University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—The Interior of Demba Sega Jalla's Tent.
Music.—Demba discovered reclining in African pomp, R., surrounded by numerous Attendants.
Dem.
Who was the leader of the guard, last night,
Over the females' tent?

First A.
'Twas Daucari.

Dem.
Where is he?

Dau.
[Coming forward, L.]
Here, my king.

Dem.
Do you not tremble?

Dau.
At your displeasure? ay.

Dem.
No, for your life, man—
For your life!—Know 'tis now in danger.

Dau.
'Tis always so when'er I fight for you,
But no one sees me tremble.

Dem.
Daucari,
You have been negligent upon your post.

Dau.
You are my king—I dare not contradict you.
[To one of the Attendants.
Come hither, you! Know you how many years
I've been in battles?

First A.
Thirty, as I've heard.

Dau.
Tell me in all that time I once was faulty;
Say so, that I may cry 'tis false, and stab you
[The Attendant shakes his head, and retires.
My king, that fellow, who ne'er flinched in war,
Dreads to accuse me, lest I kill a liar.

Dem.
You are too bold.

[Rises, and comes forward, C.
Dau.
I hope not so, my king;
Innocence, though tyrants reign, is fearless.

Dem.
Call you me tyrant?

Dau.
I'm too politic.

Dem.
Would you betray me?

Dau.
I'm much too loyal.

Dem.
Skill'd as you are in warfare, think you not
I must be loth—very loth, to sentence
You to death?

Dau.
Yes—I am useful to you.

Dem.
On that account I'll spare your life.

Dau.
That's wise.

Dem.
And for your service past.

Dau.
That's gratitude.

Dem.
I placed you, Daucari, to guard a female,
One of my slaves of war, whose melancholy—
Death's havoc done—look'd softer than the willow
Which graces the wild margin of a lake,
And droops o'er recent wrecks. She mourn'd so mildly,
That when her anguish forced a tear to fall,
A patient dimple caught it. Time, I
Had hope, would soothe her girlish grief, and yield
Me a willing treasure. Your base neglect
Has let some lover steal to her by night—
She has profaned my tents—and she shall surely die!

Dau.
You charged me, king, to head the western guard,
Not to become a sentinel. I watch'd not
All night, at one tent's mouth, I did my duty
In visiting the posts;—and when, at dawn,
I saw a stranger skulking from your slave,—
A cloak before his face,—my order was
To fire, but he escaped. 'Twas the sentry's
Neglect—but he's punished—for I shot him!

Dem.
Dull fool! and so prevented all the means
Of trying the delinquent, to discover
Who 'twas that fled. But the reward that's offer'd,
May bring detection yet. Begone!

[Daucari crosses to L.
Enter Mug, R.
Dem.
Now, white man, how's our prisoners' market?

Mug.
Dull, my liege.

Dem.
Tell me, what monkeys, or what merchandise,
You have obtained among the Europeans,
In barter for my slaves?

Mug.

Bless your royal soul! not a halfpenny yet in
hand; we mustn't deal with the wholesale traders, as if
your majesty kept a chandler's shop.

Dem.

How then?

Mug.

Oh, let me alone; I'm up to business by living
in the city; I have your majesty's interest at heart. You
are my king—only be ruled by me, and you'll do.

Dem.
Christian, your words, like your features, are
So very different from other men
That I both smile and wonder. But explain—
What is a purchase, when no value's given?

Mug.

Why, the European merchants are what we call
good men; and they have entered your majesty's market
to buy stock, just as if they were walking into a black
Royal Exchange. Some come on camels, some upon
oxen,—that's the way they waddled into the country. 'Tis
pretty sure they'll come down with the dust on settling
day, for without that they know your majesty won't let
'em waddle out.

Dem.

Still I cannot comprehend your meaning!

Mug.

Leave it all to me. Little more than a week will
finish the job. In the meantime, may it please your black
majesty, don't turn dun; but as I am now joining the fatigue
of chancellor of the exchequer to the labours of secretary
at war, I humbly hope you'll double my emoluments.

Dem.

Fear not! you shall have ample honours.

Mug.

I am more partial to profits;—and, from all I
have heard of your majesty's unprinted court calender, if
it's the same to you, I'd much rather receive a salary than
be knighted.

