KERCHIVAL. My own regiment! [_Starting up._] Get my horse, Barket.
[_Turns._] Gertrude, my life! [_Embraces_ GERTRUDE.

BARKET. Your horse, is it? I'm wid ye! There's a row at Finnegan's
ball, and we're in it. [_Springs to road, and out._

KERCHIVAL. [_Turns away. Stops._] I am under arrest. [_Retreat.
Fugitives begin to straggle across stage._

GERTRUDE. You must not go, Kerchival; it will kill you.

KERCHIVAL. Arrest be damned! [_Starts up stage, raises his arms above
his head with clenched fist, rising to full height._] Stand out of my
way, you cowards! [_They cower away from him as he rushes out among
them. The stream of fugitives passing across stage swells in volume._
GERTRUDE _runs through them and up to the elevation, turning._

GERTRUDE. Men! Are you soldiers? Turn back! There is a leader for you!
Turn back! Fight for your flag--and mine!--the flag my father died
for! Turn back! [_She looks out and turns front._] He has been marked
for death already, and I--I can only pray. [_Dropping to her knees._

_The stream of fugitives continues, now over the elevation also. Rough
and torn uniforms, bandaged arms and legs; some limping and supported
by others, some dragging their muskets after them, others without
muskets, others using them as crutches. Variety of uniforms, cavalry,
infantry, etc.; flags draggled on the ground, the rattle of near
musketry and roar of cannon continue; two or three wounded fugitives
drop down beside the hedge._ BENSON _staggers in and drops upon rock
or stump near post. Artillerists, rough, torn and wounded, drag and