Tecumseh : a Drama

SCENE FIRST.--THE FOREST NEAR THE PROPHET'S TOWN ON THE TIPPECANOE.

_Enter the_ PROPHET.

Prophet. Twelve moons have wasted, and no tidings still!

Tecumseh must have perished! Joy has tears As well as grief, and mine will freely flow-- Sembling our women's piteous privilege-- Whilst dry ambition ambles to its ends. My schemes have swelled to greatness, and my name Has flown so far upon the wings of fear That nations tremble at its utterance. Our braves abhor, yet stand in awe of me, Who ferret witchcraft out, commune with Heaven, And ope or shut the gloomy doors of death. All feelings and all seasons suit ambition! Yet my vindictive nature hath a craft, In action slow, which matches mother-earth's: First seed-time--then the harvest of revenge. Who works for power, and not the good of men, Would rather win by fear than lose by love. Not so Tecumseh--rushing to his ends, And followed by men's love--whose very foes Trust him the most. Rash fool! Him do I dread, And his imperious spirit. Twelve infant moons Have swung in silver cradles o'er these woods, And, still no tidings of his enterprise, Which--all too deep and wide--has swallowed him. And left me here unrivalled and alone.

_Enter an_ INDIAN RUNNER.

Ha! There's a message in your eyes--what now?

RUNNER. Your brother, great Tecumseh, has returned, And rests himself a moment ere he comes To counsel with you here.

[_Exit Runner_.]

Prophet. He has returned! So then the growing current of my power Must fall again into the stately stream Of his great purpose. But a moment past I stood upon ambition's height, and now My brother comes to break my greatness up, And merge it in his own. I know his thoughts-- That I am but a helper to his ends; And, were there not a whirlpool in my soul Of hatred which would fain ingulf our foes, I would engage my cunning and my craft 'Gainst his simplicity, and win the lead. But, hist, he comes! I must assume the role By which I pander to his purposes.

_Enter_ TECUMSEH.

Tecumseh. Who is this standing in the darkened robes?

Prophet. The Prophet! Olliwayshilla, who probes The spirit-world, and holds within his ken Life's secrets and the fateful deeds of men. The "One-Eyed!" Brother to the Shooting Star--

Tecumseh. With heart of wax, and hands not made for war.

Prophet. Would that my hands were equal to my hate! Then would strange vengeance traffic on the earth; For I should treat our foes to what they crave-- Our fruitful soil--yea, ram it down their throats, And choke them with the very dirt they love. 'Tis you Tecumseh! You, are here at last, And welcome as the strong heat-bearing Spring Which opens up the pathways of revenge. What tidings from afar?

Tecumseh. Good tidings thence. I have not seen the Wyandots, but all The distant nations will unite with us To spurn the fraudful treaties of Fort Wayne. From Talapoosa to the Harricanaw I have aroused them from their lethargy. From the hot gulf up to those confines rude, Where Summer's sides are pierced with icicles, They stand upon my call. What tidings here?

Prophet. No brand has struck to bark our enterprise Which grows on every side. The Prophet's robe, That I assumed when old Pengasega died-- With full accord and countenance from you-- Fits a strong shoulder ampler far than his; And all our people follow me in fear.

Tecumseh. Would that they followed you in love! Proceed! My ears are open to my brother's tongue.

Prophet. I have myself, and by swift messengers, Proclaimed to all the nations far and near, I am the Open-Door, and have the power To lead them back to life. The sacred fire Must burn forever in the red-man's lodge, Else will that life go out. All earthly goods By the Great Spirit meant for common use Must so be held. Red shall not marry white, To lop our parent stems; and never more Must vile, habitual cups of deadliness Distort their noble natures, and unseat The purpose of their souls. They must return To ancient customs; live on game and maize; Clothe them with skins, and love both wife and child, Nor lift a hand in wrath against their race.

Tecumseh. These are wise counsels which are noised afar, And many nations have adopted them And made them law.

Prophet. These counsels were your own! Good in themselves, they are too weak to sway Our fickle race. I've much improved on them Since the Great Spirit took me by the hand.

