INDIAN. Alas! it is a true one; I feel it here; 'tis no fiction: I was the chief of a great and daring tribe, which smiled on death with indifference and contempt; my cabin was the seat of hospitality and of love; I was first in council, and first in the field; my prosperity increased, my prospects brightened; but the white man came, and all was blasted.

GENERAL. What has been done, was the result of war.

INDIAN. Wherefore wage war against us? Was not your territory sufficiently ample, but did you sigh for our possessions? Were you not satisfied with taking our land from us, but would you hunt the lords of the soil into the den of the otter? Why drive to desperation a free and liberal people? Think you I would be your enemy unless urged by powerful wrongs? No, white man, no! the Great Spirit whom we worship, is also the God whom you adore; for friends we cheerfully lay down our lives; but against foes, our lives are staked with desperation. Had I taken you prisoner, death should have been your portion; death in cruel torments. Then why spare me? why spare the man whose knife was whetted against your life?

GENERAL. To show, by contrast, the difference of our principles. You would strike down the captive who implores your protection: we tender life and liberty to the prisoner, who asks himself for death.

INDIAN. Is this your vengeance?

GENERAL. It is. The Great Spirit delights in mercy. Be thou our friend, warrior; bury thy tomahawk deep in earth; let not jealous foreigners excite thy vengeance against us; but living as we do in one territory, let us smoke the calumet of peace, you and all your tribe, and let concord hereafter reign amongst us.—Be this the token.

[Gives a belt of wampum.

INDIAN. Brother, I accept the token; forgive my rage, and pardon my unjust anger. Protect our warriors and wives; guard their wigwams from destruction; soften their prejudices and remove their jealousies. Do this, and the red man is your friend. I have urged you far to end my life: you have tempered your passions with mercy, and we are no longer foes. Farewell!

[Exit.

LAROLE Parbleu, dis general is like von great Roman. I vill speak von vord pour myself, I vill make de speech like de sauvage.

GENERAL. [To LAROLE.] And you, sir, it appears, are in disguise, unlike a civilized soldier; you have been taken in the ranks with Indians.

LAROLE. Sair, mon general, you sall here vat I am goin to say. I am von Frenchiman; in my contree every Frenchiman he is von soldat.

GENERAL. Well?

LAROLE. Begar, sair, I must fight vid somebody, because it is my bisness. In de Egypt I did fight 'gainst de Turc; in Europe I did fight de whole vorld vis de Grand Napoleon, and in Amerique I did fight against you vid myself. Mais, you take a me de prisonier, I can fight no more; I vill trow myself on de protection of dis contree; I vill no more fight contree de Yankee Doodel; I vill stay here and eat de ros beef vid you, and mon capitain la, he may go to de devil.

GENERAL. Admirably concluded. And you, sir, what can we do to lighten your captivity?

PENDRAGON. Why sir, if war was not my profession, I'd sell out; but it's always my maxim to obey orders, whatever they may be: therefore, shall be happy to have a brush with you in war, and equally happy to crack a bottle of Burgundy with you in peace; a flash in the pan in one way, or a puff from a segar in another; a bullet under the ribs in battle, or a country dance in a ball-room; all's one to me, if it's only fashionably conducted.

GENERAL. Well, let's into my tent and partake of some refreshment. We may not always meet as enemies.

PENDRAGON. [To ADELA.] Allow me the felicity of your little finger. [Aside.] She's struck with my figure, split me! LaRole, take notice.

LAROLE. Oh, you are de littel devil among de ladies.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Prison.

CHRISTINE seated on a bench; her appearance betrays grief and despair.

CHRISTINE. At length the weary night has passed away, and day dawns, but brings no joy or comfort to my aching heart. Alas! alas! Christine, where are all the bright visions thy fond fancy painted? where is that content and love which gleamed through the casement of our cottage, when my dear father smiled on his child, and entwined around her his protecting arms: when the false Lenox, too, with honeyed lips, and tones soft as zephyrs, vow'd eternal love? Let me not think of them, or I shall go mad. Oh, what a contrast! pent up in a vile prison, and in disguise! condemned to die, and perishing unknown and unprotected. On the one side, my grave yawns for me; and on the other, a false lover, and a cruel father, drive me to despair. My brain is on fire! [Hurries about with rapid strides. Music loud and violent.] Ha! what is this? [Tears the miniature from around her neck.] Lenox, these are thy features! thy mild looks beam hope and joy upon me. [Kisses it.] Could such a face be false? Away with it! even now he weds another. [Throws the miniature indignantly from her.] So, 'tis gone, and I am left alone in darkness and despair. [She stands transfixed with grief—muffled drum rolls—she starts.] Ha! they come for me! Be firm, my heart!

