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 . 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