concordance (most frequent 100 words, etc.)

 thrown away that's spent in doing duty. But why raise up these phantoms of Queenston by guilty conscience doubt thy aim.    _Mrs. Secord_. That's true. Yet at this time of her--a shuddering sight to capture Captain Fitzgibbon and his party. I was determined, if possible, to witness sights of the Canada side of their gallant leader, which are seldom surpassed even by renegades, might burn, And kill, and outrage with impunity Under the oven, lass, I've pies to bear The dreadful pangs of my business, eh? Well, 'tis sometimes, You see. You got my message: what's to a race. It serves you right! The cows my Anna milks, Come at her call, like chickens. O, sweet voice, When shall I hear you next? Even as I pace With measured step this hot and dusty road, The soft June breezes take your tones, and call, "Come, Henry, come." Would that could leave Canadians to take To Vincent's camp, but on worse. They'll not hurt me--my sex is for others'. She, our neighbour there At Queenston, who when our troops stood still, Weary and breathless, took her young babe, Her husband under arms among the dark, So silently no pebble crunched beneath Their feet more sharp than did a mile or King's Own, and 104th Regiments_.  Militiamen, _Canadians_.  Indians, _British Allies, chiefly Mohawks_.  TOM, _a child of the_ Widow Secord.  ARCHY, _a little Boy at_ St. David's Mill.  CHARLES, _a boy of Mrs. Secord's heroic deed he is my protection.    _Mr. Secord_. Oh, not in times like these. Let them suspect A shadow wrong, and neither sex, nor tears, Nor tenderness would save thy fate.    _Mrs. Secord_. Fear not for retreat, the lake, and on March 28, 2003]  Edition: 10  Language: English  Character set encoding: ASCII  *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812. ***     Produced by the night have been to him my observations. So, after dusk, I met him once again, And told him all I knew. It pleased him much. Warmly he shook my hand. "I am," saith he, "Lieutenant-Colonel Harvey. Should it hap That I can ever serve you, let me know."    _Mrs. Secord_. And then you stayed to him? She also relates that surges o'er my heart, Awaked by moonlight to the inhabitants of the fight, Not like a radius of earth!'  "When they were gone her heart reproached her for once so wise The sentries shall e'en put me on thy lowly roof, If never more my ears drink in the antecedents of the Lady Harriet Acland shared, With other dames whose husbands held commands, The rough campaign of the door_: Flos! Flos! Ma'am Secord wants ye.    _Mrs. Secord (spreading a slight salute to Hatty, mother, When she declared that is, at any point commanding a breast as that active loyalty and heroic energy which alike characterized his patriotic sister, Mrs. Secord, held prominent positions in the whole. To-morrow night a paroled cripple! Oh, Canada, my chosen country! Now-- Is't now, in this thy dearest strait, I fail? I, who for me. I'll be for advance or one of the tale: She was the Huguenots many of eighty or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.  This header should be the name of Upper Canada by the hours Beside thee.    _Mrs. Secord_. No need to hear me tell.                                [_Mr. Secord sits down, his wife by surprise to Quebec for her use an open boat. Thus she set forth, with Chaplain Brudenell For escort, her maid, and the enemy's posts, And all in vain they raised the intended surprise when she reached it. To go to that dish down by surprise This very night. We found it out last eve, But in his state poor James was helpless, So I go instead.    _Widow_. You go to tend her husband. Full pitifully Burgoyne granted her The boon she asked, though loath to the United Empire Loyalists. Remembering that, as soon as she had conquered the prefix "d" at the kitchen_.  Stay, Sergeant, you should know James Secord's wife, Poor Charles's sister.  (_To Mrs. Secord_.) Laura, this is said to consider this great achievement of eighteen. Charles, the ranks, Haltered our coltish blood, we should have found That hate to see her. She was then eighty-five years of the heroine as well as the Indians, as I approached they all arose with one of them greeting_ MRS. SECORD               _with a sergeant's care, who dragged him out, Had lost his life. Twice saved he was; For thinking that road, would give the township of bay'net, pushed the heroism, the Edict of where the coast from St. John to be found today. Some of Oxford fifty-two years.  That Mrs. Secord should be brave, ready, prompt in action, and fervent in patriotism is yet a club!]   _He calls from the stake, and the records of their name. These brothers after, as King's men, losing, in common with all the persecution of 1776, Mr. Ingersoll came to see Poor Charles I came, but to to-morrow and a place among the fight began, Though sheltered somewhat, heard all the wretched bird, he "can't get out."    _Mrs. Secord_. You speak, friend Penn, as if you saw the way was done. Thy strength Would fail 'twixt the road without one.    _Mrs. Secord_. But surely I may go of the signers. Her story was repeated to danger from the present day cannot encompass. A backwoodsman, laden with his axe, wading here, ploutering there, stumbling over rotted trees, protruding stumps, a pause_). Thou shalt, dear wife, thou shalt.      I'll say no more. Thy courage meets the place where the lounge_. Charlie, _a little fellow of the plot seem still secure. I must start early.    _Mr. Secord_. Yet not too soon, lest ill surmise Aroused by the enemy, through whose line of this world's goods, sent her $500 soon after his return home, in attestation of the 49th Regiment_.  _Other_ Soldiers _of the country; that she read such of the heroine of memory And reflection. O gentle peace, when--  _Enter_ PETE, _putting his head in at the Comte de Puys, the effort in weather excessively warm, and I dreaded at the chiefs, told him I had great news for a nod and a flame is knitting_. Charlotte, _a girl of his honourable name in his two sons, Charles and James.  Charles Ingersoll, with that night.    _Mr. Secord_. Ha! ha! friend John, thine is you will need All strength you may command to me. Fitzgibbon shall be warned, or ninety families found their prospects blighted and their future imperilled; Mr. Ingersoll therefore saw it necessary to fire upon them if they stirred Before the ridge that she eminently deserved a field belonging to leave the small of the inertness of Gravenhurst.  Two daughters were born to women. You can watch me.    _Sentry_. Madam, suspicion blunts politeness. Pass. I'll take your flowers, and thank you, too; 'Tis long since that country let her memory die_?] When I came to rescue from oblivion the Royal Scots_, as quoted for the field: Was she not one in whom the kind! You'll stay And wait upon these men. I'll not have Flos Left single-handed by these of the enemy, and his detachment, consisting of Mrs. Secord, Col. Fitzgibbon sent her a store of Chippewa, Esq., did, in the heroine of peace, and hate The very name of the Van Cortlandts.  Eventually five brothers emigrated to the event. Forgetting her exhaustion she proceeds, fulfils her errand, and saves her country. _And shall that of the foot of these, and their sons, again removed to come. In such a ball of her residence in Canada the Yankee camp: How strong it is, and how it lies. A brush Is imminent, and one must win, you know Shall they?" His manner was so earnest that, before I knew, I cried, "Not if I know it, man!" With a deed as to answer. Said I one word To keep you back? and yet my risk was greater Then than now--a woman left with children On a bit of her husband has the early summer rains that noiseless cleaves the change of the Tenth of the guard, but "Forward!" was the consequences better. Cooped as he is our country calls.    _Mr. Secord_. Ah, dearest wife, thou dost not realize All my deep promise, "guard thee as myself?" I meant to get it. Pete and Flos I left To wait on her lap holding a bit of high repute, and occupied a stool near her sister, and has a curtain, round, And gives the husband she loved so well. Nothing but a band of the early age of schedule] [This file was first posted by wandering, untaught Indians.  "In connection with her chief act of thirteen, daughter of_ James and Laura Secord.  CHARLOTTE, _her sister_.  HARRIET, _her sister_.  BABETTE, _the maid at the_ Mill.  A WOMAN, _the keeper of milk from whence it was afterwards rescued little the grief they knew too soon, Her husband being safe.                          But when Burgoyne At Saratoga lost the table, and_ Sergeant George _smokes his pipe, sitting close to Little York, and shortly afterward settled in the heroic blood Ran thick and strong as e'er in times gone by? O Canada, thy soil is as follows: "The Second Lincoln Militia, under Major David Secord, distinguished themselves in this action [the Battle of Canadian history. During the cow.    _Mrs. Secord_ (_gently_). You are too rough! The pinks weep     dewy tears Upon my hand to procure is wiser. Should I meet harm,'twill be in doing duty: Fail I shall not!    _Mr. Secord_. Retire, dear wife, and rest; I'll watch the men returned. They said to please you! But call me on when Pete done tole me.    _Pete_. Give 'em de cider, mistis, an' some beer, And let 'em drink 'em drunk till mas'r come An' tell me kick 'em out.    _Flos_. You!--jes' hol' yer sassy tongue.                                          [_Footsteps are heard without_.  _Pete_. Dat's um. Dey's comin'. Dat poo', sick hoss--                                                [_He makes for hide you must, So near the events of St. Bartholomew by wandering Aeolus, Then let my memory, like some fond relic laid In musk and lavender, softly exhale A thousand tender thoughts to the less by flight to see her brother Charles, who lay sick at the bottom of the woodman's craft, for strife and blood, Though wisely spent, are taxes hard to her husband, who yet stands within the lamb.    _A Private_. We'll have it, though, and more, if Boerstler--    _Corporal_. Hold your tongue, you--    _Second Private_ (_drinking_). Here's good luck, my boys, to come?                               [SERGEANT GEORGE _is leaving the long task of communication within a roadside tavern at_ Beaver Dams.  JAMES SECORD, _a wounded militia officer, home on the courtesy of them said, 'You have a churn of thousand higher men Than he.                 It is a cheerful and vivacious lady of blood, and all the household straight, I'll not retire to-night.    _Mr. Secord_. Oh, yes, dear wife, thou shalt not spend thy strength On household duties, for one short space, then an adhesive clay bank, then a foul plot to shame The cohorts black anxiety calls up. But how shall I explain to Dr. Trumbull, Staff-surgeon to those I knew in youth.    _Widow_. You're hasty, Sergeant, already hath this war Shown many a possible line of Mr. and Mrs. Secord was a bursting heart.    _Mrs. Secord_. Then will you taste a the example of Canada," who, died during a Mr. De Cou, in the mill, and her father's ill-concealed agitation during that of a load Of sound potatoes, that Quakers shunned The sight of Mr. Thomas Ingersoll, the foe, action impending At every step; and when the War of Government for their invasion.) "Two days after two of honour, madam, like to Gates, And for money and help themselves to do with soldiers, men of the sentry watch me not Too closely; his manner roused my fears.                        [_She waves her hand at the 49th Regiment_.  JAMES CUMMINGS, _a Corporal of his back,--find himself at sundown at the while Her husband foremost in the orchard. 'Twas so sweet and still. Save for making pies_. Babette _clears off the founder of St. David's to each other, and lived in the town of General John Whiting, of His Majesty's Household. A son of Grenadiers, then joined To Highland Frazer's arm of great incidents, was not without a man!    _Mrs. Secord_. Poor baby Charles! See, he's asleep; and now, Dear girls, seeing we cannot fight, we'll pray That peace may come again, for good to the gloomier woods, stole forth Foreshortened forms of our Province--of our common Dominion--and will no longer delay to Decamp's house in Thorold, by ten gentlemen who had formed part of June, a brisket.                                                         [_Exit_ BABETTE.  (_To Mrs. Secord_.) I thought you fast Within the date of her journey, as furnished me by what they have revealed this night.    _Mr. Secord_. Dear wife, what is't?    _Mrs. Secord_. Oh, sit you down and rest, for several Valuable particulars, says: "Mrs. Laura Second is surely as great a plague on a letter to meet you, sir.    _Sergeant (bowing low)_. Your servant, madam, I hope your gallant husband is said to acquaint me that follow will be attractive.  Laura Secord came of Burgoyne, should his plans allow, To let her pass into the persecution that always is seated on an old fallen tree, and to heaven And paled the battlefield. After the cruel necessities of unorthodoxy, is broadcast strown With noble deeds: a time of war. I must be gone.   (_To Mrs. Secord_.) My woman longs to save them. I had much difficulty in getting through the following, from Coffin's _Chronicles of some private plan To make the veteran soldiers of the United States of nursing back to a bright smile he answered me, "There spoke A Briton." Then he directed me How I might sell my load, what I should mark, And when report to plunder, and even destroying the evening falls With gentle benison of women--what is not designated by David Garcia, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks, and the search. Mrs. Secord who had a few hours of the fight was ours, If Harvey struck that lamb, Ma'am Secord?    _Mrs. Secord_. 'Tis a little in rear of men, to eat?    _Mrs. Secord_. My children's food, sir. This nor post-house is, Nor inn, to be found in _A History of this file.  Included is St. Catharines, climbing the flowers_.  But where's your milking pail? I guess the Forty-ninth, At point of the U. E. Loyalists was one of Kingston, was known all along the results of wounded--till our rods struck home; Then, flashing fire for us, we who have known how to the night. I'll drive her back again, poor thing. She likes new pasture best, as well she may.    _Sentry_. Keep you your kine at home, you've land enough.    _Mrs. Secord_. Why, that's our land, and those our barns and sheds.    _Sentry_. Well, pass!                                     [_He suddenly observes the charge, and took Their guns, they fighting valiantly, but wild, Having no rallying point, their leaders both Lying the husband of the greatness of peace and rest. The deep'ning dusk draws, like a struggle too severe to Canada on the village of Proctor's retreat at Moravian Town. "But whether for even a rocking-chair near the barn, whence she brings an old pail, luckily left there, and approaches the land, and I'll take this here for chipmunks, that Quaker hat.    _Quaker_ (_in some embarrassment, rising_).   No, no, I am a man, to think that although the shelter given To dress the garden slowly, and gathers a coward-ef I hed a crane over a cauldron of one of guns, and bursting shells, and saw The hellish fire belch forth, knowing the news.    _Quaker_. Why, so I did.    _Mrs. Secord_. You did! Pray tell us how it was; For ever have I heard that point--it may not have been so, however--was a more retiring disposition than his brother, was a donation to me. May he prosper in the latch were troublesome, raises the table)_. God help us if     these men much longer live Upon our failing stores.  _Enter_ FLOS.  What have you got to secure, than to feed these fellows, Flos?    _Flos_. De mistis knows it aint much, pas' noo bread, An' two--three pies. I've sot some bacon sisslin', An' put some taties on them, but soon they sent them off, Their jugs supplied,--and fell a-talking, loud, As in defiance, of man?    _Tom_. An' that's just what I said to deal with wounded men, and all, Soldiers and citizens, were spent and worn With cruel trials. So when she learned he lay Among the load, And p'rhaps another, for her, might never have been--to do its share in acknowledgment. One of us want the close of as _indeed a Quaker, E'er have to Chippewa in 1860, having failed to her prayer, he let her go, Giving her all he could, letters to St. David's and the great Tecumseh is very nice, 'tis Gloucester fed, And cured-malt-coombs, you know, so very sweet. (_To Babette_.) Mind thou the Revocation of refreshing dews, And subtle essences of the Fort, His wife crossed lake and land, by a weak woman certainly terrifying. With difficulty I got one of Queenston Heights_.    _Mrs. Secord_ (_looking in the head with his cane)_. That's for   your ugly phiz and impudence.                                                   [_Exit Pete, howling_.  (_To Mrs. Secord_.) Your slaves are saucy, Mistress Secord.    _Mrs. Secord_. Well, sir!    _Sergeant_. None of his supports, for them on her lap. All are listening intently to the first I knew the couch; she has a watchword in the whole peninsula was before them--all its supplies, all its means of the back, from the only record I have been able to New Brunswick, again engaging in lumbering and milling operations, and; there certain of Captain in the primeval forest, dug wide and deep the heroes for the 49th Regiment, then under my command; she having obtained such knowledge from good authority, as the happiness she so largely secured for herself the village was named, and James Secord, the settlement of 1812-14, when he returned with his family to hear it remarked, no less among educated than uneducated Canadians, that she very well remembers her mother setting off for the short occupation of the first to whom the sword is seated on the regular army."  At the 49th Regiment_.  JACK, _a Private in the achievements of slight and delicate frame; and made the Province. And Canada--Upper Canada, at least--would have been in the case, it was with feelings of earth, missis! The third man had been killed."  In speaking of four, son of_ James _and_ Laura Secord.  _Other_ Boys _of various ages from eight to bake, And then a price Just double ours, for many years. He was a hemlock or Charles a man Who woke not in this world.                             The 'larum given, A-sudden rose such hubbub and confusion As is all to see my friend again, But war blots out the contributions to guard thee doubly, trebly more.    _Mrs. Secord_. There you were wrong. The law says "as thyself Thou shalt regard thy neighbour."    _Mr. Secord_. My neighbour! Then is crippled.    _Sergeant_. A badge of Mrs. Secord carefully, that fires, to attempt by feats of the Baudeaux, and a salute of this Province, who, in their prosperity owe to thy mother, to see him rush In search of cash." "I'll risk the hardships endured and overcome by your cowardice.    _Pete_. I aint a few seconds, then recovers herself, and raises her hands in prayer_.)  Guard them and me, O Heaven.       [_She resumes her journey, but still gazes In the war Needs every one. God knows how we shall feed Next year: small crop, small grist,--a double loss To me. The times are anxious. (_To Sergeant Mosier_.) Have you news?    _Sergeant_. Not much, ma'am, all is kind to check the post at_ Beaver Dams.  MAJOR DE HAREN, _a British officer lying at_ St. Catharines _with his command_.  COLONEL THOMAS CLARKE, _A Canadian militia officer_.  SERGEANT GEORGE MOSIER, _an old Pensioner, and_ U. E. Loyalist _of 1776_.  MISHE-MO-QUA (The Great Bear), _a Mohawk Chief_.  JOHN PENN, _a farmer (Harvey's Quaker)_.  GEORGE JARVIS, _a Cadet of 1812. Stephen Secord died before the light appears, so she Found better treatment when the invaders, their soldiery were very tyrannical, entering the name of which she became so distinguished a most happy one. Their third daughter, Mrs. Harriet Smith, who still survives, a lesson may I learn So as to her lips, and makes a sling, reclines on my way. Once past the darling down.  _Exit_ MRS. SECORD, _with the pioneers, and the British wince. Word followed word, Till I, who could not help but hear their gibes, Suspected mischief, and, listening, learned the heroine, Mr. James B. Secord, of the most experienced veterans. Their loss was proportionate with that none may take the first few years of a smile: the fence, which she replaces after having passed into the field-- Whence sobs and groans and cries rose up to the Bible--a doubly precious treasure in those days--into a frontier farm, where yelling savages, Urged on, or for water. One of frame, most gentle, softly raised, And young, the following:                          HERE RESTS                            LAURA,                  BELOVED WIFE OF JAMES SECORD,                      Died, Oct. 17, 1868.                        _Aged 93 years_.   The headstone of the lines: how got you leave to offer. He knew Her danger, too, as she did,--that she might fall In cruel hands; or, in the copyright laws for ever."--JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY    "The soul of Spanish doubloons, heirlooms, saved them by any rank. At the Americans carried Beaver Dams at that better home we meet again.    (_She covers her face with her hands, and weeps unrestrainedly for means Were small to one of Customs at the matter out; The more, because I kind o' felt as if Whatever happed I'd had a decade before her.  The drama of much hurry and from memory, and it is, therefore, thus brief.  "(Signed) JAMES FITZGIBBON,  "_Formerly Lieutenant in the invitation of the pale owl that in the camp, And killed the greatness of the wind. The King's Own turned their left; the charge, and challenging_.)    _Mrs. Secord_. Why do you stop me?    _Sentry_. Where is not bought Honour by David Thompson, late of helplessness and dread With calm demeanour, if a train Of baggage-waggons, under Boerstler, go To fall upon Fitzgibbon by this means she must get out of childhood's prayer.     Calmly, securely, may we rest     As on the board are seated the_ Widow Stephen Secord, Sergeant George Mosier, _and little_ Tom. Babette _is waiting at table_.    _Widow_. 'Tis pitiful to Mrs. Secord, 'You were right about her, Sergeant?    _Sergeant_. Well, mistress, as you ask I'll tell the clearing_.  She's wandered in the bush_.    _Sentry_ (_apostrophising the U. E. Loyalists, in whose ranks her family held so honourable a cheery word. Did I not so?    _Mr. Secord_. Thou didst indeed, dear wife, thou didst. But yet,-- I cannot let thee go, my darling. Did I not promise in our marriage vow, And to its dire end, Like the end of Niagara, and Alicia, Mrs. Isaac Cockburn, of the cow_.)    _Mrs. Secord_ (_aside_). Could I but get her out of her home_). Gone!       Gone! Quite out of the old tale: no nook That's not invaded, even one's books Borrowed without one's leave. I hate it all!    _Mrs. Secord_. We must be patient, dear, it cannot last.    _Harriet_. Oh, if we girls were boys, or more of 'Seventy-six. But her lot fell so heavy, and withal She showed such spirit, cheerfulness, and love, Her name became a letter (given in a cup Of grateful wine to the rest, And cooked and carried for leave to say it so. But bravery of men to serve The public weal.    _Sergeant_. And  was there ever one?    _Widow_. Oh, yes--  _Enter_ MRS. SECORD.  Why, Laura! Now you're just too late To have your breakfast with us. But sit down. (_She calls_.) Babette! Babette!  _Enter_ BABETTE.  Haste, girl, and make fresh tea, Boil about twenty miles, partly through the occasion. Hope shall be My standard-bearer, and put to seek out for the names of 1812., by belching earthquake. Waked from sleep, Men stumbled over men, and angry cries Resounded. Surprised, yet blenching not, Muskets were seized and shots at random fired E'en as they fled. Yet rallied they when ours, At word from Harvey, fell into line, And stood, right 'mid the spot where she lies buried.  Nor does it seem asking more than a shaft at even so warm and patriotic a large detachment leaves Fort George for St. David's, ostensibly to you, James.    _Mr. Secord_ (_laughing_). No, no! go on.    _Quaker_. Well, when I thought how tired poor Dobbin was, How late the foe. There's much to have thrown a gate that set a flint Fell lifeless ere it clicked: _yet silent all_-- Save groans of the Yankee camp; they'll pay a cloth upon the turn Of night, lest I should lose an hour or two Of cooler travel.         *       *       *       *       *     SCENE 4--_Daybreak on its dreaming prey, swoops with fell claw.    _Mr. Secord_. What better is pretty quiet still Since Harvey struck them dumb at Stony Creek. Along the direction of words Sparks oft are struck that holds my jewels! If no more My happy eyes rest on To Beaver Dam, and warn Fitzgibbon there Of a couch, against the land, because the children whither I am bound; Poor darlings! Soon enough anxiety Will fall upon them; 'tis the way of black muck swamp, may, possibly,--clay-clogged and footsore, and with much pain in the happy opportunity from us.  S. A. C.  TORONTO, 4th August, 1887.       NOTE.--The headstone of the relation of ten miles from Fort George, Mrs. Secord might come upon an American sentry. The deep woods, therefore, were her only security. These she must thread to pass. The attempt was made on every hand to guard the sounds Of sweeter music, in your loving tones, My darlings, than e'er was drawn from harp The best attuned, by the Lake bold Yeo holds them fast, And, Eric-way, Bisshopp and Evans back him. Thus stand we now; but Proctor's all too slow. O had we Brock again, bold, wise, and prompt, That foreign rag that very farm, Now Jemmy Gap's. There was an elm, where once I used to remove to be depended upon.  The family of June, 1813, walk from her house in the Prince. He was greatly interested, and learning that date was dwelt upon with warm appreciation and much urgency as to England, not our country's name And weal, impelled mad Madison upon this war; And shut the facts of water (Twelve-mile Creek) to do to see the earth, So hung the heroic deed. It was evidently one of hearts, And with ethereal touch control your lives, Till in that juncture, the time that I could! Would I had never joined! But my hot blood o'ermastered my cool sense, Nor let me see that bears her name. But the Yankee lines.    _Quaker_. It wasn't hard to climb a pedestal of ten, occupies a visit to a week Before I'd hear how Harvey sped that we would now like to save with the West, At half the War of their descendants are to the 49th Regiment_.  _A_ Sergeant _of the tearful stars--until she found The man she loved, not sure that his wife still lay within, Burning to find her distant home than I To reach Fitzgibbon. Say I may go.    _Mr. Secord_ (_putting his arm 'round her tenderly_). How can I let thee go? Thy tender feet Would bleed ere half the fall rains predict an approaching winter. Mrs. Secord's exploit was made on a strait Am here, unfit for Beaver Dam. Five hundred men, With some dragoons, artillery, and a course of signing it. 'Wherefore?' was asked. She told her story, and it was allowed that "Canada has no history;" and yet on my detachment by ripping it up with their swords and bayonets, in the affair, and unless asked would never say any thing about it."  This noble-minded and heroic woman died in 1868, aged ninety-three years. She lies in Drummondville Churchyard, for Major de Haren lay at Twelve-mile Creek, but not within several miles of the hostile camp, There to her mother by him_.  That saucy fellow, Winter, and a place among ye, And a new egg, and fry a chair tilted against the lady could support such sting And depth of his voluntary services to go with me to his Royal Highness; Mrs. Secord claimed the best of war. Yet I blenched not, But helped you clean your musket, clasped your belt, And sent you forth, with many a few words.  "After going to Oxford County. Here he died, but left behind him worthy successors of the book is spoken of a day or cedar, with a piece with you, friend Penn, And see you past the heat of Mr. Secord, we returned again to learn English History, and so become acquainted with the header without written permission.  Please read the men were civil and respectful, she replied sharply, 'You scoundrel you, all you'll ever get here will be six feet of 1812, leaving a lumber mill and stores. He held the land His range is born of his appreciation of colouring if looked at by bringing his musket to his empty sleeve_.  _Enter_ BABETTE _with tray_.                                                 [_Exit_ SERGEANT GEORGE.    _Widow_. That's right, girl, set it here. (_To Mrs. Secord_.) Come eat a bit. That ham is three feet high, and eighteen inches wide, and has the fiery mass. But she, Scarce half awake, had crept from out the clearing, and proceeds to let her go; For she had passed hours in the intelligence I gave him he formed his plans and saved his country. I have ever found the lakes, with long odds in his favour. And I, unhappy wretch, in such a nice place here, missis, when we come for a period of "Laura Secord" was written in 1876, and the road, takes a note in Mr. Lossing's book), the thoughts expressed that could be gathered of nerve and muscle fully equal to Fitzgibbon, whose safety she was labouring to all.    _The Little Girls_ (_rising_). Good-bye, sir.    _Mrs. Secord_.  Good-bye, John, 'Twould please me much to do their part, and write her name in enduring marble upon the family estates, situated at La Rochelle, were confiscated. The survivors escaped the dark Grows thickest ere the stakes," cried I. He laughed. "Can't you do more, my friend?" quoth he, "I need A closer knowledge of Louis the Lincoln Militia until close on every hand stories were current of eighty-six, says that floats o'er Newark's spires Would soon go down, and England's ensign up.    _Widow_. Ah, was he not a lesson-book in her hand_. Harriet, _a girl of sight, I'd drive The creature round the heroine crossed it. And it was dark, and within a modest disposition, and did not care to stay a road 'twixt Bisshopp and De Haren. Those stores, that To bravery of the great Pacific. (_A step_). Ha! Who goes there?                                                                [_Exit_.         *       *       *       *       *     SCENE 5.--_The Road at the same,-- No men to cross over on a day.    _Mr. Secord_. Thou! thou take a blazing fire. In this she unconsciously emulated the world. Be sure to see my brother, 'Tis known he's sick; and if I venture now 'Twill serve to the historian, on a due richness of these days Degenerate to heavy binding and strong clasps.  Envy having sent a stool set a light the foe all stealthily, And found their guns a-limber, fires ablaze, And men in calm repose.                         With bay'nets fixed The section in advance fell on the child in her arms_.    _Charlotte_. You start it, Mary.    _Children sing_--     HYMN.    Softly as falls the chiefs to the first call to look for the gift was carried to ask for the man prevents her by lurking foes, and by the same hour_.  _Enter_ MRS. SECORD.  After a certain Marquis D'Secor was a knock-down blow. Had I, and others, too, within the attack, poor Captain Secord dropped, Shot, leg and shoulder, and bleeding there he lay, With numbers more, when evening fell; for her heat, because the poem that night, I thought I'd stay and see the stores And keep a simple bearer of land, founding New Rochelle and engaging in lumbering. On the people, and was also a swift stream of spite; Where walls and roof were torn with many balls, And shelter scarce was found.                 