The reader, who takes
up these volumes, in expectation of finding an imaginary and romantic picture
of things which never had an existence, will probably lay them aside,
disappointed. The work is exactly what it professes to be in its title-page--a
narrative. As it relates, however, to matters which may not be universally
understood, especially by the more imaginative sex, some of whom, under the
impression that it is a fiction, may be induced to read the book, it becomes
the interest of the author to explain a few of the obscurities of the
historical allusions. He is admonished to discharge this duty, by the bitter
cup of experience, which has often proved to him, that however ignorant the
public may be of any thing before it is presented to their eyes, the instant it
has been subjected to that terrible ordeal, they, individually and
collectively, and he may add, intuitively, know more of it than the agent of
the discovery; and yet, that, in direct opposition to this incontrovertible
fact, it is a very unsafe experiment either for a writer or a projector to
trust to the inventive powers of any one but himself. Therefore, nothing which
can well be explained, should be left a mystery. Such an expedient would only
impart a peculiar pleasure to readers of that description, who find a strange
gratification in spending more of their time in making books, than of their
money in buying them. With this preliminary explanation of his reasons for
introducing so many unintelligible words, in the very threshold of his
undertaking, the author will commence his task. Of course, nothing will, or
need be told, with which any one, in the smallest degree acquainted with Indian
antiquities, is not already familiar.
The greatest difficulty
with which the student of Indian history has to contend, is the utter confusion
that pervades the names. When, however, it is recollected, that the Dutch, the
English, and the French, each took a conqueror’s liberty in this particular;
that the natives themselves not only speak different languages, and even
dialects of those languages, but that they are also fond of multiplying their
appellations, the difficulty is more a matter of regret than of surprise. It is
hoped, that whatever other faults may exist in the following pages, their
obscurity will be thought to arise from this fact.
The Europeans found
that immense region which lies between the Penobscot and the Potomac, the
Atlantic and the Mississippi, in the possession of a people who sprang from the
same stock. In one or two points of this immense boundary, their limits may
have been a little extended or curtailed, by the surrounding nations; but such,
in general terms, was the extent of their territory. The generic name of this
people was the Wapanachki. They were fond, however, of calling themselves the “Lenni
Lenape,” which of itself signifies, an “unmixed people.” It would far exceed
the information of the author, to enumerate a moiety of the communities, or
tribes, into which this race of beings was subdivided. Each tribe had its name,
its chiefs, its hunting grounds, and, frequently, its dialect. Like the feudal
princes of the old world, they fought among themselves, and exercised most of
the other privileges of sovereignty. Still, they admitted the claims of a
common origin, a similar language, and of that moral interest, which was so
faithfully and so wonderfully transmitted through their traditions. One branch
of this numerous people was seated on a beautiful river, known as the “Lenapewihittuck,”
where the “long house,” or Great Council Fire, of the nation was universally
admitted to be established.
The tribe that
possessed the country which now composes the south-western parts of
New-England, and that portion of New-York that lies east of the Hudson, and the
country even much farther to the south, was a mighty people, called the “Mahicanni,”
or, more commonly, the “Mohicans.” The latter word has since been corrupted by
the English, into “Mohegan.”
The Mohicans were again
subdivided. In their collective capacity, they even disputed the point of
antiquity with their neighbours, who possessed the “long house;” but their
claim to be the “eldest son” of their “grandfather,” was freely allowed. Of
course, this portion of the original proprietors of the soil was the first
dispossessed by the whites. The few of them that now remain, are chiefly
scattered among other tribes, and retain no other memorials of their power and
greatness, than their melancholy recollections.
The tribe that guarded
the sacred precincts of the council house, was distinguished for ages by its
flattering title of the “Lenape;” but after the English changed the appellation
of their river to “Delaware,” they came gradually to be known by the same name.
In the use of these terms, however, great delicacy of perception was observed among
themselves. These shades of expression pervade their language, tempering all
their communications, and frequently imparting its pathos or energy to their
eloquence.
For many hundreds of
miles along the northern boundaries of the Lenape, was seated another people,
similarly situated as to subdivisions, descent, and language. They were called
by their neighbours the “Mengwe.” These northern savages were, for a time,
however, less powerful, and less united, than the Lenape. In order to obviate
this disadvantage, five of the most powerful and warlike of their tribes, who
lay nearest to the council house of their enemies, confederated for the
purposes of mutual defence; being, in truth, the oldest United Republics of
which the history of North America furnishes any evidence. These tribes were
the Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Senecas, the Cayugas, and the Onondagas. At a
later day, a straggling band of their race, which had “gone nigher to the sun,”
was reclaimed, and admitted into a full communion of all their political
privileges. This tribe (the Tuscarora) increased their number so far, that the
English changed the appellation they had given the confederation, from the “Five”
to the “Six Nations.” It will be seen, in the course of the narrative, that the
word nation is sometimes applied to a community, and sometimes to the people,
in their most extended sense. The Mengwe were often called by their Indian
neighbours, the “Maquas,” and frequently, by way of contempt, “Mingoes.” The
French gave them the name of “Iroquois,” which was probably a corruption of one
of their own terms.
There is a well
authenticated and disgraceful history of the means by which the Dutch on one
side, and the Mengwe on the other, succeeded in persuading the Lenape to lay
aside their arms, trusting their defence entirely to the latter, and becoming,
in short, in the figurative language of the natives, “women.” The policy on the
part of the Dutch was a safe one, however generous it may have been. From that
moment may be dated the downfal of the greatest and most civilized of the
Indian nations, that existed within the limits of the present United States.
Robbed by the whites, and murdered and oppressed by the savages, they lingered
for a time around their council-fire, but finally broke off in bands, and
sought refuge in the western wilds. Like the lustre of the dying lamp, their
glory shone the brightest as they were about to become extinct.
Much more might be said
concerning this interesting people, especially of their later history, but it
is believed not to be essential to the plan of the present work. Since the
death of the pious, the venerable, and the experienced Heckewelder, a fund of
information of this nature has been extinguished, which, it is feared, can
never again be collected in one individual. He laboured long and ardently in
their behalf, and not less to vindicate their fame, than to improve their moral
condition.
With this brief
introduction to his subject, then, the author commits his book to the reader.
As, however, candour, if not justice, requires such a declaration at his hands,
he will advise all young ladies, whose ideas are usually limited by the four
walls of a comfortable drawing room; all single gentlemen, of a certain age,
who are under the influence of the winds; and all clergymen, if they have the
volumes in hand, with intent to read them, to abandon the design. He gives this
advice to such young ladies, because, after they have read the book, they will
surely pronounce it shocking; to the bachelors, as it might disturb their
sleep; and to the reverend clergy, because they might be better employed.
Mine ear is open, and
my heart prepared;
The worst is worldly
loss thou canst unfold:--
Say, is my kingdom
lost?
Shakspeare
It was a feature
peculiar to the colonial wars of North America, that the toils and dangers of
the wilderness were to be encountered, before the adverse hosts could meet in
murderous contact. A wide, and, apparently, an impervious boundary of forests, severed
the possessions of the hostile provinces of France and England. The hardy
colonist, and the trained European who fought at his side, frequently expended
months in struggling against the rapids of the streams, or in effecting the
rugged passes of the mountains, in quest of an opportunity to exhibit their
courage in a more martial conflict. But, emulating the patience and self-denial
of the practised native warriors, they learned to overcome every difficulty;
and it would seem, that in time, there was no recess of the woods so dark, nor
any secret place so lovely, that it might claim exemption from the inroads of
those who had pledged their blood to satiate their vengeance, or to uphold the
cold and selfish policy of the distant monarchs of Europe.
Perhaps no district,
throughout the wide extent of the intermediate frontiers, can furnish a
livelier picture of the cruelty and fierceness of the savage warfare of those
periods, than the country which lies between the head waters of the Hudson and
the adjacent lakes.
The facilities which
nature had there offered to the march of the combatants, were too obvious to be
neglected. The lengthened sheet of the Champlain stretched from the frontiers
of Canada, deep within the borders of the neighbouring province of New-York,
forming a natural passage across half the distance that the French were
compelled to master in order to strike their enemies. Near its southern
termination, it received the contributions of another lake, whose waters were
so limpid, as to have been exclusively selected by the Jesuit missionaries, to
perform the typical purification of baptism, and to obtain for it the
appropriate title of “Saint Sacréement.” The less zealous English thought they
conferred a sufficient honour on its unsullied fountains, when they bestowed
the name of their reigning prince, the second of the House of Hanover. The two
united to rob the untutored possessors of its wooded scenery of their native
right to perpetuate its original appellation of “Horican.”
Winding its way among
countless islands, and imbedded in mountains, the “holy lake” extended a dozen
leagues still farther to the south. With the high plain that there interposed
itself to the further passage of the water, commenced a portage of as many
miles, which conducted the adventurer to the banks of the Hudson, at a point,
where, with the usual obstructions of the rapids, or rifts, as they were then
termed in the language of the country, the river became navigable to the tide.
While, in the pursuit
of their daring plans of annoyance, the restless enterprise of the French even
attempted the distant and difficult gorges of the Alleghany, it may easily be
imagined that their proverbial acuteness would not overlook the natural
advantages of the district we have just described. It became, emphatically, the
bloody arena, in which most of the battles for the mastery of the colonies were
contested. Forts were erected at the different points that commanded the
facilities of the route, and were taken and retaken, rased and rebuilt, as
victory smiled, or expediency dictated. While the husbandmen shrunk back from
the dangerous passes, within the safer boundaries of the more ancient
settlements, armies larger than those that had often disposed of the sceptres
of the mother countries, were seen to bury themselves in these forests, whence
they never re-issued but in skeleton bands, that were haggard with care, or
dejected by defeat. Though the arts of peace were unknown to this fatal region,
its forests were alive with men; its glades and glens rang with the sounds of
martial music, and the echoes of its mountains threw back the laugh, or
repeated the wanton cry, of many a gallant and reckless youth, as he hurried by
them, in the noontide of his spirits, to slumber in a long night of
forgetfulness.
It was in this scene of
strife and bloodshed, that the incidents we shall attempt to relate occurred,
during the third year of the war which England and France last waged, for the
possession of a country, that, happily, neither was destined to retain.
The imbecility of her
military leaders abroad, and the fatal want of energy in her councils at home,
had lowered the character of Great Britain from the proud elevation on which it
had been placed by the talents and enterprise of her former warriors and
statesmen. No longer dreaded by her enemies, her servants were fast losing the
salutary confidence of self respect. In this mortifying abasement, the
colonists, though innocent of her imbecility, and too humble to be the agents
of her blunders, were but the natural participators. They had recently seen a
chosen army, from that country, which, reverencing as a mother, they had fondly
believed invincible--an army led by a chief who had been selected from a crowd
of trained warriors for his rare military endowments, disgracefully routed by a
handful of French and Indians, and only saved from annihilation by the coolness
and spirit of a Virginian boy, whose riper fame has since diffused itself, with
the steady influence of moral truth, to the uttermost confines of Christendom.
A wide frontier had been laid naked by this unexpected disaster, and more
substantial evils were preceded by a thousand fanciful and imaginary dangers.
The alarmed colonists believed that the yells of the savages mingled with every
fitful gust of wind that issued from the interminable forests of the west. The
terrific character of their merciless enemies, increased, immeasurably, the
natural horrors of warfare. Numberless recent massacres were still vivid in
their recollections; nor was there any ear, in the provinces, so deaf as not to
have drunk in with avidity the narrative of some fearful tale of midnight
murder, in which the natives of the forests were the principal and barbarous
actors. As the credulous and excited traveller related the hazardous chances of
the wilderness, the blood of the timid curdled with terror, and mothers cast
anxious glances even at those children which slumbered within the security of
the largest towns. In short, the magnifying influence of fear began to set at
nought the calculations of reason, and render those who should have remembered
their manhood, the slaves of the basest of passions. Even the most confident
and the stoutest hearts, began to think the issue of the contest was becoming
doubtful; and that abject class was hourly increasing in numbers, who thought
they foresaw all the possessions of the English crown in America, subdued by
their Christian foes, or laid waste by the inroads of their relentless allies.
When, therefore,
intelligence was received at the fort which covered the southern termination of
the portage between the Hudson and the lakes, that Montcalm had been seen
moving up the Champlain with an army “numerous as the leaves on the trees,” its
truth was admitted with more of the craven reluctance of those who court the
arts of peace, than with the stern joy that a warrior should feel, in finding
an enemy within reach of his blow. The news had been brought towards the
decline of a day in midsummer, by an Indian runner, that also bore an urgent
request from Munro, who commanded the work on the shore of the “holy lake,” for
a speedy and powerful reinforcement. It has already been mentioned, that the
distance between these two posts was less than five leagues. The rude path
which originally formed their line of communication, had been widened for the
passage of wagons, so that the distance which had been travelled by the son of
the forest in two hours, might easily be effected by a detachment of troops,
with their necessary baggage, between the rising and setting of a summer sun.
The loyal servants of the British crown had given to one of these forest
fastnesses the name of William Henry, and to the other that of Fort Edward;
calling each after a favourite prince of the reigning family. The veteran
Scotchman, just named, held the first, with a regiment of regulars and a few
provincials, a force, really, by far too small to make head against the
formidable power that Montcalm was leading to the foot of his earthen mounds.
At the latter, however, lay Gen. Webb, who commanded the armies of the king in
the northern provinces, with a body of more than five thousand men. By uniting
the several detachments of his command, this officer might have arrayed nearly
double that number of combatants against the enterprising Frenchman, who had
ventured so far from his reinforcements, with an army but little superior in
numbers.
But, under the
influence of their degraded fortunes, both officers and men appeared better
disposed to await the approach of their formidable antagonist within their
works, than to resist the progress of their march, by emulating the successful
example of the French at Fort du Quesne, and striking a blow on their advance.
After the first
surprise of the intelligence had a little abated, a rumour was spread through
the intrenched camp, which stretched along the margin of the Hudson, forming a
chain of outworks to the body of the fort itself, that a chosen detachment of
fifteen hundred men was to depart with the dawn for William Henry, the post at
the northern extremity of the portage. That which at first was only rumour,
soon became certainty, as orders passed from the quarters of the
commander-in-chief to the several corps he had selected for this service, to
prepare for their speedy departure. All doubt as to the intention of Webb now
vanished, and an hour or two of hurried footsteps and anxious faces succeeded.
The novice in the military art flew from point to point, retarding his own
preparations by the excess of his violent and somewhat distempered zeal; while
the more practised veteran made his arrangements with a deliberation that
scorned every appearance of haste; though his sober lineaments, and anxious
eye, sufficiently betrayed that he had no very strong professional relish for
the, as yet, untried and dreaded warfare of the wilderness. At length the sun
set in a flood of glory behind the distant western hills, and as darkness drew
its veil around the secluded spot, the sounds of preparation diminished; the
last light finally disappeared from the log cabin of some officer; the trees
cast their deeper shadows over the mounds, and the rippling stream, and a
silence soon pervaded the camp, as deep as that which reigned in the vast
forest by which it was environed.
According to the orders
of the preceding night, the heavy sleep of the army was broken by the rolling
of the warning drums, whose rattling echoes were heard issuing, on the damp
morning air, out of every vista of the woods, just as day began to draw the
shaggy outlines of some tall pines of the vicinity, on the opening brightness
of a soft and cloudless eastern sky. In an instant, the whole camp was in
motion; the meanest soldier arousing from his lair to witness the departure of
his comrades, and to share in the excitement and incidents of the hour. The
simple array of the chosen band was soon completed. While the regular and
trained hirelings of the king marched with ready haughtiness to the right of
the line, the less pretending colonists took their humbler position on its
left, with a docility that long practice had rendered easy. The scouts
departed; strong guards preceded and followed the lumbering vehicles that bore
the baggage; and before the gray light of the morning was mellowed by the rays
of the rising sun, the main body of the combatants wheeled into column, and
left the encampment with a show of high military bearing, that served to drown
the slumbering apprehensions of many a novice, who was now about to make his
first essay in arms. While in view of their admiring comrades, the same proud
front and ordered array was observed, until the notes of their fifes growing
fainter in distance, the forest at length appeared to swallow up the living
mass which had slowly entered its bosom.
The deepest sounds of
the retiring and invisible column had ceased to be borne on the breeze to the
listeners, and the latest straggler had already disappeared in pursuit, but
there still remained the signs of another departure, before a log cabin of
unusual size and accommodations, in front of which those sentinels paced their
rounds, who were known to guard the person of the English general. At this spot
were gathered some half dozen horses, caparisoned in a manner which showed that
two, at least, were destined to bear the persons of females, of a rank that it
was not usual to meet so far in the wilds of the country. A third wore the
trappings and arms of an officer of the staff; while the rest, from the
plainness of the housings, and the travelling mails with which they were encumbered,
were evidently fitted for the reception of as many menials, who were,
seemingly, already awaiting the convenience or pleasure of those they served.
At a respectful distance from this unusual show, were gathered divers groupes
of curious idlers; some admiring the blood and bone of the high-mettled
military charger, and others gazing at the preparations with the dull wonder of
vulgar curiosity. There was one man, however, who, by his countenance and
actions, formed a marked exception to those who composed the latter class of
spectators, being neither idle, nor seemingly very ignorant.
The person of this
remarkable individual was to the last degree ungainly, without being in any
particular manner deformed. He had all the bones and joints of other men, without
any of their proportions. Erect, his stature surpassed that of his fellows;
though, seated, he appeared reduced within the ordinary limits of our race. The
same contrariety in his members, seemed to exist throughout the whole man. His
head was large; his shoulders narrow; his arms long and dangling; while his
hands were small, if not delicate. His legs and thighs were thin nearly to
emaciation, but of extraordinary length; and his knees would have been
considered tremendous, had they not been outdone by the broader foundations on
which this false superstructure of blended human orders, was so profanely
reared. The ill-assorted and injudicious attire of the individual only served
to render his awkwardness more conspicuous. A sky-blue coat, with short and
broad skirts and low cape, exposed a long thin neck, and longer and thinner
legs, to the worst animadversions of the evil disposed. His nether garment was
of yellow nankeen, closely fitted to the shape, and tied at his bunches of
knees by large knots of white ribbon, a good deal sullied by use. Clouded
cotton stockings, and shoes, on one of the latter of which was a plated spur,
completed the costume of the lower extremity of this figure, no curve or angle
of which was concealed, but, on the other hand, studiously exhibited, through
the vanity or simplicity of its owner. From beneath the flap of an enormous
pocket of a soiled vest of embossed silk, heavily ornamented with tarnished
silver lace, projected an instrument, which, from being seen in such martial
company, might have been easily mistaken for some mischievous and unknown
implement of war. Small as it was, this uncommon engine had excited the
curiosity of most of the Europeans in the camp, though several of the
provincials were seen to handle it, not only without fear, but with the utmost
familiarity. A large civil cocked hat, like those worn by clergymen within the
last thirty years, surmounted the whole, furnishing dignity to a good natured,
and somewhat vacant countenance, that apparently needed such artificial aid to
support the gravity of some high and extraordinary trust.
While the common herd
stood aloof from the gathering group of travellers, in deference to the sacred
precincts of the quarters of Webb, the figure we have described stalked into
the centre of the domestics, who were in waiting with the horses, freely
expressing his censures or commendations on the merits of the latter, as by
chance they displeased or satisfied his judgment.
“This beast, I rather
conclude, friend, is not of home raising, but is from foreign lands, or perhaps
from the little island itself, over the blue water?” he said, in a voice as
remarkable for the softness and sweetness of its tones, as was his person for
its rare proportions: “I may speak of these things and be no braggart, for I
have been down at both havens; that which is situate at the mouth of Thames,
and is named after the capital of Old England, and that which is called ‘Haven,’
with the addition of the word ‘New;’ and have seen the snows and brigantines
collecting their droves, like the gathering to the ark, being outward bound to
the island of Jamaica, for the purpose of barter and traffic in four-footed
animals; but never before have I beheld a beast which verified the true
scripture war-horse like this; ‘He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his
strength; he goeth out to meet the armed men.’ ‘He saith among the trumpets, ha
ha! and he smelleth the battle afar off; the thunder of the captains and the
shouting.’--It would seem that the stock of the horse of Israel has descended
to our own time; would it not, friend?”
Receiving no reply to
this extraordinary appeal, which, in truth, as it was delivered with all the
vigour of full and sonorous tones, merited some sort of notice, he who had thus
sung forth the language of the holy book, turned to the silent figure to whom
he had unwittingly addressed himself, and found a new and more powerful subject
of admiration in the object that encountered his gaze. His eyes fell on the
still, upright, and rigid form of the “Indian runner,” who had borne to the
camp the unwelcome tidings of the preceding evening. Although in a state of
perfect repose, and apparently disregarding, with characteristic stoicism, the
excitement and bustle around him, there was a sullen fierceness mingled with
the quiet of the savage, that was likely to arrest the attention of much more
experienced eyes, than those which now scanned him, in unconcealed amazement.
The native bore both the tomahawk and knife of his tribe; and yet his appearance
was not altogether that of a warrior. On the contrary, there was an air of
neglect about his person, like that which might have proceeded from great and
recent exertion, which he had not yet found leisure to repair. The colours of
the war-paint had blended in dark confusion about his fierce countenance, and
rendered his swarthy lineaments still more savage and repulsive, than if art
had attempted an effect, which had been thus produced by chance. His eye,
alone, which glistened like a fiery star amid lowering clouds, was to be seen
in its state of native wildness. For a single instant, his searching, and yet
wary glance, met the wondering look of the other, and then changing its
direction, partly in cunning, and partly in disdain, it remained fixed, as if
penetrating the distant air.
It is impossible to say
what unlooked for remark this short and silent communication, between two such
singular men, might have elicited from the tall white man, had not his active
curiosity been again drawn to other objects. A general movement amongst the
domestics, and a low sound of gentle voices, announced the approach of those
whose presence was wanted, in order to enable the cavalcade to move. The simple
admirer of the war-horse instantly fell back to a low, gaunt, switch-tailed
mare, that was unconsciously gleaning the faded herbage of the camp, nigh by,
where, leaning with one elbow on the blanket that concealed an apology for a
saddle, he became a spectator of the departure, while a foal was quietly making
its morning repast, on the opposite side of the same animal.
A young man, in the
livery of the crown, conducted to their steeds two females, who, it was
apparent by their dresses, were prepared to encounter the fatigues of a journey
in the woods. One, and she was the most juvenile in her appearance, though both
were young, permitted glimpses of her dazzling complexion, fair golden hair,
and bright blue eyes, to be caught, as she artlessly suffered the morning air
to blow aside the green veil, which descended low from her beaver. The flush
which still lingered above the pines in the western sky, was not more bright
nor delicate than the bloom on her cheek; nor was the opening day more cheering
than the animated smile which she bestowed on the youth, as he assisted her
into the saddle. The other, who appeared to share equally in the attentions of
the young officer, concealed her charms from the gaze of the soldiery with a
studious care, that seemed better fitted to the experience of four or five
additional years. It could be seen, however, that her person, though moulded
with the same exquisite proportions, of which none of the graces were lost by
the travelling dress she wore, was rather fuller and more mature than that of
her companion.
No sooner were these
females seated, than their attendant sprang lightly into the saddle of the
war-horse, when the whole three bowed to Webb, who, in courtesy, awaited their
parting on the threshold of his cabin, and turning their horses’ heads, they
proceeded at a slow amble, followed by their train, towards the northern
entrance of the encampment. As they traversed that short distance, not a voice
was heard amongst them; but a slight exclamation proceeded from the younger of
the females, as the Indian runner glided by her, unexpectedly, and led the way
along the military road in her front. Though this sudden and startling movement
of the Indian, produced no sound from the other, in the surprise, her veil also
was allowed to open its folds, and betrayed an indescribable look of pity,
admiration and horror, as her dark eye followed the easy motions of the savage.
The tresses of this lady were shining and black, like the plumage of the raven.
Her complexion was not brown, but it rather appeared charged with the colour of
the rich blood, that seemed ready to burst its bounds. And yet there was
neither coarseness, nor want of shadowing, in a countenance that was
exquisitely regular and dignified, and surpassingly beautiful. She smiled, as
if in pity at her own momentary forgetfulness, discovering by the act a row of
teeth that would have shamed, by their dazzling whiteness, the purest ivory;
when, replacing the veil, she bowed her face, and rode in silence, like one
whose thoughts were abstracted from the scene around her.
Sola, sola, wo ha, ho,
sola!
Shakspeare
While one of the lovely
beings we have so cursorily presented to the reader, was thus lost in thought,
the other quickly recovered from the slight alarm which induced the
exclamation, and, laughing at her own weakness, she inquired playfully of the
youth who rode by her side--
“Are such spectres
frequent in the woods, Heyward; or is this sight an especial entertainment,
ordered in our behalf. If the latter, gratitude must close our mouths; but if
the former, both Cora and I shall have need to draw largely on that stock of
hereditary courage of which we boast, even before we are made to encounter the
redoubtable Montcalm.”
“Yon Indian is a ‘runner’
of our army, and, after the fashion of his people, he may be accounted a hero,”
returned the young officer, to whom she addressed herself--“He has volunteered
to guide us to the lake, by a path but little known, sooner than if we followed
the tardy movements of the column; and, by consequence, more agreeably.”
“I like him not,” said
the lady, shuddering, partly in assumed, yet more in real terror. “You know
him, Duncan, or you would not trust yourself so freely to his keeping?”
“Say, rather, Alice,
that I would not trust you,” returned the young man, impressively; “I do know
him, or he would not have my confidence, and least of all, at this moment. He
is said to be a Canadian, too; and yet he served with our friends the Mohawks,
who, as you know, are one of the six allied nations. He was brought amongst us,
as I have heard, by some strange accident, in which your father was interested,
and in which the savage was rigidly dealt by --but I forget the idle tale; it
is enough, that he is now our friend.”
“If he has been my
father’s enemy, I like him still less!” exclaimed the now really anxious
maiden. “Will you not speak to him, Major Heyward, that I may hear his tones?
Foolish though it may be, you have often heard me avow my faith in the tones of
the human voice!”
“It would be in vain;
and answered, most probably, by an ejaculation. Though he may understand it, he
affects, like most of his people, to be ignorant of the English; and least of
all, will he condescend to speak it, now that war demands the utmost exercise
of his dignity. But he stops; the private path by which we are to journey is,
doubtless, at hand.”
The conjecture of Major
Heyward was true. When they reached the spot where the Indian stood, pointing
into the thicket that fringed the military road, a narrow and blind path, which
might, with some little inconvenience, receive one person at a time, became
visible.
“Here, then, lies our
way,” said the young man, in a low voice. “Manifest no distrust, or you may
invite the danger you appear to apprehend.”
“Cora, what think you?”
asked the reluctant fair one. “If we journey with the troops, though we may
find their presence irksome, shall we not feel better assurance of our safety?”
“Being little
accustomed to the practices of the savages, Alice, you mistake the place of
real danger,” said Heyward. “If enemies have reached the portage at all, a
thing by no means probable, as our scouts are abroad, they will surely be found
skirting the column, where scalps abound the most. The route of the detachment
is known, while ours, having been determined within the hour, must still be
secret.”
“Should we distrust the
man, because his manners are not our manners, and that his skin is dark!”
coldly asked Cora.
Alice hesitated no
longer; but giving her Narraganset a smart cut of the whip, she was the first
to dash aside the slight branches of the bushes, and to follow the runner along
the dark and tangled path-way. The young man regarded the last speaker in open
admiration, and even permitted her fairer, though certainly not more beautiful
companion, to proceed unattended, while he sedulously opened a way himself, for
the passage of her who has been called Cora. It would seem that the domestics
had been previously instructed; for, instead of penetrating the thicket, they
followed the route of the column; a measure, which Heyward stated, had been
dictated by the sagacity of their guide, in order to diminish the marks of
their trail, if, haply, the Canadian savages should be lurking so far in
advance of their army. For many minutes, the intricacy of their route admitted
of no further dialogue; after which they emerged from the broad border of
underbrush, which grew along the line of the highway, and entered under the
high, but dark arches of the forest. Here, their progress was less interrupted;
and the instant their guide perceived that the females could command their
steeds, he moved on, at a pace between a trot and a walk; and at a rate which
kept the sure-footed and peculiar animals they rode, at a fast, and yet easy
amble. The youth had turned, to speak to the dark-eyed Cora, when the distant
sounds of horses’ hoofs, clattering over the roots of the broken way in his
rear, caused him to check his charger; and as his companions drew their reins
at the same instant, the whole party came to a halt, in order to obtain an
explanation of the unlooked for interruption.
In a few moments, a
colt was seen gliding, like a fallow deer, amongst the straight trunks of the
pines; and in another instant, the person of the ungainly man, described in the
preceding chapter, came into view, with as much rapidity as he could excite his
meager beast to endure, without coming to an open rupture. In their short
passage from the quarters of Webb to their attendants, no opportunity had been
furnished the travellers to look upon the personage who now approached them. If
he possessed the power to arrest any wandering eye, when exhibiting the glories
of his altitude on foot, his equestrian graces were quite as observable.
Notwithstanding a constant application of his one armed heel to the flanks of
the mare, the most confirmed gait that he could establish, was a Canterbury
gallop with the hind legs, in which those more forward assisted for doubtful
moments, though generally content to maintain a lopeing trot. Perhaps the
rapidity of the changes from one of these paces to the other, created an
optical illusion, which might thus magnify the powers of the beast; for it is
certain that Heyward, who possessed a true eye for the merits of a horse, was
unable, with his utmost ingenuity, to decide, by what sort of movement his
pursuer worked his sinuous way on his foot-steps, with such persevering
hardihood.
The industry and
movements of the rider were not less remarkable than those of the ridden. At
each change in the evolutions of the latter, the former raised his tall person
in the stirrups; producing, in this manner, by the undue elongation of his
legs, such sudden growths and diminishings of the stature, as baffled every
conjecture that might be made as to his character. If to this be added the
fact, that in consequence of the ex parte application of the spur, one side of
the mare appeared to journey faster than the other; and that the aggrieved
flank was resolutely indicated, by unremitted flourishes of her bushy tail, we
finish the picture of both horse and man.
The frown which had
gathered around the handsome, open, and manly brow of Heyward, gradually
relaxed, and his lips curled into a slight smile, as he regarded the stranger.
Alice made no very powerful effort to control her merriment; and even the dark,
thoughtful eye of Cora, lighted with a humour that, it would seem, the habit,
rather than the nature of its mistress, repressed.
“Seek you any here?”
demanded Heyward, when the other had arrived sufficiently nigh to abate his
speed; “I trust you are no messenger of evil tidings.”
“Even so,” replied the
stranger, making diligent use of his triangular castor, to produce a
circulation in the close air of the woods, and leaving his hearers in doubt, to
which of the young man’s questions he responded; when, however, he had cooled
his face, and recovered his breath, he continued, “I hear you are riding to
William Henry; as I am journeying thitherward myself, I concluded good company
would seem consistent to the wishes of both parties.”
“The division of voices
would appear to be unjustly measured,” returned Heyward; “We are three, whilst
you have no one to consult but yourself.”
“Not more unjustly,
than that one gallant should be charged with the care and keeping of two
youthful ladies,” said the other, with a manner divided between simplicity and
vulgar repartee. “If, however, he be a true man, and they true women, they will
despite each other’s humour, and come over to his opinion, in all matters of
contradictory opinions; so you have no more to consult than I!”
The fair maiden dropped
her laughing eyes to the bridle of her filly, and the slight flush on her cheek
deepened to a rich bloom; while the glowing tints of her companion’s colour
altered even to paleness, as she slowly rode ahead, like one who already tired
of the interview.
“If you journey to the
lake, you have mistaken your route,” said Heyward, haughtily; “the highway
thither is at least half-a-mile behind you.”
“Even so,” returned the
stranger, nothing daunted by this cold reception; “I have tarried at ‘Edward’ a
week, and I should be dumb, not to have inquired the road I was to journey; and
if dumb, there would be an end to my calling.” After simpering in a small way,
like one whose modesty prohibited a more open expression of his admiration of a
witticism, that was perfectly unintelligible to his hearers, he continued, with
becoming gravity, “It is not prudent for one of my profession to be too
familiar with those he has to instruct; for which reason, I follow not the line
of the army: besides which, I conclude that a gentleman of your character, has
the best judgment in matters of way-faring; I have therefore decided to join
company, in order that the ride may be made agreeable, and partake of social
communion.”
“A most arbitrary, if
not a hasty decision!” exclaimed Heyward, undecided whether to give vent to his
growing anger, or to laugh aloud in the other’s face. “But you speak of
instruction, and of a profession; are you an adjunct to the provincial corps,
as a master of the noble science of defence and offence? or, perhaps, you are
one who draws lines and angles, under the pretence of expounding the
mathematics?”
The stranger regarded
his interrogator a moment, in open wonder; and then, losing every mark of
self-satisfaction in an expression of solemn humility, he answered:
“Of offence, I hope
there is none, to either party: of defence, I make none--by God’s good mercy,
having committed no palpable sin, since last entreating his pardoning grace. I
understand not your allusions about lines and angles; and I leave expounding,
to those who have been called and set apart for that holy office. I lay claim
to no higher gift, than a small insight into the glorious art of petition and
thanksgiving, as practised in psalmody.”
“The man is, most
manifestly, a disciple of Apollo,” cried the amused Alice, who had recovered
from her momentary embarrassment, “and I take him under my own especial
protection. Nay, throw aside that frown, Heyward, and, in pity to my longing
ears, suffer him to journey in our train. Besides,” she added, in a low and
hurried voice, casting a glance at the distant Cora, who slowly followed the
footsteps of their silent but sullen guide, “it may be a friend added to our
strength in time of need.”
“Think you, Alice, that
I would trust those I love by this secret path, did I imagine such need could
happen?”
“Nay, nay, I think not
of it now; but this strange man amuses me; and if he ‘hath music in his soul,’
let us not churlishly reject his company.” She pointed persuasively along the
path, with her riding whip, while their eyes met in a look, which the young man
lingered a moment to prolong, then, yielding to her gentle influence, he clapt
his spurs into his charger, and in a few bounds, was again at the side of Cora.
“I am glad to encounter
thee, friend,” continued the maiden, waving her hand to the stranger to
proceed, as she urged her Narraganset to renew its amble. “Partial relatives
have almost persuaded me, that I am not entirely worthless in a duette myself;
and we may enliven our way-faring, by indulging in our favourite pursuit. It
might be of signal advantage to one, ignorant as I, to hear the opinions and
experience of a master in the art.”
“It is refreshing both
to the spirits and to the body, to indulge in psalmody, in befitting seasons,”
returned the master of song, unhesitatingly complying with her intimation to
follow; “and nothing would relieve the mind more, than such a consoling
communion. But four parts are altogether necessary to the perfection of melody.
You have all the manifestations of a soft and rich treble; I can, by especial
aid, carry a full tenor to the highest letter; but we lack counter and bass!
Yon officer of the king, who hesitated to admit me to his company, might fill
the latter, if one may judge from the intonations of his voice in common
dialogue.”
“Judge not too rashly,
from hasty and deceptive appearances,” said the lady, smiling; “though Major
Heyward can assume such deep notes, on occasion, believe me, his natural tones
are better fitted for a mellow tenor, than the bass you heard.”
“Is he, then, much
practised in the art of psalmody?” demanded her simple companion.
Alice felt disposed to
laugh, though she succeeded in suppressing the sounds of her merriment, ere she
answered,--
“I apprehend that he is
rather addicted to profane song. The turmoils and chances of a soldier’s life,
are but little fitted for the encouragement of more sober inclinations.”
“Man’s voice is given
to him, like his other talents, to be used, and not to be abused,” said her
companion. “None can say they have ever known me neglect my gifts! I am
thankful that, though my boyhood may be said to have been set apart, like the
youth of the royal David, for the purposes of music, no syllable of rude verse
has ever profaned my lips.”
“You have, then,
limited your efforts to sacred song?”
“Even so. As the psalms
of David exceed all other language, so does the psalmody that has been fitted
to them by the divines and sages of the land, surpass all vain poetry. Happily,
I may say, that I utter nothing but the thoughts and the wishes of the King of
Israel himself; for though the times may call for some slight changes, yet does
this version, which we use in the colonies of New-England, so much exceed all
other versions, that, by its richness, its exactness, and its spiritual
simplicity, it approacheth, as near as may be, to the great work of the
inspired writer. I never abide in any place, sleeping or waking, without an
example of this gifted work. ’Tis the six-and-twentieth edition, promulgated at
Boston, Anno Domini, 1744; and is entitled, ‘The Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual
Songs of the Old and New Testaments; faithfully translated into English Metre,
for the Use, Edification, and Comfort of the Saints in Public and Private,
especially in New-England.”’
During this eulogium on
the rare production of his native poets, the stranger had drawn the book from
his pocket, and fitting a pair of iron-rimmed spectacles to his nose, had
opened the volume with a care and veneration suited to its sacred purposes.
Then, without circumlocution or apology, first pronouncing the magical word, “Standish,”
and placing the unknown engine, already described, to his mouth, from which he
drew a high, shrill sound, that was followed by an octave below, from his own
voice, he commenced singing the following words, in full, sweet, and melodious
tones, that set the music, the poetry, and even the uneasy motion of his
ill-trained beast, at defiance:
“How good it is, O see,
And how it pleaseth well, Together,
e’en in unity,
For brethren so to dwell. It’s
like the choice ointment,
From head to th’ beard did go: Down
Aaron’s beard, that downward went,
His garment’s skirts unto.” The
delivery of these skilful rhymes was accompanied, on the part of the stranger,
by a regular rise and fall of his right hand, which terminated at the descent,
by suffering the fingers to dwell a moment on the leaves of the little volume;
and on the ascent, by such a flourish of the member, as none but the initiated
may ever hope to imitate. It would seem, that long practice had rendered this
manual accompaniment necessary; for it did not cease, until the significant
preposition which the poet had so judiciously selected for the close of his
verse, had been duly delivered in the fullest dignity of a word of two
syllables.
