PS 635 .Z9 C48 Copy 1 This Book Must Be Returned to the Manager. BLUE AND GREY. fv Drama of the leueUion. IX FIVE ACTS AND FIVE TABLEAUX. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1873, by E.CHURCHILL and J. G. GOULD, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. LA W R E N G E : Printed at the Office of the Daily Eagle, No. 307 Essex Street. 18 73. This Book Must Be Returned to the Manager. BLUE AND GREY, •7 / §, $}ratwa at Vtit §t*Mtt*». IN FIVE ACTS AND FIVE TABLEAUX. v>; S < v.... «■ ' Entered according to Act of Congress in the yearl873, by E. CHURCHILL and J. G. GOULD, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. For Terms and Particulars apply to E. CHURCHILL, P. 0. Box 67, Lawrence, Mass. LA WHENCE : Printed at the Office of the Daily Eagle, No. 307 Essex Street. 1873. GIST OF CHARACTERS, >5**c CHARLES RA YMOND. MR. RA TMOND. JOT HAM HOPKINS. MIKE CASEY. UNCLE NED. PRIVATE JONES. THOMPSON. FRANK WILSON. GEORGE EVANS. RANDOLPH PEYTON, A Virginian. GENERAL HILL, (Reb). SERG'T McGAW, EDITH RAYMOND, Adopted daughter of Mr. R. MRS. RAYMOND. SILENCE SHORT, Jotham's gal. Union and Rebel Officers and Soldiers. Guards, Sentinels, &c, &c. COSTUMES, - - - MODERN. Time of Eepbesbntation — Two Houes and a half. TMP92-008831 BLUE AND GREY. ACT I. Scene I. — Parlor in Mr. Raymond's house. Mr. and Mrs. R. sitting at table l. c. Mr. Raymond reading. Mrs. Raymond sewing. Peyton and Edith playing chess at table r. h. Mr. Raymond. Mother, there is no doubt that these papers are determined to bring about a war between the North and the South. Mrs. R. The papers, husband? Mr. R. Yes, I repeat it, the papers ; what earthly cause is there for internecine warfare between us and our brethren at the South? Why, Mrs. R, why should we imbrue our hands in our brothers' blood ? Why should we interfere — and that reminds me of what the Judge said. Peyton. {Aside.) Yes; the Judge knows. Mrs. R. But, husband, do you not think there must soon be a crisis ; that the institution of slavery — Mr. R. There, there, mother; the old story — slavery, slavery. Now, Mrs. Raymond, this is my idea, and— ahem ! it is the Judge's, — we have lived in peace for upwards of eighty years, despite of slavery, which, mark me, I admit to be a fearful sin, but why can we not shut our eyes to this one sin, and still live in peace? Now, madam, I await a reply. 6 BLUE AND GEET. ACT I. Mrs. B. Well, husband, you know I don't understand politics, but I do hope this trouble may be settled without war. I must attend to present affairs, however, and see how dinner is progressing. {Exit l. [Mr. B. resumes Ms reading. ] Peyton. In this game, position is everything ; that once secure, success, as in the game of love, depends mainly upon bold and decisive action, Edith. Yet, unless we are ever on the alert, through lack of prudence, the game is oft-times lost — good players are always cautious. Peyton. And being too cautious, lose the game, permitting a more daring rival to bear away the prize. Edith. But, in our game, there is no prize at stake. Peyton. Then let there be one. Edith. What shall it be? Peyton. [Taking her hand.] This. Edith. [Confused.'] That would be but a poor prize when won — without the heart. Peyton. Then stake that, too. Edith. [ Who has been studying the board, moves.] Check- mate ! You have lost the game while disputing about the stake. Peyton. Yes, Miss Eaymond, I have indeed, lost the game — [Aside] of chess but not of love. Edith. [Laughingly.] How fortunate that you did not lose your heart. Peyton. Ah! I have already lost that; a certain little thief— Edith. Thief ? You should have legal advice, Mr. Peyton. Peyton. There is but one remedy, albeit, that is a legal one, to-wit: Marriage, Edith. What a fearful alternative. Peyton. I do not so regard it, nor dread it in the least, nay, I even hope I may soon have occasion to accept this "fearful alternative." But as the day is so fine, shall we not walk in the grounds ? Scene I.] blue and grey. 7 Edith. Willingly; I will get my hat and shawl. [Exit r. Peyton. [Aside.] I am rushing to my fate; for good or ill the next half hour must decide it. [Crosses l. Mr. P. What is your opinion, Mr. Peyton ? Peyton. [Starting.'] Of what, sir? Mr. P. What, sir, is your opinion of the present political situation ? Peyton. My dear sir, you know I never take the slightest interest in politics. Mr. P. But, my young friend, this is a time when every one should take an interest in the affairs of the nation ; when men of peace and conservative principles should strive to counteract the influence of sectional prejudices, and avert that most terrible of calamities — a civil war. Now, I do not believe there will be any war. Peyton. [Nervously. ] I hope not, sir. Mr. P. Should there be war, my sympathies and my ut- most means will be given for the maintenance of the Union. Peyton. Oh, yes, undoubtedly. Mr. P. And you, Mr. Peyton ? Peyton. Sir, I am — [Aside] Confound him. [Enter Edith r. ] Just in time. My dear sir, we are going to walk in the grounds ; will you postpone this conversation until my return ? Mr. P. Oh, certainly, certainly. [They go out, r. Enter Charles, l.., ivith papers.] Mr. P. Well, my boy, have you brought the papers; — what news do they contain ? Chas. Bad news, father, very bad. Mr. P. Why, you don't think still— Chas. There will be war? Most assuredly I do, and if hostilities do not commence within a week I shall be most agreeably disappointed. Mr. R. [Testily.] Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, [Exit l. Chas. My father will have a rude awakening from his 8 BLUE AND GREY. [ACT I. dream of peace, but when the storm does break, he will ever be found loyal to those great principles upon which our Union is founded. [Enter Mrs. Raymond, c. d. d. ] Mrs. B. Oh, Charles ! Edith and Mr. Peyton are walking together in the garden, and his manner seems almost that of an accepted suitor. Chas. Well, that shows Randolph to be a young man of exceedingly good taste, for the day is remarkably line and Edith is a very lovely girl ; I am sure you cannot blame him. Mrs. R. But, Charles, I really think he means to propose. Chas. I am quite sure he does, for he intimated as much to me this morning. Mrs. R. Oh, Charles, I am very, very sorry, for you know how earnestly I desire to see you and Edith united. Chas. I know, mother, but that can never be ; Edith is my sister in all save birth, and as a sister I shall ever love and cherish her. But do not let it annoy you. Randolph is a true-hearted, noble fellow, and will make Edith an excellent husband. Mrs. R. I hope so, Charles, I hope so ; yet I hesitate to trust her happiness to his keeping. [Exit l. Chas. Mother has taken a strange dislike to Randolph, but I am convinced that it is without cause. I think I will go into the grounds and smoke. The lovers need not be dis- turbed, for I will give them timely warning of my approach. [Exit k. Scene II. — Oar den or grounds adjoining Mr. Raymond's house. Enter Peyton and Edith, l. Edith. What a glorious day ! — the air is as mild and warm as summer. * Peyton. Tis like a Spring day in my glorious Southern home. Oh, Miss Edith, how I love the land of my birth — dear old Virginia. Scene II. J blue and grey. 9 Edith. It is very natural to revere the place of one's birth. — The love of home and country is the noblest and most sacred of all loves, and should ever be cultivated aud encour- aged. Peyton. Is love, then, a voluntary passion, which we may prune and train at will, as the simple, passive flower ? Edith. [Confused.] I — hardly — know — I am — not well qualified to judge, for I cannot speak from experience. Peyton. Oh, let me be your tutor, then. [Taking her hand.] Dear Edith, if hearts can be taught to love, let me teach yours during my short stay here. I have learned to love you with all the warm, generous impulse of my fiery Southern nature. Tell me, may I hope to win your heart — the most precious boon that man can ask or woman give ? Edith. This — is — so sudden, so strange; I dare not trust myself to speak; oh, give me time to think. Peyton. Do not keep me long in suspense, — give me one word, — bid me but hope, and I will be your slave. Edith. [Shuddering aside.] Slave! Oh, heavens! that fatal word. Why does it ever haunt me ? Peyton. Why this hesitation? Tell me, have I been de- ceived ? Tell me, even if you hate me, — I can bear that better than this suspense. Edith. No, no; it is not that, — but I must be alone— I must search my heart to its utmost depths before I can answer you. [Going. He attempts to follow her.] Nay do not follow; I must be alone. [Aside.] May the spirit of my dear mother watch over and guide me aright. [Exit r. Peyton. This is very strange; lam almost sure she loves me — yet I would give half my fortune to know it, to hear the sweet assurance from her own lips. [Charles heard off, l.] Ah, there is Charley coming this way. He must not suspect me, [Lights cigar. ] [Enter Charles, l.] Chas. Ah, Randolph, you here, and alone, too ? Why, where is Edith ? 10 BLUE AND GKEY. ACT I. ] Peyton. [Unconcerned.] Oh, the air growing chilly, she went into the house a moment before you came ; I remained to finish my cigar. Chas. If you will allow me I will join you. [Lights cigar j Now let's talk over old times. Peyton. That is not always a pleasant theme, Charley. You know there are passages in every life-book which can only awaken unpleasant memories ; so we seldom refer to them. Chas. You have often promised to tell me something of your past life. I see you are in the mood, so please proceed. Peyton. My story is not one which will interest you great- ly. My father was killed in a duel when I was but a year old. From that time until I was fifteen years of age, my my mother's life was one struggle with poverty and care, then, broken in spirit and worn with sorrow and toil, she died, leaving me to the guardianship of her brother, who, though bitterly opposed to her union with my father, has been to me the kindest and most indulgent of friends. Hav- ing no children of his own, he has made me his heir, and I now know no want which wealth can supply. Chas. Thank you, for your confidence. And now, my boy, there is but one thing wanting to complete your happiness : — You must find some true-hearted northern girl to introduce as Mrs. Peyton, in your lovely southern home. Peyton. Well — yes — I have thought of that, and may, per- haps, succeed in such an endeavor, ere long. Chas. I have no doubt of it, and, judging from appear- ances, the time is not very far distant ; eh, old fellow ? Jotham. [Outside, l.J All right, Aunt Euth; T guess I can find him. Peyton. Ah ; whom