HARRISON. A fitting place if white men were our foes; But to the red it gives a clear advantage.

Sleep like the weasel here, if you are wise!

1ST OFFICER. Why, sir, their chiefs, so menacing at first, Became quite friendly at the last. They fear A battle, and will treat on any terms.

The Prophet's tide of strength will ebb away, And leave his stranded bark upon the mire.

HARRISON. 'Tis the mixed craft of old dissembling Nature!

If I could look upon her smallest web, And see in it but crossed and harmless hairs, Then might I trust the Prophet's knotted seine.

I did not like the manner of those chiefs Who spoke so fairly. What but highest greatness Plucks hatred from its seat, and in its stead Plants friendship in an instant? This our camp Is badly placed; each coulee and ravine Is dangerous cover for approach by night; And all the circuit of the spongy plain A treacherous bog to mire our cavalry.

They who directed us so warmly here Had other than our comfort in their eye.

2ND OFFICER. Fear you a night-attack, sir?

HARRISON. Fear it! No! I but antic.i.p.ate, and shall prepare.

'Tis sunset, and too late for better choice, Else were the Prophet welcome to his ground.

Pitch tents and draw our baggage to the centre; Girdle the camp with lynx-eyed sentinels; Detail strong guards of choice and wakeful men As pickets in advance of all oar lines; Place mounted riflemen on both our flanks; Our cavalry take post in front and rear, But still within the lines of infantry, Which, struck at any point, must hold the ground Until relieved. Cover your rifle pans-- The thick clouds threaten rain. I look to you To fill these simple orders to the letter.

But stay! Let all our camp fires burn Till, if attacked, we form--then drown them out.

The darkness falls--make disposition straight; Then, all who can, to sleep upon their arms.

I fear me, ere night yields to morning pale, The warriors' yell will sound our wild reveille.

SCENE FOURTH.--TEc.u.mSEH'S CABIN.

_Enter_ IENA.

IENA. Tis night, and Mamatee is absent still!

Why should this sorrow weigh upon my heart, And other lonely things on earth have rest?

Oh, could I be with them! The lily shone All day upon the stream, and now it sleeps Under the wave in peace--in cradle soft Which sorrow soon may fashion for my grave.

Ye shadows which do creep into my thoughts-- Ye curtains of despair! what is my fault, That ye should hide the happy earth from me?

Once I had joy of it, when tender Spring, Mother of beauty, hid me in her leaves; When Summer led me by the sh.o.r.es of song, And forests and far-sounding cataracts Melted my soul with music. I have heard The rough chill harpings of dismantled woods, When Fall had stripped them, and have felt a joy Deeper than ear could lend unto the heart; And when the Winter from his mountains wild Looked down on death, and, in the frosty sky, The very stars seemed hung with icicles, Then came a sense of beauty calm and cold, That weaned me from myself, yet knit me still With kindred bonds to Nature. All is past, And he--who won from me such love for him, And he--my valiant uncle and my friend, Comes not to lift the cloud that drapes my soul, And shield me from the fiendish Prophet's power.

[_Enter_ MAMATEE.]

Give me his answer in his very words!

MAMATEE. There is a black storm raging in his mind-- His eye darts lightning like the angry cloud Which hangs in woven darkness o'er the earth.

Brief is his answer--you must go to him.

The Long-Knife's camp fires gleam among the oaks Which dot yon western hill. A thousand men Are sleeping there cajoled to fatal dreams By promises the Prophet breaks to-night. Hark! 'tis the war-song.

IENA. Dares the Prophet now Betray Tec.u.mseh's trust, and break his faith?

MAMATEE. He dares do anything will feed ambition.

His dancing braves are frenzied by his tongue, Which prophesies revenge and victory.

Before the break of day he will surprise The Long-Knife's camp, and hang our people's fate Upon a single onset.

IENA. Should he fail?

MAMATEE. Then all will fail;--Tec.u.mseh's scheme will fail.

IENA. It shall not! Let us go to him at once!

MAMATEE. And risk your life?

IENA. Risk hovers everywhere When night and man combine for darksome deeds.

I'll go to him, and argue on my knees-- Yea, yield my hand--would I could give my heart!

To stay his purpose and this act of ruin.

MAMATEE. He is not in the mood for argument Rash girl! they die who would oppose him now.

IENA. Such death were sweet as life--I go!

But, first--Great Spirit! I commit my soul to Thee.

[_Kneels_.]

SCENE FIFTH.--AN OPEN s.p.a.cE IN THE FOREST NEAR THE PROPHET'S TOWN. A FIRE OF BILLETS BURNING. WAR CRIES ARE HEARD FROM THE TOWN.

_Enter the_ PROPHET.

PROPHET. My spells do work apace! Shout yourselves hoa.r.s.e, Ye howling ministers by whom I climb!

For this I've wrought until my weary tongue, Blistered with incantation, flags in speech, And half declines its office. Every brave Inflamed by charms and oracles, is now A vengeful serpent, who will glide ere morn To sting the Long-Knife's sleeping camp to death.

Why should I hesitate? My promises!

My duty to Tec.u.mseh! What are these Compared with duty here? Where I perceive A near advantage, there my duty lies; Consideration strong which overweighs All other reason. Here is Harrison-- Trepanned to dangerous lodgment for the night-- Each deep ravine which grooves the prairie's breast A channel of approach; each winding creek A screen for creeping death. Revenge is sick To think of such advantage flung aside. For what?

To let Tec.u.mseh's greatness grow, Who gathers his rich harvest of renown Out of the very fields that I have sown!

By Manitou, I will endure no more!

Nor, in the rising flood of our affairs, Fish like an osprey for this eagle longer.

But, soft!

It is the midnight hour when comes Tarhay to claim his bride, (_calls_) Tarhay!

Tarhay!

[_Enter_ TARHAY _with several braves_.]

TARHAY. Tarhay is here!

PROPHET. The Long-Knives die to-night.

The spirits which do minister to me Have breathed this utterance within my ear.

You know my sacred office cuts me off From the immediate leadership in fight.

My n.o.bler work is in the spirit-world, And thence come promises which make us strong.

Near to the foe I'll keep the Magic Bowl, Whilst you, Tarhay, shall lead our warriors on.

TARHAY. I'll lead them; they are wild with eagerness.