Father Hudson. Will the man come again?
Leader of Men. Once more shalt thou see him, and remember him forever. Lo, now he comes as the wounded lion, as the tiger bereft of his prey and wounded by the hunter. [Enter Arnold, a pistol in one hand, a letter clutched in the other. During this speech he crosses the stage.] His plot has failed and his iniquity is as a broken toy. Wrecked is all his life. He flees like a robber from his own land. Hills look your last upon Benedict! Ye Highlands, filled with clouds, and ye little streams that jet along the crags, this is your general. Will he remember you in his dreams, think you, or find himself back among you in his reveries? In his lone island, in his long years of silence, ye will return to him. Bid him adieu without bitterness, thou rocky castle! For his punishment shall be within himself day by day. [Exit Arnold.] Behold, [Shades his eyes with his hand as if observing Arnold] he is on the shore; his barge of eight oars obeys the signal; he stands in the prow; the rowers smite the water. With fury they row, for he commands them; with fury and terrible ire they row, for they fear the man. He has drawn a white handkerchief from his breast, though his pistol never leaves his hand. The prow of the British sloop of war looms above his barge. They see his signal. They are letting down the gangway. They are taking him up into the British vessel.
Chorus of Men. So down the torrent of infamy,
So into the bosom of Hell,
O Vulture, thou bearest him!
Chorus of Women. Naught brings he in hand to his captors;
Naught but the coin of his soul;
Empty-handed goeth he.
Chorus of Men. The great cheater here is cheated;
The great traitor here betrayed:
Where is his bargain?
Chorus of Women. Bare life he saves by the purchase,
Merely the breath of life;
Merely the fountain of pain.
Chorus of Men. Yea, out of the lips of aversion,
Yea, out of the hand of contempt,
He receiveth his price.
Chorus of Women. Pride is the hero's undoing,
Pride is the sin of the great.
Lo, he licketh the crumbs!
Both Choruses. So down the torrent of infamy,
So into the bosom of Hell;
O Vulture, thou bearest him!
Father Hudson. Is all treason punished like this among men?