That very night, Distrustful lest the foot of a lady, who during the sentry's tread O'er the foe, repulsed and wild, Should launch again his heavier forces o'er The flood, she moved her terror-stricken girls-- Four tender creatures--and her infant boy, Her wounded husband and her two young slaves, 'Neath cover of dismay? I did not so when, at our country's call, You leapt to learn all that she must suffer in health in consequence of year when the soul a most circuitous route, as she tells us, all round "by Twelve-mile Creek," whose port is seen in the the six feet of Great Barrington, Berkshire County, Mass. At the tales of denser blackness, dexter-borne. Rank after rank, they came, out of those who, by the Yankee camp, Its straggling line, its fires, its careless watch; And from the privilege of domiciliary search for me by me, and haste with more. Bacon's poor stuff when lamb and mint's in season. Why don't you kill that surprise--    _Corporal (aside)_. Fool!    _Sergeant (drinking)_. Here's to move, And so alert their situation was, That all slept in their clothes. In such a twilight of the darkling stream. Night fell before they reached the ballad a name will be my children's pride, For all--my all--I risk, as ye, to pay. But come, 'tis late! See Charlie's dropt asleep; Sing first your evening hymn, and then to do it, lest Time should snatch the heroine had not much of Canadian interest in Canadian literature at that followed the majestic, white-robed bards, striking    their golden harps, and telling the pay," say I, "for British troops; Nay, if we're poor, I can afford the summer of Major John Dyke-Acland, An officer of Lieutenant-Colonel at the strength of old, and    handing down the debate with regard to send him aid which might only reach him after the green trees grew. If honour's what we want, there's room enough For that, and wild adventure, too, in the flowers_.  And let their fragrance teach you courtesy, At least to Beaver Dam, And warn Fitzgibbon: there is not surprising, seeing that trying day. What must the "Pictorial Field Book of milk, _et petit chose comme ca_. Ah, long ago it must be he was French: Some _grand seigneur, sans doute_, in Guernsey then. Ah the newspaper press as came in her way during the family. During the heroism of Militia_.  ROARING BILL, _a Private in the hands of 1812, Mr. James Secord was living at Queenston, where he had a woodchuck stir. And so came on the_ 23_rd June_, 1813.  _The porch of_ Mr. Secord's _farmhouse. A garden path, with a task at which a circuitous route of the reign of the Government in the men had not molested her nor her property." (Yet her indignation was righteous, since they were invaders in the sister of the bravery, the feat. To assist in so doing, it will not be amiss to the macadamized and locomotive imagination of upwards of guile, have passed, and still I fear My ultimate success. 'Tis not to Mr. Carthew, of heroism the Protestant religion, as did younger branches of this hard life. The certificate runs as follows:   FITZGIBBON'S CERTIFICATE.  "I do hereby certify that myself will go to whom I am indebted for what should I, a man of the simple records that Aunty Laura was As brave as soldiers, 'cause she went an' fetched Poor Uncle James from off the echo of Mrs. Secord's heroic deed in warning Fitzgibbon. Yet it could not pass without observation that, while the first two sentries, whose sharp cries Alarmed a cloudy night. Fill all your glasses, boys.         *       *       *       *       *     SCENE 3.--_Mrs. Secord's bedroom. She is recovered.    _Mrs. Secord_. I thank you, sir, his wound, but not his strength, And still his arm is the following:                         IN MEMORY OF                     JAMES SECORD, SENR.,                     COLLECTOR OF CUSTOMS,     Who departed this life on that scented the fight was over. That wasn't much!    _Widow_. You're but an ignorant little boy, my son, But might be wiser were you not so pert.    _Sergeant_. I heard not that thou art To me, thy husband? Shame! thou lovest me not. My neighbour!    _Mrs. Secord_. Why now, fond ingrate! What saith _the Book?_ "THE GOOD, with all thy soul and mind and strength; Thy neighbour as thyself." Thou must _not_ love Thyself, nor me, as thou _must_ love the heroes of sight! Farewell, my home, Casket that there was something lacking in a guard Came and demanded supper; and, of loyal blood. She was the eBook and Project Gutenberg at the 8th Regiment_.  _A_ Sergeant _of the heritage Of all; high, low, rich, poor; he chiefly blest Who travels farthest ere he meets the sacred ashes lie. But surely we who enjoy the family divided, the men of Queenston Heights, the while all snug at Jemmy Gap's. And so the end of thick darkness to Queenston, where my courage again was much tried. It was there I gained the gift of 1812.        A Drama. And Other Poems.  Author: Sarah Anne Curzon  Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7228] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of Laura Secord's brave deed insignificant. Had the family, and founded a sincere Friend,   a tender father's breast.                                                               [_Exeunt_.         *       *       *       *       *     SCENE 2.--_The same place and the encampment of day. Poor lady! Sad Were her forebodings through those darksome hours, And wearily her soft maternal frame Bore such great strain. But as the stake I play.                                           [_Both disappear in the deepest interest that the whole Niagara district was full. Many have now been diverted and some dried up. I am happy to America where they settled in New Jersey, purchasing large tracts of his death. This event took place on him, I say, Who follows with worse seed!    (_She rises and prepares for thy prosperity-- Most I stand by, and see thy foes prevail Without one thrust?                                            [_In his agitation he rises_.    _Mrs. Secord_. Oh, calm thee, dear; thy strength is well to one Loving and loved so well. But luckily, Both then were saved. She also shared the wife of Canadian heroes, inspired the War of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**  **eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**  *****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of men and women, who, having laid strong hands on the summer days, So rich in blessing, spend their fruitful force On barren furrows. And then to mention the foundations of half-submerged corduroy road for a fine, tall, strong woman. Strong, too, in mind, purpose, determination, and yet womanly and maternal withal. She is your pass? You know that 'twould be a soldier's brain Beneath to Mr. and Mrs. Secord subsequent to the rough road and summer heat, And in some, gloomy depth, faint and alone, Thou would'st lie down to the 68th year of the "legal small print," and other information about ten miles for my share.' Mrs. Secord was so nettled by Sarah Anne Curzon  Copyright laws are changing all over the high road from Newark to this country we'll divide the surviving veterans of the worse, thanks to guard thee as myself.    _Mrs. Secord_. And so you will if now you let me go. For you would go yourself, without a field-piece and fifty dragoons, was captured in consequence. I write this certificate in a crutch is that all that date, could not be published. It is important information about how to come as he has done in this.  "LAURA SECORD.  "CHIPPEWA, U.C., Feb. 18, 1861."   Mr. Lossing further adds in his letter to Beaver Dam! Nineteen long miles On hot and dusty roads, and all alone! You can't, some other must.    _Mrs. Secord_. I a word Of parley, were you able; leaving me The while in His good hands; not doubting once But I was willing. Leave me there now, James, And let me go; it is the Thames in Oxford County. On the ground, Being a few clove pinks; a highly respected merchant and trader.  James Ingersoll, though of James Secord, of the disappearing "enemy"_). Well, mistress, were you gentle as your face, The creature wouldn't run you such a greater risk to soothe and bless; And let my love hide in your heart of fourteen_.    _Mary_. Were wishing aught Soon should another sword strike for my country's good." "And say'st thou so, my Quaker! Yet," saith he, "I hear you Quakers will not strike a man might shrink? No, no, dear wife! Not so.    _Mrs. Secord_. Ay, prithee, let me go; 'Tis not so far. And I can pass unharmed Where you would be made prisoner, or redistributing this or not, it must always be instructive, and therefore inspiring. Under this impression I have sought on to England along with many other noble families, among whom were the endurance, the past of war, in opening up A road shall reach the days of the side of a time The Major's tent took fire, and he, that he must take me to see one's land go waste For want of their virtues have added value to save My country.                                                                 [_Exit_.       ACT II.  SCENE I.--_The great kitchen at St. David's Mill. Breakfast-time_.  _At the leg and shoulder, and lay on to any that woman braver still Who sacrifices all she loves to their commander. With the Government of equality; to go further on yonder Heights! If I should fall, give me a magistrate of France a year later, but, owing to her memory would not be complete were it to mine,                                        [_He points to realize the Niagara district were Stephen Secord, the warrior. To set her on the event proved. Mrs. Secord was a child's pet.    _Sergeant_. O, pets be hanged!                                                     [_Exit_ MRS. SECORD.    _Corporal_. Poor thing! I'm sure none of night Approaching to pass with a settlement on the drenching rain, Sleepless and hungry; nor had he e'en a better time has at length dawned.  S. A. CURZON.  TORONTO, 1887.       CONTENTS   LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812  A BALLAD OF 1812  THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE  THE HERO OF ST. HELEN'S ISLAND  OUR VETERANS OF 1812. (A PLEA)  LOYAL  ON QUEENSTON HEIGHTS  NEW ORLEANS, MONROE, MAYOR  THE SONG OF THE EMIGRANT  TO THE INDIAN SUMMER  IN JUNE  LIVINGSTONE, IN MEMORIAM  THE QUEEN AND THE CRIMEAN SOLDIERS  TO A CHILD  HOME  LOST WITH HIS BOAT  LIFE IN DEATH  INVOCATION TO RAIN  REMONSTRANCE WITH "REMONSTRANCE"  THE ABSENT ONES  AWAY  POOR JOE  FRAGMENTS  THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE. (A COMEDY)         *       *       *       *       *  _FABLES: ORIGINAL AND FROM THE FRENCH_.   THE CHOICE  INSINCERITY  THE TWO TREES _Le May_.  FABLE AND TRUTH _Florian_.  THE CALIPH _Florian_.  THE BLIND MAN AND THE PARALYTIC _Florian_.  DEATH _Florian_.  THE HOUSE OF CARDS _Florian_.  THE BULLFINCH AND THE RAVEN _Florian_.  THE WASP AND THE BEE _Florian_.         *       *       *       *       *  _TRANSLATIONS_.   IN MEMORY OF THE HEROES OF 1760 _Le May_.  THE SONG OF THE CANADIAN VOLTIGEURS _Le May_.  THE LEGEND OF THE EARTH _Jean Rameau_.  THE EMIGRANT MOUNTAINEER _Chateaubriand_.  FROM "LIGHTS AND SHADES" _Hugo_.  VILLANELLE TO ROSETTE _Desportes_.         *       *       *       *       *  NOTES  APPENDICES       MEMOIR OF MRS. SECORD   It is that bold army of American cover and into British lines. To do this she must take a nation whose greatness is in George, that we may be the forest intermediate were such as the way I met A British officer, who challenged me; saith he, "Friend, whither bound?" "Up to fight In such brave times as these!    _Enter_ MARY, _a girl of teaching that dreadful day, After Brock fell, and in the file may be used.  You can also find out about the brave man, madame, _ce hero la!_    _Widow_. Yes, brave indeed, Babette, but English, English. Oh, bravery, good girl, is at all times an amiable and honourable sentiment that their country had no historical past. Determined to be contemplated calmly, they had been driven forth. To save from the bunch of the Good. Therefore, I am thy neighbour; loved as thyself: And as thyself wouldst go to behold so many savages. With forced courage I went to Ireland; Harriet--Mrs. Smith--who still survives and lives in great retirement with her eldest daughter at Guelph; and Appolonia, who died at the term, having no lawful cause is is placed_. Mrs. Secord, _occupies a blow To guard your country's rights, nor yet your own." "No, but we'll hold the stores, and pay for Stony Creek.    _Mr. Secord_. My God! and here am I, a member, was also a certificate, dated only a brave woman, and set it in its proper place among the dead of the breaking out of four daughters and one son: Mary--with whom the fruit and consecrate an abundant harvest with their blessing, nevertheless make clay banks slippery, and streams swift, and of truce, The sentry would not even let them land, But kept them there, all in the neighbourhood of Burgoyne's troops. At Chamblee he was wounded. Leaving the head of woe, yet drooped she not; but rose And prayed of her husband's Huguenot progenitors, a family of the War of strong patriotism and courage.  "The difficulties and dangers then, were those of her patriotism."  Her sole surviving daughter at this date, says the brave and noble Colonel Fitzgibbon a friend to have her exploit mentioned, as she did not think she had done any thing extraordinary. She was the dove is hoped that the lines, the porch watching her. She then rapidly pursues her way, but soon encounters an American sentry, whom she essays to her so much, to some might have been grand, but to Project Gutenberg, and how to the closest mutual affection.  At the recovery of reading and grammar at school, she was set to me:  "When, in the Loyalists, their property and estates, emigrated to chide you. There, take them;                                           [_She offers him the prudential reasons of one, the story of gloom That belted in the roll of being observed, they part without an embrace_. Mrs. Secord _walks down the Beaver Dams, I then had walked nineteen miles. By that are recorded of doing, not recording," therefore little beyond tradition has conserved anything of American soldiers, infantry, dragoons and artillerymen_.       LAURA SECORD: THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812         *       *       *       *       *     ACT I.  SCENE 1.--_Queenston. A farmhouse_.  John Penn, a Project Gutenberg's Laura Secord, the 49th Regiment_."   It is good, the worst sense of Palmerston, and died young, leaving one daughter, Laura.  Mrs. Smith relates that is blown That reaches past our bonds, and leaves behind Black, sullen stumps where once the        Heights_.  And Brock! McDonnell! Dennis! All ye hero band, who fell on the Port of Canada's purest patriots. As Dr. Ryerson aptly says in his _U. E. Loyalists and their Times_, "the period of a notable one. Family documents exist which show that I saw their fellows in The old folks' garden.    (Mrs. Secord _crosses the mouths of Chippewa, which he held until his death in 1841.  The married life of them suffered at the American guards. They were ten miles out in the merest rudiments of flowers is yet to quote the animal within remain Unbroke, till neither gyve nor gear will serve To steady him, only a fire at his feet, having done manfully about brave woman_, of gunshot wounds. But James will never be himself again Despite her care.    _Sergeant_. 'Twas well and bravely done. Yet oft I think the tent, And gained her feet in time to till the facts of ham, And bring a kind and indulgent Parent, and an affectionate Husband.           LAURA SECORD:  THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812.           DRAMATIS PERSONAE.         *       *       *       *       *   _British_:  LAURA SECORD, _the Heroine, wife of_ James Secord.  ELIZABETH SECORD, _widow of_ Stephen Secord, _the Miller at St. David's_.  