Such an innovation on
the silence and retirement of the forest, could not fail to enlist the ears of
those who journeyed at so short a distance in advance. The Indian muttered a
few words in broken English, to Heyward, who, in his turn, spoke to the
stranger; at once interrupting, and, for the time, closing his musical efforts.
“Though we are not in
danger, common prudence would teach us to journey through this wilderness in as
quiet a manner as is convenient. You will, then, pardon me, Alice, should I
diminish your enjoyments for a time, by requesting this gentleman to postpone
his chant until a safer opportunity.”
“You will diminish
them, indeed,” returned the arch maiden, “for never did I hear a more unworthy
conjunction of execution and language, than that to which I have been
listening; and I was far gone in a learned inquiry into the causes of such an
unfitness between sound and sense, when you broke the charm of my musings by
that bass of yours, Duncan!”
“I know not what you
call my bass,” said Heyward, evidently piqued at her remark, “but I know that
your safety, and that of Cora, is far dearer to me than could be any orchestra
of Handel’s music.” He paused, and turned his head quickly towards a thicket,
and then bent his eyes suspiciously on their guide, who continued his steady
pace in undisturbed gravity. The young man smiled contemptuously to himself, as
he believed he had mistaken some shining herry of the woods, for the glistening
eye-balls of a prowling savage, and he rode forward, continuing the
conversation which had been thus interrupted by the passing thought.
Major Heyward was
mistaken only in suffering his youthful and generous pride to suppress for a
single moment his active watchfulness. The cavalcade had not long passed,
before the branches of the bushes that formed the thicket, were cautiously
moved asunder, and a human visage, as fiercely wild as savage art and unbridled
passions could make it, peered out on the retiring footsteps of the travellers.
A gleam of exultation shot across the darkly painted lineaments of the
inhabitant of the forest, as he traced the route of his intended victims, who
rode unconsciously onward; the light and graceful forms of the females waving
among the trees, in the curvatures of their path, followed at each bend by the
manly figure of Heyward; until, finally, the shapeless person of the singing
master was concealed behind the numberless trunks of trees, that rose in dark
lines in the intermediate space.
Before these fields
were shorn and tilled;
Full to the brim our rivers flowed; The
melody of waters filled
The fresh and boundless wood; And
torrents dashed, and rivulets played,
And fountains spouted
in the shade.
Bryant
Leaving the
unsuspecting Heyward, and his confiding companions, to penetrate still deeper
into a forest that contained such treacherous inmates, we must use an author’s
privilege, and shift the scene a few miles to the westward of the place where
we have last seen them.
On that day, two men
might be observed, lingering on the banks of a small but rapid stream, within
an hour’s journey of the encampment of Webb, like those who awaited the
appearance of an absent person, or the approach of some expected event. The
vast canopy of woods spread itself to the margin of the river, overhanging the
water, and shadowing its dark glassy current with a deeper hue. The rays of the
sun were beginning to grow less fierce, and the intense heat of the day was
lessened, as the cooler vapours of the springs and fountains rose above their
leafy beds, and rested in the atmosphere. Still that breathing silence, which
marks the drowsy sultriness of an American landscape in July, pervaded the
secluded spot, interrupted, only, by the low voices of the men in question, an
occasional and lazy tap of a reviving wood-pecker, the discordant cry of some
gaudy jay, or a swelling on the ear, from the dull roar of a distant
water-fall.
These feeble and broken
sounds were, however, too familiar to the foresters, to draw their attention
from the more interesting matter of their dialogue. While one of these
loiterers showed the red skin and wild accoutrements of a native of the woods,
the other exhibited, through the mask of his rude and nearly savage equipments,
the brighter, though sun-burnt and long-faded complexion of one who might claim
descent from an European parentage. The former was seated on the end of a mossy
log, in a posture that permitted him to heighten the effect of his earnest
language, by the calm but expressive gestures of an Indian, engaged in debate.
His body, which was nearly naked, presented a terrific emblem of death, drawn
in intermingled colours of white and black. His closely shaved head, on which
no other hair than the well known and chivalrous scalping tuft was preserved,
was without ornament of any kind, with the exception of a solitary Eagle’s
plume, that crossed his crown, and depended over the left shoulder. A tomahawk
and scalping-knife, of English manufacture, were in his girdle; while a short
military rifle, of that sort with which the policy of the whites armed their
savage allies, lay carelessly across his bare and sinewy knee. The expanded
chest, full-formed limbs, and grave countenance of this warrior, would denote
that he had reached the vigour of his days, though no symptoms of decay
appeared to have yet weakened his manhood.
The frame of the white
man, judging by such parts as were not concealed by his clothes, was like that
of one who had known hardships and exertion from his earliest youth. His
person, though muscular, was rather attenuated than full; but every nerve and
muscle appeared strung and indurated, by unremitted exposure and toil. He wore
a hunting-shirt of forest-green, fringed with faded yellow, and a summer cap,
of skins which had been shorn of their fur. He also bore a knife in a girdle of
wampum, like that which confined the scanty garments of the Indian, but no
tomahawk. His moccasins were ornamented after the gay fashion of the natives,
while the only part of his under dress which appeared below the hunting-frock,
was a pair of buckskin leggings, that laced at the sides, and were gartered
above the knees, with the sinews of a deer. A pouch and horn completed his
personal accoutrements, though a rifle of a great length, which the theory of
the more ingenious whites had taught them, was the most dangerous of all
fire-arms, leaned against a neighbouring sapling. The eye of the hunter, or
scout, whichever he might be, was small, quick, keen, and restless, roving
while he spoke, on every side of him, as if in quest of game, or distrusting
the sudden approach of some lurking enemy. Notwithstanding these symptoms of
habitual suspicion, his countenance was not only without guile, but at the
moment at which he is introduced was charged with an expression of sturdy
honesty.
“Even your traditions
make the case in my favour, Chingachgook,” he said, speaking in the tongue
which was known to all the natives who formerly inhabited the country between
the Hudson and the Potomack, and of which we shall give a free translation for
the benefit of the reader; endeavouring, at the same time, to preserve some of
the peculiarities, both of the individual and of the language. “Your fathers
came from the setting sun, crossed the big river, fought the people of the
country, and took the land; and mine came from the red sky of the morning, over
the salt lake, and did their work much after the fashion that had been set them
by yours; then let God judge the matter between us, and friends spare their words!”
“My fathers fought with
the naked red-man!” returned the Indian, sternly, in the same language; “Is
there no difference, Hawk-eye, between the stone-headed arrow of the warrior,
and the leaden bullet with which you kill?”
“There is reason in an
Indian, though nature has made him with a red skin!” said the white man,
shaking his head, like one on whom such an appeal to his justice was not thrown
away. For a moment he appeared to be conscious of having the worst of the
argument, then rallying again, he answered to the objection of his antagonist
in the best manner his limited information would allow: “I am no scholar, and I
care not who knows it; but judging from what I have seen at deer chaces, and
squirrel hunts, of the sparks below, I should think a rifle in the hands of
their grandfathers, was not so dangerous as a hickory bow, and a good
flint-head might be, if drawn with Indian judgment, and sent by an Indian eye.”
“You have the story
told by your fathers,” returned the other, coldly waving his hand, in proud
disdain. “What say your old men? do they tell the young warriors, that the
pale-faces met the red-men, painted for war and armed with the stone hatchet or
wooden gun?”
“I am not a prejudiced
man, nor one who vaunts himself on his natural privileges, though the worst
enemy I have on earth, and he is an Iroquois, daren’t deny that I am genuine
white,” the scout replied, surveying, with secret satisfaction, the faded
colour of his bony and sinewy hand; “and I am willing to own that my people have
many ways, of which, as an honest man, I can’t approve. It is one of their
customs to write in books what they have done and seen, instead of telling them
in their villages, where the lie can be given to the face of a cowardly
boaster, and the brave soldier can call on his comrades to witness for the
truth of his words. In consequence of this bad fashion, a man who is too
conscientious to mispend his days among the women, in learning the names of
black marks, may never hear of the deeds of his fathers, nor feel a pride in
striving to outdo them. For myself, I conclude all the Bumppos could shoot; for
I have a natural turn with a rifle, which must have been handed down from
generation to generation, as our holy commandments tell us, all good and evil
gifts are bestowed; though I should be loth to answer for other people in such
a matter. But every story has its two sides; so I ask you, Chingachgook, what
passed when our fathers first met?”
A silence of a minute
succeeded, during which the Indian sat mute; then, full of the dignity of his
office, he commenced his brief tale, with a solemnity that served to heighten
its appearance of truth.
“Listen, Hawk-eye, and
your ears shall drink no lies. ’Tis what my fathers have said, and what the
Mohicans have done.” He hesitated a single instant, and bending a cautious
glance towards his companion, he continued in a manner that was divided between
interrogation and assertion--“does not this stream at our feet, run towards the
summer, until its waters grow salt, and the current flows upward!”
“It can’t be denied,
that your traditions tell you true in both these matters,” said the white man; “for
I have been there, and have seen them; though, why water, which is so sweet in
the shade, should become bitter in the sun, is an alteration for which I have
never been able to account.”
“And the current!”
demanded the Indian, who expected his reply with that sort of interest that a
man feels in the confirmation of testimony, at which he marvels even while he
respects it; “the fathers of Chingachgook have not lied!”
“The Holy Bible is not
more true, and that is the truest thing in nature. They call this up-stream
current the tide, which is a thing soon explained, and clear enough. Six hours
the waters run in, and six hours they run out, and the reason is this; when
there is higher water in the sea than in the river, it runs in, until the river
gets to be highest, and then it runs out again.”
“The waters in the
woods, and on the great lakes, run downward until they lie like my hand,” said
the Indian, stretching the limb horizontally before him, “and then they run no
more.”
“No honest man will
deny it,” said the scout, a little nettled at the implied distrust of his
explanation of the mystery of the tides; “and I grant that it is true on the
small scale, and where the land is level. But every thing depends on what scale
you look at things. Now, on the small scale, the ’arth is level; but on the
large scale it is round. In this manner, pools and ponds, and even the great
fresh water lakes, may be stagnant, as you and I both know they are, having
seen them; but when you come to spread water over a great tract, like the sea,
where the earth is round, how in reason can the water be quiet? You might as
well expect the river to lie still on the brink of those black rocks a mile
above us, though your own ears tell you that it is tumbling over them at this
very moment!”
If unsatisfied by the
philosophy of his companion, the Indian was far too dignified to betray his
unbelief. He listened like one who was convinced, and resumed his narrative in
his former solemn manner.
“We came from the place
where the sun is hid at night, over great plains where the buffaloes live,
until we reached the big river. There we fought the Alligewi, till the ground
was red with their blood. From the banks of the big river to the shores of the
salt lake, there were none to meet us. The Maquas followed at a distance. We
said the country should be ours from the place where the water runs up no
longer, on this stream, to a river, twenty suns’ journey toward the summer. The
land we had taken like warriors, we kept like men. We drove the Maquas into the
woods with the bears. They only tasted salt at the licks; they drew no fish
from the great lake: we threw them the bones.”
“All this I have heard
and believe,” said the white man, observing that the Indian paused; “but it was
long before the English came into the country.”
“A pine grew then,
where this chestnut now stands. The first pale faces who came among us spoke no
English. They came in a large canoe, when my fathers had buried the tomahawk
with the red men around them. Then, Hawk-eye,” he continued, betraying his deep
emotion, only by permitting his voice to fall to those low, guttural tones,
which render his language, as spoken at times, so very musical; “then,
Hawk-eye, we were one people, and we were happy. The salt lake gave us its
fish, the wood its deer, and the air its birds. We took wives who bore us
children; we worshipped the Great Spirit; and we kept the Maquas beyond the
sound of our songs of triumph!”
“Know you any thing of
your own family, at that time?” demanded the white. “But you are a just man for
an Indian! and as I suppose you hold their gifts, your fathers must have been
brave warriors, and wise men at the council fire.”
“My tribe is the
grandfather of nations,” said the native, “but I am an unmixed man. The blood
of chiefs is in my veins, where it must stay for ever. The Dutch landed, and
gave my people the fire-water; they drank until the heavens and the earth
seemed to meet, and they foolishly thought they had found the Great Spirit.
Then they parted with their land. Foot by foot, they were driven back from the
shores, until I, that am a chief and a Sagamore, have never seen the sun shine
but through the trees, and have never visited the graves of my fathers.”
“Graves bring solemn
feelings over the mind,” returned the scout, a good deal touched at the calm
suffering of his companion; “and often aid a man in his good intentions,
though, for myself, I expect to leave my own bones unburied, to bleach in the
woods, or to be torn asunder by the wolves. But where are to be found your
race, which came to their kin in the Delaware country, so many summers since?”
“Where are the blossoms
of those summers!--fallen, one by one: so all of my family departed, each in
his turn, to the land of spirits. I am on the hill-top, and must go down into
the valley; and when Uncas follows in my footsteps, there will no longer be any
of the blood of the Sagamores, for my boy is the last of the Mohicans.”
“Uncas is here!” said
another voice, in the same soft, guttural tones, near his elbow; “who wishes
Uncas?”
The white man loosened
his knife in its leathern sheath, and made an involuntary movement of the hand
towards his rifle, at this sudden interruption, but the Indian sat composed,
and without turning his head at the unexpected sounds.
At the next instant, a
youthful warrior passed between them, with a noiseless step, and seated himself
on the bank of the rapid stream. No exclamation of surprise escaped the father,
nor was any question made or reply given for several minutes, each appearing to
await the moment, when he might speak, without betraying a womanish curiosity
or childish impatience. The white man seemed to take counsel from their
customs, and relinquishing his grasp of the rifle, he also remained silent and
reserved. At length Chingachgook turned his eyes slowly towards his son, and
demanded--
“Do the Maquas dare to
leave the print of their moccasins in these woods?”
“I have been on their
trail,” replied the young Indian, “and know that they number as many as the
fingers of my two hands; but they lie hid like cowards.”
“The thieves are
outlying for scalps and plunder!” said the white man, whom we shall call
Hawk-eye, after the manner of his companions. “That busy Frenchman, Montcalm,
will send his spies into our very camp, but he will know what road we travel!”
“’Tis enough!” returned
the father, glancing his eye towards the setting sun; “they shall be driven
like deer from their bushes. Hawk-eye, let us eat to-night, and show the Maquas
that we are men tomorrow.”
“I am as ready to do
the one as the other,” replied the scout; “but to fight the Iroquois, ’tis
necessary to find the skulkers; and to eat, ’tis necessary to get the
game--talk of the devil and he will come; there is a pair of the biggest
antlers I have seen this season, moving the bushes below the hill! Now, Uncas,”
he continued in a half whisper, and laughing with a kind of inward sound, like
one who had learnt to be watchful, “I will bet my charger three times full of
powder, against a foot of wampum, that I take him atwixt the eyes, and nearer
to the right than to the left.”
“It cannot be!” said
the young Indian, springing to his feet with youthful eagerness; “all but the
tips of his horns are hid!”
“He’s a boy!” said the
white man, shaking his head while he spoke, and addressing the father. “Does he
think when a hunter sees a part of the creatur, he can’t tell where the rest of
him should be!”
Adjusting his rifle, he
was about to make an exhibition of that skill, on which he so much valued
himself, when the warrior struck up the piece with his hand, saying,
“Hawk-eye! will you
fight the Maquas?”
“These Indians know the
nature of the woods, as it might be by instinct!” returned the scout, dropping
his rifle, and turning away like a man who was convinced of his error. “I must
leave the buck to your arrow, Uncas, or we may kill a deer for them thieves,
the Iroquois, to eat.”
The instant the father
seconded this intimation by an expressive gesture of the hand, Uncas threw
himself on the ground, and approached the animal with wary movements. When,
within a few yards of the cover, he fitted an arrow to his bow with the utmost
care, while the antlers moved, as if their owner snuffed an enemy in the
tainted air. In another moment the twang of the bow was heard, a white streak
was seen glancing into the bushes, and the wounded buck plunged from the cover,
to the very feet of his hidden enemy. Avoiding the horns of the infuriated
animal, Uncas darted to his side, and passed his knife across the throat, when
bounding to the edge of the river, it fell, dying the waters with its blood to
a great distance.
“’Twas done with Indian
skill,” said the scout, laughing inwardly, but with vast satisfaction; “and was
a pretty sight to behold! Though an arrow is a near shot, and needs a knife to
finish the work.”
“Hugh!” ejaculated his
companion, turning quickly, like a hound who scented his game.
“By the Lord, there is
a drove of them!” exclaimed the hunting scout, whose eyes began to glisten with
the ardour of his usual occupation; “if they come within range of a bullet, I
will drop one, though the whole Six Nations should be lurking within sound!
What do you hear, Chingachgook? for to my ears the woods are dumb.”
“There is but one deer,
and he is dead,” said the Indian, bending his body, till his ear nearly touched
the earth. “I hear the sounds of feet!”
“Perhaps the wolves
have driven that buck to shelter, and are following in his trail.”
“No. The horses of
white men are coming!” returned the other, raising himself with dignity, and
resuming his seat on the log with all his former composure. “Hawk-eye, they are
your brothers; speak to them.”
“That will I, and in
English that the king needn’t be ashamed to answer,” returned the hunter,
speaking in the language of which he boasted; “but I see nothing, nor do I hear
the sounds of man or beast; ’tis strange that an Indian should understand white
sounds better than a man, who, his very enemies will own, has no cross in his
blood, although he may have lived with the red skins long enough to be
suspected! Ha! there goes something like the cracking of a dry stick, too--now
I hear the bushes move --yes, yes, there is a tramping that I mistook for the
falls--and--but here they come themselves; God keep them from the Iroquois!”
Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this grove, Till torment thee for this injury.
Mid. Sum. Night’s Dream
The words were still in
the mouth of the scout, when the leader of the party, whose approaching
footsteps had caught the vigilant ear of the Indian, came openly into view. A
beaten path, such as those made by the periodical passage of the deer, wound
through a little glen at no great distance, and struck the river at the point
where the white man and his red companions had posted themselves. Along this
track the travellers, who had produced a surprise so unusual in the depths of
the forest, advanced slowly towards the hunter, who was in front of his
associates, in readiness to receive them.
“Who comes?” demanded
the scout, throwing his rifle carelessly across his left arm, and keeping the
fore finger of his right hand on the trigger, though he avoided all appearance
of menace in the act-- “Who comes hither, among the beasts and dangers of the
wilderness?”
“Believers in religion,
and friends to the law and to the king,” returned he who rode foremost of the
party. “Men who have journeyed since the rising sun, in the shades of this
forest, without nourishment, and are sadly tired of their wayfaring.”
“You are, then, lost,”
interrupted the hunter, “and have found how helpless ’tis not to know whether
to take the right hand or the left?”
“Even so; sucking babes
are not more dependent on those who guide them, than we who are of larger
growth, and who may now be said to possess the stature without the knowledge of
men. Know you the distance to a post of the crown called William Henry?”
“Hoot!” shouted the
scout, who did not spare his open laughter, though, instantly checking the
dangerous sounds, he indulged his merriment at less risk of being overheard by
any lurking enemies. “You are as much off the scent as a hound would be, with
Horican atwixt him and the deer! William Henry, man! if you are friends to the
king, and have business with the army, your better way would be to follow the
river down to Edward, and lay the matter before Webb; who tarries there,
instead of pushing into the defiles, and driving this saucy Frenchman back across
Champlain, into his den again.”
Before the stranger
could make any reply to this unexpected proposition, another horseman dashed
the bushes aside, and leaped his charger into the pathway in front of his
companion.
“What, then, may be our
distance from Fort Edward?” demanded a new speaker; “the place you advise us to
seek we left this morning, and our destination is the head of the lake.”
“Then you must have
lost your eyesight afore losing your way, for the road across the portage is
cut to a good two rods, and is as grand a path, I calculate, as any that runs
into London, or even before the palace of the king himself.”
“We will not dispute
concerning the excellence of the passage,” returned Heyward, smiling, for, as
the reader has anticipated, it was he. “It is enough, for the present, that we
trusted to an Indian guide to take us by a nearer, though blinder path, and
that we are deceived in his knowledge. In plain words, we know not where we
are.”
“An Indian lost in the
woods!” said the scout, shaking his head doubtingly; “when the sun is scorching
the tree tops, and the water courses are full; when the moss on every beech he
sees, will tell him in which quarter the north star will shine at night! The
woods are full of deer paths which run to the streams and licks, places well
known to every body; nor have the geese done their flight to the Canada waters,
altogether! ’Tis strange that an Indian should be lost atwixt Horican and the
bend in the river! Is he a Mohawk?
“Not by birth, though
he is adopted in that tribe; I think his birth place was farther north, and he
is one of those you call a Huron.”
“Hugh!” exclaimed the
two companions of the scout, who had continued until this part of the dialogue,
seated, immoveable, and apparently indifferent to what passed, but who now
sprang to their feet with an activity and interest that had evidently gotten
the better of their reserve, by surprise.
“A Huron!” repeated the
sturdy scout, once more shaking his head in open distrust; “they are a thievish
race, nor do I care by whom they are adopted; you can never make any thing of
them but skulks and vagabonds. Since you trusted yourself to the care of one of
that nation, I only wonder that you have not fallen in with more.”
“Of that there is
little danger, since William Henry is so many miles in our front. You forget
that I have told you our guide is now a Mohawk, and that he serves with our
forces as a friend.”
“And I tell you that he
who is born a Mingo will die a Mingo,” returned the other, positively. “A Mohawk!
No, give me a Delaware or a Mohican for honesty; and when they will fight,
which they won’t all do, having suffered their cunning enemies, the Maquas, to
make them women--but when they will fight at all, look to a Delaware or a
Mohican for a warrior!”
“Enough of this,” said
Heyward, impatiently; “I wish not to inquire into the character of a man that I
know, and to whom you must be a stranger. You have not yet answered my
question; what is our distance from the main army at Edward?”
“It seems that may
depend on who is your guide. One would think such a horse as that might get
over a good deal of ground atwixt sun-up and sun-down.”
“I wish no contention
of idle words with you, friend,” said Heyward, curbing his dissatisfied manner,
and speaking in a more gentle voice; “if you will tell me the distance to Fort
Edward, and conduct me thither, your labour shall not go without its reward.”
“And in so doing, how
know I that I don’t guide an enemy, and a spy of Montcalm, to the works of the
army? It is not every man who can speak the English tongue that is an honest
subject.”
“If you serve with the
troops of whom I judge you to be a scout, you should know of such a regiment of
the king as the 60th.”
“The 60th! you can tell
me but little of the Royal Americans that I don’t know, though I do wear a
hunting shift, instead of a scarlet jacket.”
“Well, then, among
other things, you may know the name of its major?”
“Its major!”
interrupted the hunter, elevating his body like one who was proud of his trust.
“If there is a man in the country who knows Major Effingham, he stands before
you.”
“It is corps which has
many majors; the gentleman you name is the senior, but I speak of the junior of
them all; he who commands the companies in garrison at William Henry.”
“Yes, yes, I have heard
that a young gentleman of vastriches, from one of the provinces far south, has
got the place. He is over young, too, to hold such rank, and to be put above
men whose heads are beginning to bleach; and yet they say he is a soldier in
his knowledge, and a gallant gentleman!”
“Whatever he may be, or
however he may be qualified for his rank, he now speaks to you, and of course
can be no enemy to dread.”
The scout regarded
Heyward a moment in surprise, and then lifting his cap, he answered, in a tone
less confident than before--though still expressing doubt--
“I have heard a party
was to leave the encampment, this morning, for the lake shore?”
“You have heard the
truth; but I preferred a nearer route, trusting to the knowledge of the Indian
I mentioned.”
“And he deceived you,
and then deserted?”
“Neither, as I believe;
certainly not the latter, for he is to be found in the rear.”
“I should like to look
at the creatur; if it is a true Iroquois I can tell him by his knavish look,
and by his paint,” said the scout, stepping past the charger of Heyward, and
entering the path behind the mare of the singing master, whose foal had taken
advantage of the halt to exact the maternal contributions. After shoving aside
the bushes, and proceeding a few paces, he encountered the females, who awaited
the result of the conference with anxiety, and not entirely without
apprehension. Behind these, again, the runner leaned against a tree, where he
stood the close examination of the scout with an air unmoved, though with a
look so dark and savage, that it might in itself excite fear. Satisfied with
his scrutiny, the hunter soon left him. As he repassed the females, he paused a
moment to gaze upon their beauty, answering to the smile and nod of Alice with a
look of open pleasure. Thence he went to the side of the motherly animal, and
spending a minute in a fruitless inquiry into the character of her rider, he
shook his head and returned to Heyward. “A Mingo is a Mingo, and God having
made him so, neither the Mohawks nor any other tribe can alter him,” he said,
when he had regained his former position. “If we were alone, and you would
leave that noble horse at the mercy of the wolves to night, I could show you
the way to Edward myself within an hour, for it lies only about an hour’s
journey hence; but with such ladies in your company, ’tis impossible!”
“And why? they are
fatigued, but are quite equal to a ride of a few more miles.”
“’Tis a natural
impossibility!” repeated the scout, with a determined air. “I wouldn’t walk a
mile in these woods after night gets into them, in company with that runner,
for the best rifle in the colonies. They are full of outlying Iroquois, and
your mongrel Mohawk knows where to find them too well, to be my companion.”
“Think you so,” said
Heyward, leaning forward in the saddle, and dropping his voice nearly to a
whisper; “I confess I have not been without my own suspicions, though I have
endeavoured to conceal them, and affected a confidence I have not always felt,
on account of my companions. It was because I suspected him, that I would
follow no longer; making him, as you see, follow me.”
“I knew he was one of
the cheats as soon as I laid eyes on him!” returned the scout, placing his
finger on his nose in sign of caution. “The thief is leaning against the foot
of the sugar sapling that you can see over them bushes; his right leg is in a
line with the bark of the tree, and,” tapping his rifle, “I can take him, from
where I stand, between the ankle and the knee, with a single shot, putting an
end of his tramping through the woods for at least a month to come. If I should
go back to him, the cunning varmint would suspect something, and be dodging
through the trees like any frightened deer.”
“It will not do. He may
be innocent, and I dislike the act. Though, if I felt confident of his
treachery”--
“’Tis a safe thing to
calculate on the knavery of an Iroquois,” said the scout, throwing his rifle
forward, by a sort of instinctive movement.
“Hold!” interrupted
Heyward; “it will not do-- we must think of some other scheme;--and yet I have
much reason to believe the rascal has deceived me.”
The hunter, who had
already abandoned his intention to maim the runner, at the orders of his
superior, mused a moment, and then made a gesture, which instantly brought his
two red companions to his side. They spoke together earnestly in the Delaware
language, though in an under tone, and by the gestures of the white man, which
were frequently directed towards the top of the sapling, it was evident he
pointed out the situation of their hidden enemy. His companions were not long
in comprehending his wishes, and laying aside their fire-arms, they parted,
taking opposite sides of the path, and burying themselves in the thicket, with
such cautions movements, that their steps were inaudible.
“Now go you back,” said
the hunter, speaking again to Heyward, “and hold the imp in talk; these
Mohicans here, will take him, without breaking his paint.”
“Nay,” said Heyward,
proudly, “I will seize him myself.”
“Hist! what could you
do, mounted, against an Indian, in the bushes?”
“But I will dismount.”
“And, think you, when
he saw one of your feet out of the stirrup, he would wait for the other to be
free! Whoever comes into the woods to deal with the natives, must use Indian
fashions, if he would wish to prosper in his undertakings. Go, then; talk
openly to the miscreant, and seem to believe him the truest friend you have on ’arth.”
Heyward prepared to
comply, though with strong disgust at the nature of the office he was compelled
to execute. Each moment, however, pressed upon him a conviction of the critical
situation in which he had suffered his invaluable trust to be involved, through
his own fearless confidence. The sun had already disappeared, and the woods, suddenly
deprived of his light, were assuming a dusky hue, which keenly reminded him,
that the hour the savage usually chose for his most barbarous and remorseless
acts of vengeance or hostility, was speedily drawing at hand. Stimulated by
these quickened apprehensions, he left the scout, without reply, who
immediately entered into a loud conversation with the stranger that had so
unceremoniously enlisted himself in the party of the travellers that morning.
In passing his gentler companions, Heyward uttered a few words of
encouragement, and was pleased to find that, though fatigued with the exercise
of the day, they appeared to entertain no suspicion that their present
embarrassment was other than the result of accident. Giving them reason to
believe he was merely employed in a consultation concerning their future route,
he spurred his charger, and drew the reins again when the animal had carried
him within a few yards of the place, where the sullen runner still stood
leaning against the tree.
“You may see, Magua,”
he said, endeavouring to assume an air of freedom and confidence, “that the
night is closing around us, and yet we are no nearer to William Henry than when
we left the encampment of Webb, with the sun. You have missed the way, nor have
I been more fortunate. But, happily, we have fallen in with a hunter, he whom
you hear talking to the singer, that is acquainted with the deer-paths and
by-ways of the woods, and who promises to lead us to a place where we may rest
securely till the morning.”
The Indian riveted his
glowing eyes on Heyward as he asked, in his imperfect English, “Is he alone?”
“Alone!” hesitatingly
answered Heyward, to whom deception was too new to be assumed without
embarrassment. “Oh! not alone, surely, Magua, for you know that we are with
him.”
“Then le Renard Subtil
will go,” returned the runner, coolly raising his little wallet from the place
where it had lain at his feet; “and the pale faces will see none but their own
colour.”
“Go! Whom call you le
Renard?”
“’Tis the name his Canada
fathers have given to Magua,” returned the runner, with an air that manifested
his pride at the distinction, though probably quite ignorant of the character
conveyed by the appellation. “Night is the same as day to le Subtil, when Munro
waits for him.”
“And what account will
le Renard give the chief of William Henry concerning his daughters? will he
dare to tell the hot-blooded Scotsman that his children are left without a
guide, though Magua promised to be one?”
“The gray head has a
loud voice, and a long arm, but will le Renard hear him or feel him in the
woods?” returned the wary runner.
“But what will the
Mohawks say! They will make him petticoats, and bid him stay in the wigwam with
the women, for he is no longer to be trusted with the business of a man.”
“Le Subtil knows the
path to the great lakes, and can find the bones of his fathers,” was the answer
of the unmoved runner.
“Enough, Magua,” said
Heyward; “are we not friends! why should there be bitter words between us?
Munro has promised you a gift for your services when performed, and I shall be
your debtor for another. Rest your weary limbs, then, and open your wallet to
eat. We have a few moments to spare; let us not waste them in talk like
wrangling women. When the ladies are refreshed we will proceed.”
“The pale faces make
themselves dogs to their women,” muttered the Indian, in his native language. “and
when they want to eat, their warriors must lay aside the tomahawk to feed their
laziness.”
“What say you, Renard?”
“Le Subtil says it is
good.”
The Indian then
fastened his eyes keenly on the open countenance of Heyward, but meeting his
glance, he turned them quickly away, and seating himself deliberately on the
ground, he drew forth the remnant of some former repast, and began to eat,
though not without first bending his looks slowly and cautiously around him.
“This is well,”
continued Heyward; “and le Renard will have strength and sight to find the path
in the morning;”--he paused, for sounds like the snapping of a dried stick, and
the rustling of leaves, rose from the adjacent bushes, but recollecting himself
instantly continued--“we must be moving before the sun is seen, or Montcalm may
lie in our path, and shut us out from the fortress.”
The hand of Magua
dropped from his mouth to his side, and though his eyes were fastened on the
ground, his head was turned aside, his nostrils expanded, and his ears seemed
even to stand more erect than usual, giving to him the appearance of a statue
that was made to represent intense attention.
Heyward, who watched
his movements with a vigilant eye, carelessly extricated one of his feet from
the stirrup, while he passed a hand towards the bear-skin covering of his
holsters. Every effort to detect the point most regarded by the runner, was
completely frustrated by the tremulous glances of his organs, which seemed not
to rest a single instant on any particular object, and which, at the same time,
could be hardly said to move. While he hesitated how to proceed, le Subtil
cautiously raised himself to his feet. though with a motion so slow and
guarded, that not the slightest noise was produced by the change. Heyward felt
it had now become incumbent on him to act; throwing his leg over the saddle, he
dismounted, with a determination to advance and seize his treacherous
companion, trusting the result to his own manhood. In order, however, to
prevent unnecessary alarm, he still preserved an air of calmness and
friendship.
“Le Renard Subtil does
not eat,” he said, using the appellation he had found most flattering to the
vanity of the Indian. “His corn is not well parched, and seems dry. Let me
examine; perhaps something may be found among my own provisions that will help
his appetite.”
Magua held out the
wallet to meet the proffer of the other. He even suffered their hands to meet,
without betraying the least emotion, or varying his riveted attitude of
attention. But when he felt the fingers of Heyward moving gently along his own
naked arm, he struck up the limb of the young man, and uttering a piercing cry,
as he darted beneath it, plunged, at a single bound, into the opposite thicket.
At the next instant, the form of Chingachgook appeared from the bushes, looking
like a spectre in its paint, and glided across the path in swift pursuit. Next
followed the shout of Uncas, when the woods were lighted by a sudden flash,
that was accompanied by the sharp report of the hunter’s rifle.
--In such a night, Did
Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew;
And saw the lion’s
shadow ere himself.”--
Merchant of Venice
The suddenness of the
flight of his guide, and the wild cries of the pursuers, caused Heyward to
remain fixed, for a few moments, in inactive surprise. Then recollecting the
importance of securing the fugitive, he dashed aside the surrounding bushes,
and pressed eagerly forward to lend his aid in the chase. Before he had,
however, proceeded a hundred yards, he met the three foresters already
returning from their unsuccessful pursuit.
“Why so soon
disheartened!” he exclaimed; “the scoundrel must be concealed behind some of
these trees, and may yet be secured. We are not safe while he goes at large.”
“Would you set a cloud
to chase the wind?” returned the disappointed scout; “I heard the imp, brushing
over the dry leaves, like a black snake, and blinking a glimpse of him, just
over ag’in you big pine, I pulled as it might be on the scent; but ’twouldn’t
do! and yet for a reasoning aim, if any body but myself had touched the
trigger, I should call it a quick sight; and I may be accounted to have experience
in these matters, and one who ought to know. Look at this sumach; its leaves
are red, though every body knows the fruit is in the yellow blossom, in the
month of July!”
“’Tis the blood of le
Subtil! he is hurt, and may yet fall!”
“No, no,” returned the
scout, in decided disapprobation of this opinion, “I rubbed the bark off a
limb. perhaps, but the creatur leaped the longer for it. A rifle bullet acts on
a running animal, when it barks him, much the same as one of your spurs on a
horse; that is, it quickens motion, and puts life into the flesh, instead of
taking it away. But when it cuts the ragged hole, after a bound or two, there
is, commonly, a stagnation of further leaping, be it Indian or be it deer!”
“We are four able
bodies, to one wounded man!”
“Is life grievous to
you?” interrupted the scout. “Yonder red devil would draw you within swing of
the tomahawks of his comrades, before you were heated in the chase. It was an
unthoughtful act, in a man who has so often slept with the war-hoop ringing in
the air, to let off his piece, within sound of an ambushment! But, then it was
a natural temptation! ’twas very natural! Come, friends, let us move our
station, and in such a fashion, too, as will throw the cunning of a Mingo on a
wrong scent, or our scalps will be drying in the wind in front of Montcalm’s
marquee, ag’in this hour to-morrow’s sun-down.”
This appalling
declaration, which the scout uttered with the cool assurance of a man who fully
comprehended, while he did not fear to face the danger, served to remind
Heyward of the importance of the charge with which he himself had been
intrusted. Glancing his eyes around, with a vain effort to pierce the gloom
that was thickening beneath the leafy arches of the forest, he felt as if, cut
off from all human aid, his unresisting companions would soon lay at the entire
mercy of their barbarous enemies, who, like beasts of prey, only waited till
the gathering darkness might render their blows more fatally certain. His
awakened imagination, deluded by the deceptive light, converted each waving
bush, or the fragment of some fallen tree, into human forms, and twenty times
he fancied he could distinguish the horrid visages of his lurking foes, peering
from their hiding places, in neverceasing watchfulness of the movements of his
party. Looking upward, he found that the thin fleecy clouds, which evening had
painted on the blue sky, were already losing their faintest tints of
rose-colour, while the embedded stream which glided past the spot where he
stood, was to be traced only by the dark boundary of its wooded banks.
“What is then to be
done?” he said, feeling the utter helplessness of doubt in such a pressing
strait; “desert me not, for God’s sake! remain to defend those I escort, and
freely name your own reward!”
His companions, who
conversed apart in the language of their tribe, heeded not this sudden and
earnest appeal. Though their dialogue was maintained in low and cautious
sounds, but little above a whisper, Heyward, who now approached, could easily
distinguish the earnest tones of the younger warrior. from the more deliberate
speeches of his senior. It was evident, that they debated on the propriety of
some measure, that nearly concerned the welfare of the travellers. Yielding to
his powerful interest in the subject, and impatient of a delay that seemed
fraught with so much additional danger, Heyward drew still nigher to the dusky
groupe, with an intention of making his offers of compensation more definite,
when the white man, motioning with his hand as if he conceded the disputed
point, turned away, saying in a sort of soliloquy, and in the English tongue:--
“Uncas is right! it
would not be the act of men, to leave such harmless things to their fate, even
though it breaks up the harbouring place for ever. If you would save these
tender blossoms from the fangs of the worst of sarpents, gentleman, you have
neither time to lose nor resolution to throw away!”
“How can such a wish be
doubted! have I not already offered”--
“Offer your prayers to
Him, who can give us wisedom to carcumvent the cunning of the devils who fill
these woods,” calmly interrupted the scout, “but spare your offers of money,
which neither you may live to realize, nor I to profit by. These Mohicans and
I, will do what man’s thoughts can invent, to keep such flowers, which, though
so sweet, were never made for the wilderness, from harm, and that without hope
of any other recompense but such as God always gives to upright dealings.
