Ponteach, or the Savages of America

by Tiffany Potter

  And leave these distant Lakes and Streams to us;

  Nay I would pay him Homage, if requested,

  And furnish Warriors to support his Cause.

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  But thus to lose my Country and my Empire,

  To be a Vassal to his low Commanders,

  Treated with Disrespect and public Scorn

  By Knaves, by Miscreants, Creatures of his Power;

  Can this become a King like Ponteach,

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  Whose Empire’s measured only by the Sun?

  No, I’ll assert my Right, the Hatchet raise,

  And drive these Britons hence like frighted Deer,

  Destroy their Forts, and make them rue the Day

  That to our fertile Land they found the Way.

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  Tenesco. No Contradiction to your great Design;

  But will not such Proceeding injure us?

  Where is our Trade and Commerce to be carry’d?

  For they’re possess’d of all the Country round,

  Or whence Supplies of Implements for War?

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  Ponteach. Whence? Take them from our conquered running Foes.

  Their Fortresses are Magazines65 of Death,

  Which we can quickly turn against themselves;

  And when they’re driven to their destin’d Bounds,

  Their Love of Gain will soon renew their Trade.

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  The heartless French,66 whene’er they see us conquer,

  Will join their little Force to help us on.67

  Nay many of their own brave trusty Soldiers,

  In Hope of Gain, will give us their Assistance;

  For Gain’s their great Commander, and will lead them

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  Where their brave Generals cannot force their March:

  Some have engag’d, when they see hope of Plunder,

  In sly Disguise to kill their Countrymen.

  Chekitan. These Things indeed are promising and fair,

  And seem a Prelude to our full Success.

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  But will not many Indian Chiefs refuse

  To join the Lists,68 and hold themselves oblig’d

  T’assist the Foe when hardly press’d69 by us?

  Ponteach. I’ve sounded all their Minds; there’s but a few

  That are not warm and hearty in our Cause,

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  And those faint Hearts we’ll punish at our Leisure:

  For hither tends my Purpose; to subdue

  The Tribes who now their annual Homage pay

  To the imperious haughty Mohawk Chief,

  Whose Pride and Insolence ’tis Time to curb.

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  He ever boasts the Greatness of his Empire,

  The Swiftness, Skill and Valour of his Warriors,

  His former Conquests, and his fresh Exploits,

  The Terror of his Arms in distant Lands,

  And on a Footing puts himself with me,

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  For Wisdom to contrive, and Power to do.

  Such a proud Rival must not breath the Air;

  I’ll die in fighting, or I’ll reign alone

  O’er every Indian Nation, Tribe, and Chief.

  But this in solemn Silence we conceal,

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  Till they’re drawn in to fight the common Foe,

  Then from my Fact, the sly Disguise I’ll cast,

  And shew them Ponteach to their Surprize.

  Tenesco. Thy Plan is wise, and may Success attend it;

  May all the warlike numerous Tribes unite,

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  Nor cease to conquer while thou hast a Foe!

  Then may they join and own thee for their Sovereign,

  Pay full Submission to thy scepter’d Arm,

  And universal Empire be thy own!

  Chekitan. Would you the Mohawk Emperor displease,

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  And wage a bloody War, by which you made

  Him and his num’rous Tribes your certain Foes?

  Ponteach.70 Most of his Tribes will welcome the Proposal;

  For long their galled Necks have felt the Yoke,71

  Long wish’d for Freedom from his partial Sway,

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  In favour of the proud incroaching Britons.

  Nay, they have oft, in spite of his Displeasure,

  Rush’d forth like Wolves upon their naked Borders,

  And now, like Tygers broken from their Chains,

  They’ll glut themselves, and revel in their Blood.

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  Philip. Myself will undertake to make even Hendrick72

  Our zealous Friend against the common Foe;

  His strong Attachment to them I’ll dissolve,

  And make them rage, and thirst for Vengeance on them.