Enter an OFFICER and a file of SOLDIERS.

OFFICER. Young man, your hour has arrived; the detachment waits without to receive you.

CHRISTINE. [Faintly.] I am ready.

OFFICER. Can I serve you in any manner? Is there no letter—no remembrance that you would wish sent to father or friend?

CHRISTINE. Oh, forbear!

SOLDIER. [Picking up the miniature.] See, sir, here is a miniature.

OFFICER. [Examining it.] By Heavens, they are the features of Captain Lenox! How came you by this? What! a thief too? 'Tis well your career is cut short.

CHRISTINE. Oh no, no! Give it me, I implore you; 'tis mine.

OFFICER. I shall restore it to the rightful owner. Come, we wait.

CHRISTINE. Lead on. A few fleeting moments, and all my troubles will be at an end.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Before the Tent.

Enter GENERAL, SOLDIERS, &c., with papers.

GENERAL. He has not confessed who set him on?

OFFICER. He has not, but admits the crime.

GENERAL. [Returning papers.] 'Tis well—see him executed according to the sentence. Hard and imperious duty, which, at once, shuts out hope and mercy!

[Exit GENERAL.

OFFICER. Now to seek for Lenox, and restore to him his miniature.

[Exit.

SCENE IV. The Camp, as in Act I, Scene III; the stage is thrown open, drums roll, and the procession enters for the execution of CHRISTINE; she is in the centre, between the two detachments; her coat is off, and the stock unloosened from her neck—her step is firm, until she reaches the tent of LENOX, when she clasps her hands and hangs down her head in despair. Procession makes the circuit of the stage with slow steps, and when opposite the tent she kneels; an OFFICER places the bandage over her eyes, and gives a sign to a detachment of four to advance; they step forward, and level their muskets at her; at the moment, LENOX rushes from the tent with the miniature in his hand and strikes up their guns.

LENOX. Hold! for your lives! [Rushes down to CHRISTINE, and tears the bandage from her eyes.] 'Tis she! 'tis she! 'tis my own, my beloved Christine!

[Holds her in his arms; she faints.

2ND OFFICER. What means this?

LENOX. Stand off, ye cruel executioners, would you destroy a woman?

OFFICER. A woman? Heavens! how did this happen?

Enter GENERAL, ADELA, LAROLE, SOLDIERS, &c.

LENOX. Support her, Adela, support my dear Christine!

[ADELA assists.

CHRISTINE. [Recovering.] Where am I? [Sees LENOX and ADELA.] Hide me, save me from that horrid sight!

LENOX. Do you not know me, dear Christine?

CHRISTINE. Traitor, begone! let me die at once! Is she not your bride?

LENOX. No, by Heavens, no! 'tis my early friend, my dear companion. Could you doubt my love?

CHRISTINE. Not married? not your betrothed? O Lenox, are you then faithful?

LENOX. Could Christine doubt my vows?

CHRISTINE. I see it all—I have been deceived. Pardon me, dear Lenox; but driven to despair by your supposed perfidy, I enlisted, and rushed on my fate—which in a moment (horrid thought!) would have terminated. But you are true, and I am happy.

[Embrace.

LAROLE. Parbleu! it is a littel voman vidout de petticoat. Suppose she take a me von prisonier, O quell disgrace!

Enter JASPER, JERRY and PEASANTS.

JASPER. Where is she? where is my daughter?

CHRISTINE. My father? I dare not look upon him.

JASPER. Come to my arms, dear wanderer. Could you leave your poor old father thus? You've nearly broke my heart, Christine.

CHRISTINE. My sufferings have been equally severe; but do you pardon your child?

JASPER. I do—I do! and further prove my love, by making you happy. Take her, Lenox, she is yours; and never let father attempt to force his child into a marriage which her heart abhors.

JERRY. Well, I vow, Miss Crissy, you look very pretty in pantaloons, and make a fine soger; but after all, I'm glad to have escaped a wife who wears the breeches before marriage—so I consent that you shall have the infantry ossifer, because I can't help it; and so I'll marry Patty, the weaver's daughter, though she can't crack a bottle nor bring down a buck.

GENERAL. All things have terminated happily. Our arms have been triumphant, and our gallant soldiers rewarded with the approbation of their country. Love has intwined a wreath for your brows, Lenox, and domestic peace and happiness await you; and when old age draws on apace, may you remember the PLAINS OF CHIPPEWA, and feel towards Britain as freemen should feel towards all the world: "Enemies in war—in peace, friends."

Finis.