have we here ? Chas. That is my cousin Jotham— a regular genius. He seems, to a stranger, rather uncultivated, but he is a good fellow, and — to use an expression of his own — has a ' ' heart as big as an ox." Scene II.] blue and grey. 11 [Enter Jotham, n.] Jotham. Hullo, Charley ! how air ye ? Til be darned if I ain't glad to see ye. [Shaking hands vigorously.] How air ye, any way. [Seeing Peyton.] Say, Charley; who is that tarnai, stuck-up-looking chap ? I'll be darned if he ain't stiffer'n inarin's puddin'-stick or dad's hoe-handle. Chas. He is a very dear friend of mine, from Virginia ; I will introduce you. [Introduction.] [Jotham offers his hand ; Peyto7i bows very stiffly without taking it. ] Joth. How d'ye do, sir ! Hope yer well. Nice weather, ain't it? What's the news? I hear you're from the South- 'ard ; what's the prospect for the crop o' green stuff down your way, this Spring? Peyton. If I may be allowed to judge, I venture to say that the "crop of green stuff" promises quite as well in this region. Joth. Jerusalem ! You don't say so ! You know how His yourself. Peyton. [ Turning from him angrily. ] Pshaw ! Chas. [To Peyton.] Do not be angry with him, he means no harm. Well, Jotham, how are all my old friends in your place ? How is Frank Wilson, and how is Silence ? and, I say, Jotham, does she still look with loving eyes upon your manly form? Joth. You git out ! She don't do nothin' else, tell your folks, — but, speakin' serious and to the pint, ain't she a tarnai cute little critter ? Why, Charley, I swow, when I look at her it makes my heart go flip-er-ty-flop, bum-er-ty- bump — just like an old-fashioned churn-dasher. Chas. Yes, she is a very fine girl, and will make you a good wife. But let us go into the house ; father will want to hear the news. Come, Randolph. [Chas. and Peyton go out, L. Joth. [ Watching them out] Southerner, hey ? and a pesky, pisen skunk, too, or else I ain't no judge o' cats,— and it's my opinion that uncle's folks will find it out afore long, and 12 BLUE AND GREY. ACT I. ] that he'll have to pick up his week's washin' and make tracks for the sacred sile of Virginny ; 'Cause why ? Skunks ain't good property to have round a hen-roost, — I know how that is myself. Ezit, l. Scene TIL — Parlor. Mr. Raymond discovered. Mr. R. Well, well ; I wish Charles would come with the morning papers; I have read these through and through. [Throws paper on table.] Nothing but the cant of the day — war, war, war at any rate. The whole country is crazy ; even that rusty nephew of mine, Jotham, fancies that he knows more of national affairs than myself, and presumes, in spite of my arguments, to tell me there "will be a fight," as he terms it. Here he comes now. [Enter Jotham, l.] Well nephew, I hope you have thought these matters over and arrived at a sensible conclusion — my conclusion. Joth. I tell you what 'tis, uncle Josh, I have thought these matters over for a considerable of a spell, and I've made up my mind that there's going to be a fight. You see them darned lazy critters down South have got their backs up be. cause we've 'lected Abe Linkin — the honestest man that ever split a rail. Now they think that one o' them can lick five or six of us Yankees any mornin', just to give him an appetite for his breakfast, but I know, and you ought to know that they can't do it. Don't you see now, that thinkin' and feelin' as they do, they'll go right into this thing blind, and afore they half git the dirt out o' their eyes they'll git too tarnal fur in to back out, so they'll have to fight to git out at all ? Mr. R. Jotham, you take an imperfect and partisan view of the subject — an imperfect and partisan view. Just look at the matter in my light. Joth. Uncle Josh, your light must be a taller candle, but mine ain't, by no manner of means, and, 'cordin' to my light, there's going to be a fight. Tell ye what 'tis, we read the newspapers up our way. Scene Til ] blue and grey. 13 Mr. R. But, my dear boy, the papers have been the cause of more than one-half the trouble thus far. [Emphatically. ] Jotham Hopkins, mark my words, there will be no war. The good sense and patriotism of the true men of both sections will avert such a calamity. 1' repeat it without the fear of contradiction ; there will be no war ! [Enter Charles, l., hurriedly with papers.] Chas. Great news ! Fearful news ! The blow has fallen ! Mr. R. [ Very much astonished.] Wh-wh, — what ! ! Chas. [Reads.] " The rebel forts and batteries have opened a heavy and sustained fire upon Fort Sumter. Already a large number of her guns are dismounted. Relief is impos- sible. Surrender is certain. Later : — The fort is in flames and her guns are silenced. " [Edith and Peyton enter during the reading. ] Joth. There, uncle Josh, how high up is that for a guess? What do you think about my light now ? Mr. R. I — I — can't speak. What will the Judge say ? Peyton. [Aside.] Has it then come so soon? I had hoped to win Edith ere the blow fell. Chas. There is but one course now for him who loves his country — to fly to arms in her defence, nor let the sword be sheathed till rebel traitors learn the cost of treason. Joth. That's the talk, Charley ; that's the kind '11 fetch 'em. I'm with ye, old fellow. You and me'll go out there and lick the whole pisen lot on 'em, from Virginny to Texas. Peyton. [Turning fiercely.] Sir: I am a Virginian, and will not hear my native State abused by a low-born northern mud- sill. Chas. What is this, Peyton? Such language from you, my cherished friend, whom I had esteemed an honest man and a patriot ? Peyton. Charles Raymond, Virginia is my home — from my earliest years I have been taught to revere her institutions, and now, that they are imperilled, I am ready to lay down my life in her defense. 