________________________________________________
_ ACT IV - SCENE IV
MRS. HONNYMAN.
Oh, Honnyman, how desperate is our Case!
There's not a single Hope of Mercy left:
How savage, cruel, bloody did they look!
Rage and Revenge appear'd in every Face.
HONNYMAN.
You may depend upon 't, we all must die,
I've made such Havoc, they'll have no Compassion;
They only wait to study out new Torments:
All that can be inflicted or endur'd,
We may expect from their relentless Hands.
Their brutal Eyes ne'er shed a pitying Tear;
Their savage Hearts ne'er had a Thought of Mercy;
Their Bosoms swell with Rancour and Revenge,
And, Devil-like, delight in others' Plagues,
Love Torments, Torture, Anguish, Fire, and Pain,
The deep-fetch'd Groan, the melancholy Sigh,
And all the Terrors and Distress of Death,
These are their Music, and enhance their Joy.
In Silence then submit yourself to Fate:
Make no Complaint, nor ask for their Compassion;
This will confound and half destroy their Mirth;
Nay, this may put a stop to many Tortures,
To which our Prayers and Tears and Plaints would move them.
MRS. HONNYMAN.
Oh, dreadful Scene! Support me, mighty God,
To pass the Terrors of this dismal Hour,
All dark with Horrors, Torments, Pains, and Death!
Oh, let me not despair of thy kind Help;
Give Courage to my wretched, groaning Heart!
HONNYMAN.
Tush, Silence! You'll be overheard.
MRS. HONNYMAN.
Oh, my dear Husband! 'Tis an Hour for Prayer,
An Infidel would pray in our Distress:
An Atheist would believe there was some God
To pity Pains and Miseries so great.
HONNYMAN.
If there's a God, he knows our secret Wishes;
This Noise can be no Sacrifice to him;
It opens all the Springs of our weak Passions.
Besides, it will be Mirth to our Tormentors;
They'll laugh, and call this Cowardice in Christians
And say Religion makes us all mere Women.
MRS. HONNYMAN.
I will suppress my Grief in Silence then,
And secretly implore the Aid of Heaven.
Forbid to pray! Oh, dreadful Hour indeed!
[Pausing.]
Think you they will not spare our dear sweet Babes?
Must these dear Innocents be put to Tortures,
Or dash'd to Death, and share our wretched Fate?
Must this dear Babe that hangs upon my Breast
[Looking upon her infant.]
Be snatch'd by savage Hands and torn in Pieces!
Oh, how it rends my Heart! It is too much!
Tygers would kindly soothe a Grief like mine;
Unconscious Rocks would melt, and flow in Tears
At this last Anguish of a Mother's Soul.
[Pauses, and views her child again.]
Sweet Innocent! It smiles at this Distress,
And fondly draws this final Comfort from me:
Dear Babe, no more: Dear Tommy too must die,
[Looking at her other child.]
Oh, my sweet First-born! Oh, I'm overpower'd.
[Pausing.]
HONNYMAN.
I had determin'd not to shed a Tear;
[Weeping.]
But you have all unman'd my Resolution;
You've call'd up all the Father in my Soul;
Why have you nam'd my Children? Oh, my Son!
[Looking upon him.]
My only Son--My Image--Other Self!
How have I doted on the charming Boy,
And fondly plann'd his Happiness in Life!
Now his Life ends: Oh, the Soul-bursting Thought!
He falls a Victim for his Father's Folly.
Had I not kill'd their Friends, they might have spar'd
My Wife, my Children, and perhaps myself,
And this sad, dreadful Scene had never happen'd.
But 'tis too late that I perceive my Folly;
If Heaven forgive, 'tis all I dare to hope for.
MRS. HONNYMAN.
What! have you been a Murderer indeed!
And kill'd the Indians for Revenge and Plunder?
I thought you rash to tempt their brutal Rage,
But did not dream you guilty as you said.
HONNYMAN.
I am indeed. I murder'd many of them,
And thought it not amiss, but now I fear.
MRS. HONNYMAN.
O shocking Thought! Why have you let me know
Yourself thus guilty in the Eye of Heaven?