Tecumseh. Improved! and how? Your mission was to lead Our erring people back to ancient ways-- Too long o'ergrown--not bloody sacrifice. They tell me that the prisoners you have ta'en-- Not captives in fair fight, but wanderers Bewildered in our woods, or such as till Outlying fields, caught from the peaceful plough-- You cruelly have tortured at the stake. Nor this the worst! In order to augment Your gloomy sway you craftily have played Upon the zeal and frenzy of our tribes, And, in my absence, hatched a monstrous charge Of sorcery amongst them, which hath spared Nor feeble age nor sex. Such horrid deeds Recoil on us! Old Shataronra's grave Sends up its ghost, and Tetaboxti's hairs-- White with sad years and counsel--singed by you! In dreams and nightmares, float on every breeze. Ambition's madness might stop short of this, And shall if I have life.

Prophet. The Great Spirit Hath urged me, and still urges me to all. He puts his hand to mine and leads me on. Do you not hear him whisper even now-- "Thou art the Prophet?" All our followers Behold in me a greater than yourself, And worship me, and venture where I lead.

Tecumseh. Your fancy is the common slip of fools, Who count the lesser greater being near. Dupe of your own imposture and designs, I cannot bind your thoughts! but what you do Henceforth must be my subject; so take heed, And stand within my sanction lest you fall.

Prophet. You are Tecumseh--else you should choke for this!

[_Haughtily crosses the stage and pauses._]

Stay! Let me think! I must not break with him-- 'Tis premature. I know his tender part, And I shall touch it.

[_Recrosses the stage._]

Brother, let me ask, Do you remember how our father fell?

Tecumseh. Who can forget Kanawha's bloody fray? He died for home in battle with the whites.

Prophet. And you remember, too, that boyish morn, When all our braves were absent on the chase-- That morn when you and I half-dreaming lay In summer grass, but woke to deadly pain Of loud-blown bugles ringing through the air. They came!--a rush of chargers from the woods, With tramplings, cursings, shoutings manifold, And headlong onset, fierce with brandished swords, Of frontier troopers eager for the fight. Scarce could a lynx have screened itself from sight, So sudden the attack--yet, trembling there, We crouched unseen, and saw our little town Stormed, with vile slaughter of small babe and crone, And palsied grandsire--you remember it?

Tecumseh. Remember it! Alas, the echoing Of that wild havoc lingers in my brain! O wretched age, and injured motherhood, And hapless maiden-wreck!

Prophet. Yet this has been Our endless history, and it is this Which crams my very veins with cruelty. My pulses bound to see those devils fall Brained to the temples, and their women cast As offal to the wolf.

Tecumseh. Their crimes are great-- Our wrongs unspeakable! yet my revenge Is open war. It never shall be said Tecumseh's hate went armed with cruelty. There's reason in revenge; but spare our own! These gloomy sacrifices sap our strength; And henceforth from your wizard scrutinies I charge you to forbear. But who's the white You hold as captive?

Prophet. He is called LEFROY-- A captive, but too free to come and go. Our warriors struck his trail by chance, and found His tent close by the Wabash, where he lay With sprained ankle, foodless and alone. He had a book of pictures with him there Of Long-Knife forts, encampments and their chiefs-- Most recognizable; so, reasoning thence, Our warriors took him for a daring spy, And brought him here, and tied him to the stake. Then he declared he was a Saganash-- No Long-Knife he! but one who loved our race, And would adopt our ways--with honeyed words, Couched in sweet voice, and such appealing eyes That Iena, our niece--who listened near-- Believing, rushed, and cut him from the tree. I hate his smiles, soft ways, and smooth-paced tread, And would, ere now, have killed him but for her; For ever since, unmindful of her race, She has upheld him, and our matrons think That he has won her heart.