  Ponteach. This would be doing Honour to thyself,

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  And make thee worthy of thy Father’s Crown.

  The secret Means I will not now inquire,

  Nor doubt but thus engag’d you will perform.

  The Chiefs in part are knowing to my Purpose,

  And think of nought but War, and Blood, and Plunder,

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  Till in full Council we declare our Pleasure.

  But first my last Night’s Dream I will relate,

  Which much disturb’d my weary anxious Mind,

  And must portend some signal grand Event

  Of Good or Evil both to me or mine.73

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  On yonder Plain I saw the lordly Elk74

  Snuffing the empty Air in seeming Sport,

  Tossing his Head aloft, as if in Pride

  Of his great Bulk and nervous active Limbs,

  And Scorn of every Beast that haunts the Wood.

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  With mighty Stride he travelled to and fro,

  And as he mov’d his Size was still increas’d,

  Till his wide Branches reached above the Trees,

  And his extended Trunk across the Plain.

  The other Beasts beheld with wild Amaze,

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  Stood trembling round, nor dare they to approach

  Till the fierce Tyger yell’d the loud Alarm,

  When Bears, Cats, Wolves, Panthers, and Porcupines,75

  And other Beasts of Prey, with Force united

  And savage Rage, attack’d the common Foe.

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  But as the busking Bull, when Summer Flies,

  With keenest Sting disturb the grazing Herd,

  Stands careless in some shady cool Retreat,

  And from his Sides sweeps the invenom’d Mites,

  Or shakes them with a Stamp into the Dust;

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  So he unmov’d amidst their Clamours stood,

  Trampled and sprun’d them with his Hoofs and Horns,

  Till all dispers’d in wild Disorder fled,

  And left him Master of th’ extended Plain.

  Tenesco. This Dream no doubt is full of some great Meaning,

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  And in it bears the Fate of your Design,

  But whether good or ill, to me’s a Secret.

  Philip. It ne’er was counted ill to dream of Elks,

  But always thought portentous of Success,

  Of happy Life, and Victories in War,

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  Or Fortune good when we attempt the Chace.

  Chekitan. Such is the common Say; but here the Size

  And all the Circumstances are uncommon,

  And therefore can contain no common Meaning:

  I fear these Things portend no Good to us,

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  That Mischiefs lurk like Serpents in the Grass,

  Whose pois’nous deadly Bite precedes all Warning.

  That this Design will end in mighty Ruin

  To us and ours, Discord among our Friends,

  And Triumph to our Foes.

  Philip. A valiant Hero!

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  Thou always
wast a Coward, and hated War,

  And lov’st to loll on the soft Lap of Peace.

  Thou art a very Woman in thy Heart,

  And talk’st of Snakes and Bugbears in the Dark,

  Till all is Horror and Amaze about thee,

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  And even thy own Shadow makes thee tremble.

  Chekitan. Is there no Courage in delib’rate Wisdom?

  Is all rank Cowardice but Fire and Fury?

  Is it all womanish to re-consider

  And weigh the Consequences of our Actions,

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  Before we desperately rush upon them?

  Let me then be the Coward, a mere Woman,

  Mine be the Praise of Coolness, yours of Rage.

  Ponteach. Peace, Peace, my Sons, nor let this casual Strife

  Divide your Hearts; both mean the common Good;

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  Go Hand in Hand to conquer and promote it.

  I’ll to our worthy Doctor and the Priest,

  Who for our Souls Salvation come from France;76

  They sure can solve the Mysteries of Fate,

  And all the Secrets of a Dream explain;

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  Mean while, Tenesco, warn the other Chiefs

  That they attend my Call within an Hour.

  [Exeunt Pont. & Tenesco.

  Philip. My Warmth perhaps has carried me too far,

  But it’s not in me to be cool and backward

  To act or speak when Kingdoms are the Prize.

