri'chon in, ri'chon in: keep 
 on a-movin' on in, dar! Zekiel, now's de glory we 
 been waitin'. De bride an' de groom, de groom an' 
 de bride blessed be de bride an' de bridegroom! 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 
 Big doin's, Mammy Sal: sho big doin's dis yere 
 night at de home manshin! 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Wen de man he bring de noo woman home, w'en 
 de massa he bring home de noo missy-bride praise 
 de Lo'd ob Crayshun! den shall de feas' be spread, 
 an' de fiddle he's say Glory! an' de feet dey's holler 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 81 
 
 Amen! an' de evenin' stars dey's all grab a-han's, fo' 
 ter sing de Cray shun Hallelujah! 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 
 An' I done hear tell, Mammy Sal, w'at de war she's 
 all ober, an' de Injuns dey's got lickt an' got de 'ligion, 
 so's Marse Corn'l Washin'n done could put on 's silk 
 stockin's, and wed 'is lady-bride down de W'ite House. 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 An' you done hear tell de gospel troof, Zekiel: 
 
 War-fightin' done gone forebber: 
 
 Hang up de musket-gun! 
 Weddin' an' feas-a-tin' comin' now forebber: 
 
 Take down de fiddle-bow! 
 
 honey Marse George! an' him now de bride 
 groom, w'at his ole Mammy Sal done feed up wid de 
 co'n pone, in de boy -time ob 's years! 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 But w'ar' de bride? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Wat! you ain't seen her yit? Watch out: he's 
 a-bringin' her now wid de neighbours an' gues's. 
 Dey's a-comin' ou'chere, fo' ter dance de welcome- 
 home rinktums. 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 
 But w'ich-a-one be ri'chenough Missy Washin'n? 
 
82 WASHINGTON [Aer I 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Watch out, I'm a-tellin' you, f o' de rose-flower lady, 
 wid de two li'l bud-flower chilluns. De boy-chile, he 
 Marse Jack Custis; an' de gal-chile sister, she Missy 
 Patty; an' dey lady-mudder w'at was Missy Martha 
 Custis she ri'chenough now Marse George' bride 
 Missy Washin'n. [Turning to the tray -bearers.] 
 Keep on a-movin' on, dar: ri'chon in, now! 
 
 [While MAMMY SAL has been speaking, there 
 has come forth from the house a happy throng of 
 Guests, chiefly young people, who gather buzzing 
 on the grass and about the colonnade their old- 
 time gowns and buckles gleaming in the lantern- 
 shine. 
 
 Among the last preceded down the steps by 
 a FIDDLER, who treads backward before them, 
 come GEORGE and MARTHA WASHINGTON, in 
 their wedding costumes. 
 
 Riding high on his left shoulder, WASHING 
 TON carries a little GIRL; before him and next 
 to the FIDDLER a little BOY bears the fiddle; 
 while WASHINGTON, with his right hand, escorts 
 the Bride to the centre middleground. 
 
 There the FIDDLER, mounts a table against a 
 column, while a clamour of shouts goes up from 
 the GUESTS.] 
 
 THE GUESTS 
 
 The bride! Long live the bride! God save the 
 groom! 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 83 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Lifting the little BOY upon his right shoul 
 der.] 
 
 Friends, permit me to present these mascots of Mt. 
 Vernon Mistress Patty and Master Jack. 
 
 [The GUESTS applaud; the CHILDREN wave 
 from their high seats.] 
 They shall preside with the Fiddler! 
 
 [Gaily, he swings the CHILDREN from his 
 shoulders upon the table. 
 
 The GUESTS applaud again, and CAPTAIN 
 JOHN POSEY cries out from among them:~\ 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN 
 
 The bride! Speech from the bride! 
 [The GUESTS take up the call.] 
 
 MARTHA WASHINGTON 
 
 [Laughing, lifts the keys at her girdle, and 
 jingles them.] 
 
 Nay, my dears, not from me! In the house of the 
 Washingtons, I am Keeper of the Keys, but the 
 Speaker of the House is the Colonel. 
 
 [She makes a low courtesy to WASHINGTON.] 
 
 POSEY 
 
 Three cheers for Colonel George and his lady! 
 Hip, hip [ALL: "Hurray!"], Hip hip [ALL: 
 "Hurray r 9 ], Hip hip [ALL: "Hurray!"]. 
 
84 WASHINGTON [ACT I 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Neighbours, my friends, in the name of Mistress 
 Washington and myself, I return your welcome. The 
 gates of Mt. Vernon shall always swing both ways: 
 inward, to welcome our neighbours; outward, to carry 
 our neighbourly Godsend as far as the road winds. 
 And now happily our wishes are granted us, within 
 and without. These personal joys are sanctified by 
 public peace. 
 
 [MURMURS FROM THE GUESTS: "Amen!" 
 "Praise be for that!" etc.] 
 
 Our country, too, holds house-warming: her long 
 wars are over. We have offered her our lives in bat 
 tle for the only goal free men of America will fight 
 for unrankling peace. 
 
 [THE GUESTS: "Hear, hear!" "You've won 
 it for us, Colonel!" etc.] 
 
 And so, on this gracious May night, the repose of a 
 great continent likens the repose of our hearts: no 
 bloody massacres impend; no cries ef persecution 
 call us to take arms. Here, at last, we are camped 
 at home, where now we may set our bayonets as chim 
 ney-spits, to turn roast fowl; and our swords in scythe- 
 handles, to trim a dancing-green; and practise our 
 marching orders in a Virginia reel. 
 
 [THE GUESTS: "The reel!" "On with the 
 reel!"] 
 
 [WASHINGTON turns, with a bow, to MARTHA.] 
 How say you, Patsy, are we partners? 
 
ACT I] WASHINGTON 85 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 Partners, George, as long as the Fiddler shall 
 play. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ho, then, Master Fiddler, strike up: and mind you 
 don't stop short o' doomsday! 
 
 [From his raised place beside the two CHIL 
 DREN, the FIDDLER flourishes his bow, and puts 
 fiddle to chin. 
 
 In the background, the Negroes look on, grin- 
 ning and excited. 
 
 Choosing partners, the Guests take places for 
 a Virginia reel GEORGE and MARTHA WASH 
 INGTON as first couple. 
 
 At stroke of the fiddle, they begin joyously 
 to dance, and spangling the lantern-lit dark 
 dance on, while the Curtain falls.] 
 
 END OF ACT I 
 
ACT II 
 
ACT II 
 SIXTH ACTION 
 
 Before the curtain rises, a deep, muffled explosion be 
 hind it has ushered a confusion of sounds from 
 within: Jangling and tolling of bells, half artic 
 ulate shouts and bursts of singing, babble of jeer 
 ing voices and beating of drums, these are min 
 gled with the cracking percussion of musketry 
 and the long far roll of cannonading. 
 
 So, amid obscurity and vague din, indeterminate as 
 noises heard in dreams, one hardly observes the 
 rise of the curtain upon a lurid scene, throughout 
 the acting of which only occasional glimpses 
 (caught from the flare of a torch or a pole-lan 
 tern) reveal in turmoil the passing and grouping 
 of Revolutionary figures, that appear less like 
 real men, women and children than their images 
 conjured behind the closed eye-lids of fevered 
 sleep. 
 
 First, in the distance, drawing nearer, Voices of Men 
 ire heard singing in uproar. 
 
 THE SINGERS 
 
 Oh, the birds of the air and the fish of the sea 
 
 To Adam, old Adam, our Lord He gave free, 
 
 89 
 
90 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 Till the lord of taxation 
 Cried, "/ made creation! 
 I will take for my dish 
 Every fowl, every fish." 
 
 Derry down, down! Hey, derry down! 
 
 VOICES 
 
 [Of persons dimly seen in the foreground.] 
 Here they come the Liberty Boys! Hurray! 
 Who's that they're riding on the pole? 
 A Tory: he's a Tory! They've stripped him naked. 
 He's tarred and feathered. 
 
 Here they come! Hoho, see the Tory King-bird! 
 
 [Whirled by in the flashing of lanterns, a fan 
 tastic human Form, blackened and stuck all with 
 feathers, rides high on a pole borne on the shoul 
 ders of Young Men, who rush past and off the 
 scene, still yelling their song.] 
 
 THE LIBERTY BOYS 
 
 So the sons of old Adam, with Liberty Tree 
 Tossed the fish in the air and the fowl in the sea, 
 
 Crying, "Lord of foul weathers, 
 
 Your fish shall wear feathers 
 
 Till the tar of your tax 
 
 Melts offen their backs." 
 
 Derry down, down! Hey, derry down! 
 
 VOICES 
 I They'll moult that bird in the duck pond. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 91 
 
 II They'll be back soon and join us. Who's next? 
 
 Ill Old Myles Cooper. 
 
 II What the College President? 
 
 Ill Aye, we'll tar him next: he's a Tory. 
 
 IV He's inside there now, but we're layin' for him. 
 
 A VOICE 
 
 [Calling like a Street-Crier.] 
 Ballad! Buy your penny -ballad ! 
 
 [Carrying a bunch of narrow paper strips, the 
 tattered Figure of QUILLOQUON is glimpsed mov 
 ing among others in the dimness 9 hawking ballads 
 and reciting snatches of them.] 
 Hearken, patriots! 
 
 'That land of slaves, where snares are laid, 
 There royal rights all right defeat: 
 
 They taxed my sun, they taxed my shade, 
 They taxed the wretched crumbs I eat; 
 
 'They taxed my hat, they taxed my shoes, 
 
 Fresh taxes still on taxes grew; 
 They would have taxed my very nose 
 
 Had I not fled, dear friends, to you.' 
 
 A VOICE 
 
 [Followed by laughter.] 
 Sure, then, even your nose ain't safe over here. 
 
92 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 OTHER VOICES 
 
 [One} 
 
 'Whoever would give up essential liberty to pur 
 chase a little temporary safety, deserves neither lib 
 erty nor safety.' 
 
 [Several} 
 
 Right! right! 
 
 [Three in Conversation] 
 
 I. 'Can you conceive a greater absurdity: Three 
 millions of people running to their seacoast every 
 time a ship arrives from London, to know what por 
 tion of liberty they should enjoy?' 
 
 H. 'And all because of a King!' 
 
 III. 'And what hath a King to do, more than make 
 war, give away places, impoverish the nation and set 
 it by the ears?' 
 
 I. 'A pretty business, indeed, for a man to be al 
 lowed eight hundred thousand sterling for.' 
 
 II. 'And worshipped into the bargain ha!' 
 
 THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 
 
 Ballad! Get your penny ballad! 
 
 '0 Boston wives and maids, draw near and see 
 Our delicate Souchong and Hyson tea; 
 Buy it, my charming girls, fair, black or brown, 
 If not, we'll cut your throats and burn your town.' 
 
 VOICES 
 I. Tom Paine has the right of it: 'Government, 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 93 
 
 like dress, is the badge of lost innocence a mode 
 rendered necessary by the inability of moral virtue to 
 govern the world.' 
 
 II. And yet they put their soldiers to govern us. 
 
 I. 'Aye, forsooth! but military power is by no 
 means calculated to convince the understandings of 
 men. It may perhaps in another part of the world 
 affright women and children and weak men out of 
 their senses, but it will never awe a sensible American 
 tamely to surrender his liberty.' 
 
 III. That's what Sam Adams told 'em in Boston. 
 
 [On the left, raised suddenly from the ground, 
 appears an improvised pulpit of black, into 
 which a black- gowned Figure mounts and intones 
 loudly in the voice of QUILLOQUON:] 
 
 THE GOWNED FIGURE 
 
 [Quilloquon] 
 Brethren of the Congregation! 
 
 THE CROWD 
 
 The Preacher! Listen to the Preacher! 
 
 THE GOWNED FIGURE 
 
 [Quilloquon] 
 Give ear unto my parable! 
 
 [Raising aloft a great volume.] 
 Hark to the scriptures of Jonathan, the son of John, 
 and father of Samuel, uncle of tribes to be: 
 
94 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 Lo, my text is from 'The First Book of the Ameri 
 can Chronicles of the Times.' 
 
 [Opening the volume, he reads by the light of 
 a lantern held by one of the crowd.] 
 'And behold! When the tidings came to the great 
 city that is afar off, how the men of Boston, even the 
 Bostonites, had arose a great multitude, and destroyed 
 the Tea, and cast it into the midst of the Sea 
 
 [The CROWD murmur and laugh.] 
 'Then the Lord the King waxed exceeding wroth, 
 'And he assembled together the Princes, the judges, 
 all the rulers of the people, 
 
 'And they smote their breasts and said, "These men 
 fear thee not, King, neither have they worshipped 
 the Tea Chest, which thou hast set up, whose length 
 was three cubits, and the breadth thereof one cubit and 
 a half. 
 
 [A VOICE intones from the crowd: "Miser 
 able sinners!"] 
 
 ' "Now, therefore, make a decree that their harbours 
 be blocked up, that their merchants may be broke, 
 that their ships that goeth upon the waters may be 
 sunk in the depth thereof, that their cods and their oil 
 may stink, for that they have rebelled against thee." 
 [A VOICE: "Mercy upon us!" 
 OTHER VOICES, in groaning unison: "Miser 
 able sinners!"] 
 
 'And it came to pass that the King harkened to these 
 'sons of Belial. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 95 
 
 'Then arose Mordecai, the Benjaminite, who was 
 fourscore and five years old, a wise man, an astrol 
 oger 
 
 [A VOICE: "Old Ben Franklin, I bet ye! 
 He can fly a kite that'll blow kings to thunder 
 over there before doom's day." 
 OTHER VOICES: "Amen!"] 
 'And the Benjaminite said, 
 
 * "0 King, they hide the truth from thee, and wrong 
 fully accuse the men of Boston. King, if thou art 
 wise, thou wilt understand these things." 
 
 'But behold! one of the King's counsellors said, 
 "Thou liest. 
 
 * "Hearken, King! The men of New England 
 are stiff necked and as stubborn hogs; they are worse 
 than all the plagues of Egypt: They go to and fro 
 in the evening and grin like a dog. Surely, King, 
 the spirit of Oliver or the devil is got in them." 
 
 [A VOICE: "Aye Oliver Cromwell's 
 devil!"} 
 
 'And behold the Rulers of the People cried out 
 vehemently, "Persecute them!" 
 
 'And they sent their battering rams against the city, 
 and their cannon, which bellowed out fire and smoke 
 and brimstone. 
 
 'And they planted these on the neck of the Boston- 
 ites and laid siege against it. 
 
 'And they made mouths and said, "Let us pinch 
 them by famine, and they will surely give up." 
 
96 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 [Groans from the CROWD.] 
 
 'And they drummed with their drums and piped 
 with their pipes, and they abused the young children 
 of Boston, calling them Yankees. 
 
 'And the young men said, "We will not bear this! 
 Seven times have they vexed us, and they gape as it 
 were a ramping lion; let us go and smite the heathen." 
 [VOICES: "Amen! 99 "Hip and thigh! 99 ] 
 
 'But the Benjaminite, the wise man, said, "Nay, my 
 sons, pluck up your hearts like young unicorns. Let 
 us bow not down to the Tea Chest, but let us send Mes 
 sengers to all the coasts of our brethren the Ameri- 
 canites, to join with us and resist these rulers we that 
 be one people, and serve one God so that we be not 
 slaves.'" 
 
 THE CROWD 
 
 [With a great shout.'] 
 
 Aye aye Amen! The Americanites! America! 
 [Clamouring toward the PREACHER, they over 
 whelm the improvised pulpit, which flounders 
 down in the jumble of darkness, amid which 
 QUILLOQUON disappears.] 
 
 Hurrah for the Liberty Boys! Here they come 
 back! 
 
 [From the left, the LIBERTY BOYS come rush 
 ing on again, shouting a medley of cries as they 
 come.] 
 
 THE LIBERTY BOYS 
 
 King's College! King's College! King's College! 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 97 
 
 Tar the President! He's a Tory! Tar him! 
 The rack for him the rack! 
 Tory Cooper! Old Clergy Cooper! 
 Be quiet, boys: Sing him Liberty Lullaby! 
 [In Chorus, they burst into singing:} 
 
 Toss-a-by, Tory, on the tree-top ; 
 When Freedom blows, your kingdom will rock: 
 When Freedom strikes, your kingdom will fall, 
 And down will come Tory, King, Crown and all! 
 
 Toss-a-by, toss-a-by, toss-a-by, Tory! 
 
 Toss-a-by, toss-a-by, toss-a-by, Tory! 
 
 [The singing breaks off with a roar of jeers 
 and cat-calls, which turn to hisses, as, at the top 
 of the steps, a gowned man is dragged forth.} 
 Sss! There he is! Tar him! Hang him! A 
 halter! 
 
 A LEADER 
 
 [Swinging a lantern.} 
 
 Silence! Be quiet there! Let the Reverend Doc 
 tor speak his funeral oration. 
 
 [Lowering his voice to a tone of ironic defer 
 ence.} 
 
 Minister Myles Cooper, you are called to address 
 the pall-bearers. 
 
 [A white-haired Man, gowned in black, steps 
 forward and speaks with a quiet, cultivated enun 
 ciation, raising his voice only slightly.} 
 
98 WASHINGTON [ACT II 
 
 PRESIDENT COOPER 
 
 Gentlemen of New York 
 
 [JEERS: "Boo! Boo! Gentry be 
 damned!"] 
 
 This is not a proper occasion to call on a Royalist 
 to express his 
 
 VOICES 
 
 [Interrupting.] 
 Royalist! He owns he's a Royalist. 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 Be still, boys! Since his Reverence declines an 
 oration, perchance he prefers a catechism. 
 [With mock bow.] 
 
 Beseech your Worship to inform our ignorance: 
 What honourable institution is this? 
 
 COOPER 
 This, Sir, as you well know, is King's College. 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 Wrong, your Reverence! I know a college, when 
 I see one; but what, Sir, is a king? 
 
 [VOICES: "Aye, what's a king? 9 '] 
 
 COOPER 
 
 [With polite and stinging contempt.] 
 Gentlemen, you are drowned in Madeira. Vilify 
 me, if you will; but when you blaspheme his Majesty, 
 the King 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 99 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 [Stilling a storm of hisses, as he waves a wine- 
 bottle.] 
 
 Wrong again, Master Cooper! His Majesty is 
 drowned not us. He was lately drowned in a pot of 
 tea, which his fair daughter Columbia brewed him 
 with salt-water. In consequence, poor old mummy, 
 his royal remains are now in a pickle. 
 
 A VOICE 
 
 [Followed by laughter.] 
 Hanoverian tripe! 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 So, Sir, henceforth his fair daughter Columbia is 
 mistress of our vows. Hail, Columbia! In thy name 
 I break now this bottle of Madeira, and baptize for 
 ever this shrine of American youth Columbia Col 
 lege! 
 
 SHOUTS 
 
 Long live Columbia College! 
 
 A VOICE 
 And to hell with the Tory President of King's. 
 
 VOICES 
 
 String him! Shave his head! Cut off his ears! 
 Slit his nose ! Strip him naked ! 
 
 [With a rush, the CROWD surges up the steps, 
 at the top of which a lithe young FIGURE sud- 
 
100 WASHINGTON [ACT II 
 
 denly leaps upon a railing and halts them with 
 voice and gesture.] 
 
 THE YOUNG FIGURE 
 
 Liberty Boys ! Wait ! A word ! 
 
 VOICES 
 Hold on, there! Listen! 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 Who are you? 
 
 THE YOUNG FIGURE 
 
 I am a student of this college. I ask to speak for it. 
 
 VOICES 
 
 A collegian! A collegian! 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 What's your party? 
 
 THE YOUNG FIGURE 
 
 The American party 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 Your name? 
 
 THE YOUNG FIGURE 
 
 Alexander Hamilton. 
 
 VOICES 
 Hamilton he's a patriot. He helped us move the 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 101 
 
 cannon by the river this morning. Let him speak! 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 [Sullenly.] 
 Do as you like ! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Liberty Boys! I am one of you. Do you remem 
 ber our battle-cry? 
 
 SHOUTS 
 Liberty and Reason for ever! 
 
 1 ' i ' '' ' 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Liberty and Reason: Those are the noblest watch 
 words of mankind: those are the radiant lamps that 
 burn in our country's eyes: they guide her steps; they 
 reveal her goal; without them she would be blind. 
 Who, then, shall dare to extinguish them? 
 
 VOICES 
 Nobody! Let 'em dare! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Fellow-countrymen, in our country's honour you 
 have rechristened my alma mater. I rejoice in her 
 new-born name Columbia College. In that name, I 
 rejoice that you have sought out this man this college 
 president to confront him here on these steps with 
 the irrefutable arguments of Liberty and Reason. 
 
102 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 Who's arguing? What's this? 
 
 COOPER 
 
 [Addressing the CROWD and pointing at HAM 
 ILTON.] 
 
 Gentlemen, don't listen to him, for God's sake! 
 He's a mad rebel worse sober than you others drunk. 
 The game is up, gentlemen! Take me: ride me on 
 your rail, but deliver me from his raillery. 
 [Several start to seize the old Man.} 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Intervening.] 
 Wait! Will you hear him or me? 
 
 SHOUTS 
 You you! Gag the old Royalist. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Royalist! Now you have named him. My 
 friends, he calls us rebels, but will the learned master 
 of the college tell us what is a Royalist? 
 
 SHOUTS 
 
 A crown-kisser a tyrant's boot-licker! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 A man who supports his monarch against his peo 
 ple. A Royalist, then, himself is the arch-rebel: a 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 103 
 
 rebel to Magna Charta, a rebel to the Constitution, a 
 rebel to the ancient liberties of his own race. 
 
 A VOICE 
 
 So he is! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 For, mark you, friends: if there be reason in liberty, 
 rulers exist for their peoples, not peoples for their 
 rulers; and whenever, wherever on this earth rulers 
 shall choose to argue the contrary 
 [The CROWD cheers wildly.] 
 
 rulers become rebels to their people, and may take 
 the consequences. 
 
 SHOUTS 
 
 Aye, aye, aye! To hell with rulers and kings! 
 Liberty and Reason for ever! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 You hear, Master President: You behold the con 
 sequences in America. 
 
 COOPER 
 
 Aye, Sir, I hear your counter arguments the yelp 
 ing of curs, the belling of hounds for blood. I behold 
 you, American patriots: a mob of bankrupts and 
 shopkeepers, attorneys in tatters, cobblers without 
 shoes, tinkers of broken lanterns prolitarian up 
 starts! 
 
104 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 SHOUTS 
 
 String him up! Away with him! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Stay! Hear him out! 
 
 [The CROWD pauses, but growls with menace.] 
 
 COOPER 
 
 Aye, young bullies, cowards! I am an old man, a 
 peaceful minister of God. You attack me, an hun 
 dred to one. But, praise God and King George, I am 
 a British Royalist, afraid of no Yankee ragtails. So 
 here, I stand, alone: alone, and I challenge you to 
 defend yourselves. Liberty and Reason those are 
 your rebel appeals to Ribaldry and Madness. 
 
 [ The CROWD roars terribly. HAMILTON leaps 
 on the rail again and raises his lantern.} 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Patriots! You hear his challenge. Will you take 
 it? 
 
 SHOUTS 
 
 [Fiercely.] 
 Aye, aye ! We'll answer him ! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Bravo, fellow Americans! And I will be your 
 spokesman. He has made a brave stand a pathetic 
 plea this man of peace this old Royalist who stands 
 alone: all alone, except for the army of England: all 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 105 
 
 alone, poor minister except for the ministry of Great 
 Britain; all, all alone, poor imperialist except for 
 the power of the imported king and the princes and 
 nobility and parliament and press and embattled navy 
 of the mightiest empire of the world. 
 
 VOICES 
 Hear, hear! Go to it, boy! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Still, we accept his challenge not as of might, but 
 of right. Curs, he calls us hounds belling for 
 blood: Are we that breed? 
 
 VOICES 
 No, no. Damn him! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 We Americans are we the watchdogs that have 
 faced for a century of blood the fangs of wild beasts, 
 the tomahawks of wilder men, to guard the frontiers 
 of a new world? Or has this continent been defended 
 by the King's fox-hounds in Hyde Park? 
 
 A VOICE 
 
 [Amid shrill whistlings.] 
 Hamilton to the death! Sic 'im, collegian! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 "Bankrupts," "Attorneys in tatters": Aye, Sir: we 
 own to your impeachment. Bankrupted by whom? 
 
106 WASHINGTON [ ACT II 
 
 VOICES 
 
 The King! Parliament! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Turning to the CROWD.] 
 Who taxed us without representation? 
 
 VOICES 
 Parliament ! Parliament ! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Who imposed the Stamp Act? 
 
 A SHOUT 
 
 Royalists ! Royalists ! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Who made them repeal it? 
 
 A GREATER SHOUT 
 
 Americans! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Who forged new fetters: forced us to choose slav 
 ery or freedom, and when we rejected slavery who 
 sealed up our harbours, tore up our charters, lodged 
 soldiers in our homes and confiscated our rights as 
 citizens? 
 
 SHOUTS 
 The King. The Ministry ! Tyrants ! 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 107 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Bankrupt aye, in bread, but not in brains. Tat 
 tered attorneys, yes and the tatters we wear are 
 fouled rags of the once noble vestments of Britain's 
 majesty; but the rights our intellects plead, and our 
 passions adore, are validated by the majesty of man 
 kind. They are not to be rummaged for among old 
 parchments, or musty records. They are written, as 
 with a sunbeam, in the whole volume of human nature, 
 by the hand of Divinity itself, and can never be erased 
 or obscured by mortal power? 
 
 A VOICE 
 
 [From the CROWD now held in a deep-breath 
 ing silence.] 
 Amen! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Cobblers and tinkers and why not? Cobblers 
 without shoes we shall mend the wing-torn sandals 
 of Liberty, that she may run once more among the 
 stars; tinkers we shall make old lanterns new again 
 and, like Aladdin, make genii, instead of men, the 
 slaves of Reason. 
 
 VOICES 
 Liberty and Reason for ever! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Aye. Liberty and Reason so we return to our 
 
108 WASHINGTON [Aer II 
 
 watchwords. But this Royalist has challenged us. 
 He says, when we use those watchwords, we are hypo 
 crites. 
 
 A VOICE 
 
 He lies in his throat. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Bravo! Shall we prove to him he lies? 
 
 VOICES 
 You bet! Make him swallow his apple. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Thrusting COOPER behind him in the obscur 
 ity of the doorway, speaks with increasing fer 
 vour and rapidity.] 
 
 For us, he says, Liberty and Reason are Ribaldry 
 and Madness. Is it so? When we preach Liberty, 
 do we really practise Madness? 
 
 VOICES 
 
 No! no! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 When we preach Reason, do we practise Ribaldry? 
 
 VOICES 
 Never! Not us! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Then, boys of Liberty and Reason, he has slandered 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 109 
 
 us. He has lied. We American patriots are no mob. 
 We are not mad like Parliament. We are not ri 
 bald like the Royalists. We attorneys, tinkers, cob 
 blers at least our manners may compare with a col 
 lege President's. 
 
 [VOICES: "Hoho! I reckon!"] 
 Sometimes, to be sure, we poke our tongues in our 
 cheeks. We will play-act a mob in jest; we will 
 lullaby old helpless Tories chaff 'em for fun. We 
 have our own humour home-made; we wouldn't be 
 Yankees without it. Yet, simple and merry as we are, 
 we have not sold our self-respect to tyrants, nor our 
 own native dignity to kings. Say, then, my fellow 
 Americans! How shall we heap confusion on this 
 man? How shall we meet his cynical challenge? 
 Shall we mob-ride him on a rail, and lose our chal 
 lenged honour of Liberty and Reason? Or shall we 
 let him go in liberty and win the challenge? 
 
 [For a moment follows an awkward silence, 
 filled with low murmurs and shifting of feet. 
 Then a Voice cries: "Win out for us! Let him 
 go!" Then a confusion of muttered protests and 
 voices: "Nay, nay! He's a liar" drowned by 
 louder, good-natured jeers and cries of, "Sure 
 he is! Aye let him go! Let the old fool 
 go!" 
 