Enter Second Attendant, L.
Second A.
There's one without who brings a prisoner,
For whom he claims reward by proclamation.

Dem.
Now, by the serpent that's my deity,
The wretch who glided from my captive's tent!
Away! set him before me instantly!
[Exit Second Attendant, L.
Go, white man! be faithful to your trust.

[To Mug.
Mug.

Having nothing to do in your majesty's Old Bailey
department, I retire from the levee.

[Exit, R.
Enter Madiboo with Selico, Second Attendant, and four Soldiers, L.
Dem.
[To Madiboo.]
Now—speak!

Mad.
[Aside.]
I scarce am able! [Aloud.]
I've brought a
Man to die,—don't let it be by torture,—
A man, who—grant me, pray, a little pause,
For you may see I tremble.

Dem.
Be composed. Who is he?

Mad.
[In great agitation.]
Who!—he is my—

Sel.
[Hastily interrupting him.]
Prisoner!—
That's plain enough. Your presence, conqueror,
Awes my accuser, though it awes not me.

Dem.
[To Madiboo.]
Proceed in your speech.

Mad.
[Hesitating.]
There is a reward—
Four four hundred ounces—'tis in gold—for him
Who brings the culprit, who—pray pardon me,
I cannot utter—

Dem.
One who fled my tents,
Under the muskets of my soldiery.
Is that the wretch?

Mad.
[Looking at Selico, and, in agony, throwing himself into his brother's arms.]
I am the greatest wretch!

Dem.
[Amazed.]
Ha! weeping o'er the prisoner!

Sel.
[Quickly, over Madiboo's shoulder.]
No wonder!
He's my bosom friend, and has betray'd me.
[Puts Madiboo gently away.
Hear me avow, what he lacks power to tell
I left the tent at dawn—escaped the shot—
Whisper'd the fatal secret in his ear.
He heard the proclamation—he is poor!
Riches too often sap a poor man's virtue,
And his could not resist! He bouud me while
I slept, then dragged me hither. Give him
The gold—me my fate!

Dem.
Sure as the evening sun
Closes its sloping course behind the hills,
You suffer ere it sets!

Sel.
I am prepared!

Dem.
[To his Attandant, and pointing to Madiboo.]
Bring him the recompense.
[Exit Attendant, R.
Four hundred ounces, paid to you in gold.
'Tis fit that I should keep my faith with you,
Though you have basely broken faith with him.
'Tis said I'm cruel—I may be so in war—
Warriors must be torrents. Peaceful friendship
Should be so calm, that if a thought of gain
Ruffle the bosom of a friend, then gold
Should seem a pebble cast upon a pond,
Whose surface for a moment is disturbed—
The cause soon sinks, and all is still again.

Mad.
Keep your gold, and let my prisoner go.

Dem.
Your prisoner?—mine! Take your reward, or leave it,—
Still he is mine; and jealousy's revenge
Makes iron justice harder. Vivid lighting
May strike and melt me; a feign'd compunction
Is far too weak a fire to make me bend.
Re-enter Attendant, with gold, R.
Give him the gold.
[Madiboo receives it with horror.
Go, buy intoxication
And drown your conscience! Guard him well! and
Give order in the camp for execution.
This day the female slave and he shall die!

[Exit into the tent, followed by Attendants—others remain to guard Selico.
Mad.
Oh, brother!

Sel.
Hush! the guards will overhear us.

Mad.
I ne'er shall see you, dear Selico, more.

Sel.
Never!
You'll see my mother,—think on that—
Think on the treasure in your hands.

Mad.
Psha!—'sdeath!

Sel.
Not so; it will preserve a parent's life.
Conceal my fate from her; tell the good soul—
'Twill not be falsehood—tell her I've journey'd
To a far distant country, for her good;
And, if she ask how soon I shall return,
Evade the question—say—say we all shall meet.
But do not, brother, let her see you weep.

Second A.
[To Madiboo.]
You must be gone.

Mad.
One moment. Selico,
In infancy we often kiss'd each other;
Now you must die,—I would not ask it else—
I'll print a manly farewell on your cheek.
[Embraces him.
My dear brother! Mahomet support you!

[Exeunt, Madiboo, rushing off, L., and Selico, guarded, R.

SCENE II.