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  My Blood runs high at the sweet Sound of Empire,

  Such as our Father’s Plan ensures to us,

  And I’m impatient of the least Delay.

  Chekitan. Thy Fire thou hast a Right to stile a Virtue;

  Heat is our Friend when kept within due bounds,

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  But if unbridled and allowed to rage,

  It burns and blisters, torments, and consumes.

  And, Torrent-like, sweeps every Comfort by.

  Think if our Father’s Plan should prove abortive,

  Our Troops repuls’d, or in th’ Encounter slain,

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  Where are our conquer’d Kingdoms then to share,

  Where are our Vict’ries, Trophies, Triumphs, Crowns,

  That dazzle in thy Eye, and swell thy Heart;

  That nerve thy Arm, and wing thy Feet to War

  With this impetuous Violence and Speed?

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  Crest-fallen then, our native Empire lost,

  In captive Chains we drag a wretched Life,

  Or fly inglorious from the conquering Foe

  To barren Mountains from this fertile Land,

  There to repent our Folly when too late,

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  In Anguish mourn, and curse our wretched Fate.

  Philip. But why so much of Mischiefs that may happen?

  These are mere Possibilities at most;

  Creatures of Thought, which ne’er can be Objections,

  In valiant Minds, to any great Attempt;

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  They’re empty Echoes of a tim’rous Soul,

  Like Bubbles driv’n by the tempestuous Storm,

  The Breath of Resolution sweeps them off.

  Nor dost thou judge them solid from thy Heart,

  I know the secret Motive in thy Breast,

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  Thus to oppose our Father’s great Design,

  And from an Undertaking to dissuade,

  In which thoul’t share the Profit and the Glory.

  Hendrick, the King of Mohawks, hath a Daughter,

  With whom I saw you dallying in the Shade,

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  And thought you then a Captive to her Charms.

  The bright Monelia hangs upon thy Heart,

  And softens all the Passions of thy Soul;

  Her thou think’st lost should we proclaim a War,

  In which the King her Father will not join.

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  Chekitan. What if I have a Value for Monelia,

  Is it a Crime? Does she not merit Love

  From all who see her move, or hear her speak?

  Philip. True, she is engaging, has a charming Air;

  And if thy Love is fix’d, I will assist it,

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  And put thee in Possession of the Joy

  That thou desirest more than Crowns and Empire.

  Chekitan. As how, dear Philip? Should we wage a War

  Which Hendrick disapproves, the Prize is lost.

  Not Empires then could make Monelia mine;

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  All Hopes are dash’d upon that fatal Rock;

  Nor Gold, nor Prayers, nor Tears, nor Promises,

  Nor all the Engin’ry of Love at Work,

  Could save a single Moment of my Joy.

  Philip. Yes, I will save it all, and make her thine,

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  Act but thy Part, and do as I prescribe,

  In Peace or War thou shalt possess the Prize.

  Chekitan. Thy Words revive my half-despairing Heart.

  What must I act? or which Way must I turn?

  I’ll brave all Dangers, every Ill defy,

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  Risque Life itself, to call Monelia mine.

  Help me, my Philip, and I’ll be thy Slave,

  Resign my Share of Empire to thy Hand,

  And lay a Claim to nothing but Monelia.

  Philip. Rewards I do not ask; I am thy Brother,

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  And hold my Kindness to thee as a Debt.

  Thou know’st I have engag’d to bring king Hendrick

  To join the Lists, and fight against our Foes,

  To rouse him to Revenge, and Rage, and War,

  And make him zealous in the common Cause.

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  Nay, with uncommon Fury he shall rave,

  And urge his Warriors on to Blood and Murder.

  When this is done, Monelia may be thine,

  Hendrick will court Alliance to our Tribe,

  And joy to call great Ponteach’s Son his own.

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  Chekitan. But should you fail in these Attempts, and he

  Prove obstinately fix’d against the War,

  Where’s then Monelia? where is Chekitan?

