Some devil, regardless of exalted station,
In evil hour assail'd me with temptation,
To issue forth a damned proclamation,
What prince, what king, from Belzebub is free,
He tempted Judas, and has tempted me!
This, this, O friar, was a deadly flaw,
This for the civil founded martial law,[119]
This crime will Gage to Lucifer consign,
And purgatory must for this be mine.
Next—and for this I breathe my deepest sigh,
Ah cruel, flinty, hard, remorseless I!—
How could I crowd my dungeons dark and low
With wounded captives of our injur'd foe?
How could my heart, more hard than hardened steel,
Laugh at the pangs that mangled captives feel?
Why sneer'd I at my fellow men distrest,
Why banished pity from this iron breast!
O friar, could heaven approve my acting so,
Heaven still to mercy swift, to vengeance slow?—
O no—you say, then cease your soothing chat,
Cowards are cruel, I can instance that.—
But hold! why did I, when the fact was done,
Deny it all to gallant Washington?
Why did I stuff the epistolary page
With vile invectives only worthy Gage?[120]
Come, friar, help—shall I recant and say
I writ my letter on a drunken day?
How will it sound, if men should chance to tell
A drunken hero can compose so well?
Friar
Your fears are groundless, give me all the blame,
I writ the letter, you but sign'd your name,
Nor let the proclamation cloud your mind,
'Twas I compos'd it and you only sign'd.—
I, Friar Francis—papist tho' I be,
You private papists can't but value me;
Your sins in Lethe shall be swallowed up,
I'll clear you, if you please, before we sup.
Gage
Nay, clear me not—tho' I should cross the brine,
And pay my vows in distant Palestine,
Or land in Spain, a stranger poor and bare,
And rove on foot a wretched pilgrim there,
And let my eyes in streams perpetual flow,
Where great Messiah dy'd so long ago,
And wash his sacred footsteps with my tears,
And pay for masses fifty thousand years,
All would not do—my monarch I've obey'd,
And now go home, perhaps to lose my head;—
Pride sent me here, pride blasted in the bud,
Which, if it can, will build its throne in blood,
With slaughter'd millions glut its tearless eyes,
And make all nature fall that it may rise;—
Come, let's embark, your holy whining cease,
Come, let's away, I'll hang myself for peace:
So Pontius Pilate for his murder'd Lord
In his own bosom sheath'd the deadly sword—
Tho' he confess'd and wash'd his hands beside,
His heart condemn'd him and the monster dy'd.
[116] "General Gage's Confession" was printed in pamphlet form in 1775. As far as I can ascertain, there exists but a single copy of this publication, that in the possession of the Library Company of Philadelphia. A manuscript note upon this copy, unquestionably the handwriting of Freneau, is as follows: "By Gaine. Published October 25, 1775." The poem was manifestly written after Gage's recall. The poet never reprinted it.
[117] On July 28, 1775, George III. wrote to Lord North: "I have desired Lord Dartmouth to acquaint Lt. G. Gage that as he thinks nothing further can be done this campaign in the province of Massachusetts Bay that he is desired instantly to come over, that he may explain the various wants for carrying on the next campaign." "It was a kindly pretext devised to spare the feelings of an unprofitable but a faithful and a brave servant."—Trevelyan. General Gage embarked at Boston for England, Oct. 12, 1775.
[118] The scarcity of provisions in the British camp during the siege of Boston has been already alluded to. "When marauding expeditions," says Bancroft, "returned with sheep and hogs and cattle captured from islands, the bells were rung as for victory."
[119] Alluding to the proclamation of June 12, five days before Bunker Hill, which established martial law throughout Massachusetts and proscribed Hancock and Samuel Adams. By this proclamation, all who were in arms about Boston, every member of the State Government and of the Continental Congress, were threatened with condign punishment as rebels and traitors.
[120] Washington had written to Gage, remonstrating against the cruel treatment of certain American officers, who were denied the privileges and immunities due their rank. Almost the last official act of Gage was to reply through Burgoyne in a letter addressed to "George Washington, Esqr.," that "Britons, ever pre-eminent in mercy, have overlooked the criminal in the captive. Your prisoners, whose lives by the law of the land are destined to the cord, have hitherto been treated with care and kindness;—indiscriminately, it is true, for I acknowledge no rank that is not derived from the King."