—A Wood.
Enter Torribal and Darina, L.
Tor.
'Tis madness to persist!—Mother, turn back.

Dar.
I would not, were a lion in my path!

Tor.
There's peril in the camp.

Dar.
There's torture out on't,
While my son's a slave. The shaft of Heaven
Alone shall stay me! Inconsiderate boys!
Too kind to me, too cruel to yourselves—
One of my sons basely to sell the other!

Tor.
Famine
Wrung you, mother;—'twas done to save your life.
But return, I beseech you!

Dar.
I will not!
If they have made my Selico a slave—
And if the conqueror—

Tor.
He'll not hear you.

Dar.
Will not hear me! All Africans have hearts:
And surely, they who've drain'd their mother's milk,
Imbibe some pity for a mother's feelings.
Oh! when at the conqueror's feet I bend,
And cry, “Restore to me my child!—a gift,
To you a trifle, but to me a world!”
If he reject my prayer, his infancy
Has spurned human breasts, to suckle with a tiger.

Tor.
I was to blame to breathe one word of this.

Dar.
You!
I drew it from you. Few can conceive
A mother's quickness for her absent child.
If she inquire of one who saw him last,
How 'tis he fares, a look—nay, half a look,
Alarms her; and a hesitating speech
Is almost confirmation somewhat's wrong.
Go onward, son!—If you refuse to guard me,
So let it be.—I'm a poor weak woman;
But still maternal love will give me strength
To crawl into the camp, and save my boy.

Tor.
Wherever you go, I go!—Rush madly down
The cataract, you'll find me by your side!
Stand back! here's some one coming—screen yourself!

Enter Madiboo, carrying the gold, R.
Mad.
Who's there?

Tor.
Friends.

Mad.
Torribal! can it be you?

Tor.
Yes.

Mad.
And my mother, too! How happens this?

Tor.
She will go the camp.

Mad.
[Shuddering.]
Oh! you must not go!

Dar.
I will go thither!

Mad.
[Aside.]
What a scene of horror—

Dar.
No power shall prevent me! What is that
You bear about you?

Mad.
Gold, dear mother—gold,—
Enough to give you affluence for ever.

Dar.
Then to prolong my life a scanty term,
Which nature soon must end, you sold my boy.

Mad.
I wish I had.

Dar.
You wish you had!—What's done?

Tor.
[Taking Madiboo apart.]
I do not understand you, Madiboo.
What has been done?

Mad.
[Wildly.]
Oh, do not ask me!

Tor.
You have gold there?

Mad.
Ay, four hundred ounces!

Tor.
Not for the purchase of one poor slave? Tell
Me, how came you by it?

Mad.
Do not question me.
But if you can, devise some means to keep
Her from the camp.

Tor.
You are agitated.

Mad.
Distracted, brother—almost heart-broken!
Another time I'll tell you all; at present,
My heart's too full. Keep her away—Torribal,
Keep her away! I'm too weak, I cannot.

Tor.
Dear mother, let us return.

Dar.
No, never!

Mad.
You know not what you'd go to see.

Dar.
My child!
In sickness—health—in slavery—in death—

Mad.
[Shuddering.]
Death!

Dar.
Ay, e'en in the agonies of death,
A mother fondly clings around her child.

Mad.
[Aside.]
Oh, heavens! 'tis so she will cling round him.

Dar.
Quick! forward to the camp!—I am resolved!

[She rushes off, R., Madiboo and Torribal follows her.

SCENE III.

—The Camp of the Mandingo King—preparations for an execution—a pile of faggots, R., another, L.,—and various implements of torture.
Selico, Guards, Executioners, and a crowd, discovered.
Sel.
Nay, do not torture me before my time.
Your king, who means to see my parting
Agonies, has not yet arrived. Then stand
Aloof, ye ministers who execute
The sentences of power! How need must warp
Poor human nature, when a man turns jailer.
No one, sure, first made it his election,
To live on his fellow-creature's sorrows.
Oh! how flinty must his office make him,
If, when his petty sway might mitigate
The prisoner's woe, he doubles it!
Is that the stake where I am doom'd to die?

Second E.
Ay;—
And the partner of your crime dies with you.