First, you must promise two things, both in your own name, and for your
friends, or without serving you, we shall only injure ourselves!”
“Name them.”
“The one is to be still
as these sleeping woods, let what will happen; and the other, is to keep the
place where we shall take you forever a secret from all mortal men.”
“I will do my utmost to
see both these conditions fulfilled.”
“Then follow, for we
are losing moments that are as precious as the heart’s blood to a stricken
deer!”
Heyward could
distinguish the impatient gesture of the scout, through the increasing shadows
of the evening, and moved in his footsteps, swiftly, towards the place where he
had left the remainder of his party. When they rejoined the expecting and
anxious females, he briefly acquainted them with the conditions of their new
guide, and with the necessity that existed for their hushing every
apprehension, in instant and serious exertions. Although his alarming
communication was not received without much secret terror by the listeners, his
earnest and impressive manner, aided perhaps by the nature of their danger,
succeeded in bracing their nerves to undergo some unlooked for and unusual
trial. Silently, and without a moment’s delay, they permitted him to assist
them from their saddles, when they descended, quickly, to the water’s edge,
where the scout had collected the rest of the party, more by the agency of his
expressive gestures than by any use of words.
“What to do with these
dumb creaturs!” muttered the white man, on whom the sole control of their
future movements appeared to devolve; “it would be time lost to cut their
throats, and cast them into the river; and to leave them here, would be to tell
the Mingoes that they have not far to seek to find their owners!”
“Then give them their
bridles, and let them range the woods!” Heyward ventured to suggest.
“No; it would be better
to mislead the imps, and make them believe they must equal a horse’s speed to
run down their chase. Ay, ay, that will blind their fire-balls of eyes!
Chingach--Hist! what stirs the bush?”
“The colt.”
“That colt, at least,
must die,” muttered the scout, grasping at the mane of the nimble beast, which
easily eluded his hand; “Uncas, your arrows!”
“Hold!” exclaimed the
proprietor of the condemned animal, aloud, without regard to the whispering
tones used by the others; “spare the foal of Miriam! it is a comely offspring
of a faithful dam, and would, willingly, injure naught.”
“When men struggle for
the single life God has given them,” said the scout, sternly, “even their own
kind seem no more than the beasts of the wood. If you speak again, I shall
leave you to the mercy of the Maquas! Draw to your arrow’s head, Uncas; we have
not time for second blows!”
The low, muttering
sounds of his threatening voice, were still audible, when the wounded foal,
first rearing on its hinder legs, plunged forward to its knees. It was met by
Chingachgook, whose knife passed across its throat quicker than thought, and
then precipitating the motion of the struggling victim, he dashed it into the
river, down whose stream it glided away, gasping audibly for breath with its
ebbing life. This deed of apparent cruelty, but of real necessity, fell upon
the spirits of the travellers, like a terrific warning of the peril in which
they stood, heightened, as it was, by the calm though steady resolution of the
actors in the scene. The sisters shuddered, and clung closer to each other,
while Heyward, instinctively, laid his hand on one of the pistols he had just
drawn from their holsters, as he placed himself between his charge and those
dense shadows, that seemed to draw an impenetrable veil before the bosom of the
forest.
The Indians, however,
hesitated not a moment, but taking the bridles, they led the frightened and
reluctant horses down into the bed of the river.
At a short distance
from the shore, they turned, and were soon concealed by the projection of the
bank, under the brow of which they moved, in a direction opposite to the course
of the waters. In the mean time, the scout drew a canoe of bark from its place
of concealment beneath some low bushes, whose branches were waving with the
eddyings of the current, into which he silently motioned the females to enter.
They complied without hesitation, though many a fearful and anxious glance was
thrown behind them, towards the thickening gloom, which now lay like a dark
barrier along the margin of the stream.
So soon as Cora and
Alice were seated, the scout, without regarding the element, directed Heyward
to support one side of the frail vessel, and posting himself at the other, they
bore it up against the stream, followed by the dejected owner of the dead foal.
In this manner they proceeded, for many rods, in a silence that was only
interrupted by the rippling of the water, as its eddies played around them, or
the low dash made by their own cautious footsteps. Heyward yielded the guidance
of the canoe, implicitly, to the scout, who approached or receded from the
shore, to avoid the fragments of rocks, or deeper parts of the river, with a
readiness that showed his knowledge of the route they held. Occasionally he
would stop; and in the midst of a breathing stillness, that the dull but
increasing roar of the waterfall only served to render more impressive, he
would listen with painful intenseness to catch any living sounds that might
arise from the slumbering forest. When assured that all was still, and unable
to detect, even by the aid of his practised senses, any sign of approaching
foes, he would deliberately resume his slow and guarded progress. At length
they reached a point in the river, where the roving eye of Heyward became
riveted on a cluster of black objects, which had collected at a spot where the
high bank threw a deeper shadow than usual on the dark waters. Hesitating to
advance, he pointed out the place to the attention of his companion.
“Ay,” returned the
composed scout, “the Indians have hid the beasts with the judgment of natives!
Water leaves no trail, and an owl’s eyes would be blinded by the darkness of
such a hole.”
The whole party was
soon reunited, and another consultation was held between the scout and his new
comrades, during which, they, whose fates depended on the faith and ingenuity
of these unknown foresters, had a little leisure to observe their situation
more minutely.
The river was confined
between high and cragged rocks, one of which impended above the spot where the
canoe rested. As these, again, were surmounted by tall trees, which appeared to
totter on the brows of the precipice, it gave the stream the appearance of
running through a deep and narrow dell. All beneath the fantastic limbs and
ragged tree-tops, which were, here and there, dimly painted against the starry
zenith, lay alike in shadowed obscurity. Behind them, the curvature of the
banks soon bounded the view, by the same dark and wooded outline; but in front,
and apparently at no great distance, the water seemed piled against the
heavens, whence it tumbled into caverns, out of which issued those sullen
sounds, that had loaded the evening atmosphere. It seemed, in truth, to be a
spot devoted to seclusion, and the sisters imbibed a soothing impression of
increased security, as they gazed upon its romantic, though not unappalling
beauties. A general movement among their conductors, however, soon recalled
them from a contemplation of the wild charms that night had assisted to lend
the place, to a painful sense of their real peril.
The horses had been
secured to some scattering shrubs that grew in the fissures of the rocks,
where, standing in the water, they were left to pass the night. The scout
directed Heyward and his disconsolate fellow travellers to seat themselves in
the forward end of the canoe, and took possession of the other himself, as
erect and steady as if he floated in a vessel of much firmer materials. The
Indians warily retraced their steps towards the place they had left, when the
scout, placing his pole against a rock, by a powerful shove, sent his frail
bark directly into the centre of the turbulent stream. For many minutes the
struggle between the light bubble in which they floated, and the swift current,
was severe and doubtful. Forbidden to stir even a hand, and almost afraid to
breathe, lest they should expose the frail fabric to the fury of the stream,
the anxious passengers watched the glancing waters in feverish suspense. Twenty
times they thought the whirling eddies were sweeping them to destruction, when
the master-hand of their pilot would bring the bows of the canoe to stem the
rapid, and their eyes glanced over a confused mass of the murmuring element--so
swift was the passage between it and their little vessel. A long, a vigorous,
and, as it appeared to the females, a desperate effort, closed the scene. Just
as Alice veiled her eyes in horror, under the impression that they were about
to be swept within the vortex at the foot of the cataract, the canoe floated,
stationary, at the side of a flat rock, that lay on a level with the water.
“Where are we? and what
is next to be done?” demanded Heyward, perceiving that the exertions of the
scout had ceased.
“You are at the foot of
Glenn’s,” returned the other, speaking aloud, without fear of consequences,
within the roar of the cataract; “and the next thing is to make a steady
landing, lest the canoe upsets, and you should go down again the hard road we
have travelled, faster than you came up it; ’tis a hard rift to stem, when the
river is a little swelled; and five is an unnatural number to keep dry in the
hurry-skurry, with a little birchen bark, and gum. There, go you all on the
rock, and I will bring up the Mohicans with the venison. A man had better sleep
without his scalp, than famish in the midst of plenty.”
His passengers gladly
complied with these directions. As the last foot touched the rock, the canoe
whirled from its station, when the tall form of the scout was seen, for an
instant, gliding above the waters, before it disappeared in the impenetrable
darkness that rested on the bed of the river. Left by their guide, the
travellers remained a few minutes in helpless ignorance, afraid even to move
along the broken rocks, lest a false step should precipitate them down some one
of the many deep and roaring caverns, into which the water seemed to tumble, on
every side of them. Their suspense, however, was soon relieved; for, aided by
the skill of the natives, the canoe shot back into the eddy, and floated again
at the side of the low rock, before they thought the scout had even time to
rejoin his companions.
“We are now fortified,
garrisoned, and provisioned,” cried Heyward, cheerfully, “and may set Montcalm
and his allies at defiance. How, now, my vigilant sentinel, can you see any
thing of those you call the Iroquois on the main land?”
“I call them Iroquois,
because to me every native, who speaks a foreign tongue, is accounted an enemy,
though he may pretend to serve the king! If Webb wants faith and honesty in a
Indian, let him bring out the tribes of the Delawares, and send these greedy
and lying Mohawks and Oneidas, with their six nations of varlets, where in
nature they belong, among the outlandish Frenchmen!”
“We should then exchange
a warlike for a useless friend! I have heard that the Delawares have laid aside
the hatchet, and are content to be called women!”
“Ay, shame on the
Hollanders and Iroquois, who carcumvented them by their deviltries into such a
treaty! But I have known them for twenty years, and will call him liar, that
says cowardly blood runs in the veins of a Delaware. You have driven their
tribes from the sea-shore, and would now believe what their enemies say, that
you may sleep at night upon an easy pillow. No, no; to me, every Indian who
speaks a foreign tongue is an Iroquois, whether the castle of his tribe be in
Canada or be in York.”
Heyward perceiving that
the stubborn adherence of the scout to the cause of his friends the Delawares
or Mohicans, for they were branches of the same numerous people, was likely to
prolong a useless discussion, adroitly changed the subject.
“Treaty or no treaty, I
know full well, that your two companions are brave and cautious warriors! have
they then heard or seen any thing of our enemies?”
“An Indian is a mortal
to be felt afore he is seen,” returned the scout, ascending the rock, and
throwing the deer carelessly down. “I trust to other signs than such as come in
at the eye, when I am outlying on the trail of the Mingoes.”
“Do your ears tell you
that they have traced our retreat?”
“I should be sorry to
think they had, though this is a spot that stout courage might hold for a smart
skrimmage. I will not deny, however, but the horses cowered when I passed them,
as though they scented the wolves; and a wolf is a beast that is apt to hover
about an Indian ambushment, craving the offals of the deer the savages kill.”
“You forget the buck at
your feet! or, may we not owe their visit to the dead colt? Ha! what noise is
that!”
“Poor Miriam,” murmured
the stranger, uttering less equivocal sounds; “thy foal was foreordained to
become a prey to ravenous beasts!” Then suddenly lifting his voice amid the
eternal din of the waters, he sang aloud--
“First born of Egypt,
smite did he,
Of mankind, and of
beast also;
O Egypt! wonders sent ’midst
thee,
On Pharaoh and his
servants too!”
“The death of the colt
sits heavy on the heart of its owner,” said the scout; “but it’s a good sign to
see a man account upon his dumb friends. He has the religion of the matter, in
believing what is to happen will happen; and with such a consolation, it wont
be long afore he submits to the rationality of killing a four-footed beast, to
save the lives of human men. It may be as you say,” he continued, reverting to
the purport of Heyward’s last remark; “and the greater the reason why we should
cut our steaks, and let the carcass drive down the stream, or we shall have the
pack howling along the cliffs, begrudging every mouthful we swallow. Besides,
though the Delaware tongue is the same as a book to the Iroquois, the cunning
varlets are quick enough at understanding the reason of a wolf’s howl.”
The scout, whilst
making his remarks, was busied in collecting certain necessary implements; as
he concluded, he moved silently by the groupe of travellers, accompanied by the
Mohicans, who seemed to comprehend his intentions with instinctive readiness,
when the whole three disappeared in succession, seeming to vanish against the
dark face of a perpendicular rock, that rose to the height of a few yards,
within as many feet of the water’s edge.
“Those strains that
once did sweet in Zion glide;
He wales a portion with
judicious care;
And let us worship God,
he says, with solemn air.”
--Burns.
Heyward, and his female
companions, witnessed this mysterious movement with secret uneasiness; for,
though the conduct of the white man had hitherto been above reproach, his rude
equipments, blunt address, and strong antipathies, together with the character
of his silent associates, were all causes for exciting distrust in minds that
had been so recently alarmed by Indian treachery. The stranger alone
disregarded the passing incidents. He seated himself on a projection of the
rocks, whence he gave no other signs of consciousness, than by the struggles of
his spirit, as manifested in frequent and heavy sighs. Smothered voices were
next heard, as though men called to each other in the bowels of the earth, when
a sudden light flashed upon the vision of those without, and laid bare the much
prized secret of the place.
At the farther
extremity of a narrow, deep, cavern in the rock, whose length appeared much
extended by the perspective and the nature of the light by which it was seen,
was seated the scout, holding a blazing knot of pine. The strong glare of the
fire fell full upon his sturdy, weather-beaten countenance and forest attire,
lending an air of romantic wildness to the aspect of an individual, who, seen
by the sober light of day, would have exhibited the peculiarities of a man
remarkable for the strangeness of his dress, the iron-like inflexibility of his
frame, and the singular compound of quick, vigilant sagacity, and of exquisite
simplicity, that by turns usurped the possession of his muscular features. At a
little distance in advance stood Uncas, his whole person thrown powerfully into
view by its situation and proximity. The travellers anxiously regarded the
upright, flexible figure of the young Mohican, graceful and unrestrained in the
attitudes and movements of nature. Though his person was more than usually
skreened by a green and fringed hunting shirt, like that of the white man,
there was no concealment to his dark, glancing, fearless eye, alike terrible
and calm; the bold outline of his high, haughty features, pure in their native
red; or to the dignified elevation of his receding forehead, together with all
the finest proportions of a noble head, bared to the generous scalping tuft.*
It was the first opportunity possessed by Duncan and his companions, to view
the marked lineaments of either of their Indian attendants, and each individual
of the party felt relieved from a burthen of doubt, as the proud and
determined, though wild, expression of the features of the young warrior forced
itself on their notice. They felt it might be a being partially benighted in
the vale of ignorance, but it could not be one who would willingly devote his
rich natural gifts to the purposes of wanton treachery. The ingenuous Alice
gazed at his free air and proud carriage, as she would have looked upon some
precious relic of the Grecian chisel, to which life had been imparted, by the
intervention of a miracle; while Heyward, though accustomed to see the
perfection of form which abounds among the uncorrupted natives, openly expressed
his admiration at such an unblemished specimen of the noblest proportions of
man.
“I could sleep in
peace,” whispered Alice, in reply, “with such a fearless and generous looking
youth for my sentinel. Surely, Duncan, those cruel murders, those terrific scenes
of torture, of which we read and hear so much, are never acted in the presence
of such as he!”
“This, certainly, is a
rare and brilliant instance of those natural qualities, in which these peculiar
people are said to excel,” he answered. “I agree with you, Alice, in thinking
that such a front and eye were formed rather to intimidate than to deceive; but
let us not practise a deception on ourselves, by expecting any other exhibition
of what we esteem virtue, than according to the fashion of a savage. As bright
examples of great qualities are but too uncommon among christians, so are they
singular and solitary with the Indians; though, for the honour of our common
nature, neither are incapable of producing them. Let us then hope, that this
Mohican may not disappoint our wishes, and prove, what his looks assert him to
be, a brave and constant friend.”
“Now Major Heyward
speaks, as Major Heyward should,” murmured Cora; “who, that looks at this
creature of nature, remembers the shades of his skin!”
A short, and apparently
an embarrassed, silence succeeded this characteristic remark, which was
interrupted by the scout calling to them aloud, to enter.
“This fire begins to
show too bright a flame,” he continued, as they complied, “and might light the
Mingoes to our undoing. Uncas, drop the blanket, and show the knaves its dark
side. This is not such a supper as a major of the royal Americans has a right
to expect, but I’ve known stout detachments of the corps glad to eat their
venison raw, and without a relish too. Here, you see, we have plenty of salt,
and can make a quick broil. There’s fresh saxafrax boughs for the ladies to sit
on, which may not be as proud as their my-hog-guinea chairs, but which sends up
a sweeter flavour than the skin of any hog can do, be it of Guinea, or be it of
any other land. Come, friend, dont be mournful for the colt; ’twas an innocent
thing, and had not seen much hardship. Its death will save the creatur many a
sore back and weary foot!”
Uncas did as the other
had directed, and when the voice of Hawk-eye ceased, the roar of the cataract
sounded like the rumbling of distant thunder.
“Are we quite safe in
this cavern?” demanded Heyward. “Is there no danger of surprise? A single armed
man, at its entrance, would hold us at his mercy.”
A spectral looking
figure stalked from out the darkness behind the scout, and seizing a blazing
brand, held it towards the further extremity of their place of retreat. Alice
uttered a faint shriek, and even Cora rose to her feet, as this appalling object
moved into the light; but a single word from Heyward calmed them, with the
assurance it was only their attendant, Chingachgook, who, lifting another
blanket, discovered that the cavern had two outlets. Then, holding the brand,
he crossed a deep, narrow chasm in the rocks, which ran at right angles with
the passage they were in, but which, unlike that, was open to the heavens, and
entered another cave, answering to the description of the first, in every
essential particular.
“Such old foxes as
Chingachgook and myself, are not often caught in a burrow with one hole,” said
Hawk-eye, laughing; “you can easily see the cunning of the place--the rock is
black limestone, which every body knows is soft; it makes no uncomfortable
pillow, where brush and pine wood is scarce; well, the fall was once a few
yards below us, and I dare to say was, in its time, as regular and as handsome
a sheet of water as any along the Hudson. But old age is a great injury to good
looks, as these sweet young ladies have yet to l’arn! The place is sadly
changed! These rocks are full of cracks, and in some places, they are softer
than at othersome, and the water has worked out deep hollows for itself, until
it has fallen back, ay, some hundred feet, breaking here, and wearing there,
until the falls have neither shape nor consistency.”
“In what part of them
are we?” asked Heyward.
“Why, we are nigh by
the spot that Providence first placed them at, but where, it seems, they were
too rebellious to stay. The rock proved softer on either side of us, and so
they left the centre of the river bare and dry, first working out these two
little holes for us to hide in.”
“We are then on an
island?”
“Ay! there are the
falls on two sides of us, and the river above and below. If you had daylight,
it would be worth the trouble to step up on the height of this rock, and look
at the perversity of the water It falls by no rule at all; sometimes it leaps,
sometimes it tumbles; there, it skips; here, it shoots; in one place ’tis white
as snow, and in another ’tis green as grass; hereabouts, it pitches into deep
hollows, that rumble and quake the ’arth; and thereaway, it ripples and sings
like a brook, fashioning whirlpools and gullies in the old stone, as if ’twas
no harder than trodden clay. The whole design of the river seems disconcerted.
First it runs smoothly, as if meaning to go down the descent as things were
ordered; then it angles about and faces the shores; nor are there places
wanting, where it looks backward, as if unwilling to leave the wilderness, to
mingle with the salt! Ay, lady, the fine cobweb-looking cloth you wear at your
throat, is coarse, and like a fish net, to little spots I can show you, where
the river fabricates all sorts of images, as if, having broke loose from order,
it would try its hand at every thing. And yet what does it amount to! After the
water has been suffered to have its will for a time, like a headstrong man, it
is gathered together by the hand that made it, and a few rods below you may see
it all, flowing on steadily towards the sea, as was foreordained from the first
foundation of the ’arth!”
While his auditors
received a cheering assurance of the security of their place of concealment,
from this untutored description of Glenn’s, they were much inclined to judge
differently from Hawk-eye, of its wild beauties. But they were not in a
situation to suffer their thoughts to dwell on the charms of natural objects;
and, as the scout had not found it necessary to cease his culinary labours
while he spoke, unless to point out, with a broken fork, the direction of some
particularly obnoxious point in the rebellious stream, they now suffered their
attention to be drawn to the necessary though more vulgar consideration of
their supper.
The repast, which was
greatly aided by the addition of a few delicacies, that Heyward had the
precaution to bring with him, when they left their horses, was exceedingly
refreshing to the wearied party. Uncas acted as attendant to the females,
performing all the little offices within his power, with a mixture of dignity
and anxious grace, that served to amuse Heyward, who well knew that it was an
utter innovation on the Indian customs, which forbid their warriors to descend
to any menial employment, especially in favour of their women. As the rites of
hospitality were, however, considered sacred among them, this little departure
from the dignity of manhood excited no audible comment. Had there been one
there sufficiently disengaged to become a close observer, he might have fancied
that the services of the young chief were not entirely impartial. That, while
he tendered to Alice the calabash of sweet water, and the venison in a
trencher, neatly carved from the knot of the pepperage, with sufficient
courtesy, in performing the same offices to her sister, his dark eye lingered
on her rich, speaking, countenance, with a softness that banished the bright
gleams of pride, that were usually glancing there, entirely from their
expression. Once or twice he was compelled to speak, to command the attention
of those he served. In such cases, he made use of English, broken and
imperfect, but sufficiently intelligible, and which he rendered so mild and
musical, by his* deep, guttural voice, that it never failed to cause both
ladies to look up in admiration and astonishment. In the course of these
civilities, a few sentences were exchanged, that served to establish the
appearance of an amicable intercourse between the parties.
In the meanwhile, the
gravity of Chingachgook remained immovable. He had seated himself more within
the circle of light, where the frequent, uneasy glances of his guests were
better enabled to separate the natural expression of his face, from the
artificial terrors of the war-paint. They found a strong resemblance between
father and son, with the difference that might be expected from age and
hardships. The fierceness of his countenance now seemed to slumber, and in its
place was to be seen the quiet, vacant composure, which distinguishes an Indian
warrior, when his faculties are not required for any of the greater purposes of
his existence. It was, however, easy to be seen, by the occasional gleams that
shot across his swarthy visage, that it was only necessary to arouse his
passions in order to give full effect to the terrific device which he had adopted
to intimidate his enemies. On the other hand, the quick, roving eye of the
scout seldom rested. He ate and drank with an appetite that no sense of danger
could disturb, but his vigilance seemed never to desert him. Twenty times the
calabash or the venison was suspended before his lips, while his head was
turned aside, as though he listened to some distant and distrusted sounds--a
movement that never failed to recall his guests from regarding the novelties of
their situation, to a recollection of the alarming reasons that had driven them
to seek it. As these frequent pauses were never followed by any remark, the
momentary uneasiness they created quickly passed away, and was, for a time,
forgotten.
“Come, friend,” said
Hawk-eye, drawing out a keg from beneath a cover of leaves, towards the close
of the repast, and addressing the stranger who sat at his elbow, doing great
justice to his culinary skill, “try a little spruce; ’twill wash away all
thoughts of the colt, and quicken the life in your bosom. I drink to our better
friendship, hoping that a little horseflesh may leave no heart-burnings atween
us. How do you name yourself?”
“Gamut--David Gamut,”
returned the singing. master, mechanically wiping his mouth, preparatory to
washing down his sorrows, in a powerful draught of the woodman’s high-flavoured
and well-laced compound.
“A very good name,”
returned the other, taking breath after a draught, whose length announced how
much he admired his own skill in brewing, “and, I dare say, handed down from
honest forefathers. I’m an admirator of names, though the Christian fashions
fall far below savage customs in this particular. The biggest coward I ever
knew was called Lyon; and his wife, Patience, would scold you out of hearing in
less time than a hunted deer would run a rod. With an Indian ’tis a matter of
conscience; what he calls himself, he generally is--not that Chingachgook,
which signifies big sarpent, is really a snake, big or little; but that he
understands the windings and turnings of human natur, and is silent, and
strikes his enemies when they least expect him. What may be your calling?”
“I am an unworthy
instructor in the art of psalmody.”
“Anan!”
“I teach singing to the
youths of the Connecticut levy.”
“You might be better
employed. The young hounds go laughing and singing too much already through the
woods, when they ought not to breathe louder than a fox in his cover. Can you
use the smooth bore, or handle the rifle?”
“Praised be God, I have
never had occasion to meddle with such murderous implements!”
“Perhaps you understand
the compass, and lay down the water courses and mountains of the wilderness on
paper, in order that they who follow may find places by their given names?”
“I practise no such
employment.”
“You have a pair of
legs that might make a long path seem short! you journey sometimes, I fancy,
with tidings for the general.”
“Never; I follow no
other than my own high vocation, which is instruction in sacred music!”
“ ’Tis a strange
calling!” muttered Hawk-eye, with an inward laugh, “to go through life, like a
cat-bird, mocking all the ups and downs that may happen to come out of other
men’s throats. Well, friend, I suppose it is your gift, and mustn’t be denied
any more than if ’twas shooting, or some other better inclination. Let us hear
what you can do in that way; ’twill be a friendly manner of saying good night,
for ’tis time these ladies should be getting strength for a hard and a long
push, in the pride of the morning, afore the Maquas are stirring.”
“With joyful pleasure do
I consent,” said David, adjusting his iron-rimmed spectacles again, and
producing his beloved little volume, which he immediately tendered to Alice. “What
can be more fitting and consolatory, than to offer up evening praise after a
day of such exceeding jeopardy!”
Alice smiled; but
regarding Heyward, she blushed and hesitated.
“Indulge yourself,” he
whispered; “ought not the suggestion of the worthy namesake of the Psalmist to
have its weight at such a moment?”
Encouraged by his
opinion, Alice did what both her pious inclinations and her keen relish for
gentle sounds, had before so strongly urged upon her. The book was open at a
hymn not ill adapted to their situation, and in which the poet, no longer
goaded by his desire to excel the inspired King of Israel, had discovered some
chastened and respectable powers. Cora betrayed a disposition to support her
sister, and the sacred song proceeded, after the indispensable preliminaries of
the pitch-pipe and the tune had been duly attended to by the methodical David.
The air was solemn and
slow. At times it rose to the fullest compass of the rich voices of the sweet
maidens, who hung over their little book in holy excitement, and again it sunk
so low, that the rushing of the waters ran through their melody like a hollow
accompaniment. The natural taste and true ear of David, governed and modified
the sounds to suit their confined cavern, every crevice and cranny of which was
filled with the thrilling notes of their flexib voices. The Indians riveted
their eyes on the rocks, and listened with an attention that seemed to turn
them into stone. But the scout, who had placed his chin in his hand, with an
expression of cold indifference, gradually suffered his rigid features to
relax, until, as verse succeeded verse, he felt his iron nature subdued, while
his recollection was carried back to his boyhood, when his ears had been
accustomed to listen to similar, though far less sweet, sounds of praise, in
the settlements of the colony. His roving eyes began to moisten, and before the
hymn was ended, large, scalding tears rolled out of fountains that had long
seemed dry, and followed each other down those cheeks that had oftener felt the
storms of heaven, than any testimonials of weakness. The singers were dwelling
on one of those low, dying chords, which the ear devours with such greedy
rapture, as if conscious that it is about to lose them, when a cry, that seemed
neither human, nor earthly, rose in the outward air, penetrating not only the
recesses of the cavern, but to the inmost hearts of all who heard it. It was
followed by a stillness apparently as deep as if the waters had been checked in
their furious progress at such a horrid and unusual interruption?
“What is it?” murmured
Alice, after a few moments of terrible suspense.
“What is it?” repeated
Heyward, aloud.
Neither Hawk-eye, nor
the Indians, made any reply. They listened, as if expecting the sound would be
repeated, with a manner that expressed their own astonishment. At length, they
spoke together, earnestly, in the Delaware language, when Uncas, passing by the
inner and most concealed aperture, cautiously left the cavern. When he had
gone, the scout first spoke in English.
“What it is, or what it
is not, none here can tell; though two of us have ranged the woods for more
than thirty years! I did believe there was no cry that Indian or beast could
make, that my ears had not heard; but this has proved that I was only a vain
and conceited mortal.”
“Was it not, then, the
shout the warriors make when they wish to intimidate their enemies?” asked
Cora, who stood drawing her veil about her person, with a calmness to which her
agitated sister was a stranger.
“No, no; this was bad,
and shocking, and had a sort of unhuman sound; but when you once hear the
war-whoop, you will never mistake it for any thing else! Well, Uncas!” speaking
in the Delaware to the young chief as he re-entered, “what see you? do our
lights shine through the blankets?”
The answer was short,
and apparently decided, being given in the same tongue.
“There is nothing to be
seen without,” continued Hawk-eye, shaking his head in discontent; “and our
hiding-place is still in darkness! Pass into the other cave, you that need it,
and seek for sleep; we must be afoot long before the sun, and make the most of
our time to get to Edward, while the Mingoes are taking their morning nap.”
Cora set the example of
compliance, with a steadiness that taught the more timid Alice the necessity of
obedience. Before leaving the place, however, she whispered a request to Duncan
that he would follow. Uncas raised the blanket for their passage, and as the
sisters turned to thank him for this act of attention, they saw the scout
seated again before the dying embers, with his face resting on his hands, in a
manner which showed how deeply he brooded on the unaccountable interruption,
which had broken up their evening devotions.
Heyward took with him a
blazing knot, which threw a dim light through the narrow vista of their new
apartment. Placing it in a favourable position, he joined the females, who now
found themselves alone with him, for the first time since they had left the
friendly ramparts of fort Edward.
“Leave us not, Duncan,”
said Alice; “we cannot sleep in such a place as this, with that horrid cry
still ringing in our ears!”
“First let us examine
into the security of your fortress,” he answered, “and then we will speak of
rest.”
He approached the
farther end of the cavern, to an outlet, which, like the others, was concealed
by blankets, and removing the thick skreen, breathed the fresh and reviving air
from the cataract. One arm of the river flowed through a deep, narrow ravine,
which its current had worn in the soft rock, directly beneath his feet, forming
an effectual defence, as he believed, against any danger from that quarter; the
water, a few rods above them, plunging, glancing, and sweeping along, in its
most violent and broken manner.
“Nature has made an
impenetrable barrier on this side,” he continued, pointing down the
perpendicular declivity into the dark current, before he dropped the blanket; “and
as you know that good men and true, are on guard in front, I see no reason why
the advice of our honest host should be disregarded. I am certain Cora will
join me in saying, that sleep is necessary to you both!”
“Cora may submit to the
justice of your opinion, though she cannot put it in practice,” returned the
elder sister, who had placed herself by the side of Alice, on a couch of
sassafras; “there would be other causes to chase away sleep, though we had been
spared the shock of this mysterious noise. Ask yourself, Heyward, can daughters
forget the anxiety a father must endure, whose children lodge, he knows not
where or how, in such a wilderness, and in the midst of so many perils!”
“He is a soldier, and
knows how to estimate the chances of the woods.”
“He is a father, and
cannot deny his nature.”
“How kind has he ever
been to all my follies! how tender and indulgent to all my wishes!” sobbed
Alice. “We have been selfish, sister, in urging our visit at such hazard!”
“I may have been rash
in pressing his consent in a moment of so much embarrassment, but I would have
proved to him, that however others might neglect him, in his strait, his
children were faithful!”
“When he heard of your
arrival at Edward,” said Heyward, kindly, “there was a powerful struggle in his
bosom between fear and love; though the latter, heightened, if possible, by so
long a separation, quickly prevailed. ‘It is the spirit of my noble minded Cora
that leads them, Duncan,’ he said, ‘and I will not balk it. Would to God, that
he who holds the honour of our royal master in his guardianship, would show but
half her firmness.’ ”
“And did he not speak
of me, Heyward?” demanded Alice, with jealous affection. “Surely, he forgot not
altogether his little Elsie!”
“That were impossible,
after having known her so well,” returned the young man; “he called you by a
thousand endearing epithets, that I may not presume to use, but to the justice
of which I can warmly testify. Once, indeed, he said--”
Duncan ceased speaking;
for while his eyes were rivetted on those of Alice, who had turned towards him
with the eagerness of filial affection, to catch his words, the same strong,
horrid cry, as before, filled the air, and rendered him mute. A long, breathless
silence succeeded, during which, each looked at the others in fearful
expectation of hearing the sound repeated. At length, the blanket was slowly
raised, and the scout stood in the aperture with a countenance whose firmness
evidently began to give way, before a mystery that seemed to threaten some
unknown danger, against which all his cunning and experience might prove of no
avail.
“They do not sleep. On yonder
cliffs, a grisly band,
I see them sit.”
--Gray
“’Twould be neglecting
a warning that is given for our good, to lie hid any longer,” said Hawk-eye, “when
such sounds are raised in the forest! These gentle ones may keep close, but the
Mohicans and I will watch upon the rock, where I suppose a major of the 60th
would wish to keep us company.”
“Is then our danger so
pressing?” asked Cora.
“He who makes strange
sounds, and gives them out for man’s information, alone knows our danger. I
should think myself wicked unto rebellion against his will, was I to burrow
with such warnings in the air! Even the weak soul, who passes his days in
singing, is stirred by the cry, and, as he says, is ‘ready to go forth to the
battle.’ If’twere only a battle, it would be a thing understood by us all, and
easily managed; but I have heard that when such shrieks are atween heaven and ’arth,
it betokens another sort of warfare!”
“If all our reasons for
fear, my friend, are confirmed to such as proceed from supernatural causes, we
have but little occasion to be alarmed,” continued the undisturbed maiden; “are
you certain that our enemies have not invented some new and ingenious method to
strike us with terror, that their conquest may become more easy?”
“Lady,” returned the
scout, solemnly, “I have listened to all the sounds of the woods for thirty years,
as a man will listen, whose life and death depend so often on the quickness of
his ears. There is no whine of the partner; no whistle of the cat-bird; nor any
invention of the devilish Mingoes, that can cheat me! I have heard the forest
moan like mortal men, in their affliction; often, and again, have I listened to
the wind playing its music in the branches of the girdled trees; and I have
heard the lightning cracking in the air, like the snapping of blazing brush, as
it spitted forth sparks and forked flames; but never have I thought that I
heard more than the pleasure of him, who sported with the things of his hand.
But neither the Mohicans, nor I, who am a white man without a cross, can
explain the cry just heard. We, therefore, believe it a sign given for our
good.”
“It is extraordinary!”
exclaimed Heyward, taking his pistols from the place where he had laid them, on
entering; “be it a sign of peace, or a signal of war, it must be looked to.
Lead the way, my friend; I follow.”
On issuing from their
place of confinement, the whole party instantly experienced a grateful
renovation of their spirits, by exchanging the pent air of their hiding place,
for the cool and invigorating atmosphere, which played around the whirlpools
and pitches of the cataract. A heavy evening breeze swept along the surface of
the river, and seemed to drive the roar of the falls into the recesses of their
own caverns, whence it issued heavily and constant, like thunder rumbling
beyond the distant hills. The moon had risen, and its light was already
glancing here and there on the waters above them; but the extremity of the rock
where they stood still lay in deep shadow. With the exception of the sounds
produced by the rushing waters, and an occasional breathing of the air, as it murmured
past them, in fitful currents, the scene was as still as night and solitude
could make it. In vain were the eyes of each individual bent along the opposite
shores, in quest of some signs of life, that might explain the nature of the
interruption they had heard. Their anxious and eager looks were baffled by the
deceptive light, or rested only on naked rocks, or straight and immovable
trees.
“Here is nothing to be
seen but the gloom and quiet of a lovely evening,” whispered Duncan; “how much
should we prize such a scene, and all this breathing solitude, at any other
moment, Cora! Fancy yourselves in security, and what now, perhaps, increases
your terror, may be made conductive to enjoyment--”
“Listen!” interrupted
Alice.
The caution was
unnecessary. Once more the same sound arose, as if from the bed of the river,
and having broken out of the narrow bounds of the cliffs, was heard undulating
through the forest, in distant and dying cadences.
“Can any here give a
name to such a cry?” demanded Hawk-eye, when the last echo was lost in the
woods; “if so, let him speak; for myself, I judge it not to belong to ’arth!”
“Here, then, is one who
can undeceive you,” said Duncan; “I know the sound full well, for often have I
heard it on the field of battle, and in situations which are frequent in a
soldier’s life. ’Tis the horrid shriek that a horse will give in his agony;
oftener drawn from him in pain, though sometimes in his terror. My charger is
either a prey to the beasts of the forest, or he sees his danger without the
power to avoid it. The sound might deceive me in the cavern, but in the open
air I know I cannot be wrong.”
The scout and his
companions listened to this simple explanation with the interest of men, who
imbibe new ideas, at the same time that they get rid of old ones, which had
proved disagreeable inmates. The two latter uttered their usual and expressive
exclamation, “hugh!” as the truth first glanced upon their minds, while the
former, after a short musing pause, took on himself to reply.
“I cannot deny your
words,” he said; “for I am little skilled in horses, though born where they
abound. The wolves must be hovering above their heads on the bank, and the
timorsome creatures are calling on man for help, in the best manner they are
able. Uncas”--he spoke in Delaware--“Uncas, drop down in the canoe, and whirl a
brand among the pack; or fear may do what the wolves can’t get at to perform,
and leave us without horses in the morning, when we shall have so much need to
journey swiftly
The young native had
already descended to the water, to comply, when a long howl was raised on the
edge of the river, and was borne swiftly off into the depths of the forest, as
though the beasts, of their own accord, were abandoning their prey, in sudden
terror. Uncas, with instinctive quickness, receded, and the three foresters
held another of their low, earnest conferences.
“We have been like
hunters who have lost the points of the heavens, and from whom the sun has been
hid for days,” said Hawk-eye, turning away from his companions; “now we begin
again to know the signs of our course, and the paths are cleared from briars!
