hand to the door knob to open it.)
SWINDON
(who has not budged). General Burgoyne.
BURGOYNE
(returning). Sir?
SWINDON
. It is my duty to tell you, sir, that I do not
consider the threats of a mob of rebellious tradesmen a suffi-
cient reason for our giving way.
BURGOYNE
(imperturbable). Suppose I resign my com-
mand to you, what will you do?
SWINDON
. I will undertake to do what we have marched
south from Boston to do, and what General Howe has
marched north from New York to do: effect a junction at
Albany and wipe out the rebel army with our united forces.
BURGOYNE
(enigmatically). And will you wipe out our
enemies in London, too?
SWINDON
. In London! What enemies?
BURGOYNE
(forcibly). Jobbery and snobbery, incompetence
and Red Tape. (He holds up the dispatch and adds, with de- spair in his face and voice) I have just learnt, sir, that General
Howe is still in New York.
SWINDON
(thunderstruck). Good God! He has disobeyed
orders!
BURGOYNE
(with sardonic calm). He has received no or-
ders, sir. Some gentleman in London forgot to dispatch them:
he was leaving town for his holiday, I believe. To avoid up-
setting his arrangements, England will lose her American
colonies; and in a few days you and I will be at Saratoga with
5,000 men to face 16,000 rebels in an impregnable position.
SWINDON
(appalled). Impossible!
BURGOYNE
(coldly). I beg your pardon!
SWINDON
. I can’t believe it! What will History say?
BURGOYNE
. History, sir, will tell lies, as usual. Come: we
must send the safe-conduct. (He goes out.)
SWINDON
(following distractedly). My God, my God! We
shall be wiped out.
As noon approaches there is excitement in the market place. The gallows which hangs there permanently for the terror of evildo- ers, with such minor advertizers and examples of crime as the pillory, the whipping post, and the stocks, has a new rope at- tached, with the noose hitched up to one of the uprights, out of
63
GB Shaw
reach of the boys. Its ladder, too, has been brought out and placed in position by the town beadle, who stands by to guard it from unauthorized climbing. The Websterbridge townsfolk are present in force, and in high spirits; for the news has spread that it is the devil’s disciple and not the minister that the Continentals (so they call Burgoyne’s forces) are about to hang: consequently the execution can be enjoyed without any misgiving as to its righ- teousness, or to the cowardice of allowing it to take place with- out a struggle. There is even some fear of a disappointment as midday approaches and the arrival of the beadle with the lad- der remains the only sign of preparation. But at last reassuring shouts of Here they come: Here they are, are heard; and a com- pany of soldiers with fixed bayonets, half British infantry, half Hessians, tramp quickly into the middle of the market place, driving the crowd to the sides. SERGEANT
. Halt. Front. Dress. (The soldiers change their column into a square enclosing the gallows, their petty officers, energetically led by the sergeant, hustling the persons who find themselves inside the square out at the corners.) Now then! Out
of it with you: out of it. Some o’ you’ll get strung up your-
selves presently. Form that square there, will you, you damned
Hoosians. No use talkin’ German to them: talk to their toes
with the butt ends of your muskets: they’ll understand that.
GET out of it, will you? (He comes upon Judith, standing near