204
POCAHONTAS, OR THE SETTLERS OF VIRGINIA
What remains now to face the foe, nought but despair end Matacoran.
(English enter and attack Matacoran, who defends himself bravely—he is beaten down on one knee. Hugo enters and covers him with his buckler.)
Hugo. Spare, comrades, spare the prince; 't is your father Hugo commands ye. (English desist. Matacoran rises.) Brave, generous chief, the fortune of war is against thee, but thy courage demands esteem from thy enemies.
Matacoran. I have fought to the last, courted death, and hop'd to fall with my falling country.
Hugo. Prince, I now claim my old arms, and am happy that the act of their redemption has been in saving the life of a gallant enemy.
Matacoran. (Giving up sword and buckler.) There! in my hands they have been unfortunate, but not dishonour'd.
Hugo. When I was thy prisoner, thou said'st that a brave man should never be without arms, restor'd to me a part of mine; I admir'd thy courtesy then, and now offer thee in return a sword just flesh'd in this its maiden battle. Look, Prince, when old Hugo's wars are ended, and his last peace made, it will remind thee that honour and generosity could dwell in the bosom of so humble a being as a poor English man-at-arms.
Matacoran. Good old warrior, I accept thy gift, tho' it comes too late; for Matacoran has fought the last of his country's battles. Thy countrymen I can never love; but honour bids me say, they have about them much to admire. Lead on, lead your prisoner to your chief.
(Exeunt all.)
Scene 4. Interior of Barclay's hut.
(Enter Barclay—meeting Mantea.)
Mantea. Hath the thunder ceas'd—how fares the English?
Barclay. It still echoes among the pines. Three wounded English are just brought down to be embark'd—they report that our leader, the valiant Smith, is taken and carried to Weoroeomoco. It seems impossible to believe it.
Mantea. Oh! sad, sad day for us all.
Barclay. Do not so soon despond—tho' a leader be slain, English soldiers are not long without another. The brave Percy may by this time have restor'd the day. The daring valour of Smith led him too far in pursuit of the flying enemy, when slipping from a bank into the river, he was overpower'd by numbers, and the hero, before whom hundreds had fled, was taken and carried captive to Powhatan. (Knocking at the door.) Be still, on your life. Who's there? (Without.) Mowbray!
(Barclay opens the door.)
(Enter Mowbray.)
Barclay. My dear friend and countryman, what news, what news?
Mowbray. Good.—Victory to the English, thanks to the gallant Percy.
Barclay. And our leader—but I can see by thy looks—taken, Smith taken?
Mowbray. 'T is even so. His chivalric courage bore him head-long on the foe, when tired with slaying them, accident threw him into the water, where the weight of his armour, and the numbers who press'd upon him, render'd resistance vain, and he was borne off on the shoulders of the Indians.
Barclay. I trust the captain made his peace with God before the battle, for Powhatan allows his prisoners no time for prayer; and ere this the gallant soul of Smith is join'd to the souls of those made perfect in another and a better world.
Mowbray. Let's still indulge a hope. Percy, Rolfe, and West, learning the fate of their leader, furiously charg'd the Indians sword in hand, routed, and pursued them towards the savage capital. Amid the rout<e> and carnage, one Indian, Prince Matacoran, was unappall'd; he fought like a lion, disdaining to fly, till old Hugo de Redmond, the father of our men, rush'd to the rescue, cover'd the chief with his buckler, bidding the soldiers spare so gallant an enemy. By this act of generosity calling forth shouts of admiration from our ranks.
Barclay. And the Prince—the brave, the
stern Matacoran?
Mowbray. Despoil'd of his arms, he is led in chains, an hostage for the safety of the valiant Smith: ere this our troops have reach'd the savage capital, the soldiers rending the air with cries for their ador'd commander.
Barclay. Come, Mantea, let's on to We-