Seat yourselves in the shade, which the moon throws from yonder beach--’tis
thicker than that of the pines--and let us wait for that which the Lord may
choose to send next. Let all your conversation be in whispers; though it would
be better, and perhaps, in the end, wiser, if each one held discourse with his
own thoughts for a time.”
The manner of the scout
was seriously impressive, though no longer distinguished by any signs of
unmanly apprehension. It was evident, that his momentary weakness had vanished
with the explanation of a mystery, which his own experience had not served to
fathom; and though he now felt all the realities of their actual condition,
that he was prepared to meet them with the fullest energy of his hardy nature.
This feeling seemed also common to the natives, who placed themselves in
positions which commanded a full view of both shores, while their own persons
were effectually concealed from observation. In such circumstances, common
prudence dictated that Heyward, and his companions, should imitate a caution
that proceeded from so intelligent a source. The young man drew a pile of the
sassafras from the cave, and placing it in the chasm which separated the two
caverns, it was occupied by the sisters; who were thus protected by the rocks
from any missiles, while their anxiety was relieved by the assurance that no
danger could approach without a warning. Heyward himself was posted at hand, so
near that he might communicate with his companions without raising his voice to
a dangerous elevation; while David, in imitation of the woodsmen, bestowed his
person in such a manner among the fissures of the rocks, that his ungainly limbs
were no longer offensive to the eye.
In this manner, hours
passed by without further interruption. The moon reached the zenith, and shed
its mild light, perpendicularly, on the lovely sight of the sisters, slumbering
peacefully in each other’s arms. Duncan cast the wide shawl of Cora before a
spectacle he so much loved to contemplate, and then suffered his own head to
seek a pillow on the rock. David began to utter sounds that would have shocked
his delicate organs in more wakeful moments; in short, all but Hawk-eye and the
Mohicans lost every idea of consciousness, in uncontrollable drowsiness. But
the watchfulness of these vigilant protectors, neither tired nor slumbered.
Immovable as that rock, of which each appeared to form a part, they lay, with their
eyes roving, without intermission, along the dark margin of trees that bounded
the adjacent shores of the narrow stream. Not a sound escaped them; the most
subtle examination could not have told they breathed. It was evident, that this
excess of caution proceeded, from an experience, that no subtlety on the part
of their enemies could deceive. It was, however, continued without any apparent
consequences, until the moon had set, and a pale streak above the tree tops, at
a bend of the river, a little below, announced the approach of day.
Then, for the first
time, Hawk-eye was seen to stir. He crawled along the rock, and shook Duncan
from his heavy slumbers.
“Now is the time to
journey,” he whispered; “awake the gentle ones, and be ready to get into the canoe
when I bring it to the landing place.”
“Have you had a quiet
night,” said Heyward; for myself, I believe sleep has gotten the better of my
vigilance.”
“All is yet still as
midnight. Be silent, but be quick.”
By this time Duncan was
thoroughly awake, and he immediately lifted the shawl from the sleeping fair
ones. The motion caused Cora to raise her hand as if to repulse him, while
Alice murmured, in her soft, gentle voice, “No, no, dear father, we were not
deserted; Duncan was with us.”
“Yes, sweet innocence,”
whispered the delighted youth; “Duncan is here, and while life continue, or
danger remain, he will never quit thee. Cora! Alice! awake! The hour has come
to move!”
A loud shriek from the
younger of the sisters, and the form of the other standing upright before him,
in bewildered horror, was the unexpected answer he received. While the words
were still on the lips of Heyward, there had arisen such a tumult of yells and
cries, as served to drive the swift currents of his own youthful blood, back
from its bounding course into the fountains of his heart. It seemed, for near a
minute, as if the demons of hell had possessed themselves of the air about
them, and were venting their savage humours in barbarous sounds. The cries came
from no particular direction, though it was evident they filled the woods, and,
as the appalled listeners easily imagined, the caverns of the falls, the rocks,
the bed of the river, and the upper air. David raised his tall person in the
midst of the infernal din, with a hand on either ear, exclaiming--
“Whence comes this
discord! Has hell broke loose, that man should utter sounds like these!”
The bright flashes, and
the quick reports of a dozen rifles, from the opposite banks of the stream,
followed this incautious exposure of his person, and left the unfortunate
singing master, senseless, on that rock where he had been so long slumbering.
The Mohicans boldly sent back the intimidating yell of their enemies, who
raised a shout of savage triumph as they witnessed the fall of Gamut. The flash
of rifles was then quick and close between them, but either party was too well
skilled to leave even a limb exposed to the hostile aim. Duncan listened with
intense anxiety for the strokes of the paddle, believing that flight was now
their only refuge. The river glanced by with its ordinary velocity, but the
canoe was no where to be seen on its dark waters. He had just fancied they were
cruelly deserted by the scout, as a stream of flame issued from the rock
beneath him, and a fierce yell, blended with a shriek of agony, announced that
the messenger of death, hurled from the fatal weapon of Hawk-eye, had found a
victim. At this slight repulse the assailants instantly withdrew and,
gradually, the place became still as before the sudden tumult.
Duncan seized the
favourable moment to spring to the body of Gamut, which he bore within the
shelter of the narrow chasm that protected the sisters. In another minute the
whole party was collected in this spot of comparative safety.
“The poor fellow has
saved his scalp,” said Hawk-eye, coolly passing his hand over the head of
David; “but he is a proof that a man may be born with too long a tongue! ’Twas
downright madness to show six feet of flesh and blood, on a naked rock, to the
raging savages; and I only wonder he has escaped with life.”
“Is he not dead!”
demanded Cora, in a voice whose husky tones showed how powerfully, natural
horror struggled with her assumed firmness. “Can we do aught to assist the
wretched man?”
“No, no! the life is in
his heart yet, and after he has slept awhile he will come to himself, and be a
wiser man for it, till the hour of his real time shall come,” returned
Hawk-eye, casting another oblique glance at the insensible body, while he
filled his charger with admirable nicety. “Carry him in, Uncas, and lay him on
the saxafrax. The longer his nap lasts the better it will be for him; as I
doubt whether he can find a proper cover for such a shape on these rocks; and
singing won’t do any good with the Iroquois.”
“You believe, then, the
attack will be renewed?” asked Heyward.
“Do I expect a hungry
wolf will satisfy his craving with a mouthful! They have lost a man, and ’tis
their fashion, when they meet a loss, and fail in the surprise, to fall back;
but we shall have them on again, with new expedients to circumvent us, and
master our scalps. Our main hope,” he continued, raising his rugged
countenance, across which a shade of anxiety just then passed like a darkening
cloud, “will be to keep the rock until Munro can send a party to our help! God
send it may be soon, and under a leader that well knows the Indian customs!”
“You hear our probable
fortunes, Cora,” said Duncan; “and you know we have every thing to hope from
the anxiety and experience of your father. Come, then, with Alice, into this
cavern, where you, at least, will be safe from the murderous rifles of our
enemies, and where you may bestow a care suited to your gentle natures, on our
unfortunate comrade.”
The sisters followed
him into the outer cave, where David was beginning, by his sighs, to give
symptoms of returning consciousness, and, then, commending the wounded man to
their attention, he immediately prepared to leave them.
“Duncan!” said the
tremulous voice of Cora, when he had reached the mouth of the cavern, immediately
arresting the steps of the youth. He turned, and beheld the speaker, whose rich
colour had changed to a deadly paleness, and whose lip quivered with her
emotion, gazing after him, with an expression of interest which immediately
recalled him to her side. “Remember, Duncan, how necessary your safety is to
our own--how you bear a father’s sacred trust--how much depends on your
discretion and care--in short,” she added, while the tell-tale blood stole over
her features, crimsoning her very temples, “how very deservedly dear you are to
all of the name of Munro.”
“If any thing could add
to my own base love of life,” said Heyward, suffering his unconscious eyes to
wander to the youthful form of the silent Alice; “it would be so kind an
assurance. As major of the 60th, our honest host will tell you I must take my
share of the fray; but our task will be easy; it is merely to keep these
blood-hounds at bay for a few hours.”
Without waiting for any
reply, he tore himself from the presence of the sisters, and joined the scout
and his companions, who still lay within the protection of the little chasm,
between the two caves.
“I tell you, Uncas,”
said the former, as Heyward joined them, “you are wasteful of your powder, and
the kick of the rifle disconcerts your aim! Little powder, light lead, and a
long arm, seldom fail or bringing the death screech from a Mingo! At least,
such has been my experience with the creaturs. Come, friends; let us to our
covers, for no man can tell when or where a Maqua will strike his blow!”
The Indians silently
repaired to their appointed stations, which were fissures in the rocks, whence
they could command the approaches to the foot of the falls. In the centre of
the little island, a few short and stinted pines had found root, forming a
thicket, into which Hawk-eye darted, with the swiftness of a deer, followed by
the active Duncan. Here they secured themselves, as well as circumstances would
permit, among the shrubs and fragments of stone that were scattered about the
place. Above them was a bare, rounded rock, on either side of which the water
played its gambols, and plunged into the abysses beneath, in the manner already
described. As the day had now dawned, the opposite shores no longer presented a
confused outline, but they were able to look into the woods, and distinguish
objects, beneath the dark canopy of gloomy pines and bushes.
A long and anxious
watch succeeded, but without any further evidences of a renewed attack, and
Duncan began to hope that their fire had proved more fatal than was supposed,
and that their enemies had been effectually repulsed. When he ventured to utter
this impression to his companion, it was met by Hawk-eye with an incredulous
shake of the head, as he answered--
“You know not the
nature of a Maqua, if you think he is so easily beaten back, without a scalp!
If there was one of the imps yelling this morning, there were forty! and they
know our number and quality too well to give up the chase so soon. Hist! look
into the water above, just where it breaks over the rocks. I am no mortal, if
the risky devils haven’t swam down upon the very pitch, and as bad luck would
have it, they have hit the head of the island! Hist! man, keep close! or the
hair will be off your crown in the turning of a knife!”
Heyward lifted his head
from the cover, and beheld what he justly considered a prodigy of rashness and
skill. The river had worn away the edge of the soft rock in such a manner, as
to render its first pitch less abrupt and perpendicular, than is usual at waterfalls.
With no other guide than the ripple of the stream where it met the head of the
island, a party of their insatiable foes had ventured into the current, and
swam down upon this point, knowing the ready access it would give them, if
successful, to their intended victims. As Hawk-eye ceased speaking, four human
heads could be seen peering above a few logs of drift wood, that had lodged on
these naked rocks, and which had probably suggested the idea of the
practicability of the hazardous undertaking. At the next moment, a fifth form
was seen floating over the green edge of the fall, a little from the true line
of the island. The savage struggled powerfully to gain the point of safety, and
favoured by the glancing water, he was already stretching forth an arm to meet
the grasp of his companions, when he shot away again with the whirling current,
appeared to rise into the air, with uplifted arms, and starting eye-balls, and
then fell, with a sullen plunge, into that deep and yawning abyss over which he
hovered. A single, wild, despairing shriek, rose from the cavern, above the
dull roar of the cataract, and all was hushed again as the grave.
The first generous
impulse of Duncan, was to rush to the rescue of the hapless wretch, but he felt
himself bound to the spot, by the iron grasp of the immoveable scout.
“Would ye bring certain
death upon us, by telling the Mingoes where we lie?” demanded Hawk-eye,
sternly; “’tis a charge of powder saved, and ammunition is as precious now as
breath to a worried deer! Freshen the priming of your pistols--the mist of the
falls is apt to dampen the brimstone--and stand firm for a close struggle,
while I fire on their rush.”
He placed his finger in
his mouth, and drew a long, shrill whistle, which was answered from the rocks
below, that were guarded by the Mohicans. Duncan caught glimpses of heads above
the scattered drift wood, as this signal rose on the air, but they disappeared
again as suddenly as they had glanced upon his sight. A low, rustling sound,
next drew his attention behind him, and turning his head, he beheld Uncas
within a few feet, creeping to his side. Hawk-eye spoke to him in Delaware,
when the young chief took his position with singular caution, and undisturbed
coolness. To Heyward this was a moment of feverish and impatient suspense;
though the scout saw fit to select it as a fit occasion to read a lecture to
his more youthful associates, on the art of using firearms with discretion.
“Of all we’pons,” he
commenced, “the long barrelled, true grooved, soft metalled rifle, is the most
dangerous in skillful hands, though it wants a strong arm, a quick eye, and
great judgment in charging, to put forth all its beauties. The gunsmiths can
have but little insight into their trade, when they make their fowling-pieces and
short horsemens’--”
He was interrupted by
the low, but expressive “hugh” of Uncas.
“I see them, boy, I see
them!” continued Hawk-eye; “they are gathering for their rush, or they would
keep their dingy backs below the logs. Well, let them,” he added, examining his
flint; “the leading man certainly comes on to his death, though it should be
Montcalm himself!”
At that moment the
woods were filled with another burst of cries, and, at the signal, four savages
sprang from the cover of the drift wood. Heyward felt a burning desire to rush
forward to meet them, so intense was the delirious anxiety of the moment, but
he was restrained by the deliberate examples of the scout and Uncas. When their
foes, who leaped over the black rocks that divided them, with long bounds,
uttering the wildest yells, were within a few rods, the rifle of Hawk-eye
slowly rose among the shrubs, and poured out its fatal contents. The foremost
Indian bounded like a stricken deer, and fell headlong among the clefts of the
island.
“Now, Uncas!” cried the
scout, drawing his long knife, while his quick eyes began to flash with ardour,
“take the screeching imp behind; of the other two we are sartain!”
He was obeyed; and but
two enemies remained to be overcome. Heyward had given one of his pistols to
Hawk-eye, and together they rushed down a little declivity towards their foes;
they discharged their weapons at the same instant, and equally without success.
“I know’d it! and I
said it!” muttered the scout, whirling the despised little implement over the
falls, with bitter disdain. “Come on, ye bloody minded hell-hounds! ye meet a
man without a cross!”
The words were barely
uttered, when he encountered a savage of gigantic stature, and of the fiercest
mien. At the same moment, Duncan found himself engaged with the other, in a
similar contest of hand to hand. With ready skill, Hawk-eye and his antagonist
each grasped that uplifted arm of the other, which held the dangerous knife.
For near a minute, they stood looking one another in the eye, and gradually
exerting the power of their muscles for the mastery. At length, the toughened
sinews of the white man prevailed over the less practised limbs of the native.
The arm of the latter slowly gave way before the increasing force of the scout,
who suddenly wresting his armed hand from the grasp of his foe, drove the sharp
weapon through his naked bosom to the heart. In the meantime, Heyward had been
pressed in a more deadly struggle. His slight sword was snapped in the first
encounter. As he was destitute of any other means of defence, his safety now
depended entirely on bodily strength and resolution. Though deficient in
neither of these qualities, he had met an enemy every way his equal. Happily,
he soon succeeded in disarming his adversary, whose knife fell on the rock at
their feet, and from this moment it became a fierce struggle, who should cast
the other over the dizzy height, into a neighbouring cavern of the falls. Every
successive struggle brought them nearer to the verge, where Duncan perceived the
final and conquering effort must be made. Each of the combatants threw all his
energies into that effort, and the result was, that both tottered on the brink
of the precipice. Heyward felt the grasp of the other at his throat, and saw
the grim smile the savage gave, under the revengeful hope that he hurried his
enemy to a fate similar to his own, as he felt his body slowly yielding to a
resistless power, and the young man experienced the passing agony of such a
moment in all its horrors. At that instant of extreme danger, a dark hand and
glancing knife appeared before him; the Indian released his hold, as the blood
flowed freely from around the severed tendons of his wrist; and while Duncan
was drawn backward by the saving arm of Uncas, his charmed eyes were still
riveted on the fierce and disappointed countenance of his foe, who fell
sullenly and disappointed down the irrecoverable precipice.
“To cover! to cover!”
cried Hawk-eye, who just then had despatched his enemy; “to cover, for your
lives! the work is but half ended!”
The young Mohican gave
a loud shout of triumph, and followed by Duncan, he glided up the acclivity
they had descended to the combat, and sought the friendly shelter of the rocks
and shrubs.
“They linger yet, Avengers of
their native land.”
--Gray.
The warning call of the
scout was not uttered without occasion. During the occurrence of the deadly
encounter just related, the roar of the falls was unbroken by any human sound
whatever. It would seem, that interest in the result had kept the natives, on
the opposite shores, in breathless suspense, while the quick evolutions and
swift changes in the positions of the combatants, effectually prevented a fire,
that might prove dangerous alike to friend and enemy. But the moment the
struggle was decided, a yell arose, as fierce and savage as wild and revengeful
passions could throw into the air. It was followed by the swift flashes of the
rifles, which sent their leaden messengers across the rock in vollies, as
though the assailants would pour out their impotent fury on the insensible
scene of the fatal contest.
A steady, though
deliberate, return was made from the rifle of Chingachgook, who had maintained
his post throughout the fray with unmoved resolution. When the triumphant shout
of Uncas was borne to his ears, the gratified father had raised his voice in a
single responsive cry, after which his busy piece alone proved that he still
guarded his pass with unwearied diligence. In this manner many minutes flew by
with the swiftness of thought; the rifles of the assailants speaking, at times,
in rattling vollies, and at others, in occasional, scattering shots. Though the
rock, the trees, and the shrubs, were cut and torn in a hundred places around
the besieged, their cover was so close, and so rigidly maintained, that, as
yet, David had been the only sufferer in their little band.
“Let them burn their
powder,” said the deliberate scout, while bullet after bullet whizzed by the
place where he so securely lay; “there will be a fine gathering of lead when it
is over, and I fancy the imps will tire of the sport, afore these old stones
cry out for mercy! Uncas, boy, you waste the kernels by overcharging; and a
kicking rifle never carries a true bullet. I told you to take that loping miscreant
under the line of white paint; now, if your bullet went a hair’s breadth, it
went two inches above it. The life lies low in a Mingo, and humanity teaches us
to make a quick end of the sarpents.”
A quiet smile lighted
the haughty features of the young Mohican, betraying his knowledge of the
English language, as well as of the others meaning, but he suffered it to pass
away without vindication or reply.
“I cannot permit you to
accuse Uncas of want of judgment or of skill,” said Duncan; “he saved my life
in the coolest and readiest manner, and he has made a friend who never will
require to be reminded of the debt he owes.”
Uncas partly raised his
body, and offered his hand to the grasp of Heyward. During this act of
friendship, the two young men exchanged looks of intelligence, which caused
Duncan to forget the character and condition of his wild associate. In the
meanwhile, Hawk-eye, who looked on this burst of youthful feeling with a cool
but kind regard, made the following calm reply:
“Life is an obligation
which friends often owe to each other in the wilderness. I dare say I may have
served Uncas some such turn myself before now; and I very well remember, that
he has stood between me and death five different times: three times from the
Mingoes, once in crossing Horican, and--”
“That bullet was better
aimed than common!” exclaimed Duncan, involuntarily shrinking from a shot which
struck on the rock at his side with a smart rebound.
Hawk-eye laid his hand
on the shapeless metal, and shook his head, as he examined it, saying, “Falling
lead is never flattened! had it come from the clouds this might have happened!”
But the rifle of Uncas
was deliberately raised toward the heavens, directing the eyes of his
companions to a point, where the mystery was immediately explained. A ragged
oak grew on the right bank of the river, nearly opposite to their position,
which, seeking the freedom of the open space, had inclined so far forward, that
its upper branches overhung that arm of the stream which flowed nearest to its
own shore. Among the topmost leaves, which scantily concealed the gnarled and
stinted limbs, a dark looking savage was nestled, partly concealed by the trunk
of the tree, and partly exposed, as though looking down upon them, to ascertain
the effect produced by his treacherous aim.
“These devils will
scale heaven to circumvent us to our ruin,” said Hawk-eye; “keep him in play,
boy, until I can bring ‘kill-deer’ to bear, when we will try his metal on each
side of the tree at once.”
Uncas delayed his fire
until the scout uttered the word. The rifles flashed, the leaves and bark of
the oak flew into the air, and were scattered by the wind, but the Indian
answered their assault by a taunting laugh, sending down upon them another
bullet in return, that struck the cap of Hawk-eye from his head. Once more the
savage yells burst out of the woods, and the leaden hail whistled above the
heads of the besieged, as if to confine them to a place where they might become
easy victims to the enterprise of the warrior who had mounted the tree.
“This must be looked
to!” said the scout, glancing about him with an anxious eye. “Uncas, call up
your father; we have need of all our we’pons to bring the cunning varment from
his roost.”
The signal was
instantly given; and, before Hawk-eye had reloaded his rifle, they were joined
by Chingachgook. When his son pointed out to the experienced warrior the
situation of their dangerous enemy, the usual exclamatory “hugh,” burst from
his lips; after which, no further expression of surprise or alarm was suffered
to escape from him. Hawk-eye and the Mohicans conversed earnestly together in
Delaware for a few moments, when each quietly took his post, in order to
execute the plan they had speedily devised.
The warrior in the oak
had maintained a quick, though ineffectual, fire, from the moment of his
discovery. But his aim was interrupted by the vigilance of his enemies, whose
rifles instantaneously bore on any part of his person that was left exposed.
Still his bullets fell in the centre of the crouching party. The clothes of
Heyward, which rendered him peculiarly conspicuous, were repeatedly cut, and
once blood was drawn from a slight wound in his arm.
At length, emboldened
by the long and patient watchfulness of his enemies, the Huron attempted a
better and more fatal aim. The quick eyes of the Mohicans caught the dark line
of his lower limbs incautiously exposed through the thin foliage, a few inches
from the trunk of the tree. Their rifles made a common report, when, sinking on
his wounded limb, part of the body of the savage came into view. Swift as
thought, Hawk-eye seized the advantage, and discharged his fatal weapon into
the top of the oak. The leaves were unusually agitated; the dangerous rifle
fell from its commanding elevation, and after a few moments of vain struggling,
the form of the savage was seen swinging in the wind, while he grasped a ragged
and naked branch of the tree with his hands clenched in desperation.
“Give him, in pity,
give him, the contents of another rifle!” cried Duncan, turning away his eyes
in horror from the spectacle of a fellow creature in such awful jeopardy.
“Not a karnel!”
exclaimed the obdurate Hawk-eye; “his death is certain, and we have no powder
to spare, for Indian fights, sometimes, last for days; ’tis their scalps, or
ours!--and God, who made us, has put into our natures the craving after life!”
Against this stern and
unyielding morality, supported, as it was, by such visible policy, there was no
appeal. From that moment the yells in the forest once more ceased, the fire was
suffered to decline, and all eyes, those of friends, as well as enemies, became
fixed on the hopeless condition of the wretch, who was dangling between heaven
and earth. The body yielded to the currents of air, and though no murmur or
groan escaped the victim, there were instants when he grimly faced his foes,
and the anguish of cold despair might be traced, through the intervening
distance, in possession of his swarthy lineaments. Three several times the
scout raised his piece in mercy, and as often prudence getting the better of
his intention, it was again silently lowered. At length, one hand of the Huron
lost its hold, and dropped exhausted to his side. A desperate and fruitless
struggle to recover the branch succeeded, and then the savage was seen for a
fleeting instant, grasping wildly at the empty air. The lightning is not
quicker than was the flame from the rifle of Hawk-eye; the limbs of the victim
trembled and contracted, the head fell to the bosom, and the body parted the
foaming waters, like lead, when the element closed above it, in its ceaseless
velocity, and every vestige of the unhappy Huron was lost for ever.
No shout of triumph
succeeded this important advantage, but the Mohicans gazed at each other in silent
horror. A single yell burst from the woods, and all was again still. Hawk-eye,
who alone appeared to reason on the occasion, shook his head, at his own
momentary weakness, even uttering his self-disapprobation aloud.
“ ’Twas the last charge
in my horn, and the last bullet in my pouch, and ’twas the act of a boy!” he
said; “what mattered it whether he struck the rock living or dead! feeling
would soon be over. Uncas, lad, go down to the canoe, and bring up the big
horn; it is all the powder we have left, and we shall need it to the last
grain, or I am ignorant of the Mingo nature.”
The young Mohican
instantly complied, leaving the scout turning over the useless contents of his
pouch, and shaking the empty horn with renewed discontent. From this unsatisfactory
examination, however, he was soon called by a loud and piercing exclamation
from Uncas, that sounded even to the unpractised ears of Duncan, as the signal
of some new and unexpected calamity. Every thought filled with apprehension for
the precious treasure he had concealed in the cavern, the young man started to
his feet, totally regardless of the hazard he incurred by such an exposure. As
if actuated by a common impulse, his movement was imitated by his companions,
and, together, they rushed down the pass to the friendly chasm, with a rapidity
that rendered the scattering fire of their enemies perfectly harmless. The
unwonted cry had brought the sisters, together with the wounded David, from
their place of refuge, and the whole party, at a single glance, was made
acquainted with the nature of the disaster, that had disturbed even the
practised stoicism of their youthful Indian protector.
At a short distance
from the rock, their little bark was to be seen floating across the eddy,
towards the swift current of the river, in a manner which proved that its
course was directed by some hidden agent. The instant this unwelcome sight
caught the eye of the scout, his rifle was levelled, as by instinct, but the
barrel gave no answer to the bright sparks of the flint.
“ ’Tis too late, ’tis
too late!” Hawk-eye exclaimed, dropping the useless piece, in bitter
disappointment; “the miscreant has struck the rapid, and had we powder, it
could hardly send the lead swifter than he now goes!”
As he ended, the
adventurous Huron raised his head above the shelter of the canoe, and while it
glided swiftly down the stream, waved his hand, and gave forth the shout, which
was the known signal of success. His cry was answered by a yell, and a laugh
from the woods, as tauntingly exulting as if fifty demons were uttering their
blasphemies at the fall of some Christian soul.
“Well may you laugh, ye
children of the devil!” said the scout, seating himself on a projection of the
rock, and suffering his gun to fall neglected at his feet, “for the three
quickest and truest rifles in these woods, are no better than so many stalks of
mullen, or the last year’s horns of a buck!”
“What, then, is to be
done?” demanded Duncan, losing the first feeling of disappointment, in a more
manly desire for exertion; “what will become of us?”
Hawk-eye made no other
reply than by passing his finger around the crown of his head, in a manner so
significant, that none who witnessed the action could mistake its meaning.
“Surely, surely, our
case is not so desperate!” exclaimed the youth; “the Hurons are not here; we
may make good the caverns; we may oppose their landing.”
“With what?” coolly
demanded the scout. “The arrows of Uncas, or such tears as women shed! No, no;
you are young, and rich, and have friends, and at such an age I know it is hard
to die! but,” glancing his eyes at the Mohicans, “let us remember, we are men
without a cross, and let us teach these natives of the forest, that white blood
can run as freely as red, when the appointed hour is come.”
Duncan turned quickly
in the direction indicated by the other’s eyes, and read a confirmation of his
worst apprehensions in the conduct of the Indians. Chingachgook, placing
himself in a dignified posture on another fragment of the rock, had already
laid aside his knife and tomahawk, and was in the act of taking the eagle’s
plume from his head, and smoothing the solitary tuft of hair, in readiness to
perform its last and revolting office. His countenance was composed, though
thoughtful, while his dark, gleaming eyes, were gradually losing the fierceness
of the combat in an expression better suited to the change he expected,
momentarily, to undergo.
“Our case is not,
cannot, be so hopeless!” said Duncan; “even at this very moment succour may be
at hand. I see no enemies! they have sickened. of a struggle, in which they
risk so much with so little prospect of gain?”
“It may be a minute, or
it may be an hour, afore the wily sarpents steal upon us, and its quite in
natur for them to be lying within hearing at this very moment,” said Hawk-eye; “but
come they will, and in such a fashion as will leave us nothing to hope!
Chingachgook”--he spoke in Delaware--“my brother, we have fought our last
battle together, and the Maquas will triumph in the death of the sage man of
the Mohicans, and of the pale face, whose eyes can make night as day, and level
the clouds to the mists of the springs!”
“Let the Mingo women go
weep over their slain!” returned the Indian, with characteristic pride, and
unmoved firmness; “the great snake of the Mohicans has coiled himself in their
wigwams, and has poisoned their triumph with the wailings of children, whose
fathers have not returned! Eleven warriors lie hid from the graves of their
tribe, since the snows have melted, and none will tell where to find them, when
the tongue of Chingachgook shall be silent! Let them draw the sharpest knife,
and whirl the swiftest tomahawk, for their bitterest enemy is in their hands.
Uncas, my boy, topmost branch of a noble trunk, call on the cowards to hasten,
or their hearts will soften, and they will change to women!”
“They look among the
fishes for their dead!” returned the low, soft voice of the youthful chieftain;
“the Hurons float with the slimy eels! They drop from the oaks like fruit that
is ready to be eaten! and the Delawares laugh!”
“Ay, ay,” muttered the
scout, who had listened to this peculiar burst of the natives with deep
attention; “they have warmed their Indian feelings, and they’ll soon provoke
the Maquas to give them a speedy end. As for me, who am of the whole blood of
the whites, it is befitting that I should die as becomes my colour, with no
words of scoffing in my mouth, and without bitterness at the heart!”
“Why die at all!” said
Cora, advancing from the place where natural horror had, until this moment,
held her riveted to the rock; “the path is open on every side; fly, then, to
the woods, and call on God for succour! Go, brave men, we owe you too much
already; let us no longer involve you in our hapless fortunes!”
“You but little know
the craft of the Iroquois, lady, if you judge they have left the path open to
the woods!” returned Hawk-eye, who, however, immediately added in his
simplicity; “the down stream current, it is certain, might soon sweep us beyond
the reach of their rifles, or the sounds of their voices.”
“Then try the river.
Why linger, to add to the number of the victims of our merciless enemies?”
“Why!” repeated the
scout, looking about him proudly, “because it is better for a man to die at
peace with himself, than to live haunted by an evil conscience! What answer
could we give to Munro, when he asked us, where and how we left his children?”
“Go to him, and say,
that you left them with a message to hasten to their aid,” returned Cora,
advancing nigher to the scout, in her generous ardour; “that the Hurons bear
them into the northern wilds, but that by vigilance and speed they may yet be
rescued; and if, after all, it should please heaven, that his assistance come
too late, bear to him,” she continued, the firm tones of her voice gradually
lowering, until they seemed nearly choked, “the love, the blessings, the final
prayers of his daughters, and bid him not to mourn their early fate, but to
look forward with humble confidence to the Christian’s goal to meet his
children.”
The hard,
weather-beaten features of the scout began sensibly to work, as he listened,
and when she had ended, he dropped his chin to his hand, like a man musing
profoundly on the nature of her proposal.
“There is reason in her
words!” at length broke from his compressed and trembling lips; “ay, and they
bear the spirit of christianity; what might be right and proper in a red skin,
may be sinful in a man who has not even a cross in blood to plead for his
ignorance. Chingachgook! Uncas! hear you the talk of the dark-eyed woman!”
He now spoke in
Delaware to his companions, and his address, though calm and deliberate, seemed
very decided. The elder Mohican heard him with deep gravity, and appeared to
ponder on his words, as though he felt the importance of their import. After a
moment of hesitation, he waved his hand in assent, and uttered the English word
“good,” with the peculiar emphasis of his people. Then, replacing his knife and
tomahawk in his girdle, the warrior moved silently to the edge of the rock most
concealed from the hostile banks of the river. Here he paused a moment, pointed
significantly to the woods below, and saying a few words in his own language,
as if indicating his intended route, he dropped into the water, and sunk from before
the eyes of the anxious witnesses of his movements.
The scout delayed his
departure to speak to the generous maiden, whose breathing became lighter as
she saw the success of her remonstrance.
“Wisdom is sometimes
given to the young, as well as to the old,” he said; “and what you have spoken
is wise, not to call it by a better word. If you are led into the woods, that
is, such of you as may be spared for a while, break the twigs on the bushes as
you pass, and make the marks of your trail, as broad as you can, when, if
mortal eyes can see them, depend on having a friend who will follow to the ends
of the ’arth afore he desarts you.”
He gave Cora an
affectionate shake of the hand, lifted his rifle, and after regarding it a
moment with melancholy solicitude, laid it carefully aside, and descended to
the place where Chingachgook had just disappeared. For an instant he hung
suspended by the rock; and looking about him, with a countenance of peculiar
care, he added, bitterly, “Had the powder held out, this disgrace could never
have befallen!” then, loosening his hold, the water closed above his head, and
he also became lost to view.
All eyes were now
turned on Uncas, who stood leaning against the ragged rock, in immoveable
composure. After waiting a short time, Cora pointed down the river, and said--
“Your friends, as you
perceive, have not been seen, and are now, most probably, in safety; is it not
time for you to follow?”
“Uncas will stay,” the
young Mohican calmly answered, in his imperfect English.
“To increase the horror
of our capture, and to diminish the chances of our release! Go, generous young
man,” Cora continued, lowering her eyes under the ardent gaze of the Mohican,
and, perhaps, with an inuitive consciousness of her power; “go to my father, as
I have said, and be the most confidential of my messengers. Tell him to trust
you with the means to buy the freedom of his daughters. Go; ’tis my wish, ’tis
my prayer, that you will go!”
The settled, calm, look
of the young chief, changed to an expression of gloom, but he no longer
hesitated. With a noiseless step he crossed the rock, and dropped into the
troubled stream. Hardly a breath was drawn by those he left behind, until they
caught a glimpse of his head emerging for air, far down the current, when he
again sunk, and was seen no more.
These sudden and
apparently successful experiments had all taken place in a few minutes of that
time, which had now become so precious. After the last look at Uncas, Cora
turned, and, with a quivering lip, addressed herself to Heyward:
“I have heard of your
boasted skill in the water, too, Duncan,” she said; “follow, then, the wise
example set you by these simple and faithful beings.”
“Is such the faith that
Cora Munro would exact from her protector,” said the young man, smiling,
mournfully, but with bitterness.
“This is not a time for
idle subtleties and false opinions,” she answered; “but a moment when every
duty should be equally considered. To us you can be of no further service here,
but your precious life may be saved for other and nearer friends.”
He made no reply,
though his eyes fell wistfully on the beautiful form of Alice, who was clinging
to his arm with the dependency of an infant.
“Consider, after all,”
continued Cora, after a pause of a moment, during which she seemed to struggle
with a pang, even more acute than any that her fears had excited, “the worst to
us can be but death; a tribute that all must pay at the good time of God’s
appointment.”
“There are evils even
worse than death,” said Duncan, speaking hoarsely, and as if fretful at her
importunity, “but which the presence of one who would die in your behalf may
avert.”
Cora instantly ceased
her entreaties, and veiling her face in her shawl, drew the nearly insensible
Alice after her into the deepest recess of the inner cavern.
“Be gay securely; Dispel, my
fair, with smiles, the tim’rous clouds,
That hang on thy clear
brow.”
The sudden and almost
magical change, from the stirring incidents of the combat, to the stillness
that now reigned around him, acted on the heated imagination of Heyward like
some exciting dream. While all the images and events he had witnessed remained
deeply impressed on his memory, he felt a difficulty in persuading himself of
their truth. Still ignorant of the fate of those who had trusted to the aid of
the swift current, he at first listened intently to any signal, or sounds of
alarm, which might announce the good or evil fortune of their hazardous
undertaking. His attention was, however, bestowed in vain; for with the
disappearance of Uncas, every sign of the adventurers had been lost, leaving
him in total uncertainty of their subsequent fate.
In a moment of such
painful doubt, Duncan did not hesitate to look about him, without consulting
that protection from the rocks which just before had been so necessary to his
safety. Every effort, however, to detect the least evidence of the approach of
their hidden enemies, was as fruitless as the inquiry after his late
companions. The wooded banks of the river seemed again deserted by every thing
possessing animal life. The uproar which had so lately echoed through the
vaults of the forest was gone, leaving the rush of the waters to swell and sink
on the currents of the air, in the unmingled sweetness of nature. A fish-hawk,
who, secure on the topmost branches of a dead pine, had been a distant
spectator of the fray, now stooped from his high and ragged perch, and soared,
in wide sweeps, above his prey; while a jay, whose noisy voice had been stilled
by the hoarser cries of the savages, ventured again to open his discordant
throat, as though once more left in undisturbed possession of his wild domains.
Duncan caught from these natural accompaniments of the solitary scene a
glimmering of hope, and he began to rally his faculties to renewed exertions,
with something like a reviving confidence in their success.
“The Hurons are not to
be seen,” he said, addressing David, whose faculties had by no means recovered
from the effects of the stunning blow he had received; “let us conceal
ourselves in the cavern, and trust the rest to Providence.”
“I remember to have
united with two comely maidens, in lifting up our voices in praise and
thanks-giving,” returned the bewildered singing-master; “since which time I
have been visited by a heavy judgment for my sins. I have been mocked with the
likeness of sleep, while sounds of discord have rent my ears; such as might
manifest the fullness of time, and that nature had forgotten her harmony.”
“Poor fellow! thine own
period was, in truth, near its accomplishment! But arouse, and come with me; I
will lead you where all other sounds, but those of your own psalmody, shall be
excluded.”
“There is melody in the
fall of the cataract, and the rushing of many waters is sweet to the senses!”
said David, pressing his hand confusedly on his brow. “Is not the air yet
filled with shrieks and cries, as though the departed spirits of the damned--”
“Not now, not now,”
interrupted the impatient Heyward, “they have ceased; and they who raised them,
I trust in God, they are gone too! every thing but the water is still and at
peace; in, then, where you may create those sounds you love so well to hear.”
David smiled sadly,
though not without a momentary gleam of pleasure lighting his countenance, at
this allusion to his beloved vocation. He no longer hesitated to be led to a
spot, which promised such unalloyed gratification to his wearied senses; and,
leaning on the arm of his companion, he entered the narrow mouth of the cave.
Duncan seized a pile of the sassafras, which he drew before the passage,
studiously concealing every appearance of an aperture. Within this fragile
barrier he arranged the blankets abandonded by the foresters, darkening the
inner extremity of the cavern, while its outer received a chastened light from
the narrow ravine, through which one arm of the river rushed, to form the
junction with its sister branch, a few rods below.