Sel.
Oh, poor soul! Death in a conqueror's camp,
Is swift in visitation; gives no time,
As oft he will round pallets of the sick,
For leave-takings, and kindly offices;—
Else would I strive to calm her flutter'd spirit,
Support the sinking trembler, and, with
A fellow-sufferer's firmness, cheer her up.

Second E.
[Advancing to Selico.]
Prisoner, our faiths differ; few Mandingoes
Profess your creed, and follow Mahomet.
You may think me cruel, but you wrong me.
If, in the camp, there's a Mahometan
You wish to pray by you, I'll find him out,
And bring him hither.

Sel.
Thank you, heartily.
There's no religion, as I think, on earth,
In which weak man can not exclaim, “The worship
I was born to, others may reject.”
But, while I glow with charity for all,
I trust, howe'er my heart pours out a prayer
I may, at last, obtain my Maker's mercy.

Second E.
Say, can I serve you?

Sel.
No, good fellow, no!
[The Executioner retreats some paces, and Selico kneels.
Dear spirit of my murder'd love! if e'er
It be allowed mortality to soar
Into the breast of Heaven, and look down
On what is left below,—behold me meet
Death's agony in smiles!—Soon we may wander
In airy blessedness:—no battle-axe
Can sunder love in those pure realms of bliss;
No ravagers of war can butcher age,
Or pinch with famine. Prophet Mahomet!
Scorn not the prayer of a poor African!

[Rises.
[Muffled drum, and flourish.
Second E.
Hark—hark! the Mandingo king approaches!

Enter Demba Sega Jalla, and Attendants, L. U. E.— the music plays as they march down the lines of the camp—the King places himself on an elevated seat, R. C.
Dem.
Criminal, some have said 'tis my nature
To be too lavish in decrees of death;
They say I wanton, too, in shedding blood:
Therefore, I come, that you, yourself, may own
Your sentence just.

Sel.
More just than merciful.

Dem.
Can justice, then, be call'd unmerciful?

Sel.
Justice and Mercy are distinct; when join'd,
'Tis sweet to see the mild companion smooth
Its stern associate's brow; and when the sword
Is lifted, smilingly present the sheath.
Atrocious guilt can hope for no indulgence!
But there are cases, where the judge's eye
May drop a tear on him whom he condemns;
And, when a king has power to sentence,
He might remember he has power to pardon.

Dem.
You stole into my camp; the laws of war
Pronounce it death.

Sel.
Ay, if I came a spy;—
But you have sentenced me on other grounds.
I skulk'd not hither, o'er my native plain,
That smokes with fire, and blood, to carry back
A vain intelligence to carcasses.
You dread no spy from towns you have subdued,
For there your plan is to exterminate.
In warfare you murder even infants
At shuddering womens' breasts, and silence
All fears of a reprise, by butchery.

Dem.
Bold wretch! you were received within the tent
Of her, who heard my love, and then disdain'd it—
My favourite slave of war,—my guard beheld you.

Sel.
He who is above all guards, beheld you
Tear all your slaves of war from every tie
Humanity holds dear, and still has spared you.

Dem.
Mine is the right of conquest.

Sel.
Conquest's right
Gives a true hero the delightful power
Of shewing conquest's generosity.
And what's your right? A battle gives it you.
What are the ties of those you pluck assunder?
Why, time and sympathy have knotted them:
And should you die instead of those you part,
It might be nobler justice.

Dem.
Witness, soldiers,
Your king's forbearance,—witness how I bear
These taunts with patience.

Sel.
Oh, mild murderer!
Every ally you plunder, owns your meekness.
Specious destroyer! amiable despot!
Domestic creature of the tiger breed,
Who pur upon your prey before you kill it!

Dem.
[To the Attendant.]
To execution! [To Selico.]
You have violated
A warrior's camp, and you must suffer.
Bring in the female prisoner.

First A.
She's here.

[Muffled drum.
Enter Berissa, in a veil, and trembling, L.—she is supported by two Females—Guards follow.—Selico's face is averted, contemplating the pile, R., whereon he is to suffer.
Dem.
Throw off the captive's veil.—She knows her fate.

Ber.
[Removing the veil.]
I do; and though I tremble, am resign'd.

Sel.
[Starting.]
Did I hear right?—her voice!—it cannot be! [Turning suddenly round..]
Berissa! [She utters a piercing shriek.]
She lives!—My love! my life!