Tecumseh. But not her hand! This cannot be, and I must see to it: Red shall not marry white--such is our law. But graver matters are upon the wing, Which I must open to you. Know you, then, The nation that has doomed our Council-Fires-- Splashed with our blood--will on its Father turn, Once more, whose lion-paws, stretched o'er the sea, Will sheathe their nails in its unnatural tides, Till blood will flow, as free as pitch in spring, To gum the chafed seams of our sinking bark. This opportunity, well-nursed, will give A respite to our wrongs, and heal our wounds; And all our nations, knit by me and ranged In headship with our Saganash allies, Will turn the mortal issue 'gainst our foes, And wall our threatened frontiers with their slain. But till that ripened moment, not a sheaf Of arrows should be wasted, not a brave Should perish aimlessly, nor discord reign Amongst our tribes, nor jealousy distrain The large effects of valour. We must now Pack all our energies. Our eyes and ears No more must idle with the hour, but work As carriers to the brain, where we shall store, As in an arsenal, deep schemes of war!

[_A noise and shouting without._]

But who is this?

[_Enter_ BARRON _accompanied and half-dragged by warriors. The_ PROPHET _goes forward to meet him._]

Barron. I crave protection as a messenger And agent sent by General Harrison. Your rude, unruly braves, against my wish, Have dragged me here as if I were a spy.

Prophet. What else! Why come you here if not a spy? Brouillette came, and Dubois, who were spies-- Now you are here. Look on it! There's your grave.

[_Pointing to the ground at_ BARRON'S _feet._]

Tecumseh. (_Joining them_.) Unhand this man! He is a messenger, And not a spy. Your life, my friend, is safe In these rough woods as in your general's town. But, quick--your message?

Barron. The Governor of Indiana sends This letter to you, in the which he says (_Reading letter_) "You are an enemy to the Seventeen Fires. I have been told that you intend to lift The hatchet 'gainst your father, the great Chief, Whose goodness, being greater than his fear Or anger at your folly, still would stretch His bounty to his children who repent, And ask of him forgiveness for the past. Small harm is done which may not be repaired, And friendship's broken chain may be renewed; But this is in your doing, and depends Upon the choice you make. Two roads Are lying now before you: one is large, Open and pleasant, leading unto peace, Your own security and happiness; The other--narrow, crooked and constrained-- Most surely leads to misery and death. Be not deceived! All your united force Is but as chaff before the Seventeen Fires. Your warriors are brave, but so are ours; Whilst ours are countless as the forest leaves, Or grains of sand upon the Wabash shores. Rely not on the English to protect you! They are not able to protect themselves. They will not war with us, for, if they do, Ere many moons have passed our battle flag Shall wave o'er all the forts of Canada. What reason have you to complain of us? What have we taken? or what treaties maimed? You tell us we have robbed you of your lands-- Bought them from nameless braves and village chiefs Who had no right to sell--prove that to us, And they will be restored. I have full power To treat with you. Bring your complaint to me, And I, in honor, pledge your safe return."

Tecumseh. Is this it all?

Barron. Yes, all. I have commands To bear your answer back without delay.

Prophet. This is our answer, then, to Harrison: Go tell that bearded liar we shall come, With forces which will pledge our own return!

Tecumseh. What shall my answer be?

Prophet. Why, like my own--There is no answer save that we shall go.

Tecumseh. (_To_ BARRON.) I fear that our complaint lies all too deep For your Chief's curing. The Great Spirit gave The red men this wide continent as theirs, And in the east another to the white; But, not content at home, these crossed the sea, And drove our fathers from their ancient seats. Their sons in turn are driven to the Lakes, And cannot further go unless they drown. Yet now you take upon yourselves to say This tract is Kickapoo, this Delaware, And this Miami; but your Chief should know That all our lands are common to our race! How can one nation sell the rights of all Without consent of all? No! For my part I am a Red Man, not a Shawanoe, And here I mean to stay. Go to your chief, And tell him I shall meet him at Vincennes.

[_Exeunt all but_ TECUMSEH.]

