Scene III. An English Fort.
Enter Colonel Cockum and Captain Frisk.
Cockum.
They're swarming every Day with their Complaints
Of Wrongs and Injuries, and God knows what—
I wish the Devil would take them to himself.
Frisk.
I'd send the noisy Hellhounds packing hence,
Nor spend a Moment in debating with them.
The more you give Attention to their Murmurs,
The more they'll plague and haunt you every Day,
Besides, their old King Ponteach grows damn'd saucy,
Talks of his Power, and threatens what he'll do.
Perdition to their faithless sooty Souls,
I'd let 'em know at once to keep their Distance.
Cockum.
As beats my Patience; cursed Miscreants!
They are encroaching; fain would be familiar:
I'll send their painted Heads to Hell with Thunder!
I swear I'll blow 'em hence with Cannon Ball,
And give the Devil an Hundred for his Supper.
Frisk.
And while you'll listen, they will ne'er be silent,
But every Day improve in Insolence.
Cockum.
Enter Ponteach, and other Indian Chiefs.
Ponteach.
Cockum.
I've heard enough of it; what is it to me?
Ponteach.
Let ev'ry one be a Rogue that has a Mind to 't.
Cockum.
They'll rarely be content, I know, without it.
Ponteach.
White Men like you should stop and teach them better.
Cockum.
Ponteach.
Frisk.
You'd better go and watch your Men yourself,
Nor plague us with your cursed endless Noise;
We've something else to do of more Importance.
Ponteach.
My Bus'ness here is only with your Colonel;
And I'll be heard, or know the Reason why.
1st Chief.
2nd Chief.
And answer fair, and make good Promises.
Cockum.
Ponteach.
Cockum.
Ponteach.
Did your King tell you thus to treat the Indians?
Had he been such a Dunce he ne'er had conquer'd,
And made the running French for Quarter cry.
I always mind that such proud Fools are Cowards,
And never do aught that is great or good.
Cockum.
This Moment leave my Fort, and to your Country.
Let me hear no more of your hellish Clamour,
Or to D——n I will blow you all,
And feast the Devil with one hearty Meal.
Ponteach.
Think you, because you have subdu'd the French,
That Indians too are now become your Slaves?
This Country's mine, and here I reign as King;
I value not your Threats, nor Forts, nor Guns;
I have got Warriors, Courage, Strength, and Skill.
Colonel, take care; the Wound is very deep,
Consider well, for it is hard to cure.
Frisk.
Old Ponteach puts on a mighty Air.
Cockum.
And sent all headlong to the Devil's Kitchen.
This curs'd old Thief, no doubt, will give us Trouble,
Provok'd and madded at his cool Reception.
Frisk.
Cockum.
And keep them quiet for some little Term.
God send the Day that puts them all to sleep,
Come, will you crack a Bottle at my Tent?
Frisk.
Cockum.
Scene IV. An Apartment in the Fort.
Enter Governors Sharp, Gripe, and Catchum.
Sharp.
And by his royal Bounties to conciliate
These Indians' Minds to Friendship, Peace, and Love.
But he that would an honest Living get
In Times so hard and difficult as these,
Must mind that good old Rule, Take care of One.
Gripe.
I think it's in the Bible, I know I've read it.
Catchum.
Who does not for himself and Friends provide.
Sharp.
Gripe.
We've heard the Doctrine; what's the Application?
Sharp.
A Thousand Pound was granted by the King,
To satisfy them of his Royal Goodness,
His constant Disposition to their Welfare,
And reconcile their savage Minds to Peace.
Five hundred's gone; you know our late Division,
Our great Expence, Et cetera, no Matter:
The other Half was laid out for these Goods,
To be distributed as we think proper;
And whether Half (I only put the Question)
Of these said Goods, won't answer every End,
And bring about as long a lasting Peace
As tho' the Whole were lavishly bestow'd?
Catchum.
That Half's the Whole was sent them by the King.
Gripe.
For they, poor Souls! are ign'rant of the Worth
Of single Things, nor know they how to add
Or calculate, and cast the whole Amount.
Sharp.
How thankful should we be that we have Schools,
And better taught and bred than these poor Heathen.
Catchum.
Addition and Subtraction, are great Helps,
And much contribute to our happiness.
Sharp.
Catchum.
Gripe.
Sharp.
Is there the Half, think you?
Gripe.
Catchum.
Sharp.
Servant.
Gripe.
Catchum.
Gripe.
And you can read to them in gen'ral Terms.
Enter Ponteach, with several of his Chieftains.
Sharp.
And hope that you will not repent our coming.
Ponteach.
If honourable Peace be your Desire,
We'd always have the Hatchet buried deep,
While Sun and Moon, Rivers and Lakes endure,
And Trees and Herbs within our Country grow.