 Then suddenly, through the dimness, up the 
 steps rushes the figure of the LEADER, and leap 
 ing on the rail yells to the CROWD savagely.} 
 
110 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 THE LEADER 
 
 Let him go you young fools? Damn you all, he's 
 gone! Old Tory Cooper is gone! He has escaped 
 by the back door. Catch him! 
 [He jumps down. 
 
 A howl of exasperation bursts from the 
 CROWD. 
 
 In roaring tumult, the LIBERTY BOYS rush off 
 in the darkness, screaming: "Catch him! Ride 
 him to the river!" 
 
 (Fifth Transition) 
 
 From beside the railing, the shadowy form of 
 the ballad-hawker (QUILLOQUON) comes danc 
 ing down the steps, singing shrilly through the 
 uproar:] 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 There was a young fellow who followed the plough; 
 Sing halifor band if I do: 
 Sing bands and rebels and rebels and troubles, 
 Sing new, new! 
 
 [In the foreground, he is joined by a BOY and 
 a GIRL from the dispersing Crowd, and there, 
 while the last lanterns are disappearing, he takes 
 
QUILLOQUON 
 
 AS BALLAD-HAWKER 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 111 
 
 their hands in a capering round dance, still sing 
 ing:] 
 
 The Devil set fire to his rick and his mow; 
 Sing nickel, sing nackel, sing new: 
 Sing bands and rebels and rebels and troubles, 
 Sing new, new! 
 
 Ho, neighbours, fetch axes and buckets and mire! 
 What help is my plough, when my farm is on fire? 
 
 Sing halifor band if I do: 
 
 Sing bands and rebels and rebels and troubles, 
 Sing new, new! 
 
 [During this dance and song, the blue curtains 
 of the theatre have closed off the scene, shutting 
 the Dancers outside.] 
 
 The last note of his refrain QUILLOQUON'S voice holds 
 in a long-drawn-out quaver, which is just ceasing 
 when from within the final three notes of the 
 tune are heard repeated by a flute-like music. 
 
 QUILLOQUON pauses, stock-still. Raising one finger 
 for the Children to listen, he sings again: 
 
 ( Sing new, new! 9 
 
 From within comes the flute-like echo. 
 Slyly, QUILLOQUON takes out his own flute, and step 
 ping near the curtains plays on it the three notes. 
 
112 WASHINGTON [ACT II 
 
 Once more, from within, they are repeated. 
 
 With a knowing gesture, QUILLOQUON parts the cur 
 tains just enough to stick his head through behind 
 them, jerks it out again, beckons to the Children, 
 holds a narrow slit open and signs for them to 
 peep through with him. 
 
 They do so, then draw back and look up at him with 
 an awed smile. 
 
 He whispers to them, places the little GIRL'S hand on 
 the left curtain, the BOY'S on the right, makes a 
 gesture of silence, waves to them a narrow strip 
 of ballad-paper, and stealing through between 
 the curtains disappears. 
 
 And now as notes of a flute are heard again from 
 within the GIRL and BOY begin to draw the cur 
 tains back, and move with them, on either side, to 
 the wings of the stage, where from left and 
 right they peer momentarily at the scene. 
 
 SEVENTH ACTION 
 
 The scene reveals the colonnade at Mt. Vernon (as in 
 Act I). 
 
 Here, in the background, piled at left and right, lug 
 gage and travelling boxes are stacked. 
 
 On a chest, in the middle ground, sits WASHINGTON. 
 
 He is alone. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 113 
 
 Raised to his lips he holds a flute; across one of his 
 knees lies a narrow strip of ballad-paper. 
 
 He is playing the music of 'Bands and Rebels 9 mid 
 way of which he pauses, lets his hand with the 
 flute sink beside him, and stares with grave in 
 tensity at the ballad-strip his lips only moving. 
 
 In the sunlight, his strong features show lines more 
 mature than formerly. He is clad in the buff- 
 and-blue of a Colonial colonel: his head is bare; 
 his long locks, tied in a queue, are touched 
 slightly with grey; his hat and cape are laid near 
 him. 
 
 For a moment the silence is profound. 
 
 Then, raising his flute, he continues playing the mel 
 ody. 
 
 With its close, as a trilling repetition of the last three 
 notes sounds in the air above him, a Head peeps 
 out from the upper window of the kitchen. It is 
 QUILLOQUON. At his mouth he holds his flute. 
 His eyes are laughing. 
 
 As WASHINGTON glances up curiously, QUILLOQUON'S 
 head disappears. 
 
 Meantime from the house, MARTHA WASHINGTON has 
 come out. 
 
 She is dressed in simple homespun. Under a small, 
 white cap, her brown hair is still untouched with 
 grey, and her dark eyes flash youthfully as they 
 look toward the seated figure. 
 
 In her hand she carries a sheathed sword and girdle. 
 
114 WASHINGTON [ACT II 
 
 As she draws near, WASHINGTON by a gesture motions 
 for her to listen. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Looking up with him.] 
 A Kentucky cardinal! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Close by. 
 
 MARTHA " 
 
 They always sing in the sycamore. Spring sets 'em 
 at their old tricks again. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 And us at ours, Patsy. The first flute I ever played 
 was a willow whistle. I cut it by the river. I used to 
 try fooling the mocking-birds. I'm trying my hand 
 again now. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 I was looking for your flute, George. 
 
 [Taking it from his hand.] . 
 I've come to pack it for you, and bring you this. 
 
 [She sits beside him.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Slowly, looking doivn at the sword.] 
 Thanks. I'll want 'em both, I reckon, before I 
 get back. 
 
 [A medley of bird-like flutings bursts through 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 115 
 
 the sunlight above them, and continues to bubble 
 forth while they talk below. 
 
 Restraining a surge of emotion, WASHINGTON 
 looks up again.] 
 
 Listen there: That fellow's going it good. He 
 must have just found a mate. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 Nonsense, my dear: he found her long ago. 
 There's a couple has nested by that chimney every 
 season these sixteen years. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Sixteen years the same old pair? 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 I'll stake my oath on 'em. I've named 'em George 
 and Patsy. April always finds 'em here, busy home- 
 building though George he flies away at times to 
 forage. 
 
 [Laying her hand on his, she smiles a bit 
 wistfully.] 
 
 But he don't stay long away, and he always comes 
 back whistling. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Smiling back at her.] 
 
 I'll warrant him! And I'll stake my oath, my dear, 
 on all his foragings he keeps a bird's-eye-view of Mt. 
 Vernon, and maps his trail by a sycamore tree, a bend 
 
116 WASHINGTON [Aer II 
 
 in the river, a home chimney, and the little white 
 cap of Patsy, his mate. 
 
 [Lifting his face from hers, he closes his eyes, 
 tensely, murmuring low.] 
 God, to whom men pray! 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [After a moment of stillness.] 
 Will it be long this time? Will it, George? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 A long trail into the wilderness! Playing that 
 flute there, Patsy, I've been watching it all far off. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 Watching what, George? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Rising slowly to his feet.] 
 
 A smoke of darkness, and our country burning: 
 a forest of men on fire! Wild beasts broke from 
 their lairs. A mad bully with a crown, driving his 
 yoke of swine and mules, to fight the flames with fish- 
 oil. Leaders, a few brave lads, crying in the wilder 
 ness for axes, to fell a path in the jungle, and save the 
 homes of millions. 
 
 [Pointing to the strip of ballad-paper, on the 
 ground.] 
 There! Tis all there in a penny ballad. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 117 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Lifting it.] 
 What's this? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 An old song and a new. You'll remember it. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Reading.] 
 
 "There was a young fellow who followed the plough, 
 The Devil set fire to his rick and his mow." 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Peering over her shoulder at the ballad slip.] 
 "Ho, neighbours, fetch axes and buckets and mire! 
 
 [Taking it from her.] 
 What help is my plough, when my farm is on fire?" 
 
 [Crumpling the paper, he flings it away.] 
 Aye, Patsy my own, 'tis over our sixteen years! 
 No more nest-building in the mow, for now 'tis save 
 the farm, and 'sing bands and rebels and rebels and 
 troubles,' and good-bye to the old time together. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Rises, with a glow and a smile.] 
 Why, then, George, 'tis time to 'sing new, new' 
 together. I'll pack this flute in your saddle. So, all 
 the long trail, lad, you've only to whistle for your 
 mate 
 
 [She whistles the last three notes of the ballad: 
 
118 WASHINGTON [ ACT II 
 
 and before you can say Jack Robinson! you'll be see 
 ing her. 
 
 [Above them, from the window, QUILLOQUON 
 with his flute repeats the three notes.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a boyish gladness.] 
 
 Aye, listen! like that bird! and I'll be standing 
 beside you under the sycamore. And you, when I'm 
 gone, and you hear that fellow in the tree bough 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 I'll be flying to you under his wing, even were it 
 dead winter and all the world buried. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Dear old Pats! 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Drawing away from his caress, and saluting 
 like the military.] 
 
 Sergeant Pat, Sir, of the Sarvice! Beggin' Col 
 onel Washington's permission, could I have the honour 
 for to buckle-on his sword? 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 119 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a laugh.] 
 Go to it, Sergeant! 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Raising the sword upright, in her right 
 hand.] 
 
 To defend the farm, and confound the Devil his 
 Majesty: swear to heaven on this hilt, Colonel Wash 
 ington ! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a grave smile.] 
 I swear on this hilt to heaven. 
 
 [Bending over, he kisses her hand on the hilt.] 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Lowering the sword with twinkling quick 
 ness.] 
 But you didn't swear, Colonel. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 [With vehemence.] 
 Damn his Majesty! Will that serve? 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 Aye, Sir: Amen! 
 
 [As she begins to gird on his sword, MAMMY 
 SAL who has come round the kitchen end of the 
 colonnade approaches, raising both arms to 
 ward them.] 
 
120 WASHINGTON [Aer II 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Amen an' Hallelujah, my chilluns! Dis yere bride 
 an' groom ob de Springtime dey ain't nebber faded 
 in de summer-come-after, and dey gwine keep 
 a-bloomin' in de fros'-kill an' de sun-raise-alive-ag'in, 
 forebber and ebber, amen! 
 
 [From the distance come sounds of fife and 
 drum.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Howdy mornin', Mammy Sal! What's that music 
 I hear over yonder? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Dunno, Marse George, jes' on'y what-all Marse Pat 
 rick Henry he say. He's acomin' up now from de red 
 barn, wid his ole Lo'dship Marse Fairfax talkin' 
 mighty hot togedder: He say de del'gachun folkses 
 from Al'sandria dey's tnarchin' wid de music for to 
 fotch you ag'in to de fightin' far 'way. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [To MARTHA.] 
 Lord Fairfax here? 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 He's drove up from Greenaway Court. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 What for? 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 121 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 To persuade you not to desert the good king's 
 cause. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ha indeed! Mammy Sal, tell the farm overseers 
 to meet me at my office. I have some last instruc 
 tions to give before I leave. 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Yas'r, Massa. Jes' one jiffy. 
 
 [Taking something from her girdle.] 
 Yere's what I fotch you, honey, fo' ter keepsake 
 yo' ole Mammy Sal. 
 
 [She hands it.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Taking it.] 
 What's this-yere? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 I reckons you 'members it, Marse honey. Dat's 
 de ole roas' fowl spit, fo' you ter stick in yo' fightin' 
 gun. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 [With a laugh.] 
 Ha! To roast Royal wild geese, eh? 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 Eb'ry gander-goose what 'noys you, Marse George. 
 
122 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 [She bows suddenly on the ground beside him, 
 kissing his foot, then looking up fervently at 
 him, and MARTHA.] 
 
 De Lo'd He bless yo' feet in His paf ! 
 
 De Lo'd He lead yo' feet up His golden stair! 
 
 An' de Lo'd He lead 'em down ag'in sho' to de home 
 back-do' ob yo' Missy Bride! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Raising her up.] 
 The Lord He bless your heart, Mammy ! 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 [Turning quickly, hurries away.] 
 Back home soon, honey belubbed! 
 
 [As MAMMY SAL is going to the kitchen, a 
 young Man comes from the house, with a black 
 servant a young fellow in scarlet-and-white 
 livery carrying a looped bag.] 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN ^ -' 
 
 [Calling to MARTHA.] 
 Mother, here's the saddle-bags. 
 
 [To WASHINGTON.] 
 Shall Billy take 'em to the barn, Sir? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Yes: on my new mare Billy. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 123 
 
 BILLY THE SERVANT 
 
 Yas'r: de ches'nut mare. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 And wait, Jack; give me that memorandum. 
 [He takes out a small pocket book.] 
 
 JACK CUSTIS 
 
 Which, Sir? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 About that young college mate of yours at King's 
 who defended your Tory president from the mob. 
 
 JACK 
 
 Yes, Sir. He saved the old fellow, too, while they 
 listened. A rousing speech, Sir. You'd have liked 
 it. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 His name, you said what was it? 
 
 JACK 
 
 Alexander Hamilton. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Writing in the book.] 
 And his address in New York? 
 
 JACK 
 In Maiden Lane, I think, Sir, not far from Trin- 
 
124 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 ity Church. He lives with a tailor, named Hercules 
 Mulligan. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Good. 
 
 [Putting away the pocket book, he lays his 
 hand on young CUSTIS' shoulder.] 
 Jack, have in mind your mother; keep exact ac 
 count of your expenditures, and curb your gaming 
 propensities. 
 
 JACK 
 
 Yes, Sir. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 Don't worry, George. 
 
 [To JACK.] 
 
 Son, fetch me those saddle bags. The boxes will 
 go on the coach, Billy. 
 
 [She moves, with JACK, toward the back 
 ground, where she directs BILLY concerning the 
 travelling things.] 
 
 A VOICE OUTSIDE 
 
 [Deep-toned and vibrant.] 
 
 The Lord of Hosts the Lord of Hosts, Sir, must 
 decide the issue. Give me liberty, or give me death: 
 that's what I told 'em. 
 
 [On the path, left, the one who is speaking en 
 ters a Man of youthful middle-age, magnetic 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 125 
 
 in look and gesture clad for riding. He is ac 
 companied by LORD FAIRFAX, now white-haired 
 and leaning heavily on his cane clad for walk 
 ing. 
 
 As they come, the sound of distant fifes and 
 drums is borne with them, and grows louder at 
 intervals during the remainder of the scene.] 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 But, good God, Master Henry, give us time! The 
 Constitution must be readjusted to the growing col 
 onies. America has British spokesmen in parlia 
 ment. Give 'em time for the needed reforms. 
 
 PATRICK HENRY 
 
 Time, Sir, for a nation's soul to putrefy? Reforms 
 that rot are compost for revolution. Burke and Pitt 
 speak for us nobly, but America must have American 
 spokesmen in parliament or a parliament of her 
 own. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Ah, there's George! There's George, bless him: 
 Ae'll have common sense. 
 
 PATRICK HENRY 
 
 Aye, Sir: I'll wager he will. Mornin' Colonel! 
 
 [Bowing.] 
 Your servant, Mistress! 
 
126 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 MARTHA 
 Yours, Sir; and yours, my lord Fairfax. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ah, Patrick, you're riding with me? Splendid! 
 Your lordship, welcome, Sir! But I'm sorry you 
 catch me on the go. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 [Consternated.] 
 George no! No! You're not going. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I stop at Alexandria on my road north. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Lad laddie! for you're still just my laddie, 
 George. Look round you! Look yonder the 
 woods and the river: our old hunting trails. There's 
 Martha: here's me, George: there's Jack. Wife, 
 neighbours, family, home: do these mean nothing any 
 more? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Staring.] 
 Nothing, Sir? Nothing? 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Then why do you root 'em up to burn in a mad 
 rabble's bon-fire? 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 127 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Me ! Root 'em up? A man's vine and fig-tree, my 
 lord, aren't pot-plants to put in his saddle-bags. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Then where are you riding? What are you dream 
 ing of? Why do you fight for disruption of your 
 home and country? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I am not dreaming of disruption: I am dreaming 
 of justice and will fight for it, if need be. 
 
 PATRICK HENRY 
 
 Aye and your neighbours with you! You should 
 have heard him, Martha, speaking on that text in the 
 House of Burgesses. I never heard him in such fet 
 tle. As for licking the King, he was for having it 
 out alone with his namesake in a wrastling match 
 George versus George. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Laughing, with JACK.] 
 
 I would like to drop the kerchief for that match. 
 I'd stake my George against three of England cubits 
 for crowns. 
 
 PATRICK HENRY 
 [Laughing with Jack.] 
 
 Bravo! The game-cock will crow, even with the 
 lady-pheasant's voice. 
 
128 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 JACK 
 
 [With a mischievous glance toward WASH 
 INGTON.] 
 
 And Mother's son is told to curb his gaming pro 
 pensities! 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 [Gravely, looking from MARTHA to GEORGE.] 
 Are these my old neighbours? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Reddening with annoyance.'] 
 Fighting-blood makes fool speeches, my lord: but 
 it makes fighters. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 Even in petticoats, your lordship. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 [With growing heat.] 
 
 And does not that fighting-blood of your ancestors 
 curdle with shame in your veins, to turn against your 
 own race and country? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 No, Sir; it boils, for shame of my country! The 
 tides of English race do not rise and fall only on 
 Dover Cliff. When England defends a tyrant, I am 
 an Anglo-Saxon who stands, with Freedom, against 
 England: for there is not one of our race that lives 
 worthy of it, who loves a little island more than lib 
 erty. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 129 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 That little island, George, has been the cradle of 
 human rights. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 True, Sir has been, and surely, I doubt not, shall 
 be again. But the issue is larger than that. I am 
 British to the bone, my lord, and none more proud of 
 it. Aye, Sir, because of it I say, that human rights 
 are more than English race. And American rights 
 mean human rights or nothing. We stand on a 
 great threshold: The cause we champion now for 
 America must be fought by all times and peoples 
 and won, till our planet itself is free. Our cause, my 
 lord, is noble: it is the cause of mankind. 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 Indeed! / had fancied our cause was a colonial 
 question, and America a British dependency. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 No less, Sir but much more. American soil is for 
 the seed of Adam, and its harvest for the Creator. 
 
 [The music of fifes and drumming sounds 
 close-by, and in the background Negroes and 
 Whites begin to gather, looking off.] 
 
 JACK CUSTIS 
 
 [Calls from the colonnade.] 
 
 They're coming, Sir the delegation from Alexan 
 dria. 
 
130 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 FAIRFAX 
 
 [With a sudden broken look and gesture of 
 pain.] 
 
 Old days old ways are dying, George: 'tis fitting 
 that old-timers should follow 'em. 
 [He turns away.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With quick emotion, going to him.] 
 Old friendships are still green, my dear lord! 
 [He embraces the old Man.] 
 
 PATRICK HENRY 
 
 [To JACK, in the background, vehemently.] 
 The Lord of Hosts the Lord of Hosts, my lad, beat 
 His drums at the tent of David. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Quietly, to WASHINGTON, who is just turning 
 from FAIRFAX with twitching face.] 
 George, there's a flute in the saddle, and a nest in 
 the sycamore. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Pressing her hand.] 
 Patsy! 
 
 [Together, they draw slightly aside, as through 
 the central arch of the colonnade between the 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 131 
 
 piled travelling boxes appears a band of fifers, 
 playing the tune of 'Bands and Rebels, 9 led by 
 a FIFER and two Children, a BOY with a drum 
 and a GIRL with a fiddle. The FIFER, clad like 
 the Children in ragged regimentals, glances from 
 under his cocked hat the wrinkly smile of QUIL- 
 LOQUON. 
 
 Passing through the gathered groups of darkies 
 and citizens who cheer them in the background, 
 they march drumming and fifing straight down 
 the centre of the grassy foreground. There 
 after passing WASHINGTON and MARTHA on their 
 left the FIFER and Children are shut off from 
 the scene by the closing blue curtains of the thea 
 tre, in front of which they continue for a moment, 
 standing, to fife, fiddle and drum their tune.] 
 
 (Sixth Transition) 
 
 At the close of the tune, QUILLOQUON stops fifing; 
 takes off his hat; bows right and left to the Chil 
 dren; takes from the BOY his drum, inverts it 
 and sitting on it hands his hat to the little 
 GIRL to hold. 
 
 With the flute, he blows a note to get his pitch, then 
 begins to sing. Squatted by his knees, on either 
 
132 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 side of him, the Children listen, clapping their 
 hands at the end. 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 There were some boys on Bunker's hill; 
 
 Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
 There were some boys on Bunker's hill; 
 The King marched up, but they stood still. 
 
 Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
 
 The King marched up to drive 'em down; 
 
 Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
 The King marched up to drive 'em down; 
 He stubbed his toe and bumped his crown. 
 
 Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
 
 He bumped his crown and made his will, 
 
 Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
 He bumped his crown and made his will 
 And left those boys old Bunker's hill. 
 
 Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
 
 [Rising quickly with a chuckle, QUILLOQUON 
 hands his flute to the LITTLE GIRL, puts on his 
 hat, lifts the drum, slips it on the BOY, and takes 
 from the GIRL the fiddle and bow. 
 
 Then, raising his bow for a directors signal, 
 he begins to play Yankee Doodle, to which he 
 marches as leader, off left, followed by the GIRL 
 and BOY fifing and drumming the tune. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 133 
 
 The tune does not cease with their exit, but 
 continues with a Chorus of Voices from behind 
 the curtains.} 
 
 EIGHTH ACTION 
 
 The curtains draw back, discovering an open space 
 between two dull-red brick buildings, with small- 
 paned windows. On the left beyond an old- 
 time mounted cannon is a plain, rustic table 
 with benches. 
 
 In the open space, young Soldier Fellows and Girls 
 are dancing a country round-dance, cadenced to 
 the clapping of hands and singing of the on 
 lookers a miscellaneous crowd of Soldiers, 
 Students and Civilians, some of whom sit astride 
 and stand on the cannon. 
 
 In the background, a wide constructed arch of ever 
 green boughs gives vista of an elm-shaded 
 churchyard and a square-spired church beyond. 
 
 From the top of the arch, draped at the centre about 
 a crudely painted portrait-head of WASHINGTON, 
 extends a weather-stained streamer with the in 
 scription: 
 HAIL TO OUR COMMANDER IN CHIEF! 
 
 The Dancers themselves join at times in the chorus 
 and the clapping of the on-looking Singers. 
 
134 WASHINGTON [Aer II 
 
 THE SINGERS 
 'Fath'r and I went down to camp 
 
 Along with Captain Good'in, 
 And there we see the men and boys 
 
 As thick as hasty puddin'. 
 
 (Chorus) 
 
 6 Yankee Doodle, keep it up, 
 
 Yankee Doodle dandy! 
 Mind the music and the step 
 
 And with the girls be handy. 
 
 'And there was Captain Washington 
 
 Upon a slappin' stallion, 
 Agivin' orders to his men 
 
 I guess there was a million. 
 
 'And there I see a little keg, 
 
 Its head all made of leather; 
 They knocked upon't with little sticks 
 
 To call the folks together.' 
 
 [Suddenly a hubbub in the background parts 
 the groups of Dancers, and under the archway, 
 down the centre comes dancing a white Hobby- 
 Horse, capering upon the two legs of QUILLO- 
 QUON, who is clad in blue with a blue jockey-cap, 
 from which flames a brilliant red feather. 
 
 Behind him, on either side, come galloping a 
 Hobby -Lion and a Hobby -Unicorn, prancing re- 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 135 
 
 spectively on the legs of a BOY, who wears a red 
 military jacket and gold crown, and of a GIRL 
 with a diadem circling her golden hair. The 
 BOY bears a shield and THE LITTLE GIRL car 
 ries a sceptre. 
 
 Singing as he comes, and dashing into the mid 
 dle of the shouting Dancers who draw back in a 
 wide circle QUILLOQUON reins up his hobby 
 horse, cracking loudly a riding-whip in his 
 hand. 
 
 To the flickings of this, the Lion and the Uni 
 corn caper round and round him sceptre 
 thwacking shield, and roar answering whinny 
 in their dance while QUILLOQUON, dancing 
 with them, sings lustily:] 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 'Yankee Doodle came to town 
 
 Upon a spankin' pony, 
 He stuck a feather in his cap 
 
 And called it macaroni. 
 
 6 Yankee Doodle ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Cakes and sugar candy! 
 Come listen to my story now 
 
 Of Yankee Doodle dandy! 9 
 
 He went a huntin' by the bay 
 
 Where Yankee he was born, Sir: 
 
136 WASHINGTON [Aer II 
 
 He trapped a roarin' lion there 
 And catched a unicorn, Sir. 
 
 (Chorus, with the On-lookers) 
 
 6 Yankee Doodle ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Cakes and sugar candy! 
 Come listen to my story now 
 
 Of Yankee Doodle dandy! 9 
 
 The lion roared so pesky loud 
 
 It almost deefened Doodle, 
 Till he took out his muzzle-gun 
 
 And tamed him like a poodle. 
 
 The unicorn she didn't care 
 
 To catch the lion's hidin', 
 And so they made a dandy team 
 
 For Doodle's hobby-ridin'. 
 
 (Chorus, of All) 
 
 'Yankee Doodle ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Cakes and sugar candy! 
 So here youve heard the story now 
 
 Of Yankee Doodle dandy! 9 
 
 [Grinning at the On-lookers, with a low bow 
 of his pony head, which raises his tail and 
 haunches high in the air, QUILLOQUON cracks 
 his whip again to the Lion and Unicorn and 
 driving them before him gallops off the scene, 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 137 
 
 through the archway. During this he is greeted 
 and followed by shouts from the gathering.} 
 
 SHOUTS 
 
 Heigh, Doodle, how much for your live-stock? 
 
 Auction 'em over to Boston town house. General 
 Gage he'd bid guineas for 'em. 
 
 Yoke 'em up for Israel Put: he left his plough-team 
 down to Greenwich. 
 
 Hush up, fellers! Here comes the army chaplain. 
 
 [From the door of the building on the right 
 has come a MAN of quiet presence, clad se 
 verely in black. He speaks with a strong, gentle 
 voice and friendly smile.} 
 
 THE MAN 
 
 Friends, less hubbub, please! His Excellency, 
 General Washington, is busily engaged there in Massa 
 chusetts Hall. He bids me remind you it is now some 
 weeks since he took command of the army by the 
 elm over yonder, so there is no further occasion for 
 celebrations here in his honour. Work is our present 
 duty: the siege of Boston and victory for our cause! 
 
 A VOICE 
 
 Well sarmoned, Minister Emerson! We're all 
 with ye. 
 
138 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 [Smiling.] 
 
 Thank you, friend, but you mustn't be with me. 
 You must all go your ways. The young gentlemen 
 of Harvard College among you will kindly disperse 
 in good order. 
 
 VOICES 
 
 [Of the Gatherers, as they disperse and go 
 out.] 
 
 I. Come along to the common, boys! 
 
 II. Let's take a look at the trenchments. 
 
 III. Coin' back to camp? 
 
 IV. No s'ree! I'm dog-tired o' this drillin'. I'm 
 goin' ter hook it off home for a rest-up. I didn't vol 
 unteer till Kingdom-come. 
 
 III. Me, nuther! I didn't cal'late on this racket 
 lastin' all summer. My corn needs hoein' to home. 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 [To a young Man in uniform, who has come 
 out of Massachusetts Hall.] 
 
 You hear, Mr. Knox? I beg pardon, Colonel! I 
 still think of you as plain Henry Knox, selling books 
 in Cornhill. 
 
 KNOX 
 
 That's natural, Sir; we are all pretty new to this 
 fighting business except General Washington. It 
 provides him harder tasks than Hercules, to break us 
 in. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 139 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 Yes, I'm afraid there be Augean stables to clean 
 even in Cambridge. But the Lord hath sent us a 
 Chrisrian demi-god more resourceful than the pagan. 
 
 KNOX 
 
 A Conformist Christian, Sir: how do our Yankee 
 dissenters take to that? 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 Why, Colonel, we never think of it, for his modesty 
 never obtrudes his own sentiments. Unity appears 
 his single aim unity for America. 'Tis really sur 
 prising how this Southern aristocrat hath invaded our 
 Puritan commonwealth and captured all our hearts. 
 
 KNOX 
 
 All our hearts I believe you: but not all our can 
 tankerous egos. I've just left him in there swarmed 
 round by our buzzing committees. My word, Sir! I 
 could only think on some high-mettled stallion, teth 
 ered in a pound, infested with cattle-flies! 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 [Smiling. ] 
 
 'And as oft as the trumpet soundeth, he saith Aha! 9 
 Yet in harness he keeps surprisingly cool. I have 
 even heard him called icy and aloof. 
 
