ACT III.

Assembly of the Indian Chiefs.

POTOWMAK rises and addresses them.

Pot. Why we are met, my fellow countrymen,
Needs no discourse. Your universal cry
Is vengeance; and the purpose of your souls
Shines in the grasp of your uplifted steel.
Yet how to strike the blow demands a pause:
And first, whilst in remote captivity

Raymond is bound, I think some other warrior

Should be proclaim'd our leader.

An Indian.

Who shall succeed to Raymond?

Another Indian.

Right! but who?

Why, Potowmak !

Other Indians. Ay, ay, Potowmak, he shall be our

chief!

Another Indian. Who dares oppose it?

I.

Pot.
My heart beats high to thank you; but this arm
Wields not the thunder of your captive chief.
There is a man (I speak not in contempt
Of other warriors) fit to succeed Raymond:
And only one.

Indians. Name him,

Pot. His actions shall proclaim him. You have

seen

His arm thro' danger cleave a dreadful path.
Like lightning you have heard the mortal twang
Of his unerring bow-string: you his scalps
Have number'd, and have counted o'er his scars,
That once were bleeding wounds.
Yet-need I name

him?

Him, to whom war is rest and nourishment:
Who loves the peril best that looks most grim!
Shame on your memories. That night of hell
Have you forgot when, from the naked brow
Of yonder promontory we turn'd pale,
To see the warring elements encounter,
Sudden he leapt into the foaming darkness.
Indian.

"Twas Telico.

Pot. Each shrinking eye involuntary clos'd, Nor op'd but by degrees, with trembling wonder, To see him on the billows fix his throne,

And ride upon the tempest to the shore.

(As he concludes, TELICO enters, with a dignified air.

Indian. He shall be our chief.

Indians. Ay, Telico, Telico shall be our chief!

(RAYMOND enters from the opposite side,

Raym. You have well determin'd.

Tel. Confusion! He return'd!

An Indian.

(Aside.

(The Indians crowd round RAYMOND. 'Tis he! and safe!

Raym. Spare your congratulations, Creeks: ere

Raym. My word is plighted: who would have me

break it?

Indian. They keep no faith with us.

Raym. And therefore, Creek,

They want a fair example.

Indian.

The common bond of nations.

Raym.

They have broken

What of that?

All Europeans lie: is, therefore, truth
To find no temple in the human breast?
Shall I take up with vice at second hand;
And be the shadow of deformity?

I tell you I have promis'd: therefore, peace!
Nor let us waste the time that speeds so fast.
Telico-

Tel.

Well!

Raym.

They have proclaim'd thee chief.

Tel. They did it freely.

Raym.
Ay, and wisely too:
If thy great spirit were as quick to spare
As it is prone to conquer, there's not one
Of all our mighty nations-not a Creek
Could boast a soul so terrible as thine.
For thou dread'st nothing.

Commune not with them; they have spells to curse

ye:

There is a treacherous sorcery in their bowl;

However pledg'd, their drink shall make you mad.
Tel. They are come for gold.

An Indian (some years since) in the mountains found
Some grains of that curs'd metal, which he sold
To a wreck'd Spaniard. He, returning home,
Brought here this swarm of spoilers.

Raym.
You say true;
That was the spell that charm'd them; they are come

To make you slaves, to dig their glitt❜ring idol,

And beasts to bear the burden to their coffers.
But

ye are men, not beasts: ye will not suffer
These fierce hyenas of the wilderness
To violate the graves of your forefathers,

And change the habitations of the dead To charnel-houses for the living. No. (But yon declining orb half meets his goal) Chiefs, warriors, friends, my Creeks, my fellow men, to chains perhaps to death!

I must away

Then look upon me as a dying man,

Who has a parting fond request to make;

And when 'tis granted, shuts his eyes in peace.
Indians. Speak; we will do it.

Raym. I heed not pain -- I start not at the grave: But when this perishable frame decays

In dust and darkness, tell the Spaniards thus:
"Three moons we give you to depart in peace :
Our forests shall repair your sea-worn ships :
Whate'er our land produces, victual them :”
Then, when the work of preparation's o'er;
When in their flapping sails the wind plays fair,
And rattles in the cordage speed them on,
And wish them happy in their native land;
But if they should refuse-

(They lift their hatchets.)

Ay, then strike home!

You have no choice. This land, that cannot be

A peaceful habitation to you both,

Must be a grave to one. Then sweep, at once,
These robbers from your country: leave no trace
Of aught that's Spaniard: let the memory