Ed Ames as Cara Mingo In the words of Paul King, who penned the Daniel Boone television script, “My Brother’s Keeper.” “Cara Mingo was ‘a man groping for sanity.’ ” No Other Road For Me (Cara Mingo’s Account) I am my brother’s keeper, no other road for me. Your sins were my shame, your death my path to see. A face from the grave, a memory from the past. Like features shared between us, dead, but you came back. I was my mother’s son, her Cherokee blood was mine. My father an Englishman, and I, a half-breed by design. You were my older brother, no love lost between. You hated my white blood, you hated more my dreams. To her, earth was beauty. To her, wind was free. To her, love was sacred, and life was family. But you spat at her caring . It was always you, not we. You hated all she gave, but most of all you hated me. My gentle nature was hers. It went against your grain. I sought to live in peace. You sought to inflict pain. Your soul, her constant prayer, no sorrow did you feel. You scoffed at her passing, with a heart as cold as steel. A song in the wind, the blue of the sky, Her spirit soars among the stars. Too soon for her to die. I was still a boy, a mother’s love now gone. You laughed at my tears, and scorned her death song. Deep sadness overwhelmed me, I was empty when she died. She called for her two sons, only one came to her side. A wish at her deathbed, a consent on my lips. To leave my promised land and sail away on a tall ship. To go with my Father, this was her last request. So not to die in battle, but to live with England’s best. A boy, not yet a man, still a Cherokee inside. He took me from my people, her heritage denied. But in my blood it burned, my heart, my Cherokee pride. I returned as a man, and left England far behind. A boy’s gentle nature, grew into a warrior’s truth. In battle I will fight you, and erase the mask of youth. So I come for you, my brother, To dig a second grave. And bury your heart of evil, that fed a soul too late to save. Your darkness never faltered, while I was far away. Exiled from Cherokee fires, I shot you on that day. Brother against brother, no victory, no defeat. Our blood, only for bleeding, I listened, but no heartbeat. I buried you my brother, put you in a shallow grave. On the banks of the Ken-tah-teh, and for your spirit, I prayed. As I sang your song of passing, you sang your song of war. You battled the darkness to feel the sun once more. And you lived, my brother, fought death to see me die. To bury deep my honor, in the black mud of the Ken-tah-teh. You murdered my people, the white man said it was me. This face we were cursed to share, was what you let them see. So I come for you, my brother. To dig a second grave. And bury your heart of evil, that fed a soul too late to save. A ghost who pulled the trigger, you wore vengeance as a shroud. And for me, not just death, but to dig my grave, you vowed. To find an empty tomb, and a man three years dead. Finally standing face to face, I heard these words you said. “You pulled the trigger once, you will not pull it again. Hide in the black mud of your honor. Run my brother, run! Or stay and face me, here and now. You win, you are free to go.” Your word was like your honor. I fell to your unseen blow. I woke to face your wrath. You tied me to a tree. I heard your laughter echo as you whipped the life from me. Spread eagle. Left to die. My body racked with pain. I felt the life drain from me. It was done, all but the grave. My friend in buckskins found me, saved me from the dead. “Answers, Mingo,” he asked me. “A ghost, my brother.” I said. “A man with no loyalty. Honor, just a word. Murder is his handshake. Bloodshed is his curse.” The white man I call brother, I told him of my sin. “I shot my brother, Daniel. I could not do it again.” Your whip upon my back, was to be my fate. I am my mother’s son, I just couldn’t hate. Whip to whip you battled, while I lay in pain. He defended my honor. You defended your name. But it was not for him to do. This was a brothers’ fight. You had him in your grasp. I had you in my sights. A shot from my rifle, coursing through my frame. This time death was final and you fell like the rain. Your body lay below us. I told Daniel at my side. “I am my brother’s keeper.” but I could hear our mother crying. You deserved not her devotion, yet she cherished you like me. Forever is a mother’s love, her son you will always be. No other road before me. It cuts like a knife. A wound that will never heal, to have taken my brother’s life. So I came for you, my brother. And I dug a second grave. I buried your heart of evil, that fed a soul too late to save. Susie Coffman 1/07 ******************************************************************************************** Ed Ames as Tara Mingo In the words of Paul King who penned the Daniel Boone television script, “My Brother’s Keeper.” “Tara Mingo was ‘a timber wolf in search of a jugular.’ ” A Face in Quiet Waters (Tara Mingo’s Account) A face in quiet waters, a countenance from my past. Like features shared between us I forever tried to mask. She was my mother first, my father, a great Creek. His name was feared by many, whether warrior or Chief. A valiant death in battle, I was his only son. Forced to live in her lodge, I am Creek, Cherokee none. Rebellion in my heart against the white dog she let in. His English tongue wagged, but me, he could not win. Then you were born, my brother. A son. Her Cherokee pride. Your Native spirit poisoned by his white man’s blood inside. Creek against Cherokee, our shared blood, only for bleeding. Brother against brother, despite a mother’s pleading. When the Great Spirit took her, so many wasted days in grief. You buried yourself in sorrow, there were no laments from me. Now our mother is no more, tears fall on empty ground. Your father made you his and now you are England bound. You lived the rich life. Your father made you white. You hid your Cherokee heritage, never learned to fight. Then you came back a man, to claim your Cherokee name. And sang Talota’s death song, in the land of the Ken-tah-teh. From boys to men, we grew, warriors, weapons to bear. Cherokee versus Creek. Come after me if you dare. Honor and loyalty, brother-all words in the wind. Ashes in a dead fire get you nothing in the end. You take what you want, no matter the price. No value to the spoils, even if it is a life. A confrontation between brothers. You shot me, then you wept. Buried me in cold swamp water, then sang my song of death. I battled death and won. Your face kept me alive. When finally we meet, your grave will be my prize. You say I have no honor, to me it’s but a word. What has honor got you? Only scorn, white man’s cur. They still call you savage, even with Boone at your side. You will always be a half-breed, Your blood you cannot hide. My strength and my might will win over your reason. I am a great Chief, and you? Nothing. Her weak son. So come after me, my brother. Bring your honor that I lack. For my corpse awaits your blood line, and my whip awaits your back. On the ground I see you weeping, by her grave you still grieve. Do you think she hears you? No. She is ashes and leaves. Still you sing her death song, same as when you sang mine. Who will sing yours, Cara Mingo, when it comes your time? Not the Cherokee or the white man. You are alone, you have no one. In the short days you have left, all you are is Talota’s son. The tall man in buckskins, who you call a friend. Will forsake your red blood to save his own in the end. So come after me, my brother. Bring your honor that I lack. For my corpse awaits your bloodline, and my whip awaits your back. There you stood before me, in your innocence you said, “There was no life left in you, I thought you were dead.” But I will have the last word, and honor, it is not. In my shroud of vengeance, your last remains will rot. Your shirt lays on the ground. Now you are mine. With the crack of my whip I bury our bloodline. You shot me once before, you cannot do it twice. Now I watch you bleed, and leave you alone to die. I put you in your grave. No more to share this face. There will only be one son left, Tara Mingo, our mother’s disgrace. The big man follows after, they thought you were me. How close to the hangmen’s noose comes their trusted Cherokee. Are they still your friends? They were quick to place the blame. Do you see the white man’s honor? And how swift they seal your fate. But he listened to your story, and tended to your wounds. You told him of my evil, the big man they call Boone. Whip to whip we battled, while you lay in pain. He defended your honor, I defended my name. I had him on the edge, his life in my grasp. Ah! To kill your friend, Daniel, both of you dead at last. Then a crack of powder and shot echoed over the land. I looked down and saw you, smoking rifle in your hand. I fell to my death, my body, broken and bleeding, Those words I heard you say, “I am my brother’s keeper.” I could see your tears. I laughed with my dying breath. “Sing to me Cara Mingo, my second song of death.” Her face in quiet waters, smiling back at me. A mother’s love forever, redemption is her plea. I am still a Creek warrior, and I will die as one. Yours is the eternal pain, to live with what you’ve done. So come after me, my brother. Bring your honor that I lacked. Now my corpse awaits your bloodline, and my whip awaits your back. Susie Coffman 1/07 |