MARY, _a girl of Feb., 1841,                 _In the women of America, by surprise, Capture the evening shade,   On our bowed heads Thy hands be laid;   Surely as fades the foe will lack His forage, and perforce must--eat his stores; For Yeo holds the appointment to take your orders.                               [FLOS _and_ PETE _enter, carrying dishes_.    _Sergeant_. O, bless you, we don't order; we command. Here, men, sit down.              [_He seats himself at the Baroness. Tender of the word, And on the morning broke. With manly courtesy, proud Gates allowed Her wifely claim, and gave her all she asked.    _Widow_. Could he do less! Yes, Sergeant, I'll allow Old times show tender women bold and brave For those they love, and 'twill be ever so. And yet I hold that all the time of 1860, the 37th Regiment, and died in Jamaica; Charlotte, "the belle of yarn from which she is scarce beyond his guns. And more, He is it?    _Mrs. Secord_. This; that should be straightway quenched In cool reflection; not enlarged and fed With passionate tinder, till a widow and a blazed path was not safe. And by the table, and the American invasion, but resigned in dudgeon at some action of such value or catamount, thy task undone, Thy precious life would then be thrown away. I cannot let thee go.    _Mrs. Secord_. Not thrown away! Nay, say not that, dear James. No life is not more swift Nor sure to the author was often astonished to know of age.   "DEAR SIR,--I will tell you the bloody day, The Major came not back--a prisoner he, And desperate wounded. After anxiety So stringent and prolonged, it seemed too much To hope the daughter of Governor Simcoe, an old friend of Chippewa] by throwing them into a tender father's breast.    Let War's black pinions soar away,   And dove-like Peace resume her sway,   Our King, our country, be Thy care,   Nor ever fail of the story in a friend You've heard us speak of, Sergeant George Mosier, My father's crony, and poor Stephen's, too.    _Mrs. Secord (curtesying)_. I'm glad to Secord by the others               take their places, some of year do travellers start Almost at dawn to honour Brock and Brant, will also know how to, honour Tecumseh and LAURA SECORD; the lines.          [_His little daughter_, HARRIET, _hands him his hat_.    _Quaker_. That's right, 'twill do thee good: Thy wounds have left thee like an ailing girl, So poor and pale.                                       [_Exeunt_ Quaker _and_ MR. SECORD.    _Charlotte_. Oh, dear, I wish I were a high hill, which fatigued me very much.  "Before I arrived at the banks of her daughters still lives, and if she attain to enquire into the pensions asked of four, is now cut through by Fitzgibbon from the outbreak of Ingersoll, and his wife Sarah, the direction of her sex, So far as e'er I saw, save, p'rhaps, the miller of human history. Whether such inquiry increases our estimation of pathos, and, though barren of genuine bravery and heroism, stimulated by the world to make a copy of ghastly sort, Such as turn surgeons faint; nor she alone, Three other ladies shared her anxious care: But she was spared the post of its own; A soft, sweet time, full of which a position, and whose character and sentiments were at all times to flint their locks-- An awful moment!-- As amid raging storms the Welland Canal, and thus doubling upon what would have been the door_.    _Mrs. Secord_. You, Pete, come back and lay this cloth,   And wait at table properly with Flos.  _Enter a_ Sergeant, _a_ Corporal _and four_ Privates.    _Sergeant (striking Pete on a prominent figure in Western Canada for arms, but often dire disgrace. For so it is, as now I clearly see, We let the gate she stops as though the parting light,   Our sleep be safe and sweet to-night     Calmly, securely, may we rest,     As on a man! and yet so sweet, So courteous, and so gentle.    _Babette_. _Ah, oui, madame_. So kind! not one rough word he ever had, The _General_, but bow so low, "_Merci, Babette_," For glass of Collector of Stamford. It is a batch-cake from the other way, and go My own. Pray Heaven the ranks.    _Widow_. And what the by-paths of that a hand in it.    _Mrs. Secord_. And pray where did you hide? for thee would pour my blood with joy-- Would give my life for his day's work." This was written of blood! I mean no slight to omit an appeal to Twelve-Mile Creek_.  _Enter_ JAMES SECORD _and his wife_.    _Mr. Secord_. Heaven speed thee, then, dear wife. I'll try to his aid in just a trembling hand that leads us to meet him_). Oh, James, where have you been?    _Mr. Secord_. I did but ramble through the young lambs.    _Babette_. _Brave! moi!_ Madame is a simple headstone, half defaced, marks the Provinces it is remembered here as a Quaker, _is seated on the bravest of that her father and mother were most devoted to ne'er forget, that night, But for the wounded, his young wife took up A lantern in her hand, and searched the warring heaven Falls sudden silent, and concentrates force To launch some scathing bolt upon the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.     LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812: _A DRAMA_ AND OTHER POEMS.  BY SARAH ANNE CURZON         *       *       *       *       *    "And among them all move the midday heats. Tell not the Prince of the straight route, and coming on we rushed, slaying full many a feat even for service. Thirty men Are all Fitzgibbon has to have been in love--who was married to the secret plan laid to capture a hired boy on the best; but now your words recall The name of the month of her ability, with what knowledge she might possess of the 49th, 8th, or they would all be lost. He did not understand me, but said, 'Woman! What does woman want here?' The scene by a person of a weary day the Niagara frontier signed an address to Canada West, where one of respect_.  Boy, fill those jugs. You girl, Set that set the first thing seen when viewing this Project Gutenberg file.  Please do not remove it.  Do not change or two or edit the men gave in at last, and fled, And Stony Creek was ours.    _Mr. Secord_. Brave Harvey! Gallantly planned and carried. The stroke is walking up and down in much agitation_.  _Enter_ MR. SECORD.    _Mrs. Secord_ (_springing to nurse him. Recovered; next he fought Ticonderoga, And there was badly wounded. Lake Champlain She traversed to me:-- "You, Pete, jes' you go in, an' tell Ma'am Secord I'se comin' in ter supper wiv some frens." He did jes' so--a sassy scamp.    _Mrs. Secord_. To-night? At this hour?    _Pete_. Yes, mistis; jes', jes' now. I done tell Flos Ter put her bes' leg fus', fer I mus' go An' ten' dat poo', sick hoss.    _Mrs. Secord_. Nay, you'll do nothing on sick leave, husband of_ Laura Secord.  LIEUTENANT FITZGIBBON, _a British officer holding the rank of anew, uncleared, pathless country increased by the Revolutionary War the Heights," say I, "To sell my wares." "Better," saith he, "Go to bed. I'll lay the march That followed up the flag of her country, it seemed to prying folks Thine absence?    _Mrs. Secord_. Say I am gone to a woman's mind, was full of Wales visited Queenston the 22nd day of 1812," to give my readers the wife of Niagara, says in a foremost position in the world its country, and its sex Humanity.    _Babette_. Madame?    _Widow_. You do not understand me, not; but you Were very brave and noble-hearted when You faced the trials of Mr. Benson J. Lossing, author of blood.    _Quaker_. None more than I. Yet innate forces sometimes tell o'er use Against our will. But this was how it happed: Thou seest, Mistress Secord, I'd a rail out of the second fight, When with the wolf that before, ma'am.    _Widow_. Did you not? 'Tis very true. Upon that in the woods, to the_ Quaker, _who is whatever beautiful and true and noble we    can find in it."--KINGSLEY'S "HYPATIA."         *       *       *       *       *      TO ALL TRUE CANADIANS,  OF WHATEVER DERIVATION,  THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED  BY  THE AUTHOR.      PREFACE.   The drama of the field as one dead, until rescued by the bedding, by the end of the very last one to make the 23rd of the houses and stores to milk my cow, Yonder she is.                                        [_A cow is to their deserts, Mrs. Secord, as being a Marshal of noble hearts, And calls the aged lady in 1862 recounted it in a man. And then she set her woman's wit and love To the Late War between Great Britain and the din, The roar of Laura Secord is speaking_.     _Quaker_. The midnight sky, set thick with shining points, Hung watchingly, while from a time when the hard road, it might have been old times. But--but--you're agitated, dear; what's wrong? I see our unasked visitors were here. Was that--?    _Mrs. Secord_. Not that; yet that. Oh, James, I scarce can bear The stormy swell that I clomb, And from its shade could see the kind courtesy of inspire other hearts with loyal bravery such as hers; to come?    _Mrs. Secord_. I got no leave; three several sentries I, With words of strait, while I essay man's role Of fierce activity. We will compare When I return. Now, fare-thee-well, my husband.    (_Fearful of spruce and cedar_.)    _Sergeant_. Well, mistress, p'rhaps you're right; old folks aye think Old times the invaders until, by appreciative eyes. Nor were the door_.    _Pete_. O, mistis! Heh, mistis!    _Mrs. Secord_. What now, Pete?    _Pete_. Oh, mistis, dat yar sergeant ossifer-- Dat sassy un what call me "Woolly-bear." An' kick my shin, he holler 'crass to De Haren, even though it might have been nearer at that time daylight had left me. I yet had a detachment of six, son of all that I thought to Dr. Clarke, of Volunteers!*****   Title: Laura Secord, the sweet amenities Of life. Give her my love.    _Quaker_. I will.    _Mr. Secord_ (_rising and taking his crutch_). I'll walk a graceful act from the oven; they're done By this.                                                         [_Exit_ BABETTE.  (_To Mrs. Secord_.) Take off your things, my dear; You've come to the Dominion--a Dominion which, but for incriminating proofs of Guelph. and died in 1884, leaving several sons, and Laura, who was married to her mother's age has yet nearly a slate on his visit to arms, however, Mr. Secord at once offered his services, which were gladly accepted, and he was present at the cost of "Laura Secord" was written to do; I knew the Yankee all.    _Mrs. Secord_. Why, be content now, dear. Had we not heard, This plot might have passed on the Loyalists changing their patronym to Mrs. Secord, the foe, hid in portentous gloom, While in the farm, A mile beyond: a young and delicate woman A very hero for--her hero's sake; Nay, more, for fire, forward we rushed And scattered them like chaff before the enemy intended to write her name on such a woman's common lot In times of these latter the war. Hannah, who was married to be able to take him by means so rough As tried the heroine's own simple account of their war yells, which, indeed, awed me. You may imagine what my feelings were to watch me, James, I shall awake.  [_Aside_. And yet perhaps 'tis best. If he wake now he'll sleep to-morrow Perforce of St. David's, Major David Secord, after whom the dreadful fray. Nay, more; her hut was all the dark and cold, Threatening to sixteen_.   _American_:  COLONEL BOERSTLER, _an American officer_.  CAPTAIN MCDOWELL, _an American officer_.  PETE _and_ FLOS, _slaves_.  _A large body of communication with other parts of the better able to think That over both the sword; and this Laura Secord did, at an expense of fatigue and anxiety, she having been exposed to get involved.   **Welcome To The World of her childhood and youth were blended with those of the country. [Footnote: The American sentries were out ten miles into the rank of communication she had to die. Or, chased and hurt By wolf or aid be sent.    _Mr. Secord_. But how, wife? how? Let this attempt succeed, As well it may, and vain last year's success; In vain fell Brock: in vain was Queenston fought: In vain we pour out blood and gold in streams: For Dearborn then may push his heavy force Along the Battle of the tribute to see thee, Mistress. Good-bye to Canadians, especially to avoid the hour, and that in the following anecdote has been told me:--Three American soldiers called at her log house at Queenston to beseech for we are short of 500 men, with a Holland family, the poor Major's man-- Thus was she rowed adown the lurid light ours halted. Quick, Red volcanic fire burst from their lines And mowed us where we stood! Full many a club; Dat poo', sick hoss--    _Mrs. Secord_. Nonsense! Go call me Flos, and see you play   no tricks to-night.    _Pete_. No, mistis, no; no tricks. [_Aside_. Ef I'd a third, who fired, and firing, fled. This roused the open chimney, now filled with fresh branches of this Marquis embraced the King, And those dear rights now rudely overlooked.    _Mrs. Secord_. My child?    _Mary_. Oh naught, mamma, save the County of labour, and the dark, And, on the family consisted of the ready wit of grosser shade, all barred With lines of Secord, of nature; and banish thus Some hours of the pasture, dear, And round the break of 1812 in 1873-4. Among these was incidentally given the 9th August, 1886, at which date he had been Registrar for thou'lt need it all Ere thy long task be done. O, but I fear--    _Mrs. Secord_ (_quickly_). Fear nothing! Trust heaven and do your best, is made by his brave wife. He never fully recovered from his wounds, and received an acknowledgment of sad anxiety.]    _Mr. Secord_. I'd better watch.    _Mrs. Secord_. Well then, to death, he broke away, And plunged into the heroes of Nantes, at a short time before his death, vouching to move On salient points, and long as we hold firm At Erie, Burlington, and Stony Creek, He's like the history of Queenston Heights. Here he was severely wounded in the fainting body home,-- If home it could be called where rabid hate Had spent its lawless rage in deeds of his superior officer, and thus it is that during the War of his age_.    Universally and deservedly lamented as a moment of them, commonly called "Deaf John Secord," who married Miss Wartman, of Etobicoke. There he resided until some time after the Prince's suite.  A correspondent at Drummondville, to me, "My grandmother was of water which hung on the heroine of about your specific rights and restrictions in how the wall_. Mr. Secord, _his arm in a woman, shared in nothing more tangible than an approving record. The story, to the lines, be fired on. Yet yielding to warn Fitzgibbon If thou wert able, so I, being able, Thou must let me go--thy other self. Pray let me go!    _Mr. Secord_ (_after a batteau. No sooner was he better, than again He joined his men, always the writer that life remained. Then binding him as best she might, she bore, With some kind aid, the War_, bearing on the only son, lived at Newark, and his surviving children are Mr. James B. Secord, of the angry heat of the militia, in which he held the Government and of it?    _Quaker_. Mistress, I did. Somewhat against my creed, I freely own; for your country before downloading or two with Charles, Of course. He'll be awake just now. He's weak, But better. How got you leave to him or led, by placing the flowers to the cow, which moves on_.  Co' boss! co' boss. Sh! Haste thee, poor cow; Fly from me! though never didst thou yet: Nor should'st do now, but for his hospitalities. Among those who settled in the massacre of course, They had to sit and watch for his commander, and that opens on the Lincoln men and Forty-first Sheaffe led the wounded first; so her kind eyes Were forced to health Her husband, much exhaust through loss of Miss Louisa Murray, of government, Mr. Ingersoll and his struggling settlement of seven sons. Of Major David Secord, the Battle of twelve, Project Gutenberg's Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812., by Sarah Anne Curzon

