Indians a’n’t Fools, if White Men think us so;
We see, we hear, we think as well as you;
We know they’re Lies, and Mischiefs in the World;
We don’t know whom to trust, nor when to fear. (I iv)
The actual killing does not have to be done by the English – the cultural chaos they have created is enough. Of course, Rogers himself likely killed dozens of Indigenous men on one side of the French and Indian War, and served in battle with hundreds more on the other side. Ponteach doesn’t deny Rogers’ own acts of brutal violence, but it does seem to suggest that he recognized more of their implications than did many soldiers. His play uses the universalized identifiability of the sexual, physical, and social vulnerability of femininity to allow European audiences a glimpse into the position of the Indigenous people of North America, to render on a human scale the enormous acts of cultural violence carried out around the French and Indian War and in the smaller-scale, but equally destructive conflicts among settlers and Indians. And by allowing Ponteach to be both brilliant and monstrous, both defeated and autonomous, Rogers demonstrates the fallacy of the mythologies that were being marketed in Europe to justify the privileging of settlers’ interests over those of established Indigenous populations.
The play ends as Ponteach’s forces are being defeated in battle and Tenesco tells him that he must retreat with them or face alone ‘the Fury of a conquering Foe.’ Ponteach’s final speech begins with a tragic Lear-like cry,
Will they desert their King in such an Hour,
When Pity might induce them to protect him?
Kings like the Gods are valued and ador’d,
When Men expect their Bounties in Return,
Place them in Want, destroy the giving Power,
All Sacrifices and Regards will cease.
Neither the play nor Ponteach ends there, though, in the posture of tragic defeat and powerlessness demanded by most North American settlers and some Britons. Ponteach then calls to the fields and streams, fountains and trees,
I am no more your Owner and your King.
But witness for me to your new base Lords,
That my unconquer’d Mind defies them still;
And though I fly, ’tis on the Wings of Hope …
Britons may boast, the Gods may have their Will,
Ponteach I am, and shall be Ponteach still. (V v)
Rogers’ dramatization of Pontiac’s life thus refuses to end with the submission that might have pleased British and American audiences, affirming the rightness of the colonization or extermination of those driven by revenge to act against what they have perhaps convinced even Ponteach himself is God’s will. Instead, Ponteach lays claim to individual agency and begins his plans for ‘more Sons, fresh Troops … and other Schemes of future Greatness,’ no longer willing to collaborate with either European power in the destruction of Indigenous autonomy, but planning to act against both.
In the end, of course, the historical Pontiac was only sporadically successful, but the rebellion that bears his name was one of the last major challenges to British colonialism in eastern North America. Rogers rejects both noble and savage ideological constructions of Indigenous identity and creates a dramatization of a fellow great military leader that is human and powerful. Rogers’ Ponteach embodies the tragedy of his people in such a way that an inattentive reading can make it all seem personal and petty, with the deaths of hundreds of European and Indigenous people caused by wounded pride and ignorant ambition. But Rogers asks his audience to see Ponteach not as he was misread by fools like Cockum and Frisk, Sharp, and Gripe, but as the personal face of a political act, where acts of violence and degradation are all both ‘public or private, it matters not.’ As a survivor of the war himself, Rogers tries to show London audiences the human face of the North American pawns at the centre of the Seven Years’ War between England and France. In Ponteach, Indianness is both granted historical specificity in the figure of Ponteach and a metaphor in Monelia. And when these two characters are grouped with Chekitan and his ambivalent relationship to colonial culture, it is possible to read their (written) Indianness as performance whose function is both to give specificity to those typically rendered merely symbolic, and in a similarly critical gesture, to expose colonial and European performance as itself savage, violent, and spiritually and economically corrupt, embodied by violent men deliberately reinterpreting both law and policy set by perhaps well-meaning but ignorant men abroad. It is perhaps no wonder that the play was not embraced in its day. It has much, however, to say to us.
Robert Rogers, engraved by Thomas Hart, 1776 (William L. Clements Library, The University of Michigan).
Title page: Robert Rogers, Ponteach, or the Savages of America: A Tragedy. 1766 (McGill University Library, Lande Canadiana Collection 2142).
Dramatis Personae.
PONTEACH,
Indian Emperor on the great Lakes.
PHILIP and CHEKITAN,
Sons of Ponteach.
TENESCO,
His chief Counsellor and Generalissimo.
ASTINACO,
The BEAR,
The WOLF,
Indian Kings who join with Ponteach.
TORAX and MONELIA
Son and Daughter to Hendrick, Emperor of the Mohawks.
Indian
Conjuror.
French
Priest.
SHARP,
GRIPE,
CATCHUM,
Three English Governors.
Colonel COCKUM,
Captain FRISK,
Commanders at a Garrison in Ponteach’s Country.
M’DOLE and
MURPHEY,
Two Indian Traders.
HONNYMAN and ORSBOURN,
Two English Hunters.
