And on the other bank, the great green head
Presents a wilderness of tangled boughs
By which would be a task, indeed, to reach
The ground. Yet must I try. Poor hands, poor feet,
This is rough work for you, and one small slip
Would drop me in the stream, perchance to drown.
Not drown! oh, no, my goal was set by Heaven.
Come, rally all ye forces of the will,
And aid me now! Yon height that looms above
Is yet to gain before the sun gets low.
(_She climbs the hemlock root and reaches the trunk, across which she
crawls on her hands and knees, and at last finds herself some yards up
the beech ridge. After arranging her torn and dishevelled clothing she
proceeds up the ridge, at the top of which she encounters a British
sentry, who challenges_.)
_Sentry_. Who goes there?
_Mrs. Secord_. A friend.
_Sentry_. What friend?
_Mrs. Secord_. To Canada and Britain.
_Sentry_. Your name and errand.
_Mrs. Secord_. My name is Secord--Captain Secord's wife,
Who fought at Queenston;--and my errand is
To Beaver Dam to see Fitzgibbon,
And warn him of a sortie from Fort George
To move to-night. Five hundred men, with guns,
And baggage-waggons for the spoil, are sent.
For, with such force, the enemy is sure
Our stores are theirs; and Stoney Creek avenged.
_Sentry_.
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