Classic Poem

ACT I.

SCENE FIRST. — The F OREST NEAR THE P ROPHET'S T OWN ON THE T IPPECANOE .

Enter the P ROPHET .

P ROPHET . 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 I NDIAN R UNNER .

There is a message in your eyes — what now?
R UNNER . Your brother, great Tecumseh, has returned,
And rests himself a moment ere he comes
To counsel with you here.

P ROPHET . 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 T ECUMSEH .

T ECUMSEH . Who is this standing in the darkened robes?
P ROPHET . 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 —
T ECUMSEH . With heart of wax, and hands not made for war.
P ROPHET . 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?
T ECUMSEH . 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?
P ROPHET . 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.
T ECUMSEH . Would that they followed you in love! Proceed!
My ears are open to my brother's tongue.
P ROPHET . 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.
T ECUMSEH . These are wise counsels which are noised afar,
And many nations have adopted them
And made them law.
P ROPHET . 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.
T ECUMSEH . 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.
P ROPHET . The Spirit Great
Hath urged me, and still urges me to all.
He puts his hand to mine and leads me on.
Do you noThear 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.
T ECUMSEH . 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.
P ROPHET . You are Tecumseh — else you should choke for this!
Stay! Let me think! I must not break with him —
'Tis premature. I know his tender part,
And I shall touch it.
Brother, let me ask,
Do you remember how our father fell?
T ECUMSEH . Who can forget Kanawha's bloody fray?
He died for home in battle with the whites.
P ROPHET . 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?
T ECUMSEH . Remember it! Alas, the echoing
Of that wild havoc lingers in my brain!
O wretched age, and injured motherhood,
And hapless maiden-wreck!
P ROPHET . 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.
T ECUMSEH . Their crimes are great —
Our wrongs unspeakable. 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?
P ROPHET . He is called L EFROY —
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 women think
ThaThe has won her heart.
T ECUMSEH . But noTher 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 sides,
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!
But who is this?

B ARRON . 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.
P ROPHET . 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!
T ECUMSEH . ( Joining them .) Nay, let him be! This man is not a spy.
( To B ARRON .) Give me your message!
B ARRON . 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 honour, pledge your safe return. "
T ECUMSEH . Is this it all?
B ARRON . Yes, all. I have commands
To bear your answer back without delay.
P ROPHET . This is our answer, then, to Harrison:
Go tell that bearded liar we shall go
With forces which will pledge our own return!
T ECUMSEH . What shall my answer be?
P ROPHET . Why, like my own —
There is no answer save that we shall go.
T ECUMSEH . ( To B ARRON .) 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 farther 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.
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!