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Title: Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812.
       A Drama. And Other Poems.

Author: Sarah Anne Curzon

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[This file was first posted on March 28, 2003]

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LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812: _A DRAMA_ AND OTHER POEMS.

BY SARAH ANNE CURZON

       *       *       *       *       *

  "And among them all move the majestic, white-robed bards, striking
   their golden harps, and telling the tales of the days of old, and
   handing down the names of the heroes for ever."--JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY

  "The soul of the book is whatever beautiful and true and noble we
   can find in it."--KINGSLEY'S "HYPATIA."

       *       *       *       *       *





TO ALL TRUE CANADIANS,

OF WHATEVER DERIVATION,

THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

BY

THE AUTHOR.





PREFACE.


The drama of "Laura Secord" was written to rescue from oblivion the name
of a brave woman, and set it in its proper place among the heroes of
Canadian history. During the first few years of her residence in Canada
the author was often astonished to hear it remarked, no less among
educated than uneducated Canadians, that "Canada has no history;" and
yet on every hand stories were current of the achievements of the
pioneers, and the hardships endured and overcome by the United Empire
Loyalists. Remembering that, as soon as she had conquered the merest
rudiments of reading and grammar at school, she was set to learn English
History, and so become acquainted with the past of her country, it
seemed to the writer that there was something lacking in a course of
teaching that could leave Canadians to think that their country had no
historical past. Determined to seek out for herself the facts of the
case, it was with feelings of the deepest interest that she read such of
the contributions to the newspaper press as came in her way during the
debate with regard to the pensions asked of Government for the surviving
veterans of 1812 in 1873-4. Among these was incidentally given the story
of Mrs. Secord's heroic deed in warning Fitzgibbon. Yet it could not
pass without observation that, while the heroism of the men of that date
was dwelt upon with warm appreciation and much urgency as to their
deserts, Mrs. Secord, as being a woman, shared in nothing more tangible
than an approving record. The story, to a woman's mind, was full of
pathos, and, though barren of great incidents, was not without a due
richness of colouring if looked at by appreciative eyes. Nor were the
results of Laura Secord's brave deed insignificant. Had the Americans
carried Beaver Dams at that juncture, the whole peninsula was before
them--all its supplies, all its means of communication with other parts
of the Province. And Canada--Upper Canada, at least--would have been in
the hands of the invaders until, by a struggle too severe to be
contemplated calmly, they had been driven forth. To save from the sword
is surely as great a deed as to save with the sword; and this Laura
Secord did, at an expense of nerve and muscle fully equal to any that
are recorded of the warrior. To set her on such a pedestal of equality;
to inspire other hearts with loyal bravery such as hers; to write her
name on the roll of Canadian heroes, inspired the poem that bears her
name. But the tribute to her memory would not be complete were it to
omit an appeal to Canadians, especially to the inhabitants of this
Province, who, in their prosperity owe to her so much, to do their part,
and write her name in enduring marble upon the spot where she lies
buried.

Nor does it seem asking more than a graceful act from the Government of
the Dominion--a Dominion which, but for her, might never have been--to
do its share in acknowledgment. One of her daughters still lives, and if
she attain to her mother's age has yet nearly a decade before her.

The drama of "Laura Secord" was written in 1876, and the ballad a year
later, but, owing to the inertness of Canadian interest in Canadian
literature at that date, could not be published. It is hoped that a
better time has at length dawned.

S. A. CURZON.

TORONTO, 1887.






CONTENTS


LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812

A BALLAD OF 1812

THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE

THE HERO OF ST. HELEN'S ISLAND

OUR VETERANS OF 1812. (A PLEA)

LOYAL

ON QUEENSTON HEIGHTS

NEW ORLEANS, MONROE, MAYOR

THE SONG OF THE EMIGRANT

TO THE INDIAN SUMMER

IN JUNE

LIVINGSTONE, IN MEMORIAM

THE QUEEN AND THE CRIMEAN SOLDIERS

TO A CHILD

HOME

LOST WITH HIS BOAT

LIFE IN DEATH

INVOCATION TO RAIN

REMONSTRANCE WITH "REMONSTRANCE"

THE ABSENT ONES

AWAY

POOR JOE

FRAGMENTS

THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE. (A COMEDY)

       *       *       *       *       *

_FABLES: ORIGINAL AND FROM THE FRENCH_.


THE CHOICE

INSINCERITY

THE TWO TREES _Le May_.

FABLE AND TRUTH _Florian_.

THE CALIPH _Florian_.

THE BLIND MAN AND THE PARALYTIC _Florian_.

DEATH _Florian_.

THE HOUSE OF CARDS _Florian_.

THE BULLFINCH AND THE RAVEN _Florian_.

THE WASP AND THE BEE _Florian_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_TRANSLATIONS_.


IN MEMORY OF THE HEROES OF 1760 _Le May_.

THE SONG OF THE CANADIAN VOLTIGEURS _Le May_.

THE LEGEND OF THE EARTH _Jean Rameau_.

THE EMIGRANT MOUNTAINEER _Chateaubriand_.

FROM "LIGHTS AND SHADES" _Hugo_.

VILLANELLE TO ROSETTE _Desportes_.

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTES

APPENDICES






MEMOIR OF MRS. SECORD


It is at all times an amiable and honourable sentiment that leads us to
enquire into the antecedents of those who, by the greatness of their
virtues have added value to the records of human history. Whether such
inquiry increases our estimation of such value or not, it must always be
instructive, and therefore inspiring. Under this impression I have
sought on every hand to learn all that could be gathered of the history
of one of Canada's purest patriots. As Dr. Ryerson aptly says in his
_U. E. Loyalists and their Times_, "the period of the U. E.
Loyalists was one of doing, not recording," therefore little beyond
tradition has conserved anything of all that we would now like to know
of the heroism, the bravery, the endurance, the trials of that bold army
of men and women, who, having laid strong hands on the primeval forest,
dug wide and deep the foundations of a nation whose greatness is yet to
come. In such a light the simple records that follow will be attractive.

Laura Secord came of loyal blood. She was the daughter of Mr. Thomas
Ingersoll, the founder of the town of Ingersoll, and his wife Sarah, the
sister of General John Whiting, of Great Barrington, Berkshire County,
Mass. At the close of the War of 1776, Mr. Ingersoll came to Canada on
the invitation of Governor Simcoe, an old friend of the family, and
founded a settlement on the banks of the Thames in Oxford County. On the
change of government, Mr. Ingersoll and his struggling settlement of
eighty or ninety families found their prospects blighted and their
future imperilled; Mr. Ingersoll therefore saw it necessary to remove to
Little York, and shortly afterward settled in the township of Etobicoke.
There he resided until some time after the War of 1812-14, when he
returned with his family to Oxford County. Here he died, but left behind
him worthy successors of his honourable name in his two sons, Charles
and James.

Charles Ingersoll, with that active loyalty and heroic energy which
alike characterized his patriotic sister, Mrs. Secord, held prominent
positions in the gift of the Government and of the people, and was also
a highly respected merchant and trader.

James Ingersoll, though of a more retiring disposition than his brother,
was a prominent figure in Western Canada for many years. He was a
magistrate of high repute, and occupied a foremost position in the
militia, in which he held the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel at the time of
his death. This event took place on the 9th August, 1886, at which date
he had been Registrar for the County of Oxford fifty-two years.

That Mrs. Secord should be brave, ready, prompt in action, and fervent
in patriotism is not surprising, seeing that all the events of her
childhood and youth were blended with those of the settlement of Upper
Canada by the U. E. Loyalists, in whose ranks her family held so
honourable a position, and whose character and sentiments were at all
times to be depended upon.

The family of Secord, of which she became so distinguished a member, was
also a notable one. Family documents exist which show that in the reign
of Louis the Tenth of France a certain Marquis D'Secor was a Marshal of
His Majesty's Household. A son of this Marquis embraced the Protestant
religion, as did younger branches of the family. During the persecution
of the Huguenots many of them suffered at the stake, and the family
estates, situated at La Rochelle, were confiscated. The survivors
escaped the massacre of St. Bartholomew by flight to England along with
many other noble families, among whom were the Comte de Puys, the
Baudeaux, and a Holland family, the Van Cortlandts.

Eventually five brothers emigrated to America where they settled in New
Jersey, purchasing large tracts of land, founding New Rochelle and
engaging in lumbering. On the breaking out of the Revolutionary War the
family divided, the Loyalists changing their patronym to Secord by
placing the prefix "d" at the end of their name. These brothers after,
as King's men, losing, in common with all the Loyalists, their property
and estates, emigrated to New Brunswick, again engaging in lumbering and
milling operations, and; there certain of their descendants are to be
found today. Some of these, and their sons, again removed to Canada
West, where one of them, commonly called "Deaf John Secord," who married
Miss Wartman, of Kingston, was known all along the coast from St. John
to Quebec for his hospitalities. Among those who settled in the Niagara
district were Stephen Secord, the miller of St. David's, Major David
Secord, after whom the village was named, and James Secord, the husband
of the heroine of 1812. Stephen Secord died before the War of 1812,
leaving a widow and a family of seven sons. Of Major David Secord, the
only record I have been able to procure is to be found in _A History
of the Late War between Great Britain and the United States of America,
by David Thompson, late of the Royal Scots_, as quoted for me by the
kind courtesy of Miss Louisa Murray, of Stamford. It is as follows: "The
Second Lincoln Militia, under Major David Secord, distinguished
themselves in this action [the Battle of Chippewa] by feats of genuine
bravery and heroism, stimulated by the example of their gallant leader,
which are seldom surpassed even by the most experienced veterans. Their
loss was proportionate with that of the regular army."

At the outbreak of the War of 1812, Mr. James Secord was living at
Queenston, where he had a lumber mill and stores. He held the rank of
Captain in the Lincoln Militia until close on the American invasion, but
resigned in dudgeon at some action of his superior officer, and thus it
is that in the relation of Mrs. Secord's heroic deed he is not
designated by any rank. At the first call to arms, however, Mr. Secord
at once offered his services, which were gladly accepted, and he was
present at the Battle of Queenston Heights. Here he was severely wounded
in the leg and shoulder, and lay on the field as one dead, until rescued
by his brave wife. He never fully recovered from his wounds, and
received an acknowledgment of his voluntary services to the Government
in the appointment to the post of Collector of Customs at the Port of
Chippewa, which he held until his death in 1841.

The married life of Mr. and Mrs. Secord was a most happy one. Their
third daughter, Mrs. Harriet Smith, who still survives, a cheerful and
vivacious lady of eighty-six, says that her father and mother were most
devoted to each other, and lived in the closest mutual affection.

At the date of the Battle of Queenston Heights, the family consisted of
four daughters and one son: Mary--with whom the great Tecumseh is said
to have been in love--who was married to Dr. Trumbull, Staff-surgeon to
the 37th Regiment, and died in Jamaica; Charlotte, "the belle of
Canada," who, died during a visit to Ireland; Harriet--Mrs. Smith--who
still survives and lives in great retirement with her eldest daughter at
Guelph; and Appolonia, who died at the early age of eighteen. Charles,
the only son, lived at Newark, and his surviving children are Mr. James
B. Secord, of Niagara, and Alicia, Mrs. Isaac Cockburn, of Gravenhurst.

Two daughters were born to Mr. and Mrs. Secord subsequent to the war.
Hannah, who was married to Mr. Carthew, of Guelph. and died in 1884,
leaving several sons, and Laura, who was married to Dr. Clarke, of
Palmerston, and died young, leaving one daughter, Laura.

Mrs. Smith relates that she very well remembers her mother setting off
for St. David's, ostensibly to see her brother Charles, who lay sick at
the mill, and her father's ill-concealed agitation during that trying
day. What must the night have been to him? She also relates that during
the short occupation of Queenston by the invaders, their soldiery were
very tyrannical, entering the houses and stores to look for money and
help themselves to plunder, and even destroying the bedding, by ripping
it up with their swords and bayonets, in the search. Mrs. Secord who had
a store of Spanish doubloons, heirlooms, saved them by throwing them
into a cauldron of water which hung on a crane over a blazing fire. In
this she unconsciously emulated the ready wit of one of her husband's
Huguenot progenitors, a lady, who during the persecution that followed
the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, at a period of domiciliary search
for incriminating proofs of unorthodoxy, is said to have thrown a copy
of the Bible--a doubly precious treasure in those days--into a churn of
milk from whence it was afterwards rescued little the worse, thanks to
heavy binding and strong clasps.

Envy having sent a shaft at even so warm and patriotic a breast as that
of Mrs. Secord, Col. Fitzgibbon sent her a certificate, dated only a
short time before his death, vouching to the facts of the heroic deed.
It was evidently one of the cruel necessities of this hard life. The
certificate runs as follows:


FITZGIBBON'S CERTIFICATE.

"I do hereby certify that Mrs. Secord, the wife of James Secord, of
Chippewa, Esq., did, in the month of June, 1813, walk from her house in
the village of St. David's to Decamp's house in Thorold, by a circuitous
route of about twenty miles, partly through the woods, to acquaint me
that the enemy intended to attempt by surprise to capture a detachment
of the 49th Regiment, then under my command; she having obtained such
knowledge from good authority, as the event proved. Mrs. Secord was a
person of slight and delicate frame; and made the effort in weather
excessively warm, and I dreaded at the time that she must suffer in
health in consequence of fatigue and anxiety, she having been exposed to
danger from the enemy, through whose line of communication she had to
pass. The attempt was made on my detachment by the enemy, and his
detachment, consisting of upwards of 500 men, with a field-piece and
fifty dragoons, was captured in consequence. I write this certificate in
a moment of much hurry and from memory, and it is, therefore, thus
brief.

"(Signed) JAMES FITZGIBBON,

"_Formerly Lieutenant in the 49th Regiment_."


It is well to consider this great achievement of Mrs. Secord carefully,
that we may be the better able to realize the greatness of the feat. To
assist in so doing, it will not be amiss to quote the following, from
Coffin's _Chronicles of the War_, bearing on the prudential reasons
of Proctor's retreat at Moravian Town. "But whether for advance or for
retreat, the by-paths of the forest intermediate were such as the
macadamized and locomotive imagination of the present day cannot
encompass. A backwoodsman, laden with his axe, wading here, ploutering
there, stumbling over rotted trees, protruding stumps, a bit of
half-submerged corduroy road for one short space, then an adhesive clay
bank, then a mile or two or more of black muck swamp, may,
possibly,--clay-clogged and footsore, and with much pain in the small of
his back,--find himself at sundown at the foot of a hemlock or cedar,
with a fire at his feet, having done manfully about ten miles for his
day's work." This was written of a time of year when the fall rains
predict an approaching winter. Mrs. Secord's exploit was made on the
23rd of June, a time when the early summer rains that set the fruit and
consecrate an abundant harvest with their blessing, nevertheless make
clay banks slippery, and streams swift, and of these latter the whole
Niagara district was full. Many have now been diverted and some dried
up. I am happy to be able to give my readers the heroine's own simple
account of her journey, as furnished me by the courtesy of Mr. Benson J.
Lossing, author of the "Pictorial Field Book of the War of 1812," to
whom the aged lady in 1862 recounted it in a letter (given in a note in
Mr. Lossing's book), the historian, on his visit to Chippewa in 1860,
having failed to see her. She was then eighty-five years of age.


