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?

_Leader of Men_. Father, thou askest things no man can answer.

_Father Hudson_. If these things could be known, what man would follow
his own desires? Fear overtaketh me in thinking of them. I thank the
gods that my channel is laid, I cannot change it. The man seems to me
like one who should place a lake on a hilltop and cry to it, Stay
there! He hath wrestled against thunder. He would lift the rocks with
his back; and he lies crushed beneath them. Can he not repent? Shall
he never find out that fire is hot? Must he die still unap