14 BLUE AND GBET. [ACT I. Chas. Such language is treason, and you who utter it a traitor. You have been my friend, now you are my country's foe and mine. The same roof can no longer shelter us both, and that roof a loyal man's. Should we ever meet again, let it be as foes^-not friends. Peyton. As you will, sir,— your sentiments are mine. I trust we may meet again. Edith. [Crossing to Peyton.] Mr. Peyton, yesterday you sought my hand in marriage ; I asked for time to consider, and 'twas well I did so. Now hear my answer : No traitor tan ever win the hand of Edith Raymond. Though I loved you dearer than my life, I would spurn you from me, even should the shock of separation rend my heart in twain. Peyton. Edith, must we part thus ? Joth. [ Who has been an impatient listener.'] See here, my festive southern cuss, I don't believe that gal cares a second- hand cud of spruce gum for you. Now I calkilato that you've aired your sesesh gabble round these diggins about long enough, and if you don't shet up your yap, I'll make ye think a mule kicked ye with all four shoes on one huff. Mr. B. Restrain yourself, Jotham, leave this to me. Mr. Peyton, I have been blind, I have not seen aright the dangers which beset my country, but I shall, I trust, be willing to sacrifice much now that war has burst upon us, You are my guest, yet you see, sir, that even courtesy and hospitality would not invite your longer presence in my house. You will therefore, oblige us all by leaving it as soon as possible. Peyton. Rest assured, Mr. Raymond, I shall not long re- main an intruder in your hospitable mansion. [To Edith.] Adieu, Miss Raymond, think kindly sometimes of the "trai- tor." [Crosses to Charles.] Charles Raymond, our strife has but begun, when next we meet 'twill be in mortal combat. [Exit, r. Chas. We are well rid of a traitor. Would that our coun- try were as well rid of the race. Our duty is plain,— all who can must assist in crushing a rebellion which threatens the Scene III. J blue and grey. 15 very existence of the nation. I shall at once apply for the necessary authority to recruit a company, and offer my ser- vices to the government. Joth. Hooray for my cousin ! Charley, you jest count me in on that every time. Mr. E. My dear boy, I can do no less than bid you God- speed. Go, my son, and let us look to Him who bringeth light out of darkness, in this, our darkest hour. Jothah, Edith, Mr. E., Charles. Slow Drop,— Band playing «' America.." Tableau — "To Arms." An Allegory, representing time of Peace, changing to a representation of the Fall of Sumter. End of Act I. ACT II. Scene I. — A recruiting office. Charles at table with clerk. Man signing roll. Groups of men standing about. Chas. Forty-four names on the roll, — that is encouraging ; only twenty more and the company is full. Joth. D'ye hear that, boys ? Almost your last chance— got to hurry up if you're goin'. Thompson. Jones, I'll go if you will ; what do you say ? Jones. Well, I don't know — Joth. Don't know? Who in thunderation does know, if you don't ? Come now, that air gal that I see you buzzin' down by the post-office last night '11 think a darned sight more of ye if ye go with us and help lick the blasted rebs. {Jones hangs back.~\ See here, old feller, if ye don't come up and sign, I'll cut ye out with the gal— I will, by mighty. I can do it, for there ain't nothin' like a blue uniform with a good many brass buttons on it, to make the gals run arter ye, — / know how 'tis myself. [Jones signs.] That's the 16 BLTJE AND GREY. [ACT II. talk. Now, boys, the rest of ye walk up and immortalize yerselves. [Nearly all the men sign the roll. Mike heard sing- ing, off, R.] Joth. Hallo ! here's a Frineh gintleman dyin' to cover hisself with glory. [Miter Mtke, r.] Mike. Glory, is it ? Faith, ye're right; meself is the boy is biliug over wid glory. Where is the boss, till I pat me name down ? Chas. This way, my man. Mike. [Takes pen and tries to write ] Oh, bad luck to the pen,— write it yerself, sir, av ye plaze, sure I cud niver write wid a pen, [ Aside] nor anythin' else. Chas. What is your name ? Mike. Me name, is it? I thought ye knew it — everyone knows it at home. Mike Casey, sir, as good a name as iver crossed the salt say. Whisper. I suppose we'll get plenty to ate. Chas. Oh, yes ; Uncle Sam is very liberal in the matter of rations. Mike. Bekase, sir, bein' a fine growin' boy I have a divil of an appetite, — and, sir, I wouldn't like to go hungry. It might shtop me growth, ye know. Chas. We are expecting orders to march very soon ; you will therefore be ready to go at an hour's notice. Mike. Small harm, sir; sure I have no one to lave behind me, — they're all under the sod of ould Ireland, — so I'll not be long away, sir. [As Mike goes out, r., Ned runs against him.'] Mike, (ret out, ye dirty, black nagur! For what razon do yez run agin a dacent Irishman and a sojer in the Amerikin