What is there in my nature so supine That I must ever quarrel with revenge? From vales and rivers which were once our own The pale hounds who uproot our ancient graves Come whining for our lands, with fawning tongues, And schemes and subterfuge and subtleties. O for a Pontiac to drive them back And whoop them to their shuddering villages! O for an age of valour like to his, When freedom clothed herself with solitude, And one in heart the scattered nations stood, And one in hand. It comes! and mine shall be The lofty task to teach them to be free-- To knit the nations, bind them into one, And end the task great Pontiac begun!

SCENE II.--ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST.

_Enter_ LEFROY, _carrying his rifle, and examining a knot of wild flowers._

Lefroy. This region is as lavish of its flowers As Heaven of its primrose blooms by night. This is the Arum which within its root Folds life and death; and this the Prince's Pine, Fadeless as love and truth--the fairest form That ever sun-shower washed with sudden rain. This golden cradle is the Moccasin Flower, Wherein the Indian hunter sees his hound; And this dark chalice is the Pitcher-Plant Stored with the water of forgetfulness. Whoever drinks of it, whose heart is pure, Will sleep for aye 'neath foodful asphodel, And dream of endless love. I need it not! I am awake, and yet I dream of love. It is the hour of meeting, when the sun Takes level glances at these mighty woods, And Iena has never failed till now, To meet me here! What keeps her? Can it be The Prophet? Ah, that villain has a thought, Undreamt of by his simple followers, Dark in his soul as midnight! If--but no-- He fears her though he hates! What shall I do? Rehearse to listening woods, or ask these oaks What thoughts they have, what knowledge of the past? They dwarf me with their greatness, but shall come A meaner and a mightier than they, And cut them down. Yet rather would I dwell With them, with wildness and its stealthy forms-- Yea, rather with wild men, wild beasts and birds, Than in the sordid town that here may rise. For here I am a part of Nature's self, And not divorced from her like men who plod The weary streets of care in search of gain. And here I feel the friendship of the earth: Not the soft cloying tenderness of hand Which fain would satiate the hungry soul With household honey-combs and parloured sweets, But the strong friendship of primeval things-- The rugged kindness of a giant heart, And love that lasts. I have a poem made Which doth concern earth's injured majesty-- Be audience, ye still untroubled stems!

(_Recites_)

There was a time on this fair continent When all things throve in spacious peacefulness. The prosperous forests unmolested stood, For where the stalwart oak grew there it lived Long ages, and then died among its kind. The hoary pines--those ancients of the earth-- Brimful of legends of the early world, Stood thick on their own mountains unsubdued. And all things else illumined by the sun, Inland or by the lifted wave, had rest. The passionate or calm pageants of the skies No artist drew; but in the auburn west Innumerable faces of fair cloud Vanished in silent darkness with the day. The prairie realm--vast ocean's paraphrase-- Rich in wild grasses numberless, and flowers Unnamed save in mute Nature's inventory No civilized barbarian trenched for gain. And all that flowed was sweet and uncorrupt. The rivers and their tributary streams, Undammed, wound on forever, and gave up Their lonely torrents to weird gulfs of sea, And ocean wastes unshadowed by a sail. And all the wild life of this western world Knew not the fear of man; yet in those woods, And by those plenteous streams and mighty lakes, And on stupendous steppes of peerless plain, And in the rocky gloom of canyons deep, Screened by the stony ribs of mountains hoar Which steeped their snowy peaks in purging cloud, And down the continent where tropic suns Warmed to her very heart the mother earth, And in the congeal'd north where silence self Ached with intensity of stubborn frost, There lived a soul more wild than barbarous; A tameless soul--the sunburnt savage free-- Free, and untainted by the greed of gain: Great Nature's man content with Nature's food.

But hark! I hear her footsteps in the leaves-- And so my poem ends.

_Enter_ IENA, _downcast._

My love! my love!

What! Iena in tears! your looks, like clouds, O'erspread my joy which, but a moment past, Rose like the sun to high meridian. Ah, how is this? She trembles, and she starts, And looks with wavering eyes through oozing tears, As she would fly from me. Why do you weep?

Iena. I weep, for I have come to say--farewell.

Lefroy. Farewell! I have fared well in love till now; For you are mine, and I am yours, so say Farewell, farewell, a thousand times farewell.