But then you must not cheat and wrong the Indians,
Or treat us with Reproach, Contempt, and Scorn;
Else we will raise the Hatchet to the Sky,
And let it never touch the Earth again,
Sharpen its Edge, and keep it bright as Silver,
Or stain it red with Murder and with Blood.
Mind what I say, I do not tell you Lies.
Sharp.
That Englishmen conduct to you amiss;
We're griev'd if they have given you Offence,
And fain would heal the Wound while it is fresh,
Lest it should spread, grow painful, and severe.
Ponteach.
Your Officers, your Colonels, and your Captains
Are proud, morose, ill-natur'd, churlish Men,
Treat us with Disrespect, Contempt, and Scorn.
I tell you plainly this will never do,
We never thus were treated by the French,
Them we thought bad enough, but think you worse.
Sharp.
There's some good Indians, some are the reverse,
Whom you can't govern, and restrain from ill;
So there's some Englishmen that will be bad.
You must not mind the Conduct of a few,
Nor judge the rest by what you see of them.
Ponteach.
These every one are Rogues, and Knaves, and Fools,
And think no more of Indians than of Dogs.
Your King had better send his good Men hither,
And keep his bad ones in some other Country;
Then you would find that Indians would do well,
Be peaceable, and honest in their Trade;
We'd love you, treat you, as our Friends and Brothers,
And Raise the Hatchet only in your Cause.
Sharp.
And greatly wishes for your Love and Friendship;
He would not have the Hatchet ever raised,
But buried deep, stamp'd down and cover'd o'er,
As with a Mountain that can never move:
For this he sent us to your distant Country,
Bid us deliver you these friendly Belts,
He like a Father loves you as his Children;
And like a Brother wishes you all Good;
We'll let him know the Wounds that you complain of,
And he'll be speedy to apply the Cure,
And clear the Path to Friendship, Peace, and Trade.
Ponteach.
True to his word, and friendly in his Heart;
Not proud and insolent, morose and sour,
Like these his petty Officers and Servants:
I want to see your King, and let him know
What must be done to keep the Hatchet dull,
And how the Path of Friendship, Peace, and Trade
May be kept clean and solid as a Rock.
Sharp.
But we can quickly send him your Requests;
To which he'll listen with attentive Ear,
And act as tho' you told him with your Tongue.
Ponteach.
And cheat and wrong and use the Indians ill.
Tell him to send good Officers, and call
These proud ill-natur'd Fellows from my Country,
And keep his Hunters from my hunting Ground.
He must do this, and do it quickly too,
Or he will find the Path between us bloody.
Sharp.
And hope you and your Chiefs will now confirm
A solid Peace as if our King was present;
We're his Ambassadors, and represent him,
And bring these Tokens of his Royal Friendship
To you, your Captains, Chiefs, and valiant Men.
Read, Mr. Catchum, you've the Inventory.
Catchum.
To Ponteach, King upon the Lakes, and his Chiefs,
Two hundred, No [Aside] a Number of fine Blankets,
Six hundred [Aside] Yes, and several Dozen Hatchets,
Twenty thousand [Aside] and a Bag of Wampum,
A Parcel too of Pans, and Knives, and Kettles.
Sharp.
And as you please distribute to your Chiefs,
And let them know they come from England's King,
As Tokens to them of his Love and Favour.
We've taken this long Journey at great Charge,
To see and hold with you this friendly Talk;
We hope your Minds are all disposed to Peace,
And that you like our Sovereign's Bounty well.
1st Chief.
Most of our Chiefs and Warriors are not here,
They all expect to share a Part with us.
2nd Chief.
Few of our Chiefs will have a single Token
Of your King's Bounty, that you speak so much of.
3rd Chief.
4th Chief.
King Astenaco, the great Southern Chief,
Who's been in England, and has seen your King,
Told me that he was generous, kind, and true,
But that his Officers were Rogues and Knaves,
And cheated Indians out of what he gave.
Gripe.
Ponteach.
We see, we hear, we think as well as you;
We know there 're Lies, and Mischiefs in the World;
We don't know whom to trust, nor when to fear;
Men are uncertain, changing as the Wind,
Inconstant as the Waters of the Lakes,
Some smooth and fair, and pleasant as the Sun,
Some rough and boist'rous, like the Winter Storm;
Some are Insidious as the subtle Snake,
Some innocent, and harmless as the Dove;
Some like the Tyger raging, cruel, fierce,
Some like the Lamb, humble, submissive, mild,
And scarcely one is every Day the same;
But I call no Man bad, till such he's found,
Then I condemn and cast him from my Sight;
And no more trust him as a Friend and Brother.
I hope to find you honest Men and true.
Sharp.
We're faithful Servants of the best of Kings;
We scorn an Imposition on your Ignorance,
Abhor the Arts of Falsehood and Deceit.