army? Be me soul, only for blacking me fingers, I'd make ye think all the stars in the sky was dancing jigs on yer wool" ly head. Get out wid ye. [Gives Ned a kick and a push.'] [Exit, r. Scene I. blue and grey. 17 Ned. [Nigger business.] Golly! Reckon de war's done gone begun — firm' commence in de rear. Joth. Well, old snowball, if you've got yerself put together p'raps you'll tell us what you're here for. Ned. Who lib h 1 yar ? Chas. This is a recruiting office, where men are enrolled for the army. Ned. Army ! I golly, dats' jes' what I done come down h'yar for, but dat paddy-man shake me up so d at I done for got all about it. Will you take dis chile, massa 2 Chas. We are not allowed to enlist men of your color, but you can go as my servant, if you wish. Ned. What I hab to do, massa ? Chas. Black boots, cook, wash, do anything I may have for you to do, and you will receive plenty to eat, and ten dol- lars a month besides, Ned. [Astonished.] Ten dollars a munf ? Where dey get so much money ? My good golly, I didn't know there was so much iu de whole world. [Dances about stage much pleased.] Chas. What do you say — will you go ? Ned. Go ? I golly, I reckon I go for dat ten dollars. [Business.] When I go, massa ? Chas. You had better enter upon your duties at once. You may sweep out the office. What is your name ? Ned. Uncle Ned, massa. Chas. Well, Uncle Ned, T am going to dinner now. If anyone enquires for me during my absence, say I shall be back at two o'clock. [Exit, l. Ned. Yes, massa. Sweep out de office, yes, sah. [Sweeps tabte, chairs, men and all before him. ] Dar, I reckon dat office done sweep pretty clean. [Introduces some negro act] I most forgot what massa tole me to say if anybody come. If — anybody come — 'quirin' for ye abscess, — broke him back wid two clocks, dat's it. [Exit, sweeping. 18 BLUB AND GREY. [ACT II. Scene II.— Street. Music, "Abraham's Daughter." {Enter Jotham, l.] Joth. Well, I'll be darned if I ain't just as chuck full o' milingtary as an egg is full o' meat. Our company is full, too, and ready to go, and darned if the boys ain't just as full o' the matter as they can hold and not bust. And I'm Corp'- ral Hopkins. By gosh, ain't that jest red-hot ? Won't I sling on the martial bearin' when I see Silence Short ? I should full as lief not see her jest now, but I writ to her yes- terday and I shouldn't wonder if her heavenly form should bust upon my astonished vision sometime to day. Oh, bees- wax ! there she is now, putterin' along in the middle o' the road — mud up to her ankles — and buzzin' every male critter she meets as to the whereabouts of Jotham. Darn my pic- tur, I don't feel no more like a soldier now than our old brindle cow. [Enter Silence, r. They shake hands, &c] Silence. Oh, Jotham, Jotham, Jotham, — what have you done, what have you done ? Joth. Oh, Silence, Silence, Silence, — why air you here, why air you here ? I wish my rushin' to arms might be lim- ited to this branch o' the sarvice. Silence. Oh, now, Jotham, how could you enlist and leave me to die all alone ? Joth. [Putting his arm around her. ] Yes, you do seem to be ivaist-m'' away, that's a fact. Silence You great ugly critter to make fun o' me when I feel so bad. [Crying.'] I believe to gracious you'd make fun if you was to see me drop right down dead, and I don't know but I shall sometime or nuther. I tell you I feel awfully, sometimes. Joth. Now, Silence, don't talk so. 'Taint always the roos- ter that cackles the most, that lays the most eggs, you know — and I reckon I feel pooty well wobble-cropped myself. Silence. I s'pose you thought 'twas awful cunnin' to go Scene II.] blue and grey. 19 and enlist afore you told me any thing about it, but 'twan't, 'twas jest as mean as dirt, so there, Jotham Hopkins. Joth. Silence Short, you ain't patriotic worth a cent. By mighty, you ought to hear my cousin Edith talk once, /Silence. What do I care about your cousin Edith ! What's she know about war ? She ain't got no feller to be cut off in the bloom of youth, like me. O, Jotham, I can't let ye go. Joth. Silence, I tell ye 'taint half so bad as it might be, — s'posin' we were married, and had a crop o' little Hopkinses — Silence. Jotham Hopkins, you shet up ! Joth. That's the talk, spunk up, — you'll feel a darned sight better for it, — but say, come up to the house. Uncle '11 make ye a speech, and Charley and Edith '11 talk war and Union, (that's what you and me believe in, you know,) and in less than half an hour you'll wish you had nineteen or twenty more fellers to help lick the darned sesesh. Silence. {Cheering up.] Oh, Jotham, I'm a good mind to go with you. Joth. Ha ! ha ! ha ! yes, I would go, and be a child o' the regiment. Healthy old child you'd make, wouldn't ye ? Silence. You stop your noise ; makin' fun o' me agin and my heart jest ready to bust, all for you, you great ugly thing. Joth. Oh, well, don't be in sech a pucker — the war'll be all over sometime, and then there's goin' to be a change in one of our names, for if I ain't shot, you'll be a Hopkins. [Bugle call for drill, off l. ] By mighty, I didn't know 'twas so late. That's the drill-call, and I must go and help 'em, 'cause, ye see, I've been 'pinted corp'ral. Think o' that, Si- lence, and don't cry no more. See what a chance I stand to be a gin'ral; see what a chance you stand to