That I and my dear Babes were by you brought
To this Extreme of Wretchedness and Woe?
Why have you let me know the solemn Weight
Of horrid Guilt that lies upon us all?
To have died innocent, and seen these Babes
By savage Hands dash'd to immortal Rest,
This had been light, for this implies no Crime:
But now we die as guilty Murderers,
Not savage Indians, but just Heaven's Vengeance
Pursues our Lives with all these Pains and Tortures.
This is a Thought that points the keenest Sorrow,
And leaves no Room for Anguish to be heighten'd.
HONNYMAN.
Upbraid me not, nor lay my Guilt to Heart;
You and these Fruits of our past Morning Love
Are innocent. I feel the Smart and Anguish,
The Stings of Conscience, and my Soul on Fire.
There's not a Hell more painful than my Bosom,
Nor Torments for the Damn'd more keenly pointed.
How could I think to murder was no Sin?
Oh, my lost Neighbour! I seduc'd him too.
Now death with all its Terrors disappears,
And all I fear 's a dreadful Something-after;
My Mind forebodes a horrid, woful Scene,
Where Guilt is chain'd and tortur'd with Despair.
MRS. HONNYMAN.
The Mind oppress'd with Guilt may find Relief.
HONNYMAN.
Oh, could I reach the pitying Ear of Heaven,
And all my Soul evaporate in Sound,
'T would ask Forgiveness! but I fear too late;
And next I'd ask that you and these dear Babes
Might bear no Part in my just Punishment.
Who knows but by pathetic Prayers and Tears
Their savage Bosoms may relent towards you,
And fix their Vengeance where just Heaven points it?
I still will hope, and every Motive urge.
Should I succeed, and melt their rocky Hearts,
I'd take it as a Presage of my Pardon,
And die with Comfort when I see you live.
[Death halloo is heard without.]
MRS. HONNYMAN.
Hark! they are coming--Hear that dreadful Halloo.
HONNYMAN.
It is Death's solemn Sentence to us all;
They are resolv'd, and all Entreaty's vain.
Oh horrid Scene! how shall I act my Part?
Was it but simple Death to me alone!
But all your Deaths are mine, and mine the Guilt.
[Enter INDIANS with stakes, hatchets, and firebrands.]
Oh, horrid Preparation, more than Death!
PONTEACH.
Plant down the Stakes, and let them be confin'd:
[They loose them from each other.]
First kill the Tygers, then destroy their Whelps.
PHILIP.
This Brat is in our Way, I will dispatch it.
[Offering to snatch the sucking infant.]
MRS. HONNYMAN.
No, my dear Babe shall in my Bosom die;
There is its Nourishment, and there its End.
PHILIP.
Die both together then, 'twill mend the Sport;
Tie the other to his Father, make a Pair;
Then each will have a Consort in their Pains;
Their sweet Brats with them, to increase the Dance.
[They are tied down, facing each other upon
their knees, and their backs to the stakes.]
WARRIOR.
All now is ready; they are bound secure.
PHILIP.
Whene'er you please, their jovial Dance begins.
[To PONTEACH.]
MRS. HONNYMAN.
Oh, my dear Husband! What a Sight is this!
Could ever fabling Poet draw Distress
To such Perfection! Sad Catastrophe!
There are not Colours for such deep-dyed Woe,
Nor words expressive of such heighten'd Anguish.
Ourselves, our Babes, O cruel, cruel Fate!
This, this is Death indeed with all its Terrors.
HONNYMAN.
Is there no secret Pity in your Minds?
Can you not feel some tender Passion move,
When you behold the Innocent distress'd?
True, I am guilty, and will bear your Tortures:
Take your Revenge by all the Arts of Torment;
Invent new Torments, lengthen out my Woe,
And let me feel the keenest Edge of Pain:
But spare this innocent afflicted Woman,
Those smiling Babes who never yet thought Ill,
They never did nor ever will offend you.
PHILIP.
It cannot be: They are akin to you.
Well learnt to hunt and murder, kill and rob.
PONTEACH.
Who ever spar'd a Serpent in the Egg?
