BARRON. They trusted in the Prophet's rites and spells, Which promised them immunity from death. All night he sat on yon safe eminence, Howling his songs of war and mystery, Then fled, at dawn, in fear of his own braves. [_Enter an AIDE_] HARRISON. What tidings bring you from the Prophet's Town? AIDE. The wretched women with their children fly To distant forests for concealment. In Their village is no living thing save mice Which scampered as we oped each cabin door. Their pots still simmered on the vacant hearths, Standing in dusty silence and desertion. Naught else we saw, save that their granaries Were crammed with needful corn. HARRISON. Go bring it all-- Then burn their village down! [_Exit_ AIDE.] 2ND OFFICER. This victory Will shake Tecumseh's project to the base Were I the Prophet I should drown myself Rather than meet him. BARRON. We have news of him-- Our scouts report him near in heavy force. HARRISON. 'Twill melt or draw across the British line, And wait for war. But double the night watch, Lest he should strike, and give an instant care To all our wounded men: to-morrow's sun Must light us on our backward march for home Thence Rumour's tongue will spread so proud a story New England will grow envious of our glory; And, greedy for renown so long abhorred, Will on old England draw the tardy sword! SCENE SEVENTH.--THE RUINS OF THE PROPHET'S TOWN. [_Enter the_ PROPHET, _who gloomily surveys the place_.] PROPHET. Our people scattered, and our town in ashes! To think these hands could work such madness here-- This envious head devise this misery! Tecumseh, had not my ambition drawn Such sharp and fell destruction on our race You might have smiled at me! for I have matched My cunning 'gainst your wisdom, and have dragged Myself and all into a sea of ruin. [_Enter_ TECUMSEH.] TECUMSEH. Devil! I have discovered you at last! You sum of treacheries, whose wolfish fangs Have torn our people's flesh--you shall not live! [_The_ PROPHET _retreats facing and followed by_ TECUMSEH.] PROPHET. Nay--strike me not! I can explain it all! It was a woman touched the Magic Bowl, And broke the brooding spell. TECUMSEH. Impostor! Slave! Why should I spare you? [_Lifts his hand as if to strike._] PROPHET. Stay, stay, touch me not! One mother bore us in the self-same hour. TECUMSEH. Then good and evil came to light together. Go to the corn-dance, change your name to villain! Away! Your presence tempts my soul to mischief. [_Exit the_ PROPHET _hastily_.]