“I like not that
principle of the natives, which teaches them to submit without a struggle, in
emergencies that appear desperate,” he said, while busied in this employment; “our
own maxim, which says, ‘while life remains there is hope,’ is more consoling,
and better suited to a soldier’s temperament. To you, Cora, I will urge no
words of idle encouragement; your own fortitude and undisturbed reason, will
teach you all that may become your sex; but cannot we dry the tears of that
trembling weeper in your bosom?”
“I am calmer, Duncan,”
said Alice, raising herself from the arms of her sister, and forcing an
appearance of composure through her tears; “much calmer, now. Surely, in this
hidden spot, we are safe, we are secret, free from injury; we will hope every
thing from those generous men, who have risked so much already in our behalf.”
“Now does our gentle
Alice speak like a daughter of Munro!” said Heyward, pausing to press her hands
as he passed towards the outer entrance of the cavern. “With two such examples
of courage before him, a man would be ashamed to prove other than a hero.” He
then seated himself in the centre of the cavern, grasping his remaining pistol
with a hand firmly clenched, while his contracted and frowning eye announced
the sullen desperation of his purpose. “The Hurons, if they come, may not gain
our position so easily as they think,” he lowly muttered; and dropping his head
back against the rock, he seemed to await the result in patience, though his
gaze was unceasingly bent on the open avenue to their place of retreat.
With the last sound of
his voice, a deep, a long, and almost breathless silence succeeded. The fresh
air of the morning had penetrated the recess, and its influence was gradually
felt on the spirits of its inmates. As minute after minute passed by, leaving
them in undisturbed security, the insinuating feeling of hope was gradually
gaining possession of every bosom, though each one felt reluctant to give
utterance to expectations that the next moment might so fearfully destroy.
David alone formed an
exception to these varying emotions. A gleam of light from the opening crossed
his wan countenance, and fell upon the pages of the little volume, whose leaves
he was again occupied in turning, as if searching for some song more fitted to
their condition than any that had yet met his eye. He was most probably acting
all this time under a confused recollection of the promised consolation of
Duncan. At length, it would seem, his patient industry found its reward; for,
without explanation or apology, he pronounced aloud the characteristic
appellation of “Isle of Wight,” drew a long, sweet sound from his pitch-pipe,
and then ran through the preliminary modulations of the air, whose name he he
had just mentioned, with the sweeter tones of his own musical voice.
“May not this prove
dangerous?” asked Cora, glancing her dark eyes at Major Heyward.
“Poor fellow! his voice
is too feeble to be heard amid the din of the falls,” was the answer; “besides,
the cavern will prove his friend. Let him, then, indulge his passion, since it
may be done without hazard.”
“Isle of Wight!”
repeated David, looking about him with all that imposing dignity with which he
had long been wont to silence the whispering echoes of his school; “ ’tis a
brave tune, and set to solemn words; let it therefore be sung with meet
respect!”
After allowing a moment
of awful stillness to enforce his discipline, the voice of the singer was
heard, in low, murmuring syllables, gradually stealing on the ear, until it
filled the narrow vault, with sounds, rendered trebly thrilling by the feeble
and tremulous utterance produced by his debility. The melody which no weakness
could destroy, gradually wrought its sweet influence on the senses of those who
heard it. It even prevailed over the miserable travesty of the song of David,
which, after so much diligence, the singer had selected from a volume of
similar effusions, and caused the sense to be forgotten, in the insinuating
harmony of the sounds. Alice unconsciously dried her tears, and bent her
melting eyes on the pallid features of Gamut, with an expression of chastened
delight, that she neither affected, nor wished to conceal. Cora bestowed an
approving smile on the pious efforts of the namesake of the Jewish prince, and
Heyward soon turned his steady, stern, look from the outlet of the cavern, to
fasten it, with a milder character, on the face of David, or to meet the
wandering beams which at moments strayed from the humid eyes of Alice. The open
sympathy of the listeners soon stirred the spirit of the votary of music, whose
voice regained its richness and volume, without losing that touching softness
which proved its secret charm. Exerting his renovated powers to their utmost,
he was yet filling the arches of the cave with long and full tones, when a yell
burst into the air without, that instantly stilled his pious strains, choking
his voice suddenly, as though his heart had literally bounded into the passage
of his throat.
“We are lost!”
exclaimed Alice, throwing herself into the expanded arms of Cora.
“Not yet, not yet,”
returned the agitated but undaunted Heyward; “the sound came from the centre of
the island, and it has been produced by the sight of their dead companions. We
are not yet discovered, and there is still hope.”
Faint and almost
despairing as was the prospect of escape, the words of Duncan were not thrown
away, for it awakened the powers of the sisters in such a manner, that they
awaited the result in silence. A second yell soon followed the first, when a
rush of voices was heard pouring down the island, from its upper to its lower
extremity, until they reached the naked rock above the caverns, where, after a
shout of savage triumph, the air continued full of horrible cries and screams,
such as man alone can utter, and he only when in a state of the fiercest
barbarity.
The sounds quickly
spread around them in every direction. Some called to their fellows from the
water’s edge, and were answered from the heights above. Cries were heard in the
startling vicinity of the chasm between the two caves, which mingled with
hoarser yells that arose out of the abyss of the deep ravine. In short, so
rapidly had the savage sounds diffused themselves over the barren rock, that it
was not difficult for the anxious listeners to imagine that they could be heard
beneath, as, in truth, they were above, and on every side of them.
In the midst of this
tumult, a triumphant yell was raised within a few feet of the hidden entrance
to the cave. Heyward abandoned every hope, with the belief it was the signal
that they were discovered. Again the impression passed away, as he heard the
voices collect near the spot where the white man had so reluctantly abandoned
his rifle. Amid the jargon of the Indian dialects that he now plainly heard, it
was easy to distinguish not only words, but sentences in the patois of the
Canadas. A burst of voices had shouted, simultaneously, “la Longue Carabine!”
causing the opposite woods to re-echo with a name which Heyward well remembered
to have heard, had been given by his enemies to a celebrated hunter and scout
of the English camp, and who he now learnt, for the first time, had been his
late companion.
“La Longue Carabine! la
Longue Carabine!” passed from mouth to mouth, until the whole band appeared to
be collected around a trophy, which would seem to announce the death of its
formidable owner. After a vociferous consultation, which was, at times,
deafened by bursts of savage joy, they again separated, filling the air with
the name of a foe, whose body, Heyward could collect from their expressions,
they hoped to find concealed in some crevice of the island.
“Now,” he whispered to
the trembling sisters, “now is the moment of uncertainty! if our place of
retreat escape this scrutiny, we are still safe! In every event, we are
assured, by what has fallen from our enemies, that our friends have escaped,
and in two short hours we may look for succour from Webb.”
There were now a few
minutes of fearful stillness, during which Heyward well knew that the savages
conducted their search with greater vigilance and method. More than once he
could distinguish their footsteps, as they brushed the sassafras, causing the
faded leaves to rustle, and the branches to snap. At length, the pile yielded a
little, a corner of a blanket fell, and a faint ray of light gleamed into the
inner part of the cave. Cora folded Agnes to her bosom in agony, and Duncan
sprang like lightning to his feet. A shout was at that moment heard, as if
issuing from the centre of the rock, announcing that the neighbouring cavern
had at length been entered. In a minute, the number and loudness of the voices
indicated that the whole party were collected in and around that secret place.
As the inner passages
to the two caves were so close to each other, Duncan, believing that escape was
no longer possible, passed David and the sisters, to place himself between the
latter and the first onset of the terrible meeting. Grown desperate by his
situation, he drew nigh the slight barrier which separated him only by a few
feet from his relentless pursuers, and placing his face to the casual opening,
he even looked out, with a sort of appalling indifference, on their movements.
Within reach of his arm
was the brawny shoulder of a gigantic Indian, whose deep and authoritative
voice appeared to give directions to the proceedings of his fellows. Beyond him
again, Duncan could look into the deep vault opposite, which was filled with
savages, upturning and rifling the humble furniture of the scout. The wound of
David had died the leaves of sassafras with a colour, that the natives well
knew was anticipating the season. Over this sign of their success, they set up
a howl, like an opening from so many hounds, who had recovered their lost
trail. After this yell of victory, they tore up the fragrant bed of the cavern,
and bore the branches into the chasm, scattering the boughs, as if they suspected
them of concealing the person of the man they had so long hated and feared. One
fierce and wild looking warrior, approached the chief, bearing a load of the
brush, and pointing, exultingly, to the deep red stains with which it was
sprinkled, uttered his joy in Indian yells, whose meaning Heyward was only
enabled to comprehend, by the frequent repetition of the name of “la Longue
Carabine!” When his triumph had ceased, he cast the brush on the slight heap
that Duncan had made before the entrance of the second cavern, and closed the
view. His example was followed by others; who, as they drew the branches from
the cave of the scout, threw them into one pile, adding unconsciously to the
security of those they sought. The very slightness of the defence was its chief
merit, for no one thought of disturbing a mass of brush, which all of them
believed, in that moment of hurry and confusion, had been accidentally raised
by the hands of their own party.
As the blankets yielded
before the outward pressure, and the branches settled into the fissure of the
rock by its own weight, forming a compact body, Duncan once more breathed
freely. With a light step, and lighter heart, he returned to the centre of the
cave, and took the place he had left, where he could command a view of the
opening next the river. While he was in the act of making this movement, the
Indians, as if changing their purpose by a common impulse, broke away from the
chasm in a body, and were heard rushing up the island again, towards the point,
whence they had originally descended. Here another wailing cry betrayed that
they were again collected around the bodies of their dead comrades.
Duncan now ventured to
look at his companions; for, during the most critical moments of their danger,
he had been apprehensive that the anxiety of his countenance might communicate
some additional alarm, to those who were so little able to sustain it.
“They are gone, Cora!”
he whispered; “Alice, they are returned whence they came, and we are saved! To
heaven, that has alone delivered us from the grasp of so merciless an enemy, be
all the praise!”
“Then to heaven will I
return my thanks!” exclaimed the younger sister, rising from the encircling
arms of Cora, and casting herself, with enthusiastic gratitude, on the naked
rock to her knees; “to that heaven who has spared the tears of a gray-headed
father; has saved the lives of those I so much love--”
Both Heyward, and the
more tempered Cora, witnessed the act of involuntary emotion with powerful
sympathy, the former secretly believing that piety had never worn a form so
lovely, as it had now assumed in the youthful person of Alice. Her eyes were
radiant with the glow of her grateful feelings; the flush of her beauty was
again seated on her cheeks, and her whole soul seemed ready and anxious to pour
out its thanksgivings, through the medium of her eloquent features. But when
her lips moved, the words they should have uttered appeared frozen by some new
and sudden chill. Her bloom gave place to the paleness of death; her soft and
melting eyes grew hard, and seemed contracting with horror; while those hands,
which she had raised, clasped in each other, towards heaven, dropped in
horizontal lines before her, the fingers pointing forward in convulsed motion.
Heyward turned the instant she gave a direction to his suspicions, and, peering
just above the ledge which formed the threshold of the open outlet of the
cavern, he beheld the malignant, fierce, and savage features of le Renard
Subtil.
In that moment of
horrid surprise, the self-possession of Heyward did not desert him. He observed
by the vacant expression of the Indian’s countenance, that his eye, accustomed
to the open air, had not yet been able to penetrate the dusky light which
pervaded the depth of the cavern. He had even thought of retreating beyond a
curvature in the natural wall, which might still conceal him and his
companions, when, by the sudden gleam of intelligence that shot across the
features of the savage, he saw it was too late, and that they were betrayed.
The look of exultation
and brutal triumph which announced this terrible truth, was irresistibly
irritating. Forgetful of every thing but the impulses of his hot blood, Duncan
levelled his pistol and fired. The report of the weapon made the cavern bellow like
an eruption from a volcano, and when the smoke, it vomited, had driven away
before the current of air which issued from the ravine, the place so lately
occupied by the features of his treacherous guide was vacant. Rushing to the
outlet, Heyward caught a glimpse of his dark figure, stealing around a low and
narrow ledge, which soon hid him entirely from his sight.
Among the savages, a
frightful stillness succeeded the explosion, which had just been heard bursting
from the bowels of the rock. But when le Renard raised his voice in a long and
intelligible whoop, it was answered by a spontaneous yell from the mouth of
every Indian within hearing of the sound. The clamorous noises again rushed
down the island, and before Duncan had time to recover from the shock, his
feeble barrier of brush was scattered to the winds, the cavern was entered at
both its extremities, and he and his companions were dragged from their
shelter, and borne into the day, where they stood surrounded by the whole band
of the triumphant Hurons.
“I fear we shall
outsleep the coming morn,
As much as we this
night have overwatched!”
Midsummer’s Night Dream
The instant the first
shock of this sudden misfortune had abated, Duncan began to make his
observations on the appearance and proceedings of their captors. Contrary to
the usages of the natives in the wantonness of their success, they had
respected, not only the persons of the trembling sisters, but his own. The rich
ornaments of his military attire, had indeed been repeatedly handled by
different individuals of the tribe, with eyes expressing a savage longing to
possess the baubles, but before the customary violence could be resorted to, a
mandate, in the authoritative voice of the large warrior already mentioned,
stayed the uplifted hand, and convinced Heyward that they were to be reserved
for some object of particular moment.
While, however, these
manifestations of weakness were exhibited by the young and vain of the party,
the more experienced warriors continued their search throughout both caverns,
with an activity that denoted they were far from being satisfied with those
fruits of their conquest, which had already been brought to light. Unable to
discover any new victim. these diligent workers of vengeance soon approached
their male prisoners, pronouncing the name of “la Longue Carabine,” with a
fierceness that could not easily be mistaken. Duncan affected not to comprehend
the meaning of their repeated and violent interrogatories, while his companion
was spared the effort of a similar deception, by his ignorance of French.
Wearied, at length, by their importunities, and apprehensive of irritating his
captors by too stubborn a silence, the former looked about him in quest of
Magua, who might interpret his answers to those questions which were, at each
moment, becoming more earnest and threatening.
The conduct of this
savage had formed a solitary exception to that of all his fellows. While the
others were busily occupied in seeking to gratify their childish passion for finery,
by plundering even the miserable effects of the scout, or had been searching,
with such blood-thirsty vengeance in their looks, for their absent owner, le
Renard had stood at a little distance from the prisoners, with a demeanour so
quiet and satisfied, as to betray, that he, at least, had already effected the
grand purpose of his treachery. When the eyes of Heyward first met those of his
recent guide, he turned them away, in horror, at the sinister though calm look
he encountered. Conquering his disgust, however, he was able, with an averted
face, to address his successful enemy:
“Le Renard Subtil is
too much of a warrior,” said the reluctant Heyward, “to refuse telling an
unarmed man what his conquerors say.”
“They ask for the
hunter who knows the paths through the woods,” returned Magua, in his broken
English, laying his hand, at the same time, with a ferocious smile, on the
bundle of leaves, with which a wound on his own shoulder was bandaged; “la
Longue Carabine! his rifle is good, and his eye never shut; but, like the short
gun of the white chief, it is nothing against the life of le Subtil!”
“Le Renard is too brave
to remember the hurts he has received in war, or the hands that gave them!”
“Was it war, when the
tired Indian rested at the sugar tree, to taste his corn! who filled the bushes
with creeping enemies! who drew the knife! whose tongue was peace, while his
heart was coloured with blood! Did Magua say that the hatchet was out of the
ground, and that his hand had dug it up?”
As Duncan dare not
retort upon his accuser, by reminding him of his own premeditated treachery,
and disdained to deprecate his resentment by any words of apology, he remained
silent. Magua seemed also content to rest the controversy, as well as all
further communication, there, for he resumed the leaning attitude against the
rock, from which, in his momentary energy, he had arisen. But the cry of “la
Longue Carabine,” was renewed, the instant the impatient savages perceived that
the short dialogue was ended.
“You hear,” said Magua,
with stubborn indifference; “the red Hurons call for the life of the ‘long
rifle,’ or they will have the blood of them that keep him hid!”
“He is gone--escaped;
he is far beyond their reach.”
Renard smiled with cold
contempt, as he answered:
“When the white man
dies, he thinks he is at peace; but the red men know how to torture even the
ghosts of their enemies. Where is his body? Let the Hurons see his scalp!”
“He is not dead, but
escaped.”
Magua shook his head
incredulously, and added--
“Is he a bird, to
spread his wings; or is he a fish, to swim without looking at the sun! The
white chief reads in his books, and believes the Hurons are fools!”
“Though no fish, the ‘long
rifle’ can swim. He floated down the stream when the powder was all burnt, and
when the eyes of the Hurons were behind a cloud.”
“And why did the white
chief stay?” demanded the still incredulous Indian. “Is he a stone, that goes
to the bottom, or does the scalp burn his head?”
“That I am not a stone,
your dead comrade, who fell into the falls, might answer, were the life still
in him,” said the provoked young man, using, in his anger, that boastful
language which was most likely to excite the admiration of an Indian. “The
white man thinks none but cowards desert their women.”
Magua muttered a few
words, inaudibly, between his teeth, before he continued, aloud--
“Can the Delawares
swim, too, as well as crawl in the bushes? Where is ‘le Gros Serpent’?”
Duncan, who perceived
by the use of these Canadian appellations, that his late companions were much
better known to his enemies than to himself, answered, reluctantly: “He also is
gone down with the water.”
“ ‘Le Cerf Agile’ is
not here?”
“I know not whom you
call the ‘nimble deer,’ said Duncan, gladly profiting by any excuse to create
delay.
“Uncas,” returned
Magua, pronouncing the Delaware name with even greater difficulty than he spoke
his English words. “ ‘Bounding elk’ is what the white man says when he calls to
the young Mohican.”
“Here is some confusion
in names between us, le Renard,” said Duncan, hoping to provoke a discussion. “Daim
is the French for deer, and cerf for stag; élan is the true term, when one
would speak of an elk.”
“Yes,” muttered the
Indian, in his native tongue; “the pale faces are prattling women! they have
two words for each thing, while a red skin will make the sound of his voice
speak for him.” Then changing his language, he continued, adhering to the
imperfect nomenclature of his provincial instructers, “The deer is swift, but
weak; the elk is swift, but strong; and the son of ‘le serpent’ is ‘le cerf
agile.’ Has he leaped the river to the woods?”
“If you mean the
younger Delaware, he too is gone down with the water.”
As there was nothing
improbable to an Indian, in the manner of the escape, Magua admitted the truth
of what he had heard, with a readiness that afforded additional evidence how
little he would prize such worthless captives. With his companions, however,
the feeling was manifestly different.
The Hurons had awaited
the result of this short dialogue with characteristic patience, and with a
silence, that increased, until there was a general stillness in the band. When
Heyward ceased to speak, they turned their eyes, as one man, on Magua,
demanding, in this expressive manner, an explanation of what had been said.
Their interpreter pointed to the river, and made them acquainted with the
result, as much by the action as by the few words he uttered. When the fact was
generally understood, the savages raised a frightful yell, which declared the
extent of their disappointment. Some ran furiously to the water’s edge, beating
the air with frantic gestures, while others spat upon the element, to resent
the supposed treason it had committed against their acknowledged rights as
conquerors. A few, and they not the least powerful and terrific of the band,
threw lowering, sullen looks, in which the fiercest passion was only tempered
by habitual self-command, at those captives who still remained in their power;
while one or two even gave vent to their malignant feelings by the most
menacing gestures, against which neither the sex, nor the beauty of the
sisters, was any protection. The young soldier made a desperate, but fruitless,
effort to spring to the side of Alice, when he saw the dark hand of a savage
twisted in the rich tresses, which were flowing in volumes over her shoulders,
while a knife was passed around the head from which they fell, as if to denote
the horrid manner in which it was about to be robbed of its beautiful ornament,
But his hands were bound, and at the first movement he made, he felt the grasp
of the powerful Indian, who directed the band, pressing his shoulder like a
vice. Immediately conscious how unavailing any struggle against such an
overwhelming force must prove, he submitted to his fate, encouraging his gentle
companions, by a few low and tender assurances, that the natives seldom failed
to threaten more than they performed.
But, while Duncan
resorted to these words of consolation, to lull the apprehensions of the
sisters, he was not so weak as to deceive himself. He well knew that the
authority of an Indian chief was so little conventional, that it was oftener
maintained by his physical superiority, than by any moral supremacy he might
possess. The danger was, therefore, magnified exactly in proportion to the
number of the savage spirits by which they were surrounded. The most positive
mandate from him, who seemed the acknowledged leader, was liable to be
violated, at each moment, by any rash hand that might choose to sacrifice a
victim to the manes of some dead friend or relative. While, therefore, he
sustained an outward appearance of calmness and fortitude, his heart leaped
into his throat, whenever any of their fierce captors drew nigher than common
to the helpless sisters, or fastened one of their sullen wandering looks on
those fragile forms, which were so little able to resist the slightest assault.
His apprehensions were
however greatly relieved, when he saw that the leader had summoned his warriors
to himself in council. Their deliberations were short, and it would seem, by
the silence of most of the party, the decision unanimous. By the frequency with
which the few speakers pointed in the direction of the encampment of Webb, it
was apparent they dreaded the approach of danger from that quarter. This
consideration probably hastened their determination, and quickened the
subsequent movements.
During this short
conference, Heyward finding a respite from his greatest fears, had leisure to
admire the cautious manner in which the Hurons had made their approaches, even
after hostilities had ceased.
It has already been
stated, that the upper half of the island was a naked rock, and destitute of
any other defences than a few scattering logs of drift wood. They had selected
this point to make their descent, having borne the canoe through the wood,
around the cataract, for that purpose. Placing their arms in the little vessel,
a dozen men, clinging to its sides, had trusted themselves to the direction of
the canoe, which was controlled by two of the most skilful warriors, in
attitudes, that enabled them to command a view of the dangerous passage.
Favoured by this arrangement, they touched the head of the island, at that
point which had proved so fatal to their first adventures, but with the
advantages of superior numbers, and the possession of fire arms. That such had
been the manner of their descent, was rendered quite apparent to Duncan, for
they now bore the light bark from the upper end of the rock, and placed it in
the water, near the mouth of the outer cavern. As soon as this change was made,
the leader made signs to the prisoners to descend and enter.
As resistance was
impossible, and remonstrance useless, Heyward set the example of submission, by
leading the way into the canoe, where he was soon seated with the sisters, and
the still wondering David. Notwithstanding the Hurons were necessarily ignorant
of the little channels among the eddies and rapids of the stream, they knew the
common sign of such a navigation too well, to commit any material blunder. When
the pilot chosen for the task of guiding the canoe had taken his station, the
whole band plunged again into the river, the vessel glided down the current,
and in a few moments the captives found themselves on the south bank of the
stream, nearly opposite to the point where they had struck it, the preceding
evening.
Here was held another
short but earnest consultation, during which, the horses, to whose panic their
owners ascribed their heaviest misfortune, were led from the cover of the
woods, and brought to the sheltered spot. The band now divided. The great
chief, so often mentioned, mounting the charger of Heyward, led the way
directly across the river, followed by most of his people, and disappeared in the
woods, leaving the prisoners in charge of six savages, at whose head was le
Renard Subtil. Duncan witnessed all their movements with renewed uneasiness.
He had been fond of
believing, from the uncommon forbearance of the savages, that he was reserved as
a prisoner, to be delivered to Montcalm. As the thoughts of those who are in
misery seldom slumber, and the invention is never more lively, than when it is
stimulated by hope, however feeble and remote he had even imagined that the
parental feelings of Munro were to be made instrumental in seducing him from
his duty to the king. For though the French commander bore a high character for
courage and enterprise, he was also thought to be expert in those political
practices, which do not always respect the nicer obligations of morality, and
which so generally disgraced the European diplomacy of that period.
All those busy and
ingenious speculations were now annihilated by the conduct of his captors. That
portion of the band who had followed the huge warrior, took the route towards
the foot of Horican, and no other expectation was left for himself and
companions, than that they were to be retained as hopeless captives by their
savage conquerors. Anxious to know the worst, and willing, in such an
emergency, to try the potency of his wealth, he overcame his reluctance to
speak to Magua. Addressing himself to his former guide, who had now assumed the
authority and manner of one who was to direct the future movements of the
party, he said, in tones as friendly and confiding as he could assume--
“I would speak to
Magua, what is fit only for so great a chief to hear.”
The Indian turned his
eyes on the young soldier, scornfully, as he answered--
“Speak, then; trees
have no ears!”
“But the red Hurons are
not deaf; and counsel that is fit for the great men of a nation, would make the
young warriors drunk. If Magua will not listen, the officer of the king knows
how to be silent.”
The savage spoke
carelessly to his comrades, who were busied, after their awkward manner, in
preparing the horses for the reception of the sisters, and moved a little to
one side, whither, by a cautious gesture, he induced Heyward to follow.
“Now speak,” he said; “if
the words are such as Magua should hear.”
“Le Renard Subtil has
proved himself worthy of the honourable name given to him by his Canada
fathers,” commenced Heyward; “I see his wisdom, and all that he has done for
us, and shall remember it, when the hour to reward him arrives. Yes, yes!
Renard has proved that he is not only a great chief in council, but one who
knows how to deceive his enemies!”
“What has Renard done?”
coldly demanded the Indian.
“What! has he not seen
that the woods were filled with outlying parties of the enemies, and that the
serpent could not steal through them without being seen? Then, did he not lose
his path, to blind the eyes of the Hurons? Did he not pretend to go back to his
tribe, who had treated him ill, and driven him from their wigwams, like a dog?
And, when we saw what he wished to do, did we not aid him, by making a false
face, that the Hurons might think the white man believed that his friend was
his enemy? Is not all this true? And when le Subtil had shut the eyes and
stopped the ears of his nation by his wisdom, did they not forget that they had
once done him wrong, and forced him to flee to the Mohawks? And did they not
leave him on the south side of the river, with their prisoners, while they have
gone foolishly on the north? Does not Renard mean to turn like a fox on his
footsteps, and carry to the rich and gray headed Scotchman, his daughters? Yes,
yes, Magua, I see it all, and I have already been thinking how so much wisdom
and honesty should be repaid. First, the chief of William Henry will give as a
great chief should, for such a service. The medal of Magua will no longer be of
tin, but of beaten gold; his horn will run over with powder; dollars will be as
plenty in his pouch, as pebbles on the shore of Horican; and the deer will lick
his hand, for they will know it to be vain to fly from before the rifle he will
carry! As for myself, I know not how to exceed the gratitude of the Scotchman,
but I--yes, I will--”
“What will the young
chief, who comes from towards the sun, give?” demanded the Huron, observing
that Heyward hesitated in his desire to end the enumeration of benefits with
that which might form the climax of an Indian’s wishes.
“He will make the
fire-water from the islands in the salt lake, flow before the wigwam of Magua,
swifter than yon noisy Hudson, until the heart of the Indian shall be lighter
than the feathers of the humming-bird, and his breath sweeter than the wild
honeysuckle.”
Le Renard had listened
with the deepest silence, as Heyward slowly proceeded in this subtle speech.
When the young man mentioned the artifice he supposed the Indian to have
practised on his own nation, the countenance of the listener was veiled in an
expression of cautious gravity. At the allusion to the injury which Duncan
affected to believe had driven the Huron from his native tribe, a gleam of such
ungovernable ferocity flashed from the other’s eyes, as induced the adventurous
speaker to believe he had struck the proper chord. And by the time he reached
the part where he so artfully blended the thirst of vengeance with the desire
of gain, he had, at least, obtained a command of the deepest attention of the
savage. The question put by le Renard had been calm, and with all the dignity
of an Indian; but it was quite apparent, by the thoughtful expression of the
listener’s countenance, that the answer was most cunningly devised. The Huron
mused a few moments, and then laying his hand on the rude bandages of his
wounded shoulder, he said, with some energy--
“Do friends make such
marks?”
“Would ‘la Longue
Carabine’ cut one so light on an enemy?”
“Do the Delawares crawl
upon those they love like snakes, twisting themselves to strike?”
“Would ‘le Gros Serpent’
have been heard by the ears of one he wished to be deaf?”
“Does the white chief
burn his powder in the faces of his brothers?”
“Does he ever miss his
aim, when seriously bent to kill?” returned Duncan, smiling with well acted
disdain.
Another long and
deliberative pause succeeded these sententious questions and ready replies.
Duncan saw that the Indian hesitated. In order to complete his victory, he was
in the act of recommencing the enumeration of the rewards, when Magua made an
expressive gesture, and said--
“Enough; le Renard is a
wise chief, and what he does will be seen. Go, and keep the mouth shut. When
Magua speaks, it will be the time to answer.”
Heyward, perceiving
that the eyes of his companion were warily fastened on the rest of the band,
fell back immediately, in order to avoid the appearance of any suspicious
confederacy with their leader. Magua approached the horses, and affected to be
well pleased with the diligence and ingenuity of his comrades. He then signed
to Heyward to assist the sisters into their saddles, for he seldom deigned to
use the English tongue, unless urged by some motive of more than usual moment.
There was no longer any
plausible pretext for further delay, and Duncan was obliged, however
reluctantly, to comply. As he performed this office, he whispered his reviving
hopes in the ears of the trembling maidens, who, through dread of encountering
the savage countenances of their captors, seldom raised their eyes from the
ground. The mare of David had been taken with the followers of the large chief;
in consequence, its owner, as well as Duncan, were compelled to journey on
foot. The latter did not, however, so much regret this circumstance, as it
might enable him to retard the speed of the party--for he still turned his
longing looks in the direction of fort Edward, in the vain expectation of
catching some sound from that quarter of the forest, which might denote the
approach of speedy succour.
When all were prepared,
Magua made the signal to proceed, advancing in front, to lead the party in his
own person. Next followed David, who was gradually coming to a true sense of
his condition, as the effects of the wound became less and less apparent. The
sisters rode in his rear, with Heyward at their side, while the Indians flanked
the party, and brought up the close of the march, with a caution that seemed
never to tire.
In this manner they
proceeded in uninterrupted silence, except when Heyward addressed some solitary
word of comfort to the females, or David gave vent to the moanings of his
spirit, in piteous exclamation, which he intended should express the humility
of his resignation. Their direction lay towards the south, and in a course
nearly opposite to the road to William Henry. Notwithstanding this apparent
adherence in Magua to the original determination of his conquerors, Heyward
could not believe his tempting bait was so soon forgotten; and he knew the
windings of an Indian path too well, to suppose that its apparent course led
directly to its object, when artifice was at all necessary. Mile after mile
was, however, passed through the boundless woods in this painful manner,
without any prospect of a termination to their journey. Heyward watched the
sun, as he darted his meridian rays through the branches of the trees, and
pined for the moment when the policy of Magua should change their route to one
more favourable to his hopes. Sometimes he fancied that the wary savage,
despairing of passing the beleaguering army of Montcalm, in safety, was holding
his way towards a well known border settlement, where a distinguished officer
of the crown, and a favoured friend of the Six Nations, held his large
possessions, as well as his usual residence. To be delivered into the hands of
Sir William Johnson, was far preferable to being led into the wilds of Canada;
but in order to effect even the former, it would be necessary to traverse the
forest for many weary leagues, each step of which was carrying him further from
the scene of the war, and, consequently, from the post, not only of honour, but
of duty.
Cora alone remembered
the parting injunctions of the scout, and whenever an opportunity offered, she
stretched forth her arm to bend aside the twigs that met her hands. But the
vigilance of the Indians rendered this act of precaution both difficult and
dangerous. She was often defeated in her purpose, by encountering the dark
glances of their watchful eyes, when it became necessary to feign an alarm she
did not feel, and occupy the limb, by some gesture of feminine apprehension.
Once, and once only, was she completely successful; when she broke down the
bough of a large sumach, and, by a sudden thought, let her glove fall at the same
instant. This sign intended for those that might follow, was observed by one of
her conductors, who restored the glove, broke the remaining branches of the
bush in such a manner, that it appeared to proceed from the struggling of some
beast in its branches, and then laid his hand on his tomahawk, with a look so
significant, that it put an effectual end to these stolen memorials of their
passage.
As there were horses,
to leave the prints of their footsteps, in both bands of the Indians, this
interruption cut off any probable hopes of assistance being conveyed through
the means of their trail.
Heyward would have
called out twenty times to their leader, and ventured a remonstrance, had there
been any thing encouraging in the gloomy reserve of the savage. But Magua,
during all this time, seldom turned to look at his followers, and never spoke.
With the sun for his only guide, or aided by such blind marks as are only known
to the sagacity of a native, he held his way along the barrens of pine, through
occasional little fertile vales, across brooks and rivulets, and over
undulating hills, with the accuracy of instinct, and nearly with the directness
of a bird. He never seemed to hesitate. Whether the path was hardly
distinguishable, whether it disappeared, or whether it lay beaten and plain
before him, made no sensible difference in his speed or certainty. It seemed as
though fatigue could not affect him. Whenever the eyes of the wearied
travellers rose from the decayed leaves over which they trode, his dark form
was to be seen glancing among the stems of the trees in front, his head
immoveably fastened in a forward position, with the light plume on its crest,
fluttering in a current of air, made solely by the swiftness of his own motion.
But all this diligence
and speed was not without an object. After crossing a low vale, through which a
gushing brook meandered, he suddenly rose a hill, so steep and difficult of
ascent, that the sisters were compelled to alight, in order to follow. When the
summit was gained, they found themselves on a level spot, but thinly covered
with trees, under one of which Magua had thrown his dark form, as if willing
and ready to seek that rest, which was so much needed by the whole party.
--“Cursed be my tribe, If
I forgive him.”
--Shylock.
The Indian had selected
for this desirable purpose, one of those steep, pyramidal hills, which bear a
strong resemblance to artificial mounds, and which so frequently occur in the
valleys of the American states. The one in question was high, and precipitous;
its top flattened, as usual; but with one of its sides more than ordinarily
irregular. It possessed no other apparent advantages for a resting place, than
in its elevation and form, which might render defence easy, and surprise nearly
impossible. As Heyward, however, no longer expected that rescue, which time and
distance now rendered so improbable, he regarded these little peculiarities
with an eye devoid of interest, devoting himself entirely to the comfort and
condolence of his feebler companions. The Narragansets were suffered to browse
on the branches of the trees and shrubs, that were thinly scattered over the
summit of the hill, while the remains of their provisions were spread under the
shade of a beech, that stretched its horizontal limbs like a vast canopy above
them.
Notwithstanding the
swiftness of their flight, one of the Indians had found an opportunity to
strike a straggling fawn with an arrow, and had borne the more preferable
fragments of the victim, patiently on his shoulders, to the stopping place.
Without any aid from the science of cookery, he was immediately employed, in
common with his fellows, in gorging himself with this digestable sustenance.
Magua alone sat apart, without participation in the revolting meal, and
apparently buried in the deepest thought.
This abstinence, so
remarkable in an Indian, at length attracted the notice of Heyward. The young
man willingly believed that the Huron deliberated on the most eligible manner
to elude the vigilance of his associates, in order to possess himself of the
promised bribe. With a view to assist his plans by any suggestion of his own,
and to strengthen the temptation, he left the beech, and straggled, as if
without an object, to the spot where le Renard was seated.
“Has not Magua kept the
sun in his face long enough to escape all danger from the Canadians?” he asked,
as though no longer doubtful of the good intelligence established between them;
“and will not the chief of William Henry be better pleased to see his daughters
before another night may have hardened his heart to their loss, and will make
him less liberal in his reward?”
“Do the pale faces love
their children less in the morning than at night?” asked the Indian, coldly.
“By no means,” returned
Heyward, anxious to recall his error, if he had made one; “the white man may,
and does often, forget the burial place of his fathers; he sometimes ceases to
remember those he should love, and has promised to cherish; but the affection
of a parent for his child is never permitted to die.”
“And is the heart of
the white-headed chief soft, and will he think of the babes that his squaws
have given him? He is hard to his warriors, and his eyes are made of stone!”
“He is severe to the
idle and wicked, but to the sober and deserving he is a leader, both just and
humane. I have known many fond and tender parents, but never have I seen a man
whose heart was softer towards his child. You have seen the gray-head in front
of his warriors, Magua, but I have seen his eyes swimming in water, when he
spoke of those children who are now in your power!”
Heyward paused, for he
knew not how to construe the remarkable expression that gleamed across the
swarthy features of the attentive Indian. At first it seemed as if the remembrance
of the promised reward grew vivid in his mind, as he listened to the sources of
parental feeling which were to assure its possession; but as Duncan proceeded,
the expression of joy became so fiercely malignant, that it was impossible not
to apprehend it proceeded from some passion even more sinister than avarice.
“Go,” said the Huron,
suppressing the alarming exhibition in an instant, in a death-like calmness of
countenance; “go to the dark-haired daughter, and say, Magua waits to speak.
The father will remember what the child promises.”
Duncan, who interpreted
this speech to express a wish for some additional pledge that the promised
gifts should not be withheld, slowly and reluctantly repaired to the place
where the sisters were now resting from their fatigue, to communicate its
purport to Cora.
“You understand the
nature of an Indian’s wishes,” he concluded, as he led her towards the place
where she was expected, “and must be prodigal of your offers of powder and
blankets. Ardent spirits are, however, the most prized by such as he; nor would
it be amiss to add some boon from your own hand, with that grace you so well
know how to practise. Remember, Cora, that on your presence of mind and
ingenuity, even your life, as well as that of Alice, may in some measure
depend.”
“Heyward, and yours!”
“Mine is of little
moment; it is already sold to my king, and is a prize to be seized by any enemy
who may possess the power. I have no father to expect me, and but few friends
to lament a fate, which I have courted with the unsatiable longings of youth
after distinction. But, hush; we approach the Indian. Magua, the lady, with
whom you wish to speak, is here.”