 KNOX 
 His coolness is his patience, Sir: he's too masterful 
 
140 WASHINGTON [ ACT II 
 
 to squirm at an itch. And as for that reputed ice of 
 his, I fancy 'tis like our Charles river in April 
 when it thaws, there may be boomings, and large 
 chunks heaved up on the banks! 
 
 [He laughs low, and they pass together into 
 Harvard Hall on the left. 
 
 Meantime, a Group of sea-tanned fellows in 
 fisherman's garb, who have failed to disperse and 
 are flirting with some girls, begin to point and 
 jeer at a Group of raw-boned men in Indian 
 leather shirts, their long hair untied. 
 
 This SECOND GROUP enter on the march. 
 They carry a flag designed with the emblem of a 
 snake, cut apart in several pieces, inscribed be 
 neath with the words "Unite or Die." They are 
 droning a song in chorus.} 
 
 THE SECOND GROUP 
 
 [Singing.] 
 
 Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down? 
 Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down? 
 
 Eden home is far away: 
 Oh, never mind ! 
 I'll lay my heart down, 
 
 Down in the lap of old Virgin-ee-ay ! 
 
 THE FIRST GROUP 
 
 [Speaking, severally, while THE SECOND 
 GROUP is still singing.] 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 141 
 
 I. See, gals, here come the Jinnies! 
 
 II. Jinnies? where do they hail from? 
 
 I. Jest weaned from Virginia's yams homesick 
 for their Mammy. 
 
 III. They've come to save their country singin' 
 lullabies. 
 
 IV. Heigh, Injun Jinny! Lay your heart down in 
 my lap, will ye? 
 
 [THE SECOND GROUP pause, glowering and 
 cease their song.] 
 
 THE SECOND GROUP LEADER 
 
 Who do you-all 'low you's addressin'? 
 
 THE FIRST GROUP LEADER 
 
 [Mocking the other s drawl and speech.] 
 We-all 'low we's addressin' the renowned tribe o' 
 Pocahontas, known as "Jinny" for short. 
 
 [THE FIRST GROUP roar with laughter, at 
 which THE SECOND GROUP begin fiercely to un- 
 sling their guns. 1 
 
 ONE OF THE SECOND GROUP 
 
 Them stinkers is Johnnies from Marblehead. I 
 know 'em. 
 
 ANOTHER 
 Baste 'em, boys! 
 
 [Some of the Girls scream, and draw back.] 
 
142 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 THE SECOND GROUP LEADER 
 
 Slow, thar! No gunninM This-yere ain't fire 
 arms, it's forearms! 
 
 [Stepping into the centre and rolling his 
 sleeves.] 
 
 Which one o' you cod-fish wants saltin' down for 
 the lot? 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 [Doing likewise.] 
 
 Which one o' you redskins wants your leather 
 tanned? 
 
 THE TWO GROUPS 
 
 [Surrounding the two and flinging taunts at 
 each other.] 
 
 I. Jinny! Jinny! Jinny, come kiss me! Kin I 
 pick ye, mountain-daisy? 
 
 II. Cod-livers! Stink-oils! Pickle-herrin's! 
 
 THE SECOND GROUP LEADER 
 [Squaring off, with bared arms.] 
 You fer me, Jack! 
 
 THE FIRST 
 [Doing the same.] 
 Me fer you, Jinny! 
 
 [The two draw back, then strike out fiercely 
 at each other in a fisting match, which rapidly 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 143 
 
 becomes a rough-and-tumble wrestling fight, 
 egged on wildly by the jeering shouts "Tar him, 
 Johnny!" "Pickle him, Jinny!" etc., yelled by 
 the Marble-headers and Virginians. 
 
 At the height of this tumult, the towering fig 
 ure of WASHINGTON, in General's uniform, ap 
 pears, bareheaded, in the doorway of Massachu 
 setts Hall, lunges with huge strides through the 
 group, flinging men headlong in his wake, seizes 
 the two Combatants sprawling on the ground, 
 drags them to their feet by their shirt-napes, 
 shakes them fiercely, and knocks their heads to 
 gether. 
 
 So, holding the two at arm's length, he stands 
 glaring at them. 
 
 The uproar is stilled to a scene of dumb stupe 
 faction, through which the low voice of KNOX, 
 who has appeared with EMERSON at the door 
 of Harvard Hall is heard speaking to the Min 
 ister, as he nudges his arm and points.] 
 
 KNOX 
 
 The ice has thawed, Mr. Emerson. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Exploding.] 
 
 By the great horn spoon of Jehosaphat! What's 
 this mean? 
 
 [The two Combatants gape, staring.] 
 
144 WASHINGTON [ ACT II 
 
 What's in your tarnal skulls ha? mule-bran, or 
 brains? 
 
 [The Men salute him dumbly.] 
 Are you soldiers or squabbling nincumpoops? 
 
 [The Men laugh nervously. WASHINGTON 
 loosens his grip, flinging them off.] 
 Sniggering? What's to snigger for? No tongues! 
 Must I slit 'em for ye? Speak out Where are you 
 from? 
 
 THE FIRST LEADER 
 
 Marblehead. I fish thar. I'm a Massachusettser. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [To the Other.] 
 And you? 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 Me, General? Reckon Fs Virginian like yerself, 
 Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 You reckon wrong, then. In this army, there's no 
 Virginians nor Massachusettsers; there's only Ameri- 
 icans. You understand? You and him and me 
 we are all just Americans: nothing else, my men, and 
 nothing better. 
 
 [To one of THE SECOND GROUP, who holds the 
 flag with the snake device.] 
 Give me that flag! 
 
 [Points to the snake.] 
 What's this? 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 145 
 
 THE SECOND LEADER 
 
 Tears like a rattler what needs splicin'. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Just so : the pieces have got to be spliced, or he's a 
 goner. Ever see a cut-up rattler that could fight? 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 Not yit, sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [To the other Man.] 
 You, can you read? 
 
 THE FIRST LEADER 
 
 I kerry "Poor Richard's Almanack" in my kit. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Read this, then : Poor Richard wrote it. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 [Reading from the flag.] 
 "Unite or die." 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 And what's that mean? 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 I guess that'll mean stick together, or git stept on. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Aye, my lads: stand up, together! That's what 
 
146 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 we've all got to do in America from now on. I 
 reckon that's enough for preachment. Bumped heads 
 are better than book-larnin' to start with; the rest 
 is brains and gumption. So give me your hands, 
 here! Stand together, North and South, and splice 
 
 up! 
 
 [Taking each by the hand, he brings the two 
 Leaders together. 
 
 Grinning sheepishly, they extend their right 
 hands to each other and grip. 
 
 As they do so, WASHINGTON, relaxing to a faint 
 smile, lays his own hand on theirs conjoined, 
 and says with a grim solemnity:] 
 For better, or for worse! 
 
 [Approaching with KNOX, EMERSON adds im 
 mediately with a twinkling look and a minis 
 terial gesture:] 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 I, Jonathan, take thee, Virginia! Amen, boys? 
 
 THE LEADERS 
 
 [Together, with a laugh.] 
 Amen, Sir! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Now pack off, and keep camp orderly! 
 THE LEADERS 
 
 Aye, General. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 147 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 [Smiling, calls after them.] 
 
 And remember, young folks for better or for 
 worse. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Especially worse ! 
 
 [With shamefaced grins, THE LEADERS hasten 
 off, surrounded and followed by THE Two 
 GROUPS, tittering and whispering together. The 
 murmur of their talk grows louder as they pass 
 outside.] 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 Pardon my interpolation, your Excellency, but you 
 seemed to have need of the chaplain. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ah, Sir, I can deliver the trouncin's, but I wish 
 you could relieve me of the sarmons. I'm a sorry 
 hand at 'em. 
 
 [Outside, a mans voice shouts, loudly, fol 
 lowed by a momentary hubbub.] 
 
 THE VOICE 
 
 Hurray for George Washington of Virginia! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Virginia! Hear 'em? That's how long they re 
 member my preachments! 
 
148 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 KNOX 
 
 Can we confer here a moment, General, or have you 
 not finished with the committees? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 Finished with committees? 
 
 [He makes a forlorn gesture of resignation.'} 
 Sir, I have lately composed my epitaph: "Here 
 lies a commander-in-chief, called to his account by 
 committees." 
 
 [With a sudden look at the door of Massa 
 chusetts Hall, he pauses quickly, takes from his 
 pocket a little box, turns to the Chaplain, and 
 speaks in confidential tone.] 
 Mr. Emerson would you do me a favour? 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 You would favour me by asking it, Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Tis cool here in the shade; I require some confer 
 ence with Colonel Knox. My man Billy is on duty 
 indoors there, as beagle to the committees. 
 
 [Handing him the little box.] 
 Will you take him this snuff-box, and tell him to 
 trail the pack to my office in Wadsworth house. 
 
 EMERSOfl 
 
 [Mystified.] 
 Trail the pack, Sir? 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 149 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 With the fox's brush. He's an old huntsman at 
 Mt. Vernon. 
 
 EMERSON 
 
 [Blankly.] 
 But this snuff-box? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Tis a signal, Sir. Billy understands the code. 
 It means sidetrack the quarry. 
 
 EMERSON 
 [More blankly.] 
 Of course, your Excellency. 
 
 [EMERSON goes into the hall, right. 
 WASHINGTON turns toward the mounted cannon 
 and table, left.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Meanwhile, Colonel, the quarry will take lair be 
 hind this field-piece. 
 
 [The smile passes from his face, and he sits 
 on a bench, drawing a deep breath, wearily.] 
 
 KNOX 
 
 [Sitting on another bench.] 
 
 Well, Sir, twelve thousand redcoats in Boston 
 equipped and disciplined: General Gage has 'em 
 perfectly supplied. Howe's fleet commands the wat 
 ers. You have a huge task, General, 
 
150 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Murmurs low.] 
 
 Ha! 
 
 KNOX 
 
 Our own men of New England 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 [Looking up quickly.] 
 How many took to the tall timber yesterday? 
 
 KNOX 
 
 I regret to say more than two hundred. That 
 makes the last fortnight over a thousand, have re 
 turned to their farms. If only Congress would au 
 thorize longer enlistments 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ha! Congress! 
 
 KNOX 
 Or if we had ships 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ships! Congress, Sir, complains we haven't cap 
 tured the harbour without 'em. 
 
 KNOX 
 
 Truly! Well, at least, on land we've shown some 
 of our native mettle on Bunker's hill. 
 
 [WASHINGTON rises slowly and bows.] 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 151 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Colonel Knox! to the real patriots of Bunker hill, 
 like yourself, Sir, I make my bow, from my heart. 
 But as for the dirty rascals that keep trading their 
 Bunker patriotism for their own local profits well, 
 Sir, I do not make my bow to 'em: I take my seat 
 and I wish they occupied this bench. 
 [He sits down with vigour.] 
 
 KNOX 
 
 The present situation is scandalous, Sir. I am 
 sorry the militia officers do so little to improve it. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Naturally: they are too rotten with politics. Being 
 elected by their raw militia, they are more attentive 
 to the smiles of their men than the frowns of their 
 commander-in-chief. There's no getting such officers 
 to execute orders. All the same, I have made a pretty 
 good slam amongst 'em. 
 
 KNOX 
 How's that, General? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Well, Sir, since I came into this camp, I have broke 
 one colonel and two captains for cowardly behaviour 
 in the action on Bunker Hill, two captains for draw 
 ing more pay and provisions than they had men in 
 their company, and one for being absent from his post 
 
152 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 when the enemy appeared there. Besides these, I 
 have one colonel, one major, one captain and two sub 
 alterns under arrest for trial. Yet I fear it will not 
 all do, as these people seem to be too attentive to 
 everything but their own interests. 
 
 KNOX 
 
 [Gloomily.] 
 
 'Tis pity indeed the good name of New England is 
 involved. 'Tis very dear to many of us, who would 
 gladly die for it. I am very dejected, General. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Nay, Sir, don't be! The grain will grow, the chaff 
 blow away. If we succeed in this business as by 
 God's will we shall never worry: there'll be nothing 
 left but heroes for posterity. 
 
 [From the hall, right, BILLY the Negro comes 
 rushing toward them his black face twitching 
 excitedly above his scarlet-and-white livery. In 
 one hand he waves WASHINGTON'S snuff -box.] 
 
 BILLY 
 Marse Ex'lency, dey's on yo' trail: watch out! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Rising, with KNOX.] 
 Who's on my trail, Billy posterity? 
 
 BILLY 
 
 Yas'r, gospel verity an' troof 1 Dey's too sharp-in- 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 153 
 
 de-nose fo' you ter 'scape 'em, Fse awarn you! Dey 
 is nebber gwine gib you no hole in de groun' 9 fo' ter 
 lay down an' stretch yo'self cumptible; no, s'r. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a smiling glance at KNOX.] 
 You see my doom, Colonel! 
 
 BILLY 
 
 No, s'r: I 'pol'gizes. 
 
 [Showing the snuff -box.] 
 
 I done got yo' signal, but dey's too smart fo' mah 
 'umble 'tainments in de side-trackin' line. De ge'men 
 down home Virginny dey's receib a p'lite fibbin' like 
 ge'men and dey's return de compl'ment. When I tells 
 'em you's in de barn, dey ain't gwine ter peek fer you 
 in de drawin'-room. Dey's 'low dey got a prev'ous 
 'gagement an' go 'long home. But dese yere Cam 
 bridge ge'men 'clare ter hebben, s'r! dey ain't got 
 no 'stinctive feelin's fo' high-bo'n fibbin', what leabs 
 out de low-down fax; no, s'r! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Cut it short, Billy: what are the facts? 
 
 BILLY 
 
 De low-down fax is, Marse Ex'lency 
 
 [As he hesitates, three Civilians, clad in 
 grey, come out of Massachusetts Hall and ap 
 proach. Catching sight of them, BILLY draws 
 
154 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 himself up, with official pomp, and speaks with 
 easy indifference:'] 
 Here dey comes, s'r: dey speaks fo' deirselfs. 
 
 THE FIRST CIVILIAN 
 
 [To the other two, pointing at WASHINGTON.] 
 There he is: I told you so. 
 
 [Drawing near.~\ 
 We've been waitin', Mr. Washington 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Quickly.} 
 Your pardon, Sir? To whom are you referring? 
 
 THE CIVILIAN 
 
 Why, to you! Ain't you the General here? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Quite right, Sir; I am the General. 
 
 THE CIVILIAN 
 
 Wall, General Washington, we've been waitin' for 
 you half an hour. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Bowing slightly.} 
 The pleasure is mutual, Sir. 
 
 THE CIVILIAN 
 
 We have the honour to be the selectmen of this 
 town. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 155 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 The honour, Sir, seems to be appreciated. 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 Thought may be you wasn't informed considerin' 
 that half hour wait. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Half an hour can be very informing or otherwise. 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 [Fastening his eyes on BILLY.] 
 Considerin' also we ain't accustomed in this local 
 ity to crossin' our crows with scarlet tanagers. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 The locality is a bit drab, Sir. 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 [Sitting on one of the benches his compan 
 ions on the other.'] 
 
 But comin' straight to business, General Washing 
 ton: we as selectmen have received great numbers o' 
 complaints from our townfolks about your diggin's 
 and doin's: your trenchments and your intrudin' sol 
 dier-camps. All o' which causes wrack and ruin to 
 private property. It conflicts with personal rights, 
 Sir! When is it goin' to end? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 With the attainment of our object liberty. 
 
156 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 Liberty and welcome! But where is it? This 
 here is individual slavery. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 A great evil, Sir, which each of us today must suf 
 fer in pait, for the general good of tomorrow. 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 Tomorrow! These here testimonies ain't dated to 
 morrow, I'm tellin' ye, hut now! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Testimonies? 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 [Taking out papers.] 
 
 These documents set forth the lawful grievances of 
 the complainants in re flagrant offences committed un 
 der your orders, Sir. Here's private lawns dug up 
 with trenchments, owners' residences confiscated for 
 forts, fields and orchards laid common, houses and 
 cattle turned in the mowin', corn crops eat to the 
 ground, and the best citizens' shade trees cut down 
 for firewood and public buildin's. What, I ask, Sir, 
 what have you to say to these things? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 A sad devastation : Tis a great pity. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 157 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 [With a keen look, rising.'} 
 Wall, General, what's the price? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Price, Sir? 
 
 v THE SELECTMAN 
 
 That's the question. I calc'late a great pity don't 
 call for a small payment. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 No, Sir: a large payment. 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 Very good. In cases of confiscation, the law of 
 escheat provides for appropriate damages. So I 
 trust, General, you've ben thinkin' over the proper 
 basis of valuation for all this destruction. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I have, Sir; I trust you have also. 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 Ye-es; I'm pretty well primed on real estate. But 
 siipposin' you speak first. What's your rate of esti 
 mate rock-bottom ? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 My estimate is an alternative. 
 
158 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 Alternative? between which? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Licking or Liberty: there's no other rock-bottom 
 for American real estate. 
 
 [THE SELECTMAN stares. 
 KNOX, who has received and read a document, 
 delivered by an Orderly, hands it gravely to 
 WASHINGTON.] 
 
 KNOX 
 
 Report, your Excellency, on our present supply of 
 powder. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 What is our supply? 
 
 KNOX 
 
 [Lowering his voice.] 
 None, Sir. 
 
 [Under the archway, a GRINDSTONE MAN, 
 pushing his wheel, has entered, attended by two 
 Children, carrying in their arms enormous axes. 
 
 THE SELECTMAN, who has muttered some 
 hasty words to his two companions, now turns 
 again to WASHINGTON and speaks in a tone of 
 defiant sarcasm."] 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 General Washington! If you think, Sir, that men 
 of real business in this section 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 159 
 
 THE GRINDSTONE MAN 
 
 [Ringing his hand-bell.} 
 Axes to grind! Axes to grind! 
 
 THE SELECTMAN 
 
 [Raising his voice.] 
 
 If you think that the lawful owners of private prop 
 erty are going to stand for such public confiscation, 
 without equivalent in cash or bonds 
 
 THE GRINDSTONE MAN 
 
 [Trundling his wheel between THE SELECT 
 MAN and WASHINGTON, and dangerously ring- 
 ing his bell, bawls louder:] 
 Axes to grind! Axes to grind! 
 
 (Seventh Transition) 
 (Part 1) 
 
 So, escorted by the Children as ax-bearers, THE 
 GRINDSTONE MAN crosses diagonally down cen 
 tre, and begins singing to an old ballad tune 
 in the voice of QUILLOQUON: 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Jack went amarching 
 
 With trouble on his mind, 
 
160 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 To serve his native country 
 When axes were to grind. 
 Sing ree and sing low, 
 So fare you well, my dear! 
 
 [Through the closing blue curtains at the cen 
 tre, QUILLOQUON slips out in front of them with 
 the Children. There stopping his trundle 
 he begins to push the wheel-treadle with his foot, 
 taking, examining and rejecting various axes 
 handed to him by the Children, while he con 
 tinues to sing to the revolving motion of the 
 grindstone wheels:'] 
 
 Night-time and noon-time 
 With trouble on your mind, 
 
 'Tis how to serve your country 
 With axes for to grind. 
 Sing ree and sing low, etc. 
 
 Great folks and small folks 
 With nothing on their mind 
 
 But how to make the wheels turn 
 Their axes for to grind. 
 Sing ree and sing low, etc. 
 
 Dull blades and broke blades 
 
 And any other kind, 
 'Tis all to get poor Work-Jack 
 
 Their axes for to grind. 
 Sing ree and sing low, etc. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON l6l 
 
 [Waving off the Children with their axes, he 
 takes from within his trundle a small hatchet, 
 and begins to sharpen it, with a laugh.] 
 
 Nay, leave Jack his hatchet: 
 'Tis that alone he'll grind 
 
 And leave to them their axes 
 And the trouble on his mind! 
 
 [Pausing, he rings his bell and dismissing 
 the Children right and left along the front of 
 the curtains he backs his trundle through the 
 centre folds, and blowing a kiss, sings there the 
 parting refrain: 
 
 Sing ree and sing low, 
 
 So fare you well, my dear! 
 
 With a final shake of his bell, he disappears. 
 
 (Part 2) 
 
 The bell continues to ring behind the curtains, but 
 grows more faint; till now its tone changes to a 
 deep, mellow pealing; and now its rhythmic 
 cadence is mingled with far-sounding chimes, 
 through which low murmurous VOICES of many 
 people rise, fall and rise again more loud like 
 a great wind, heard distantly, over forest trees. 
 
 At first hardly audible, the deep Murmur grows grad 
 ually more articulate, till between the pulsing 
 
162 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 chimes occasional words and phrases emerge 
 distinguishable, above this flowing utterance of 
 the chanting VOICES : 
 
 THE VOICES 
 
 'When, in the course of human events, it becomes 
 necessary for one people to dissolve the political 
 bands which have connected them with another, 
 
 'And to assume among the powers of the earth the 
 separate and equal station to which the Laws of Na 
 ture and of Nature's God entitle them, 
 
 'A decent respect for the opinions of mankind re 
 quires that they should declare the causes which impel 
 them to the separation.' 
 
 [As the murmurous Chant lessens to a lull, 
 there is heard a single Voice intoning "Oyez!" 
 and the blue curtains are seen to have parted 
 slightly at the centre, discovering against a 
 background of dark the Figure of a Town 
 Crier, holding in his left hand a staff to which is 
 attached a lantern, and of which the heraldic top 
 is a hatchet-blade. 
 
 THE CRIER holds near the lantern in his right 
 hand a paper broadside, from which after call 
 ing his Preamble he reads aloud, intoning with 
 the voice of QUILLOQUON:] 
 
 THE CRIER 
 [QUILLOQUON] 
 Oyez! Oyez! People of America, hear ye! 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 163 
 
 This day, in the town hall of Philadelphia, duly 
 convened, this day in the year of our Lord, One 
 Thousand, Seven Hundred and Seventy-Six, being 
 the Fourth day of July forevermore, unto all peo 
 ples, declareth the Assembly of our people: 
 
 'We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all 
 men are created equal, that they are endowed by 
 their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that 
 among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Hap 
 piness, that to secure these rights, Governments are 
 instituted among men, deriving their just powers from 
 the consent of the .governed. 
 
 'That whenever any form of Government becomes 
 destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People 
 to alter or to abolish it. 
 
 'And when a long train of abuses evinces a design 
 to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their 
 right, it is their duty to throw off such Government, 
 and to provide new Guards for their future security. 
 
 'Such has been the patient suffrance of these Col 
 onies. 
 
 'Our repeated petitions have been answered only 
 by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is 
 thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, 
 is unfit to be the ruler of a free people. 
 
 ( We, therefore, The Representatives of the United 
 States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, 
 
164 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the 
 rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by 
 the authority of the good People of these Colonies, 
 solemnly Publish and Declare, 
 
 'That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought 
 to be, Free and Independent States! 
 
 'And for the support of this Declaration, we mu 
 tually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes 
 and our sacred Honour.' 
 
 [As the TOWN CRIER concludes, a BOY and a 
 GIRL run in from either side, raising their hands 
 toward the paper broadsides, from one of several 
 copies of which he has been reading. 
 
 Handing to each a copy, he raises his lantern- 
 staff, and as they run off, right, he follows, call 
 ing aloud:} 
 Oyez! Oyez! People of the Ages, hear ye! 
 
 (Part 3) 
 
 In the distance, THE CRIER'S repeated call of "Oyez!" 
 is dying away on the right, when on the left a 
 fiddle begins to play the melody of a ballad- 
 tune, 1 during which the visible dim space be 
 comes palely luminous with a swirling greyness, 
 as of snowflakes beginning to fall. 
 
 lf The melody of 'Raggle-Taggle Gypsies.' 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 165 
 
 And now the fiddle having ceased to a thrumming 
 of the same tune upon strings, three tattered 
 greyish forms enter from the left: the two Chil 
 dren and a Man, who is playing a dulcimer. 
 
 All three recognizable once more as THE BOY, 
 THE GIRL and QUILLOQUON come singing the 
 ballad-tune words, which they act out in their 
 pantomime, severally assuming the parts, in sim 
 ple ballad fashion, of the characters their song 
 refers to Lord, Lady, Servants and Gypsies. 
 
 THE THREE FIGURES 
 [QUILLOQUON AND THE CHILDREN] 
 'There were three gypsies a-come to my door, 
 
 And down-stairs ran this a-lady, 0! 
 One sang high and the other sang low, 
 
 And the other sang Bonny, bonny Biscay 9 01 
 
 [THE GIRL] 
 
 'Then she pulled off her silk-finished gown 
 And put on hose of leather, ! 
 
 [THE BOY AND QUILLOQUON] 
 'The ragged, ragged rags about our door 
 She's gone with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0! 
 [THE LITTLE GIRL runs off right.] 
 
 [THE BOY] 
 
 ; 'Twas late last night when my lord came home, 
 Inquiring for his a-lady, 0. 
 
166 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 The servants said on every hand: 
 
 She's gone with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0! 
 
 [QuiLLOQUON turns and addresses THE BOY.] 
 
 [QUILLOQUON] 
 
 'Come, saddle to me my milk-white steed, 
 
 And go and fetch my pony, 0! 
 That I may ride and seek my bride, 
 
 Who is gone with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0! 
 
 [The two run off, right. 
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL alone enters immediately, 
 Ieft 9 followed to the thrumming of the dul 
 cimer by THE BOY, who remains near his place 
 of entrance and sings. 
 
 While he does so, QUILLOQUON enters, passes 
 him, and advances toward THE GIRL, looking 
 about, seeming at first not to see her.] 
 
 [THE BOY] 
 'Then he rode high, and he rode low, 
 
 He rode through wood and copses, too, 
 Until he came to an open field, 
 
 And there he espied his a-lady, 0! 
 
 [QUILLOQUON, approaching the GIRL, with as 
 pect of lordly severity.] 
 'What makes you leave your house and land? 
 What makes you leave your money, 0! 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 167 
 
 What makes you leave your new-wedded lord, 
 To go with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0! 
 
 [THE GIRL] 
 'O, what care I for my house and land? 
 
 What care I for my money, 0? 
 What care I for my new-wedded lord? 
 I'm off with the raggle-taggle gypsies, ! 
 
 [The falling snow flakes grow thicker and the 
 scene more dim.] 
 
 [QUILLOQUON] 
 'Last night you slept on a goose-feather bed, 
 
 With the sheet turned down so bravely, 0! 
 But to-night you'll sleep in a cold open field, 
 
 Along with the raggle-taggle gypsies, ! 
 
 [THE GIRL] 
 '0, what care I for a goose-feather bed, 
 
 With the sheet turned down so bravely, ! 
 For tonight I shall sleep in a cold open field- 
 Along with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0!' 
 
 [With a swift, proud gesture of departure, lift 
 ing her last song-note to its octave higher, the 
 little GIRL goes off, right, with steps of gladness, 
 while QUILLOQUON in crestfallen grandeur 
 strides off with the BOY, left. 
 
 The GIRL'S voice, however, has hardly 
 ceased, and QUILLOQUON has not yet disap* 
 
168 WASHINGTON [ACT II 
 
 peared, when a Mans Voice is heard singing 
 through the dim whirling snowfall:] 
 
 THE MAN'S VOICE 
 [Sings huskily.] 
 '0, what care I for a goose-feather bed, 
 
 With the sheet turned down so bravely, ! 
 
 For tonight I shall sleep in a cold open field 
 
 Along with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0!' 
 
 [Then suddenly the VOICE speaks, with sharp 
 staccato.] 
 Who goes there? 
 
 NINTH ACTION 
 
 The Man's Voice breaks in a raspy fit of coughing. 
 
 While he has sung, the blue curtains have drawn back 
 to the width of the full stage-aperture, revealing 
 the Singer himself a Sentinel, in ragged Ameri 
 can uniform, standing in the night near a low- 
 burning camp-fire (left). 
 
 The snow has ceased falling. The fire dimly lights by 
 its gleam a space surrounded by vaguely dis 
 cerned walls of snow-laden woods, except in the 
 background. There between boles of trees, 
 rising like columns of grey ice an arch-like 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 169 
 
 opening gives glimpses of struggling moonlight 
 and gusty, grey-black darkness, through which a 
 low, muffled thudding and crackling murmur 
 rise occasionally to the ear. 
 