These are the Presents our great Monarch sent,
He's of a bounteous, noble, princely Mind
And had he known the Numbers of your Chiefs,
Each would have largely shar'd his Royal Goodness;
But these are rich and worthy your Acceptance,
Few Kings on Earth can such as these bestow,
For Goodness, Beauty, Excellence, and Worth.
Ponteach.
His friendly Belts to us shall be preserved,
And in Return convey you those to him.
That we dislike his crusty Officers,
And wish the Path of Peace was made more plain,
The Calumet I do not choose to smoke,
Till I see further, and my other Chiefs
Have been consulted. Tell your King from me,
That first or last a Rogue will be detected,
That I have Warriors, am myself a King,
And will be honour'd and obey'd as such;
Tell him my Subjects shall not be oppress'd,
But I will seek Redress and take Revenge;
Tell your King this; I have no more to say.
Sharp.
And let him know the Talk we've had with you;
We're griev'd we cannot smoke the Pipe of Peace,
And part with stronger Proofs of Love and Friendship;
Meantime we hope you'll so consider Matters,
As still to keep the Hatchet dull and buried,
And open wide the shining Path of Peace,
That you and we may walk without a Blunder.
Gripe.
Catchum.
He seems suspicious, and inclin'd to war.
Sharp.
Gripe.
Cannot escape their Fears and Jealousies.
Catchum.
Their good Opinion is no Commendation,
Nor their foul Slanders any Stain to Honour.
I think we've done whatever Men could do
To reconcile their savage Minds to Peace.
If they're displeas'd, our Honour is acquitted,
And we have not been wanting in our Duty
To them, our King, our Country, and our Friends.
Gripe.
These Belts are valuable, and neatly wrought.
Catchum.
The Skins are pick'd, and of the choicest Kind.
Sharp.
Gripe.
Sharp.
Catchum.
Or Beaver Skins, d'ye think? He's not a Hatter!
Gripe.
Sharp.
Catchum.
And have no Words nor Fraud among ourselves.
Sharp.
And go Copartners in the Loss and Gain.
Thus most who handle Money for the Crown
Find means to make the better Half their own;
And, to your better Judgments with Submission,
The self Neglecter's a poor Politician.
| These Gifts, you see will all Expences pay; | } |
| Heav'n send an Indian Treaty every Day; | |
| We dearly love to serve our King this way. |
The End of the First Act.
ACT II.
Scene I. An Indian House.
Enter Philip and Chekitan from hunting, loaded with venison.
Philip.
With all the Joy and Pleasantness of Plenty.
Our good Success and Fortune in the Chace
Will make us Mirth and Pastime for the Night.
How will the old King and his Hunters smile
To see us loaded with the fatt'ning Prey,
And joyously relate their own Adventures?
Not the brave Victor's Shout, or Spoils of War,
Would give such Pleasure to their gladden'd Hearts.
Chekitan.
Effected by the conqu'ring British Troops.
Now may we hunt the Wilds secure from Foes,
And seek our Food and Clothing by the Chace,
While Ease and Plenty thro' our Country reign.
Philip.
Chekitan.
Or is it idle Fancy and Conjectures?
Philip.
Unite to raise Suspicions in my Mind
Of his Designs? Hast thou not yet observ'd,
That tho' at first he favour'd England's Troops,
When they late landed on our fertile Shore,
Proclaim'd his Approbation of their March,
Convoy'd their Stores, protected them from Harm,
Nay, put them in Possession of Detroit;
And join'd to fill the Air with loud Huzzas
When England's Flag was planted on its Walls?
Yet, since, he seems displeas'd at their Success,
Thinks himself injured, treated with Neglect
By their Commanders, as of no Account,
As one subdu'd and conquer'd with the French,
As one, whose Right to Empire now is lost,
And he become a Vassal of their Power,
Instead of an Ally. At this he's mov'd,
And in his Royal Bosom glows Revenge,
Which I suspect will sudden burst and spread
Like Lightning from the Summer's burning Cloud,
That instant sets whole Forests in a Blaze.
Chekitan.
And this explains what I but now beheld,
Returning from the Chace, myself concealed,
Our Royal Father basking in the Shade,
His Looks severe, Revenge was in his Eyes,
All his great Soul seem'd mounted in his Face,
And bent on something hazardous and great.
With pensive Air he view'd the Forest round;
Smote on his Breast as if oppress'd with Wrongs,
With Indignation stamp'd upon the Ground;
Extended then and shook his mighty Arm,
As in Defiance of a coming Foe;
Then like the hunted Elk he forward sprung,
As tho' to trample his Assailants down.
The broken Accents murmur'd from his Tongue,
As rumbling Thunder from a distant Cloud,
Distinct I heard, "'Tis fix'd, I'll be reveng'd;
I will make War; I'll drown this Land in Blood."
He disappear'd like the fresh-started Roe
Pursu'd by Hounds o'er rocky Hills and Dales,
That instant leaves the anxious Hunter's Eye;
Such was his Speed towards the other Chiefs.
Philip.