The Indian rose slowly
from his seat, and stood for near a minute silent and motionless. He then signed
with his hand for Heyward to retire, saying, coldly--
“When the Huron talks
to the women, his tribe shut their ears.”
Duncan still lingering,
as if refusing to comply, Cora said, with a calm smile--
“You hear, Heyward, and
delicacy at least should urge you to retire. Go to Alice, and comfort her with
our reviving prospects.”
She waited until he had
departed, and then turning to the native, with all the dignity of her sex, in
her voice and manner, she added: “What would le Renard say to the daughter of
Munro?”
“Listen,” said the
Indian, laying his hand firmly upon her arm, as if willing to draw her utmost
attention to his words; a movement that Cora as firmly, but quietly repulsed,
by extricating the limb from his grasp--“Magua was born a chief and a warrior
among the red Hurons of the lakes; he saw the suns of twenty summers make the
snows of twenty winters run off in the streams, before he saw a pale-face; and
he was happy! Then his Canada fathers came into the woods, and taught him to
drink the fire-water, and he became a rascal. The Hurons drove him from the
graves of his fathers, as they would chase the hunted buffalo. He ran down the
shores of the lakes, and followed their outlet to the ‘city of cannon.’ There
he hunted and fished, till the people chased him again through the woods into
the arms of his enemies. The chief, who was born a Huron, was at last a warrior
among the Mohawks!”
“Something like this I
had heard before,” said Cora, observing that he paused to suppress those
passions which began to burn with too bright a flame, as he recalled the
recollection of his supposed injuries.
“Was it the fault of le
Renard that his head was not made of rock? Who gave him the fire-water? who
made him a villain? ’Twas the pale-faces, the people of your own colour.”
“And am I answerable
that thoughtless and unprincipled men exist, whose shades of countenance may
resemble mine?” Cora calmly demanded of the excited savage.
“No; Magua is a man,
and not a fool; such as you never open their lips to the burning stream; the
Great Spirit has given you wisdom!”
“What then have I to
do, or say, in the matter of your misfortunes, not to say of your errors?”
“Listen,” repeated the
Indian, resuming his earnest attitude; “when his English and French fathers dug
up the hatchet, le Renard struck the war-post of the Mohawks, and went out
against his own nation. The pale-faces have driven the red-skins from their
hunting grounds, and now, when they fight, a white man leads the way. The old
chief of Horican, your father, was the great captain of our war party. He said
to the Mohawks do this, and do that, and he was minded. He made a law, that if
an Indian swallowed the fire-water, and came into the cloth wigwams of his
warriors, it should not be forgotten. Magua foolishly opened his mouth, and the
hot liquor led him into the cabin of Munro. What did the gray-head? let his
daughter say.”
“He forgot not his
words, and did justice, by punishing the offender,” said the undaunted maiden.
“Justice!” repeated the
Indian, casting an oblique glance of the most ferocious expression at her
unyielding countenance; “is it justice to make evil, and then punish for it!
Magua was not himself; it was the fire-water that spoke and acted for him! but
Munro did not believe it. The Huron chief was tied up before all the pale-faced
warriors, and whipped with sticks, like a dog.”
Cora remained silent,
for she knew not how to palliate this imprudent severity on the part of her
father, in a manner to suit the comprehension of an Indian.
“See!” continued Magua,
tearing aside the slight calico that very imperfectly concealed his painted
breast; “here are scars given by knives and bullets--of these a warrior may
boast before his nation; but the gray-head has left marks on the back of the
Huron chief, that he must hide, like a squaw, under this painted cloth of the
whites.”
“I had thought,”
resumed Cora, “that an Indian warrior was patient, and that his spirit felt
not, and knew not, the pain his body suffered?”
“When the Chippewas
tied Magua to the stake, and cut this gash,” said the other, laying his finger
proudly on a deep scar on his bosom, “the Huron laughed in their faces, and
told them, women struck so light! His spirit was then in the clouds! But when
he felt the blows of Munro, his spirit lay under the birch. The spirit of a
Huron is never drunk; it remembers for ever!”
“But it may be
appeased. If my father has done you this injustice, show him how an Indian can
forgive an injury, and take back his daughters. You have heard from Major Heyward--”
Magua shook his head,
forbidding the repetition of offers he so much despised.
“What would you have,”
continued Cora, after a most painful pause, while the conviction forced itself
on her mind, that the too sanguine and generous Duncan had been cruelly
deceived by the cunning of the savage.
“What a Huron
loves--good for good; bad for bad!”
“You would then revenge
the injury inflicted by Munro, on his helpless daughters. Would it not be more
like a man to go before his face, and take the satisfaction of a warrior?”
“The arms of the
pale-faces are long, and their knives sharp!” returned the savage, with a
malignant laugh; “why should le Renard go among the muskets of his warriors,
when he holds the spirit of the gray-head in his hand?”
“Name your intention,
Magua,” said Cora, struggling with herself to speak with steady calmness. “Is
it to lead us prisoners to the woods, or do you contemplate even some greater
evil? Is there no reward, no means of palliating the injury, and of softening
your heart? At least, release my gentle sister, and pour out all your malice on
me. Purchase wealth by her safety, and satisfy your revenge with a single
victim. The loss of both his daughters might bring the aged man to his grave,
and where would then be the satisfaction of le Renard?”
“Listen,” said the
Indian again. “The light eyes can go back to the Horican, and tell the old
chief what has been done, if the dark-haired woman will swear, by the Great
Spirit of her fathers, to tell no lie.”
“What must I promise?”
demanded Cora, still maintaining a secret ascendancy over the fierce passions
of the native, by the collected and feminine dignity of her presence.
“When Magua left his
people, his wife was given to another chief; he has now made friends with the
Hurons, and will go back to the graves of his tribe, on the shores of the great
lake. Let the daughter of the English chief follow, and live in his wigwam for
ever.”
However revolting a
proposal of such a character might prove to Cora, she retained, notwithstanding
her powerful disgust, sufficient self-command to reply, without betraying the
least weakness.
“And what pleasure
would Magua find in sharing his cabin with a wife he did not love; one who
would be of a nation and colour different from his own? It would be better to
take the gold of Munro, and buy the heart of some Huron maid with his gifts and
generosity.”
The Indian made no
reply for near a minute, but bent his fierce looks on the countenance of Cora,
in such wavering glances, that her eyes sunk with shame, under an impression,
that, for the first time, they had encountered an expression that no chaste
female might endure. While she was shrinking within herself, in dread of having
her ears wounded by some proposal still more shocking than the last, the voice
of Magua answered, in its tones of deepest malignancy--
“When the blows
scorched the back of the Huron, he would know where to find a woman to feel the
smart. The daughter of Munro would draw his water, hoe his corn, and cook his
venison. The body of the gray-head would sleep among his cannon, but his heart
would lie within reach of the knife of le Subtil.”
“Monster! well dost
thou deserve thy treacherous name!” cried Cora, in an ungovernable burst of
filial indignation. “None but a fiend could meditate such a vengeance! But thou
overratest thy power! You shall find it is, in truth, the heart of Munro you
hold, and that it will defy your utmost malice!”
The Indian answered
this bold defiance by a ghastly smile, that showed an unaltered purpose, while
he motioned her away, as if to close their conference, for ever. Cora, already
regretting her precipitation, was obliged to comply; for Magua instantly left
the spot, and approached his gluttonous comrades. Heyward flew to the side of
the agitated maiden, and demanded the result of a dialogue, that he had watched
at a distance with so much interest. But unwilling to alarm the fears of Alice,
she evaded a direct reply, betraying only by her countenance her utter want of
success, and keeping her anxious looks fastened on the slightest movements of
their captors. To the reiterated and earnest questions of her sister,
concerning their probable destination, she made no other answer, than by
pointing towards the dark groupe, with an agitation she could not control, and
murmuring, as she folded Alice to her bosom--
“There, there; read our
fortunes in their faces; we shall see! we shall see!”
The action, and the
choked utterance of Cora, spoke more impressively than any words, and quickly
drew the attention of her companions on that spot, where her own was riveted
with an intenseness, that nothing but the importance of the stake could create.
When Magua reached the
cluster of lolling savages, who, gorged with their disgusting meal, lay
stretched on the earth, in a sort of brutal indulgence, he commenced speaking
with the utmost dignity of an Indian chief. The first syllables he uttered, had
the effect to cause his listeners to raise themselves in attitudes of
respectful attention. As the Huron used his native language, the prisoners,
notwithstanding the caution of the natives had kept them within the swing of
their tomahawks, could only conjecture the substance of his harangue, from the
nature of those significant gestures with which an Indian always illustrates
his eloquence.
At first, the language,
as well as the action of Magua, appeared calm and deliberative. When he had
succeeded in sufficiently awakening the attention of his comrades, Heyward
fancied, by his pointing so frequently toward the direction of the great lakes,
that he spoke of the land of their fathers, and of their distant tribe.
Frequent indications of applause escaped the listeners, who, as they uttered
the expressive “hugh!” looked at each other in open commendation of the
speaker. Le Renard was too skilful to neglect his advantage. He now spoke of
the long and painful route by which they had left those spacious hunting
grounds and happy villages, to come and battle against the enemies of their
Canadian fathers. He enumerated the warriors of the party; their several
merits; their frequent services to the nation; their wounds, and the number of
the scalps they had taken. Whenever he alluded to any present, (and the subtle
Indian neglected none,) the dark countenance of the flattered individual gleamed
with exultation, nor did he even hesitate to assert the truth of the words, by
gestures of applause and confirmation. Then the voice of the speaker fell, and
lost the loud, animated tones of triumph with which he had enumerated their
deeds of success and victory. He described the cataract of Glenn’s; the
impregnable position of its rocky island, with its caverns, and its numerous
encircling rapids and whirlpools; he named the name of ‘la Longue Carabine,’
and paused until the forest beneath them had sent up the last echo of a loud
and long yell, with which the hated appellation was received. He pointed toward
the youthful military captive, and described the death of a favourite warrior,
who had been precipitated into the deep ravine by his hand. He not only
mentioned the fate of him who, hanging between heaven and earth, had presented
such a spectacle of horror to the whole band, but he acted anew the terrors of
his situation, his resolution and his death, on the branches of a sapling; and,
finally, he rapidly recounted the manner in which each of their friends had
fallen, never failing to touch upon their courage, and their most acknowledged
virtues. When this recital of events was ended, his voice once more changed,
and became plaintive, and even musical, in its low, soft, guttural sounds. He
now spoke of the wives and children of the slain; their destitution; their
misery, both physical and moral; their distance; and, at last, of their
unavenged wrongs. Then suddenly lifting his voice to a pitch of terrific
energy, he concluded, by demanding--
“Are the Hurons dogs,
to bear this? Who shall say to the wife of Menowgua, that the fishes have his
scalp, and that his nation have not taken revenge! Who will dare meet the
mother of Wassawattimie, that scornful woman, with his hands clean! What shall
be said to the old men, when they ask us for scalps, and we have not a hair
from a white head to give them! The women will point their fingers at us. There
is a dark spot on the names of the Hurons, and it must be hid in blood!--”
His voice was no longer
audible in the burst of rage, which now broke into the air, as if the wood,
instead of containing so small a band, was filled with their nation. During the
foregoing address, the progress of the speaker was too plainly read by those
most interested in his success, through the medium of the countenances of the
men he addressed. They had answered his melancholy and mourning, by sympathy
and sorrow; his assertions, by gestures of confirmation; and his boastings,
with the exultation of savages. When he spoke of courage, their looks were firm
and responsive; when he alluded to their injuries, their eyes kindled with
fury; when he mentioned the taunts of their women, they dropped their heads in
shame; but when he pointed out their means of vengeance, he struck a chord
which never failed to thrill in the breast of an Indian. With the first
intimation that it was within their reach, the whole band sprang upon their
feet, as one man, and giving utterance to their rage for a single instant, in
the most frantic cries, they rushed upon their prisoners in a body, with drawn
knives and uplifted tomahawks. Heyward threw himself between the sisters and
their enemies, the foremost of whom he grappled with a desperate strength that
for a moment checked his violence. This unexpected resistance gave Magua time
to interpose, and with rapid enunciation and animated gestures, he drew the
attention of the band again to himself. In that language he knew so well how to
assume, he diverted his comrades from their instant purpose, and invited them
to prolong the misery of their victims. His proposal was received with
acclamations, and executed with the swiftness of thought.
Two powerful warriors
cast themselves together on Heyward, while another was occupied in securing the
less active singing-master. Neither of the captives, however, submitted without
a desperate though fruitless struggle. Even David hurled his assailant to the
earth; nor was Heyward secured, until the victory over his companion enabled
the Indians to direct their united force to that object. He was then bound and
fastened to the body of the sapling, on whose branches Magua had acted the
pantomime of the falling Huron. When the young soldier regained his
recollection, he had the painful certainty before his eyes, that a common fate
was intended for the whole party. On his right was Cora, in a durance similar
to his own, pale and agitated, but with an eye, whose steady look still read
the proceedings of their enemies. On his left, the withes which bound her to a
pine, performed that office for Alice which her trembling limbs refused, and
alone kept her lovely but fragile form from sinking to the ground. Her hands
were clasped before her in prayer, but instead of looking upward to that power
which alone could rescue them, her unconscious looks wandered to the
countenance of Duncan, with a species of infantile dependency. David had
contended; and the novelty of the circumstance held him silent, in
deliberation, on the propriety of the unusual occurrence.
The vengeance of the
Hurons had now taken a new direction, and they prepared to execute it, with all
that barbarous ingenuity, with which they were familiarized by the practice of
centuries. Some sought knots, to raise the blazing pile; one was riving the
splinters of pine, in order to pierce the flesh of their captives with the
burning fragments; and others bent the tops of two saplings to the earth, in
order to suspend Heyward by the arms between the recoiling branches. But the
vengeance of Magua sought a deeper and a more malignant enjoyment.
While the less refined
monsters of the band prepared, before the eyes of those who were to suffer,
these well known and vulgar means of torture, he approached Cora, and pointed
out, with the most malign expression of countenance, the speedy fate that
awaited her--
“Ha!” he added, “what
says the daughter of Munro? Her head is too good to find a pillow in the wigwam
of le Renard; will she like it better when it rolls about this hill, a
plaything for the wolves? Her bosom cannot nurse the children of a Huron; she
will see it spit upon by Indians!”
“What means the
monster!” demanded the astonished Heyward.
“Nothing!” was the firm
but mild reply. “He is a savage, a barbarous and ignorant savage, and knows not
what he does. Let us find leisure, with our dying breath, to ask for him
penitence and pardon.”
“Pardon!” echoed the
fierce Huron, mistaking, in his anger, the meaning of her words; “the memory of
an Indian is longer than the arm of the palefaces; his mercy shorter than their
justice! Say; shall I send the yellow-hair to her father, and will you follow
Magua to the great lakes, to carry his water, and feed him with corn?”
Cora beckoned him away,
with an emotion of disgust she could not control.
“Leave me,” she said,
with a solemnity that for a moment checked the barbarity of the Indian; “you
mingle bitterness in my prayers, and stand between me and my God!”
The slight impression
produced on the savage was, however, soon forgotten, and he continued pointing,
with taunting irony, towards Alice.
“Look! the child weeps!
She is young to die! Send her to Munro, to comb his gray hairs, and keep the
life in the heart of the old man.”
Cora could not resist
the desire to look upon her youthful sister, in whose eyes she met an imploring
glance, that betrayed the longings of nature.
“What says he, dearest
Cora?” asked the trembling voice of Alice. “Did he speak of sending me to our
father?”
For many moments the
elder sister looked upon the younger, with a countenance that wavered with
powerful and contending emotions. At length she spoke, though her tones had
lost their rich and calm fulness, in an expression of tenderness, that seemed
maternal.
“Alice,” she said, “the
Huron offers us both life--nay, more than both; he offers to restore
Duncan--our invaluable Duncan, as well as you, to our friends--to our
father--to our heart-stricken, childless father, if I will bow down this
rebellious, stubborn pride of mine, and consent--”
Her voice became
choked, and clasping her hand, she looked upward, as if seeking, in her agony,
intelligence from a wisdom that was infinite.
“Say on,” cried Alice; “to
what, dearest Cora? Oh! that the proffer were made to me! to save you, to cheer
our aged father! to restore Duncan, how cheerfully could I die!”
“Die!” repeated Cora,
with a calmer and a firmer voice, “that were easy! Perhaps the alternative may
not be less so. He would have me,” she continued, her accents sinking under a
deep consciousness of the degradation of the proposal, “follow him to the
wilderness; to go to the habitations of the Hurons; to remain there: in short,
to become his wife! Speak then, Alice; child of my affections! sister of my
love! And you too, Major Heyward, aid my weak reason with your counsel. Is life
to be purchased by such a sacrifice? Will you, Alice, receive it at my hands,
at such a price? And you, Duncan; guide me; control me between you; for I am
wholly yours.”
“Would I!” echoed the
indignant and astonished youth. “Cora! Cora! you jest with our misery! Name not
the horrid alternative again; the thought itself is worse than a thousand
deaths.”
“That such would be
your answer, I well knew!” exclaimed Cora, her cheeks flushing, and her dark
eyes once more sparkling with the glow of the lingering but momentary emotions
of a woman. “What says my Alice? for her will I submit without another murmur.”
Although both Heyward
and Cora listened with painful suspense and the deepest attention, no sounds
were heard in reply. It appeared as if the delicate and sensitive form of Alice
had shrunk into itself, as she listened to this proposal. Her arms had fallen
lengthwise before her, with the fingers moving in slight convulsions; her head
dropped upon her bosom, and her whole person seemed suspended against the tree,
looking like some beautiful emblem of the wounded delicacy of her sex, devoid
of animation, and yet keenly conscious. In a few moments, however, her head
began to move slowly, in a sign of deep, unconquerable disapprobation, and by
the time the flush of maiden pride had diffused itself over her fine features,
and her eye had lighted with the feelings which oppressed her, she found
strength to murmur--
“No, no, no; better
that we should die, as we have lived, together!”
“Then die!” shouted Magua,
hurling his tomahawk with violence at the unresisting speaker, and gnashing his
teeth with a rage that could no longer be bridled, at this sudden exhibition of
firmness in the one he believed the weakest of the party. The axe cleaved the
air in front of Heyward, and cutting some of the flowing ringlets of Alice,
buried itself, and quivered in the tree above her head. The sight maddened
Duncan to desperation. Collecting all his energies in one effort, he snapped
the twigs which bound him, and rushed upon another savage, who was preparing,
with loud yells, and a more deliberate aim, to repeat the blow. They
encountered grappled, and fell to the earth together. The naked body of his
antagonist, afforded Heyward no means of holding his adversary, who glided from
his grasp, and rose again with one knee on his chest, pressing him down with
the weight of a giant. Duncan already saw the knife gleaming in the air, when a
whistling sound swept past him, and was rather accompanied, than followed, by
the sharp crack of a rifle. He felt his breast relieved from the load it had
endured; he saw the savage expression of his adversary’s countenance change to
a look of vacant wildness, and then the Indian fell prostrate and dead, on the
faded leaves by his side.
“Clo. --I am gone, sir,
And anon, sir,
I’ll be with you again.”
--
The Hurons stood aghast
at this sudden visitation of death on one of their band. But, as they regarded
the fatal accuracy of an aim, which had dared to immolate an enemy, at so much
hazard to a friend, the name of “la Longue Carabine” burst simultaneously from
every lip, and was succeeded by a wild and a sort of plaintive howl. The cry
was answered by a loud shout from a little thicket, where the incautious party
had piled their arms; and, at the next moment, Hawk-eye, too eager to load the
rifle he had regained, was seen advancing upon them, brandishing the clubbed
weapon, and cutting the air with wide and powerful sweeps. Bold and rapid as
was the progress of the scout, it was exceeded by that of a light and vigorous
form, which bounding past him, leaped, with incredible activity and daring,
into the very centre of the Hurons, where it stood, whirling a tomahawk, and
flourishing a glittering knife, with fearful menaces, in front of Cora. Quicker
than the thoughts could follow these unexpected and audacious movements, an
image, armed in the emblematic panoply of death, stole, with the imaginary
glidings of a spectre, before their eyes, and assumed a threatening attitude at
the other’s side. The savage tormentors recoiled before these warlike
intruders, and uttered, as they appeared, in such quick succession, the often
repeated and peculiar exclamation of surprise, followed by the well known and
dreaded appellations of--
“Le Cerf Agile! le Gros
Serpent!”
But the wary and
vigilant leader of the Hurons, was not so easily disconcerted. Casting his keen
eyes around the little plain, he comprehended the nature of the assault, at a
glance, and encouraging his followers by his voice, as well as by his example,
he unsheathed his long and dangerous knife, and rushed, with a loud whoop, upon
the expecting Chingachgook. It was the signal for a general combat. Neither
party had fire-arms, and the contest was to be decided in the deadliest manner;
hand to hand, with weapons of offence, and none of defence.
Uncas answered the
whoop, and leaping on an enemy, with a single, well-directed blow of his
tomahawk, cleft him to the brain. Heyward tore the weapon of Magua from the
sapling, and rushed eagerly towards the fray. As the combatants were now equal
in number, each singled an opponent from the adverse band. The rush and blows
passed with the fury of a whirlwind, and the swiftness of lightning. Hawk-eye
soon got another enemy within reach of his arm, and with one sweep of his
formidable weapon, he beat down the slight and inartificial defences of his
antagonist, crushing him to the earth with the weight of his blow. Heyward
ventured to hurl the tomahawk he had seized, too ardent to await the moment of closing.
It struck the Indian he had selected on the forehead, and checked for an
instant his onward rush. Encouraged by this slight advantage, the impetuous
young man continued his onset, and sprang upon his enemy with naked hands. A
single instant was sufficient to assure him of the rashness of the measure, for
he immediately found himself fully engaged, with all his activity and courage,
in endeavouring to ward the desperate thrusts made with the knife of the Huron.
Unable longer to foil an enemy so alert and vigilant, he threw his arms about
him, and succeeded in pinning the limbs of the other to his side, with an iron
grasp, but one that was far too exhausting to himself to continue long. In this
extremity he heard a voice near him, shouting--
“Extarminate the
varlets! no quarter to an accursed Mingo!”
At the next moment, the
breech of Hawk-eye’s rifle fell on the naked head of his adversary, whose
muscles appeared to wither under the shock, as he sunk from the arms of Duncan,
flexible and motionless.
When Uncas had brained
his first antagonist, he turned, like a hungry lion, to seek another. The fifth
and only Huron disengaged at the first onset, had paused a moment, and then
seeing that all around him were employed in the deadly strife, he had sought, with
hellish vengeance, to complete the baffled work of revenge. Raising a shout of
triumph, he had sprung towards the defenceless Cora, sending his keen axe, as
the dreadful precursor of his approach, The tomahawk grazed her shoulder, and
cutting the withes which bound her to the tree, left the maiden at liberty to
fly. She eluded the grasp of the savage, and reckless of her own safety, threw
herself on the bosom of Alice, striving, with convulsed and ill-directed
fingers, to tear asunder the twigs which confined the person of her sister. Any
other than a monster would have relented at such an act of generous devotion to
the best and purest affection; but the breast of the Huron was a stranger to
any sympathy in the moments of his fury. Seizing Cora by the rich tresses which
fell in glossy confusion about her form, he tore her from her frantic hold, and
bowed her down with brutal violence to her knees. The savage drew the flowing
curls through his hand, and raising them on high with an outstretched arm, he passed
the knife around the exquisitely moulded head of his victim, with a taunting
and exulting laugh. But he purchased this moment of fierce gratification, with
the loss of the fatal opportunity. It was just then the sight caught the eye of
Uncas. Bounding from his footsteps, he appeared for an instant darting through
the air, and descending in a ball he fell on the chest of his enemy, driving
him for many yards from the spot, headlong and prostrate. The violence of the
exertion cast the young Mohican at his side. They arose together, fought, and
bled, each in his turn. But the conflict was soon decided; the tomahawk of
Heyward, and the rifle of Hawk-eye, descending on the skull of the Huron, at
the same moment that the knife of Uncas reached his heart.
The battle was now
entirely terminated, with the exception of the protracted struggle between “le
Renard Subtil” and “le Gros Serpent.” Well did these barbarous warriors prove
that they deserved those significant names, which had been bestowed for deeds
in former wars. When they engaged, some little time was lost in eluding the
quick and vigorous thrusts which had been aimed at their several lives.
Suddenly darting on each other, they closed, and came to the earth, twisted
together, like twining serpents, in pliant and subtle folds. At the moment when
the victors found themselves unoccupied, the spot where these experienced and
desperate combatants lay, could only be distinguished by a cloud of dust and
leaves, which moved from the centre of the little plain towards its boundary,
as if raised by the passage of a whirlwind. Urged by the different motives of
filial affection, friendship, and gratitude, Heyward and his companions rushed
with one accord to the place, encircling the little canopy which hung above the
warriors. In vain did Uncas dart around the cloud, with a wish to strike his
knife into the heart of his father’s foe; the threatening rifle of Hawk-eye was
raised and suspended in vain; while Duncan endeavoured to seize the limbs of
the Huron, with hands that appeared to have lost their power. Covered, as they
were, with dust and blood, the swift and subtle evolutions of the combatants
seemed to incorporate their bodies into one. The death-like looking figure of
the Mohican, and the dark form of the Huron, gleamed before their eyes in such
quick and confused succession, that the friends of the former knew not where
nor when to plant their succouring blows. It is true, there were short and
fleeting moments, when the fiery eyes of Magua were seen glittering, like the
fabled organs of the basilisk, through the dusty wreath by which he was
enveloped, and he read by those short and deadly glances, the fate of the
combat in the hated countenances and in the presence of his enemies; ere,
however, any hostile hand could descend on his devoted head, its place was
filled by the scowling visage of Chingachgook. In this manner, the scene of the
combat was removed from the centre of the little plain to its verge. The
Mohican now found an opportunity to make a powerful thrust with his knife;
Magua suddenly relinquished his grasp, and fell backward, without motion, and,
seemingly, without life. His adversary leaped on his feet, making the arches of
the forest ring with the sounds of his shout of triumph.
“Well done for the
Delawares! victory to the Mohican!” cried Hawk-eye, once more elevating the
butt of the long and fatal rifle; “a finishing blow from a man without a cross,
will never tell against his honour, nor rob him of his right to the scalp!”
But, at the very moment
when the dangerous weapon was in the act of descending, the subtle Huron rolled
swiftly from beneath the danger, over the edge of the precipice, and falling on
his feet, was seen leaping, with a single bound, into the centre of a thicket
of low bushes, which clung along its sides. The Delawares, who had believed
their enemy dead, uttered their exclamation of surprise, and were following
with speed and clamour, like hounds in open view of the deer, when a shrill and
peculiar cry from the scout, instantly changed their purpose, and recalled them
to the summit of the hill.
“’Twas like himself!”
cried the inveterate forester, whose prejudices contributed so largely to veil
his natural sense of justice in all matters which concerned the Mingoes; “a
lying and deceitful varlet as he is! An honest Delaware now, being fairly
vanquished, would have laid still, and been knocked on the head, but these
knavish Maquas cling to life like so many cats-o’-the-mountain. Let him go--let
him go; ’tis but one man, and he without either rifle or bow, many a long mile
from his French commerades; and, like a rattler that has lost his fangs, he can
do no farther mischief, until such time as he, and we too, may leave the prints
of our moccasins over a long reach of sandy plain. See, Uncas,” he added, in
Delaware, “your father is flying the scalps already! It may be well to go round
and feel the vagabonds that are left, or we may have another of them loping
through the woods, and screeching like any jay that has been winged!”
So saying, the honest,
but implacable scout, made the circuit of the dead, into whose senseless bosoms
he thrust his long knife, with as much coolness, as though they had been so
many brute carcasses. He had, however, been anticipated by the elder Mohican, who
had already torn the emblems of victory from the unresisting heads of the
slain.
But Uncas, denying his
habits, we had almost said his nature, flew with instinctive delicacy,
accomnied by Heyward to the assistance of the sisters, and quickly releasing Alice,
placed her in the open arms of Cora. We shall not attempt to describe the
gratitude to the Almighty Disposer of events which glowed in the bosoms of the
lovely maidens, who were thus unexpectedly restored to life, and to each other.
Their thanksgivings were deep and silent; the offerings of their gentle
spirits, burning brightest and purest on the secret altars of their hearts; and
their renovated and more earthly feelings exhibiting themselves in long and
fervent, though speechless caresses. As Alice arose from her knees, where she
had sunken, by the side of Cora, she threw herself on the bosom of her sister,
and sobbed aloud the name of their aged father, while her soft, dove-like eyes,
sparkled with the rays of revived hope, the intelligence with which they beamed
partaking more of the ethereal than of any expression which might belong to
human infirmity.
“We are saved! we are
saved!” she murmured; “to return to the arms of our dear, dear father, and his
heart will not be broken with grief! And you too, Cora, my sister; my more than
sister, my mother; you too are spared! and Duncan,” she added, looking round
upon the youth, with a smile of ineffable purity and innocence, “even our own
brave and noble Duncan has escaped without a hurt!”
To these ardent and
nearly incoherent words, Cora made no other answer than by straining the
youthful speaker to her heart, as she bent over her, in melting tenderness. The
manhood of Heyward felt no shame, in dropping tears over this spectacle of
affectionate rapture; and Uncas stood, fresh and blood-stained from the combat,
a calm, and, apparently, an unmoved looker-on, it is true, but with eyes that
had already lost their fierceness, and were beaming with a sympathy, that
elevated him far above the intelligence, and advanced him probably centuries
before the practices of his nation.
During this display of
emotions so natural in their situation, Hawk-eye, whose vigilant distrust had
satisfied itself that the Hurons, who disfigured the heavenly scene, no longer
possessed the power to interrupt its harmony, approached David, and liberated
him from the bonds he had, until that moment, endured with the most exemplary
patience.
“There,” exclaimed the
scout, casting the last withe behind him, “you are once more master of your own
limbs, though you seem not to use them with much greater judgment than that, in
which they were first fashioned. If advice from one who is not older than
yourself, but who, having lived most of his time in the wilderness, may be said
to have experience beyond his years, will give no offence, you are welcome to
my thoughts; and these are, to part with the little tooting instrument in your
jacket to the first fool you meet with, and buy some useful we’pon with the
money, if it be only the barrel of a horseman’s pistol. By industry and care,
you might thus come to some prefarment; for by this time, I should think, your
eyes would plainly tell you, that a carrion crow is a better bird than a
mocking thresher. The one will, at least, remove foul sights from before the
face of man, while the other is only good to brew disturbances in the woods, by
cheating the ears of all that hear them.”
“Arms and the clarion
for the battle, but the song of thanksgiving to the victory!” answered the
liberated David. “Friend,” he added, thrusting forth his lean, delicate hand,
toward Hawk-eye, in kindness, while his eyes twinkled and grew moist, “I thank
thee that the hairs of my head still grow where they were first rooted by
Providence; for, though those of other men may be more glossy and curling, I
have ever found mine own comfortable, and well suited to the brain they
shelter. That I did not join myself to the battle, was less owing to
disinclination, than to the bonds of the heathen. Valiant and skilful hast thou
proved thyself in the conflict, and I hereby thank thee, before proceeding to
discharge other and more important duties, because thou hast proved thyself
well worthy of a Christian’s praise!”
“The thing is but a
trifle, and what you may often see, if you tarry long among us,” returned the
scout, a good deal softened in his feelings toward the man of song, by this
unequivocal expression of his gratitude. “I have got back my old companion, ‘kill-deer,’
” he added, striking his hand on the breech of his rifle, “and that in itself
is a victory. These Iroquois are cunning, but they outwitted themselves when
they placed all their fire-arms out of reach; and had Uncas, or his father,
been gifted with only their common Indian patience, we should have come in upon
the knaves with three bullets instead of one, and that would have made a finish
of the whole pack; you lopeing varlet, as well as his commerades. But ’twas all
fore-ordered, and for the best!”
“Thou sayest well,”
returned David, “and hast caught the true spirit of christianity. He that is to
be saved will be saved, and he that is predestined to be damned will be damned!
This is the doctrine of truth, and most consoling and refreshing it is to the
true believer.”
The scout, who by this
time was seated, examining into the state of his rifle with a species of
parental assiduity, now looked up at the other in a displeasure that he did not
affect to conceal, roughly interrupting his further speech.
“Doctrine, or no
doctrine,” said the sturdy woodsman, “ ’tis the belief of knaves, and the curse
of an honest man! I can credit that yonder Huron was to fall by my hand, for
with my own eyes have I seen it; but nothing short of being a witness, will
cause me to think he has met with any reward, or that Chingachgook, there, will
be condemned at the final day.”
“You have no warranty
for such an audacious doctrine, nor any covenant to support it,” cried the
excited David, who was deeply tinctured with the subtle distinctions, which, in
his time, and more especially in his province, had been drawn around the
beautiful simplicity of revelation, by endeavouring to penetrate the awful
mystery of the divine nature, supplying faith by self-sufficiency, and by
consequence, involving those who reasoned from such human dogmas in absurdities
and doubt; “your temple is reared on the sands, and the first tempest will wash
away its foundation. I demand your authorities for such an uncharitable
assertion; (like other advocates of a system, David was not always accurate in
his use of terms.) Name chapter and verse; in which of the holy books do you
find language to support you?”
“Book!” repeated
Hawk-eye, with singular and ill-concealed disdain; “do you take me for a
whimpering boy, at the apron string of one of your old gals; and this good rifle
on my knee for the feather of a goose’s wing, my ox’s horn for a bottle of ink,
and my leathern pouch for a cross-barred handkercher of yesterday’s dinner!
Book! what have such as I, who am a warrior of the wilderness, though a man
without a cross, to do with books! I never read but in one, and the words that
are written there are too simple and too plain to need much schooling; though I
may boast that of forty long and hard working years.”
“What call you the
volume?” said David, misconceiving the other’s meaning.
“ ’Tis open before your
eyes,” returned the scout; “and he who owns it is not a niggard of its use. I
have heard it said, that there are men who read in books, to convince
themselves there is a God! I know not but man may so deform his works in the
settlements, as to leave that which is so clear in the wilderness, a matter of
doubt among traders and priests. If any such there be, and he will follow me
from sun to sun, through the windings of the forest, he shall see enough to
teach him that he is a fool, and that the greatest of his folly lies in
striving to rise to the level of one he can never equal, be it in goodness, or
be it in power.”
The instant David
discovered that he battled with a disputant who imbibed his faith from the
lights of nature, eschewing all subtleties of doctrine, he willingly abandoned
a controversy, from which he believed neither profit nor credit were to be
derived. While the scout was speaking, he had also seated himself, and
producing the ready little volume, and the iron-rimmed spectacles, he prepared
to discharge a duty, which nothing but the unexpected assault he had received
in his orthodoxy, could have so long suspended. He was, in truth, a minstrel of
the western continent, of a much later day, certainly, than those gifted bards,
who formerly sung the profane renown of baron and prince, but after the spirit
of his own age and country; and he was now prepared to exercise the cunning of
his craft, in celebration of, or rather in thanksgiving for, the recent victory.
He waited patiently for Hawk-eye to cease, then lifting his eyes, together with
his voice, he said, aloud--
“I invite you, friends,
to join in praise for this signal deliverance from the hands of barbarians and
infidels, to the comfortable and solemn tones of the tune, called ‘Northampton.’
”
He next named the page
and verse where the gifted rhymes he had selected were to be found, and applied
the pitch-pipe to his lips, with the customary and decent gravity, that he had
been wont to use in the temple. This time he was, however, without any
accompaniment, for the sisters were just then pouring out those tender
effusions of affection, which have been already alluded to. Nothing deterred by
the smallness of his audience, which, in truth, consisted only of the
discontented scout, he raised his voice, commencing and ending the sacred song,
without accident or interruption of any kind.
Hawk-eye listened,
while he coolly adjusted his flint and reloaded his rifle, but the sounds
wanting the extraneous assistance of scene and sympathy, failed to awaken his
slumbering emotions. Never minstrel, or by whatever more suitable name David
should be known, drew upon his talents in the presence of more insensible
auditors; though considering the singleness and sincerity of his motive, it is
probable that no bard of profane song ever uttered notes that ascended so near
to that throne, where all homage and praise is most due. The scout soon shook
his head, and muttering some unintelligible words, among which “Throat” and “Iroquois,”
were alone audible, he walked away, to collect and to examine into the state of
the captured arsenal of the Hurons. In this office he was now joined by
Chingachgook, who found his own, as well as the rifle of his son, among the
arms. Even Heyward and David were furnished with weapons, nor was ammunition
wanting to render them all effectual.
When the foresters had
made their selection, and distributed their prizes, the scout announced,
openly, that the hour had arrived when it was necessary to move. By this time
the song of Gamut had ceased, and the sisters had learned to still the
exhibition of their emotions. Aided by Duncan and the younger Mohican, the two
latter descended the precipitous sides of that hill which they had so lately
ascended, under such very different auspices, and whose summit had so nearly
proved the scene of their horrible massacre. At the foot, they found their
Narragansets browsing the herbage of the bushes, and having mounted, they
followed the movements of a guide, who, in the most deadly straits, had so
often proved himself their friend. Their journey was, however, short. Hawk-eye,
leaving the blind path that the Hurons had followed, turned short to his right,
and entering the thicket, he crossed a babbling brook, and halted in a narrow
dell, under the shade of a few water elms. Their distance from the base of the
fatal hill was but a few rods, and the steeds had been serviceable to the
maidens only in crossing the shallow stream.
The scout and the
Indians appeared to be familiar with the sequestered place where they now were;
for, leaning their rifles against the trees, they commenced throwing aside the
dried leaves, and opening the blue clay, out of which a clear and sparkling
spring of bright, glancing water, quickly bubbled. The white man then looked
about him, as though seeking for some object, which was not to be found as
readily as he expected--
“Them careless imps,
the Mohawks, with their Tuscarora and Onondaga brethren, have been here slaking
their thirst,” he muttered, “and the vagabonds have thrown away the gourd! This
is the way with benefits, when they are bestowed on such disremembering hounds!