Iena. How many meanings has the word? since yours Is full of joy, but mine, alas, of pain. The pale-face and the Shawanoe must part.

Lefroy. Must part? Yes part--we parted yesterday-- And shall to-day--some dream disturbs my love.

Iena. Oh, that realities were dreams! 'Tis not A dream that parts us, but a stern command. Tecumseh has proclaimed it as his law-- Red shall not marry white; so must you leave; And therefore I have come to say farewell.

Lefroy. That word is barbed, and like an arrow aimed. The maid who saved my life would mar it too!

Iena. Speak not of that! Your life's in danger now. Tecumseh has returned, and--knowing all-- Has built a barrier betwixt our loves, More rigid than a palisade of oak.

Lefroy. What means he? And what barrier is this?

Iena. The barrier is the welfare of our race-- Wherefore his law--"Red shall not marry white." His noble nature halts at cruelty, So fear him not! But in the Prophet's hand, Dark, dangerous and bloody, there is death, And, sheltered by Tecumseh's own decree, He who misprizes you, and hates, will strike-- Then go at once! Alas for Iena, Who loves her race too well to break its law.

Lefroy. I love you better than I love my race; And could I mass my fondness for my friends, Augment it with my love of noble brutes, Tap every spring of reverence and respect, And all affections bright and beautiful-- Still would my love for you outweigh them all.

Iena. Speak not of love! Speak of the Long-Knife's hate! Oh, it is pitiful to creep in fear O'er lands where once our fathers stept in pride! The Long-Knife strengthens, whilst our race decays, And falls before him as our forests fall. First comes his pioneer, the bee, and soon The mast which plumped the wild deer fats his swine. His cattle pasture where the bison fed; His flowers, his very weeds, displace our own-- Aggressive as himself. All, all thrust back! Destruction follows us, and swift decay. Oh, I have lain for hours upon the grass, And gazed into the tenderest blue of heaven-- Cleansed as with dew, so limpid, pure and sweet-- All flecked with silver packs of standing cloud Most beautiful! But watch them narrowly! Those clouds will sheer small fleeces from their sides, Which, melting in our sight as in a dream, Will vanish all like phantoms in the sky. So melts our heedless race! Some weaned away, And wedded to rough-handed pioneers, Who, fierce as wolves in hatred of our kind, Yet from their shrill and acid women turn, Prizing our maidens for their gentleness. Some by outlandish fevers die, and some-- Caught in the white man's toils and vices mean-- Court death, and find it in the trader's cup. And all are driven from their heritage, Far from our fathers' seats and sepulchres, And girdled with the growing glooms of war; Resting a moment here, a moment there, Whilst ever through our plains and forest realms Bursts the pale spoiler, armed, with eager quest, And ruinous lust of land. I think of all-- And own Tecumseh right. 'Tis he alone Can stem this tide of sorrows dark and deep; So must I bend my feeble will to his, And, for my people's welfare, banish love.

Lefroy. Nay, for your people's welfare keep your love! My heart is true: I know that braggart nation, Whose sordid instincts, cold and pitiless, Would cut you off, and drown your Council-Fires. I would defend you, therefore keep me here! My love is yours alone, my hand I give, With this good weapon in it, to your race.

Iena. Oh, heaven help a weak untutored maid, Whose head is warring 'gainst a heart that tells, With every throb, I love you. Leave me! Fly!

Lefroy. I kneel to you--it is my leave-taking, So, bid me fly again, and break my heart!

(IENA _sings_.)

Fly far from me, Even as the daylight flies, And leave me in the darkness of my pain! Some earlier love will come to thee again, And sweet new moons will rise, And smile on it and thee.

Fly far from me, Even whilst the daylight wastes-- Ere thy lips burn me in a last caress; Ere fancy quickens, and my longings press, And my weak spirit hastes For shelter unto thee!

Fly far from me, Even whilst the daylight pales-- So shall we never, never meet again! Fly! for my senses swim--Oh, Love! Oh, Pain!-- Help! for my spirit fails-- I cannot fly from thee!