Mrs. HONNYMAN,
Wife to Honnyman the Hunter.
Warriors, Messengers, &c.
PONTEACH:
OR THE
Savages of America.
* * *
ACT I.
SCENE I.
An Indian Trading House.
Enter M’Dole and Murphey, Two Indian Traders, and their Servants.
M’Dole.
So, Murphey, you are come to try your Fortune
Among the Savages in this wild Desart?1
Murphey. Ay, any Thing to get an honest Living,
Which ’faith I find it hard enough to do;
Times are so dull, and Traders are so plenty,
5
That Gains are small, and Profits come but slow.
M’Dole. Are you experience’d in this kind of Trade?
Know you the Principles by which it prospers,
And how to make it lucrative and safe?
If not, you’re like a Ship without a Rudder,
10
That drives at random, and must surely sink.
Murphey. I’m unacquainted with your Indian Commerce,
And gladly would I learn the Arts from you,
Who’re old, and practis’d in them many Years.
M’Dole. That is the curst Misfortune of our Traders,
15
A thousand Fools attempt to live this Way,
Who might as well turn Ministers of State.
But, as you are a Friend, I will inform you
Of all the secret Arts by which we thrive,
Which if all practis’d, we might all grow rich,
20
Nor circumvent each other in our Gains.
What have you got to part with to the Indians?
Murphey. I’ve Rum and Blankets, Wampum,2 Powder,3 Bells,
And such-like Trifles as they’re wont to prize.
M’Dole. ’Tis very well: your Articles are good:
25
But now the Thing’s to make a Profit from them,
Worth all your Toil and Pains of coming hither.
Our fundamental Maxim then is this,
That it’s no Crime to cheat and gull an Indian
.
Murphey. How! Not a Sin to cheat an Indian, say you?
30
Are they not Men? hav’nt they a Right to Justice
As well as we, though savage in their Manners?
M’Dole. Ah! If you boggle4 here, I say no more;
This is the very Quintessence of Trade,
And ev’ry Hope of Gain depends upon it;
35
None who neglect it ever did grow rich,
Or ever will, or can by Indian Commerce.
By this old Ogden5 built his stately House,
Purchas’d Estates, and grew a little King.
He, like an honest Man, bought all by Weight,
40
And made the ign’rant Savages believe
That his Right Foot exactly weigh’d a Pound:6
By this for many Years he bought their Furs,
And died in Quiet like an honest Dealer.
Murphey. Well, I’ll not stick at what is necessary;
45
But his Device is now grown old and stale,
Nor could I manage such a barefac’d Fraud.
M’Dole. A thousand Opportunities present
To take Advantage of their Ignorance;7
But the great Engine I employ is Rum,
50
More pow’rful made by certain strength’ning Drugs.8
This I distribute with a lib’ral Hand,
Urge them to drink till they grow mad and valiant;
Which makes them think me generous and just,
And gives full Scope to practise all my Art.
55
I then begin my Trade with water’d Rum,
The cooling Draught well suits their scorching Throats.
Their Fur and Peltry9 come in quick Return:
My Scales are honest, but so well contriv’d,
That one small Slip will turn Three Pounds to One;
60
Which they, poor silly Souls! ignorant of Weights
And Rules of Balancing, do not perceive.
But here they come; you’ll see how I proceed.
Jack, is the Rum prepar’d as I commanded?
Jack. Yes, Sir, all’s ready when you please to call.
65
M’Dole. Bring here the Scales and Weights immediately.
You see the Trick is easy and conceal’d.
[Shewing how to flip the Scales.
Murphey. By Jupiter, it’s artfully contriv’d;
And was I King, I swear I’d knight th’ Inventor.
—Tom, mind the Part that you will have to act.
70
Tom. Ah, never fear, I’ll do as well as Jack.
But then, you know, an honest Servant’s Pains
Deserves Reward.10
Murphey. O! I’ll take care of that.
Enter a Number of Indians, with Packs of Fur.
1st Indian. So, what you trade with Indians here to-day?
M’Dole. Yes, if my Goods will suit, and we agree.
75
2d Indian.’Tis Rum we want, we’re tired, hot, and thirsty.
3d Indian. You, Mr. Englishman, have you got Rum?
M’Dole. Jack, bring a Bottle, pour them each a Gill.11
You know which Cask contains the Rum. The Rum?
1st Indian. It’s good strong Rum, I feel it very soon.
80
M’Dole. Give me a Glass. Here’s Honesty in Trade;
We English always drink before we deal.
2d Indian. Good Way enough; it makes one sharp and cunning.
M’Dole. Hand round another Gill. You’re very welcome.
3d Indian. Some say you Englishmen are sometimes Rogues;
85
You make poor Indians drunk, and then you cheat.
1st Indian. No, English good. The Frenchmen give no Rum.
2d Indian. I think it’s best to trade with Englishmen.
M’Dole. What is your Price for Beaver Skins per Pound?12
1st Indian. How much you ask per Quart for this strong Rum?
90
M’Dole. Five Pounds of Beaver for One Quart of Rum.
1st Indian. Five Pounds? Too much. Which is’t you call Five Pound?
M’Dole. This little Weight. I cannot give you more.
1st Indian. Well, take ’em; weigh ’em. Don’t you cheat us now.
M’Dole. No : He that cheats an Indian should be hang’d.
95
[weighing the Packs.
There’s Thirty Pounds precisely of the Whole;
Five times Six is Thirty. Six Quarts of Rum.
Jack, measure it to them; you know the Cask.
This Rum is sold. You draw it off the best.
[Exeunt Indians to receive their Rum.
Murphey. By Jove, you’ve gain’d more in a single Hour
100
Than ever I have done in Half a Year:
Curse on my Honesty! I might have been
A little King, and liv’d without Concern,
Had I but known the proper Arts to thrive.
M’Dole. Ay, there’s the Way, my honest Friend, to live.
105
[clapping his Shoulder.
There’s Ninety Weight of Sterling Beaver for you,
Worth all the Rum and Trinkets in my Store;
And, would my Conscience let me do the Thing,
I might enhance my Price, and lessen theirs,
And raise my Profits to an higher Pitch.
110
Murphey. I can’t but thank you for your kind Instructions,
As from them I expect to reap Advantage.
But should the Dogs detect me in the Fraud,
They are malicious, and would have Revenge.
M’Dole. Can’t you avoid them? Let their Vengeance light
115
On others Heads, no matter whose, if you
Are but secure, and have the Gain in Hand:
For they’re indiff’rent where they take Revenge,13
Whether on him that cheated, or his Friend,
Or on a Stranger whom they never saw,
120
Perhaps an honest Peasant, who ne’er dreamt
Of Fraud or Villainy in all his Life;
Such let them murder, if they will a Score,
The Guilt is theirs, while we secure the Gain,
Nor shall we feel the bleeding Victims Pain.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Desart.
Enter Orsbourn and Honnyman, Two English Hunters.
Orsbourn.
Long have we toil’d, and rang’d the Woods in vain,
No Game, nor Track, nor Sign of any Kind
Is to be seen; I swear I am discourag’d
And weary’d out with this long fruitless Hunt.
No Life on Earth besides is half so hard,
5
So full of Disappointments, as a Hunter’s:
Each Morn he wakes he views the destin’d Prey,
And counts the Profits of th’ensuing Day;
Each Ev’ning at his curs’d ill Fortune pines,
And till next Day his Hope of Gain resigns.
10
By Jove,14 I’ll from these Desarts hasten home,
And swear that never more I’ll touch a Gun.
Honnyman. These hateful Indians kidnap all the Game.
Curse their black Heads! they fright the Deer and Bear,
And ev’ry Animal that haunts the Wood,
15
Or by their Witchcraft conjure them away.
No Englishman can get a single Shot,
While they go loaded home with Skins and Furs.
’Twere to be wish’d not one of them survived,
Thus to infest the World, and plague Mankind.
20
Curs’d Heathen Infidels! mere savage Beasts!
They don’t deserve to breathe in Christian Air,
And should be hunted down like other Brutes.
; Orsbourn. I only wish the Laws permitted us
To hunt the savage Herd where-e’er they’re found;
25
I’d never leave the Trade of Hunting then,
While one remain’d to tread and range the Wood.
Honnyman. Curse on the Law, I say, that makes it Death15
To kill an Indian, more than to kill a Snake.
What if ’tis Peace? these Dogs deserve no Mercy;
30
Cursed revengeful, cruel, faithless Devils!
They kill’d my Father and my eldest Brother.
Since which I hate their very Looks and Name.
Orsbourn. And I, since they betray’d and kill’d my Uncle;
Hell seize their cruel, unrelenting Souls!
35
Tho’ these are not the same, ’twould ease my Heart
To cleave their painted Heads, and spill their Blood.16
I abhor, detest, and hate them all,
And now cou’d eat an Indian’s Heart with Pleasure.
Honnyman. I’d join you, and soop his savage Brains for Sauce;17
40
I lose all Patience when I think of them,
And, if you will, we’ll quickly have Amends
For our long Travel and successless Hunt,
And the sweet Pleasure of Revenge to boot.
Orsbourn. What will you do? Present, and pop one down?
45
Honnyman. Yes, faith, the first we meet well fraught with Furs;
Or if there’s Two, and we can make sure Work,
By Jove, we’ll ease the Rascals of their Packs,
And send them empty home to their own Country.
But then observe, that what we do is secret,
50
Or the Hangman will come in for Snacks.18
Orsbourn. Trust me for that; I’ll join with all my Heart;
Nor with a nicer Aim, or steadier Hand,
Would shoot a Tyger19 than I would an Indian.
There is a Couple stalking now this Way
55
With lusty Packs; Heav’n favour our Design.
Ponteach, or the Savages of America Page 8