be a Mrs. Gin'ral. Jest run up to the house, and I'll be up pooty soon. [JStxi, Ij. Silence. Oh, Jemimy ! I don't know whether to be mad or cry. There was Jotham and me goin' to be jined jest as soon as ever it came Fall, and now this pesky, tarnal war has upset our dough-dish and spiled the whole bakin'. This war's goin' to be awful for the women-folks, and I'm one of the 20 BLUE AND GBEY. [ACT II. fust sufferers. I wish to gracious I was a man. I'd go down south and I'd comb Jeff. Davis 1 hair with a three-legged stool, I'd larn them pesky secessioners to kick up sech a rumpus. I'd fix 'em. [Exit, b. Scene III. — Landscape or street. Troops and villagers discovered. Mr. Raymond steps forward. Mr. R. Captain Raymond : In behalf of the citizens of this town, I have been selected to speak a few words of parting to you and to your command. One short year ago how strange, how impossible, would have seemed this scene, and now, how stern the reality as we look our last on you, ere you go forth in defence of our common country. The heart of every loyal man and woman goes with you to-day — one prayer arises from every soul — for in you and your comrades in the field our hopes are centered. "We lift onr hearts to God, praying that He may protect and bless you, crown you with victory's laurels, and when you rest, our nation's foemen vanquished, bring you safe home again — the honored heroes of a grateful land. Chas. Mr. Raymond and friends : We thank you for these words so full of patriotic devotion, breathing, as they do, the spirit now animating every loyal soul in this, our country's hour of peril. We well know that the heart of each true son and daughter of Columbia is with us in this trying moment, praying that success may attend us and peace be the reward of our privations and sacrifices. We shall depart from you sustained and strengthened, knowing we are to battle in the cause of Freedom, Union, Peace. And, though the south- ern soil may rest on many a one of us, may our epitaph be written in these simple, but oh, how glorious, words : "They died that the Nation might live." Once more we thank you, and with stout hearts and firm resolves, bid you farewell. Tboops Mabch off. Vlllagees Following. Tableau. — " Soldieb's Farewell." Music. — " When this cruel war is over." End of Act II. Scene I.J blue and grey. 21 ACT III. Scene I. — Union camp. Soldiers at breakfast Camp fire c. Mike cooking, &c, &c. I our men playing euchre, l . Jones. I'm jest sick of this thing, I am. Here we have to march forty miles a day with a darned wagon- load on our backs, then down in the mud at night, and up agin afore light in the mornin' to make a breakfast of sech stuff as that. [Holding up piece of pork. ] Joth. I hate this consarned, eternal grumblin'. Why not take things as they come ? We must expect some pooty hard knocks and darned poor fodder sometimes. I tell ye, we're goin' to stamp out these cussed rebs, and I'm the critter that's goin' to help do it, if it takes a leg. Jones. It may * l take a leg" for you yet, old boy. Joth. Well, then the leg that's left '11 have to order it up and go it alone, that's all. Jones. All this talk don't make our grub any better. How I wish I could get hold of a good fat chicken once more. Joth. Chicken ! You talk about chicken ! Why, where you was brought up, the sile was too darned mean to raise corn enough to keep a chicken alive, and there wa'n't grass enough to shelter the grasshoppers, and the poor critters used to set on the rocks, with tears in their eyes, cryin' " Lord, help us." Jones. Oh, you let up on your talk. [Noise off, r.] Joth. Hullo, here comes the nigger with a load o' plunder, and I'll bet my day's rations that he wouldn't give one of us a mouthful to save our gizzards. Mike. Bedad, it's right ye are, the black thief is as stingy as a miser, but let ye tip him the blarney for a bit, and look at me come the paddy over him. Enter Ned, r, with two hams tied together and slung over his shoulder, and a live chicken in each hand. Joth. Well, I s wow, Ned, you have been through some sesesh, pooty rusty. Let me heft them chickens. How'd you catch them, Ned? 22 BLUE AND GREY. [ACT HI. Ned. I tell ye, massa Jo, how I done cotch dem fellers. I seed urn goin' for a hole in de fence, den I jes' scrooch down behind de fence and frow down a little corn, and when dey poke dem heads frou', I done cotch dem by de neck so dem couldn't squawk. [Mike is all this time cutting slices of ham and passing to the boys.] Joth. That's a pooty cute trick, Ned ; can't nobody fool you, I tell ye. You cut your eye teeth pooty young, didn't ye? Ned. Golly ! jes' reckon I did, massa Jo. Can't any ob de boys pull de wool ober ole Ned's eye. Dat Irishman t'ink he'm mighty smart, but he can't play his roots on dis chile, no sah. [Mike cuts the string and passes one ham to the boys, the other drops on Ned's toes. ] Hm — m — m ! What de debbil am dat ? [Looking for ham.] Whar 'dat oder ham gone ? Who stole dat ham ? Joth. Who in thunder do you think there is here 'twould steal a ham? We jest burnt three o' the darned things to bile our coffee with — didn't we, Mike ? Mike. We did that same, and mighty bad fire they made, too. I have a dozen more av thim, beyant, and divil a one will I try to burn agin. Yez had but the one ham, ye black thief. Ned. Now jes' look h'yar, — how de debbil I make one ham hang on my shoulder, eh ? Mike, D'yez hear him, boys ? Why, ye descindant of Ham, whin I seen ye 'twas hanging from yer big, black ear, and I thought 'twas some new shtyle ear-ring ye had, and told the boys so, didn't I boys ? All. Yes, yes. Ned. W — ell — I spec' I didn't hab but one ham, den, [Misses chickens.'