 Holding for a moment his musket poised, the Sentinel 
 looks off (left), listening. Then, lowering his 
 gun and turning to the fire, he crouches by it, 
 blows his fingers, takes from within his tattered 
 coat a little book, holds it open near the firelight 
 and begins writing in it. 
 
 While he does so, through the glooming aperture in 
 the background, the tall, silhouetted form of 
 WASHINGTON, in long military cloak, his hands 
 gripped behind him, is seen to pace slowly past 
 and disappear (right). 
 
 The SENTINEL stops writing, gesticulates to himself, 
 muttering; then reads aloud from his book. 
 
 THE SENTINEL 
 
 '0 ye, that love mankind! Ye that dare oppose 
 not only tyranny but the tyrant, stand forth! Every 
 spot of the Old World is overrun with oppression. 
 Freedom hath been hunted round the globe. 0, re 
 ceive the fugitive, and prepare in time an asylum for 
 mankind!' 
 
 [Coughing slightly, he stares a moment in the 
 fire: then writes again. 
 
 In the background, the dim form of WASH- 
 
170 WASHINGTON [ ACT II 
 
 INGTON, returning, paces past and disappears, 
 left. 
 
 Half rising now from his crouched posture, 
 the SENTINEL reads again from his book in the 
 firelight, with gesture as of ardent conversation 
 with another.} 
 
 'To see it in our power to make a world happy, to 
 teach mankind the art of being so, to exhibit on the 
 theatre of the universe a character hitherto unknown, 
 and to have, as it were, a new creation entrusted to 
 our hands, are honours that command reflection.' 
 
 [Closing his book, he looks intently in the 
 night. Then suddenly, dropping the book, he 
 seizes up his gun, leaps to his feet and calls out:] 
 
 Who goes there? 
 
 THE MAN'S VOICE 
 [Answers from outside, left.] 
 Merry Christmas! 
 
 THE SENTINEL 
 
 Merry Christmas, yourself! 
 
 [A MAN limps wearily in, through a gap in 
 the snow-covered evergreens. The firelight re 
 veals him also forlornly clad in ragged regi 
 mentals. The SENTINEL half lowers his gun.] 
 
 What's your name, and allegiance? 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 171 
 
 THE MAN 
 
 Lieutenant James Monroe, of the United States. 
 
 THE SENTINEL 
 
 [Saluting a bit slouchily, like a civilian.] 
 'Which are, and of right ought to be, free and inde 
 pendent!' Pass, Lieutenant Monroe, in the name of 
 our immortal Declaration. 
 
 MONROE 
 
 Immortal, Sir, let us hope, but ought to be isn't are 
 by a long shot whatever Mr. Jefferson hath immor 
 tally declared for us. 
 
 [Sitting on a rock by the fire, he examines his 
 foot.} 
 
 THE SENTINEL 
 
 [Bending over him.} 
 
 Lord, lieutenant, your foot's bloody bleeding bad ! 
 Here, wait a minute. 
 
 [Tearing a strip from his own regimentals 9 he 
 kneels down beside MONROE.] 
 You need bandaging. 
 
 MONROE 
 Thanks, friend. We all do in this uniform. 
 
 [Behind them the shadowy form of WASHING 
 TON paces past again, and noiselessly disappears. 
 
 While the SENTINEL is stooping over, wrap 
 ping his companion's foot in bandages, MON- 
 
172 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 ROE'S hand resting on the book raises it. 
 Glancing curiously at the open page, he mut 
 ters:] 
 Hello, what's here? 
 
 [The SENTINEL looks up an instant, but goes 
 on immediately with his occupation. MONROE 
 reads aloud:] 
 
 "These are the times that try men's souls. The 
 summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this 
 crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he 
 that stands it now deserves the love and thanks of 
 man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily 
 conquered.' 
 
 [Turning to the front of the book, he looks 
 closely and reads:] 
 
 "Tom Paine: His Note Book." Great Caesar! 
 Where did this come from? 
 
 THE SENTINEL 
 
 From a hater of Caesar out of my breast pocket, 
 Sir. 
 
 MONROE 
 
 Yours! You Thomas Paine, the author of "Com- 
 monsense"? 
 
 PAINE 
 Unauthorized by His Majesty: that's me. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 173 
 
 MONROE 
 
 [Rising and saluting.] 
 
 Why, Sir, permit me to salute the Revolution! 
 'Tis a privilege to meet Public Opinion face to face. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 You meet just a sentinel at his post, Sir. 'Tis a 
 privilege of serving Liberty, to inquire: "Who goes 
 there?" 
 
 MONROE 
 
 Your inquiry will bum the ears of kings till their 
 doomsday, Mr. Paine. Your challenge rings over the 
 Atlantic. For my part, I should like to see it made 
 the Atlantic doctrine No passing for Old World 
 tyrants this side of the world! 
 
 PAINE 
 
 And why not doctrine for t'other side, too, Mr. 
 Monroe? 
 
 MONROE 
 
 [Sitting again.] 
 
 Well, Sir, a touch of modesty. I administer my 
 doctrine by the dose half a world at a time. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Not me, lieutenant. My mother didn't bear me 
 modest, nor twins; so, following her maternal exam 
 ple, I never give birth to a principle by hemispheres. 
 
174 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 MONROE 
 
 [Holding one foot and twinging.] 
 Well and good, Mr. Paine, but hadn't we better 
 confine our universal dreams to gypsy camps con 
 sidering our style of bed tonight? 
 
 PAINE 
 
 [Humming the words. ] 
 
 '0, what care I for a goose-feather bed 
 
 With the sheet turned down ' 
 [Breaking off with a short laugh.] 
 Ha! "Raggle-taggle": that's the tune of Revolu 
 tion, Sir. 
 
 MONROE 
 [Wearily.] 
 
 Oh, I don't know! There's times I almost think we 
 deserve goose-feathers and tar, too for such loy 
 alty as ours. 
 
 PAINE 
 [Sharply.] 
 
 What's that! Is that your ripe judgment of our 
 cause? 
 
 MONROE 
 
 No, Sir, not ripe just rotten. I'm dog-tired 
 tired of failure. The game's up! We know our 
 dreams but look at the facts. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Well what facts? 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 175 
 
 MONROE 
 
 Listen ! 
 
 [He pauses a moment.] 
 You hear that sound? 
 
 [They both listen in silence. 
 Shadowy in the background, the form of 
 WASHINGTON re-passes and disappears.] 
 
 PAINE 
 
 You mean the river there the ice rattling? 
 
 MONROE 
 
 Yes : the death-rattle of our rebellion. I mean, that 
 Delaware river can tell our story. That's us the 
 American army. Last summer, what were we? The 
 warm, quick stream of our country's passion, welling 
 like hot blood, pouring out of the hills the turbulent 
 current of a continent. And now, in December, 
 what now, ha? That's us out there: a death-cold 
 stream, congealing while we move: a current choked 
 up with the ice of its own broken heart any hour to 
 be buried under, gone, stone-cold as this river bank 
 tonight. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 [Humming, as he fondles his musket.] 
 'For tonight I shall sleep in a cold open field' 
 
 [Speaking.] 
 And those facts, Lieutenant? Skip the metaphors. 
 
176 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 MONROE 
 
 Facts, Sir? The facts are disaster and retreat. At 
 Brooklyn Heights failure, retreat; New York the 
 same; Fort Washington, Fort Lee lost, both; the 
 Hudson lost; and here now for months in Jersey 
 ignominious retreat: deserters, dropping off like rats 
 from a wreck: militia without honour; officers without 
 obedience; a Congress that votes battalions, but no 
 money and this nearly two years since Bunker Hill! 
 So here, Mr. Paine, this Christmas night, while the 
 German hirelings are rum-drinking over the river 
 there in Trenton these are the facts: To expel from 
 America His Majesty's twenty-five thousand regulars, 
 stuffed with plum pudding here we are: twenty-four 
 hundred retreating frozen-bellied gypsies! 
 
 PAINE 
 
 [Quickly.] 
 And one general. 
 
 MONROE 
 
 [Rising slowly, speaks with quiet emotion.'] 
 Aye, Sir one general. After all, for us, I guess 
 that's the only fact. For, if needs be, we'll follow 
 that one the gypsy path to hell. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 [With a gesture of silence, points to the back 
 ground.] 
 Shh! 
 
ACT II] WA S H I /V G T N 111 
 
 [Silently, once more, in dim silhouette, the 
 form of WASHINGTON paces past and is gone. 
 For a moment, they stand watching, motionless. 
 Then MONROE speaks 9 under his breath.] 
 
 MONROE 
 
 Him? Is this camp-fire his? 
 
 PAINE 
 
 [Nodding.] 
 I'm his sentinel here. 
 
 MONROE 
 
 1 bear a dispatch to him. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Not now: not for half an hour. That's my orders. 
 He's thinking. He thinks alone. 
 
 MONROE 
 
 And walks like that? 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Sometimes. Sometimes he just stands like a tree 
 all night. 
 
 MONROE 
 
 What, and sleeps standing? 
 PAINE 
 
 Not sleeps, I guess; though often his eyes are 
 
178 WASHINGTON [Aer II 
 
 closed. He calls it, taking his cat-naps. And 
 sometimes he takes 'em walking. 
 
 MONROE 
 Walking! 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Like we saw there. 
 
 MONROE 
 
 [Taking out a folded paper.] 
 But this dispatch, Mr. Paine? 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Follow me, Sir: I'll take you to Colonel Hamilton. 
 Since the General met him in New York, he's made a 
 son of him. He's over yonder, with General Knox. 
 
 MONROE 
 
 [Taking Paine 's hand in the dim light, follows 
 him, limping.} 
 
 Some future Christmas, Mr. Paine, we must resume 
 our fireside conversation on the doctrine of hemi 
 spheres. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Hemispheres? No, Sir: give me globes! 
 
 [[hey disappear in the darkness. 
 After a moment pacing past again in the 
 background the huge form of WASHINGTON 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 179 
 
 pauses, comes slowly down half way to the fire 
 and stands there. 
 
 In long military cloak, three-cornered hat, and 
 great boots, his hands still clutched behind him 
 his posture is erect as an Indian. 
 
 Around his throat is a piece of woollen cloth. 
 
 His eyes are intently fixed, his lips compressed 
 with painful tightness. 
 
 He remains perfectly motionless. 
 
 Vaguely the sounds of wind and river-ice 
 deepen the silence of their pausings. 
 
 Soon, from the right, very quietly, the slight 
 small form of a young Man comes into the gleam 
 of the fire. He is in uniform, shabby but borne 
 with alert distinction. He passes over to the fire 
 and waits there. 
 
 As he crosses the gaze of WASHINGTON, the 
 eyes of the latter follow him and continue to look 
 at him for a moment, before he speaks in a tone 
 hoarse with cold.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ah ! Hamilton you ? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Yes, your Excellency. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Are the boats secured? 
 
180 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Yes, your Excellency. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 All? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Yes, Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Murmurs.] 
 Ah! 
 
 [Slowly, he begins to pace again. 
 
 HAMILTON waits, near the fire. 
 
 Soon WASHINGTON speaks again, abrupt.] 
 Oh! Alexander! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 What, Sir? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 You dispatched my letter to Mt. Vernon? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 To Lady Washington: Yes, Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Murmuring low, as he paces.] 
 You're a good boy you're a good boy 
 
 [After a moment, pausing again, he speaks 
 with staccato sharpness.] 
 Well? Well? Your report! 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 181 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 This message, by Lieutenant Monroe, from General 
 Gates at Bristol. Shall I read it, Sir? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 No: give me the gist. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 General Gates has received your orders. He un 
 derstands it is your plan to strike the Hessians tonight 
 at Trenton, with five co-operating divisions, com 
 manded severally by yourself, himself, Generals 
 Ewing, Putnam and Griffin. Accordingly, he has dis 
 patched General Cadwalader to the river. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Well? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 General Cadwalader has looked at the river. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Has he! Well? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 He considers the floating ice impassable 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Considers! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 The chances desperate, and he is gone back to 
 Bristol. 
 
182 WASHINGTON [ACT II 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Gone back to Brimstonel Let him sit there and 
 broil his rump! What else? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Another message from General Gates, by Captain 
 Wilkinson. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 We are twice favoured. Well? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 General Gates himself has set out for Philadelphia, 
 to inform Congress 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 Inform Congress what of? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 That he disapproves your plan, and cannot co 
 operate. 
 
 WASHINGTQN 
 
 Ah! 
 
 [After a pause.'] 
 What further messages? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 From General Putnam, at Philadelphia. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Quickly.} 
 What's Put say? 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 183 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 He regrets his division cannot march tonight. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Slowly. ] 
 Old Put says that. Well! Next? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 General Ewing regrets the ice, but will try whatever 
 seems most practical in the morning. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Try! He'd better try lard,, and fry in his own fat! 
 That's practical for corn pone ha! in the morning! 
 [WASHINGTON'S features contract, and he 
 gnaws fiercely the edge of his hand, before speak 
 ing again.] 
 
 So: that makes three divisions time-stalled use 
 less. 
 
 [He glances slowly at HAMILTON.] 
 And the fourth ? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 General Griffin sends word 
 [He pauses.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 What are his regrets? 
 
184 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 He regrets his necessity to abandon New Jersey 
 altogether. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Lifting off his hat, raises it high aloft.] 
 Jehovah, God of chariots! And this is the thunder 
 of Thy captains! 
 
 [Dashing his hat to the ground, he grinds his 
 boot upon it.~\ 
 
 Blithering skulkgudgeons! These are my fighting 
 generals! 
 
 [An immense shudder wrenches his body. 
 Controlling a sharp spasm, his face grows 
 marble. Stooping, he takes up the crumpled hat 
 and holds it in silence; then, slowly turning his 
 look from the hat to HAMILTON'S face, he speaks 
 with tense quiet.] 
 Alexander: not a word of this! You understand? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Not a word, your Excellency. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Your report, Sir, is satisfactory. At midnight, our 
 division will cross the Delaware alone. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [With quiet emotion.] 
 Nay, Sir: not alone. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 185 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I said ours alone. What other forces are left to 
 attend us? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 The Ages, your Excellency: the forces that prevail 
 over river barriers: there, Sir, still flows the Rubi 
 con. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Hoarsely.] 
 
 Nay, my boy not so classic. The Delaware will 
 do, for tonight. 'Tis no Caesar stands in my boots. 
 
 {With smouldering fire, that dartles, flames 
 and then bursts.] 
 
 But 'tis Caesar, I reckon, who camps over there with 
 his legions: a Caesar, hog-latin from Hanover, who 
 would make the Atlantic his channel who hires his 
 own German breed to help suppress English freedom 
 in both England and America, making his chancellors 
 his apes and his commoners his minions. I'd rather 
 you called me Hannibal-in-a-cocked-hat than such a 
 Hessian Roman! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 I am well corrected, Sir. I cannot gainsay the 
 cocked hat. 
 
 [With swift ardour, going near to him.] 
 
 But oh, my dear General, I want you only to know 
 my utter conviction of this night! 
 
186 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Looking at him slowly.] 
 Your conviction, son? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 This night is the beginning of the world. Darkness 
 was over the face of the deep, and He said, "Let there 
 be light!" 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Murmurs.] 
 And there was light. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 And there was light! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Without form and void and after that light and 
 order. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Order and organic structure: a new world a 
 new-builded unity a new self-government above war 
 ring tribes a commonwealth above kings and its 
 name, America! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 You are young and you have seen it. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Ardently.] 
 I see it, Sirl 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 187 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I am getting old but I too have seen it darkly. 
 Old eyes and young must work together, boy. Will 
 finds its way. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 And the will is here. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ah? Where? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [With a reverent smile.} 
 Under that crumpled hat, Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Smiling back faintly speaks, after a 
 pause.} 
 The boats are ready? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 On the face of the deep. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Over there no crossing back. Over there are 
 the looted homes of freemen, and the German loot 
 ers keeping the birth of Christ, there. Over that 
 water, my boy, is our final stake: 'tis fight to a finish. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 And fight for the beginning: our commonwealth 
 above kings! 
 
188 WASHINGTON [Acx II 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 In the beginning there was a word spoken a 
 watchword and the stars held their watch ever after. 
 
 [From the distance, on the right, a single faint 
 bugle-note is heard .] 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Sir, yes! Our watchword: the men are waiting 
 for it. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Mutters, looking off.] 
 No stars yet tonight! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [With fervour.] 
 
 You will give it, Sir you alone. I'll go tell them. 
 This pad, Sir: write it on this; I'll return in a moment 
 ind get it. I beg of you, Sir, the watchword! 
 
 [Handing to WASHINGTON a little pad of 
 paper, HAMILTON goes swiftly off in the dark 
 ness, right. 
 
 Left alone, WASHINGTON continues muttering 
 to himself.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Above warring tribes. Out of the void a form. 
 And there was light of stars and order. Void, and 
 then victory! 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 189 
 
 [Slowly his lips still murmuring he begins 
 to pace back and forth, his hands clutched behind 
 him. 
 
 While he does so, out of the night, a low, flute- 
 like music plays softly the air of 6 Raggle~taggle 
 Gypsies. 9 
 
 As the melody ceases, WASHINGTON pauses (at 
 the left) by the tree-bole, that forms there a col 
 umn for the arch-like opening of snow-crusted 
 evergreens. 
 
 From there as he moves again slowly down 
 to the log by the fire, and sits there, holding the 
 little pad in his left hand he is followed from 
 behind by a dim-robed FIGURE in red, its face 
 cowled in deep shadow, its arms crossed in large 
 folds of its dark garment. 
 
 Pausing for a moment behind him, where he 
 sits, the FIGURE bends above him in the firelight. 
 
 Reaching a shadowy arm, it touches with its 
 right hand the right hand of WASHINGTON, poised 
 with a pencil to write. 
 
 At the touch, once more, faintly a bugle is 
 heard, the hand of WASHINGTON writes, and the 
 bugle-note dies away as the FIGURE steals silently 
 back to the centre of the snowy arch. 
 
 WASHINGTON does not move or speak; but now, 
 from the right, low voices are heard and HAM 
 ILTON reappears. Glimpsed with him for a mo 
 ment are the forms of Tom Paine and two or 
 
190 WASHINGTON [Acr II 
 
 three others in regimentals, who retire at a ges 
 ture from HAMILTON. 
 
 Approaching WASHINGTON, HAMILTON 5 about 
 to speak, but checks himself at the other's intent 
 posture of absorption his open left hand hold 
 ing extended the little pad. 
 
 Seeing this, HAMILTON drawing closer 
 glances at it in the firelight, and reads:] 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Murmuring low.] 
 Victory or death. 
 
 [Then, swiftly in silence returning toward the 
 dimness, right, he speaks in vibrant tone:] 
 Victory or death! 
 
 [As he disappears, the Voice of TOM PAINE 
 answers from farther off: "Victory or death!" 
 
 Still farther, then, in the distance, other Voices 
 call faintly to each other: "Victory or death!" 
 
 These Voices have hardly ceased, when once 
 more a far bugle is heard. 
 
 WASHINGTON stirs slightly, clutching his hands 
 before him. 
 
 Now the bugle is answered by another, and in 
 the arched middleground, the DIM -RED FIGURE 
 Z7i the Cowl quivers with deepening colour. 
 
 WASHINGTON tightens the great joints of his 
 hands, and breathes heavily. 
 
ACT II] WASHINGTON 191 
 
 And now, through the dark, increasingly, the 
 upblowing notes of bugles begin to rise, like 
 irises of sound. And as they rise, the grey 
 of gust-blurred moonlight in the background 
 clears to a pallid blue, which deepens and fill 
 ing swiftly with stars takes on a glowing inten 
 sity of azure. 
 
 Against this sky of stars, impanelled by the 
 shadowy arch, the red of the cowled FIGURE 
 looms and dilates with the sanguine richness of 
 flame. 
 
 And now the bugles as many as the stars 
 magnify their blaring notes to a martial revelry 
 of music, crashing the dark with their silver and 
 brazen peals. 
 
 Staring upward in the midst of this sound and 
 the colour behind him, WASHINGTON starts to his 
 feet in the foreground both arms upraised in a 
 gesture immense and terrible his voice break 
 ing with sharp joy, as he cries hoarsely aloud:] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Victory! Lord God of battles victory! 
 
 END OF ACT II 
 
ACT III 
 AND EPILOGUE 
 
ACT III 
 
 TENTH ACTION 
 
 The rise of the theatre curtain discovers the blue cur- 
 tains closed at the centre. Behind them is heard 
 a fiddle playing and the voice of QUILLOQUON 
 singing. 
 
 Immediately, as the blue curtains draw back half the 
 width of the stage opening, a burst of gorgeous 
 colour meets the eye. 
 
 In a scene of shallow depth, the entire back wall con 
 sists of a resplendent painted canvas, in front of 
 which, at the right, is a step-ladder. 
 
 On this is standing a YOUNG MAN clad in a long 
 flowing robe of blue l worn over a British offi 
 cer's uniform. At either side of him, standing 
 on boxes are a BOY and a GIRL, each holding 
 a pot of paint. The young Man slender, hand 
 some, dark holds several brushes, with one of 
 which he is busily putting final touches to the 
 design on the canvas. 
 
 At left and right, the scene is closed in by great folds 
 of blue hanging curtains, on which informally 
 
 1 The design and colour of this robe are the same as 
 the robe of THE THEATRE, in the Prelude. 
 
 195 
 
196 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 pinned are drawings and paintings of scene- 
 designs. 
 
 in a great chair (right), over which is thrown a rich 
 hued tapestry, sits a stout MIDDLE-AGED MAN, in 
 the uniform of a British General. Near him, 
 standing, is a tall Man, with fierce black beard, 
 long moustachios, towering brass helmet and the 
 uniform of a HESSIAN OFFICER. 
 
 In the left background in front of some tall deco 
 rated screens stands the FIDDLER (QuiLLO- 
 QUON), dressed in a strange bright-coloured 
 smock, worn over his work clothes. 
 
 The two Children are clad likewise, and where they 
 stand holding the paint-pots join in the chorus 
 of the ballad-song, to which QUILLOQUON partly 
 fiddles partly directs them with his bow as he 
 sings. 
 
 Midway of the song's first stanza the curtains part. 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 A fighter would a-fiddling go ; 
 Instead of his sword he carried a bow, 
 All for to fiddle it high and low 
 Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 
 
 [FIDDLER AND CHILDREN] 
 Jackie, boy! Master! 
 Sing ye well? very well! 
 
 Hey down, ho down, 
 
 Derry, derry down! 
 Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 197 
 
 To my Hey down, down! 
 With my Ho down, down! 
 
 Hey down, ho down, 
 
 Derry, derry down! 
 Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 
 
 THE FIDDLER 
 
 He fiddled all day until 'twas night, 
 He fiddled all dark until 'twas light, 
 All for to fiddle away the fight 
 Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 
 [FIDDLER AND CHILDREN] 
 Jackie, boy! Master. 
 Sing ye well? very well! 
 Hey down, ho down, 
 Derry, derry down! 
 Among the greenrooms gay, 01 
 [As the song concludes, the BRITISH OFFICER, 
 slapping his thigh, exclaims loudly:] 
 
 THE BRITISH OFFICER 
 
 Bravo, Master Scene-shifter! You sing well, with 
 your Jackie-boy, and Jill, too. 
 
 [To the YOUNG MAN on the ladder.] 
 Where did you pick up this fellow? 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 Oh, here in the theatre, General: a jack-of -all- 
 trades. He helps me here in the scene-loft. 
 [Pointing.] 
 
 How do you like our new curtain, for the Old 
 South? 
 
198 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 THE BRITISH OFFICER 
 
 Prodigious good! A touch of extravagance that 
 takes me. Your brush is as gallant as your sword, 
 Captain Andre. 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 [Turns with a smile and slight bow.] 
 Sir William Howe does me honour. 
 
 HOWE 
 
 Devil a bit! I saw your new drop-scene at the last 
 performance that landscape and cascade. Hogarth 
 himself couldn't beat it. And so this is the new cur 
 tain for tomorrow night? 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 Yes, General. Tis just finished. 
 
 [Tossing his brushes to QUILLOQUON, he comes 
 down the ladder, while QUILLOQUON and the 
 Children go off through the curtains, right.] 
 
 HOWE 
 What's the play? 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 "Douglas." 
 
 HOWE 
 Who plays the title-part? 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 I do, Sir. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 199 
 
 HOWE 
 
 Well said, youngster! You'll provide my staff with 
 Garrick and Sir Joshua combined. Who gives the 
 Prologue? 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 I plead very guilty, Sir. I've wrote it. 
 
 HOWE 
 
 What Oliver Goldsmith, too! Sure, Captain 
 Andre, I must raise your rank to Major of Dramatics. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 [With a laugh.] 
 
 'Twould be only fitting, Sir William. You your 
 self, Sir, have converted the theatre of Mars to the 
 temple of Melpomone. Thanks to you, Philadelphia 
 is now the Athens of America. 
 
 THE HESSIAN OFFICER 
 [With a strong German accent.] 
 Ya so. Here is now goot vinter quarters : plendy 
 of goot music and liquors. 
 
 HOWE 
 
 And sour-krout, Knyphausen! Better than Tren 
 ton, a year ago, eh? How about that serenade the 
 Yankees gave you Hessians o' Christmas night, ha? 
 [Ho WE roars with laughter.] 
 
200 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 KNYPHAUSEN 
 
 De tamn Yankees dey eat deir own medicine now, 
 General. You hear de last news from Valley Forge 
 ya? , 
 
 HOWE 
 Eh? What news? 
 
 KNYPHAUSEN 
 
 Meester Vashington he is now tie up his breeches 
 mit wrapping strings. For why? he is cut off his 
 last button, to buy him a frozen potato. Haha ! 
 
 HOWE 
 
 Ha! Hath he? Well, well, poor old fox, he shall 
 have a hot sirloin when I catch him. He's a gentle 
 man and a sportsman George Washington. Next 
 spring after I've frozen out his little rebellion he 
 and I shall go duck-shooting together. 'Tis jollier 
 sport than this man-hunting. 
 
 KNYPHAUSEN 
 
 Sport! Ya dere you are, you Anglo-Saxons! 
 Always you play your var by de pretty rules, like a 
 game. 
 
 HOWE 
 A game well, what the devil else is war? 
 
 KNYPHAUSEN 
 
 Var is business, Sir Villiam. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 201 
 
 HOWE 
 
 Business be damned! War is a great national 
 sport, Sir. Learn the rules and play according. 
 
 KNYPHAUSEN 
 
 Rules? Beat your enemy: dat is all de rules. 
 But see here your var business! Here is not in all 
 America vone town vere you tax de habitants. My 
 men dey must pay de farmers for deir chickens mit 
 cash, and say dem "tank you" besides. Potzhimmel! 
 Vat for a var! 
 
 HOWE 
 [Rising.] 
 
 Knyphausen, I'm captain of this cricket match. 
 When the boys in your country learn bat-and-ball, 
 they'll learn to understand British soldiers: aye, Sir, 
 and American. Now, Andre, I clean forgot: I must 
 be off. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 So soon, General? 
 
 HOWE 
 
 I've lost my dog. God above, Sir, Jack! my best 
 hound I've lost him. Took first prize at the show. 
 I wouldn't swap him for a battalion. I must set the 
 town in search. 
 
 [Taking out and handing a paper.] 
 Here, Knyphausen, you have legs hurry ahead of 
 me to Headquarters. This paper gives his full inven- 
 
202 WASHINGTON [Aci III 
 
 tory. Superb foxhound good old Jack! Aye, Sir, 
 a dozen battalions! 
 
 KNYPHAUSEN 
 
 [Taking the paper.} 
 For vone dog! 
 
 [Scowling with savage disdain.] 
 Gotteswillen ! Vat for a var! 
 
 [As he is about to stride out through the cur 
 tains, Ieft 9 two young WOMEN appear there one 
 in a bright-coloured gown, the other dressed in 
 grey like a Quaker. Seeing the Hessian, they 
 start aside the first suppressing a scream, as 
 KNYPHAUSEN, bowing fiercely, brushes rudely 
 past and goes out, muttering:} 
 Pardon, Mesdames! 
 