Here has the Lord laid his hand, in the midst of the howling wilderness, for
their good, and raised a fountain of water from the bowels of the ’arth, that
might laugh at the richest shop of apothecary’s ware in all the colonies; and
see! the knaves have trodden in the clay, and deformed the cleanliness of the
place, as though they were brute beasts, instead of human men!”
Uncas silently extended
towards him the desired gourd, which the spleen of Hawk-eye had hitherto
prevented him from observing, suspended, with sufficient care, on a branch of
an elm. Filling it with water, he retired a short distance, to a place where the
ground was more firm and dry; here he coolly seated himself, and after taking a
long, and, apparently, a grateful draught, he commenced a very strict
examination of the fragments of food left by the Hurons, which had hung in a
wallet on his arm.
“Thank you, lad,” he
continued, returning the empty gourd to Uncas; “now we will see how these
rampaging Hurons lived, when outlying in ambushments. Look at this! The varlets
know the better pieces of the deer, and one would think they might carve and
roast a saddle, equal to the best cook in the land! But every thing is raw, for
them Iroquois are thorough savages. Uncas, take my steel, and kindle a fire; a
mouthful of a tender broil will give natur a helping hand, after so long a
trail.”
Heyward, perceiving
that their guides now set about their repast in sober earnest, assisted the
maidens to alight, and placed himself at their side, not unwilling to enjoy a
few moments of grateful rest, after the bloody scene he had just gone through.
While the culinary process was in hand, curiosity induced him to inquire into
the circumstances which had led to their timely and unexpected rescue--
“How is it that we see
you so soon, my generous friend,” he asked, “and without aid from the garrison
of Edward?”
“Had we gone to the
bend in the river, we might have been in time to rake the leaves over your
bodies, but too late to have saved your scalps,” coolly answered the scout. “No,
no; instead of throwing away strength and opportunity by crossing to the fort,
we lay by, under the bank of the Hudson, waiting to watch the movements of the
Hurons.”
“You then were
witnesses of all that passed!”
“Not of all; for Indian
sight is too keen to be easily cheated, and we kept close. A difficult matter
it was, too, to keep this Mohican boy snug in the ambushment! Ah! Uncas, Uncas,
your behaviour was more like that of a curious woman, than of a warrior on his
scent!”
Uncas permitted his
penetrating eyes to turn for an instant on the sturdy countenance of the
speaker, but he neither spoke, nor gave any indication of repentance for his
error. On the contrary, Heyward thought the manner of the young Mohican was
disdainful, if not a little fierce, and that he suppressed passions that were
ready to explode, as much in compliment to the listeners, as from the deference
he usually paid to his white associate.
“You saw our capture?”
Heyward next demanded.
“We heard it,” was the
significant answer. “An Indian yell is plain language to men who have passed
their days in the woods. But when you landed, we were driven to crawl, like
sarpents, beneath the leaves; and then we lost sight of you entirely, until we
placed eyes on you again trussed to the trees, and ready bound for an Indian
massacre.”
“Our rescue was the
deed of Providence! It was nearly a miracle that you took not the wrong path,
for the Hurons divided, and each band of them had its horses!”
“Ay! there we were
thrown off the scent, and might, indeed, have lost the trail, had it not been
for Uncas,” returned the scout, with the tone and manner of a man who recalled
all the embarrassment of the past moment; “we took the path, however, that led
into the wilderness; for we judged, and judged rightly, that the savages would
hold that course with their prisoners. But when we had followed it for many
miles, without finding a single twig broken, as I had advised, my mind misgave
me; especially as all the footsteps had the prints of moccasins.”
“Our captors had the
precaution to see us shod like themselves,” said Duncan, raising a foot, and
exhibiting the gayly ornamented buskin he wore.
“Ay! ’twas judgmatical,
and like themselves; though we were too expart to be thrown from a trail by so
common an invention.”
“To what then are we
indebted for our safety?”
“To what, as a white
man who has no taint of Indian blood, I should be ashamed to own; to the
judgment of the young Mohican, in matters which I should know better than he,
but which I can now hardly believe to be true, though my own eyes tell me it is
so.”
“’Tis extraordinary!
will you not name the reason?”
“Uncas was bold enough
to say, that the beasts ridden by the gentle ones,” continued Hawk-eye,
glancing his eyes, not without curious interest on the sorrel fillies of the
ladies, “planted the legs of one side on the ground at the same time, which is
contrary to the movements of all trotting four-footed animals of my knowledge,
except the bear! And yet here are horses that always journey in this manner, as
my own eyes have seen, and as their trail has shown for twenty long miles!”
“’Tis the merit of the
animal! They come from the shores of Narraganset Bay, in the small province of
Providence Plantations, and are celebrated for their hardihood, and the ease of
this peculiar movement; though other horses are not unfrequently trained to the
same.”
“It may be--it may be,”
said Hawk-eye, who had listened with singular attention to this explanation; “though
I am a man who has the full blood of the whites, my judgment in deer and beaver
is greater than in beasts of burthen. Major Effingham has many noble chargers,
but I have never seen one travel after such a sideling gait!”
“True, for he would
value the animals for very different properties. Still, is this a breed highly
esteemed, and as you witness, much honoured with the burthens it is often
destined to bear.”
The Mohicans had
suspended their operations about the glimmering fire, to listen, and when
Duncan had done, they looked at each other significantly, the father uttering
the never-failing exclamation of surprise. The scout ruminated, like a man
digesting his newly acquired knowledge, and once more stole a curious glance at
the horses, before he continued--
“I dare to say there
are even stranger sights to be seen in the settlements!” he said, at length; “natur
is sadly abused by man, when he once gets the mastery. But, go sideling, or go
straight, Uncas had seen the movement, and their trail led us on to the broken
bush. The outer branch, near the prints of one of the horses, was bent upward,
as a lady breaks a flower from its stem, but all the rest were ragged and
broken down, as if the strong hand of a man had been tearing them! So I
concluded, that the cunning varments had seen the twig bent, and had torn the
rest, to make us believe a buck had been feeling the boughs with his antlers.”
“I do believe your
sagacity did not deceive you; for some such thing occurred!”
“That was easy to see,”
added the scout, in no degree conscious of having exhibited any extraordinary
sagacity; “and a very different matter it was from a waddling horse! It then struck
me the Mingoes would push for this spring, for the knaves well know the vartue
of its waters!”
“Is it, then, so
famous?” demanded Heyward, examining, with a more curious eye, the secluded
dell, with its bubbling fountain, surrounded, as it was, by earth of a deep
dingy brown.
“Few red-skins, who
travel south and east of the great lakes, but have heard of its qualities. Will
you taste for yourself?”
Heyward took the gourd,
and after swallowing a little of the water, threw it aside with violent grimaces
of discontent. The scout laughed in his silent, but heartfelt manner, and shook
his head with vast satisfaction, as he continued--
“Ah! you want the
flavour that one gets by habit; the time was when I liked it as little as
yourself; but I have come to my taste, and I now crave it, as a deer does the
licks. Your high spiced wines are not better liked than a red-skin relishes
this water; especially when his natur is ailing. But Uncas has made his fire,
and it is time we think of eating, for our journey is long, and all before us.”
Interrupting the
dialogue by this abrupt transition, the scout had instant recourse to the
fragments of food, which had escaped the voracity of the Hurons. A very summary
process completed the simple cookery, when he and the Mohicans commenced their
humble meal, with the silence and characteristic diligence of men, who ate in
order to enable themselves to endure great and unremitting toil.
When this necessary,
and, happily, grateful duty had been performed, each of the foresters stooped
and took a long and parting draught, at that solitary and silent spring, around
which and its sister fountains, within fifty years, the wealth, beauty, and
talents, of a hemisphere, were to assemble in such throngs, in pursuit of
health and pleasure. Then Hawk-eye announced his determination to proceed. The
sisters resumed their saddles; Duncan and David grasped their rifles, and
followed on their footsteps; the scout leading the advance, and the Mohicans
bringing up the rear. The whole party moved swiftly through the narrow path,
towards the north, leaving the healing waters to mingle unheeded with the
adjacent brook, and the bodies of the dead to fester on the neighbouring mount,
without the rites of sepulture; a fate but too common to the warriors of the
woods, to excite either commiseration or comment.
“I’ll seek a readier
path.”
--Parnell.
The route taken by
Hawk-eye lay across those sandy plains, relieved by occasional valleys and
swells of land, which had been traversed by their party on the morning of the
same day, with the baffled Magua for their guide. The sun had now fallen low
towards the distant mountains, and as their journey lay through the
interminable forest, the heat was no longer oppressive. Their progress, in consequence,
was proportionate, and long before the twilight gathered about them, they had
made good many toilsome miles, on their return path.
The hunter, like the
savage whose place he filled, seemed to select among the blind signs of their
wild route with a species of instinct, seldom abating in his speed, and never
pausing to deliberate. A rapid and oblique glance at the moss on the trees,
with an occasional upward gaze towards the setting sun, or a steady but passing
look at the direction of the numerous water courses, through which he waded,
were sufficient to determine his path, and remove his greatest difficulties. In
the mean time, the forest began to change its hues, losing that lively green
which had embellished its arches, in the graver light, which is the usual
precursor of the close of day.
While the eyes of the
sisters were endeavouring to catch glimpses, through the trees, of the flood of
golden glory, which formed a glittering halo around the sun, tinging here and
there, with ruby streaks, or bordering with narrow edgings of shining yellow, a
mass of clouds that lay piled at no great distance above the western hills,
Hawk-eye turned suddenly, and pointing upward towards the gorgeous heavens, he
spoke.
“Yonder is the signal
given to man to seek his food and natural rest,” he said; “better and wiser
would it be, if he could understand the signs of nature, and take a lesson from
the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the fields! Our night, however, will
soon be over, for, with the moon, we must be up and moving again. I remember to
have fout the Maquas hereaways, in the first war in which I ever drew blood
from man; and we threw up a work of blocks, to keep the ravenous varments from
handling our scalps. If my marks do not fail me, we shall find the place a few
rods further to our left.”
Without waiting for an
assent, or, indeed, for any reply, the sturdy hunter moved boldly into a dense
thicket of young chestnuts, shoving aside the branches of the exuberant shoots
which nearly covered the ground, like a man who expected, at each step, to
discover some object he had formerly known. The recollection of the scout did
not deceive him. After penetrating through the brush, matted as it was with
briars, for a few hundred feet, he entered into an open space, that surrounded
a low, green hillock, which was crowned by the decayed block-house in question.
This rude and neglected building was one of those deserted works, which, having
been thrown up on an emergency, had been abandoned with the disappearance of
danger, and was now quietly crumbling in the solitude of the forest, neglected,
and nearly forgotten, like the circumstances which had caused it to be reared.
Such memorials of the passage and struggles of man are yet frequent throughout
the broad barrier of wilderness, which once separated the hostile provinces,
and form a species of ruins, that are intimately associated with the
recollections of colonial history, and which are in appropriate keeping with
the gloomy character of the surrounding scenery. The roof of bark had long
since fallen and mingled with the soil, but the huge logs of pine, which had
been hastily thrown together, still preserved their relative positions, though
one angle of the work had given way under the pressure, and threatened a speedy
downfall to the remainder of the rustic edifice. While Heyward and his
companions hesitated to approach a building of such a decayed appearance,
Hawk-eye and the Indians entered within the low walls, not only without fear,
but with obvious interest. While the former surveyed the ruins, both internally
and externally, with the curiosity of one whose recollections were reviving at
each moment, Chingachgook related to his son, in the language of the Delawares,
and with the pride of a conqueror, the brief history of the skirmish which had
been fought in his youth, in that secluded spot. A strain of melancholy,
however, blended with his triumph, rendering his voice, as usual, soft and
musical.
In the mean time, the
sisters gladly dismounted, and prepared to enjoy their halt in the coolness of
the evening, and in a security which they believed nothing but the beasts of
the forest could invade.
“Would not our
resting-place have been more retired, my worthy friend,” demanded the more
vigilant Duncan, perceiving that the scout had already finished his short
survey, “had we chosen a spot less known, and one more rarely visited than
this?”
“Few live who know the
block-house was ever raised,” was the slow and musing answer; “ ’tis not often
that books are made, and narratives written, of such a skrimmage as was here
fout atween the Mohicans and the Mohawks, in a war of their own waging. I was
then a younker, and went out with the Delawares, because I know’d they were a
scandalized and wronged race. Forty days and forty nights did the imps crave
our blood around this pile of logs, which I designed and partly reared, being,
as you’ll remember, no Indian myself, but a man without a cross. The Delawares
lent themselves to the work, and we made it good, ten to twenty, until our
numbers were nearly equal, and then we sallied out upon the hounds, and not a
man of them ever got back to tell the fate of his party. Yes, yes; I was then
young, and new to the sight of blood, and not relishing the thought that
creatures who had spirits like myself, should lay on the naked ground, to be
torn asunder by beasts, or to bleach in the rains, I buried the bead with my
own hands, under that very little hillock, where you have placed yourselves;
and no bad seat does it make either, though it be raised by the bones of mortal
men.”
Heyward and the sisters
arose on the instant from the grassy sepulchre; nor could the two latter,
notwithstanding the terrific scenes they had so recently passed through,
entirely suppress an emotion of natural horror, when they found themselves in
such familiar contact with the grave of the dead Mohawks. The gray light, the
gloomy little area of dark grass, surrounded by its border of brush, beyond
which the pines rose, in breathing silence, apparently, into the very clouds,
and the death-like stillness of the vast forest, were all in unison to deepen
such a sensation.
“They are gone, and
they are harmless,” continued Hawk-eye, waving his hand, with a melancholy
smile, at their manifest alarm; “they’ll never shout the warwhoop, nor strike a
blow with the tomahawk, again! And of all those who aided in placing them where
they lie, Chingachgook and I only are living! The brothers and family of the
Mohican formed our war party, and you see before you, all that are now left of
his race.”
The eyes of the
listeners involuntarily sought the forms of the Indians, with a compassionate
interest in their desolate fortune. Their dark persons were still to be seen
within the shadows of the block-house, the son listening to the relation of his
father, with that sort of intenseness, which would be created by a narrative,
that redounded so much to the honour of those, whose names he had long revered
for their courage and savage virtues.
“I had thought the
Delawares a pacific people,” said Duncan, “and that they never waged war in
person; trusting the defence of their lands to those very Mohawks that you
slew!”
“’Tis true in part,”
returned the scout, “and yet, at the bottom, ’tis a wicked lie. Such a treaty
was made in ages gone by, through the deviltries of the Dutchers, who wished to
disarm the natives that had the best right to the country, where they had
settled themselves. The Mohicans, though a part of the same nation, having to
deal with the English, never entered into the silly bargain, but kept to their
manhood; as in truth did the Delawares, when their eyes were opened to their
folly. You see before you, a chief of the great Mohican Sagamores! Once his
family could chase their deer over tracts of country wider than that which
belongs to the Albany Patteroon, without crossing brook or hill, that was not
their own; but what is left to their descendant! He may find his six feet of
earth, when God chooses; and eep it in peace, perhaps, if he has a friend who
will take the pains to sink his head so low, that the ploughshares cannot reach
it!”
“Enough!” said Heyward,
apprehensive that the subject might lead to a discussion that would interrupt
the harmony, so necessary to the preservation of his fair companions; “we have
journeyed far, and few among us are blest with forms like that of yours, which
seems to know neither fatigue nor weakness.”
“The sinews and bones
of a man carry me through it all,” said the hunter, surveying his muscular
limbs with a simplicity that betrayed the honest pleasure the compliment
afforded him; “there are larger and heavier men to be found in the settlements,
but you might travel many days in a city, before you could meet one able to
walk fifty miles without stopping to take breath, or who has kept the hounds
within hearing during a chase of hours. However, as flesh and blood are not
always the same, it is quite reasonable to suppose, that the gentle ones are
willing to rest, after all they have seen and done this day. Uncas, clear out
the spring, while your father and I make a cover for their tender heads of
these chestnut shoots, and a bed of grass and leaves.”
The dialogue ceased,
while the hunter and his companions busied themselves in preparations for the
comfort and protection of those they guided. A spring, which many long years
before had induced the natives to select the place for their temporary
fortification, was soon cleared of leaves, and a fountain of crystal gushed
from the bed, diffusing its waters over the verdant hillock. A corner of the
building was then roofed in such a manner, as to exclude the heavy dew of the
climate, and piles of sweet shrubs and dried leaves were laid beneath it, for
the sisters to repose on.
While the diligent
woodsmen were employed in this manner, Cora and Alice partook of that
refreshment, which duty required, much more than inclination prompted, them to
accept. They then retired within the walls, and first offering up their
thanks-givings for past mercies, and petitioning for a continuance of the
Divine favour throughout the coming night, they laid their tender forms on the
fragrant couch, and in spite of recollections and forebodings, soon sunk into
those slumbers which nature so imperiously demanded, and which were sweetened
by hopes for the morrow. Duncan had prepared himself to pass the night in
watchfulness, near them, just without the ruin; but the scout, perceiving his
intention, pointed towards Chingachgook, as he coolly disposed his own person
on the grass, and said--
“The eyes of a white
man are too heavy, and too blind, for such a watch as this! The Mohican will be
our sentinel; therefore, let us sleep.”
“I proved myself a
sluggard on my post during the past night,” said Heyward, “and have less need
of repose than you, who did more credit to the character of a soldier. Let all
the party seek their rest, then, while I hold the guard.”
“If we lay among the
white tents of the 60th, and in front of an enemy like the French, I could not
ask for a better watchman,” returned the scout; “but in the darkness, and among
the signs of the wilderness, your judgment would be like the folly of a child,
and your vigilance thrown away. Do, then, like Uncas and myself; sleep, and
sleep in safety.”
Heyward perceived, in
truth, that the younger Indian had thrown his form on the side of the hillock,
while they were talking, like one who sought to make the most of the time
allotted to rest, and that his example had been followed by David, whose voice
literally ‘clove to his jaws’ with the fever of his wound, heightened, as it
was, by their toilsome march. Unwilling to prolong a useless discussion, the
young man affected to comply, by posting his back against the logs of the
block-house, in a half-recumbent posture, though resolutely determined, in his
own mind, not to close an eye until he had delivered his precious charge into
the arms of Munro himself. Hawk-eye, believing he had prevailed, soon fell
asleep, and a silence as deep as the solitude in which they had found it,
pervaded the retired spot.
For many minutes Duncan
succeeded in keeping his senses on the alert, and alive to every moaning sound
that arose from the forest. His vision became more acute, as the shades of
evening settled on the place, and even after the stars were glimmering above
his head, he was able to distinguish the recumbent forms of his companions, as
they lay stretched on the grass, and to note the person of Chingachgook, who
sat upright, and motionless as one of the trees, which formed the dark barrier
on every side of them. He still heard the gentle breathings of the sisters, who
lay within a few feet of him, and not a leaf was ruffled by the passing air, of
which his ear did not detect the whispering sound. At length, however, the
mournful notes of a whip-poor-will, became blended with the moanings of an owl;
his heavy eyes occasionally sought the bright rays of the stars, and then he
fancied he saw them through the fallen lids. At instants of momentary
wakefulness, he mistook a bush for his associate sentinel; his head next sunk
upon his shoulder, which, in its turn, sought the support of the round; and,
finally, his whole person became relaxed and pliant, and the young man sunk
into a deep sleep, dreaming that he was a knight of ancient chivalry, holding
his midnight vigils before the tent of a re-captured princess, whose favour he
did not despair of gaining, by such a proof of devotion and watchfulness.
How long the tired
Duncan lay in this insensible state he never knew himself, but his slumbering
visions had been long lost in total forgetfulness, when he was awakened by a
light tap on the shoulder. Aroused by this signal, slight as it was, he sprang
upon his feet, with a confused recollection of the self-imposed duty he had
assumed with the commencement of the night--
“Who comes?” he demanded,
feeling for his sword, at the place where it was usually suspended. “Speak!
friend or enemy?”
“Friend,” replied the
low voice of Chingachgook; who, pointing upward at the luminary which was
shedding its mild light through the opening in the trees, directly on their
bivouac, immediately added, in his rude English, “moon comes, and white man’s
fort far--far off; time to move, when sleep shuts both eyes of the Frenchman!”
“You say true! call up
your friends, and bridle the horses, while I prepare my own companions for the
march.”
“We are awake, Duncan,”
said the soft, silvery tones of Alice within the building, “and ready to travel
very fast, after so refreshing a sleep; but you have watched through the
tedious night, in our behalf, after having endured so much fatigue the livelong
day!”
“Say, rather, I would
have watched, but my treacherous eyes betrayed me; twice have I proved myself
unfit for the trust I bear.”
“Nay, Duncan, deny it
not,” interrupted the smiling Alice, issuing from the shadows of the building
into the light of the moon, in all the loveliness of her freshened beauty; “I
know you to be a heedless one, when self is the object of your care, and but
too vigilant in favour of others. Can we not tarry here a little longer, while
you find the rest you need. Cheerfully, most cheerfully, will Cora and I keep
the vigils, while you, and all these brave men, endeavour to snatch a little
sleep!”
“If shame could cure me
of my drowsiness, I should never close an eye again,” said the uneasy youth, gazing
at the ingenuous countenance of Alice, where, however, in its sweet solicitude,
he read nothing to confirm his half awakened suspicion. “It is but too true,
that after leading you into danger by my heedlessness, I have not even the
merit of guarding your pillows, as should became a soldier.”
“No one but Duncan
himself, should accuse Duncan of such a weakness!” returned the confiding
Alice; who lent herself, with all a woman’s confidence to that generous
delusion which painted the perfection of her youthful admirer. “Go, then, and
sleep; believe me, neither of us, weak girls as we are, will betray our watch.”
The young man was
relieved from the awkwardness of making any further protestations of his own
demerits, by an exclamation from Chingachgook, and the attitude of riveted
attention assumed by his son.
“The Mohicans hear an
enemy!” whispered Hawkeye, who, by this time, in common with the whole party,
was awake and stirring. “They scent some danger in the wind!”
“God forbid!” exclaimed
Heyward. “Surely, we have had enough of bloodshed!”
While he spoke,
however, the young soldier seized his rifle, and advancing towards the front,
prepared to atone for his venial remissness, by freely exposing his life in
defence of those he attended.
“’Tis some creature of
the forest prowling around us in quest of food!” he said, in a whisper, as soon
as the low, and, apparently, distant sounds, which had startled the Mohicans,
reached his own ears.
“Hist!” returned the
attentive scout; “’tis man; even I can now tell his tread, poor as my senses
are, when compared to an Indian’s! That scampering Huron has fallen in with one
of Montcalm’s outlying parties, and they have struck upon our trail. I shouldn’t
like myself to spill more human blood in this spot,” he added, looking around
with anxiety in his features, at the dim objects by which he was surrounded; “but
what must be, must! Lead the horses into the block-house, Uncas; and, friends,
do you follow to the same shelter. Poor and old as it is, it offers a cover,
and has rung with the crack of a rifle afore to night!”
He was instantly
obeyed, the Mohicans leading the Narragansets within the ruin, whither the
whole party repaired, with the most guarded silence.
The sounds of
approaching footsteps was now too distinctly audible, to leave any doubts as to
the nature of the interruption. They were soon mingled with voices, calling to
each other, in an Indian dialect, which the hunter, in a whisper, affirmed to
Heyward, was the language of the Hurons. When the party reached the point where
the horses had entered the thicket which surrounded the block-house, they were
evidently at fault, having lost those marks which, until that moment, had
directed their pursuit.
It would seem by the
voices that twenty men were soon collected at that one spot, mingling their
different opinions and advice, in noisy clamour.
“The knaves know our
weakness,” whispered Hawk-eye, who stood by the side of Heyward, in deep shade,
looking through an opening in the logs, “or they wouldn’t indulge their
idleness in such a squaw’s march. Listen to the reptiles! each man among them
seems to have two tongues, and but a single leg!”
Duncan, brave, and even
fierce as he sometimes was in the combat, could not, in such a moment of
painful suspense, make any reply to the cool and characteristic remark of the
scout. He only grasped his rifle more firmly, and fastened his eyes upon the
narrow opening, through which he gazed upon the moonlight view with increasing
intenseness. The deeper tones of one who spoke as having authority, were next
heard, amid a silence that denoted the respect with which his orders, or rather
advice, was received. After which, by the rustling of leaves, and cracking of
dried twigs, it was apparent the savages were separating in pursuit of the lost
trail. Fortunately for the pursued, the light of the moon, while it shed a
flood of mild lustre, upon the little area around the ruin, was not
sufficiently strong to penetrate the deep arches of the forest, where the
objects still lay in dim and deceptive shadow. The search proved fruitless; for
so short and sudden had been the passage from the faint path the travellers had
journeyed into the thicket, that every trace of their footsteps was lost in the
obscurity of the woods.
It was not long,
however, before the restless savages were heard beating the brush, and
gradually approaching the inner edge of that dense border of young chestnuts,
which encircled the little area.
“They are coming!”
muttered Heyward, endeavouring to thrust his rifle through the chink in the
logs; “let us fire on their approach!”
“Keep every thing in
the shade,” returned the scout; “the snapping of a flint, or even the smell of
a single karnel of the brimstone, would bring the hungry varlets upon us in a
body. Should it please God, that we must give battle for the scalps, trust to
the experience of men who know the ways of the savages, and who are not often
backward when the warwhoop is howled.”
Duncan cast his eyes
anxiously behind him, and saw that the trembling sisters were cowering in the
far corner of the building, while the Mohicans stood in the shadow, like two
upright posts, ready, and apparently willing, to strike, when the blow should
be needed. Curbing his impatience, he again looked out upon the area, and awaited
the result in silence. At that instant the thicket opened, and a tall and armed
Huron advanced a few paces into the open space. As he gazed upon the silent
block-house, the moon fell full upon his swarthy countenance, and betrayed its
surprise and curiosity. He made the exclamation, which usually accompanies the
former emotion in an Indian, and calling in a low voice, soon drew a companion
to his side.
These children of the
woods stood together for several moments, pointing at the crumbling edifice, and
conversing in the unintelligible language of their tribe. They then approached,
though with slow and cautious steps, pausing every instant to look at the
building, like startled deer, whose curiosity struggled powerfully with their
awakened apprehensions for the mastery. The foot of one of them suddenly rested
on the mound, and he stooped to examine its nature. At this moment, Heyward
observed that the scout loosened his knife in its sheath, and lowered the
muzzle of his rifle. Imitating these movements, the young man prepared himself
for the struggle, which now seemed inevitable.
The savages were so
near, that the least motion in one of the horses, or even a breath louder than
common, would have betrayed the fugitives. But, in discovering the character of
the mound, the attention of the Hurons appeared directed to a different object.
They spoke together, and the sounds of their voices were low and solemn, as if
influenced by a reverence that was deeply blended with awe. Then they drew
warily back, keeping their eyes riveted on the ruin, as if they expected to see
the apparitions of the dead issue from its silent walls, until having reached
the boundary of the area, they moved slowly into the thicket, and disappeared.
Hawk-eye dropped the
breech of his rifle to the earth, and drawing a long, free breath, exclaimed,
in an audible whisper--
“Ay! they respect the
dead, and it has this time saved their own lives, and it may be, the lives of
better men too!”
Heyward lent his
attention, for a single moment, to his companion, but without replying, he
again turned towards those who just then interested him more. He heard the two
Hurons leave the bushes, and it was soon plain that all the pursuers were
gathered about them, in deep attention to their report. After a few minutes of
earnest and solemn dialogue, altogether different from the noisy clamour with
which they had first collected about the spot, the sounds grew fainter, and
more distant, and finally were lost in the depths of the forest.
Hawk-eye waited until a
signal from the listening Chingachgook assured him that every sound from the
retiring party was completely swallowed by the distance, when he motioned to
Heyward to lead forth the horses, and to assist the sisters into their saddles.
The instant this was done, they issued through the broken gate-way, and
stealing out by a direction opposite to the one by which they had entered, they
quitted the spot, the sisters casting furtive glances at the silent grave and
crumbling ruin, as they left the soft light of the moon, to bury themselves in
the deep gloom of the woods.
“Guard. --Qui est là?
Puc. --Païsans, pauvres gens de
France.”
King Henry VI.
During the rapid
movement from the block-house, and until the party was deeply buried in the forest,
each individual was too much interested in their escape, to hazard a word even
in whispers. The scout resumed his post in the advance, though his steps, after
he had thrown a safe distance between himself and his enemies, were more
deliberate than in their previous march, in consequence of his utter ignorance
of the localities of the surrounding woods. More than once he halted to consult
with his confederates, the Mohicans, pointing upwards at the moon, and
examining the barks of the trees with extraordinary care. In these brief
pauses, Heyward and the sisters listened, with senses rendered doubly acute by
their danger, to detect any symptoms which might announce the proximity of
their foes. At such moments, it seemed as if a vast range of country lay buried
in eternal sleep; not the least sound arising from the forest, unless it was
the distant and scarcely audible rippling of a water-course. Birds, beasts, and
man, appeared to slumber alike, if, indeed, any of the latter were to be found
in that wide tract of wilderness. But the sounds of the rivulet, feeble and
murmuring as they were, relieved the guides at once from no trifling
embarrassment, and towards it they immediately held their silent and diligent
way.
When the banks of the
little stream were gained, Hawk-eye made another halt; and, taking the
moccasins from his feet, he invited Heyward and Gamut to follow his example. He
then entered the water, and for near an hour they travelled in the bed of the
brook, leaving no dangerous trail. The moon had already sunk into an immense
pile of black clouds, which lay impending above the western horizon, when they
issued from the low and devious water course to rise, again, to the light and
level of the sandy but wooded plain. Here the scout seemed to be once more at
home, for he held on his way, with the certainty and diligence of a man, who
moved in the security of his own knowledge. The path soon became more uneven,
and the travellers could plainly perceive, that the mountains drew nigher to
them on each hand, and that they were, in truth, about entering one of their
widest gorges. Suddenly, Hawk-eye made a pause, and waiting until he was joined
by the whole party, he spoke; though in tones so low and cautious, that they
added to the solemnity of his words, in the quiet and darkness of the place.
“It is easy to know the
path-ways, and to find the licks and water-courses of the wilderness,” he said;
“but who that saw this spot, could venture to say, that a mighty army was at
rest among yonder silent trees and barren mountains!”
“We are then at no
great distance from William Henry?” said Heyward, advancing, with interest,
nigher to the scout.
“It is yet a long and
weary path,” was the answer, “and when and where to strike it, is now our
greatest difficulty. See,” he said, pointing through the trees towards a spot
where a little basin of water reflected the bright stars from its still and
placid bosom, “here is the ‘bloody pond;’ and I am on ground that I have not
only often travelled, but over which I have fou’t the enemy, from the rising to
the setting sun!”
“Ha! that sheet of dull
and dreary water, then, is the sepulchre of the brave men who fell in the
contest! I have heard it named, but never have I stood on its banks before!”
“Three battles did we
make with the Dutch Frenchman in a day!” continued Hawk-eye, pursuing the train
of his own thoughts, rather than replying to the remark of Duncan. “He met us
hard by, in our outward march to ambush his advance, and scattered us, like
driven deer, through the defile, to the shores of Horican. Then we rallied
behind our fallen trees, and made head against him, under Sir William--who was
made Sir William for that very deed; and well did we pay him for the disgrace
of the morning! Hundreds of Frenchmen saw the sun that day for the last time;
and even their leader, Dieskau himself, fell into our hands, so cut and torn
with the lead, that he has gone back to his own country, unfit for further acts
in war.”
“’Twas a noble repulse!”
exclaimed Heyward in the heat of his youthful ardour; “the fame of it reached
us early in our southern army.”
“Ay! but it did not end
there. I was sent by Major Effingham, at Sir William’s own bidding, to
out-flank the French, and carry the tidings of their disaster across the
portage, to the fort on the Hudson. Just hereaway, where you see the trees rise
into a mountain swell, I met a party coming down to our aid, and I led them
where the enemy were taking their meal, little dreaming that they had not
finished the bloody work of the day.”
“And you surprised
them!”
“If death can be a
surprise to men who are thinking only of the cravings of their appetites! we
gave them but little breathing time, for they had borne hard upon us in the
fight of the morning, and there were few in our party who had not lost friend
or relative by their hands. When all was over, the dead, and some say the
dying, were cast into that little pond. These eyes have seen its waters
coloured with blood, as natural water never yet flowed from the bowels of the ’arth.”
“It was a convenient,
and, I trust, will prove a peaceful grave for a soldier! You have, then, seen
much service on this frontier?”
“I!” said the scout,
erecting his tall person with an air of military pride; “there are not many
echoes among these hills that haven’t rung with the crack of my rifle, nor is
there the space of a square mile atwixt Horican and the river, that ‘kill-deer’
hasn’t dropped a living body on, be it an enemy, or be it a brute beast. As for
the grave there, being as quiet as you mention, it is another matter. There are
them in the camp, who say and think, man to lie still, should not be buried
while the breath is in the body; and certain it is, that in the hurry of that
evening, the doctors had but little time to say who was living, and who was
dead. Hist! see you nothing, now, walking on the shore of the pond?”
“’Tis not probable that
any are as houseless as ourselves, in this dreary forest.”
“Such as he may care
but little for house or shelter, and night dew can never wet a body that passes
its days in the water!” returned the scout, grasping the shoulder of Heyward,
with such convulsive strength, as to make the young soldier painfully sensible
how much superstitious terror had gotten the mastery of a man, who was usually
so dauntless.
“By heaven! there is a
human form, and it approaches! stand to your arms, my friends, for we know not
whom we encounter.”
“Qui vive?” demanded a
stern and deep voice, which sounded like a challenge from another world,
issuing out of that solitary and solemn place.
“What says it?”
whispered the scout; “it speaks neither Indian nor English!”
“Qui vive?” repeated
the same voice, which was quickly followed by the rattling of arms, and a
menacing attitude.
“France,” cried
Heyward, advancing from the shadow of the trees, to the shore of the pond,
within a few yards of the sentinel.
“D’où venez-vous--où
allez-vous d’aussi bonne heure?” demanded the grenadier, in the language, and
with the accent of a man from old France.
“Je viens de la découverte,
et je vais me coucher.”
“Etes-vous officier du
roi?”
“Sans doute, mon
camarade; me prends-tu pour un provincial! Je suis capitaine de chasseurs
(Heyward well knew that the other was of a regiment in the line)--j’ai ici,
avec moi, les filles du commandant de la fortification. Aha! tu en as entendu
parler! je les ai fait prisonnières près de l’autre fort, et je les conduis au
général.”
“Ma foi! mesdames; j’en
suis faché pour vous,” exclaimed the young soldier, touching his cap with
studious politeness, and no little grace; “mais--fortune de guerre! vous
trouverez notre général un brave homme, et bien poli avec les dames.”
“C’est le caractère des
gens de guerre,” said Cora, with admirable self-possession; “Adieu, mon ami; je
vous souhaiterais un devoir plus agrèable, àremplir.”
The soldier made a low
and humble acknowledgment for her civility; and Heyward adding, “a bonne nuit,
mon camarade,” they moved deliberately forward; leaving the sentinel pacing
along the banks of the silent pond, little suspecting an enemy of so much
effrontery, and humming to himself those words which were recalled to his mind
by the sight of women, and, perhaps, by recollections of his own distant and
beautiful France--
“Vive le vin, vive l’amour,”
&c. &c.
“’Tis well you
understood the knave!” whispered the scout, when they had gained a little
distance from the place, and letting his rifle fall into the hollow of his arm
again; “I soon saw that he was one of them uneasy Frenchers, and well for him
it was, that his speech was friendly, and his wishes kind; or a place might
have been found for his bones amongst those of his countrymen.”
He was interrupted by a
long and heavy groan, which arose from the little basin, as though, in truth,
the spirits of the departed lingered about their watery sepulchre.
“Surely, it was of
flesh!” continued the scout; “no spirit could handle its arms so steadily!”
“It was of flesh, but
whether the poor fellow still belongs to this world, may well be doubted,” said
Heyward, glancing his eyes quickly around him, and missing Chingachgook from
their little band. Another groan, more faint than the former, was succeeded by
a heavy and sullen plunge into the water, and all was as still again, as if the
borders of the dreary pool had never been awakened from the silence of
creation. While they yet hesitated in an uncertainty, that each moment served
to render more painful, the form of the Indian was seen gliding out of the
thicket, and rejoined them, while with one hand he attached the reeking scalp
of the unfortunate young Frenchman to his girdle, and with the other he
replaced the knife and tomahawk that had drank his blood. He then took his
wonted station, a little on one flank, with the satisfied air of a man who
believed he had done a deed of merit.
The scout dropped one
end of his rifle to the earth, and leaning his hands on the other, he stood
musing a moment in profound silence. Then shaking his head in a mournful
manner, he muttered--
“’Twould have been a
cruel and an unhuman act for a white-skin; but ’tis the gift and natur of an
Indian, and I suppose it should not be denied! I could wish, though, it had
befallen an accursed Mingo, rather than that gay, young boy, from the old
countries!”
“Enough!” said Heyward,
apprehensive the unconscious sisters might comprehend the nature of the
detention, and conquering his disgust by a train of reflections very much like
that of the hunter; “’tis done, and though better it were left undone, cannot
be amended. You see we are, too obviously, within the sentinels of the enemy;
what course do you propose to follow?”
“Yes,” said Hawk-eye,
rousing himself again, “’tis, as you say, too late to harbour further thoughts
about it! Ay, the French have gathered around the fort in good earnest, and we
have a delicate needle to thread in passing them.”
“And but little time to
do it in,” added Heyward; glancing his eyes upward, towards the bank of vapour
that concealed the setting moon.
“And little time to do
it in!” repeated the scout. “The thing may be done in two fashions, by the help
of Providence, without which it may not be done at all!”