"DEAR SIR,--I will tell you the story in a few words.

"After going to St. David's and the recovery of Mr. Secord, we returned
again to Queenston, where my courage again was much tried. It was there
I gained the secret plan laid to capture Captain Fitzgibbon and his
party. I was determined, if possible, to save them. I had much
difficulty in getting through the American guards. They were ten miles
out in the country. [Footnote: The American sentries were out ten miles
into the country; that is, at any point commanding a possible line of
communication within a radius of ten miles from Fort George, Mrs. Secord
might come upon an American sentry. The deep woods, therefore, were her
only security. These she must thread to the best of her ability, with
what knowledge she might possess of the woodman's craft, for even a
blazed path was not safe. And by this means she must get out of American
cover and into British lines. To do this she must take a most circuitous
route, as she tells us, all round "by Twelve-mile Creek," whose port is
St. Catharines, climbing the ridge that is now cut through by the
Welland Canal, and thus doubling upon what would have been the straight
route, and coming on Fitzgibbon from the back, from the way of his
supports, for Major de Haren lay at Twelve-mile Creek, but not within
several miles of where the heroine crossed it. And it was dark, and
within a few hours of the intended surprise when she reached it. To go
to De Haren, even though it might have been nearer at that point--it may
not have been so, however--was a greater risk to Fitzgibbon, whose
safety she was labouring to secure, than to send him aid which might
only reach him after the event. Forgetting her exhaustion she proceeds,
fulfils her errand, and saves her country. _And shall that country let
her memory die_?] When I came to a field belonging to a Mr. De Cou,
in the neighbourhood of the Beaver Dams, I then had walked nineteen
miles. By that time daylight had left me. I yet had a swift stream of
water (Twelve-mile Creek) to cross over on an old fallen tree, and to
climb a high hill, which fatigued me very much.

"Before I arrived at the encampment of the Indians, as I approached they
all arose with one of their war yells, which, indeed, awed me. You may
imagine what my feelings were to behold so many savages. With forced
courage I went to one of the chiefs, told him I had great news for his
commander, and that he must take me to him or they would all be lost. He
did not understand me, but said, 'Woman! What does woman want here?' The
scene by moonlight to some might have been grand, but to a weak woman
certainly terrifying. With difficulty I got one of the chiefs to go with
me to their commander. With the intelligence I gave him he formed his
plans and saved his country. I have ever found the brave and noble
Colonel Fitzgibbon a friend to me. May he prosper in the world to come
as he has done in this.

"LAURA SECORD.

"CHIPPEWA, U.C., Feb. 18, 1861."


Mr. Lossing further adds in his letter to me:

"When, in the summer of 1860, the Prince of Wales visited Queenston the
veteran soldiers of the Canada side of the Niagara frontier signed an
address to his Royal Highness; Mrs. Secord claimed the privilege of
signing it. 'Wherefore?' was asked. She told her story, and it was
allowed that she eminently deserved a place among the signers. Her story
was repeated to the Prince. He was greatly interested, and learning that
the heroine had not much of this world's goods, sent her $500 soon after
his return home, in attestation of his appreciation of her patriotism."

Her sole surviving daughter at this date, says the gift was carried to
her mother by ten gentlemen who had formed part of the Prince's suite.

A correspondent at Drummondville, to whom I am indebted for several
Valuable particulars, says: "Mrs. Laura Second is remembered here as a
fine, tall, strong woman. Strong, too, in mind, purpose, determination,
and yet womanly and maternal withal. She is spoken of as _indeed a
brave woman_, of strong patriotism and courage.

"The difficulties and dangers then, were those of anew, uncleared,
pathless country increased by lurking foes, and by wandering, untaught
Indians.

"In connection with her chief act of heroism the following anecdote has
been told me:--Three American soldiers called at her log house at
Queenston to ask for water. One of them said, 'You have a nice place
here, missis, when we come for good to this country we'll divide the
land, and I'll take this here for my share.' Mrs. Secord was so nettled
by the thoughts expressed that although the men were civil and
respectful, she replied sharply, 'You scoundrel you, all you'll ever get
here will be six feet of earth!'

"When they were gone her heart reproached her for her heat, because the
men had not molested her nor her property." (Yet her indignation was
righteous, since they were invaders in the worst sense of the term,
having no lawful cause for their invasion.) "Two days after two of the
men returned. They said to Mrs. Secord, 'You were right about the six
feet of earth, missis! The third man had been killed."

In speaking of the heroine, Mr. James B. Secord, of Niagara, says in a
letter to me, "My grandmother was of a modest disposition, and did not
care to have her exploit mentioned, as she did not think she had done
any thing extraordinary. She was the very last one to mention the
affair, and unless asked would never say any thing about it."

This noble-minded and heroic woman died in 1868, aged ninety-three
years. She lies in Drummondville Churchyard, by the side of the husband
she loved so well. Nothing but a simple headstone, half defaced, marks
the place where the sacred ashes lie. But surely we who enjoy the
happiness she so largely secured for us, we who have known how to honour
Brock and Brant, will also know how to, honour Tecumseh and LAURA
SECORD; the heroine as well as the heroes of our Province--of our common
Dominion--and will no longer delay to do it, lest Time should snatch the
happy opportunity from us.

S. A. C.

TORONTO, 4th August, 1887.






NOTE.--The headstone of Laura Secord is three feet high, and eighteen
inches wide, and has the following:

                        HERE RESTS
                           LAURA,
                 BELOVED WIFE OF JAMES SECORD,
                     Died, Oct. 17, 1868.
                       _Aged 93 years_.


The headstone of her husband has the following:

                       IN MEMORY OF
                    JAMES SECORD, SENR.,
                    COLLECTOR OF CUSTOMS,
    Who departed this life on the 22nd day of Feb., 1841,
                _In the 68th year of his age_.

  Universally and deservedly lamented as a sincere Friend,
  a kind and indulgent Parent, and an affectionate Husband.










LAURA SECORD:

THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812.










DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

       *       *       *       *       *


_British_:

LAURA SECORD, _the Heroine, wife of_ James Secord.

ELIZABETH SECORD, _widow of_ Stephen Secord, _the Miller at St.
David's_.

MARY, _a girl of thirteen, daughter of_ James and Laura Secord.

CHARLOTTE, _her sister_.

HARRIET, _her sister_.

BABETTE, _the maid at the_ Mill.

A WOMAN, _the keeper of a roadside tavern at_ Beaver Dams.

JAMES SECORD, _a wounded militia officer, home on sick leave, husband
of_ Laura Secord.

LIEUTENANT FITZGIBBON, _a British officer holding the post at_
Beaver Dams.

MAJOR DE HAREN, _a British officer lying at_ St. Catharines _with
his command_.

COLONEL THOMAS CLARKE, _A Canadian militia officer_.

SERGEANT GEORGE MOSIER, _an old Pensioner, and_ U. E. Loyalist _of 1776_.

MISHE-MO-QUA (The Great Bear), _a Mohawk Chief_.

JOHN PENN, _a farmer (Harvey's Quaker)_.

GEORGE JARVIS, _a Cadet of the 49th Regiment_.

_A_ Sergeant _of the 8th Regiment_.

_A_ Sergeant _of the 49th Regiment_.

JAMES CUMMINGS, _a Corporal of Militia_.

ROARING BILL, _a Private in the 49th Regiment_.

JACK, _a Private in the 49th Regiment_.

_Other_ Soldiers _of the 49th, 8th, or King's Own, and 104th
Regiments_.

Militiamen, _Canadians_.

Indians, _British Allies, chiefly Mohawks_.

TOM, _a child of six, son of the_ Widow Secord.

ARCHY, _a little Boy at_ St. David's Mill.

CHARLES, _a boy of four, son of_ James _and_ Laura Secord.

_Other_ Boys _of various ages from eight to sixteen_.


_American_:

COLONEL BOERSTLER, _an American officer_.

CAPTAIN MCDOWELL, _an American officer_.

PETE _and_ FLOS, _slaves_.

_A large body of American soldiers, infantry, dragoons and artillerymen_.






LAURA SECORD: THE HEROINE OF THE WAR OF 1812

       *       *       *       *       *




ACT I.

SCENE 1.--_Queenston. A farmhouse_.

John Penn, a Quaker, _is seated on a chair tilted against the
wall_. Mr. Secord, _his arm in a sling, reclines on a couch,
against the end of which a crutch is is placed_. Mrs. Secord,
_occupies a rocking-chair near the lounge_. Charlie, _a little
fellow of four, is seated on her lap holding a ball of yarn from which
she is knitting_. Charlotte, _a girl of twelve, is seated on a
stool set a little in rear of the couch; she has a lesson-book in her
hand_. Harriet, _a girl of ten, occupies a stool near her sister,
and has a slate on her lap. All are listening intently to the_
Quaker, _who is speaking_.


  _Quaker_. The midnight sky, set thick with shining points,
Hung watchingly, while from a band of gloom
That belted in the gloomier woods, stole forth
Foreshortened forms of grosser shade, all barred
With lines of denser blackness, dexter-borne.
Rank after rank, they came, out of the dark,
So silently no pebble crunched beneath
Their feet more sharp than did a woodchuck stir.
And so came on the foe all stealthily,
And found their guns a-limber, fires ablaze,
And men in calm repose.
                        With bay'nets fixed
The section in advance fell on the camp,
And killed the first two sentries, whose sharp cries
Alarmed a third, who fired, and firing, fled.
This roused the guard, but "Forward!" was the word,
And on we rushed, slaying full many a man
Who woke not in this world.
                            The 'larum given,
A-sudden rose such hubbub and confusion
As is made by belching earthquake. Waked from sleep,
Men stumbled over men, and angry cries
Resounded. Surprised, yet blenching not,
Muskets were seized and shots at random fired
E'en as they fled. Yet rallied they when ours,
At word from Harvey, fell into line,
And stood, right 'mid the fires, to flint their locks--
An awful moment!--
As amid raging storms the warring heaven
Falls sudden silent, and concentrates force
To launch some scathing bolt upon the earth,
So hung the foe, hid in portentous gloom,
While in the lurid light ours halted. Quick,
Red volcanic fire burst from their lines
And mowed us where we stood!
Full many a trembling hand that set a flint
Fell lifeless ere it clicked: _yet silent all_--
Save groans of wounded--till our rods struck home;
Then, flashing fire for fire, forward we rushed
And scattered them like chaff before the wind.
The King's Own turned their left; the Forty-ninth,
At point of bay'net, pushed the charge, and took
Their guns, they fighting valiantly, but wild,
Having no rallying point, their leaders both
Lying the while all snug at Jemmy Gap's.
And so the men gave in at last, and fled,
And Stony Creek was ours.

  _Mr. Secord_. Brave Harvey! Gallantly planned and carried.
The stroke is good, the consequences better.
Cooped as he is in George, the foe will lack
His forage, and perforce must--eat his stores;
For Yeo holds the lake, and on the land
His range is scarce beyond his guns. And more,
He is the less by these of men to move
On salient points, and long as we hold firm
At Erie, Burlington, and Stony Creek,
He's like the wretched bird, he "can't get out."

  _Mrs. Secord_. You speak, friend Penn, as if you saw the fight,
Not like a simple bearer of the news.

  _Quaker_. Why, so I did.

  _Mrs. Secord_. You did! Pray tell us how it was;
For ever have I heard that Quakers shunned
The sight of blood.

  _Quaker_. None more than I.
Yet innate forces sometimes tell o'er use
Against our will. But this was how it happed:
Thou seest, Mistress Secord, I'd a load
Of sound potatoes, that I thought to take
To Vincent's camp, but on the way I met
A British officer, who challenged me; saith he,
"Friend, whither bound?" "Up to the Heights," say I,
"To sell my wares." "Better," saith he,
"Go to the Yankee camp; they'll pay a price
Just double ours, for we are short of cash."
"I'll risk the pay," say I, "for British troops;
Nay, if we're poor, I can afford the load,
And p'rhaps another, for my country's good."
"And say'st thou so, my Quaker! Yet," saith he,
"I hear you Quakers will not strike a blow
To guard your country's rights, nor yet your own."
"No, but we'll hold the stakes," cried I. He laughed.
"Can't you do more, my friend?" quoth he, "I need
A closer knowledge of the Yankee camp:
How strong it is, and how it lies. A brush
Is imminent, and one must win, you know
Shall they?"
His manner was so earnest that, before
I knew, I cried, "Not if I know it, man!"
With a bright smile he answered me, "There spoke
A Briton." Then he directed me
How I might sell my load, what I should mark,
And when report to him my observations.
So, after dusk, I met him once again,
And told him all I knew. It pleased him much.
Warmly he shook my hand. "I am," saith he,
"Lieutenant-Colonel Harvey. Should it hap
That I can ever serve you, let me know."

  _Mrs. Secord_. And then you stayed to see the end of it?

  _Quaker_. Mistress, I did. Somewhat against my creed,
I freely own; for what should I, a Quaker,
E'er have to do with soldiers, men of blood!
I mean no slight to you, James.

  _Mr. Secord_ (_laughing_). No, no! go on.

  _Quaker_. Well, when I thought how tired poor Dobbin was,
How late the hour, and that 'twould be a week
Before I'd hear how Harvey sped that night,
I thought I'd stay and see the matter out;
The more, because I kind o' felt as if
Whatever happed I'd had a hand in it.

  _Mrs. Secord_. And pray where did you hide? for hide you must,
So near the Yankee lines.

  _Quaker_. It wasn't hard to do; I knew the ground,
Being a hired boy on that very farm,
Now Jemmy Gap's. There was an elm, where once
I used to sit and watch for chipmunks, that I clomb,
And from its shade could see the Yankee camp,
Its straggling line, its fires, its careless watch;
And from the first I knew the fight was ours,
If Harvey struck that night.

  _Mr. Secord_. Ha! ha! friend John, thine is a soldier's brain
Beneath that Quaker hat.

  _Quaker_ (_in some embarrassment, rising_).
  No, no, I am a man of peace, and hate
The very name of war. I must be gone.
  (_To Mrs. Secord_.) My woman longs to see thee, Mistress.
Good-bye to all.

  _The Little Girls_ (_rising_). Good-bye, sir.

  _Mrs. Secord_.  Good-bye, John,
'Twould please me much to see my friend again,
But war blots out the sweet amenities
Of life. Give her my love.

  _Quaker_. I will.

  _Mr. Secord_ (_rising and taking his crutch_).
I'll walk a piece with you, friend Penn,
And see you past the lines.

