SCENE 3.—The beech ridge. Frequent firing. The Indian war-whoop. Bugles sounding the advance.
Enter LIEUT. FITZGIBBON and COL. THOMAS CLARKE.
Fitzgibbon. The Mohawks have done well; and I am glad
To have your help, sir, too. What is your strength?
Clarke. But twenty, sir, all told.
Fitzgibbon. And I but thirty. Too few to fight such force
In open field. But Boerstler's lost his head:
Deluded by our calls, your fierce attack,
And Indian fighting—which to them has ghosts
Of their own raising—scalps, treachery, what not.
There is our chance: I mean to summon him
To a surrender.
Clarke (in great surprise). Sir!
Fitzgibbon. 'Tis a bold stroke, I grant, and if it fail
Why then I'll fight it out. Keep up the scare
Some moments longer, and we'll see.
Clarke. Good luck betide so brave a word;
I'll do my best.
[Exit COL. CLARKE.