Andre; a tragedy, in five acts: as performed by the Old American Company, New-York, March 30, 1798. : To which are added, authentic documents respecting Major Andre; consisting of letters to Miss Seward, The cow chace, proceedings of the court martial, &c. : Copy right secured.

SCENE, a Prison.

ANDRE discovered, in a pensive posture, sitting at a table; a book by him and candles: his dress neglected, his hair disheveiled: he rises and comes forward.

ANDRE.

KIND heaven be thank'd for that I stand alone In this sad hour of life's brief pilgrimage! Single in misery; no one else involving, In grief, in shame, and ruin. 'Tis my comfort. Thou, my thrice honor'd sire, in peace went'st down Unto the tomb, nor knew to blush, nor knew A pang for me! And thou, revered matron, Could'st bless thy child, and yield thy breath in peace! No wife shall weep, no child lament, my loss. Thus may I consolation find in what Was once my woe. I little thought to joy In not possessing, as I erst possest, Thy love, Honora! André's death, perhaps, May cause a cloud pass o'er thy lovely face; The pearly tear may steal from either eye; For thou mayest feel a transient pang, nor wrong A husband's rights: more than a transient pang O mayest thou never feel! The morn draws nigh To light me to my shame. Frail nature shrinks.— And is death then so fearful? I have brav'd Him, fearless, in the field, and steel'd my breast Against his thousand horrors; but his cool, His sure approach, requires a fortitude Which nought but conscious rectitude can give.

(Retires, and sits leaning.)

Enter BLAND, unperceived by ANDRE.

BLAND.

And is that André! O how chang'd! Alas! Where is that martial fire, that generous warmth, Which glow'd his manly countenance throughout, And gave to every look, to every act, The tone of high chivalrous animation?— André, my friend! look up.

ANDRE.

Who calls me friend?

BLAND.

Young Arthur Bland.

ANDRE

(Rising.)

That name sounds like a friend's.

(With emotion.)

I have inquir'd for thee—wish'd much to see thee— I prythee take no note of these fool's tears— My heart was full—and seeing thee—

BLAND

(Embracing him.)

O, André!— I have but now arrived from the south— Nor heard—till now—of this—I cannot speak. Is this a place?—O, thus to find my friend!

ANDRE.

Still dost thou call me friend? I, who dared act Against my reason, my declared opinion; Against my conscience, and a soldier's fame? Oft in the generous heat of glowing youth, Oft have I said how fully I despis'd All bribery base, all treacherous tricks in war: Rather my blood should bathe these hostile shores, And have it said "he died a gallant soldier," Than with my country's gold encourage treason, And thereby purchase gratitude and fame▪

BLAND.

Still mayest thou say it, for thy heart's the same.

ANDRE.

Still is my heart the same: still may I say it: But now my deeds will rise against my words; And should I dare to talk of honest truth, Frank undissembling probity and faith, Memory would crimson o'er my burning cheek, And actions retrospected choak the tale. Still is my heart the same. But there has past A day, an hour—which ne'er can be recall'd! Unhappy man! tho' all thy life pass pure; Mark'd by benevolence thy every deed; The out-spread map, which shows the way thou'st trod, Without one devious track, or doubtful line; It all avails thee naught, if in one hour, One hapless hour, thy feet are led astray;— Thy happy deeds, all blotted from remembrance; Cancel'd the record of thy former good. Is it not hard, my friend? Is 't not unjust?

BLAND.

Not every record cancel'd—O, there are hearts, Where Virtue's image, when 'tis once engrav'd, Can never know erasure.

ANDRE.

Generous Bland!

(Takes his hand)

The hour draws nigh which ends my life's sad story. I should be firm—

BLAND.

By heaven thou shalt not die! Thou dost not sure deserve it. Betray'd, perhaps— Condemn'd without due circumstance made known? Thou didst not mean to tempt our officers? Betray our yeoman soldiers to destruction? Silent. Nay, then 'twas from a duteous wish To serve the cause thou wast in honor bound—

ANDRE.