[IENA _sinks into_ LEFROY'S _arms_.]

Lefroy. No Iena! You cannot fly from me-- My heart is in your breast, and yours in mine; Therefore our love--

_Enter_ TECUMSEH, _followed by_ MAMATEE.

Tecumseh. False girl! Is this your promise? Would that I had a pale-face for a niece-- Not one so faithless to her pledge! You owe All duty and affection to your race, Whose interest--the sum of our desires-- Traversed by alien love, drops to the ground.

Iena. Tecumseh ne'er was cruel until now. Call not love alien which includes our race-- Love for our people, pity for their wrongs! He loves our race because his heart is here-- And mine is in his breast. Oh, ask him there, And he will tell you--

Lefroy. Iena, let me speak! Tecumseh, we as strangers have become Strangely familiar through sheer circumstance, Which often breeds affection or disdain, Yet lighting but the surface of the man, Shows not his heart. I know not what you think, And care not for your favour or your love, Save as desert may crown me. Your decree, "Red shall not marry white," is arbitrary, And off the base of nature; for if they Should marry not, then neither should they love. Yet Iena loves me, and I love her. Be merciful! I ask not Iena To leave her race; I rather would engage These willing arms in her defence and yours. Heap obligation up, conditions stern-- But send not your cold "Nay" athwart our lives.

Iena. Be merciful! Oh, uncle, pity us!

Tecumseh. My pity, Iena, goes with reproach, Blunting the edge of anger; yet my will Is fixed, and the command to be obeyed-- This stranger must depart--you to your lodge!

Mamatee. Tecumseh, I am in the background here, As ever I have been in your affection. For I have ne'er known what good women prize-- Earth's greatest boon to them--a husband's love.

Tecumseh. My nation has my love, in which you share, With special service rendered to yourself; So that your cabin flows with mouffles sweet, And hips of wapiti and bedded robes. Teach me my duty further if you will! My love is wide, and broods upon my race.

Mamatee. The back is clad--the heart, alas! goes bare. Oh, I would rather shiver in the snow-- My heart downed softly with Tecumseh's love-- Than sleep unprized in warmest couch of fur. I know your love is wide, and, for that I Share but a millionth part of it, and feel Its meagreness, I plead most eagerly For this poor white, whose heart is full of love, And gives it all to her.

Tecumseh. It cannot be! You know not what you ask. 'Tis 'gainst our law, Which, breached, would let our untamed people through.

Lefroy. I care not for your cruel law! The heart Has statutes of its own which make for love.

Tecumseh. You'd cross me too! This child's play of the heart, Which sterner duty has repressed in me, Makes even captives bold. (_Aside_.) I like his courage!

Mamatee. If duty makes Tecumseh's heart grow cold, Then shame on it! and greater shame on him Who ever yet showed mercy to his foes, Yet, turning from his own, in pity's spite Denies it to a girl. See, here I kneel!

Iena. And I! O uncle, frown not on our love!

Tecumseh. By the Great Spirit this is over much! My heart is made for pity, not for war, Since women's tears unman me. Have your will! I shall respect your love, (_To Lefroy_.) your safety too. I go at once to sound the Wyandots Concerning some false treaties with the whites. The Prophet hates you, therefore come with me.

[_The_ PROPHET _rushes in with a band of Braves._]

Prophet. She's here! Take hold of her and bear her off!

Tecumseh. (_Menacingly_) Beware! Lay not a finger on the girl!

[_The Braves fall back_.]

Prophet. There is no law Tecumseh will not break, When women weep, and pale-face spies deceive.

Mamatee. Ah, wretch! not all our people's groans could wring A single tear from out your murderous eye.

Prophet. This is my captive, and his life is mine!

[_Seizing_ LEFROY, _and lifting his hatchet_.]

Iena. (_Rushing to_ LEFROY) Save him! Save him!

Tecumseh. Your life will go for his-- One blow and you are doomed!

[TECUMSEH _grasps the_ PROPHET'S _uplifted axe_.]

END OF FIRST ACT.