[He runs to her, and they fall into each others arms.
Dem.
[To the Guards.]
Force them apart! The greatest outrage that
Man's pride endures, is when his love is scorn'd
By her he's knelt to, whom he might command;
And who, insults him to his face, by lavishing
Her fondness on his rival. 'Tis excess
Of female insult, thus to gall my heart.

Ber.
Hear me! I swear, by the holy prophet!
While bending o'er the awful brink of death,
Though one was in my tent, [Pointing to Selico.]
it was not he.

Sel.
[Aside.]
That's truly sworn; but proves her false as wantons.
Oh, mother, mother! 'tis for you alone
I now should wish to die.

Dem.
I'll not be fool'd
By female oaths. Did he not, e'en this instant,
Rush to your arms, while fervently you clasp'd him?
Nay, has he not himself made full confession?
Captive! you who disdain'd your conqueror's love—
You, whom I sued to share dominion with me,—
What motive, now, inspires you to deny
The guilt of your accomplice? Think you, thus,
To save him? If he be not culpable,
Then name the criminal.

Sel.
[Eagerly.]
Ay, ay! name him!

Ber.
Mark, king! This man's impetuosity
To hear the culprit named, proves him guiltless.

Dem.
That's doubtful;—but you can clear the mystery.

Ber.
Had I a thousand lives, and ev'ry life
Condemn'd to twenty thousand agonies,
I'd ne'er divulge the secret. Remember,
When you approach'd me with your selfish passion,
I then avow'd my heart no longer mine.
I dared not utter falsehood: think you now
I dare advance it, dying?—I repeat,
Innocent blood will lie upon your soul,
If he be sacrificed!

Dem.
Truth seems to gush
As purely from those lips, as bubbling streams
Forced from the fairest fountain. But—no, no!
Yon slave himself avow'd it. Set the piles
On fire, and lead the culprits to their fate!

Enter Four Executioners, with torches—two go to each pile and remain behind them—other Executioners prepare to bind the prisoners to the stakes.
Sel.
King, if a corner in thy beating heart
E'er held a drop of pity for the dying,
Grant me one word with yon poor sufferer.

Dem.
You scarce deserve it. Let them speak together.

[Selico and Berissa meet, C.
Sel.
Berissa, how I loved you know; how you
Have loved I doubt.

Ber.
That doubt, dear Selico,
Is worse than agonies of death.

Sel.
Indeed?

Ber.
Indeed!—Oh! if there be a secret,
I dare not tell, e'en you, at such a moment.
From the whole course of our pure, simple love,
Why should you think me faithless? But tell me,
How came you hither?

Sel.
We have no time for that.

Ber.
Say, then, you think me true; for I can swear—

Sel.
No, do not, love; your words are holy writ;
They're balm to me! Forgive my suspicions;
Your affirmation's everything. Oh, love!
This scene— [Drums rolls.]
We part—farewell!

Both.
Farewell!—farewell!

[They retire to the stakes—a noise is heard without.
Enter Farulho, rushing in hurriedly, L.
Far.
I will press forward, ere it be too late!
[Prostrates himself before the Kiag.
King! king! in me behold the real culprit—
A poor old man, who strove to steal his daughter.

Dem.
Your daughter!

Far.
Yes, that wretched girl is mine.
'Twas I that sought her tent—'twas I escaped
The muskets of her guard—she tried, in vain,
To follow her old father. Take your victim—
Save him, who is not guilty, and let me
Perish with her (if she must die) for whom
Only I wish to live,—my darling child!

Dem.
[To the Guards.]
Release them for a while.

[The prisoners come from the stakes.
Ber.
But for a while!
Then let me snatch this moment to embrace
My dear, dear father!

Far.
[Embracing her.]
Oh, my child! my child!

Dem.
[To Selico.]
Say, why did you avow yourself the culprit?

Sel.
Conqueror, to you, who make mens' dwellings ashes,
Domestic tales of woe, that follow triumphs,
Will not be pleasing.

Dem.
Speak!—I need not say
Speak boldly, you have spoken so already.

Sel.
The dying, wrung with griefs, will use some license
Towards those that wring them.

Dem.
You had an accuser,
Who brought you to the camp.

Sel.
He was my brother.

Dem.
Your brother!

Sel.
Yes.—Oh, king! you little think
On all that war, in its extremity,
Inflicts on nature. You approach'd with fire,
When peaceful joy was throbbing in our breasts;
When I was leading my loved bride to mosque.
She's there! the daughter of this good old man,
Our priest, revered by all. I thought them dead;
For in my search I found two headless bodies
Clad in their outward garments.

Far.
Did you so?
Alas! then, two poor faithful souls have perish'd,
In zeal for me and mine. My honest servant
Descried me,—“Fly, dear master, fly! give me
Your mantle—I am youngest; and your daughter
Shall change her dress for mine; and if they dare
Invade this sacred place, I'll pass myself
Upon them for the priest: then, should they battle,
I'm more stout than you—my girl less timid
Than your dear tender child.”—And so we fled:
But still I lost Berissa in the tumult;
Then traced her to the camp;—and my poor servants
Have fallen victims of their love for us.

Dem.
[Aside.]
I know not what it is about my heart,
That stirs me thus. In all my victories,
No tale of sorrow that I ever heard
Touch'd me so near as this.
[To Selico.]
Tell me—when you conceived these people dead,
Why were you rendered as a criminal—
And by your brother?

Sel.
To save a mother
From perishing with hunger, whom your fierce wars
Had driven to the woods. The sum you offer'd,
Would snatch her from the pangs of famine
To affluence; and I enforced my brother
To drag me hither, as a sacrifice.

Dem.
And knew she this?

Sel.
No.

Dem.
Her name?

Sel.
Darina.

Darina.
[Without, L.]
Guards, give way—and let me to the king!

Sel.
Ha! 'tis my mother's voice—they've told her all!

Enter Darina, L.—she rushes forward, and throws herself at the King's feet—Torribal and Madiboo follow her.
Dar.
King, pity a mother, and spare her son!

Tor.
Mother, be calm! 'tis not the way to soothe.

Mad.
Leave her alone! a mother's cries will pierce
A heart of flint,—let her alone, I say!

Dem.
Rise, woman! your suspense shall soon be o'er.
Where is the English merchant from our lines?

Merchant.
[Coming forward.]
Here!

Dem.
Merchant, have you attended to this process?

Mer.
I have.

Dem.
Then pr'ythee, merchant, tell me—you
Of wisdom and experience—you, who boast
A country, as they say, more civilized
By far, than mine—at how much would you rate
A man like this?

[Points to Selico.
Mer.
For his uncommon virtues,
At full a thousand crowns.

Dem.
I'll double that,
And give it to Berissa,—not to buy,
But to marry her faithful Selico.
[Selico and Berissa fall at Demba's feet.
Nay, rise, my heart was never moved till now.

Mad.
[Dancing and singing.]

My dear mother!—my
dear brother!—my good old priest! [Singing.]
I'm so
happy—I shall jump out of my skin for joy!

Enter Mug, with a long written paper in his hand, and Sutta under his arm, R.
Mug.

May it please your majesty, I have drawn up a
petition, which, as you never learned your A, B, C, according
to our English fashion, I will make bold to read to you.

Dem.

What is it, white man?

Mug.

Why, I have just heard of some poor condemned
folks, who were formerly my friends; and, as they have
not murdered, nor forged, nor robbed, on your majesty's
highway, it's very hard if a secretary of state hasn't interest
to bring them off. [Looking round.]
Eh!—oh! I see
by your countenances 'tis settled already. [To Farulho.]

Oh, my dear old master! Lord, Mr. Madiboo! how are
you, and all the rest of your family, after your confounded
fright?

Sel.
Come, love!—my dear Berissa!—My mother!
We have been sorely tried!

Ber.
But we can say,
Whatever we've endured, “'Twas virtue's trial.”

Sel.
Oh, how sweet! when after virtue's struggle,
We lay our hands upon our heart, and cry,
We've suffer'd Heaven's scourge with resignation,
And resignation is repaid with bliss!

CHORUS.
The contest's over—war's alarms
Now leave our native plains:
Then welcome friendship's charms,
For smiling peace remains.

Sutta.
Then, after cold and wintry showers,
The west wind breathes, and sunshine's ours:
Sweet spring,—each heart of care beguiling,—
Sweet spring returns, and all is smiling.

Chorus.
The contest's over, &c.