Fame,
  Reward, wealth, power, revenge and simple justice
  All at a clap. They'll make a Lord of me,—
  Pacificator of the Colonies,—
  Restorer of an erring people's love
  To their forgiving Sovereign. At a clap!
  The key to all of this is in my hand,—
  West Point; and in my other hand,
  Sir Henry's promises,—money in sums,
  To weigh the unweighed treasures I have sunk
  For these damned ingrates.

Treason. Art thou there, Benedict?

Arnold. [Still aside.] They took my all,
  Engulfed my freely-given wealth, paid out
  For their salvation; now they count the cost,
  File my accounts and give me promises,—
  Hopes for next year. Twas not in coin like that
  I paid at Saratoga!

Treason. Benedict!

Arnold. Who art thou, spirit of the inner world? I cannot see thee.

Treason. And yet you called me.

Arnold. No, I called thee not. I called to mind
  My bullet-shattered thigh, and the hot thirst
  Of fever. Did not Washington himself
  Send me the sword-knots he received from France,
  And Congress vote a horse caparisoned
  To bear me proudly?

Treason. Ay; they kept back that
  Which all out-weighed the rest.

Arnold. My rank!
  My rank!
  Five brigadiers promoted over me!

Treason. They paid with compliment.

Arnold. A soldier's rank
  Is, as his guiding genius in the sky,
  A holy thing. That rank which I had earned
  They gave to striplings.

Treason. Pay them well for it!

Arnold. Leave me: I do desire to be alone.

Treason. Without me, Arnold, thou art not alone.
  I am beside thee till thy dying breath:
  When Treason leaves, he hands thee unto Death.

Arnold. It is not treason to preserve one's life
  Among wild beasts; nor treason to demand
  The reasonable payment of a debt;
  Nor treason for the savior of a land—
  Listen:—There was a stripling in the town
  Where I was born; and this rash vigorous boy
  Seized by the nose a bull, that in a fright
  Had rushed aboard a crowded ferry-boat,
  And held him through his plunges till he fell,
  Subdued by pain. The boy for no reward,
  But for the devil in him, did the thing.
  But had he been a man, and sought reward,
  Had he been banged about this rocking world
  As I have, holding terror by the horns,
  Could he not ask a pittance?—Leave me, friend.
  I am exhausted, taking all the brunt
  And getting kicks for pay. Nay, leave me, Sir,
  The argument is over. Let me rest.

[Sits down and tries to sleep.]

Treason. I'll watch beside thee.

Father Hudson. Can ye not calm him somewhat in his sleep?

Leader of Men. [To Treason.] Will you not leave the man and let him rest?

Treason. His sleep is mine. When waking let him rest.

Father Hudson. [To Treason.] This is a cruel fate ye mete him out.

Treason. Be it your province to be merciful.

Father Hudson. When will ye leave the man, thou empty ghost?

Treason. When Treason in the flesh shall come to meet him.

Both Choruses. Surely it is a good thing for a hero to die in his youth; for then is he perfect. The bark is not broken on the wand nor the neck worn by the yoke.

Surely young men are better than old; and we praise them deservedly. This man, a few years since, could endure reverse; but now he is broken and worn away: his soul bows down; he cannot hold out longer.

It is a good thing when a young hero dies; for so is he safe. His immortality is meted to him. O spare us a trial like this man's who is on the brink of great misfortune.

Arnold. [Starting up.] They have betrayed me! Who goes there?

[Enter Joshua Smith. Exit Treason.]

Joshua Smith. A friend!

Arnold. His name?

Joshua Smith. Joshua Smith. And yours?

Arnold. Arnold, my man. Good God! you startled me. I must have slept. What news? Will André come?

Joshua Smith. He's just behind me.
  All is as we planned.
  The British sloop-of-war hangs in the tide.
  The Vulture brought him, and she waits for him
  Not two miles to the south. I boarded her. With every point
  Raised in your letters André is agreed;
  And back of him, Sir Henry Clinton stands;
  And back of him,—ye'll hear it now?—King George!
  Packt, stamped upon, agreed, and understood,
  The bargain's struck. Your hand, my Lord! Sir Benedict!
  Lord Ruler Benedict, The Lord Protector of the Colonies,
  And Duke of,—what you will. Young André follows.
  I chased ahead to find you. Put it high!
  You'll put the figure high?—I'm out of breath—

Arnold. I'll put it high enough to help a friend.—
  No fear of that, my lad. Go rest awhile:
  Stand sentinel upon the shore below.

[Exit Smith. As he goes out he indicates Arnold to André by a gesture. Enter André. His slender, refined, almost girlish youth is in contrast with Arnold's battle-worn, gigantic figure.]

Arnold. [Aside.] At last my arrows strike!
      [To André.] What! Major André!
  This is a crazy meeting,—somewhat strange
  After your jigging nights in Philadelphia,—
  A Mischianza, where we play a masque,
  And act a drama fraught with consequence
  More serious than any since the Duke
  Brought back King Charles. Two true-born Englishmen,
  If you'll accept my hand, shall this day place
  A jewel in old England's diadem,
  Which some rash spirits would shake out of it.

André. Have you the papers ready?

Arnold. They are here; The plans of all the out-posts to the dot, And every man on duty in the Fortress.

André. The general is in Hartford?

Arnold. And returns
  Not for some days. Our garrison I'll post
  Distributively on the distant hills;
  While from the Vulture half a thousand men
  Land in the darkness. Thus without a blow,
  But with the magic of a countersign,
  West Point becomes your own.

André. Is there some house
  Or tavern, where with more deliberate mind
  We may o'erlook the papers, and make note
  Of our exacter meanings?

Arnold. Close at hand,
  The mansion of my agent, Joshua Smith.