Act 3 — SCENE 2.—Morning twilight. A little wayside tavern at a cross-road.
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Enter FITZGIBBON, reconnoitring.
Fitzgibbon. They must be pretty near by this time, If they are come at all.
(Two American soldiers of the advanced guard rush out of the tavern and present their rifles. FITZGIBBON springs on them, and, seizing each man's weapon, crosses them in front of himself.)
Not yet, my friends.
[They struggle, and one of the Americans draws FITZGIBBON'S sword and is about to plunge it in his shoulder.
Enter a woman, the tavern-keeper.
Woman. Ye Yankee rogue! ye coward!
[She snatches the sword, and runs into the tavern with it.
Fitzgibbon. Take that! and that!
[He trips up one man, and knocks the other down, putting his foot on the man's breast.
Now, give me up your arms.
[They give up their arms.
Enter FITZGIBBON'S command.
Here, Sergeant, march them in and set a guard.
[They are marched into the tavern. Shots are heard.
Fitsgibbon. They're come! Quick—march, my lads.