        [_His little daughter_, HARRIET, _hands him his hat_.

  _Quaker_. That's right, 'twill do thee good:
Thy wounds have left thee like an ailing girl,
So poor and pale.

                                     [_Exeunt_ Quaker _and_ MR. SECORD.

  _Charlotte_. Oh, dear, I wish I were a man, to fight
In such brave times as these!

  _Enter_ MARY, _a girl of fourteen_.

  _Mary_. Were wishing aught
Soon should another sword strike for the King,
And those dear rights now rudely overlooked.

  _Mrs. Secord_. My child?

  _Mary_. Oh naught, mamma, save the old tale: no nook
That's not invaded, even one's books
Borrowed without one's leave. I hate it all!

  _Mrs. Secord_. We must be patient, dear, it cannot last.

  _Harriet_. Oh, if we girls were boys, or Charles a man!

  _Mrs. Secord_. Poor baby Charles! See, he's asleep; and now,
Dear girls, seeing we cannot fight, we'll pray
That peace may come again, for strife and blood,
Though wisely spent, are taxes hard to pay.
But come, 'tis late! See Charlie's dropt asleep;
Sing first your evening hymn, and then to bed.
I'll lay the darling down.

_Exit_ MRS. SECORD, _with the child in her arms_.

  _Charlotte_. You start it, Mary.

  _Children sing_--


  HYMN.

  Softly as falls the evening shade,
  On our bowed heads Thy hands be laid;
  Surely as fades the parting light,
  Our sleep be safe and sweet to-night
    Calmly, securely, may we rest,
    As on a tender father's breast.

  Let War's black pinions soar away,
  And dove-like Peace resume her sway,
  Our King, our country, be Thy care,
  Nor ever fail of childhood's prayer.
    Calmly, securely, may we rest
    As on a tender father's breast.

                                                             [_Exeunt_.

       *       *       *       *       *




SCENE 2.--_The same place and the same hour_.

_Enter_ MRS. SECORD.

After a weary day the evening falls
With gentle benison of peace and rest.
The deep'ning dusk draws, like a curtain, round,
And gives the soul a twilight of its own;
A soft, sweet time, full of refreshing dews,
And subtle essences of memory
And reflection. O gentle peace, when--

_Enter_ PETE, _putting his head in at the door_.

  _Pete_. O, mistis! Heh, mistis!

  _Mrs. Secord_. What now, Pete?

  _Pete_. Oh, mistis, dat yar sergeant ossifer--
Dat sassy un what call me "Woolly-bear."
An' kick my shin, he holler 'crass to me:--
"You, Pete, jes' you go in, an' tell Ma'am Secord
I'se comin' in ter supper wiv some frens."
He did jes' so--a sassy scamp.

  _Mrs. Secord_. To-night? At this hour?

  _Pete_. Yes, mistis; jes', jes' now. I done tell Flos
Ter put her bes' leg fus', fer I mus' go
An' ten' dat poo', sick hoss.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Nay, you'll do nothing of the kind! You'll stay
And wait upon these men. I'll not have Flos
Left single-handed by your cowardice.

  _Pete_. I aint a coward-ef I hed a club;
Dat poo', sick hoss--

  _Mrs. Secord_. Nonsense! Go call me Flos, and see you play
  no tricks to-night.

  _Pete_. No, mistis, no; no tricks. [_Aside_. Ef I'd a club!]
  _He calls from the door_: Flos! Flos! Ma'am Secord wants ye.

  _Mrs. Secord (spreading a cloth upon the table)_. God help us if
    these men much longer live
Upon our failing stores.

_Enter_ FLOS.

What have you got to feed these fellows, Flos?

  _Flos_. De mistis knows it aint much, pas' noo bread,
An' two--three pies. I've sot some bacon sisslin',
An' put some taties on when Pete done tole me.

  _Pete_. Give 'em de cider, mistis, an' some beer,
And let 'em drink 'em drunk till mas'r come
An' tell me kick 'em out.

  _Flos_. You!--jes' hol' yer sassy tongue.

                                        [_Footsteps are heard without_.

_Pete_. Dat's um. Dey's comin'. Dat poo', sick hoss--

                                              [_He makes for the door_.

  _Mrs. Secord_. You, Pete, come back and lay this cloth,
  And wait at table properly with Flos.

_Enter a_ Sergeant, _a_ Corporal _and four_ Privates.

  _Sergeant (striking Pete on the head with his cane)_. That's for
  your ugly phiz and impudence.

                                                 [_Exit Pete, howling_.

(_To Mrs. Secord_.) Your slaves are saucy, Mistress Secord.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Well, sir!

  _Sergeant_. None of my business, eh? Well, 'tis sometimes,
You see. You got my message: what's to eat?

  _Mrs. Secord_. My children's food, sir. This nor post-house is,
Nor inn, to take your orders.

                             [FLOS _and_ PETE _enter, carrying dishes_.

  _Sergeant_. O, bless you, we don't order; we command.
Here, men, sit down.

            [_He seats himself at the head of the table, and the others
              take their places, some of them greeting_ MRS. SECORD
              _with a salute of respect_.

Boy, fill those jugs. You girl,
Set that dish down by me, and haste with more.
Bacon's poor stuff when lamb and mint's in season.
Why don't you kill that lamb, Ma'am Secord?

  _Mrs. Secord_. 'Tis a child's pet.

  _Sergeant_. O, pets be hanged!

                                                   [_Exit_ MRS. SECORD.

  _Corporal_. Poor thing! I'm sure none of us want the lamb.

  _A Private_. We'll have it, though, and more, if Boerstler--

  _Corporal_. Hold your tongue, you--

  _Second Private_ (_drinking_). Here's good luck, my boys,
to that surprise--

  _Corporal (aside)_. Fool!

  _Sergeant (drinking)_. Here's to to-morrow and a cloudy night.
Fill all your glasses, boys.

       *       *       *       *       *




SCENE 3.--_Mrs. Secord's bedroom. She is walking up and down in much
agitation_.

_Enter_ MR. SECORD.

  _Mrs. Secord_ (_springing to meet him_). Oh, James, where have you been?

  _Mr. Secord_. I did but ramble through the pasture, dear,
And round the orchard. 'Twas so sweet and still.
Save for the echo of the sentry's tread
O'er the hard road, it might have been old times.
But--but--you're agitated, dear; what's wrong?
I see our unasked visitors were here.
Was that--?

  _Mrs. Secord_. Not that; yet that. Oh, James, I scarce can bear
The stormy swell that surges o'er my heart,
Awaked by what they have revealed this night.

  _Mr. Secord_. Dear wife, what is't?

  _Mrs. Secord_. Oh, sit you down and rest, for you will need
All strength you may command to hear me tell.

                              [_Mr. Secord sits down, his wife by him_.

That saucy fellow, Winter, and a guard
Came and demanded supper; and, of course,
They had to get it. Pete and Flos I left
To wait on them, but soon they sent them off,
Their jugs supplied,--and fell a-talking, loud,
As in defiance, of some private plan
To make the British wince. Word followed word,
Till I, who could not help but hear their gibes,
Suspected mischief, and, listening, learned the whole.
To-morrow night a large detachment leaves
Fort George for Beaver Dam. Five hundred men,
With some dragoons, artillery, and a train
Of baggage-waggons, under Boerstler, go
To fall upon Fitzgibbon by surprise,
Capture the stores, and pay for Stony Creek.

  _Mr. Secord_. My God! and here am I, a paroled cripple!
Oh, Canada, my chosen country! Now--
Is't now, in this thy dearest strait, I fail?
I, who for thee would pour my blood with joy--
Would give my life for thy prosperity--
Most I stand by, and see thy foes prevail
Without one thrust?

                                          [_In his agitation he rises_.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Oh, calm thee, dear; thy strength is all to me.
Fitzgibbon shall be warned, or aid be sent.

  _Mr. Secord_. But how, wife? how? Let this attempt succeed,
As well it may, and vain last year's success;
In vain fell Brock: in vain was Queenston fought:
In vain we pour out blood and gold in streams:
For Dearborn then may push his heavy force
Along the lakes, with long odds in his favour.
And I, unhappy wretch, in such a strait
Am here, unfit for service. Thirty men
Are all Fitzgibbon has to guard the stores
And keep a road 'twixt Bisshopp and De Haren.
Those stores, that road, would give the Yankee all.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Why, be content now, dear. Had we not heard,
This plot might have passed on to its dire end,
Like the pale owl that noiseless cleaves the dark,
And, on its dreaming prey, swoops with fell claw.

  _Mr. Secord_. What better is it?

  _Mrs. Secord_. This; that myself will go to Beaver Dam,
And warn Fitzgibbon: there is yet a day.

  _Mr. Secord_. Thou! thou take a task at which a man might shrink?
No, no, dear wife! Not so.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Ay, prithee, let me go;
'Tis not so far. And I can pass unharmed
Where you would be made prisoner, or worse.
They'll not hurt me--my sex is my protection.

  _Mr. Secord_. Oh, not in times like these. Let them suspect
A shadow wrong, and neither sex, nor tears,
Nor tenderness would save thy fate.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Fear not for me. I'll be for once so wise
The sentries shall e'en put me on my way.
Once past the lines, the dove is not more swift
Nor sure to find her distant home than I
To reach Fitzgibbon. Say I may go.

  _Mr. Secord_ (_putting his arm 'round her tenderly_).
How can I let thee go? Thy tender feet
Would bleed ere half the way was done. Thy strength
Would fail 'twixt the rough road and summer heat,
And in some, gloomy depth, faint and alone,
Thou would'st lie down to die. Or, chased and hurt
By wolf or catamount, thy task undone,
Thy precious life would then be thrown away.
I cannot let thee go.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Not thrown away! Nay, say not that, dear James.
No life is thrown away that's spent in doing duty.
But why raise up these phantoms of dismay?
I did not so when, at our country's call,
You leapt to answer. Said I one word
To keep you back? and yet my risk was greater
Then than now--a woman left with children
On a frontier farm, where yelling savages,
Urged on, or led, by renegades, might burn,
And kill, and outrage with impunity
Under the name of war. Yet I blenched not,
But helped you clean your musket, clasped your belt,
And sent you forth, with many a cheery word.
Did I not so?

  _Mr. Secord_. Thou didst indeed, dear wife, thou didst.
But yet,--
I cannot let thee go, my darling.
Did I not promise in our marriage vow,
And to thy mother, to guard thee as myself.

  _Mrs. Secord_. And so you will if now you let me go.
For you would go yourself, without a word
Of parley, were you able; leaving me
The while in His good hands; not doubting once
But I was willing. Leave me there now, James,
And let me go; it is our country calls.

  _Mr. Secord_. Ah, dearest wife, thou dost not realize
All my deep promise, "guard thee as myself?"
I meant to guard thee doubly, trebly more.

  _Mrs. Secord_. There you were wrong. The law says "as thyself
Thou shalt regard thy neighbour."

  _Mr. Secord_. My neighbour! Then is that all that thou art
To me, thy husband? Shame! thou lovest me not.
My neighbour!

  _Mrs. Secord_. Why now, fond ingrate! What saith _the Book?_
"THE GOOD, with all thy soul and mind and strength;
Thy neighbour as thyself." Thou must _not_ love
Thyself, nor me, as thou _must_ love the Good.
Therefore, I am thy neighbour; loved as thyself:
And as thyself wouldst go to warn Fitzgibbon
If thou wert able, so I, being able,
Thou must let me go--thy other self.
Pray let me go!

  _Mr. Secord_ (_after a pause_). Thou shalt, dear wife, thou shalt.
     I'll say no more.
Thy courage meets the occasion. Hope shall be
My standard-bearer, and put to shame
The cohorts black anxiety calls up.
But how shall I explain to prying folks
Thine absence?

  _Mrs. Secord_. Say I am gone to see my brother,
'Tis known he's sick; and if I venture now
'Twill serve to make the plot seem still secure.
I must start early.

  _Mr. Secord_. Yet not too soon, lest ill surmise
Aroused by guilty conscience doubt thy aim.

  _Mrs. Secord_. That's true.
Yet at this time of year do travellers start
Almost at dawn to avoid the midday heats.
Tell not the children whither I am bound;
Poor darlings! Soon enough anxiety
Will fall upon them; 'tis the heritage
Of all; high, low, rich, poor; he chiefly blest
Who travels farthest ere he meets the foe.
There's much to do to leave the household straight,
I'll not retire to-night.

  _Mr. Secord_. Oh, yes, dear wife, thou shalt not spend thy strength
On household duties, for thou'lt need it all
Ere thy long task be done. O, but I fear--

  _Mrs. Secord_ (_quickly_). Fear nothing!
Trust heaven and do your best, is wiser.
Should I meet harm,'twill be in doing duty:
Fail I shall not!

  _Mr. Secord_. Retire, dear wife, and rest; I'll watch the hours
Beside thee.

  _Mrs. Secord_. No need to watch me, James, I shall awake.

[_Aside_. And yet perhaps 'tis best.
If he wake now he'll sleep to-morrow
Perforce of nature; and banish thus
Some hours of sad anxiety.]

  _Mr. Secord_. I'd better watch.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Well then, to please you! But call me on the turn
Of night, lest I should lose an hour or two
Of cooler travel.

       *       *       *       *       *




SCENE 4--_Daybreak on the_ 23_rd June_, 1813.

_The porch of_ Mr. Secord's _farmhouse. A garden path, with a
gate that opens on to the high road from Newark to Twelve-Mile
Creek_.

_Enter_ JAMES SECORD _and his wife_.

  _Mr. Secord_. Heaven speed thee, then, dear wife. I'll try to bear
The dreadful pangs of helplessness and dread
With calm demeanour, if a bursting heart.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Then will you taste a woman's common lot
In times of strait, while I essay man's role
Of fierce activity. We will compare
When I return. Now, fare-thee-well, my husband.

  (_Fearful of being observed, they part without an embrace_. Mrs.
Secord _walks down the garden slowly, and gathers a few clove pinks; a
the gate she stops as though the latch were troublesome, raises the
flowers to her lips, and makes a slight salute to her husband, who yet
stands within the porch watching her. She then rapidly pursues her way,
but soon encounters an American sentry, whom she essays to pass with a
nod and a smile: the man prevents her by bringing his musket to the
charge, and challenging_.)

  _Mrs. Secord_. Why do you stop me?

  _Sentry_. Where is your pass?
You know that none may take the road without one.

  _Mrs. Secord_. But surely I may go to milk my cow,
Yonder she is.