 THE FIRST YOUNG WOMAN 
 
 Captain Andre! 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 Mistress Polly, ladies! 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [Looking after KNYPHAUSEN.] 
 Why is one of those here? 
 
 HOWE 
 
 [Bursting out.] 
 God knows, Madam! His Majesty hired 'em, not 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 203 
 
 me. Manners of mud-turtles! That one is a colonel, 
 but he butters his bread with his thumb. Pray intro 
 duce me, Captain. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 Sir William I present you to Mistress Polly Red 
 mond, and 
 
 POLLY 
 
 And my friend, Captain, Mistress Betsy Ross: 
 both loyal rebels, Sir William! 
 
 i . 
 
 HOWE 
 
 [Bowing, as they both curtsy.] 
 I bow to your conquest, fair enemies! 
 
 POLLY 
 
 Oh, but Captain, I've only a minute. I've run in 
 to give you my answer. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 Ah! So you will sing for us tomorrow night be 
 fore my Prologue? 
 
 POLLY 
 
 All my repertoire! 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 I am overwhelmed. 
 
 POLLY 
 
 You will be- when you hear me! 
 
204 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 [Handing a paper.} 
 Look at my numbers. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 [Reads.] 
 
 'War and Washington'; 'Cooped up in a Town!' 
 'Burgoyne's Defeat' 
 
 [Bursting into gay laughter.] 
 
 Aha, Sir William you hear? Reserve your box 
 early! 'Twill be a royal benefit for rebels! 
 
 HOWE 
 
 [Joining his laughter.] 
 
 Standing room only, I'll wager! Put me down for 
 two boxes 
 
 [With another bow.] 
 if Mistress Betsy will be there to join the rebellion. 
 
 BETSY 
 
 I thank thee, Sir: but 'tis the privilege of a Friend 
 to be neutral. I attend not the playhouse. 
 
 HOWE 
 
 Neutral? Never with those eyes, fair Mistress! 
 Nay, under that grey cloak of a Friend, I warrant 
 you'll draw forth a shining blade for Washington! 
 
 BETSY 
 
 Only a needle, Sir. Polly sings for her country: 
 I can only sew. 
 
 [Under her cloak is visible a cloth bundle, 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 205 
 
 with needle and thread through the wrapping 
 of which is glimpsed a gleam of red. white and 
 blue.] 
 
 HOWE 
 
 [Glancing.] 
 What's here? 
 
 [In confusion BETSY covers the bundle, as 
 POLLY steps between her and HOWE.] 
 
 POLLY 
 [Saucily.] 
 
 Shirts for Valley Forge soldiers, Sir. Confiscate 
 'em for his Majesty! 
 
 HOWE 
 
 Ah unneutral needle ! 
 [Pressing his heart.] 
 
 Already, Mistress Betsy, thou hast stabbed me mor 
 tally here. I must fly for help to Headquarters. 
 [Going.] 
 
 Captain, reserve me my box. Recover my lost 
 heart and my dog. Dear old Jack! Damn Hes 
 sians! Splendid hound! Ladies, your most de 
 voted! Ah bye the bye! I pray you will all dine 
 with me shortly to meet the Marquis of Lafayette 
 and General Washington. I'm expecting 'em soon 
 by pressing invitation. Long live Washington 
 under my roof! God save the king and my good 
 old Jack! Worth twenty battalions that dog! 
 
206 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 [Limping off on his cane, HOWE disappears 
 through the curtains.} 
 
 POLLY 
 
 Funny old dragon! 
 [To ANDRE.] 
 We must be going, too! 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 Nay, charmer of dragons: stay one moment. 
 
 [As she waves good-bye to him.} 
 Not if I show you a secret? 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [Hesitating.] 
 Secret? 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 A grand state secret. Behind those screens! 
 
 POLLY 
 
 Oh! Stop, Betsy. Tis fate! We are spies! 
 
 [Returning, curious.] 
 I've always felt I should hang for a state secret. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 So have I, Mistress Polly! Resist not fate! 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [Awesomely.] 
 Must I swear not to tell? 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 207 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 You must swear to tell all Philadelphia except Sir 
 William. 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [Raising her right hand.] 
 Swear, Betsy! 
 
 ANDRE 
 Look! 
 
 [He puts aside the screens, revealing behind 
 them a gorgeous array of dresses, costumes and 
 dyed cloths, hanging over standards.] 
 
 POLLY 
 
 tempter of Eve! What are those? 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 [Taking forth some of the costumes and drap 
 ing them over the step-ladder.] 
 For my Mischianza! 
 
 POLLY 
 
 Miss what? 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 My pageant the first in America: a medley of 
 masques and music and dances! Tis for next spring 
 in honour of Sir William. Philadelphia shall go 
 arrayed like Tyre and Sidon. 
 
208 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 BETSY 
 
 [With grave feeling.] 
 
 While our patriot army goes naked. Polly, come 
 away! 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 [Showing a robe of white silk, with spangled 
 pink sash.] 
 
 Look! This Polonaise for a Lady of the Blended 
 Rose. 
 
 POLLY 
 [Snatching it from him.] 
 
 rapture! 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 Tis for you, Mistress Polly. Picture yourself in 
 a veil of silver lace, with this headdress of pearls! 
 [Showing another robe, with black sash.] 
 
 And this for a Lady of the Burning Mountain : 
 for your friend, if she will deign to wear it. 
 
 BETSY 
 
 1 will die before wearing it. 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [Pressing the robe to her heart.] 
 I will die after! Captain, array me in this robe: 
 shoot me at sunrise, and bury me in a crystal casket 
 at the feet of my hero, Washington! 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 209 
 
 BETSY 
 
 Polly, thou art gone daft with thy theatre crazes. 
 Living or dead, let us be clothed in our duty. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 'Living or dead, let me but be renowned!' That's 
 a line I speak tomorrow night, in my part of Douglas. 
 Ah, dutiful Mistress Ross, do not scorn too much our 
 theatre's art. My duty is soldiering; yours 'tis sew 
 ing. Yet it may be that your life-task and mine to 
 day all our hearts' devotion to peace or war shall 
 survive tomorrow only in a player's part or the 
 refrain of a song. 
 
 BETSY 
 
 Duty, Sir, thinks not of survival. 
 
 POLLY 
 
 But beauty longs for it, Betsy. Remember our 
 Washington, even at Valley Forge, hath a theatre 
 for our starving patriots. They lack for clothes and 
 bread but not for players. 
 
 BETSY 
 
 [Murmurs.] 
 Valley Forge! 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 The art we share should heal our enmities. I pray 
 it will. 
 
 [Dreamily, from nearby, strings of a dulcimer 
 begin to play a melody pensive and minor. 
 
210 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 BETSY, clutching tighter her wrapped bundle, 
 stands gazing her eyes fixed far off.] 
 
 BETSY 
 
 [Murmurs again.] 
 Valley Forge! 
 
 [And now, to the dulcimer, the Voice of QUIL- 
 LOQUON is heard singing.] 
 
 THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 
 
 She leaned herself against a thorn, 
 
 All alone and aloney, 
 And there her firstling sons were born, 
 
 Down by the cold hill-sidey. 
 
 [ POLLY looks questioning toward ANDRE, who 
 answers her look quietly.] 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 An old ballad. 
 
 THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 
 
 [Sings on.] 
 
 She pulled down her dark, dark hair, 
 
 All alone and aloney, 
 And bound it round their limbs so bare, 
 
 Down by the cold hill-sidey. 
 
 She pulled out her snow-white breast, 
 
 All alone and aloney, 
 And bid them suck 'twould be her last, 
 
 Down by the cold hill-sidey. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 211 
 
 BETSY 
 
 [Murmurs.] 
 The cold hill side. 
 
 [She turns toward the curtained entrance. 
 ANDRE speaks to her.] 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 Pray, Mistress, wait! We are enemies only in 
 prose. In the heart of song, my England is yours, 
 your America mine. May we not be friends? 
 
 BETSY 
 
 To be a Friend, Sir, is my faith. Yet there are 
 times when friendship must be fought for. Polly, 
 come! 
 
 [She goes swiftly out, left. Polly is follow 
 ing.] 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 And you ? 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [Pausing at the entrance, hands the pearl 
 headdress to ANDRE.] 
 
 Dear Captain, fate may make us spies but never 
 traitors. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 [Snatches her hand, kissing it.] 
 Lady of fate! 
 
 [Restraining an impetuous gesture, POLLY 
 hurries out. 
 
212 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 Left alone, ANDRE turns slowly back. The 
 dulcimer is still playing. Looking at the pearls 
 in his hand, ANDRE murmurs low:] 
 Spies but never traitors. 
 
 (Eighth Transition) 
 
 [Through the curtains, right, QUILLOQUON en 
 ters with the Children. As they approach, their 
 forms and the figure of ANDRE melt into greyish 
 darkness, while their voices are singing.] 
 
 THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 
 
 If God were here, children mine, 
 
 All alone and aloney, 
 He'd wrap you in the warm wool fine, 
 
 Down by the cold hill-sidey. 
 
 (THE CHILDREN) 
 Mother dear, whose eyes are there, 
 
 All alone and aloney, 
 A-shining through your dark, dark hair, 
 
 Down by the cold hill-sidey? 
 
 (QUILLOQUON) 
 If God it were, children mine, 
 
 All alone and aloney, 
 He'd warm your hearts with His red wine, 
 
 Down by the cold hill-sidey. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 213 
 
 (THE CHILDREN) 
 Mother dear, His milk is best, 
 
 All alone and aloney, 
 That warms us from your snow-white breast, , 
 
 Down by the cold hill-sidey. 
 
 ELEVENTH ACTION 
 
 A flurry of grey light breaks the dark in the right 
 middleground. 
 
 Vaguely it reveals the interior of a large tent, on the 
 left divided by the rough stone back of a fire 
 place with tile chimney piercing the sloped 
 cloth roofing into a shallow and a deep recess, 
 the latter leading beyond sight in the background. 
 
 With the flurry of light, a swirling sound of sleigh 
 bells bursts also through the opening flap of an 
 incurved entrance, the canvas portico of which 
 is just visible outside. 
 
 In a gust of grey-white sleet, huddled Figures are seen 
 entering in a group that partly surrounds a low 
 sledge, piled with ice-crusted fire-wood. Har 
 nessed to the sledge, ragged, storm-drenched Men 
 drag in the load a few feet and pause. Through 
 the low jingle of the harness 9 bells, the voice of 
 HAMILTON is heard speaking. 
 
214 WASHINGTON [ACT III 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Yes, this is General Washington's tent. Stack the 
 wood over yonder. The provisions beyond there. 
 Thank you. 
 
 [Other SOLDIERS enter Men young, middle- 
 aged and old. Some are almost naked. Some 
 wear old dressing gowns and blankets strapped 
 to their waists. On the backs of two or three, 
 loaded provisions are tied. With them enter 
 HAMILTON and PAINE, also clad forlornly. 
 
 Closing the tent-flap, BILLY, the black servant 
 his scarlet-and-white livery now faded dun and 
 bedraggled stands at attention. 
 
 In silence, save for the faint tinkling, the 
 sledge is drawn across beyond view into the 
 deeper recess, from which flickering shadows of 
 the Men are cast by the fire, as they gather about 
 it, unloading and stacking the wood and provi 
 sions beyond, with low rumbling noise and occa 
 sional murmur of voices. 
 
 Meanwhile, crossing the shallower recess, 
 HAMILTON opens there the shutter-blinds of a 
 window beside a table, letting in a stormy light, 
 as he turns to his companion, and speaks.] 
 
 Those harnesses, Mr. Paine, are made of grape 
 vines. Our horses are mostly dead, so we contrive 
 substitutes with bells, for horse-play. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 215 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Tis our nature, Colonel. Man is your only volun 
 teer pack-horse. To attain liberty he will harness the 
 lightning or his own legs. Aye, Sir, to develop our 
 divinity, we are the only demi-gods that dwell in the 
 temples of ground-hogs. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Ground-hogs? 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Valley Forge soldiers, Sir. This camp is the 
 acropolis of such vermin. Holes in a frozen hillside 
 from these burrowed altars we crawl out to view our 
 shadows in the sun, and bear the griping arrows of 
 Phoebus Apollo. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 And the malice of our dear friends. General 
 Washington bears the brunt of that. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 What! Is the gossip true? Hath Gates really 
 plotted ? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Every back-door tattle-way. His capture of Bur- 
 goyne's army at Saratoga hath puffed his head like 
 an adder's. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Gates captured what Washington planned. That's 
 too easy. 
 
216 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Not for Gates. He plots to obtain the chief com 
 mand now himself. 
 
 PAINE 
 And Congress listens? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Behind their hands so. 'Tis a cabal a monster: 
 jealousy, petty hate, false gossip beyond belief. 
 They use an upstart named Conway. They set loose 
 lies like hornets. The plan is to sting Washington 
 till he resigns. They know they dare not remove him; 
 if they tried, all America would rise and hang 'em on 
 Liberty belfry. So they sting him in the dark. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Him their one hope! Are they mad? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Yes, with envy of his power= the power of patience. 
 Their latest attempt is to draw LaFayette in their net. 
 You know, when he came from France last summer to 
 fight with us, how quickly the General took the young 
 Marquis to his heart. This rankles with Gates and 
 his party. If they can win LaFayette, they think to 
 win their cabal. 
 
 PAINE 
 And will thev win him? 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 217 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 When they win heaven's gate and unhinge it not 
 before. Young LaFayette is the heart of France 
 and that is incorruptible. 
 
 THE VOICE OF WASHINGTON 
 
 [Calls low and vibrant.] 
 Hamilton! 
 
 [HAMILTON starts. 
 
 Through the tent- flap, in another gust of sleet , 
 WASHINGTON enters his cloak wrapped round a 
 human form, which he bears in his arms, the head 
 and one stiff naked arm drooping limp. 
 
 Glancing quickly about, WASHINGTON speaks 
 again, staccato.] 
 Brandy! 
 
 [HAMILTON reaches for a flask on the table. 
 
 Bending over in the background, WASHINGTON 
 
 lays his burden on the floor, near the centre, 
 
 stoops down in front of it, partly unwrapping the 
 
 cloak, and motions to the Men by the fireplace:] 
 
 Make room there. 
 
 [ The Men draw apart from the fire, and move 
 forward peering, a bit listlessly.] 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Hurrying quietly with the flask.] 
 Here, Sir. Is he hurt? 
 
218 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Frozen. Found him in a snow-drift. 
 
 [Taking the flask, he bends with it to the limp 
 body, half concealed now by the standing forms 
 of HAMILTON, PAINE, and others gathered 
 around.} 
 
 PAINE 
 
 [In a low voice.} 
 Can we help, General? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 No. 
 
 [For a moment, the Men stand silent, watching, 
 till WASHINGTON glances up and speaks again. } 
 How far off is the doctor? 
 
 A TATTERED MAN 
 
 [Stepping forward.} 
 I'm a doctor in my home town, Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a gesture.} 
 What's your verdict? Is he gone? 
 
 THE MAN 
 
 [Stooping down, after a little, rises again.} 
 Gone, Sir. 
 
 [The Men draw away, as WASHINGTON rises, 
 and mutter together as they move off.} 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 219 
 
 ONE MAN 
 
 Oh, just another! 
 
 A SECOND MAN 
 
 I knew him. He was a sergeant had a young wife 
 and three young 'uns. 
 
 [Going slowly to the table, WASHINGTON sets 
 down the flask; HAMILTON stands near.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Quietly.] 
 They die like crickets in autumn. 
 
 [Glancing at a paper on the table, lifts it and 
 reads:] 
 'Unfit for service, by cause of nakedness 3989.' 
 
 [Glancing at HAMILTON.] 
 That's today's report? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Today's, your Excellency. 
 [They confer together. 
 
 Coming out of the deeper recess with jingle of 
 sleigh-bells, the MEN in harness drag the sledge 
 toward the entrance, right, followed by the 
 others, talking low.] 
 
 ONE MAN 
 
 Same last night. My soup was full o' burnt leaves. 
 What did you get? 
 
220 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 ANOTHER 
 
 Fire-cake and water! The Lord send our Commis 
 sary may live on't too, till their glutted guts turn to 
 pasteboard. 
 
 A THIRD 
 
 Smoke, lice and vomit that's my upkeep. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 [To the Group.] 
 Want to chuck the game, and go home, boys? 
 
 THE THIRD MAN 
 
 [Pointing at WASHINGTON.] 
 Not while he there sticks! 
 
 THE SECOND MAN 
 
 [To PAINE.] 
 
 You'd never ask us that, if you had read Common- 
 sense and The Crisis. 
 
 THE FIRST MAN 
 
 [Nudging the second.] 
 Him read 'em! He wrote 'em! 
 
 [They stare after PAINE, where he moves off 
 with a smile.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Coming over to the sledge, halts those who 
 drag it, pointing to the dead man.] 
 Take him with you. He's done walking. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 221 
 
 [Several Men turn to the body. 
 As they lift it on the sledge, WASHINGTON 
 speaks to the tattered DOCTOR.] 
 Find the chaplain. 
 
 [Glancing toward the body.] 
 
 See him fitly buried. Keep the cloak for yourself 
 'twas mine. 
 
 THE DOCTOR 
 
 Oh, Sir thanks. 
 
 THE SECOND MAN 
 
 General, we'll all on us go sled-ridin' to serve you. 
 
 THE THIRD MAN 
 
 Kingdom-come, but no quittin', Sir! Sleigh-bells 
 for church-bells and no sexton nuther. 
 
 SEVERAL VOICES 
 
 Aye, General! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 We're all one team, lads. 
 
 [Lifting his hat momentarily above the sledge, 
 while those who have hats remove theirs also.] 
 A good journey and rest to our comrade! 
 
 [With devoted looks toward WASHINGTON 
 while those in front drag the sledge with the 
 body all the SOLDIERS go out, bending their 
 heads to the snowy gust that beats through the 
 
222 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 opened tent flap, which the darky closes after 
 them.] 
 
 PAINE 
 
 [Buttoning his coat, salutes WASHINGTON.] 
 I'll see them a bit on their way, General. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Noticing him for the first time, grasps his 
 hand warmly.] 
 
 Ah, Tom Paine ! Your writings have lamed 'em to 
 think, Sir. You're worth a dozen commissariats for 
 you larder their souls. 
 
 PAINE 
 
 Thought is in the air, Sir; I merely distil it. I'm a 
 moonshiner. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 And your moonshining has warmed my army with 
 the fire-water of dreams. A fighter without dreams 
 is no soldier; he's a machine. Machines break down 
 in snow-storms but not soldiers. Bellies cave in 
 but not courage; eyes go blind but not vision. 
 Young man, you have clarified our country's cause 
 for its defenders. Liberty is your debtor. God bless 
 you! 
 
 PAINE 
 
 He does, Sir. You are my friend. 
 [Bowing swiftly, he hurries out. 
 Following him, BILLY closes the tent flap from 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 223 
 
 outside. Pensively, WASHINGTON crosses to the 
 table, where HAMILTON site writing by a pile of 
 documents. HAMILTON starts to rise, but sits 
 again, at a gesture from the other, and continues 
 to write in silence. 
 
 On the table, WASHINGTON'S hand touches a 
 flute. He takes it up and stands holding it. 
 Staring out of the mist-blurred window, absently 
 he draws lines on a pane with the end of the flute. 
 
 The lines take on roughly the outline of a tree. 
 
 Slowly he lifts the flute to his lips, and blows 
 on it faintly three notes 
 
 HAMILTON glances up. 
 
 Gathering some documents, he rises and 
 speaks, hesitatingly.} 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Where do you wish these papers filed. Sir? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Half aloud still staring at the window 
 pane.] 
 Under the sycamore. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 I beg pardon? 
 
224 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a deep-caught breath dropping the 
 flute on the table.} 
 
 Ah! those papers 
 
 [Glancing.} 
 The cabal matter? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Yes, your Excellency. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Destroy them. Did you write to my farm man 
 ager? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 About draining the swamp, Sir. Yes. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Good. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Lifting another paper.} 
 
 This interrupted letter from Conway to General 
 Gates? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Taking the letter, glances at it.} 
 Sit down. 
 
 [HAMILTON sits again, and writes, as WASH 
 INGTON pacing slowly back and forth speaks, 
 with deliberation.} 
 You may take this dictation: 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 225 
 
 'To General Conway, etc. 
 'Sir: 
 
 'A letter which I received last night contained the 
 following paragraph: "In a letter from Gene r al Con- 
 way to General Gates, he says, Heaven has deter 
 mined to save your country, or a weak general and 
 bad counsellors would have ruined it." 
 
 'I am, Sir, your humble servant' 
 
 Here : I'll sign it. 
 
 [He bends over and signs.] 
 
 I think that will spring their man trap and bark 
 their own shins, if they wriggle. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 This letter to yourself from the lat chaplain of 
 Congress 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Read it. 
 
 [Taking up a long-stemmed clay pipe, WASH 
 INGTON fills and lights it at the fire, as he listens.] 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Reads.] 
 
 'Your cities fall, one after another; fortress after 
 fortress, battle after battle, is lost. The enemy's 
 army have possessed themselves of the Capital of 
 America. How unequal the contest! How fruitless 
 the expense of blood! Under so many discouraging 
 
226 WASHINGTON [Aer III 
 
 circumstances, can virtue, can honour, can the love of 
 your country, prompt you to proceed?' 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Love of my country? That's prime! 
 
 [Reaching for the first sheet of the letter, 
 which HAMILTON has laid down, WASHINGTON 
 crumples it, ignites it at the fire and re-lights his 
 pipe with it.] 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [After glancing with a faint smile, continues 
 reading.] 
 
 'Humanity itself calls upon you to desist. Your 
 army must perish for want of common necessaries, or 
 thousands of innocent families must perish to support 
 them. Wherever they march, the troops of the enemy 
 will pursue, and complete the destruction which 
 America herself has begun.' 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a grim twist of his face.] 
 America begun! 
 
 [He sits at the table, opposite HAMILTON but 
 facing sideways, looking into the bowl of his 
 pipe.] 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Reads.] 
 'Perhaps it may be said 'tis better to die, than to be 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 227 
 
 made slaves. This indeed is a splendid maxim in 
 theory ' 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Grunts deep.] 
 Ah! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Reads.] 
 
 'Perhaps experimentally true. But when there 
 might be a happy accommodation ' 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ah? 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Reads.] 
 'Sir, 'tis to you alone your bleeding country looks.' 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Snorts low.] 
 Me! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Reads.] 
 'Your penetrating eye will discern my meaning.' 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Glancing round.] 
 It does. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Reads.] 
 
 'With your own prudence and delicacy, recom 
 mend, Sir, to Congress the immediate cessation of 
 
228 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 hostilities; represent the necessity of rescinding the 
 hasty and ill-advised Declaration of Independence ' 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Striking his closed fist, with the pipe, on the 
 table, shattering the pipe.] 
 Wait! 
 
 [Quietly.] 
 Don't waste that paper. 
 
 [Taking from Hamilton the remaining sheets 
 of the letter, he tears them in two and hands 
 them back.] 
 It makes good tinder. 
 [He rises.] 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Rising also, speaks after a pause.] 
 To grow a new world takes weeding. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Aye, Alec, and wabbling weathercocks! 
 
 Too hot, too cold, too" raw, too roast 
 'tis our human barometer. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 But our commonwealth above kings, Sir 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Will never be built above men. We must build 
 with what we are, boy. After all we have no bette*. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 229 
 
 [BiLLY enters making passage for two Men, 
 in long cloaks, who pause near the entrance.] 
 
 BILLY 
 
 [Coming forward.] 
 Marse Ex'lency 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ah, Billy? 
 
 BILLY 
 
 De Count Pulaski, an' de Baron von Steuben. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Turning toward them.] 
 Welcome, gentlemen! 
 
 STEUBEN 
 
 [Saluting with precision, hands a document 
 and speaks with German accent.] 
 My report, Excellency! 
 
 [WASHINGTON takes it.] 
 I come for vone only minute. 
 
 PULASKI 
 
 [ With a courtly bow, speaks with the accent of 
 a Pole.] 
 And also I, General to inquire of my commission. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Congress hath granted it, Count. Tis here. 
 
230 WASHINGTON [ ACT III 
 
 [Taking from Jus pocket a paper, he hands it.] 
 You will recruit the Pulaski Legion of Cavalry. 
 
 [Taking from beside the fireplace a folded 
 standard.] 
 
 This banner the Moravian nuns of Bethlehem have 
 made for you. They send it with their love and rev 
 erence. Pray accept my hand, Sir. It gives you the 
 grip of a brother freeman America to Poland. 
 
 PULASKI 
 
 [As they clasp hands.] 
 Poland to America: for free men victory! 
 
 [Taking the banner he bows again and 
 joined by HAMILTON goes toward the entrance, 
 where he converses a moment, before he goes 
 out.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [To STEUBEN.] 
 
 Well, Baron: and how do my men progress with 
 your training? 
 
 STEUBEN 
 
 Ach! Potzteufel! Sacre de gaucherie of des 
 badauds! I can curse dem no more. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a flitting smile.] 
 You find them different from your Prussians. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 231 
 
 STEUBEN 
 
 Different? Parbleu! In Prussia, a soldier he is 
 born mit his mouth shut. But here vat you tink? 
 Ven I tell dem orders, dey ask me of mine reasons: 
 Ja, reasons, mein Gott! And I must answer dem, 
 too! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 [With a short laugh.] 
 
 A troublesome habit, Baron. Our American coat- 
 of-arms is a question-mark. 
 
 STEUBEN 
 
 [With a shrug of bewilderment.] 
 Tis de vonder of Europe, General, how you is 
 compel dese fellows to fight for vou. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I don't compel 'em, Sir: I can't prevent 'em. They 
 fight for reasons. 
 
 STEUBEN 
 
 Bien! My King of Prussia de great Friedrich 
 he is declare your campaign of Trenton de greatest 
 in dis century. And mit dese damn fools! Mon 
 Dieu, c'est genie! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 King Frederick is gracious. But I am grateful to 
 you, Baron, for bringing your superior discipline to 
 our green army. We Americans hate wars but we 
 
232 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 win 'em. So we welcome your Prussian drill with 
 out Prussian will. 
 
 STEUBEN 
 
 De vill how is dat? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 The will of kings, Sir, Your own king has wrote 
 of it very frankly. ' Tis the maxim of kingcraft,' 
 he says, 'to despoil our neighbours, for that takes 
 away their means of doing us injury. So we kings 
 must take when we can, and we are never wrong 
 unless we have to give back what we have taken.' 
 That, Sir, is the will which the will of America is 
 fighting. 
 
 BILLY 
 
 [Who has returned, comes forward with bub 
 bling excitement.] 
 Beggin' yo' pardon, Marse Ex'lency 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 What is it? 
 
 BILLY 
 
 Dey's a prisoner at de do', Sir. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Turning to HAMILTON.] 
 Prisoner! Have him brought in. 
 
 [HAMILTON goes with BILLY to the entrance 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 233 
 
 where BILLY speaks outside, with pompous im 
 portance.] 
 
 BILLY 
 
 Admit de prisoner! 
 
 [A ragged SOLDIER enters, leading a dog.'} 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Staring.] 
 What's this a fox-hound? 
 
 THE SOLDIER 
 
 Red-coat, I guess, General. I'm a sentry. I cap 
 tured him on the road to Philadelphia. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Captured him! 
 
 THE SOLDIER 
 
 [Grinning.] 
 
 Aye, Sir. He's a British officer by his collar 
 mark. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Patting the dog, reads from the collar.] 
 General Sir William Howe: Headquarters.' 
 
 [Bursts into laughter, with the others except 
 STEUBEN, who looks on astonished.] 
 Ha, my man ! What prize-money are you claiming 
 for this haul? 
 
234 WASHINGTON [Aer III 
 
 THE SOLDIER 
 
 Wall, General: ten thousand continental dollars 
 or a swig o' rum. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Pass him the flask, Billy. 
 
 [Pulling out a flask for THE SOLDIER, BILLY 
 retires with him, choking back a fit of laughter. 
 WASHINGTON squatting down, fondles the 
 dog in his arms.] 
 
