[_A bugle sounds without._ Ha! what is dat? who de devil intrup me in my chanson? INDIAN CHIEF. [_Speaks without._] Have them all ready, with their rifles and tomahawks in order; [_Enters with another INDIAN._] and you, Coosewatchie, tell our priests to take their stand on yonder hill, and as my warriors pass them, examine whether they have fire in their eyes. [_Exit INDIAN._] How now, who have we here? PENDRAGON. [_Examining him with his glass._] Where the devil did this character come from? he's one of the fancy, I suppose. INDIAN. Who and what are you? PENDRAGON. Who am I? Why, sir, I am the honourable captain Pendragon, of his majesty's guards, formerly of the buffs. INDIAN. [_Aside._] The officer who is to be under my command. Well sir, you have lately arrived from across the great waters: How did you leave my father, the King of England? PENDRAGON. How! call my most gracious sovereign your father? Why, sir, you are the most familiar--impertinent--'sdeath! I shall choke--What the devil do you mean? INDIAN. [_Coolly._] What should I mean, young man, but to inquire after the health of my father, who commands my respect, who has honoured me with his favours, and in whose cause I am now fighting. PENDRAGON. Well, sir, if you have the honour to hold a commission from his majesty, I desire that you will speak of him with proper awe, and not call him your father, but your gracious master. INDIAN. Young man, the Indian warrior knows no master but the Great Spirit, whose voice is heard in thunder, and whose eye is seen in the lightning's flash; free as air, we bow the knee to no man; our forests are our home, our defence is our arms, our sustenance the deer and the elk, which we run down. White men encroach upon our borders, and drive us into war; we raise the tomahawk against your enemies, because your king has promised us protection and supplies. We fight for freedom, and in that cause, the great king and the poor Indian start upon equal terms. PENDRAGON. A very clever spoken fellow, pon honour; I'll patronise him. LAROLE. Parbleu, he is von very sensible sauvage; vill you take von pinch snuff? INDIAN. Pshaw! LAROLE. He say pshaw, I see he is born in de voods. PENDRAGON. And are you prepared to fan these Yankees? We shall flog them without much fatigue, I understand. INDIAN. Not so fast, young soldier; these pale-faced enemies of ours fight with obstinacy; accustomed to a hardy life, to liberty and laws, they are not willing to relinquish those blessings on easy terms; if we conquer them, it must be by no moderate exertions: it will demand force and cunning. PENDRAGON. Oh, dry dogs, I suppose, not to be caught napping; well, I'm up to them, we'll fan them in high style; the ragged nabobs, I understand, are not far off, and our troops are in fine preservation. INDIAN. True, preparation must be made to meet them. You are under my orders. PENDRAGON. The devil I am!