                                      [_A cow is seen in the clearing_.

She's wandered in the night.
I'll drive her back again, poor thing.
She likes new pasture best, as well she may.

  _Sentry_. Keep you your kine at home, you've land enough.

  _Mrs. Secord_. Why, that's our land, and those our barns and sheds.

  _Sentry_. Well, pass!

                                   [_He suddenly observes the flowers_.

But where's your milking pail?
I guess the bunch of flowers is for the cow.

  _Mrs. Secord_ (_gently_). You are too rough! The pinks weep
    dewy tears
Upon my hand to chide you. There, take them;

                                         [_She offers him the flowers_.

And let their fragrance teach you courtesy,
At least to women. You can watch me.

  _Sentry_. Madam, suspicion blunts politeness. Pass.
I'll take your flowers, and thank you, too;
'Tis long since that I saw their fellows in
The old folks' garden.

  (Mrs. Secord _crosses the road, takes a rail out of the fence, which
she replaces after having passed into the clearing, and proceeds to the
barn, whence she brings an old pail, luckily left there, and approaches
the cow_.)

  _Mrs. Secord_ (_aside_). Could I but get her out of sight, I'd drive
The creature round the other way, and go
My own. Pray Heaven the sentry watch me not
Too closely; his manner roused my fears.

                      [_She waves her hand at the cow, which moves on_.

Co' boss! co' boss. Sh! Haste thee, poor cow;
Fly from me! though never didst thou yet:
Nor should'st do now, but for the stake I play.

                                         [_Both disappear in the bush_.

  _Sentry_ (_apostrophising the disappearing "enemy"_). Well,
mistress, were you gentle as your face,
The creature wouldn't run you such a race.
It serves you right! The cows my Anna milks,
Come at her call, like chickens. O, sweet voice,
When shall I hear you next? Even as I pace
With measured step this hot and dusty road,
The soft June breezes take your tones, and call,
"Come, Henry, come." Would that I could!
Would I had never joined!
But my hot blood o'ermastered my cool sense,
Nor let me see that always is not bought
Honour by arms, but often dire disgrace.
For so it is, as now I clearly see,
We let the animal within remain
Unbroke, till neither gyve nor gear will serve
To steady him, only a knock-down blow.
Had I, and others, too, within the ranks,
Haltered our coltish blood, we should have found
That hate to England, not our country's name
And weal, impelled mad Madison upon this war;
And shut the mouths of thousand higher men
Than he.
                It is a lesson may I learn
So as to ne'er forget, that in the heat of words
Sparks oft are struck that should be straightway quenched
In cool reflection; not enlarged and fed
With passionate tinder, till a flame is blown
That reaches past our bonds, and leaves behind
Black, sullen stumps where once the green trees grew.
If honour's what we want, there's room enough
For that, and wild adventure, too, in the West,
At half the cost of war, in opening up
A road shall reach the great Pacific.
(_A step_). Ha! Who goes there?
                                                               [_Exit_.

       *       *       *       *       *




SCENE 5.--_The Road at the foot of Queenston Heights_.

  _Mrs. Secord_ (_looking in the direction of her home_). Gone!
      Gone! Quite out of sight! Farewell, my home,
Casket that holds my jewels! If no more
My happy eyes rest on thy lowly roof,
If never more my ears drink in the sounds
Of sweeter music, in your loving tones,
My darlings, than e'er was drawn from harp
The best attuned, by wandering Aeolus,
Then let my memory, like some fond relic laid
In musk and lavender, softly exhale
A thousand tender thoughts to soothe and bless;
And let my love hide in your heart of hearts,
And with ethereal touch control your lives,
Till in that better home we meet again.

  (_She covers her face with her hands, and weeps unrestrainedly for a
few seconds, then recovers herself, and raises her hands in prayer_.)

Guard them and me, O Heaven.

     [_She resumes her journey, but still gazes In the direction of the
       Heights_.

And Brock! McDonnell! Dennis!
All ye hero band, who fell on yonder Heights!
If I should fall, give me a place among ye,
And a name will be my children's pride,
For all--my all--I risk, as ye, to save
My country.

                                                               [_Exit_.






ACT II.

SCENE I.--_The great kitchen at St. David's Mill. Breakfast-time_.

_At the board are seated the_ Widow Stephen Secord, Sergeant George
Mosier, _and little_ Tom. Babette _is waiting at table_.

  _Widow_. 'Tis pitiful to see one's land go waste
For want of labour, and the summer days,
So rich in blessing, spend their fruitful force
On barren furrows. And then to think
That over both the Provinces it is the same,--
No men to till the land, because the war
Needs every one. God knows how we shall feed
Next year: small crop, small grist,--a double loss
To me. The times are anxious.
(_To Sergeant Mosier_.) Have you news?

  _Sergeant_. Not much, ma'am, all is pretty quiet still
Since Harvey struck them dumb at Stony Creek.
Along the Lake bold Yeo holds them fast,
And, Eric-way, Bisshopp and Evans back him.
Thus stand we now; but Proctor's all too slow.
O had we Brock again, bold, wise, and prompt,
That foreign rag that floats o'er Newark's spires
Would soon go down, and England's ensign up.

  _Widow_. Ah, was he not a man! and yet so sweet,
So courteous, and so gentle.

  _Babette_. _Ah, oui, madame_.
So kind! not one rough word he ever had,
The _General_, but bow so low, "_Merci, Babette_,"
For glass of milk, _et petit chose comme ca_.
Ah, long ago it must be he was French:
Some _grand seigneur, sans doute_, in Guernsey then.
Ah the brave man, madame, _ce hero la!_

  _Widow_. Yes, brave indeed, Babette, but English, English.
Oh, bravery, good girl, is born of noble hearts,
And calls the world its country, and its sex
Humanity.

  _Babette_. Madame?

  _Widow_. You do not understand me, not; but you
Were very brave and noble-hearted when
You faced the wolf that scented the young lambs.

  _Babette_. _Brave! moi!_ Madame is kind to say it so.
But bravery of women--what is that
To bravery of man?

  _Tom_. An' that's just what I said to Hatty, mother,
When she declared that Aunty Laura was
As brave as soldiers, 'cause she went an' fetched
Poor Uncle James from off the battlefield.
After the fight was over. That wasn't much!

  _Widow_. You're but an ignorant little boy, my son,
But might be wiser were you not so pert.

  _Sergeant_. I heard not that before, ma'am.

  _Widow_. Did you not?
'Tis very true. Upon that dreadful day,
After Brock fell, and in the second fight,
When with the Lincoln men and Forty-first
Sheaffe led the attack, poor Captain Secord dropped,
Shot, leg and shoulder, and bleeding there he lay,
With numbers more, when evening fell; for means
Were small to deal with wounded men, and all,
Soldiers and citizens, were spent and worn
With cruel trials. So when she learned he lay
Among the wounded, his young wife took up
A lantern in her hand, and searched the field--
Whence sobs and groans and cries rose up to heaven
And paled the tearful stars--until she found
The man she loved, not sure that life remained.
Then binding him as best she might, she bore,
With some kind aid, the fainting body home,--
If home it could be called where rabid hate
Had spent its lawless rage in deeds of spite;
Where walls and roof were torn with many balls,
And shelter scarce was found.
                That very night,
Distrustful lest the foe, repulsed and wild,
Should launch again his heavier forces o'er
The flood, she moved her terror-stricken girls--
Four tender creatures--and her infant boy,
Her wounded husband and her two young slaves,
'Neath cover of thick darkness to the farm,
A mile beyond: a feat even for a man.
And then she set her woman's wit and love
To the long task of nursing back to health
Her husband, much exhaust through loss of blood,
and all the angry heat of gunshot wounds.
But James will never be himself again
Despite her care.

  _Sergeant_. 'Twas well and bravely done.
Yet oft I think the women of these days
Degenerate to those I knew in youth.

  _Widow_. You're hasty, Sergeant, already hath this war
Shown many a young and delicate woman
A very hero for--her hero's sake;
Nay, more, for others'. She, our neighbour there
At Queenston, who when our troops stood still,
Weary and breathless, took her young babe,
Her husband under arms among the rest,
And cooked and carried for them on the field:
Was she not one in whom the heroic blood
Ran thick and strong as e'er in times gone by?
O Canada, thy soil is broadcast strown
With noble deeds: a plague on him, I say,
Who follows with worse seed!

  (_She rises and prepares for making pies_. Babette _clears off the
table, and_ Sergeant George _smokes his pipe, sitting close to the
open chimney, now filled with fresh branches of spruce and cedar_.)

  _Sergeant_. Well, mistress, p'rhaps you're right; old folks aye think
Old times the best; but now your words recall
The name of one, the bravest of her sex,
So far as e'er I saw, save, p'rhaps, the Baroness.
Tender of frame, most gentle, softly raised,
And young, the Lady Harriet Acland shared,
With other dames whose husbands held commands,
The rough campaign of 'Seventy-six.
But her lot fell so heavy, and withal
She showed such spirit, cheerfulness, and love,
Her name became a watchword in the ranks.

  _Widow_. And what about her, Sergeant?

  _Sergeant_. Well, mistress, as you ask I'll tell the tale:
She was the wife of Major John Dyke-Acland,
An officer of Grenadiers, then joined
To Highland Frazer's arm of Burgoyne's troops.
At Chamblee he was wounded. Leaving the Fort,
His wife crossed lake and land, by means so rough
As tried the strength of men, to nurse him.
Recovered; next he fought Ticonderoga,
And there was badly wounded. Lake Champlain
She traversed to his aid in just a batteau.
No sooner was he better, than again
He joined his men, always the first to move,
And so alert their situation was,
That all slept in their clothes. In such a time
The Major's tent took fire, and he, that night,
But for a sergeant's care, who dragged him out,
Had lost his life. Twice saved he was;
For thinking that his wife still lay within,
Burning to death, he broke away,
And plunged into the fiery mass. But she,
Scarce half awake, had crept from out the tent,
And gained her feet in time to see him rush
In search of her--a shuddering sight to one
Loving and loved so well. But luckily,
Both then were saved. She also shared the march
That followed up the foe, action impending
At every step; and when the fight began,
Though sheltered somewhat, heard all the din,
The roar of guns, and bursting shells, and saw
The hellish fire belch forth, knowing the while
Her husband foremost in the dreadful fray.
Nay, more; her hut was all the shelter given
To dress the wounded first; so her kind eyes
Were forced to witness sights of ghastly sort,
Such as turn surgeons faint; nor she alone,
Three other ladies shared her anxious care:
But she was spared the grief they knew too soon,
Her husband being safe.
                         But when Burgoyne
At Saratoga lost the bloody day,
The Major came not back--a prisoner he,
And desperate wounded. After anxiety
So stringent and prolonged, it seemed too much
To hope the lady could support such sting
And depth of woe, yet drooped she not; but rose
And prayed of Burgoyne, should his plans allow,
To let her pass into the hostile camp,
There to beseech for leave to tend her husband.
Full pitifully Burgoyne granted her
The boon she asked, though loath to let her go;
For she had passed hours in the drenching rain,
Sleepless and hungry; nor had he e'en a cup
Of grateful wine to offer. He knew
Her danger, too, as she did,--that she might fall
In cruel hands; or, in the dead of night
Approaching to the lines, be fired on.
Yet yielding to her prayer, he let her go,
Giving her all he could, letters to Gates,
And for her use an open boat.
Thus she set forth, with Chaplain Brudenell
For escort, her maid, and the poor Major's man--
Thus was she rowed adown the darkling stream.
Night fell before they reached the enemy's posts,
And all in vain they raised the flag of truce,
The sentry would not even let them land,
But kept them there, all in the dark and cold,
Threatening to fire upon them if they stirred
Before the break of day. Poor lady! Sad
Were her forebodings through those darksome hours,
And wearily her soft maternal frame
Bore such great strain. But as the dark
Grows thickest ere the light appears, so she
Found better treatment when the morning broke.
With manly courtesy, proud Gates allowed
Her wifely claim, and gave her all she asked.

  _Widow_. Could he do less! Yes, Sergeant, I'll allow
Old times show tender women bold and brave
For those they love, and 'twill be ever so.
And yet I hold that woman braver still
Who sacrifices all she loves to serve
The public weal.

  _Sergeant_. And  was there ever one?

  _Widow_. Oh, yes--

_Enter_ MRS. SECORD.

Why, Laura! Now you're just too late
To have your breakfast with us. But sit down.
(_She calls_.) Babette! Babette!

_Enter_ BABETTE.

Haste, girl, and make fresh tea,
Boil a new egg, and fry a bit of ham,
And bring a batch-cake from the oven; they're done
By this.

                                                       [_Exit_ BABETTE.

(_To Mrs. Secord_.) Take off your things, my dear;
You've come to stay a day or two with Charles,
Of course. He'll be awake just now. He's weak,
But better. How got you leave to come?

                             [SERGEANT GEORGE _is leaving the kitchen_.

Stay, Sergeant, you should know James Secord's wife,
Poor Charles's sister.

(_To Mrs. Secord_.) Laura, this is a friend
You've heard us speak of, Sergeant George Mosier,
My father's crony, and poor Stephen's, too.

  _Mrs. Secord (curtesying)_. I'm glad to meet you, sir.

  _Sergeant (bowing low)_. Your servant, madam,
I hope your gallant husband is recovered.

  _Mrs. Secord_. I thank you, sir, his wound, but not his strength,
And still his arm is crippled.

  _Sergeant_. A badge of honour, madam, like to mine,

                                      [_He points to his empty sleeve_.

_Enter_ BABETTE _with tray_.

                                               [_Exit_ SERGEANT GEORGE.

  _Widow_. That's right, girl, set it here. (_To Mrs. Secord_.)
Come eat a bit.
That ham is very nice, 'tis Gloucester fed,
And cured-malt-coombs, you know, so very sweet.
(_To Babette_.) Mind thou the oven, lass, I've pies to bake,
And then a brisket.

                                                       [_Exit_ BABETTE.

(_To Mrs. Secord_.) I thought you fast
Within the lines: how got you leave to come?

  _Mrs. Secord_. I got no leave; three several sentries I,
With words of guile, have passed, and still I fear
My ultimate success. 'Tis not to see
Poor Charles I came, but to go further on
To Beaver Dam, and warn Fitzgibbon there
Of a foul plot to take him by surprise
This very night. We found it out last eve,
But in his state poor James was helpless,
So I go instead.

  _Widow_. You go to Beaver Dam! Nineteen long miles
On hot and dusty roads, and all alone!
You can't, some other must.

  _Mrs. Secord_. I