ACT II.

That's quickly done—Let us with Speed return,And think no more of being hang'd or haunted;But turn our Fur to Gold, our Gold to Wine,Thus gaily spend what we've so slily won,And bless the first Inventor of a Gun.[Exeunt.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.An English Fort.

Enter ColonelCockumand CaptainFrisk.

Cockum.

What shall we do with these damn'd bawling Indians?They're swarming every Day with their ComplaintsOf Wrongs and Injuries, and God knows what—I wish the Devil would take them to himself.

Frisk.

Your Honour's right to wish the Devil his Due.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.

Captain, You're right; their Insolence is suchAs 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.

They're coming here; you see they scent your Track,And while you'll listen, they will ne'er be silent,But every Day improve in Insolence.

Cockum.

I'll soon dispatch and storm them from my Presence.

EnterPonteach, and other IndianChiefs.

Ponteach.

Well, Mr. Colonel Cockum, what d' they call you?You give no Answer yet to my Complaint;Your Men give my Men always too much Rum,Then trade and cheat 'em. What! d' ye think this right?

Cockum.

Tush! Silence! hold your noisy cursed Nonsense;I've heard enough of it; what is it to me?

Ponteach.

What! you a Colonel, and not command your Men?Let ev'ry one be a Rogue that has a Mind to 't.

Cockum.

Why, curse your Men, I suppose they wanted Rum;They'll rarely be content, I know, without it.

Ponteach.

What then? If Indians are such Fools, I thinkWhite Men like you should stop and teach them better.

Cockum.

I'm not a Pedagogue to your curs'd Indians.[Aside.

[Aside.

Ponteach.

Colonel, I hope that you'll consider this.

Frisk.

Why, don't you see the Colonel will not hear you?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.

Hah! Captain Frisk, what! you a great man too?My Bus'ness here is only with your Colonel;And I'll be heard, or know the Reason why.

1st Chief.

I thought the English had been better Men.

2nd Chief.

Frenchmen would always hear an Indian speak,And answer fair, and make good Promises.

Cockum.

You may be d——d, and all your Frenchmen too.

Ponteach.

Be d——d! what's that? I do not understand.

Cockum.

The Devil teach you; he'll do it without a Fee.

Ponteach.

The Devil teach! I think you one great Fool.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.

Forbear your Impudence, you curs'd old Thief;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.

So ho! Know you whose Country you are in?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.[ExeuntIndians.

[ExeuntIndians.

Frisk.

Vile Infidels! observe their Insolence;Old Ponteach puts on a mighty Air.

Cockum.

They'll always be a Torment till destroy'd,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.

Oh! Colonel, they are never worth our minding,What can they do against our Bombs and Cannon?True, they may skulk, and kill and scalp a few,But, Heav'n be thank'd, we're safe within these Walls:Besides, I think the Governors are coming,To make them Presents, and establish Peace.

Cockum.

That may perhaps appease their bloody Minds,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.

With all my Heart, and drink D——n to them.

Cockum.

I can in nothing more sincerely join.[Exeunt.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.An Apartment in the Fort.

Enter GovernorsSharp,Gripe, andCatchum.

Sharp.

Here are we met to represent our King,And by his royal Bounties to conciliateThese Indians' Minds to Friendship, Peace, and Love.But he that would an honest Living getIn Times so hard and difficult as these,Must mind that good old Rule, Take care of One.

Gripe.

Ay, Christian Charity begins at home;I think it's in the Bible, I know I've read it.

Catchum.

I join with Paul, that he's an InfidelWho does not for himself and Friends provide.

Sharp.

Yes, Paul in fact was no bad Politician,And understood himself as well as most.All good and wise Men certainly take careTo help themselves and Families the first;Thus dictates Nature, Instinct, and Religion,Whose easy Precepts ought to be obey'd.

Gripe.

But how does this affect our present Purpose?We've heard the Doctrine; what's the Application?

Sharp.

We are intrusted with these Indian Presents.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 PeaceAs tho' the Whole were lavishly bestow'd?

Catchum.

I'm clear upon 't they will, if we affirmThat Half's the Whole was sent them by the King.

Gripe.

There is no doubt but that One Third wou'd answer,For they, poor Souls! are ign'rant of the WorthOf single Things, nor know they how to addOr calculate, and cast the whole Amount.

Sharp.

Why, Want of Learning is a great Misfortune.How thankful should we be that we have Schools,And better taught and bred than these poor Heathen.

Catchum.

Yes, only these Two simple easy Rules,Addition and Subtraction, are great Helps,And much contribute to our happiness.

Sharp.

'Tis these I mean to put in Practice now;Subtraction from these Royal Presents makesAddition to our Gains without a Fraction.But let us overhaul and take the best,Things may be given that won't do to sell.[They overhaul the goods, &c.

[They overhaul the goods, &c.

Catchum.

Lay these aside; they'll fetch a noble Price.

Gripe.

And these are very saleable, I think.

Sharp.

The Indians will be very fond of these.Is there the Half, think you?

Gripe.

It's thereabouts.

Catchum.

This bag of Wampum may be added yet.

Sharp.

Here, Lads, convey these Goods to our Apartment.

Servant.

The Indians, sir, are waiting at the Gate.

Gripe.

Conduct them in when you've disposed of these.

Catchum.

This should have been new-drawn before they enter'd.[Pulling out an inventory of the whole goods.

[Pulling out an inventory of the whole goods.

Gripe.