Or left young Tygers quiet in their Den?
WARRIOR.
Or cherishes young Vipers in his Bosom?
PHILIP.
Begin, begin; I'll lead the merry Dance.
[Offering at the woman with a firebrand.]
PONTEACH.
Stop: Are we not unwise to kill this Woman?
Or Sacrifice her Children to our Vengeance?
They have not wrong'd us; can't do present Mischief.
I know her Friends; they're rich and powerful,
And in their Turn will take severe Revenge:
But if we spare, they'll hold themselves oblig'd,
And purchase their Redemption with rich Presents.
Is not this better than an Hour's Diversion,
To hear their Groans, and Plaints, and piteous Cries?
WARRIORS.
Your Counsel's wise, and much deserves our Praise;
They shall be spar'd.
PONTEACH.
Untie, and take them hence;
[They untie the woman and the oldest child from HONNYMAN,
and retire a little to consult his death.]
When the War ends her Friends shall pay us for it.
PHILIP.
I'd rather have the Sport than all the Pay.
HONNYMAN.
O, now, kind Heaven, thou hast heard my Prayer,
And what's to follow I can meet with Patience.
MRS. HONNYMAN.
Oh, my dear husband, could you too be freed!
[Weeping.]
Yet must I stay and suffer Torments with you.
This seeming Mercy is but Cruelty!
I cannot leave you in this Scene of Woe,
'Tis easier far to stay and die together!
HONNYMAN.
Ah! but regard our Children's Preservation:
Conduct their Youth, and form their Minds to Virtue;
Nor let them know their Father's wretched End,
Lest lawless Vengeance should betray them too.
MRS. HONNYMAN.
If I must live, I must retire from hence,
Nor see your fearful Agonies in Death;
This would be more than all the Train of Torments.
The horrid Sight would sink me to the Dust;
These helpless Infants would become a Prey
To worse than Beasts, to savage, bloody Men.
HONNYMAN.
Leave me--They are prepar'd, and coming on--
Heav'n save you all! Oh, 'tis the last dear Sight!
MRS. HONNYMAN.
Oh, may we meet where Fear and Grief are banish'd!
Dearest of Men, adieu--Adieu till then.
[Exit, weeping with her children.]
PHILIP.
Bring Fire and Knives, and Clubs, and Hatchets all;
Let the old Hunter feel the Smart of Pain.
[They fall upon HONNYMAN with various instruments of torture.]
HONNYMAN.
Oh! this is exquisite!
[Groaning and struggling.]
1ST WARRIOR.
Hah! Does this make you dance?
2ND WARRIOR.
This is fine fat Game!
PHILIP.
Make him caper.
[Striking him with a club, kicking, &c.]
HONNYMAN.
O ye eternal Powers, that rule on high,
If in your Minds be Sense of human Woe,
Hear my Complaints, and pity my Distress!
PHILIP.
Ah, call upon your Gods, you faint-heart Coward!
HONNYMAN.
Oh, dreadful Racks! When will this Torment end?
Oh, for a Respite from all Sense of Pain!
'Tis come--I go--You can--no more torment.
[Dies.]
PHILIP.
He's dead; he'll hunt no more; h' 'as done with Game.
[Striking the dead body, and spitting in the face.]
PONTEACH.
Drive hence his wretched Spirit, lest it plague us;
Let him go hunt the Woods; he's now disarm'd.
[They run round brushing the walls, &c., to dislodge the spirit.]
ALL.
Out, Hunter, out, your Business here is done.
Out to the Wilds, but do not take your Gun.
PONTEACH
[to the Spirit].
Go, tell our Countrymen, whose Blood you shed,
That the great Hunter Honnyman is dead:
That we're alive, we'll make the English know,
Whene'er they dare to serve us Indians so:
This will be joyful News to Friends from France,
We'll join the Chorus then, and have a Dance.
[Exeunt omnes, dancing, and singing the last two lines.] _
Read next: Act 5 - Scene 1
Read previous: Act 4 - Scene 3
Table of content of Ponteach; The Savages of America: A Tragedy
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