} but I swar to mighty I had two chickens. Mike. Av course ye did, and whin ye dropped the hams the chickens flew away over the trees, didn't ye see thim ? Ned. No, I swar I didn't, and I jes' reckon dis chile better Scene I ] blue and grey. 23 git up and dust out of dis, or dey steal all de har off 'm my head. [Exit r. Mike. By the piper, wasn't that done as nate as yer nail ? Arrah wusha, but we'll have the illegant shtew off thim chickens. Joth. Yes ; Jones'll have a chance to taste chicken now if he never did afore. But come, fellows, let's all go up yender and pitch our tents, seein 1 we've got a little time to spare. [Exeunt all, and scene closes.] Scene II. — Landscape or front wood. Enter rebel Gen. Hill, R., accompanied by orderly. Hill. Present my compliments to Captain Peyton, and de- sire him to report to me immediately. [Orderly salutes, and exits..'] Captain Peyton seems anxious to distinguish him- self, and as General Jackson has ordered an attack on the enemy's pickets, he will have an opportunity to-night. [Enter Peyton, r.] Peyton. General, I was ordered to report to you. Hill. Yes; I have work for you— an undertaking which will require courage and prudence. I have selected you, knowing that you possess both. Peyton. Thark you, General. I shall be only too glad of an opportunity to serve our cause. What is the nature of the work ? Hill. I wish to attack the enemy's pickets, to arouse their camp and spoil their night's rest, but not to bring on a gen- eral engagement. You will take your own company only, and strike at the extreme right of the Union picket-line, The minor details I leave to your own judgment. I shall have sufficient troops at hand to cover your retreat. Under no circumstances follow far enough to risk capture. Have you a trusty man to scout out the enemy's position ? Peyton. I have one now out, who knows every inch of the country for miles around. Hill. Yery well ; I will go and order the reserve to be in readiness. [Exit r. 24 BLUE AND GEEY. [ACT II. Peyton. 'Tis time McGaw was here. I sent |him to gain information of Charles Raymond's whereabouts, in the hope that I may meet him and avenge the insult put upon me in his father's house. [Enter McGaw, l.] Well, Sergeant, what success ? McGaw. Tip-top, Cap. I seen the Yanks' camp-fires my- self. They are camped on Tyler's farm, and their pickets run out as fur as the crick by the railroad, then across to the Warrenton pike, and I reckon that's as fur as they go. Peyton. That, then, must be our point of attack. We must fall upon their right-flank, and, by a bold dash, turn it, then, while they are panic-stricken, the rout will be easily effected. Do yon know what company does picket-duty at that point? McGaw. Yes; Co. A., Thirteenth Mass. Peyton. [Eagerly,'] Are you sure ? McGaw. Yes, Cap., I know my information to be correct. Peyton. Then fortune favors my revenge. That upstart, Raymond, commands that company, and if I meet him to- night, one, perhaps both of us, must fall. Do you remain close by my side, and if I am struck down, avenge me upon the spot. McGaw. O, cheer up, Cap., the bloody Yank, ain't born yit that's goin' to git the best o' you. Peyton. I certainly hope not, sergeant ; but let's to busi- ness. We must fight as only sons of the South can fight for their cherished institutions, firesides and homes. Since Lieut. Oakley is away, you will be second in command. Go, now, and prepare the men. I will soon follow you. [Exit McGaw it.] And am I so soon, then, to meet the man I have sworn to slay, — whom but|two short years ago I cherished as my dearest friend, and who would now be almost a brother but for this terrible war ? And Edith, too ; how her pretty lips curled in scorn as she called me traitor. 'Twas a cruel taunt, yet I never loved her more fondly than at that mo- Scene II. blue and obey. 25 ment. I love her still, I have sworn to possess her, and, by fair means or foul, my oath shall be kept. \_Exit b. Music. — k€ Maryland, my Maryland" Scene III. — The picket reserve. Soldiers discovered sleep- ing on their arms. Sentinel on duty. Stage dark. Music, "Tenting to-night. ." Chas My brave men sleep soundly. They have had a hard march to-day, and may well be weary. The rebels are encamped but a short distance from us, and we must use the utmost vigilance to guard against a surprise. At this lonely, midnight hour, thoughts of home and the dear ones there come like angel-whispers, and I fancy myself again at my father's fireside, with all as it was ere " war's stern alarm " was sounded. But such thoughts are not for the soldier; duty should ever be uppermost in his mind, and ever be his watchword and guiding-star to victory, — victory, whose con- summation alone shall be the signal for my return home, for I entered the service with the determination to "uphold my country's honor" till death or victory should relieve me. Sentinel, have you heard from the pickets ? Sentinel. Nothing yet, sir. Chas. Keep a sharp lookout, and at the slightest alarm, arouse the men. I will seek the soldier's dearest luxury, sleep and rest. {Lies down with the men.] Song. — * ' Battle Prayer. " Distant firing. Sentinel gives the alarm, and calls, "Pall in the reserve/" Chas. [Springing up.] Fall in, men, lively! " [Men form line, l. Sergeant enters, b., with squad. Chal- lenge and ^countersign given.] Chas. Sergeant, what is the meaning of this ? SergH. We were attacked by a heavy force ; they were too many for us and we had to retreat. Chas. Fall in! Bugle-call, "Assembly," and "Long rolV beaten outside. 