Laura Secord: The Heroine of the War of 1812 - Act 2, Scene 4
Scene 4. — The forest, with the sun nearly below the horizon, its rays illuminate the tops of the trees, while all below is dark and gloomy. Bats are on the wing, the night-hawk careers above the trees, fire-flies flit about, and the death-bird calls .
Enter MRS. SECORD, showing signs of great fatigue .
Mrs. Secord . Gloomy, indeed, and weird, and oh, so lone!
In such a spot and hour the mind takes on
Moody imaginings, the body shrinks as'twere,
And all the being sinks into a sea
Of deariness and doubt and death.
Thou little owl, that with despairing note
Dost haunt these shades, art thou a spirit lost,
Whose punishment it is to fright poor souls
With fear of death? — if death is to be feared,
And not a blank hereafter. The poor brave
Who answers thee and hears no call respond,
Trembles and pales, and wastes away and dies
Within the year, thee making his fell arbiter.
Poor Indian! Much I fear the very dread
Engendered by the small neglectful bird,
Brings on the fate thou look'st for.
So fearless, yet so fearful, do we all,
Savage and civil, ever prove ourselves;
So strong, so weak, hurt by a transient sound,
Yet bravely stalking up to meet the death
We see.
The wolves! the dreadful wolves! they've scented me.
O whither shall I fly? no shelter near;
No help. Alone! O God, alone!
O Father! not this death, if I must die,
My task undone, 'tis too, too horrible!
Be still, wild heart, nor fill my list'ning ears
With thy deep throbs.
Thank God, not me they seek!
Some other scent allures the ghoulish horde.
On, on, poor trembler! life for life it is,
If I may warn Fitzgibbon.
Oh blessed water! To my parched tongue
More precious than were each bright drop a gem
From far Golconda's mine; how at thy touch
The parting life comes back, and hope returns
To cheer my drooping heart!
Indian . Woman! what woman want?
Mrs. Secord (leaping forward and seizing his arm) . O chief, no spy am I, but friend to you
And all who love King George and wear his badge.
All through this day I've walked the lonely woods
To do you service. I have news, great news,
To tell the officer at Beaver Dam.
This very night the Long Knives leave Fort George
To take him by surprise, in numbers more
Than crows on ripening corn. O help me on!
I'm Laura Secord, Captain Secord's wife,
Of Queenstown; and Tecumseh, your great chief,
And Tekoriogea are our friends.
Chief . White woman true and brave, I send with you
Mishe-mo-qua, he know the way and sign,
And bring you safe to mighty chief Fitzgibbon.
Mrs. Secord . O thanks, kind chief, and never shall your braves
Want aught that I can give them.
Chief (to another) . Young chief, Mish-e-mo-qua, with woman go,
And give her into care of big white chief.
She carry news. Dam Long-Knife come in dark
To eat him up.
Mishe-mo-qua . Ugh! rascal! dam!
Enter MRS. SECORD, showing signs of great fatigue .
Mrs. Secord . Gloomy, indeed, and weird, and oh, so lone!
In such a spot and hour the mind takes on
Moody imaginings, the body shrinks as'twere,
And all the being sinks into a sea
Of deariness and doubt and death.
Thou little owl, that with despairing note
Dost haunt these shades, art thou a spirit lost,
Whose punishment it is to fright poor souls
With fear of death? — if death is to be feared,
And not a blank hereafter. The poor brave
Who answers thee and hears no call respond,
Trembles and pales, and wastes away and dies
Within the year, thee making his fell arbiter.
Poor Indian! Much I fear the very dread
Engendered by the small neglectful bird,
Brings on the fate thou look'st for.
So fearless, yet so fearful, do we all,
Savage and civil, ever prove ourselves;
So strong, so weak, hurt by a transient sound,
Yet bravely stalking up to meet the death
We see.
The wolves! the dreadful wolves! they've scented me.
O whither shall I fly? no shelter near;
No help. Alone! O God, alone!
O Father! not this death, if I must die,
My task undone, 'tis too, too horrible!
Be still, wild heart, nor fill my list'ning ears
With thy deep throbs.
Thank God, not me they seek!
Some other scent allures the ghoulish horde.
On, on, poor trembler! life for life it is,
If I may warn Fitzgibbon.
Oh blessed water! To my parched tongue
More precious than were each bright drop a gem
From far Golconda's mine; how at thy touch
The parting life comes back, and hope returns
To cheer my drooping heart!
Indian . Woman! what woman want?
Mrs. Secord (leaping forward and seizing his arm) . O chief, no spy am I, but friend to you
And all who love King George and wear his badge.
All through this day I've walked the lonely woods
To do you service. I have news, great news,
To tell the officer at Beaver Dam.
This very night the Long Knives leave Fort George
To take him by surprise, in numbers more
Than crows on ripening corn. O help me on!
I'm Laura Secord, Captain Secord's wife,
Of Queenstown; and Tecumseh, your great chief,
And Tekoriogea are our friends.
Chief . White woman true and brave, I send with you
Mishe-mo-qua, he know the way and sign,
And bring you safe to mighty chief Fitzgibbon.
Mrs. Secord . O thanks, kind chief, and never shall your braves
Want aught that I can give them.
Chief (to another) . Young chief, Mish-e-mo-qua, with woman go,
And give her into care of big white chief.
She carry news. Dam Long-Knife come in dark
To eat him up.
Mishe-mo-qua . Ugh! rascal! dam!
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