 Well, well, good old Sir William: you mind me of 
 my old Mopsey, bless your heart! What you doin' 
 in Valley Forge? Got cold feet, eh, General? Come 
 over to the enemy? Good, Sir! 
 
 [To HAMILTON.] 
 
 Alexander, fetch out the potted calf! Escort his 
 Excellency to the chimney, and give him house warm 
 ing. 
 
 [^5 WASHINGTON rises, a clear-ringing voice 
 is heard calling outside.] 
 
 THE VOICE 
 General! General! Mon General! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [His face lighting with affection.] 
 Ha! Here's my French boy! 
 
 [Dashing through the entrance, a boyish 
 YOUNG MAN, in draggled uniform, flings his 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 235 
 
 snow-covered cloak on the floor, and rushes to 
 WASHINGTON, embracing him.] 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 [Speaks swiftly, with a French accent.] 
 My dear General, the news you have heard them? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 What news? 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN 
 
 The post from France 'tis arrived! They have tell 
 me at the office. You have receive dispatches no? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 No: not yet. [To HAMILTON.] 
 
 Alexander, step over to the office and inquire. 
 
 [HAMILTON throws on his cloak and goes to 
 ward the door, giving over the dog to BILLY, 
 who leads it into the deeper recess beyond sight. 
 
 STEUBEN, about to follow, pauses as he is 
 passing THE YOUNG MAN.] 
 
 STEUBEN 
 
 [With military salute.] 
 General de LaFayette! 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Bowing graciously.] 
 Bon jour, Baron! 
 
236 WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 STEUBEN 
 
 [To HAMILTON.] 
 Colonel, vait: I go mit you. 
 
 [At the door.] 
 
 Dese dogs and Frenchmen parbleu! dey are 
 great in favour. 
 
 [With a laughing grimace.} 
 Potzteufel! 
 
 [He goes out with HAMILTON.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [To LaFayette with solicitude observing a 
 slight limp in his walk.] 
 The leg still hurts your wound at Brandy wine? 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 No, no a nothing: quite healed. 'Tis the post, 
 my General: I feel it prick in my blood: you shall 
 today hear from Paris from Dr. Franklin. He shall 
 write you of the Alliance France with America 
 consummate! Ah, my friend I will then die of joy. 
 Mon ami! Plus que mon frere mon pere! 
 
 [Impetuously, he seizes WASHINGTON'S hand 
 and kisses it.~\ 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Smiling, draws him toward the table, where 
 they sit.] 
 Nay, little Marquis: you have not disobeyed your 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 237 
 
 government, defied your relatives, and crossed the 
 world to fight for liberty just to die of joy. What 
 would your young wife say to that? 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [With pensive change.] 
 
 Oui my wife: that was the most hard to part 
 with her and my little Henriette. 
 
 [Animated again.] 
 
 My General, you must behold her Henriette! At 
 nine months she is already grande dame and petite 
 coquette: a fleur de lis, a wild dove, a humming-bird 
 the gesture of roses, a lisping of philosophy in 
 lavender ! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I am her slave already. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 When you meet, you will be her disciple like me: 
 she is so wise so beautiful so young! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Taking LAFAYETTE'S hands in both his, 
 smiles in his face wistfully.] 
 So young so wise! You, my lad, you almost 
 make we wise and young again. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 [ Wonderingly. ] 
 Me, my friend, you! 
 
238 WASHINGTON [ACT III 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Deeply.] 
 
 A wind in March blows away dead leaves and rub 
 bish. It bares old trails to the sun again. Your 
 coming, boy, hath been like that for me: green hills 
 again new sap in old woods and the big wind of 
 being young. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Eagerly.] 
 
 I know I feel: Tis not me: 'tis the wind, big 
 with the new world to be born. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a grave smile.] 
 
 Ah? He said that too, my other son! We must 
 christen that new world together. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Leaping up.] 
 
 Mais, oui! But those men in the Congress 
 these cabaleurs, men stupid, bad, ridiculous ha! 
 They think they shall lead me off from your side. 
 This Conway fool preposterous! This General 
 Gates! Let them know I am a good shepherd-dog of 
 freedom, and you my only master. Whistle for 
 me only : I lie down at your feet. 
 
 [Swiftly kneeling beside WASHINGTON where 
 hs sits, he lays his head against his knees.] 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 239 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Rising with him.] 
 
 Please dear Marquis: don't worry yourself. 
 Duty breeds enemies. In doing mine, I have made 
 many these men in particular. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Pacing back and forth, gesticulating.'} 
 Them yes, they know my frailness glory: I 
 adore it glory! So me they commission Major-Gen 
 eral send me to conquer Canada. I go; I arrive 
 Albany Veni, vidi, ha! non vici! No men no 
 stores no money! Expedition what you say? a 
 la wild goose: un fiasco! Voila! And all for why? 
 For to call me away thousand miles from you, my 
 commander. 
 
 [Fiercely.] 
 Them! I say to them Peste! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I hope you didn't say so. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Brightening to a gay smile.] 
 Say so me! My General, I am a Frenchman. 
 When I met them, I was for them at dinner the guest 
 of honour. What I did say? "Gentlemen," I say, 
 "I propose you a toast: the health of one only we all 
 have delight to honour our Commander-in-chief, 
 Washington!" 
 
240 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a sudden guffaw.] 
 And they drank that toast? 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Rippling with laughter.] 
 
 In their wind-bags! There was much coughing in 
 the wine. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I'll warrant! 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 And these are patriots! Ha! When I was in 
 France, I say to my thoughts America : land of souls 
 pure! There every man he loves not himself but 
 only his cause, liberty; only his country, mankind! 
 Then I come to America, and I meet some patriots! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Gold ore is not gold, Marquis. Yet there be thou 
 sands of hearts in America pure gold. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Quickly.] 
 Yes, yes ten thousands! I know it! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 So let us forget the slag; yes, even your glory, boy! 
 As Cato says in the play: 
 
 'The post of honour is a private station.' 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 241 
 
 After the war come with me to Mt. Vernon. I'll 
 show you there better than glory peace. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 Me in your home! 
 
 [Snatching his hand again.] 
 
 My friend you will not laugh? I see, like in a 
 dr*eam myself an ancestor. I see them my little 
 Henriette her grandchildren they are celebrating 
 your name, in worship; they are boasting to others: 
 "We LaFayettes one of our forefathers he was 
 friend to Washington!" Oui, mon ami, that shall be 
 my glory! 
 
 [WASHINGTON his jaw setting gravely 
 looks off through the window, while LAFAYETTE, 
 with sudden awe, releases his hand.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Murmurs low.] 
 
 Valley Forge Valley Forge! Whatever happens 
 will be best. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [After a pause quietly.] 
 My General I have forgot a message. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Message who from? 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 The Virginia officers. The oath of allegiance to 
 
242 WASHINGTON [ ACT III 
 
 America, when I ask them sign it they say: No, not 
 them: 'tis superfluous an insult. They ask your 
 opinion, by word of me Why should they sign? Do 
 you compel it? What shall I tell them? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Tell them, every oath should be a free act of the 
 mind. No compulsion can validate a vow. My 
 opinion is nothing. They have their consciences. 
 Let them swear, or not swear, by them. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 I will tell: I think they will swear. I, a Frenchman, 
 have sworn. 
 
 [At the tent entrance, HAMILTON hurries in, 
 followed by a tattered fellow, carrying a post- 
 bag. LAFAYETTE gives a joyous cry.] 
 Ah, the post! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Handing a letter to WASHINGTON.] 
 From Dr. Franklin, Sir: I know the hand. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Glancing, breaks it open.] 
 From Paris. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [As WASHINGTON reads to himself, turns to 
 LAFAYETTE and hands another letter.] 
 And this for you, Marquis I met the post boy 
 on the road. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 243 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Clutching his open letter tightly. ~\ 
 Gentlemen listen : 
 
 [He reads.} 
 
 'I have the honour to inform you that this day the 
 Alliance between France and the United States of 
 America was officially signed and sealed.' 
 
 HAMILTON AND LAFAYETTE 
 
 [In one breath.] 
 The Alliance! 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 Ha! Prophecy of my veins! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Our first ally in the Old World to unite both 
 worlds for freedom! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Turning, calls to BILLY who hovers, curi 
 ous, in the left background.] 
 
 Billy run out! Bid my sentries fire their guns 
 fourteen rounds for France and the thirteen States. 
 Bolt! Use your legs! 
 
 BILLY 
 
 Yas'r, marse Ex'! Hallelujah! 
 [He rushes out. 
 Turning back, WASHINGTON pauses, looks at 
 
244 WASHINGTON [ ACT III 
 
 LAFAYETTE and HAMILTON extending to both 
 of them his hands. On either side, each seizes 
 his hand and presses it.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Boys my sons young America and new France! 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 [Low, and ardent.] 
 Trenton has led to Paris. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Vibrant, elate.] 
 Paris has come home to Valley Forge! 
 
 [His gesture holds aloft the grasped letter in 
 his hand.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Observing it, quickly.] 
 You, too a letter? 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 From my wife. May I open now? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Pray, do! She shall share our moment of good 
 tidings. 
 
 [LAFAYETTE breaks open the seal, and reads 
 with his eyes. 
 
 Outside a gun is fired. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 245 
 
 HAMILTON and WASHINGTON look at each 
 other and smile. 
 
 A second gun resounds. 
 
 The letter from LAFAYETTE'S hand flutters to 
 the ground. 
 
 He presses his side staring. 
 
 WASHINGTON speaks with alarm.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Marquis! What is it? 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Speaks low his face rigid.] 
 Henriette she is dead ma petite Henriette 
 
 [Convulsively, he clutches his face in his 
 hands and turns against WASHINGTON'S breast.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Embracing him murmurs with tenderness.] 
 My boy! 
 
 [The still- firing guns now resound with men's 
 voices cheering outside.] 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Starts suddenly away from WASHINGTON 
 his lifted face smiling strangely his features 
 twitching.] 
 
 Henriette listen! The guns L' Alliance Vive 
 la liberte! 
 
246 WASHINGTON [Aer III 
 
 (Ninth Transition) 
 
 With a burst of cheering outside, the Postboy in the 
 background raises his own voice the voice of 
 QUILLOQUON: a louder gun explodes, with instant 
 darkness out of which the Balladers voice 
 rings gaily, to a dance-step tune and rhythm. 
 
 THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 
 
 [Sings.] 
 
 Gypsy Davy came over the sea, 
 To his lingo-dingo-dance, sir: 
 God keep merry Amer-i-ca ! 
 And vi-ve la bel-le Fran-ce! 
 
 Ree-attle-attle dingo-lingo-dingo, 
 Ree-attle-attle dingo-dance, sir: 
 
 God keep merry Amer-i-ca! 
 And Vi-ve la bel-le Fran-ce! 
 
 [During this song, the dark gradually changes, 
 through dusky grey ness, to broad day.] 
 
 TWELFTH ACTION 
 
 The light reveals a scene of fantastic design and vivid 
 colour: a triumphal Archway, constructed at 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 247 
 
 the angle of a city street in the form of 'an 
 arbour. 
 
 At the centre, back, the arch is festooned with splendid 
 cloth of gold, draped from its central keystone, 
 from which hangs a great shield l painted with 
 a landscape (the sun setting beyond water and 
 hills), its laurelled oblong set round with flags 
 and cannon, and the inscriptions 
 
 Vive Vale 
 
 Luceo Discedens Aucto Splendore Resurgam 
 
 The houses on either side are also draped in magnifi 
 cent colour, through which their colonial door 
 ways constitute ways of entrance and exit, gar 
 landed and adorned with statues, in stucco, of 
 Italianesque ladies and pseudo-classic fauns. 
 Overhead, the arbour roof is hung with tapes 
 tries florescent with designs of clustered fruits 
 and flowers. 
 
 Under this gorgeous archway, a drab, contrasting 
 group of tattered American soldiers (with sprigs 
 of evergreen in their hats) half surround a 
 ragged Singer (QuiLLOQUON). In the back 
 ground others are seen in excited pantomime. 
 
 During this, from the doorway, right, two Figures steal 
 out and hasten furtively toward the background. 
 One is dressed in a gown of white Polonaise silk, 
 with pearl headdress and spangled veil; the other 
 
 1 As designed by John Andre for the Mischianza; page 98 
 of Lossing's "Pictorial Field Book of the Revolution." 
 
248 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 is clad like a Mediaeval Knight, his pageant ar 
 mour almost concealed under folds of a great 
 cloak embroidered with coat s-of -arms, his face 
 half hidden by a domino mask. 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 [Singing and dancing to his tune.} 
 Gypsy Davy brought over his squad 
 
 With their own true love to lea-d 'urn, 
 For the lass in the heart of every lad 
 
 Was the Gypsy-Queen of Free-dom. 
 
 Ree-attle-attle dingo-lingo-dingo, 
 Ree-attle-attle dingo-dance, sir: 
 
 God keep merry Ameri-ca! 
 And Vi-ve la bel-le Fran-ce! 
 
 [The Soldiers cheer, and look on laughing as 
 QUILLOQUON repeats his clog-dance steps, to the 
 thrumming of his dulcimer. 
 
 Meantime, THE KNIGHT in the domino mask 
 speaks quick and low to his companion.} 
 
 THE KNIGHT 
 
 Adorable Mistress Polly, adieu! General Howe 
 and General Clinton are in full retreat. I must join 
 them. Washington is already in the city. Philadel 
 phia is lost and my heart with it. Keep this remnant, 
 in token of a poor soldier of paint pots. 
 
 [He cuts off a gold button, kisses it and gives 
 to her.] 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 249 
 
 POLLY 
 
 Farewell, Captain Andre first soldier-artist of 
 America! Come back to us, when English cousins 
 are friends again. Meantime, we will hate your old 
 king and adore your young memory. 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 [Ardently, removing his mask.} 
 You Mistress Polly? 
 
 POLLY 
 
 Polonaise you were to call me! See! 
 [Smiling, she points to her gown.] 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 [Glancing from the gown to the archway.] 
 Ah ! fair phantasy of my Mischianza ! A bubble of 
 dreams 'tis burst. But it was beautiful? 
 
 POLLY 
 
 A triumph for all the Muses! 
 
 [In frightened tone, as Soldiers draw near.] 
 Quick. Put on your mask. They'll see you. 
 
 [The two steal toward the archway, as QUIL- 
 LOQUON resumes his singing with the Soldiers.] 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 So hark now, every Free-dom's man 
 
 And remember long and well, sir: 
 While David stands with Jon-a-than, 
 
 The Devil he'll stay in hell, sir. 
 
250 WASHINGTON [ ACT HI 
 
 [Dancing and singing with the Soldiers.] 
 
 Ree-attle-attle dingo-lingo-dingo, 
 Ree-attle-attle dingo-dance, sir: 
 
 God keep merry Amer-i-ca! 
 And Vi-ve la bel-le Fran-ce! 
 
 [With his finale, QUILLOQUON dances off 
 through the archway, left.] 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [In a low voice, to ANDRE.] 
 Escape. Be quick. God speed you! 
 
 ANDRE 
 
 [Kissing her hand.] 
 Till happier days! 
 
 [He hurries off, right, in the background. 
 A bugle blows outside. 
 The Soldiers gather to attention. 
 Outside The Voice of WASHINGTON is heard 
 speaking in wrathful fervour.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Speculation peculation! Those army contractors 
 are hogs, Sir. Hang 'em on a gibbet as high as Ha 
 inan's, aye, nine times higher. Profit-mongers that 
 fatten on their country's starving bleed 'em lean on 
 the gallows! Stick 'em for swine: that's my vote, Sir. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 251 
 
 [From the left background, through the arch 
 way, a Bugler (QUILLOQUON) enters, followed 
 by a LITTLE GIRL and BOY, who walk backward 
 strewing flowers before WASHINGTON, who comes 
 in talking with a Civilian, and accompanied by 
 LAFAYETTE, HAMILTON, and other Officers. 
 
 Behind these more Soldiers and Civilians fol 
 low. 
 
 POLLY, unclasping her necklace, tosses it in 
 WASHINGTON'S path, and makes him a low cour 
 tesy.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Pausing with abruptness, bows aloofly.] 
 Madam 
 
 [To his Orderly, BILLY.] 
 Restore the lady's possessions. 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [As BILLY lifts the necklace, to hand it back.] 
 Not mine, your Excellency. Tis legitimate loot. 
 I have but robbed the plunder chest of Tyranny, to 
 make offering on the altar of Freedom. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With a second bow of stiff politeness.] 
 A well-meant sentiment, Madam. May I inquire 
 whence you are from? 
 
252 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [Twinkling.] 
 
 From the right bank of the Potomac, General: one 
 o' your Jinnies. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [His coldness breaking with a sudden glow.] 
 My dear young lady your name? 
 
 POLLY 
 
 Polly Redmond, of Fairfax County ten miles 
 from Mt. Vernon. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With outright warmth.] 
 
 Mt. Vernon! Dear Mistress Polly ten times wel 
 come! 
 
 [Kissing her hand.] 
 Your devoted servant. 
 
 [Turning to LAFAYETTE.] 
 Mistress Polly the Marquis of LaFayette. 
 
 LAFAYETTE 
 
 [Bowing to her hand.] 
 Chere dame de la Polonaise! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Introducing the Civilian.] 
 
 And President Laurens of the United States Con 
 gress. 
 
 [LAURENS bows.] 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 253 
 
 POLLY 
 
 Gentlemen of the Army and Congress, welcome 
 home to your Capital. 
 
 [Pointing to the shield on the archway.] 
 
 You behold! The sunset of General Howe is the 
 rising-sun of Washington. His Vale, Sir, is your 
 Vive Vive to the heroes of Valley Forge. But not 
 all of us prisoners in Philadelphia are butterflies like 
 myself to flutter in your path. I beg leave, Sir, to 
 fetch forth from her hiding a little moth in grey. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Smiling.] 
 
 A moth, Mistress Polly? 
 
 POLLY 
 
 A young Quakeress, your Excellency, who spins 
 from her grey cocoon the bright colours of liberty. 
 With that silk, Sir, the stars of your exile, and the 
 stripes of your suffering, she has sewed in a flag for 
 our country, 
 
 [Smiling.] 
 
 By your own orders, General! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ah! I remember. 
 
 POLLY 
 
 [Calling at the doorstep, left.] 
 Betsy! Betsy! 
 
254 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 [In the doorway appears the young Quakeress, 
 carrying a furled banner. Seizing her gaily by 
 the arm, POLLY brings her forward and presents 
 her, with a curtsy.] 
 
 Your Excellency and Gentlemen Mistress Betsy 
 Ross, and the first flag of the United States of Amer 
 
 ica! 
 
 [Unfurling the flag, Betsy steps shyly for 
 ward, extending it toward WASHINGTON. 
 
 There, as the Stripes and thirteen Stars float 
 out, the Bugler (QUILLOQUON) blows on his 
 bugle a joyous blast. 
 
 (Tenth Transition) 
 
 The blast of the bugle dies away in utter darkness, 
 through which the voice of QUILLOQUON is heard 
 singing, to an old ballad tune: 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 Oh! I've lost my heart to Betsy, 
 
 to Betsy, 
 
 to Betsy! 
 My heart I cross 
 To Betsy Ross, 
 
 With her glancety, dancety bars and stars 
 Of the red and white and blue. 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 255 
 
 [Now, through a narrow opening of the blue 
 curtains, only the flag, held by BETSY, is still 
 visible, and the form of QUILLOQUON dancing 
 before it with the two Children, who join in the 
 refrain of the song:] 
 
 Oh! Because she sewed so neatly, 
 
 so neatly, 
 
 so neatly, 
 My heart I cross 
 To Betsy Ross, 
 
 With her glancety, dancety bars and stars 
 Of the red and white and blue. 
 
 [And now, in the background, the form of the 
 Quakeress has disappeared, and the flag alone 
 flutters like flame against the dark.] 
 
 And Wherever she waves so sweetly, 
 
 so sweetly, 
 
 so sweetly, 
 My heart I cross 
 To Betsy Ross, 
 
 With her glancety, dancety bars and stars 
 Of the red and white and blue. 
 
 So -Carry me back to Betsy, 
 
 to Betsy, 
 
 to Betsy, 
 
 My heart that's lost 
 To Betsy Ross, 
 
256 WASHINGTON [ ACT III 
 
 With her glancety, dancety bars and stars 
 Of the red and white and blue. 
 
 [A deep gun resounds. 
 
 During its reverberations, the blue curtains 
 close.] 
 
 THIRTEENTH ACTION 
 
 Now, from within, the thunder has become a noise as 
 of distant battle far shouts of men mingled 
 with crashes and concussions. 
 
 During this, the blue curtains part again half way, 
 revealing a night scene an Embrasure in a Bat 
 tery, behind which the background flickers with 
 torchlight and smoky fire. 
 
 Outlined against this half his height above a black 
 rampart WASHINGTON stands, looking off, 
 right. Near him, the flag with thirteen stars 
 blows flame-like on a fierce wind. 
 
 Lower down, head and shoulders visible stands 
 KNOX: crouching lower in shadow a THIRD 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Occasionally, all three Figures stand out for an in 
 stant in stark light, shot by gleams from breaking 
 rockets beyond. 
 
Of 
 
 o 
 

ACT III] WASHINGTON 257 
 
 Through the battle noises their voices are heard 
 speaking, between pauses of dumb watching. 
 
 KNOX 
 
 Yorktown is falling, General. Cornwallis is 
 caught by pinchers of fire: Hamilton there from the 
 right, LaFayette from the left he's nabbed between 
 'em; and the French fleet blocks his road to the sea. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [With tense calm.] 
 My sons are fighting well. 
 
 KNOX 
 
 Rochambeau's men are yonder. There's the sec 
 ond rocket. That's Hamilton's from his redoubt. 
 The third will signal victory. 
 
 THE THIRD OFFICER 
 
 [Leaping up beside WASHINGTON.] 
 For God's sake, General, stand down! You'll be 
 struck here. This place is too perilous. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Still looking off.] 
 If you think so, Sir, you are at liberty to step back. 
 
 KNOX 
 
 [To the Officer, as he partly withdraws.] 
 Don't worry. Bullets bark at him; they never bite. 
 
258 WASHINGTON ACT III] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [During a lull, tense and deeply.] 
 Friend Knox my sword itches. How many years 
 has it been? 
 
 KNOX 
 
 Six years we've been at it, General. Now only a 
 moment more! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 One moment and a thousand years! 
 
 KNOX 
 
 [Points, shouting aloud.] 
 See there it breaks the third rocket! 
 
 [Grasping WASHINGTON'S hand.] 
 Huzza! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 The work is done, and well done. Bring me my 
 horse. 
 
 [Their silhouettes disappear.] 
 
 (Eleventh Transition) 
 
 Amid a burst of far cheering, the curtains close, part 
 ing again half way, as the cheering ebbs and, 
 
[ACT III WASHINGTON 259 
 
 rising tumultuous again, merges with a bell's 
 deep clanging. 
 
 To these sounds, The Town Crier (QuiLLOQUON), 
 with his lantern pole, is glimpsed in passing as 
 before, calling with long cry intoned. 
 
 THE TOWN CRIER 
 
 Cornwallis is taken! Yorktown is fallen! Corn- 
 wallis is taken! 
 
 [THE CRIER passes off in the night. 
 The clanging of the bell grows fainter and 
 ceases.] 
 
 FOURTEENTH ACTION 
 Part 1 
 
 From the moment's quiet that ensues, comes a low 
 murmur of Men's Voices as in conversation. 
 
 In another pause, small pulsing lights are seen glow 
 ing, grouped in a semi-circle. The lights glow 
 upward from the bowls of long-stemmed pipes, 
 illumining fitfully the faces and forms of Men 
 in Officers 9 uniforms, seated in a group, of whom 
 One is sitting near the centre of their shadowy 
 half-circle. 
 
260 WASHINGTON [ACT III 
 
 This one speaks first, the others in their turns speak 
 ing quietly, with voices of subdued emotion. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 Gentlemen, how shall we proceed? 
 
 ANOTHER 
 
 I move Colonel Nicola be our spokesman. 
 
 A THIRD 
 
 Second the motion. 
 
 OTHERS 
 
 [Scatteredly.] 
 Amen! 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 [NICOLA] 
 
 Fellow officers, I am at your service. Being but a 
 Colonel, I may serve the better as your errand-bearer. 
 I have already dispatched our joint appeal by letter. 
 I will wait upon him in person. 
 
 A FOURTH 
 
 It may be well, Colonel, for you to urge our sev 
 eral feelings. As for mine, if need be, I will gladly 
 starve for my country but not for Congress. 
 
 A FIFTH 
 
 I concur, General. Some gentlemen of the Con 
 gress have short memories. They forget a day when 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 261 
 
 they bolted bareback from the Capital, to the cat-calls 
 of the enemy an enemy whom we, not they, have 
 beaten, and restored those honourable gentlemen to 
 their seats at the Capital. 
 
 A SIXTH 
 
 Yet now they plan to disband us penniless, bank 
 rupt : no provision for our families, no reward for our 
 soldiers: us the army that wintered at Valley Forge. 
 Seven years we have served, and now disband us 
 so, by God! 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 Friends, we are not yet disbanded. 
 
 SEVERAL 
 
 No! 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 We have our guns: our powder and shot are still 
 dry. 
 
 SEVERAL 
 
 Yes yes ! 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 Well, then, if we refuse to disband until we secure 
 justice who shall compel us to disband? Congress? 
 
 THE SIXTH 
 
 [Amid sinister murmurs.] 
 Let 'em try it! 
 
262 WASHINGTON ACT III] 
 
 NICOLA 
 
 Gentlemen of the army, our argument goes deeper 
 than that. We still hold the power true; but none 
 of us wishes to abuse it. 
 
 THE SIXTH 
 
 How abuse ? 
 
 NICOLA 
 
 Pray, General one moment. Our wrongs are 
 deep, intolerable. So, then, the redress of our wrongs 
 must go as deep deep to the roots of our form of 
 government. A Republic has one ever been tested? 
 Rome teaches us how. Democracy what people of 
 the earth has followed that dream and survived? 
 Gentlemen, let us be wise in our time. There is but 
 one solution: Monarchy and one man in supreme 
 command. 
 
 [The darkness buzzes with low mutterings. 
 
 Then a pause of silence. 
 
 The glowing pipe-bowls pulse quicker.} 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 [Very quietly.] 
 
 Aye, Sir, one man. There is only one in Amer 
 ica. 
 
 THE THIRD 
 
 We have sent him our letter. He is probably read 
 ing it now. 
 
[ACT III WASHINGTON 263 
 
 THE SIXTH 
 
 Rome, you said, Colonel. 'Twill be easier for him 
 than for Caesar. We offer him the crown in his tent 
 not in the forum. 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 He'll not put it by thrice. 
 
 NICOLA 
 [Rising.] 
 
 Fellow officers, he has our letter. He needs no 
 other charger to hand him the blazoned crown. 
 Shall I go for our answer? 
 
 ALL 
 
 [Rising.] 
 
 Aye. 
 
 NICOLA 
 
 I'll return at once and inform you. 
 
 [He pauses; his voice quivers.] 
 Gentlemen long live the King! 
 
 ALL 
 
 [Echoing, with deep murmur.] 
 The King! 
 
 [NicoLA goes. 
 
 The glowing lights pulse no longer. 
 
 Through 'the dark, very faintly, the strains of 
 a violin rise and die away on the melody of 
 "America," uncompleted.] 
 
264 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 Part 2 
 
 And now, on the left, a single candle gleams visible. 
 Its screened light is thrown only on the light- 
 stand where it rests, and on the form of WASH 
 INGTON, seated beside it. 
 
 From a case he takes out a pair of spectacles and puts 
 them on. 
 
 From his pocket he takes a letter, opens it and reads. 
 
 While he does so, out of the darkness near him, there 
 glows dimly upon the air a gleaming Crown, 
 glimpsed with the misty stars and colours of the 
 American flag. 
 
 After a moment, WASHINGTON moves the letter in his 
 right hand beyond the candle-light; w'ith his 
 left he puts off his spectacles, closing his eyes. 
 
 Raising the letter with a silent gesture, he crumples 
 it in his grasp then lets it fall. 
 
 As it falls, the gleaming phasma of the Crown and 
 Colours disappears, and the voice of BILLY the 
 Negro speaks from the darkness, right. 
 
