Patriotic Plays and Pageants for Young People Part 9

EDWARD BRYAN (low: aside, full of commiseration).

You will be here alone!

BOONE (hurriedly, seeing that Bryan's remark has been overheard by the Indians).

With my kind brothers! (Quickly, seeing that Black Fish's back is turned.) March bravely, lads. Remember Boonesborough!

PRITCHARD (moved).

Your hand, Boone.

BOONE (clasping Pritchard's hand).

My comrade!

[They look at each other a long moment. Then the line, Indian-guarded, and led by Hawk Eye, marches out, left.

BLACK FISH Now we make a great feast. Celebrate.

[They all sit on ground. War-pipe is pa.s.sed. Gourds with grape wine.

Dried fish. Dried fruits. General hum of excitement and pleasure.

Animated and colorful groups. Boone smokes the war-pipe when it is pa.s.sed to him. Drinks and eats freely with the others. Through it all, now soft, now loud, sounds the drone of the war-drum. Now and again a young buck yells jubilantly, or e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es a shrill "_E-yah!_" of pleasure. They rise from feasting to dance in a war-circle about the drum, right. Boone does a few steps with them, and then retreats to left of stage. More dances. Speeches with short guttural words and grunts. Waving of tomahawks. Shrill cries. Another circle is formed about the war-drum. Attention drifts away from Boone. Finally, after a second dance about the war-drum Eagle's Feather gives a sudden cry of "_Boone! Boone gone!_" Intense excitement. Cries of rage. General search as Indians exeunt right and left. One or two lag behind and look in bushes. Eagle's Feather pulls back swinging moss from hollow tree and looks within. Then the baffled Indians dart off stage, right. A moment later Boone enters from left. Looks warily about him, right, left, and background. Then darts into hollow tree. A moment later the Indians, headed by Eagle's Feather, enter right, left, and background.

They gesticulate with cries of "_Boonesborough!_" Some urge taking the way at left, others the way at right. Eagle's Feather is among the latter. The way at right is ultimately decided upon. With a final yell of "_Boonesborough!_" and great swinging of tomahawks, all the Indians exeunt right. The drone of the war-drum begins, and grows fainter and fainter as they go into the forest. The gourds and blankets and pipes they have collected and taken with them as supplies for the march.

BOONE (coming triumphantly out of his hollow tree).

They have taken the wrong trail! I am free to warn my people! I can gain the fort ere the Indians reach it! Boonesborough is saved.

[Exit Boone, running left. The gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce is left vacant, and the scene ends.

COSTUMES

DANIEL BOONE. Daniel Boone and his followers wear suits of buckskin made on Indian lines. (Cotton khaki imitates the tan color of the buckskin.) Long breeches, the buckskin tunic coming about to the knee.

It is fringed. There is no adornment on the tunics such as Indians wear. The lads of the party wear buckskin breeches of knee-length, and tan strapping over tan-colored stockings. They should all wear moccasins, or imitation moccasins made of khaki, and embroidered in beads.

THE INDIANS. The Indians wear suits resembling those of Boone and his followers, save that they have painted insignia and bead and sh.e.l.l embroidery. Black Fish has a great black fish painted on his khaki costume. All wear moccasins. All have feathered head-dresses and war-paint. The war-paint of Black Fish is scarlet and black, and he wears an immense black head-dress of feathers that is longer and handsomer than those of any of the others. Eagle's Feather wears a scarlet head-band and one huge gray eagle's feather in it, stuck upright. For further description of Indian finery see description of braves in "Princess Pocahontas." The blankets and baskets can be the same in this play as in that one.

PROPERTIES. The hollow tree can be made of two halves of barrels fastened together, and stood upright by means of props put behind it.

It should be painted dark brown inside and out, or covered with dark-brown burlap flecked with black and white for lichen. Green vines can be hung about it, and it should stand well in the background, resembling a rotting and blasted tree as much as possible.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN EPISODE

CHARACTERS

YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AN OLD WOMAN

SCENE I

Boston Common on a Summer afternoon, 1720.

The Common is an open gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce, wide to the sun and sky. There are trees right, left, and background. Their shadows fall like a wavering tracery across the gra.s.s.

At the beginning of the scene this gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce is deserted. It is the far end of the Common, a place not much frequented by loiterers. The first person to cross it is young Benjamin Franklin, who comes slowly in from right. He wears knee-breeches, a loose white s.h.i.+rt, silver buckles on his square-toed shoes, and a three-cornered hat on his head.

He is reading from a book which he holds in his right hand, while on his left arm hangs a basket of tallow candles. Slung across his left shoulder is a kite, its string trailing.

He walks slowly, pausing every now and then to turn a page. The old woman enters from right, and comes quickly towards Franklin. She is wonderfully keen-eyed and light of foot, and is clad in a green quilted petticoat, with a green bodice, a touch of white at neck, and a green double cape. A white cap is perched on her snow-white head. She also carries a small market-basket, and a gold-headed cane. Her stockings are scarlet, her low black shoes have gold buckles. She is, withal, arrestingly picturesque, and there hangs about her a slight air of mystery, that is well in accordance with her profession, which is that of soothsayer.

Franklin is so deep in his book that she soon catches up with him, pa.s.ses him, looks back, and sees that he does not perceive her. Then she stands still and lets him pa.s.s her, still staring at him. Then she comes briskly up behind him, and taps him on the arm with her cane.

THE OLD WOMAN.

Fare not so fast, young sir. If your book makes you so blind to customers, 'tis not many candles you'll be selling.

FRANKLIN (at first somewhat startled, then looking up quite calmly).

And if I do not mind my books, 'tis naught but candles I'll be selling all my life.

THE OLD WOMAN.

Well spoken, tallow-chandler's son. Whatever your calling, I see that your wits are not made of wax. Give me a s.h.i.+lling's worth o' candles, and tell me what good your toil is like to bring you.

FRANKLIN (putting down book, kite, and basket, and selecting candles).

I have ambition to become a printer.

THE OLD WOMAN (paying him and putting candles in her basket).

So!

FRANKLIN.

And if I do not apply myself, how am I like to learn? There are no gains without pains, and heaven gives all things to Industry.

[Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]

THE OLD WOMAN (holding up her hands).

To hear him! (Chuckling to herself.) Keep on! Keep on! You'll ne'er be sorry for it! Aha, Master Franklin, 'twill take no gazing in the crystal to see that the future of a wise and industrious lad is made of gold. What's that you're carrying as carefully as if 'twas your book?

FRANKLIN (dropping book and basket, and showing kite).

My kite. To-day was a half-holiday, and I've been flying it on Beacon Hill till the wind hath made me sleepy.

THE OLD WOMAN (keenly).

You've fastened a little key to it.

FRANKLIN (with a burst of candor).

Sometimes I think I'll fly it in a thunderstorm and gather up the lightning.

THE OLD WOMAN (tapping the ground vigorously with her cane).

Those are bold words, Master Benjamin Franklin. Are you not feared to speak them? (Looks half-fearfully over her left shoulder.) Folk might think you were in league with--with strange powers! (There is a touch of the eighteenth-century beldame in her as she speaks these words).

FRANKLIN.

How is it that you know my name, and yet I do not remember you?

THE OLD WOMAN (mysteriously).

Perhaps there are too many soothsayers pa.s.sing, or perhaps you have not looked well about you. Aha, aha! (Nodding and blinking.) There are many things folk do not see.

FRANKLIN (shrewdly and bluntly).

That's true. My father says that _all_ the witches were not hanged on Salem Hill.