Kind is my Bland, who to his generous heart, Still finds excuses for his erring friend.

Attentive hear and judge me.— Pleas'd with the honors daily shower'd upon me, I glow'd with martial heat, my name to raise Above the vulgar herd, who live to die, And die to be forgotten. Thus I stood, When, avarice or ambition Arnold tempted, His country, fame, and honor to betray; Linking his name to infamy eternal. In confidence it was to me propos'd, To plan with him the means which should ensure Thy country's downfall. Nothing then I saw But confidential favor in the service, My country's glory, and my mounting fame; Forgot my former purity of thought, And high-ton'd honor's scruples disregarded.

BLAND.

It was thy duty so to serve thy country.

ANDRE.

Nay, nay; be cautious ever to admit That duty can beget dissimulation. On ground, unoccupied by either part, Neutral esteem'd, I landed, and was met. But ere my conference was with Arnold clos'd, The day began to dawn: I then was told That 'till the night I must my safety seek In close concealment. Within your posts convey'd, I found myself involv'd in unthought dangers. Night came. I sought the vessel which had borne Me to the fatal spot; but she was gone. Retreat that way cut off, again I sought Concealment with the traitors of your army. Arnold now granted passes, and I doff'd My martial garb, and put on curs'd disguise! Thus in a peasant's form I pass'd your posts; And when, as I conceiv'd, my danger o'er, Was stopt and seiz'd by some returning scouts. So did ambition lead me, step by step, To treat with traitors, and encourage treason;

And then, bewilder'd in the guilty scene, To quit my martial designating badges, Deny my name, and sink into the spy.

BLAND.

Thou didst no more than was a soldier's duty, To serve the part on which he drew his sword. Thou shalt not die for this. Straight will I fly— I surely shall prevail—

ANDRE.

It is in vain. All has been tried. Each friendly argument—

BLAND.

All has not yet been tried. The powerful voice Of friendship, in thy cause, has not been heard. My General favors me, and loves my father— My gallant father! would that he were here! But he, perhaps, now wants an André's care, To cheer his hours—perhaps now languishes Amidst those horrors whence thou sav'd'st his son! The present moment claims my thought. André— I fly to save thee!—

ANDRE.

Bland, it is in vain. But, hold—there is a service thou may'st do me.

BLAND.

Speak it.

ANDRE.

O, think, and as a soldier think, How I must die—The manner of my death— Like the base ruffian, or the midnight thief, Ta'en in the act of stealing from the poor, To be turn'd off the felon's—murderer's cart, A mid-air spectacle to gaping clowns:— To run a short, an envied course of glory, And end it on a gibbet.—

BLAND.

Damnation!!

ANDRE.

Such is my doom. O! have the manner changed, And of mere death I'll think not. Dost thou think—? Perhaps thou canst gain that—?

BLAND

(Almost in a phrenzy.)

Thou shalt not die!

ANDRE.

Let me, O! let me die a soldier's death, While friendly clouds of smoke shroud from all eyes My last convulsive pangs, and I'm content.

BLAND

(With increasing emotion.)

Thou shalt not die! Curse on the laws of war!— If worth like thine must thus be sacrificed, To policy so cruel and unjust, I will forswear my country and her service: I'll hie me to the Briton, and with fire, And sword, and every instrument of death Or devastation, join in the work of war! What, shall worth weigh for nought? I will avenge thee!

ANDRE.

Hold, hold, my friend; thy country's woes are full. What! would'st thou make me cause another traitor? No more of this; and, if I die, believe me, Thy country for my death incurs no blame. Restrain thy ardour—but ceaselessly intreat, That André may at least die as he lived, A soldier.

BLAND.

By heaven thou shalt not die!—

(Bland rushes off: André looks after him with an ex|pression of love and gratitude, then retires up the stage. Scene closes.)