 BILLY 
 
 Colonel Nicola, Marse Ex'lency. 
 
 [WASHINGTON moves slightly. 
 
 Adjusting the shade of the candle, he looks up 
 where NICOLA steps into its light; then he looks 
 away again.] 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 265 
 
 NICOLA 
 
 [After a pause.} 
 
 A letter has preceded me, General. You have read 
 it? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Very quietly still looking off.} 
 Yes. 
 
 NICOLA 
 
 [After another pause.} 
 May I transmit your answer? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Slowly, looking up at him intense.} 
 Yes. 
 
 [Rising, with deliberation, he walks silently 
 back and forth twice. Pausing, then, he points 
 to the crumpled letter on the floor, and says 
 with quiet.} 
 There it is. 
 
 NICOLA 
 
 [Hesitates then picks it up.} 
 Your answer, General? 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Yes. 
 
 [ NICOLA moves as if to speak but stops 
 then is turning away, when WASHINGTON speaks 
 again.} 
 Wait! 
 
266 WASHINGTON [ACT III 
 
 [He takes the letter from NICOLA.] 
 Perhaps I should write a word in reply. 
 
 [Going to the light-stand, he searches about 
 for a moment, finds his spectacles, fumbles to 
 put them on, but pauses turning with a sad 
 smile.} 
 
 Nay, Sir, you see! Those who sent you tell 
 them this: I have grown both blind and grey in 
 your service. I am your old friend. The wrongs 
 you suffer, I will help redress them but not with in 
 famy. This letter is sick with thoughts abhorrent to 
 mankind. No pang of all this w<jr has ever pained 
 me so deep. But no word of it shall pass my lips. 
 Let me conjure you, then, if you have any regard 
 for your country, concern for yourselves or posterity, 
 or respect for me banish these thoughts from your 
 minds as I burn them now from my sight. 
 
 [Holding the letter in the candle-flame, he 
 watches it burn to ashes. ] 
 
 NICOLA 
 
 [Saluting, speaks hoarsely.} 
 I will take your answer, General. 
 [Turning, he goes off. 
 
 WASHINGTON stands a moment his head bent 
 heavily, his shoulders sagged and heaving. 
 
 Then, moving slowly to the chair, he sits, with 
 the action and look of old age. Fingering his 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 267 
 
 spectacles, he stares at them his lips whisper 
 ing. Then he calls, low:] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Billy! 
 
 [ BILLY comes from the shadow, and stands 
 near. WASHINGTON looks up at him wistful.] 
 Any word from home? 
 
 BILLY 
 
 No, Marse Ex'lency. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [After a moment.] 
 
 Billy fetch another light. My candle is growing 
 dim. 
 
 [BiLLY goes out with the candle. In the 
 darkness, there is silence.] 
 
 (Twelfth Transition) 
 
 Now far away deep, choral Voices begin to sing; 
 and while the recurrent words of their negro 
 melody increase in nearness to the ear, the fa 
 miliar outlines of its former Scene recur once 
 more to the eye. 
 
268 WASHINGTON ACT III] 
 
 THE CHORAL VOICES 
 
 Adam and Eba, wipe yo' eyes, 
 
 'T ain't no good fo' ter gaze at de garden: 
 Closed is de do's ob Paradise; 
 
 'T ain't no good fo' ter axe no pardon. 
 
 Oh, wharll I lay my heart down? 
 Oh, wharll I lay my heart down? 
 
 Eden home is far away. 
 Oh, nebber mind! 
 I'll lay my heart down 
 
 Down in de lap ob ol 9 Virgin-ee-ay! 
 
 FIFTEENTH ACTION 
 
 From the ceasing refrain, a hubbub of gay voices now 
 rises in talk and banter voices of Negroes call 
 ing "Merry Christmas!" through the colonnade 
 and kitchen door of the Mt. Vernon homestead, 
 now becoming visible its small- paned windows 
 glowing bright from lamps within while, 
 through the arches, the flare of bon-fires flickers. 
 
 The conversation of two stooping Figures an OLD 
 MAN and an OLD WOMAN sounds clearest. 
 
 THE MAN 
 
 Sho, sho, Mammy Sal! De fust-off singin' ob 
 Chris'mas Ebe I reckon dat was ol' Eba singin' to 
 her chilluns in de garden. 
 
[ACT III WASHINGTON 269 
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Go 'long, Zekiel, you's a-failin' fas'. Chris'mas 
 Ebe, dat ain't OF Tes'ament psalms: dat's Noo Tes'a- 
 ment gospel. 
 
 Chris'mas Ebe dat's de cow-shep'erds' song- 
 hymn, w'en de Lo'd he come fust like a chil' in de ol' 
 folkses' home, an' dey done tuck 'im in de manger. 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 
 Mebbe so, Mammy. Us a-bof we's fas' slidin' 
 down-hill. But de bon-fires am a-burnin' ; an' Merry 
 Chris'mas I sings all de same! 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 All de samer, you better be singin'! An' yere 
 Marse George home agin! Marse George come a- 
 home to his ol' Bride Missy bof togedder once mo' 
 safe togedder as was sunder' d an' de little gran'- 
 chilluns growin' spicky-span noo, by de long-ago chim- 
 bley! 
 
 [The house door opens. 
 
 From within come the sounds of fiddling and 
 laughter and the sweet voice of a Woman, who 
 appears in the doorway, smiling under the white 
 cap of MARTHA WASHINGTON, as she speaks to a 
 little BOY and GIRL on the threshold.] 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 All right, children outdoors with you, just a min 
 ute. 
 
270 . WASHINGTON [Acr III 
 
 [Pinching the BOY'S ear.] 
 
 Then back in, Sir, quick or Jack Frost will nip his 
 namesake. 
 
 Here: wait! Your Grandma will sniff the air, too, 
 and bring her goodman along. George! They want 
 to see the bon-fires. Come out. 
 
 [ Turning to the looming form of WASHINGTON 
 behind her, she takes his arm, leaning on it as 
 she comes out with him down the door-steps, 
 preceded by the two Children, who run ahead of 
 them, looking off at the bon-fires. 
 
 Where they pause, the shaft of light through 
 the doorway gleams on the grey locks and time- 
 scarred features of WASHINGTON, as he looks 
 down at MARTHA, and speaks with deep breath 
 of gladness.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 Home, Patsy! home and peace! 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 Never again war. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Would to God it might be never, and that plague of 
 mankind banished from our earth for always! What 
 grudgers and graspers covet the world, as if it were 
 not room enough for all to keep house in happily! 
 
ACT HI] WASHINGTON 271 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Twitching his arm, smiles up at him.} 
 Here's one housekeeper happy. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Smiling back.] 
 Nay, two! 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Pointing to the Children, who come running 
 toward them.] 
 
 And a fresh start all round. See! Now we be 
 gin all over again. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [Greeting the Children.] 
 Well, brother and sister! 
 
 [Taking the BOY'S hand.] 
 Another young Jack for his dear father, dead! 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [Fondling the GIRL.] 
 And here's Nellie Custis for little Patsy, long ago. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Old bark new branches! 
 
 [To the BOY, who tugs at his sword 9 mur 
 muring.'} 
 
 Heigh, Jack? You want my sword? Here, Patsy, 
 unbuckle what Sergeant Pat buckled on. 
 
272 WASHINGTON [ ACT III 
 
 [MARTHA ungirdles his sword, which they both 
 hand to the BOY.] 
 
 Take it, laddie: but hearkee! Never use it to 
 show off to your sister! 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [With a scurrying gesture.] 
 Run in quick, to the fireplace! 
 
 [Carrying the sword with its girdle, the BOY 
 runs in with the little GIRL. 
 
 From the kitchen door, MAMMY SAL has come 
 forward, followed farther off by ZEKIEL. 
 White-haired and stooped, she reaches her arms 
 trembling to WASHINGTON, and clutches him 
 silently. 
 
 Turning quickly, WASHINGTON caresses the 
 old Woman's shoulders with his arm.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 You, Mammy Sal? Merry Christmas! 
 
 MAMMY SAL 
 
 [Clutching him tighter.] 
 Marse George Marse George! 
 
 [Releasing him, she looks in his face.] 
 Ain't no mo' fo' ter say: jes' on'y Marse George! 
 
 [Sobbing low, she turns away and hobbles 
 back toward the kitchen, met on the way by 
 
ACT III] WASHINGTON 273 
 
 ZEKIEL, to whom WASHINGTON waves a hearty 
 gesture.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Howdy, Zekiel! 
 
 ZEKIEL 
 
 Howdy, Massa! 
 
 [Taking MAMMY SAL by the arm, the old 
 Negro leads her in to the kitchen. 
 
 Looking after them, WASHINGTON clutches his 
 hand, biting at its edge; then, turning, he speaks 
 to MARTHA.] 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 No more, Patsy henceforward, no more masters! 
 There must be only free people under these stars! 
 For me and mine I've willed it. 
 
 [From the house comes a shout of young 
 Voices.] 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 They are calling us, George the children. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 [His brow clearing.] 
 We'll join them. 
 
 [On the doorstep, he stops beside MARTHA 
 makes a wondering gesture, and murmurs:] 
 
274 WASHINGTON [Acx III 
 
 All over again! Here, on this doorstep listen! 
 Do you hear that sound? 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 Aye neighbours coming to welcome you home. 
 Tis sleigh-bells, my dear. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 To me not sleigh-bells, my dear. Brother Law 
 rence, he heard 'em long ago. To me 'tis frogs, 
 frogs piping. 
 
 MARTHA 
 
 [With a little laugh.] 
 On Christmas Eve frogs piping! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 In the swamp. [With a youthful gusto.] Ha! 
 Now we can get back on the real job, and this time 
 we'll finish it. This time, Pats, we will drain that 
 swamp ! 
 
 [To a fresh burst of clear Voices and the notes 
 of a Fiddler, seen within through the doorway, 
 they go in to the house. 
 The door closes.] 
 
 (Thirteenth Transition) 
 
 The fiddle still plays the tune of Bangry Rewy. 
 Now it seems to play farther off, and the lighted win- 
 
EPILOGUE] WASHINGTON 275 
 
 dows grow paler, as a growing brightness out of 
 doors increases to the full light of day, passing 
 to the colours of approaching sunset. 
 With the tune of his song's refrain, the Fiddler (QuiL- 
 LOQUON) peers through the colonnade, from the 
 right background. There, followed by the peep 
 ing Children, he comes out and stops playing, as 
 they sit together, shadowed, in the foreground. 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 SIXTEENTH ACTION 
 
 (Recession) 
 
 As the notes of the fiddle stop, there sounds from 
 beyond the colonnade the music of a band 
 playing in medley the national airs of the Al 
 lies, while along the path, left, now enter, walk 
 ing slowly, two Civilians 1 in modern garb. , 
 
 Pensively they speak to each other, as the music 
 sounds ever nearer. 
 
 ONE 
 They are coming from the tomb. 
 
 THE OTHER 
 
 No, from the temple. 
 
 1 The Fourth Civilian and Second Civilian of the Pro 
 logue. 
 
276 WASHINGTON [EPILOGUE 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 All the allies of freedom sent their tributes. 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 George of England sent England's laurel. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 Did you see young LaFayette? A kinsman, they 
 say. 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 A great-grandson. We live dreams. Freedom's 
 ancestors do not die. They unite with posterity 'to 
 form a more perfect union.' 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 Our Alliance! 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 More than that: Liberty organic: our Declaration 
 of Interdependence our World-League. Listen 
 that music! 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 Time is mingling our national airs today. 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 Time does more at Mt. Vernon. We shall hear it 
 tomorrow. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 Hear what? 
 
EPILOGUE] WASHINGTON 277 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 One choral song for all. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 The old Marseillaise? 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 A new one: the will-song of a world: the will that 
 wrought through him, who still leads us on. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 The man who made us. Tell me; you're an artist: 
 that will shall we see it, too, made visible a face 
 behind the folk-song? 
 
 THE SECOND 
 
 Who can tell? Millions die for it but still its 
 face is cowled from us. 
 
 [Through the colonnade, to the medley of 
 their national airs, flags of the Allied Nations 
 begin to be visible. 
 
 Watching, the two draw back on the left, where 
 they disappear. 
 
 Through the arches, the sky in the background 
 glows now with the sunset's red, deepening in 
 intensity with the martial music, which heralds 
 from outside the unfurled colours of the flags 
 as they enter. 
 
 These, as they mass with their bearers, leave 
 
278 WASHINGTON [EPILOGUE 
 
 still vacant the central archivay, on either side of 
 which, the American, the British (on the right), 
 the French, the Italian (on the left), these, 
 grouped with the Belgian, the Serbian, Polish, 
 Greek, Portuguese, the Chinese Republic, Japa 
 nese, Brazilian, Cuban, and the other banners of 
 the Allies, blazon in massed splendour the 
 curve of the colonnade. 
 
 Now the airs in medley cease, with one moment 
 of silence. 
 
 The central arch fills with a clear wine of crim 
 son. 
 
 And now, to fiery burst of the Marseillaise, 
 the wine-light clouds with gules of a RED-ROBED 
 FORM a vast, majestic PRESENCE, its face hid 
 den in deep Cowl burning at the centre of the 
 many -dyed banners of the nations. 
 
 Across this glowing pageant, the blue curtains 
 sweep and close while, abruptly, the flaring 
 music ceases. 
 
 [Finale] 
 
 Outside in the shock of silence seated 
 where the curtains conjoin, QUILLOQUON lifts his 
 dulcimer and smiles at the CHILDREN beside him. 
 
 Very quietly, he begins to play and sing to his 
 lulling accompaniment.] 
 
EPII OGUE] WASHINGTON 279 
 
 QUILLOQUON 
 
 There was a little ship in the North Amerikee, 
 
 She went by the name of the Golden Libertee, 
 
 As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 
 
 [From above, the outer curtain slowly fall 
 ing begins to shut off the three FIGURES.] 
 
 The red, red hearts were burning her golden decks 
 
 aboard, 
 
 Her Captain he was standing where cloudy eagles 
 soared 
 
 The Curtain Has Fallen 
 FINIS 
 
APPENDIX 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 COMMENTS ON THE PLAY, CONCERNING 
 
 Historical References . . . . . ' . . . . 283 
 
 The Theme . ... . \ . . ... . > . 284 
 
 The Ballads . . * ,. . . . . . . .285 
 
 The "Ballad-Play" Structure 
 
 The Two Versions . . . 287 
 
 The Transitions . : ' -. r < "1- * . .... . 290 
 
 Acknowledgments . i . . . . .< , . . 291 
 
 TITLE PAGE, UNABRIDGED . . . . . . . . 292 
 
 ACTIONS AND TRANSITIONS WITH SCENES AND CHAR 
 ACTERS . . . .... . . . . . 293 
 
 ACTING ROLES . . . .... ... . . 305 
 
 LIST OF PROPERTIES . . ., > . . " . . . 309 
 "THE AMERICAN PATRIOT'S PRAYER," by Thomas Paine 312 
 "ARIVEDERCI" , ........ 313 
 
 282 
 
COMMENTS ON THE PLAY 
 
 CONCERNING 
 
 HISTORICAL REFERENCES 
 
 If he has read the Prelude of this play, the proverbial 
 Gentle Reader will hardly expect an exhaustive bibliog 
 raphy in the Appendix. I shall, at least, feel free to com 
 pile none. 
 
 It is enough perhaps to say here that, though it has not 
 at all been my aim to write an historical or "costume" play 
 in the usual sense, I have naturally immersed myself in my 
 subject in order to express it; and in doing so, I have never 
 consciously ignored the "facts" of history, but I have no 
 where used them for their own sakes merely. A few minor 
 inconsistencies of time and place (needful to dramatic 
 epitomizing) will be obvious to the informed who may look 
 for them. 
 
 In the dialogue I have used in rare instances the actual 
 words of Washington and other persons of history, but 
 these are not indicated in the text. Longer selections from 
 original sources, however, are indicated by 'single quotation 
 marks,' which throughout the book always indicate ex 
 cerpts from historical documents. 
 
 Of such are the excerpts from "The First Book of the 
 American Chronicles of the Times" * (a document of 1774- 
 '75, written, perhaps, by Francis Hopkinson) in the Sixth 
 Action ; from Tom Paine's "The Crisis" 2 and "Common- 
 
 1 See "The Literary History of the American Revolution," by 
 Moses Coit Tyler (Putnam's. 1898), Volume I, pages 257-265, 175, 
 252: a work unique and admirable. 
 
 2 See "The Life of Thomas Paine," by Moncure D. Conway, page 86. 
 
 283 
 
284 APPENDIX 
 
 sense" in the Ninth Action; from Philip Frenau's "Crispin 
 O'Connor's Answer" 1 ('They taxed my sun,' etc.) in the 
 Sixth Action; and from "The St. James Chronicle" 1 ('O 
 Boston wives and maids,' etc.) in the Sixth Action. 
 
 To those Actions of my play which treat of Mt. Vernon, 
 one book has contributed so much of appealing suggestion 
 that I wish every reader of this might be led to its graciously 
 engaging pages. Paul Wilstach's "Mt. Vernon" (Double- 
 day Page, 1916) is the book an endearing story of the 
 most endeared homestead in the world. 
 
 THE THEME 
 
 A hundred varied plays are potential in the great theme 
 of Washington, yet strangely this play, so far as I know, 
 is the first one 2 written for professional production, which 
 aims to portray Washington himself as its chief central 
 character. 
 
 Today, Washington dead is for most people a figure 
 remote, statuesque, dignified, cold, almost mythical; one 
 to be revered, but not warmly loved. But in his own day 
 alive he was a magnetic human being, passionate, pa 
 tient, resourceful a rugged personality, lovable and 
 greatly beloved. 
 
 It has been, then, my aim so to portray him in his strong 
 prime, with truth to reality, that we of today (and especially 
 our young men of America, fighting today for what he 
 fought for) may be led to feel a more intimate affection for 
 "the man who made us," and for the still contemporary 
 cause which he espoused for mankind. 
 
 1 See Volume by Tyler, pages mentioned in Footnote on Page 283. 
 
 2 Since the announcement of the production of this play by Arthur 
 Hopkins, my friend Augustus Thomas has told me that an early play 
 of his, entitled "Col. George of Mt. Vernon," was performed for a 
 week at the Castle Square Theatre, Boston. 
 
APPENDIX 285 
 
 THE BALLADS 
 
 For the ballads in this play I am highly indebted to the 
 suggestiveness inherent in a recent, important volume, 
 "English Folk Songs of the Southern Appalachians" by 
 Cecil Sharp and Olive Dame Campbell, published by Put 
 nam's, New York. 
 
 To Mr. Sharp's masterly work as a scholar in folk-song 
 and folk-dance the art of the theatre has before now been 
 debtor. In the book just mentioned, he has personally 
 collected, from natives of our southern mountains, an as 
 tonishing wealth of ballad material. 
 
 To American men of letters it comes as an inspiring dis 
 covery, and offers a creative potentiality today such as the 
 first publication of Percy's Reliques must have presented to 
 English poets and writers of an earlier century. 
 
 Similarly, I think Mr. Sharp may feel the satisfaction 
 that his great and painstaking labours hold promise of a 
 fertile and varied reworking in creative American litera 
 ture for years to come. 
 
 In writing the ballads here presented I have allowed my 
 self the same liberty which Robert Burns and other ballad- 
 writers of other times have permitted themselves the 
 liberty of writing new words to old folk-tunes and old re 
 frains, in the spirit of these. 
 
 Of the play's ballads nearly all are written to be sung to 
 the traditional tunes of the Appalachian Mountains as col 
 lected in the volume mentioned; one only ("The Raggle- 
 Taggle Gypsies" 1 ) is verbatim an old English ballad one 
 recently made familiar to Americans by the unrivalled sim 
 plicity and charm of the Fuller Sisters' singing. 
 
 "Gypsy Davy came over the sea" 2 is the first line of a dik 
 
 1 See the Fuller Sisters' broadsides, H. W. Gray Co., New York. 
 
 2 The first stanza and refrain of the version of this ballad as given 
 
286 APPENDIX 
 
 ferent but related ballad which I first heard sung by a New 
 Hampshire native and neighbour at Cornish, N. H., Mr. H. B. 
 Jordan, whose memory is rich with speech and lore racy of 
 our Yankee soil. 
 
 The first lines of the Appalachian ballads, for the tunes 
 of which my own ballads have been written, are indicated in 
 parentheses, as follows: 1 
 
 " There was a little ship in the North Amerikee" (same 
 first line: page 143, B) ; "Bangry Rewy acourting did ride" 
 (same first line: page 28, A) ; "There was a young fellow 
 who followed the plough" ("There was an old man who 
 followed the plough:" page 139, A) ; "There were some 
 boys on Bunker's hill" ("There is a wild boar in this 
 wood:" page 28, B) ; "A fighter would a-fiddling go" ("A 
 keeper would a-hunting go." 2 ) 
 
 "She leaned herself against a thorn" (same first line: 
 page 31, E); "Oh! I've lost my heart to Betsy" ("Oh! 
 There came a Duke a-riding." 2 ). 
 
 The Chorus of the Liberty Boys, in the Sixth Action, is 
 based on an American song of the Revolution 3 for which 
 no music of that time has been found in the archives. 
 
 me by Mr. Jordan (the music to which will shortly be published with 
 that of the other ballads in this play) are as follows: 
 
 "Gypsy Davy came over the sea, 
 
 The song he san^ so boldly, 
 A-sitting under the green wood tree 
 
 A-charming the heart of my-lady." 
 
 / 
 "Reattle-attle, dingo-dingo-dingo, 
 
 Reattle-attle, dingo-daisy! 
 A-sitting under the green wood tree, 
 
 A-charming the heart of my-lady." 
 
 1 The page references in parentheses are to Sharp and Campbell's 
 "English Folk Songs of the Southern Appalachians," Putnams, 1917. 
 
 2 See the Fuller Sisters' broadsides, H. W. Gray Co., New York. 
 
 3 " A New Song to an Old Tune," written 1775, between the dates 
 of Lexington and Bunker Hill: See Tyler's "Literary History of the 
 American Revolution," Vol. I, page 257. 
 
APPENDIX 287 
 
 Of "Adam and Eba," the choral song of the negroes in 
 the Fourth Transition, the words and melody are the au 
 thor's. "I know my robe," etc., chanted by Mammy Sal, 
 in the Third Action, is an old familiar Negro hymn. 
 
 Numerous versions of the words of "Yankee Doodle" are 
 traditional, and, of these, two in part are used in the Eighth 
 Action. Originally a country -dance song, it is here (per 
 haps for the first time) revived in its original use, to the ac 
 companiment of country-dancing. 
 
 THE "BALLAD-PLAY" STRUCTURE 
 THE Two VERSIONS 
 
 So much, then, for the ballads of my play: but why a 
 "ballad-play"? This is, I think, the first by that name, 
 and being also probably the first in its kind, that special 
 designation may have its usefulness. 
 
 In the Preface I have mentioned two versions of the 
 play: its Theatre Version as it will be produced this season, 
 in our present-day theatre, with abbreviated text, and what 
 I may call its Festival Version as here published, un 
 abridged, in book form. 
 
 Every working dramatist and producer knows his "version 
 with cuts" usually the result of strenuous rehearsals in 
 the theatre, before the first night and during some days 
 after. His original longer version may perhaps be pub 
 lished for so-called "literary" reasons, but has otherwise 
 no further raison d'etre or definite practical usefulness. 
 
 The present text of "Washington" is not such a longer 
 version, nor is its text as produced this season such a "ver 
 sion with cuts." 
 
 From its inception, I have had always in mind its two 
 definite versions one (the briefer), designed to be prac- 
 
288 APPENDIX 
 
 tical for well known conditions of our theatre today, one 
 (the longer) designed to be practical for less well known 
 conditions of our theatre tomorrow ---the distinct signs and 
 characteristics of which have been steadily borne in upon 
 my own experience during the last seven or eight years of 
 experiment and demonstration in the field of community 
 drama. 
 
 Both versions, howevei, could hardly have been struc 
 turally fused from the start, were it not for the auspicious 
 fact that already our commercial theatre of today is ready 
 for the beginnings of a new-theatre technique within its own 
 walls, through the work of a few pioneering artists evolved 
 there. Without the discovering vision of Gordon Craig, this 
 new art born of the theatre -might not yet have been re- 
 leased for the world, without Robert Edmond Jones and a 
 very few others, it would not now be instrumental for Amer 
 ica. In inventing, therefore, a certain structure for this 
 play, I have, I think, been enabled by an art evolved and 
 still evolving to design definitely for both today and to 
 morrow. 
 
 To treat specifically the many aspects of this great oppor 
 tunity would require a lengthy essay, here out of place. 
 But, since critical interpreters are habitually more slow 
 than creative workers to detect and illuminate things very 
 important potentially, it may be useful for me to touch 
 upon my meaning as regards this play, briefly, in two or 
 three aspects of it. 
 
 The basic requirement of the community theatre is ex 
 pression expression varied to its maximum to include ex- 
 pressional opportunity for the largest number of individual 
 participants practicable. 
 
 The basic requirement of the commercial theatre is just 
 the opposite expression concentrated to its minimum* to 
 include only the kind of expressional opportunity, within 
 
APPENDIX 289 
 
 range of the fewest needful actors, and proportioned to 
 their salaries for competence or reputation. 
 
 To solve these diametrically opposed requirements be 
 comes, then, the problem and function of a dramatist who 
 seeks to bring the practical beginnings of community (or 
 "festival" 1 ) drama and theatre into being, under present- 
 day conditions of the commercial theatre itself. 
 
 For community necessities, his play should have the 
 maximum number of characters, with maximum opportunity 
 for expression; for commercial necessities the minimum 
 of these. 
 
 Having both these kinds of necessity as objects, my play 
 "Washington" has for festival theatre purposes a maxi 
 mum number and variety of acting roles for community 
 participants within its necessary time-scope; while for 
 commercial theatre purposes it arranges the distribution 
 of these roles so that they may be enacted by the minimum 
 number of professional actors. 
 
 Thus a total of one hundred speaking characters (actable 
 by one hundred community participants) may be acted by a 
 company of twenty-nine professionals, inclusive of two chil 
 dren, who do not speak. (Reference to the accompanying 
 lists of Characters and Acting Roles Individuals and 
 "Doubles" will make this specifically clearer.) 
 
 This implies, of course, on the part of acting profession 
 als, an artistic desire (not too wide-spread in the profession 
 at present) for variety of opportunity in their acting, be 
 cause of necessity most of them must "double," and some of 
 them several times, during one night's performance; but the 
 number of such artist professionals is larger, I think, than 
 generally supposed, and for such artists, a structure like this 
 of "Washington" presents to the smaller-part actor an even- 
 
 1 The Greek, as all ancient drama, was the "festival" drama of com 
 munities. 
 
290 APPENDIX 
 
 ing's repertory of parts more comprehensive of his talents 
 than any of the single big-part actors (save perhaps one or 
 two) possesses. 
 
 But there is another needful function which the structure 
 of such a play must perform for festival purposes. Those 
 purposes are best served in communities by assigning struc 
 tural portions of the testival unit to separate groups groups 
 often located necessarily in places distant from one another 
 for this assignment greatly facilitates not only the prac 
 ticability and expertness of local rehearsals, bat also the 
 social entente of neighbourhood.team work, which is a fun 
 damental community object. It vastly enhances, moreover, 
 the organic- beauty of the ensemble festival, which is the 
 harmony of its parts. 
 
 With this function in view, then, "Washington" comprises 
 (besides its fourteen Transitions) sixteen Actions, twelve at 
 least of which are separate dramatic entities, capable of 
 separate rehearsal and performance, while remaining har 
 moniously related to the structural whole in festival produc 
 tion. 
 
 For purposes of the commercial theatre, however, this 
 total structure has* not to be weakened by "cuts" in the or 
 ganic parts. Abridgment is, of course, needful, but by 
 conceiving the two distinct requirements clearly the solu 
 tion of both may be wrought out from the start. That, at 
 least, has seemed to me the only craftsmanly way of tackling 
 the job to be done. 
 