What matters that? They cannot read, you know,And you can read to them in gen'ral Terms.

EnterPonteach, with several of his Chieftains.

Sharp.

Welcome, my Brothers, we are glad to meet you,And hope that you will not repent our coming.

Ponteach.

We're glad to see our Brothers here the English.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.

We hope you have no Reason to complainThat 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 Men make Indians drunk, and then they cheat 'em.Your Officers, your Colonels, and your CaptainsAre 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 good and bad, you know, in every Nation;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.

If you've some good, why don't you send them here?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.

Our King is very anxious for your Welfare,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,[Holding out belts of wampum.All cover'd over with his Love and Kindness.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.

[Holding out belts of wampum.

Ponteach.

Your King, I hear 's a good and upright Man,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 knowWhat must be done to keep the Hatchet dull,And how the Path of Friendship, Peace, and TradeMay be kept clean and solid as a Rock.

Sharp.

Our King is distant over the great Lake,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.

Let him know then his People here are Rogues,And cheat and wrong and use the Indians ill.Tell him to send good Officers, and callThese 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.

Of this we will acquaint our gracious King,And hope you and your Chiefs will now confirmA solid Peace as if our King was present;We're his Ambassadors, and represent him,And bring these Tokens of his Royal FriendshipTo you, your Captains, Chiefs, and valiant Men.Read, Mr. Catchum, you've the Inventory.

Catchum.

The British King, of his great Bounty, sendsTo 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.

This rich and royal Bounty you'll accept,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.

We think it very small, we heard of more.Most of our Chiefs and Warriors are not here,They all expect to share a Part with us.

2nd Chief.

These won't reach round to more than half our Tribes,Few of our Chiefs will have a single TokenOf your King's Bounty, that you speak so much of.

3rd Chief.

And those who haven't will be dissatisfied,Think themselves slighted, think your King is stingy,Or else that you his Governors are Rogues,And keep your Master's Bounty for yourselves.

4th Chief.

We hear such Tricks are sometimes play'd with Indians.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.

The Devil's in 't, I fear that we're detected.[Aside.

[Aside.

Ponteach.

Indians a'n't Fools, if White Men think us so;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.

Indeed you may depend upon our Honours,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 MindAnd 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.

The Presents from your Sovereign I accept,His friendly Belts to us shall be preserved,And in Return convey you those to him.[Belts and furs.Which let him know our Mind, and what we wish,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 ChiefsHave 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.

[Belts and furs.

Sharp.

To our great King your Gifts we will convey,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.[ExeuntIndians.

[ExeuntIndians.

Gripe.

Th' appear not fully satisfied, I think.

Catchum.

I do not like old Ponteach's Talk and Air,He seems suspicious, and inclin'd to war.

Sharp.

They're always jealous, bloody, and revengeful,You see that they distrust our Word and Honour;No wonder then if they suspect the Traders,And often charge them with downright Injustice.

Gripe.

True, when even we that come to make them Presents,Cannot escape their Fears and Jealousies.

Catchum.

Well, we have this, at least, to comfort us;Their good Opinion is no Commendation,Nor their foul Slanders any Stain to Honour.I think we've done whatever Men could doTo reconcile their savage Minds to Peace.If they're displeas'd, our Honour is acquitted,And we have not been wanting in our DutyTo them, our King, our Country, and our Friends.

Gripe.

But what Returns are these they've left behind?These Belts are valuable, and neatly wrought.

Catchum.

This Pack of Furs is very weighty too;The Skins are pick'd, and of the choicest Kind.

Sharp.

By Jove, they're worth more Money than their Presents.

Gripe.

Indeed they are; the King will be no Loser.

Sharp.

The King! who ever sent such Trumpery to him?

Catchum.

What would the King of England do with Wampum?Or Beaver Skins, d'ye think? He's not a Hatter!

Gripe.

Then it's a Perquisite belongs to us?

Sharp.

Yes, they're become our lawful Goods and Chattels,By all the Rules and Laws of Indian Treaties.The King would scorn to take a Gift from Indians,And think us Madmen, should we send them to him.

Catchum.

I understand we make a fair Division,And have no Words nor Fraud among ourselves.

Sharp.

We throw the whole into one common Stock,And go Copartners in the Loss and Gain.Thus most who handle Money for the CrownFind 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.

Scene I.An Indian House.

EnterPhilipandChekitanfrom hunting, loaded with venison.

Philip.

The Day's Toil's ended, and the Ev'ning smilesWith all the Joy and Pleasantness of Plenty.Our good Success and Fortune in the ChaceWill make us Mirth and Pastime for the Night.How will the old King and his Hunters smileTo 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.

These, Philip, are the unstain'd Fruits of Peace,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.

Happy Effects indeed! long may they last!But I suspect the Term will be but short,Ere this our happy Realm is curs'd afreshWith all the Noise and Miseries of War,And Blood and Murder stain our Land again.

Chekitan.

What hast thou heard that seems to threaten this,Or is it idle Fancy and Conjectures?

Philip.

Our Father's late Behaviour and DiscourseUnite to raise Suspicions in my MindOf 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 HuzzasWhen England's Flag was planted on its Walls?Yet, since, he seems displeas'd at their Success,Thinks himself injured, treated with NeglectBy 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 spreadLike Lightning from the Summer's burning Cloud,That instant sets whole Forests in a Blaze.

Chekitan.

Something like this I have indeed perceiv'd;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 RoePursu'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.

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