Scene IV
(The Council House. Col. Thompson, the Head
Man of the Agency, in his seat. Enter Charley
Emathla, followed by the Chiefs of the Nation,
who arrange themselves on the seats around the
Agent. Enter Osceola chained, followed by the
Guard).
Col. Thompson
Why is it that the Indian cannot live
In comfort with the White-man near? The land
He lives upon does not belong to him;
But it was ceded to the Whites by Spain.
Then why does Osceola thirst for blood?
Why not now ratify the treaty made
By Tuckasee Emathla, Chief of all
The great men of the Nation, long ago?
These questions shall be answered by the Chiefs
Who raised this mutiny among his Tribe.
Osceola
(rising)
What! shall this mighty spirit stoop to speak,
As chainless as the freedom of the sea,
And bound by mortal power? I will not speak!
My hands are chained!
Col. Thompson
They are—nor shall be loosed
Until you sign the Treaty made at old
Fort Gipson by the great men of your tribe.
Miccanopy
(rising)
An hundred summers of perpetual peace have rolled
in glory over Miccanopy's head, making his green
heart flourish like the mighty Oak that ripens
in the woods. An hundred Winters, too, have
laid the green arms of the giant Oaks all bare.
But never has the Seminolean seen a time like
this! The Winter has returned again with tenfold
violence—The Summer's Sun gone down
in blood! The Roe-buck has been driven from
the Hills—the white Swans from the silver
Lakes. Who can now tell what Miccanopy's
fate will be?
Col. Thompson
Will Osceola sign the Treaty now?
Miccanopy
(taking Osceola aside)
Yes, sign it with your hand, but not your heart!
(Aloud)
Oh! yes—the Treaty shall be signed!
Col. Thompson
Well said.
Unchain his hands. The Talk may now go on.
(The Soldiers unchain his hands)
Now, Osceola, if you have one word
To say, speak as the White-man's friend. Proceed.
Osceola
The hail of a thousand winters had fallen upon
the Oak, but still it was the Monarch of the
woods. It lifted up its mighty arms to Heaven,
forgetful of the Lightning's blast, the Thunder's
roar. The Storm had played among its cloudy
moss, like Endea fondling with the locks of
Love. I sat beneath its shadow in the green
days of my youth, when there was no sorrow in
my soul. The birds were singing in its boughs.
I saw a little Vine spring from its root, and
raise itself from bough to bough. The old Oak
seemed to love it as his child. A hundred
Moons had passed away in Heaven. I saw that
Oak again. But it was changed. Its limbs began
to wither. Its leaves were yellow. Autumn
had come before its time. It seemed to hang
its stately glory out to die. The little Vine,
that had been weaker than the Fawn, was now
the Monarch of the Woods. It twisted its
insidious folds around that Tree, until it
prest the life-blood its heart! I looked
upon that Serpent-Vine hugging its Monarch with
deceit, and took my Tommahawk and cut it loose.
The old Oak lived. It stood among the thunderclouds
of Heaven the same; and now it wears
the greenness of eternal youth. I cannot speak
the White-man's speech. I have no music in my
soul. I speak the language of my heart. The
Red-Man is the Oak. The White-man is the Vine.
Jumper
(rising)
The Bee that has gathered honey from the lowland
Honeysuckle knows where to find that
tender flower again. But if that flower should
be taken away, it would have to seek for honey
among strange flowers. The same way with us.
If we should go into a strange land, we should
not know where to find our food. The milk of
a thousand hills has nourished me from youth.
The hills are the breasts of my mother, the
Earth. If you take the child away from its
mother, it will die.
Col. Thompson
Is Osceola reconciled to go?
Osceola
If my lips were to utter what my heart does
not feel, the honor of my heart would give the
utterance of my lips the lie. I am a Red-Man,
but my soul is white. A drop of water to a
blind man's lips will taste as sweet as to one
who can see. But if the White-Man give him
gall to drink, will that taste sweet as sweetness
from the Red-Man's hands. Oh! Oh! that the
White-Man had the Red-Man's eyes! The blood
that fills my veins is just as red as any other
blood. I feel the same things that the White-Man
feels. I eat, live, love, and have to die.