 THE TRANSITIONS 
 
 The above mentioned solution, in the case of "Washing 
 ton," is brought nearer by the functional device of the 
 Transitions, whereby an on-flowing continuity and variety of 
 action (with no heavy sets of the old regime to impede it) 
 enables the dramatist (like the sculptor) to project a mani- 
 
APPENDIX 291 
 
 fold frieze of figures structurally related, and leads to a 
 large new freedom in his art, akin to that of the Elizabethan 
 technique, but (thanks to our modern art of lighting) 
 without the starkness of that. 
 
 Into these Transitions, Quilloquon the singer and 
 dancer of ballads introduces an opportunity in the new, 
 growing movement of our native poetry, filled with fresh 
 avenues as yet hardly trod or explored. In a single play, 
 these fresh paths can only be hinted; but whether by that 
 name or not, this first experiment in the "ballad-play" is 
 sure, I think, to be followed up and perfected by the many 
 young minds whose rich promise is expressing itself in 
 American poetry and dance and music today. To them, 
 and to the great people from whom they are steadily emerg 
 ing far more than to literary recorders I submit what is 
 creatively potential in this first attempt. 
 
 They also may see in this play the beginnings of an art 
 which, not excluding the nuances of rhythmic sound, is re 
 lated through light to unexplored uses of the motion pic 
 ture; and they may also detect the suggestion of new func 
 tions in dramatic art for what I may term a motivated 
 vaudeville form. 
 
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 
 
 To Dr. Allan McLane Hamilton (grandson of Alexander 
 Hamilton) of Great Barrington, Mass.; H. Barrett Learned, 
 of Washington, D. C.; C. K. Bolton, of the Boston Athe- 
 neum; Frank H. Chase, of the Boston Public Library; and 
 to Katharine and Helen Sumner, of Washington I am 
 indebted for various kind offices helpful to the writing of 
 this play. 
 
292 APPENDIX 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 THE MAN WHO MADE Us 
 
 A BALLAD-PLAY 
 
 in a 
 
 PROLOGUE, THREE ACTS, AND EPILOGUE 
 Comprising 
 
 SIXTEEN ACTIONS AND FOURTEEN TRANSITIONS 
 as follows: 
 
 Prologue: ACTION 1 (Prelude) . /7 
 
 ACTION 2 (Induction) 
 ACT I.: ACTIONS 3 TO 5 (incl.) 
 
 Transitions 1 to 4 
 ACT II.: ACTIONS 6 TO 9 
 
 Transitions 5 to 7 
 ACT III.: ACTIONS 10 TO 15 
 
 Transitions 8 to 13 
 Epilogue: ACTION 16 (Recession) 
 
 Transition 14 (Finale) 
 
APPENDIX 293 
 
 THE ACTIONS AND TRANSITIONS 
 
 Comprise the following 
 SCENES AND CHARACTERS 
 
 with 
 
 Place and Time 
 in the order of their sequence: 
 
 (Note: The numbers and letters, which stand before the 
 names below, indicate the Acting Roles, which are listed on 
 Pages 305-308.) 
 
 Prologue. FIRST ACTION 
 
 (Prelude) 
 
 SCENE: In the Playhouse before and behind 
 the Curtains. 
 
 PLACE AND TIME : Of the Performance. 
 CHARACTERS: 10 men. * Total: 10 men. 
 
 a. A LITTLE BOY \ 
 
 b. A LITTLE GIRL f iV 
 1. QUILLOQUON 
 
 (E) THE COMIC MASK 
 
 (F) THE TRAGIC MASK 
 A. THE THEATRE 
 
 c. THE PRESENCE (Mute) 
 
 THE INHIBITORS (Seven of whom speak) 
 
 1 In the totals given, Quilloquon, the Two Children, the Presence, 
 and Washington are not included 
 
294 APPENDIX 
 
 C. The Seventh Inhibitor 
 
 E. " Sixth 
 
 F. " Fifth 
 
 G. " Fourth 
 H. " Third 
 I. " Second 
 J. " First 
 
 FIRST TRANSITION 
 
 Ballad: "The Golden Libertee" 
 Quilloquon sings, to dulcimer 
 Children mute 
 
 SECOND ACTION 
 
 (Induction) 
 
 SCENE: Exterior: House, Colonnade and Kit 
 chen of Washington's Mansion. 
 PLACE AND TIME: Mt. Vernon, Virginia, at 
 
 about the Present Time. 
 CHARACTERS: 8 men, 2 women. Total: 18 
 
 men, 2 women. 
 1. (Quilloquon) 
 a, b. (The Two Children) 
 G. A SOLDIER IN KHAKI 
 F. FIRST CIVILIAN 
 
 D. SECOND CIVILIAN 
 C. THIRD CIVILIAN 
 
 H. A SOLDIER IN LIGHT-BLUE 
 B. FOURTH CIVILIAN 
 I. AN ITALIAN OFFICER 
 J. A BRITISH OFFICER 
 (9) AN ELDERLY WOMAN 
 (10) A YOUNGER WOMAN 
 
APPENDIX 295 
 
 SECOND TRANSITION 
 
 Melody: "America" 
 Quilloquon plays fiddle 
 Children mute 
 
 Act. I. THIRD ACTION 
 
 SCENE: The Same. 
 
 TIME: about 1750. 
 
 CHARACTERS: 4 men, 2 women. Total: 
 
 men, 4 women. 
 1. (Quilloquon) 
 a, b. (The Two Children) 
 5. LORD FAIRFAX 
 
 1. LAWRENCE WASHINGTON 
 11. MAMMY SAL 
 
 J. JACOB VAN BRAMM 
 C. ADJUTANT MUSE 
 9. MARY WASHINGTON 
 
 2. GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 THIRD TRANSITION 
 
 Piping of Frogs 
 Quilloquon plays flute 
 
 Ballad: "Bangry Rewy" 
 Quilloquon sings, to fifing 
 
 FOURTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: The Same. 
 
 TIME: about 1756. 
 
 CHARACTERS: 6 men, 3 women. Total: 28 men, 
 
 7 women. 
 1. (Quilloquon) 
 
296 APPENDIX 
 
 12. SALLY FAIRFAX 
 
 13. ANN SPEARING 
 
 14. ELIZABETH DENT 
 
 F. BISHOP 
 
 D. HUMPHREY KNIGHT 
 B. WILLIAM POOLE 
 
 Negroes (Mute) 
 
 E. CAPT. JOHN POSEY 
 
 2. COL. GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 8. ZEKIEL 
 
 G. A COLONIAL OFFICER 
 
 FOURTH TRANSITION 
 
 Melody: "Bangry Rewy" 
 Quilloquon plays fiddle 
 
 Plantation Song: "Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down?" 
 Voices of Negroes sing, to thrumming 
 
 FIFTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: The Same. 
 TIME: May, 1759. 
 
 CHARACTERS: 3 men, 2 women. Total 31 
 men, 9 women. Recurrent: 2 men, 
 1 womaa. 
 11. MAMMY SAL 
 8. ZEKIEL 
 
 Wedding Guests 
 E. CAPT. JOHN POSEY 
 10. MARTHA WASHINGTON 
 2. COL. GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 b. (Patty Custis) 
 
 a. (Jack Custis) The Two Children 
 1. (A Fiddler) Quilloquon 
 
APPENDIX 297 
 
 SIXTH ACTION 
 
 Act II. SCENE: Exterior Before the Doorway of 
 
 King's College: Night 
 PLACE AND TIME : New York. 1775. 
 CHARACTERS: 13 men. Total 44 men, 9 women. 
 Liberty Boys who sing and shout 
 Voices (Ten speak) 
 1. A Hawker of Ballads Quilloquon 
 D. LEADER OF THE CROWD 
 
 1. MYLES COOPER 
 
 3. ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 FIFTH TRANSITION 
 
 Ballad: "Bands and Rebels" 
 Quilloquon (Ballad -Hawker) sings and dances 
 Children dance, with him 
 
 SEVENTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: Same as Act I: day. 
 PLACE AND TIME: Mt. Vernon, 1775. 
 CHARACTERS: 4 men, 2 women. Total: 48 
 
 men, 11 women. Recurrent: 1 man, 
 
 1 woman. 
 
 2. COL. WASHINGTON 
 
 10. MARTHA WASHINGTON 
 
 11. MAMMY SAL 
 G. JACK CUSTIS 
 
 7. BILLY 
 
 H. PATRICK HENRY 
 5. LORD FAIRFAX 
 1. (Fifer Quilloquon) 
 
298 APPENDIX 
 
 a. (Drummer The Boy] 
 
 b. (Fiddler The Girl) 
 
 SIXTH TRANSITION 
 
 Tune: "Bands and Rebels" 
 Quilloquon ( Fif er ) fifes 
 The Boy drums 
 The Girl fiddles 
 
 Ballad: "Bunker's Hill" 
 Quilloquon sings 
 Children mute 
 
 Tune: "Yankee Doodle" 
 Quilloquon fiddles 
 The Boy drums 
 The Girl fifes 
 
 EIGHTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: Exterior: Between Massachusetts and 
 
 Harvard Halls: day. 
 PLACE AND TIME: Cambridge, late summer of 
 
 1775. 
 CHARACTERS: 15 men. Total: 63 men, 11 
 
 women. Recurrent: 1 man. 
 Soldiers 
 Students 
 Girls 
 1. (Yankee Doodle Quilloquon) 
 
 a. (Hobby-Lion the Boy) 
 
 b. (Hobby-Unicorn the Girl) 
 L CHAPLAIN EMERSON 
 
 3 Students 
 2 Soldiers 
 6. COL. HENRY KNOX 
 
APPENDIX 299 
 
 Marblehead "Johnnies" (4 of whom speak) 
 
 Virginian "Jinnies" 
 C. LEADER OF "JINNIES" 
 F. LEADER OF "JOHNNIES" 
 2. GENERAL WASHINGTON 
 7. BILLY 
 J. SELECTMAN 
 
 Two other Selectmen 
 1. (Grindstone-Man Quilloquon) 
 
 a, b. (Two Children, bearing axes the Boy and the 
 Girl) 
 
 SEVENTH TRANSITION 
 Part 1. 
 
 Ballad: "Axes to Grind" 
 
 Quilloquon (Grindstone man) sings, and treadles 
 Children Mute 
 
 Part 2. 
 Church-bell and chimes 
 
 Rhythmic Voices chant beginning of Declaration of In 
 dependence 
 Quilloquon (Town Crier) intones and speaks 
 
 Part 3 
 
 Tune: "Raggle-Taggle Gypsies" 
 Quilloquon ( unseen ) riddles 
 
 Ballad: "Raggle-Taggle Gypsies" 
 Quilloquon (Gypsy and Lord) sings, and mimes 
 Children (Gypsies, Servant and Lady) sing, and mime 
 A Man's Voice sings, and speaks. 
 
300 APPENDIX 
 
 NINTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: Exterior An opening amid snow-laden 
 woods: gusty moonlight. 
 
 PLACE AND TIME: By the Delaware River, above 
 Trenton: Christmas night, 1776. 
 
 CHARACTERS: 3 men. Total: 66 men, 11 women. 
 Recurrent: 1 man. 
 
 B. THOMAS PAINE 
 
 J. LIEUT. JAMES MONROE 
 
 2. WASHINGTON 
 
 3. HAMILTON 
 
 (The Sound of a Flute Quilloquon's) 
 Voices of Men 
 
 ACT III. TENTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: In a scene-loft 
 
 PLACE AND TIME: At the Old South Theatre, 
 
 Philadelphia: winter of 1778. 
 CHARACTERS: 3 men, 2 women. Total: 69 men, 
 
 13 women 
 
 1. (A Scene-Shifter Quilloquon) 
 a,b. (Two Children with Paint-Pots the Boy and the 
 
 Girl) 
 A. CAPTAIN JOHN ANDRS 
 
 C. GENERAL SIR WILLIAM HOWE 
 F. GENERAL KNYPHAUSEN 
 
 15. POLLY REDMOND 
 
 16. BETSY ROSS 
 
 EIGHTH TRANSITION 
 
 Ballad: "Down by the Cold Hill-Sidey." 
 Quilloquon sings, to dulcimer 
 
APPENDIX 301 
 
 ELEVENTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: Interior of Washington's tent: stormy 
 
 daylight 
 
 PLACE AND TIME : Valley Forge, winter of 1778 
 CHARACTERS: 11 men. Total: 80 men, 13 
 
 women. Recurrent: 3 men 
 
 3. HAMILTON 
 
 B. THOMAS PAINE 
 Soldiers, in harness 
 THREE SOLDIERS (who speak) 
 E. The First 
 J. The Second 
 (H). The Third 
 2. WASHINGTON 
 H. A DOCTOR 
 7. BILLY 
 
 I. BARON VON STEUBEN 
 G. COUNT PULASKI 
 D. A SENTINEL 
 
 4. MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE 
 1. (A Postboy Quilloquon) 
 
 NINTH TRANSITION 
 
 Ballad: "Gypsy Davy" 
 Quilloquon sings, to thrummed strings 
 
 TWELFTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: A triumphal Archway 
 
 PLACE AND TIME : Philadelphia Spring of 1778 
 
 CHARACTERS: 6 men, 2 women Total: 86 men, 
 
 15 women. Recurrent: 2 men, 2 
 
 women 
 
302 APPENDIX 
 
 1. (A Ragged Singer Quilloquon) 
 A. "A KNIGHT" (CAPTAIN ANDRE) 
 
 15. "A LADY" (POLLY REDMOND) 
 3 Soldiers 
 
 1. (A Bugler Quilloquon) 
 
 2. WASHINGTON 
 4. LA FAYETTE 
 
 E. President Laurens 
 
 3. Hamilton 
 Officers 
 Civilians 
 
 16. Betsy Ross 
 
 TENTH TRANSITION 
 
 Ballad: "Betsy Ross" 
 Quilloquon sings, and dances 
 The Children sing refrain and dance with him 
 
 THIRTEENTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: An Embrasure in a Battery: Night. 
 
 PLACE AND TIME : Outside the defences of York- 
 town, October, 1781 
 
 CHARACTERS: 2 men. Total: 88 men, 15 women. 
 Recurrent: 1 man. 
 
 2. WASHINGTON 
 
 6. GENERAL HENRY KNOX 
 
 D. AN OFFICER 
 
 ELEVENTH TRANSITION 
 
 A Bell's deep clanging 
 The Town Crier (Quilloquon) cries the fall of Yorktown. 
 
APPENDIX 303 
 
 FOURTEENTH ACTION 
 Part I. 
 
 SCENE: A shadowy semi-circle 
 
 TIME: May, 1782. 
 
 CHARACTERS: 6 men. Total: 94 men, 15 
 
 women. 
 
 G. AN OFFICER (NICOLA) 
 FIVE OTHER OFFICERS 
 H. The Second 
 
 D. The Third 
 
 E. The Fourth 
 
 F. The Fifth 
 I. The Sixth 
 
 Voices of Several More 
 
 Part II. 
 
 SCENE: A seat by a light-stand 
 TIME: May, 1782. 
 CHARACTERS: 2 men. Total: 96 men, 15 
 
 women. Recurrent: 2 men. 
 2. WASHINGTON 
 7, BILLY 
 G. COL. NICOLA 
 
 TWELFTH TRANSITION 
 
 Plantation Melody: "Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down?" 
 Choral Voices of Negroes sing, to thrummed instruments 
 
 FIFTEENTH ACTION 
 
 SCENE: same as Act I: Night 
 PLACE AND TIME: Mt. Vernon, Christmas Eve, 
 1783 
 
304 APPENDIX 
 
 CHARACTERS: 1 man, 2 women. Total: 97 
 men, 17 women. Recurrent: 1 man, 
 2 women. 
 8. ZEKIEL 
 11. MAMMY SAL 
 10. MARTHA WASHINGTON 
 2. WASHINGTON 
 
 a. Jack Parke Custis (the Boy) 
 
 b. Nellie Custis (the Girl) 
 1. A Fiddler (Quilloquon) 
 
 THIRTEENTH TRANSITION 
 Tune: "Bangry Rewy" 
 
 The Fiddler (Quilloquon) plays and mimes 
 The Two Children are mute, and mime. 
 
 Epilogue. SIXTEENTH ACTION 
 
 (Recession) 
 
 SCENE: The Same: Approaching sunset. 
 PLACE AND TIME: Mt. Vernon, about the Pres 
 ent Time. 
 CHARACTERS: 2 men. Total: 99 men, 17 
 
 women. Recurrent: 2 men. 
 Total of recurrent: 14 men, 6 women. 
 Total of speaking parts: 85 men, 11 women. 
 Total of men and women = 96 parts, 1 
 
 TWO CIVILIANS 
 B. The First 
 D. The Second 
 1. (Quilloquon) 
 
 1 Plus the parts of Washington, Quilloquon and the Two Children 
 = 100 parts. 
 
APPENDIX 305 
 
 a, b. (The Two Children) 
 c. The Presence 
 
 Bearers of the Banners of the Allies 
 
 FOURTEENTH TRANSITION 
 
 (Finale) 
 
 Ballad: "The Golden Libertee" 
 Quilloquon sings, to dulcimer 
 The Two Children are mute. 
 
 ACTING ROLES 
 
 Note: Various combinations in doubling roles are, of 
 course, feasible. The combinations here given are sug 
 gested as being perhaps the most appropriate and prac 
 ticable. They provide for a company of twenty-nine per 
 sons (19 men, 8 women, 1 boy and 1 girl), of whom nine 
 teen 1 enact Individual Roles (1 to 16 and a, b) and ten 
 enact Doubling Roles (A to J. incl.), as follows:: 
 
 INDIVIDUAL ROLES 
 (Men and Women) 
 
 16 
 Men Women 
 
 1. Quilloquon x 2 9. Mary Washington 
 
 2. Washington 3 10. Martha Washington 
 
 3. Alexander Hamilton 11. Mammy Sal 
 
 4. LaFayette 12. Sally Fairfax 
 
 5. Lord Fairfax 13. Anne Spearing 
 
 6. Henry Knox 14. Elizabeth Dent 
 
 7. Billy 15. Polly Redmond 
 
 8. Zekiel 16. Betsy Ross 
 
 ^ 1 One of these nineteen, Quilloquon, assumes fantastically twelve 
 roles of pantomime or singing. 
 
 2 Also acts the Elderly Woman in the Induction. 
 
 3 Also acts the Younger Woman in the Induction. 
 
306 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 (Children) 
 
 2 
 a. The Boy b. The Girl 
 
 (Jack Custis: 5th Action (Patty Custis: 5th Action 
 
 1. 
 
 Drummer: 7th Action 
 Hobby-Lion : 8th Action 
 Ax-bearer: 8th Action 
 Gypsy: 7th Transition 
 
 (Part 3) 
 Paint-pot Holder: 10th 
 
 Action 
 
 Jack Parke Custis: 15th 
 Action) 
 
 (Mute) 
 
 1 man 
 
 c. The Presence 
 
 DOUBLING ROLES 
 
 Fiddler: 7th Action 
 Hobby-Unicorn : 8th 
 
 Action 
 
 Ax-bearer : 8th Action 
 Gypsy : 7th Transition 
 
 (Part 3) 
 Paint-pot Holder: 10th 
 
 Action 
 Nellie Custis: 15th Ac 
 
 tion) 
 
 10 men 
 
 (Quilloquon) 
 Fiddler 
 
 Hawker of Ballads 
 Fifer 
 
 Yankee Doodle 
 Grindstone-Man 
 Town -Crier 
 
 Gypsy 
 
 Scene-Shifter 
 Post-Boy 
 Ragged Singer 
 Bugler 
 Fiddler 
 
 Fifth Action 
 Sixth Action 
 Seventh Action 
 
 Eighth Action 
 tt 
 
 Seventh Transition 
 
 Part 2 
 Seventh Transition 
 
 Part 3 
 
 Tenth Action 
 Eleventh Action 
 Twelfth Action 
 
 c< 
 
 Fifteenth Action 
 
 Act I.) 
 (Act II.) 
 (Act II.) 
 (Act II.) 
 (Act II.) 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 (Act II.) 
 (Act III.) 
 (Act III.) 
 (Act III.) 
 (Act III.) 
 (Act III.) 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 307 
 
 A. The Theatre 
 
 B. Fourth Civilian 
 William Poole 
 Thomas Paine 
 
 First Civilian 
 
 C. Seventh Inhibitor 
 Third Civilian 
 Adjutant Muse 
 Leader of "Jinnies" 
 General Howe 
 
 D. Second Civilian 
 Humphrey Knight 
 Leader of the Crowd 
 First Student 
 
 A Sentinel 
 An Officer 
 Third Officer 
 Second Civilian 
 
 E. (The Comic Mask) 
 Sixth Inhibitor 
 Captain John Posey 
 Second Student 
 First Soldier 
 
 Pres. Laurens (Mute] 
 Fourth Officer 
 
 F. (The Tragic Mask) 
 Fifth Inhibitor 
 
 First Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Tenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Second Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Fourth Action 
 
 (Act I.) 
 
 Ninth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Eleventh Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Sixteenth Action 
 
 (Epilogue) 
 
 First Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Second Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Third Action 
 
 (Act I.) 
 
 Eighth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Tenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Second Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Fourth Action 
 
 (Act*!.) 
 
 Sixth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Eighth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Eleventh Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Thirteenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Fourteenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Sixteenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 First Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Fourth Action 
 
 (Act I.) 
 
 Fifth Action 
 
 (Act I.) 
 
 Eighth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Eleventh Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Twelfth Action 
 
 (Act HI.) 
 
 Fourteenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 First Action 
 
 (Prologue), 
 
308 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 G. 
 
 H. 
 
 J. 
 
 First Civilian 
 
 Second Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Bishop 
 
 Fourth Action 
 
 (Act I.) 
 
 Leader of "Johnnies" 
 
 Eighth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 General Knyphausen 
 
 Tenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Fifth Officer 
 
 Fourteenth Action 
 
 (Act HI.) 
 
 Fourth Inhibitor 
 
 First Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 A Soldier in Khaki 
 
 Second Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 A Colonial Officer 
 
 Fourth Action 
 
 (Act I.) 
 
 Jack Custis 
 
 Seventh Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Count Pulaski 
 
 Eleventh Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Col. Nicola 
 
 Fourteenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Third Inhibitor 
 
 First Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Soldier in Light-Blue Second Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Patrick Henry 
 
 Seventh Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 A Tattered Doctor 
 
 Eleventh Action 
 
 (Act HI.) 
 
 Second Officer 
 
 Fourteenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Second Inhibitor 
 
 First Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 An Italian Officer 
 
 Second Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Lawrence Washington Third Action 
 
 (Act I.) 
 
 Myles Cooper 
 
 Sixth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Chaplain Emerson 
 
 Eighth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Von Steuben 
 
 Eleventh Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 Sixth Officer 
 
 Fourteenth Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
 First Inhibitor 
 
 First Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 A British Officer 
 
 Second Action 
 
 (Prologue) 
 
 Jacob Van Bramm 
 
 Third Action 
 
 (Act I.) 
 
 A Selectman 
 
 Eighth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Lieut. James Monroe 
 
 Ninth Action 
 
 (Act II.) 
 
 Second Soldier 
 
 Eleventh Action 
 
 (Act III.) 
 
APPENDIX 
 LIST OF PROPERTIES 
 
 309 
 
 Note: As this play may sometime perhaps be of use for 
 community performances, the following list of properties is 
 printed here, for purposes of such production: 
 
 Prologue. 
 1st Action :- 
 
 2nd Action; 
 
 Fiddle, Dulcimer, Flute (Mt. Vernon), 
 
 Lantern on Pole (old New England 
 
 lantern). 
 
 Chair and Table (Colonial: blue). 
 3 Masks (Comedy, Tragedy, Theatre), 
 
 Staff for Theatre (with Janus-head of 
 
 Comedy and Tragedy). 
 Various Masks, Manuscripts, Books, 
 
 Map, Memo, Candles, Scrolls. 
 Guide-Book, Sprig of Verbena. 
 
 Act. I. Riding- Whip (twined with ivy). 
 
 3rd Action: 2 Broadswords, Gamecock in Coop. 
 
 Wooden Bench, Copper Kettle, Box of 
 
 Sand. 
 
 Garden Rake, Strips of Cloth. 
 Indian Mask, Surveyor's Tripod, Gun, 
 Knapsack, Kit, 2 Dead Wild Turkeys, 
 Maple Sugar, Dog. 
 
 4th Action: 
 
 Wreath of Wild Laurel. 
 
 Long Planting-Box (as 
 text), Wooden Pins, 
 and Muck, Cloth Bags. 
 
 Bone-topped Cane. 
 
 Sealed document. 
 
 in 
 
 described 
 Wheelbarrow 
 
310 
 
 5th Action; 
 
 Act II. 
 
 6th Action 
 
 7th Action: 
 
 8th Action: 
 
 7th Transition 
 9th Action: 
 
 Act III. 
 
 10th Action: 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 Trenchers, Trays, Dishes (all heaped 
 
 with food). 
 Keys and Girdle. 
 Table for Fiddler. 
 
 Bells, Cannon, Musketry, Rail, Lan 
 terns, Poles, Ballad Strips (Broad 
 sides) . 
 
 Luggage, Flute, Sword and Girdle, Sad 
 dle-Bags, Pocket-Book, Drum. 
 
 Cannon, Table, 2 Benches. 
 
 Hobby-Horse, Hobby-Lion, Hobby-Uni 
 corn. 
 
 Rattlesnake-Flag, Snuff-Box. 
 
 Grindstone-Push-Cart, Hand-Bell, Axes, 
 Hatchet. 
 
 Lantern on Staff with Hatchet Top. 
 Note-Book, Firewood, Musket. 
 
 Stepladder, Boxes, Chair and Table, 
 Tapestry, Screens, Drawings and De 
 signs for Stage-Settings, Paint-Pots, 
 Paints, Brushes, Lanterns (or Can 
 delabra), Standards for Costumes. 
 
 Cane, Bundle containing American 
 Flag (with Thirteen Stars). 
 
 llth Action: Sleigh-Bells, Grapevine Harness, Table, 
 
APPENDIX 311 
 
 2 Campstools, Sledge with Snow- 
 crusted Firewood. 
 
 Letters and Papers, Long Pipe, Polish 
 Flag, Post-Bag. Dog. 
 
 12th Action: Shield with Landscape (Andre's), Va 
 rious Statues, Bugle. 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 llth Transition: Long Pipe, Light-Stand, Spectacles, 
 Shaded Lamp, Crown and Colours, 
 Letters, Candle. 
 
 16th Action : Banners of Allied Nations. 
 
312 APPENDIX 
 
 THE AMERICAN PATRIOT'S PRAYER * 
 
 By THOMAS PAINE 
 
 (1776) 
 
 Parent of all, omnipotent 
 
 In heaven, and earth below, 
 Through all creation's bounds unspent, 
 
 Whose streams of goodness flow, 
 
 Teach me to know from whence I rose, 
 
 And unto what designed; 
 No private aims let me propose, 
 
 Since linked with human kind. 
 
 But chief to hear my country's voice, 
 
 May all my thoughts incline; 
 'Tis reason's law, 'tis virtue's choice 
 
 'Tis nature's call and thine. 
 
 Me from fair freedom's sacred cause 
 
 Let nothing e'er divide; 
 Grandeur, nor gold, nor vain applause 
 
 Nor friendship false misguide. 
 
 Let me not faction's partial hate 
 
 Pursue to this Land's woe; 
 Nor grasp the thunder of the state 
 
 To wound a private foe. 
 
 If, for the right to wish the wrong 
 
 My country shall combine, 
 Single to serve th' erroneous throng, 
 
 Spite of themselves, be mine. 
 
 * From the Addenda to "Commonsense." See the "Life of 
 Thomas Paine," by Moncure D. Conway, page 116. 
 
APPENDIX 313 
 
 By a never-jailing well of friendliness 
 
 near old Shirley Common 
 
 with its "Water for Soldiers" and welcome 
 
 for road-weary pilgrims 
 
 -L.F.A.&S.L.- 
 
 Arivederci! 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 RENEWED BOOKS ARE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE 
 RECALL 
 
 FEB1 1167 
 RET'F! 1967 
 
 LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS 
 
 Book Slip-50m-12,'64(F772s4)458 
 
i 
 
 ^ 
 
 I 
 
 397153 
 
 MacKayc, P. 
 
 Washington, the 
 man who made us. 
 
 E312.65 
 M15 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS