University of Virginia Library

DIALOGUE I.

Scene. The hill. A young Soldier enters.

How gloriously, with what a lonely majesty the morning
wastes in that silent valley there; with its moving
shadows, and breeze and sunshine, and its thousand delicious
sounds mocking those desolate homes—

(He stops suddenly, and looks earnestly into the
thicket.)

This is strange, indeed. This feeling that I cannot
analyze, still grows upon me. Presentiment? Some
dark, swift-flying thought, leaves its trace, and the causeseeking

mind, in the range of its own vision finding none,
looks to the shadowy future for it.

[He passes on.

(Two Indian Chiefs, in their war-dress, emerge from
the thicket, talking in suppressed tones.)

1st Chief.

Hoogh! Hoogh! Alaska fights to revenge
his son,—we spill our blood to revenge his son, and he
thinks to win gifts besides. Hugh! A brave chief he is!

2nd Chief.

Your talk is not good, Manida. They are
our enemies,—we shall conquer them, we shall see their
chestnut locks waving aloft, we shall dance and shout
all night around them, and the eyes of the maidens shall
meet ours in the merry ring, sparkling with joy, as we
shout “Victory! victory! our enemies are slain,—our
foot is on their necks, we have slain our enemies!” What
more, Manida? Is it not enough?

1st Chief.

No. I went last night with Alaska to the
camp above, to the tent of the young sachem of the lake,
and he promised him presents, rich and many, for an errand
that a boy might do. I asked Alaska to send me for
him, and he would not.

2nd Chief.

The young white sachem was Alaska's
friend, many moons ago, when Alaska was wounded and
sick.--He must revenge young Siganaw, but he must
keep his faith to his white friend, too.

1st Chief.

Ah, but I know where the horse is hidden
and the paper. When the tomahawks flash here, and

the war-cry is loudest, we will steal away. Come, and I
will share the prize with you.

2nd Chief.

No, I will tell my brother chief that Manida
is a treacherous friend.

1st Chief.

You cannot. It is too late. Hist! Quick,
lower—lower—

[They crouch among the trees.

(Another Soldier emerges from the wood-path, singing,)

(Pausing abruptly.)
Well, we are finely manned
here!

(1st Soldier re-enters.)

2nd Sol.

How many men do you think we have in all,
upon this hill, Edward?

1st Sol.

Hist!—more than you count on, perhaps.

2nd Sol.

Why? What is the matter? Why do you
look among those bushes so earnestly?

1st Student.

It is singular, indeed. I can hardly tell
you what it is, but twice before in my round, precisely
in this same spot, the same impression has flashed upon
me, though the sense that gives it, if sense it is, will not
bide an instant's questioning. There! Hist! Did
nothing move there then?

2nd Sol.

I see nothing. This comes of star-gazing,
when you should have slept. Though as to that, I have
nothing to complain of, certainly. I had to thank your
taste that way, last night, for an hour of the most delicious
slumber. It was like that we used to snatch of
old, between the first stroke of the prayer-bell and its dying
peal.

1st Sol.

I am glad you could sleep. For myself, such
a world of troubled thoughts haunted me, I found more
repose in waking.

2nd Sol.

Then I wish you could have shared my
dream with me, as indeed you seemed to, for you were
with me through it all. A blessed dream it was, and
yet—

1st Sol.

Well, let me share it with you now.

2nd Sol.

I cannot tell you how it was, that in honor
and good conscience we had effected it, but somehow,
methought our part in this sickening warfare was accomplished,
and we were home again. Oh the joy of
it! oh the joy of it! Even amid my dream, methought
we questioned its reality, so unearthly in its perfectness,
it seemed. We stood upon the college-green, and the
sun was going down with a strange, darkling splendor;
and from afar, ever and anon came the thunder roll of
battle; but we had nought to do with it; our part was
done; our time was out; we were to fight no more. And
there we stood, watching the student's games; and there

too was poor Hale, merry and full of life as e'er he was,
for never a thought of his cruel fate crossed my dream.
Suddenly we saw two ladies, arm in arm, come swiftly
down the shady street, most strangely beautiful and
strangely clad; with long white robes, and garlands in
their hair, and such a clear and silvery laugh, and something
fearful in their loveliness withal; and one of them,
as she came smiling toward us—do you remember that
bright, fair-haired girl we met in yonder lane one noon?
—Just such a smile as hers wore the lady in my dream.
Then, into the old chapel we were crowding all; that
long-deferred commencement had come on at last; we
stood upon a stage, and a strange light filled all the
house, and suddenly the ceiling swelled unto the skiey
dome, and nations filled the galleries; and I woke, to find
myself upon a soldier's couch, and the reveille beating.

1st Sol.

Well, if it cheered you, `twas a good dream
most certainly, though, yet—the dream-books might not
tell you so. Will you take this glass a moment?

2nd Sol.

What is it?

1st Sol.

That white house by the orchard, in the door
—do you see nothing?

2nd Sol.

Yes, a figure, certainly;—yes, now it moves.
I had thought those houses were deserted,—it is time
they were I think, for all the protection we can give
them. How long shall we maintain this post, think you,
with such a handful?

1st Sol.

Till the preparations below are complete, I
trust so at least, for we have watchers in these woods, no
doubt, who would speedily report our absence.

2nd Sol.

Well, if we all see yonder sun go down, 'tis
more than I count on.

1st Sol.

A chance if we do—a chance if we do. Will
the hour come when this infant nation shall forget her
bloody baptism?—the holy name of truth and freedom,
that with our hearts' blood we seal upon her in these days
of fear?

2nd Sol.

Ay, that hour may come.

1st Sol.

Then, with tears, and blood if need be, shall
she learn it anew; and not in vain shall the bones of the
martyrs moulder in her peopled vales. For human nature,
in her loftiest mood, was this beautiful land of old
built, and for ages hid. Here—her cradle-dreams behind
her flung; here, on the height of ages past,
her solemn eye down their long vistas turned, in a
new and nobler life she shall arise here. Ah, who knows
but that the book of History may show us at last on its
long-marred page—Man himself,—no longer the partial
and deformed developments of his nature, which each
successive age hath left as if in mockery of its ideal,—
but, man himself, the creature of thought,—the high, calm,
majestic being, that of old stood unshrinking beneath
his Maker's gaze. Even, as first he woke amid the gardens

of the East, in this far western clime at last he shall
smile again,—a perfect thing.

2nd Sol.

In your earnestness, you do not mark these
strange sounds, Edward. Listen.(He grasps his
sword.)

(A Soldier rushes down the path.)

3nd Sol.

We are surrounded! Fly. The Indians are
upon us. Fly.

[Rushes on.

(Another Soldier bursts from the woods.)

4th Sol.

God! They are butchering them above there,
do not stand here!

[Rushes down the hill.

2nd Sol.

Resistance is vain. Hear those shrieks!
There is death in them. Resistance is vain.

1st Sol.

Flight is vain. Look yonder! Francis,—
the dark hour hath come!

2nd Sol.

Is it so? Mother and sister I shall see no
more.

(A number of Indians, disfigured with paint and blood,
and brandishing their knives, come rushing down
the road, uttering short, fierce yells. Others from
below, bringing buck the fugitives.)

1st Sol.

We shall die together. God of Truth and
Freedom, unto thee our youthful spirits trust we.

(The Indians surround them. Fighting to the last,
they fall.)