TWANG. Thet war an original idee! The Kernel orter hev tuk out a patent. I think I've heerd o' Crunch. Wam't he wi' Kernel Crawford, o' the melish', at one time?
SLAUGH Whar?
TWANG. Why over to the Muskingum. You've heerd o' them
Delaware Moravians over to the Muskingum, surely?
SLAUGH. Oh, them convarted chaps! but I a'most forgit the carcumstance.
TWANG. Wall, them red devils had a nice resarve thar— as yieldin' a bit o' sile as one could strike this side o' the Alleghanies. They was all convarted by the Moravians, end pertended to be as quiet and peaceable as the Shakers hereabout But Kernel Crawford—who knew good sile when he sot his eyes on it—diskivered thet them prayin' chaps had helped a war-party from the North, wi' provisions—or thort they did, which was the same thing. So—one fine Sunday—he surrounds their church wi' his melish'—when the Injuns was all a- prayin'—end walks in himself, jest for a minute or two, end prays a bit so as not to skeer them tew soon, end then walks out, end locks the door. The Kernel then cutely—my heart kind o' warms to thet man—put a squad o' melish' at each winder wi' their bayonets pinted, end sot fire to the Church, end charred up the hull kit, preacher and all! The heft o' them was burnt; but some thet warn't thar skinned out o' the kentry, end got lands from the British up to the Thames River in Canady, end founded what they call the Moravian Towns thar; and thar they is still—fur them Britishers kind o' pampers the Injuns, so they may git at our scalps.
SLAUGH. I reckon we'll hev a tussle wi' them gentry afore long. But for Noo England we'd a hed it afore now; but them Noo Englanders kind o' curries to the Britishers. A war would spile their shippin', end so they're agin it. But we h'aint got no ships to spile in this western kentry, end so I reckon we'll pitch in.
GERKIN. We'd better git out o' this Injun fry-pan fust, old hoss! I could lick my own weight in wild-cats, but this ruck o' Injuns is jest a little tew hefty.
BLOAT. Maybe they want to come to skool, end start store, end sich!
GERKIN. Gentlemen—I mean to send my lady down stream, end I reckon you'd better dew the same wi' your 'uns— jest fer safety like. My time's limited—will you liquor?
ALL. You bet!