26 BLUE AND GEEY. [ACT II. Chas. Keep cool, men, — stand your ground. The camp is aroused and we shall soon be re-inforced. Noise of advancing rebs outside, r. Volley as they enter. Charles orders his men to fire. BATTLE. Raymond and Peyton meet. Peyton draws pistol and shoots Raymond, who falls, l. c. — or, instead of shooting, there may be a sword-combat. Peyton wounds Raymond, and as he is about to despatch him, Jotham rushes forward and receives the blow upon his musket, shouting, it ]SJ 0T THIS CROP ' TURNIPS." Stage-picture to close scene. Scene IV. — After the battle. Stage dark. Dead and wound- ed on stage. Song and chorus, "Bury the brave where they fall, " as the dead are being removed. [Enter Jotham, l.] Joth. Well, here I be again, I swow, jest where the rumpus began this mornin'. Poor fellers, some on ye passed in your checks, didn't ye? We did have a tarnal tough tussle, and no mistake. I began to think that Silence and me had bid each other an etarnal good-bye, and was homesicker'n a borrered purp. But we licked 'em, and we can do it agin, and we're goin' to lick the whole sesesh bilin' on 'em to etar- nal smash, too. Frank Wilson, [a, Raising himself] Water! water! Give me some water. Joth. Here, poor feller, I hain't got no water, but here's a flask o' New England rum, that'll put life into a dead man. [Raises his head and recognizes him.] What ! Frank Wil- son, is that you ? Poor fellow, I'm pesky sorry to see you here ; you jest lay still a minute while I go and get some o the boys to help take you up to the hospital. Scene IV ] blue and grey. 27 Wilson. No, no, Jotbam, 'tis too late for that now. The only service I shall require of the boys will be a soldier's burial. Come nearer, Jotham ; take this Bible to my moth- er ; 'twas her parting gift. Tell her not to weep for me, for I fell fighting for the starry flag which soon shall wave again o'er an undivided country. Good-bye, Jotham, — I am — go. ing — now, — I hear the music — from across the dark river, — I see my father there— beckoning me onward. — Good-bye. Jotham, — good-bye— mother. [Dies. Tableau. — "JPro Patriae." During tableau, Song and Chorus, " Comrades, lay 'me gently down." End of Act III. ACT IV. Scene I. — Landscape or front wood. {Enter Silence and Edith, r. ] Silence. Well, this is the Southern Confederacy, I suppose. I must say if this is the sunny South, that I'd rather be to home over the wash-tub — if Jotham was only there to fetch water for me. — O, dear me ! what if we shouldn't find Jotham and Charles ? I declare it makes me feel awfully to think of it, after all we've endured to get to this pesky place, and now not to find them, — I say it's too bad, so there. {Enter Jotham, l. with basket of articles from the Sanitary Commission, He does not see the girls and they do not recognize hiw.~\ Joth. I guess I've got all the doctor ordered. — Yes, that's all right. By mighty ! if this ere Sanitary Commission ain't a big thing, then I own up that I ain't no judge o' physic. Edith. I will enquire of this soldier if he knows where Charles' regiment is stationed. [To Jotham,} Can you di- rect me to the head-quarters of the Thirteenth Massachusetts Begiment, sir? Joth. Well, I kinder calkilate I can. {Recognizes them.} Where in the name of my future greatness, did you come 28 BLUB AND GEET. [ACT IV. from ? Silence Short, you little, tarnal critter, coine here. [They embrace] Je — rusalem ! thia is the most excruciatin' experience I've had since I left home. How's dad and marm and the sorrel mare, and the rest of the folks. — how be they ? Silence. Everybody is fust rate to home; how be you? Turn round here and let me look at you. — You hain't lost no limbs, I see. Joth. No, Silence, I hain't lost no limbs, but I lost my trunk. Uncle Sam wouldn't let me fetch that because I waVt a commissioned officer. Silence. Do tell, — what a pity! So yon lost all them doughnuts I fried for you, and the piece of yaller soap, and the fine-tooth comb your mother put in your trunk ? Oh, what a shame ! But ain't you never been shot ? Joth. No. I hain't been shot, but I've come dreadful near to it, — I've been mor'n half slewed a good many times. [To Edith.'] Creation, Edith, I ask your pardon for keepin' ye waitin' so long, but, you know how 'tis yourself. I s'pose you want to find Charley. Edith. Yes, we were endeavoring to find his regiment when we met you, and have come to remain with him while we can be of any service. Joth. That's right, I'm darned glad you've come. Char- ley'll be tickled to death to see you ; I'll show you where he is quicker'n you can say Jack Robinson, Esq. [Exeunt l. Scene II. — Hospital. Plain chamber. Charles in bed, with head propped up on pillows. Edith fanning him. Table with glasses, vials,