The air I breathe is just the same to me. The
children that I love are just as dear. To be
where they are now—where they were born—
is what I wish; but, if it cannot be, then—
I can die!
Miccanopy
(taking Osceola aside)
The Tommahawk, that has been buried now a
hundred years, shall be dug up again from
rusting underneath the Tree of Peace. Then,
after it is polished of its rust, it shall be
buried in the White-Man's heart!
Col. Thompson
Will Osceola sign the treaty now?
Osceola
Oh! yes—the Treaty shall be signed.
Col. Thompson
Well said
Then take the paper—let him sign his name.
(They take the paper, hand it to him to sign,
when he takes his dagger from his belt and stabs
it through).
Osceola
(exultingly)
This is the way that Osceola signs his name!
Col. Thompson
The Council may be broken up. Tomorrow we
shall meet again.
Miccanopy
(aside to Osceola)
Now, as we part, look in his face and smile.
The Lion steps the softest just before he kills
the Fawn. Then shake him by the hand and smile.
The Day must pass—the night will come. Remember
what thy Chief has said. The Watchfire shall
not blaze in vain!
Osceola
Let icy words hang on thy lips, even while the
fires of Hell burn in thy heart!
(Miccanopy, Osceola, and Jumper shake hands
with the Agent, then quit the Council, followed
by all the rest, except Charley Emathla and
Selma).
Col. Thompson
Saw you the scorn that sat enthroned upon his
brow, writhing in frowns like lightning in some
thunder cloud? That look betrayed determination.
Selma
Decision sat enthroned upon his brow
In awful dignity. Upon his lips
A writhing scorn triumphant played, as if
In concert with an agony within,
That restless grew for something to devour.
He is the Shadow of some mighty God—
Nay, if the very Gods were on the earth,
They would not look more like themselves, than is
This Seminolean Chief! Behold! they come!
(Violent yellings are heard from without. Reenter
Osceola and Miccanopy with guns.)
Osceola
(to Col. Thompson)
Rejoice! for thou shalt die tonight! The
Dead came to me in their winding sheets, last
night, and said, The Calumet of Peace is gone!
The Tommahawk is now dug up again! Rise up,
my Osceola! and avenge my wrongs! I rose.
The pale face of my murdered friend stood at
the door. Speak not! The door of Hell shall
be unlocked! The White-man will not chain me
then! The hands that thou didst chain a few
short hours ago, shall drag thee to the Desert,
where the Wolf shall fatten on thy carcass,
and the hungry Vulture peck thine eyes!
(Osceola and Miccanopy fire on Col. Thompson
and Charley Emathla, as they retire to the back
of the stage, and they fall).
Miccanopy
(stepping up to Selma)
Ha! Miccanopy's boy. By yonder Big Light
in the sky! thy soul shall dwell among the
Stars tonight! Away! the Indian's Council
shall decide thy fate!
(Exit Miccanopy bearing off Selma)
Osceola
(walking up to Charley Emathla)
Oh! thou dead Dog! who had the White-man's
heart, but wore the Indian's garb! I will
not stamp upon thee with my foot—for thou
art on the White-man's earth! I will not
honour thee with any thing but death—and
that thou hast! Thou art upon the cold earth
now, that was not colder than thy heart!
The Indian spurns thee as he would the faithless
dog! (Waling up to Col. Thompson).
But thou who hadst the Red-Man chained—who
caged the mightiest Eagle ever born on earth—
I tread upon thee—crush thee to the earth
that thou didst love!—for thou shalt perish
where the cattle tread—thy bones and all thy
children's bones—rotting upon the earth
that Osceola would not give to thee!
(Exit as the curtain falls)