  My Hopes are blasted, all my Joys are fled,

  Like the vain Phantoms of a Midnight Dream,77

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  Are scattered like the Dust before a Whirlwind,

  And all my Soul is left a Void for Pain,

  Vexation, Madness, Phrensy, and Despair,

  And all the Pains of disappointed Love.

  Better I ne’er had flattered my fond Heart,

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  Nor sooth’d my Mind with Prospects of my Joy,

  Than thus to perish on the Point of Hope.

  Philip. Leave all to me; I so concerted Matters,

  That I defy ev’n Fate to disappoint me.

  Exert thyself, and to Monelia go,

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  Before th’ assembled Chiefs in Council meet;

  Urge it to her, and to her Brother Torax,

  That should their Father prove refractory,

  Withdraw himself, and order his Domesticks

  To hasten home at News of our Design;

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  Urge it, I say, to them; Torax loves War;

  To linger here in Hopes of his Return,

  Which tell them I’ll effect ere twice the Sun

  Has run the Circuit of his daily Race.78

  Here they may loiter careless, range the Woods,

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  As tho’ the Noise of War had not been heard.

  This will give full Success to both our Wishes:

  Thoul’t gain the Prize of Love, and I of Wrath,

  In favour to our Family and State.

  Thoul’t79 tame the Turtle, I shall rouse the Tyger;80

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  The one will soothe thy Soul to soft Repose,

  The other prove
a Terror to our Foes.

  Chekitan. I see the subtle Argument thou’lt use,

  And how thou’lt work upon the old King’s Weakness.

  Thoul’t set his strong Affection for his Children

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  At War against his Kindness for our Foes,

  By urging their Attachment to our Cause,

  That they’ll endure ev’n Banishment and Death,

  Rather than cease to be our stedfast Friends.

  Philip. All this I’ll urge, nay more, I will convince him,

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  These Foes to us can be no Friends to him;

  I’ll thunder in his Ears their growing Power,

  Their Villainies and Cheats upon his Subjects:

  That their fair Shew of Love is foul Disguise;

  That in their Hearts they hate the Name of Indians,

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  And court his Friendship only for their Profit;

  That when no longer he subserves their Ends,

  He may go whistle up some other Friends.

  Chekitan. This must alarm and bring him to our Mind.

  I’ll hasten to my Charge with utmost Speed,

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  Strain every Nerve, and every Power exert;

  Plead, promise, swear like any Christian Trader;

  But I’ll detain them till our Ends are answer’d,

  And you have won their Father to our Purpose.

  [Exit.

  Philip, solus.

  Oh! what a wretched Thing is a Man in Love!

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  All Fear—all Hope—all Diffidence—all Faith—

  Distrusts the greatest Strength, depends on Straws—

  Soften’d, unprovident, disarm’d, unman’d,

  Led blindfold; every Power denies its Aid,

  And every Passion’s but a Slave to this;

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  Honour, Revenge, Ambition, Interest, all

  Upon its Altar bleed—Kingdoms and Crowns

  Are slighted and contemn’d and all the ties

  Of Nature are dissolv’d by this poor Passion:

  Once I have felt its Poison in my Heart,

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  When this same Chekitan a Captive led

  The fair Donata from the Illinois;81

  I saw, admir’d, and lov’d the charming Maid,

  And as a Favour ask’d her from his Hands,

  But he refus’d and sold her for a Slave.82

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  My Love is dead, but my Resentment lives,

  And now’s my Time to let the Flame break forth,

  For while I pay this antient Debt of Vengeance,

  I’ll serve my Country, and advance myself.

  He loves Monelia—Hendrick must be won—

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  Monelia and her Brother both must bleed—

  This is my Vengeance on her Lover’s Head—

  Then I’ll affirm, ’twas done by Englishmen—

  And to gain Credit both with my Friends and Foes,

  I’ll wound myself, and say that I receiv’d it

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