“Name them quickly, for
time presses.”
“One would be, to
dismount the gentle ones, and let their beasts range the plain; by sending the
Mohicans in front, we might then cut a lane through their sentries, and enter
the fort over the dead bodies.”
“It will not do--it
will not do!” interrupted the generous Heyward; “a soldier might force his way
in this manner, but never with such a convoy.”
“’Twould be, indeed, a
bloody path for such tender feet to wade in!” returned the equally reluctant
scout, “but I thought it befitting my manhood to name the thing. We must then
turn on our trail, and get without the line of their look-outs, when we will
bend short to the west, and enter the mountains; where I can hide you, so that
all the devil’s hounds in Montcalm’s pay would be thrown off the scent, for
months to come.”
“Let it be done,”
returned the impatient young man, “and that instantly.”
Further words were
unnecessary; for Hawk-eye, merely uttering the mandate to “follow,” moved along
the route, by which they had just entered their present, critical, and even
dangerous situation. Their progress, like their late dialogue, was guarded, and
without noise; for none knew at what moment a passing patrol, or a crouching
picquet, of the enemy, might rise upon their path. As they held their silent
way along the margin of the pond, again, Heyward and the scout stole furtive
glances at its appalling dreariness. They looked in vain for the form they had
so recently seen stalking along its silent shores, while a low and regular wash
of the little waves, by announcing that the waters were not yet subsided,
furnished a frightful memorial of the deed of blood they had just witnessed.
Like all that passing and gloomy scene, the low basin, however, quickly melted
in the darkness, and became blended with the mass of black objects in the rear
of the active travellers.
Hawk-eye soon deviated
from the line of their retreat, and striking off towards the mountains which form
the western boundary of the narrow plain, he led his followers, with swift
steps, deep within the dense shadows, that were cast from their high and broken
summits. Their route was now painful; lying over ground ragged with rocks, and
intersected with ravines, and their progress proportionately slow. Bleak and
black hills lay on every side of them, compensating, in some degree, for the
additional toil of the march, by the sense of security they imparted. At length
the party began slowly to rise a steep and rugged ascent, by a path that
curiously wound among rocks and trees, avoiding the one, and supported by the
other, in a manner that showed it had been devised by men long practised in the
arts of the wilderness. As they gradually rose from the level of the valleys,
the thick darkness which usually precedes the approach of day, began to
disperse, and objects were seen in the plain and palpable colours with which
they had been gifted by nature. When they issued from the stinted woods which
clung to the barren sides of the mountain, upon a flat and mossy rock, that
formed its summit, they met the morning, as it came blushing above the green
pines of a hill, that lay on the opposite side of the valley of the Horican.
The scout now told the
sisters to dismount, and taking the bridles from the mouths and the saddles off
the backs of the jaded beasts, he turned them loose, to glean a scanty
subsistence, among the shrubs and meager herbage of that elevated region.
“Go,” he said, “and
seek your food where natur gives it you; and beware that you become not food to
ravenous wolves yourselves, among these hills.”
“Have we no further
need of them?” demanded Heyward.
“See, and judge with
your own eyes,” said the scout, advancing towards the eastern brow of the mountain,
whither he beckoned for the whole party to follow; “if it was as easy to look
into the heart of man, as it is to spy out the nakedness of Montcalm’s camp
from this spot, hypocrites would grow scarce, and the cunning of a Mingo might
prove a losing game, compared to the honesty of a Delaware.”
When the travellers had
reached the verge of the precipice, they saw, at a glance, the truth of the
scout’s declaration, and the admirable foresight with which he had led them to
their commanding station.
The mountain on which
they stood, elevated perhaps a thousand feet in the air, was a high cone, that
rose a little in advance of that range which reached for miles along the
western shores of the lake, until meeting its sister piles, beyond the water,
it ran off far towards the Canadas, in confused and broken masses of rock,
which were thinly sprinkled with evergreens. Immediately at the feet of the
parts the southern shore of the Horican swept in a broad semi-circle, from
mountain to mountain, marking a wide strand, that soon rose into an uneven and
somewhat elevated plain. To the north, stretched the limpid, and, as it
appeared from that dizzy height, the narrow sheet of the “holy lake,” indented
with numberless bays, embellished by fantastic head-lands, and dotted with
countless islands. At the distance of a few leagues, the bed of the waters
became lost among mountains, or was wrapped in the masses of vapour, that came
slowly rolling along their bosom, before a light morning air. But a narrow
opening between the crests of the hills, pointed out the passage by which they
found their way still farther north, to spread their pure and ample sheets
again, before pouring out their tribute into the distant Champlain. To the
south stretched the defile, or, rather, broken plain, so often mentioned. For
several miles, in this direction, the mountains appeared reluctant to yield
their dominion, but within reach of the eye they diverged, and finally melted
into the level and sandy lands, across which we have accompanied our
adventurers in their double journey. Along both ranges of hills, which bounded
the opposite sides of the lake and valley, clouds of light vapour were rising
in spiral wreaths from the uninhabited woods, looking like the smokes of hidden
cottages, or rolled lazily down the declivities, to mingle with the fogs of the
lower land. A single, solitary, snow-white cloud, floated above the valley, and
marked the spot, beneath which lay the silent pool of the ‘bloody pond.’
Directly on the shore
of the lake, and nearer to its western than to its eastern margin, lay the
extensive earthen ramparts and low buildings of William Henry. Two of the
sweeping bastions appeared to rest on the water, which washed their bases,
while a deep ditch and extensive morasses guarded its other sides and angles.
The land had been cleared of wood for a reasonable distance around the work,
but every other part of the scene lay in the green livery of nature, except
where the limpid water mellowed the view, or the bold rocks thrust their black
and naked heads above the undulating outlines of the mountain ranges. In its
front, might be seen the scattered sentinels, who held a weary watch against
their numerous foes; and within the walls themselves, the travellers looked
down upon men still drowsy with a night of vigilance. Towards the south-east,
but in immediate contact with the fort, was an entrenched camp, posted on a
rocky eminence, that would have been far more eligible for the work itself, in
which Hawk-eye pointed out the presence of those auxiliary regiments that had
so recently left the Hudson, in their company. From the woods, a little farther
to the south, rose numerous dark and lurid smokes, that were easily to be
distinguished from the purer exhalations of the springs, and which the scout
also showed to Heyward, as evidences that the enemy lay in force in that
direction.
But the spectacle which
most concerned the young soldier, was on the western bank of the lake, though
quite near to its southern termination. On a stripe of land, which appeared,
from his stand, too narrow to contain such an army, but which, in truth,
extended many hundreds of yards from the shores of the Horican to the base of
the mountain, were to be seen the white tents and military engines for an
encampment of ten thousand men. Batteries were already thrown up in their
front, and even while the spectators above them were looking down, with such
different emotions, on a scene, which lay like a map beneath their feet, the
roar of artillery rose from out the valley, and passed off, in thundering
echoes, along the eastern hills.
“Morning is just
touching them below,” said the deliberate and musing scout, “and the watchers
have a mind to wake up the sleepers by the sound of cannon. We are a few hours
too late! Montcalm has already filled the woods with his accursed Iroquois.”
“The place is, indeed,
invested,” returned Duncan; “but is there no expedient by which we may enter?
capture in the works would be far preferable to falling, again, into the hands
of roving Indians.”
“See!” exclaimed the
scout, unconsciously directing the attention of Cora to the quarters of her own
father, “how that shot has made the stones fly from the side of the commandant’s
house! Ay! these Frenchers will pull it to pieces faster than it was put
together, solid and thick though it be!”
“Heyward, I sicken at
the sight of danger, that I cannot share,” said the undaunted but anxious
daughter. “Let us go to Montcalm, and demand admission; he dare no deny a child
the boon!”
“You would scarce find
the tent of the Frenchman with the hair on your head!” said the blunt scout. “If
I had but one of the thousand boats which lie empty along that shore, it might
be done. Ha! here will soon be an end of the firing, for yonder comes a fog
that will turn day to night, and make an Indian arrow more dangerous than a
moulded cannon. Now, if you are equal to the work, and will follow, I will make
a push; for I long to get down into that camp, if it be only to scatter some
Mingo dogs, that I see lurking in the skirts of yonder thicket of birch.”
“We are equal!” said
Cora, firmly; “on such an errand we will follow to any danger!”
The scout turned to her
with a smile of honest and cordial approbation, as he answered--
“I would I had a
thousand men, of brawny limbs and quick eyes, that feared death as little as
you! I’d send them jabbering Frenchers back into their den again, afore the
week was ended, howling like so many fettered hounds, or hungry wolves. But
stir,” he added, turning from her to the rest of the party, “the fog comes
rolling down so fast, we shall have but just the time to meet it on the plain,
and use it as a cover. Remember, if any accident should befall me, to keep the
air blowing on your left cheeks--or, rather, follow the Mohicans; they’d scent their
way, be it in day, or be it at night.”
He then waved his hand
for them to follow, and threw himself down the steep declivity, with free but
careful footsteps. Heyward assisted the sisters to descend, and in a few
minutes they were all far down a mountain, whose sides they had climbed with so
much toil and pain.
The direction taken by
Hawk-eye soon brought the travellers to the level of the plain, nearly opposite
to a sally-port, in the western curtain of the fort, which lay, itself, at the
distance of about half & mile from the point where he halted, to allow
Duncan to come up with his charge. In their eagerness, and favoured by the
nature of the ground, they had anticipated the fog, which was rolling heavily
down the lake, and it became necessary to pause, until the mists had wrapped
the camp of the enemy in their fleecy mantle. The Mohicans profited by the
delay, to steal out of the woods, and to make a survey of surrounding objects.
They were followed, at a little distance, by the scout, with a view to profit
early by their report, and to obtain some faint knowledge for himself of the
more immediate localities.
In a very few moments
he returned, his face reddened with vexation, while he muttered forth his
disappointment in words of no very gentle import.
“Here, has the cunning
Frenchman been posting a picquet directly in our path,” he said; “red-skins and
whites; and we shall be as likely to fall into their midst, as to pass them in
the fog!”
“Cannot we make a
circuit to avoid the danger,” asked Heyward, “and come into our path again when
it is past?”
“Who that once bends
from the line of his march, in a fog, can tell when or how to turn to find it
again! The mists of Horican are not like the curls from a peace-pipe, or the
smoke which settles above a mosquetoe fire!”
He was yet speaking,
when a crashing sound was heard, and a cannon ball entered the thicket,
striking the body of a sapling, and rebounding to the earth, its force being
much expended by previous resistance. The Indians followed instantly like busy
attendants on the terrible messenger, and Uncas commenced speaking earnestly,
and with much action, in the Delaware tongue.
“It may be so, lad,”
muttered the scout, when he had ended; “for desperate fevers are not to be
treated like a tooth-ache. Come, then, the fog is shutting in.”
“Stop!” cried Heyward; “first
explain your expectations.”
“’Tis soon done, and a
small hope it is; but then it is better than nothing. This shot that you see,”
added the scout, kicking the harmless iron with his foot, “has ploughed the ’arth
in its road from the fort, and we shall hunt for the furrow it has made, when
all other signs may fail. No more words, but follow; or the fog may leave us in
the middle of our path, a mark for both armies to shoot at.”
Heyward perceiving
that, in fact, a crisis had arrived, when acts were more required than words,
placed himself between the sisters, and drew them swiftly forward, keeping the
dim figure of their leader in his eye. It was soon apparent that Hawk-eye had
not magnified the power of the fog, for before they had proceeded twenty yards,
it was difficult for the different individuals of the party to distinguish each
other, in the vapour.
They had made their
little circuit to the left, and were already inclining again towards the right,
having, as Heyward thought, got over nearly half the distance to the friendly
works, when his ears were saluted with the fierce summons, apparently within
twenty feet of them, of--
“Qui va la?”
“Push on!” whispered
the scout, once more bending to the left.
“Push on!” repeated
Heyward; when the summons was renewed by a dozen voices, each of which seemed
charged with threatening menaces.
“C’est moi,” cried
Duncan, dragging, rather than leading, those he supported, swiftly, onward.
“Bête! qui? moi!”
“Un ami de la France.”
“Tu m’as plus l’air d’un
ennemi de la France; arrete! ou pardieu je te ferai ami du diable. Non! feu;
camarades; feu!”
The order was instantly
obeyed, and the fog was stirred by the explosion of fifty muskets. Happily, the
aim was bad, and the bullets cut the air in a direction a little different from
that taken by the fugitives; though still so nigh them, that to the unpractised
ears of David and the two maidens, it appeared as if they whistled within a few
inches of the organs. The outcry was renewed, and the order, not only to fire
again, but to pursue, was too plainly audible. When Heyward briefly explained
the meaning of the words they heard, Hawk-eye halted, and spoke with quick
decision and great firmness.
“Let us deliver our
fire,” he said; “they will believe it a sortie, and give way; or will wait for
reinforcements.”
The scheme was well
conceived, but failed in its effect. The instant the French heard their pieces,
it seemed as if the plain was alive with men, muskets rattling along its whole
extent, from the shores of the lake to the farthest boundary of the woods.
“We shall draw their
entire army upon us, and bring on a general assault,” said Duncan. “Lead on my
friend, for your own life, and ours!”
The scout seemed
willing to comply; but, in the hurry of the moment, and in the change of
position, he had lost the direction. In vain he turned either cheek towards the
light air; they felt equally cool. In this dilemma, Uncas lighted on the furrow
of the cannon ball, where it had cut the ground in three little, adjacent,
ant-hills.
“Give me the range!”
said Hawk-eye, bending to catch a glimpse of the direction, and then instantly
moving onward.
Cries, oaths, voices
calling to each other, and the reports of muskets, were now quick and
incessant, and, apparently, on every side of them. Suddenly, a strong glare of
light flashed across the scene, the fog rolled upward in thick wreaths, and
several cannon bleched across the plain, and the roar was thrown heavily back
from the bellowing echoes of the mountain.
“’Tis from the fort!”
exclaimed Hawk-eye, turning short on his tracks; “and we, like stricken fools,
were rushing to the woods, under the very knives of the Maquas.”
The instant their
mistake was rectified, the whole party retraced the error with the utmost
diligence. Duncan willingly relinquished the support of Cora to the offered arm
of Uncas, and Cora as readily accepted the welcome assistance. Men, hot and
angry in the pursuit, were evidently on their footsteps, and each instant
threatened their capture, if not their destruction.
“Point de quartier, aux
coquins!” cried an eager pursuer, who seemed to direct the operations of the
enemy.
“Stand firm, and be
ready, my gallant 60ths!” suddenly exclaimed a voice above them, in the deep
tones of authority; “wait to see the enemy; fire low, and sweep the glacis.”
“Father! father!”
exclaimed a piercing female cry from out the mist; “it is I! Alice! thy own
Elsie! spare, oh! save, your daughters!”
“Hold!” shouted the
former speaker, in the awful tones of parental agony, the sound reaching even
to the woods, and rolling back in solemn echo. “’Tis she! God has restored me
my children! Throw open the sally-port; to the field, 60ths, to the field; pull
not a trigger, lest ye kill my lambs! Drive off these dogs of France with your
steel.”
Duncan heard the
grating of the rusty hinges, and darting to the spot, directed by the sound, he
met a long line of dark-red warriors, passing swiftly towards the glacis. He
knew them for his own battalion of the royal Americans, and flying to their
head, soon swept every trace of his pursuers from before the works.
For an instant, Cora
and Alice had stood trembling and bewildered by this unexpected desertion; but,
before either had leisure for speech, or even thought, an officer of gigantie
frame, whose locks were bleached with years and service, but whose air of
military grandeur had been rather softened than destroyed by time, rushed out
of the body of the mist, and folded them to his bosom, while large, scalding
tears rolled down his pale and wrinkled cheeks, and he exclaimed, in the
peculiar accent of Scotland--
“For this I thank thee,
Lord! Let danger come as it will, thy servant is prepared!”
“Then go we in, to know
his embassy;
Which I could, with a
ready guess, declare,
Before the Frenchman
speak a word of it.”
King Henry V.
The few succeeding days
were passed amid all the privations, the uproar, and the dangers of the siege,
which was vigorously pressed by a power, against whose approaches Munro
possessed no competent means of resistance. It appeared as if Webb, with his
army, which lay slumbering on the banks of the Hudson, had utterly forgotten
the strait to which his brethren were reduced. Montcalm had filled the woods of
the portage with his savages, every yell and whoop from whom rang through the
British encampment, chilling the hearts of men, who were already but too much
disposed to magnify the danger, with additional terror.
Not so, however, with the
besieged. Animated by the words, and stimulated by the examples of their
leaders, they had found their courage, and maintained their ancient reputation,
with a zeal that did justice to the stern character of their commander. As if
satisfied with the toil of marching through the wilderness to encounter his
enemy, the French general, though of approved skill, had neglected to seize the
adjacent mountains; whence the besieged might have been exterminated with
impunity, and which, in the more modern warfare of the country, would not have
been neglected for a single hour. This sort of contempt for eminences, or
rather dread of the labour of ascending them, might have been termed the
besetting weakness of the warfare of the period. It originated in the simplicity
of the Indian contests, in which, from the nature of the combats, and the
density of the forests, fortresses were rare, and artillery next to useless.
The carelessness engendered by these usages, descended even to the war of the
revolution, and lost the states the important fortress of Ticonderoga, opening
a way for the army of Burgoyne, into what was then the bosom of the country. We
look back at this ignorance, or infatuation, which ever it may be called, with
astonishment, knowing that the neglect of an eminence, whose difficulties, like
those of Mount Defiance, had been so greatly exaggerated, would, at the present
time, prove fatal to the reputation of the engineer who had planned the works
at their base, or to that of the general, whose lot it was to defend them.
The tourist, the
valetudinarian, or the amateur of the beauties of nature, who, in the train of
his four-in-hand, now rolls through the scenes we have attempted to describe,
in quest of information, health, or pleasure, or floats steadily towards his
object on those artificial waters, which have sprung up under the
administration of a statesman, who has dared to stake his political character
on the hazardous issue, is not to suppose that his ancestors traversed those
hills, or struggled with the same currents with equal facility. The
transportation of a single heavy gun, was often considered equal to a victory
gained; if happily the difficulties of the passage had not so far separated it
from its necessary concomitants, the ammunition, as to render it no more than
an useless tube of unwieldy iron.
The evils of this state
of things pressed heavily on the fortunes of the resolute Scotsman, who now
defended William Henry. Though his adversary neglected the hills, he had
planted his batteries with judgment on the plain, and caused them to be served
with vigour and skill. Against this assault, the besieged could only oppose the
imperfect and hasty preparations of a fortress in the wilderness, to whose
mounds those extended sheets of water, which stretched into the Canadas, bore
no friendly aid, while they opened the way to their more fortunate enemies.
It was on the afternoon
of the fifth day of the siege, and the fourth of his own service in it, that
Major Heyward profited by a parley that had just been beaten, by repairing to
the ramparts of one of the water bastions, to breathe the cool air from the
lake, and to take a survey of the progress of the siege. He was alone, if the
solitary sentinel who paced the mound be excepted; for the artillerists had
hastened also to profit by the temporary suspension of their arduous duties.
The evening was delightfully calm, and the light air from the limpid water
fresh and soothing. It seemed as if, with the termination to the roar of
artillery, and the plunging of shot, nature had also seized the moment to
assume her mildest and most captivating form. The sun poured down his parting
glory on the scene, without the oppression of those fierce rays that belong to
the climate and the season. The mountains looked green, and fresh, and lovely;
tempered with the milder light, or softened in shadow, as thin vapours floated
between them and the sun. The numerous islands rested on the bosom of the
Horican, some low and sunken, as if imbedded in the waters, and others appearing
to hover above the element, in little hillocks of green velvet; among which the
fishermen of the beleaguering army peacefully rowed their skiffs, or floated at
rest on the glassy mirror, in quiet pursuit of their game.
The scene was at once
animated and still. All that pertained to nature was sweet, or simply grand;
while those parts which depended on the temper and movements of man, were in
perfect unison.
Two little spotless
flags were abroad, the one on a salient angle of the fort, and the other on the
advanced battery of the besiegers; emblems of the truce which existed, not only
to the acts, but it would seem, also, to the enmity of the combatants. Behind
these, again, swung, heavily opening and closing in silken folds, the rival
standards of England and France.
A hundred gay and
thoughtless young Frenchmen were drawing a net to the pebbly beach, within
dangerous proximity to the sullen but silent cannon of the fort, while the
eastern mountain was sending back the loud shouts and gay merriment that
attended their sport. Some were rushing eagerly to enjoy the aquatic games of
the lake, and others were already toiling their way up the neighbouring hills,
with the restless curiosity of their nation. To all these sports and pursuits,
those of the enemy who watched the besieged, and the besieged themselves, were,
however, merely the idle, though sympathizing spectators. Here and there a
picquet had, indeed, raised a song, or mingled in a dance, which had drawn the
dusky savages around them, from their lairs in the forest, in mute
astonishment. In short, every thing wore rather the appearance of a day of
pleasure, than of an hour stolen from the dangers and toil of a bloody and
vindictive warfare.
Duncan had stood in a
musing attitude, contemplating this scene a few minutes, when his eyes were
directed to the glacis in front of the sally-port, already mentioned, by the
sounds of approaching footsteps. He walked to an angle of the bastion, and
beheld the scout advancing, under the custody of a French officer, to the body
of the fort. The countenance of Hawk-eye was haggard and care-worn, and his air
dejected, as though he felt the deepest degradation at having fallen into the
power of his enemies. He was without his favourite weapon, and his arms were even
bound behind him with thongs, made of the skin of a deer. The arrival of flags,
to cover the messengers of summons, had occurred so often of late, that when
Heyward first threw his careless glance on this groupe, he expected to see
another of the officer of the enemy, charged with a similar office; but the
instant he recognised the tall person, and still sturdy, though downcast,
features of his friend, the woodsman, he started with surprise, and turned to
descend from the bastion into the bosom of the work.
The sounds of other
voices, however, caught his attention, and for a moment caused him to forget
his purpose. At the inner angle of the mound, he met the sisters, walking along
the parapet, in search, like himself, of air and relief from confinement. They
had not met since that painful moment when he deserted them, on the plain, only
to assure their safety. He had parted from them, worn with care, and jaded with
fatigue; he now saw them refreshed and blooming, though still timid and
anxious. Under such an inducement, it will cause no surprise, that the young
man lost sight, for a time, of other objects, in order to address them. He was,
however, anticipated by the voice of the ardent and youthful Alice.
“Ah! thou truant! thou
recreant knight! he who abandons his damsels in the very lists, to abide the
fortunes of the fray!” she cried, in affected reproaches, which her beaming
eyes and extended hands so flatteringly denied. “Here have we been days, nay,
ages, expecting you at our feet, imploring mercy and forgetfulness of your
craven backsliding, or, I should rather say, back-running--for verily you fled
in a manner that no stricken deer, as our worthy friend the scout would say,
could equal!”
“You know that Alice
means our thanks and our blessings,” added the graver and more thoughtful Cora.
“In truth, we have a little wondered why you should so rigidly absent yourself
from a place, where the gratitude of the daughters might receive the support of
a parent’s thanks.”
“Your father himself
could tell you, that though absent from your presence, I have not been
altogether forgetful of your safety,” returned the young man; “the mastery of
yonder village of huts,” pointing to the neighbouring entrenched camp, “has
been keenly disputed; and he who holds it, is sure to be possessed of this
fort, and that which it contains. My days and my nights have all been passed
there, since we separated, because I thought that duty called me thither. But,”
he added, with an air of chagrin, which he endeavoured, though unsuccessfully,
to conceal, “had I been aware, that what I then believed a soldier’s conduct,
could be so construed, shame would have been added to the list of reasons.”
“Heyward!--Duncan!”
exclaimed Alice, bending forward to read his half-averted countenance, until a
lock of her golden hair rested in rich contrast on her flushed cheek, and
nearly concealed the tear that had started to her anxious eye; “did I think
this idle tongue of mine had pained you, I would silence it for ever! Cora can
say, if Cora would, how justly we have prized your services, and how deep-- I
had almost said, how fervent--is our gratitude!”
“And will Cora attest
the truth of this?” cried Duncan, suffering the cloud to be chased from his
countenance by a smile of open pleasure. “What says our graver sister? Will she
find an excuse for the neglect of the knight, in the ardour of a soldier?”
Cora made no immediate
answer, but turned her face toward the water, as if looking on the plain sheet
of the Horican. When she did bend her dark eyes on the young man, they were yet
filled with an expression of anguish that at once drove every thought but that
of kind solicitude from his mind.
“You are not well,
dearest Miss Munro!” he exclaimed; “we have trifled, while you are in
suffering!”
“’Tis nothing,” she
answered, gently refusing his offered support, with feminine reserve. “That I
cannot see the sunny side of the picture of life, like this artless but ardent
enthusiast,” she added, laying her hand lightly, but affectionately, on the arm
of her anxious sister, “is the penalty of experience, and, perhaps, the
misfortune of my nature. See,” she continued, with an effort, as if determined
to shake off every infirmity, in a sense of duty; “look around you, Major
Heyward, and tell me what a prospect is this, for the daughter of a soldier,
whose greatest happiness is his honour and his military renown!”
“Neither ought nor
shall be tarnished by circumstances, over which he has had no control,” Duncan
warmly replied. “But your words recall me to my own duty. I go now to your
gallant father, to hear his determination in matters of the last moment to our
defence. God bless you in every fortune, noble--Cora--I may, and must call you.”
She frankly gave him her hand, though her lips quivered, and her cheeks gradually
became of an ashy paleness. “In every fortune, I know you will be an ornament
and honour to your sex. Alice, adieu”--his tones changed from admiration to
tenderness--“adieu, Alice; we shall soon meet again; as conquerors, I trust,
and amid rejoicings!”
Without waiting for an
answer from either of the maidens, the young man threw himself down the grassy
steps of the bastion, and moving rapidly across the parade, he was quickly in
the presence of their father. Munro was pacing his narrow apartment with a
disturbed air, and gigantic strides, as Duncan entered.
“You have anticipated
my wishes, Major Heyward,” he said; “I was about to request this favour.”
“I am sorry to see,
sir, that the messenger I so warmly recommended, has returned in custody of the
French! I hope there is no reason to distrust his fidelity?”
“The fidelity of the ‘Long
Rifle’ is well known to me,” returned Munro, “and is above suspicion; though
his usual good fortune seems, at last, to have failed. Montcalm has got him,
and with the accursed politeness of his nation, he has sent him in with a
doleful tale, of ‘knowing how I valued the fellow, he could not think of
retaining him.’ A jesuitical way, that, Major Duncan Heyward, of telling a man
of his misfortunes!”
“But the general and
his succour?--”
“Did ye look to the
south as ye entered, and could ye not see them!” said the old soldier, laughing
bitterly. “Hoot! hoot! you’re an impatient boy, sir, and cannot give the
gentlemen leisure for their march!”
“They are coming then?
The scout has said as much?”
“When? and by what
path? for the dunce has omitted to tell me this! There is a letter, it would
seem, too; and that is the only agreeable part of the matter. For the customary
attentions of your Marquis of Montcalm--I warrant me, Duncan, that he of
Lothian would buy a dozen such marquessates--but, if the news of the letter
were bad, the gentility of this French monsieur would certainly compel him to
let us know it!”
“He keeps the letter,
then, sir, while he releases the messenger?”
“Ay, that does he, and
all for the sake of what you call your ‘bonhommie.’ I would venture, if the
truth was known, the fellow’s grandfather taught the noble science of dancing!”
“But what says the
scout? he has eyes and ears, and a tongue! what verbal report does he make?”
“Oh! sir, he is not
wanting in natural organs, and he is free to tell all that he has seen and
heard. The whole amount is this: there is a fort of his majesty’s on the banks
of the Hudson, called Edward, in honour of his gracious highness of York, you’ll
know, and it is well filled with armed men, as such a work should be!”
“But was there no
movement, no signs, of any intention to advance to our relief?”
“There were the morning
and evening parades, and when one of the provincial loons--you’ll know, Duncan,
your’re half a Scotsman yourself--when one of them dropped his powder over his
porretch, if it touched the coals, it just burnt!” Then suddenly changing his
bitter, ironical manner, to one more grave and thoughtful, he continued; “and
yet there might, and must be, something in that letter, which it would be well
to know!”
“Our decision should be
speedy,” said Duncan, gladly availing himself of this change of humour, to
press the more important objects of their interview; “I cannot conceal from
you, sir, that the camp will not be much longer tenable; and I am sorry to add,
that things appear no better in the fort;--more than half our guns are bursted.”
“And how should it be
otherwise! some were fished from the bottom of the lake; some have been rusting
in the woods since the discovery of the country; and some were never guns at
all--mere privateersmen’s playthings! Do you think, sir, you can have Woolich
Warren in the midst of a wilderness; three thousand miles from Great Britain!”
“Our walls are
crumbling about our ears, and provisions begin to fail us,” continued Heyward,
without regarding this new burst of indignation; “even the men show signs of
discontent and alarm.”
“Major Heyward,” said
Munro, turning to his youthful associate with all the dignity of his years and
superior rank; “I should have served his majesty for half a century, and earned
these gray hairs, in vain, were I ignorant of all you say, and of the pressing
nature of our circumstances; still, there is every thing due to the honour of
the king’s arms, and something to ourselves. While there is hope of succour,
this fortress will I defend, though it be to be done with pebbles gathered on
the lake shore. It is a sight of the letter, therefore, that we want, that we
may know the intentions of the man, the Earl of Loudon has left among us as his
substitute?”
“And can I be of
service in the matter.”
“Sir, you can; the
Marquis of Montcalm has, in addition to his other civilities, invited me to a
personal interview between these works and his own camp; in order, as he says,
to impart some additional information. Now, I think it would not be wise to
show any undue solicitude to meet him, and I would employ you, an officer of
rank, as my substitute; for it would but ill comport with the honour of
Scotland, to let it be said, one of her gentlemen was outdone in civility, by a
native of any other country on earth!”
Without assuming the
supererogatory task of entering into a discussion of the comparative merits of
national courtesy, Duncan cheerfully assented to supply the place of the
veteran, in the approaching interview. A long and confidential communication
now succeeded, during which the young man received some additional insight into
his duty, from the experience and native acuteness of his commander, and then
the former took his leave.
As Duncan could only
act as the representative of the commandant of the fort, the ceremonies which
should have accompanied a meeting between the heads of the adverse forces, were
of course dispensed with. The truce still existed, and with a roll and beat of
the drum, and covered by a little white flag, Duncan left the sally-port,
within ten minutes after his instructions were ended. He was received by the
French officer in advance, with the usual formalities, and immediately
accompanied to the distant marquee of the renowned soldier, who lead the forces
of France.
The general of the
enemy received the youthful messenger, surrounded by his principal officers,
and by a swarthy band of the native chiefs, who had followed him to the field,
with the warriors of their several tribes. Heyward paused short, when, in
glancing his eyes rapidly over the dark groupe of the latter, he beheld the
malignant countenance of Magua, regarding him with the calm but sullen
attention which marked the expression of that subtle savage. A slight
exclamation of surprise even burst from the lips of the young man; but,
instantly recollecting his errand, and the presence in which he stood, he
suppressed every appearance of emotion, and turned to the hostile leader, who
had already advanced a step to receive him.
The Marquis of Montcalm
was, at the period of which we write, in the flower of his age, and it may be
added, in the zenith of his fortunes. But even in that enviable situation, he
was affable, and distinguished as much for his attention to the forms of
courtesy, as for that chivalrous courage, which, only two short years
afterwards, induced him to throw away his life, on the plains of Abraham.
Duncan, in turning his eyes from the malign expression of Magua, suffered them
to rest with pleasure on the smiling and polished features, and the noble,
military air of the French general.
“Monsieur,” said the
latter, “J’ai beaucoup de plaisir à--bah! où est cet interprête?”
“Je crois, monsieur, qu’il
ne sera pas nécessaire,” Heyward modestly replied; “je parle un peu Français.”
“Ah! j’en suis bien
aise,” said Montcalm, taking Duncan familiarly by the arm, and leading him deep
into the marquee, a little out of ear-shot; “je déteste ces fripons là; on ne
sait jamais sur quel piè, on est avec eux. Eh, bien! monsieur,” he continued,
still speaking in French; “though I should have been proud of receiving your
commandant, I am very happy that he has seen proper to employ an officer so
distinguished, and who, I am sure, is so amiable, as yourself.”
Duncan bowed low,
pleased with the compliment, in spite of a most heroic determination to suffer
no artifice to lure him into a forgetfulness of the interests of his prince;
and Montcalm, after a pause of a moment, as if to collect his thoughts,
proceeded--
“Your commandant is a
brave man, and well qualified to repel my assaults. Mais, monsieur, is it not
time to begin to take more counsel of humanity, and less of your own courage?
The one as strongly characterizes the hero, as the other!”
“We consider the
qualities as inseparable,” returned Duncan, smiling; “but, while we find in the
vigour of your excellency, every motive to stimulate the one, we can, as yet,
see no particular call for the exercise of the other.”
Montcalm, in his turn,
slightly bowed, but it was with the air of a man too practised to remember the
language of flattery. After musing a moment, he added--
“It is possible my
glasses have deceived me, and that your works resist our cannon better than I
had supposed. You know our force?”
“Our accounts vary,”
said Duncan, carelessly; “the highest, however, has not exceeded twenty
thousand men.”
The Frenchman bit his
lip, and fastened his eyes keenly on the other, as if to read his thoughts;
then, with a readiness peculiar to himself, he continued, as if assenting to
the truth of an enumeration, which he knew was not credited by his visiter.
“It is a poor
compliment to the vigilance of us soldiers, monsieur, that, do what we will, we
never can conceal our numbers. If it were to be done at all, one would believe
it might succeed in these woods. Though you think it too soon to listen to the
calls of humanity,” he added, smiling, archly, “I may be permitted to believe
that gallantry is not forgotten by one so young as yourself. The daughters of
the commandant, I learn, have passed into the fort, since it was invested?”
“It is true, monsieur;
but so far from weakening our efforts, they set us an example of courage in
their own fortitude. Were nothing but resolution necessary to repel so
accomplished a soldier, as M. de Montcalm, I would gladly trust the defence of
William Henry to the elder of those ladies.”
“We have a wise
ordinance in our Salique laws, which says, ‘the crown of France shall never
descend the lance to the distaff,’ ” said Montcalm, dryly, and with a little
hauteur; but, instantly adding, with his former frank and easy air, “as all the
nobler qualities are hereditary, I can easily credit you; though, as I said
before, courage has its limits, and humanity must not be forgotten. I trust,
monsieur, you come authorized to treat for the surrender of the place?”
“Has your excellency
found our defence so feeble, as to believe the measure necessary!”
“I should be sorry to
have the defence protracted in such a manner, as to irritate my red friends
there,” continued Montcalm, glancing his eyes at the groupe of grave and
attentive Indians, without attending to the other’s question; “I find it
difficult, even now, to limit them to the usages of war.”
Heyward was silent; for
a painful recollection of the dangers he had so recently escaped came over his
mind, and recalled the images of those defenceless beings, who had shared in
all his sufferings.
“Ces messieurs là,” said
Montcalm, following up the advantage which he conceived he had gained, “are
most formidable when baffled; and it is unnecessary to tell you, with what
difficulty they are restrained in their anger. Eh bien, monsieur! shall we
speak of the terms of the surrender?”
“I fear your excellency
has been deceived as to the strength of William Henry, and the resources of its
garrison!”
“I have not set down
before Quebec, but an earthen work, that is defended by twenty-three hundred
gallant men,” was the laconic, though polite reply.
“Our mounds are
earthen, certainly--nor are they seated on the rocks of Cape Diamond;--but they
stand on that shore which proved so destructive to Dieskau, and his brave army.
There is also a powerful force within a few hours march of us, which we account
upon as part of our means of defence.”
“Some six or eight
thousand men,” returned Montcalm, with much apparent indifference, “whom their
leader, wisely, judges to be safer in their works, than in the field.”
It was now Heyward’s turn
to bite his lip with vexation, as the other so coolly alluded to a force which
the young man knew to be overrated. Both mused a little while in silence, when
Montcalm renewed the conversation, in a way that showed he believed the visit
of his guest was, solely, to propose terms of capitulation. On the other hand,
Heyward began to throw sundry inducements in the way of the French general, to
betray the discoveries he had made through the intercepted letter. The artifice
of neither, however, succeeded; and, after a protracted and fruitless
interview, Duncan took his leave, favourably impressed with an opinion of the
courtesy and talents of the enemy’s captain, but as ignorant of what he came to
learn, as when he arrived. Montcalm followed him as far as the entrance of the
marquee, renewing his invitations to the commandant of the fort, to give him an
immediate meeting in the open ground, between the two armies.
There they separated,
and Duncan returned to the advanced post of the French, accompanied as before;
whence he instantly proceeded to the fort, and to the quarters of his own
commander.
“Edg. --Before you fight the
battle, ope this letter.”
--Lear.
Major Heyward found
Munro attended only by his daughters. Alice sate upon his knee, parting the
gray hairs on the forehead of the old man, with her delicate fingers; and
whenever he affected to frown on her trifling, appeasing his assumed anger, by
pressing her ruby lips fondly on his wrinkled brow. Cora was seated nigh them,
a calm and amused looker-on; regarding the wayward movements of her more
youthful sister, with that species of maternal fondness, which characterised
her love for Alice. Not only the dangers through which they had passed, but
those which still impended above them, appeared to be momentarily forgotten, in
the soothing indulgence of such a family meeting. It seemed as if they had
profited by the short truce, to devote an instant to the purest and best
affections: the daughters forgetting their fears, and the veteran his cares, in
the stillness and security of the moment. Of this scene, Duncan, who, in his
eagerness to report his arrival, had entered unannounced, stood many moments an
unobserved and a delighted spectator. But the quick and dancing eyes of Alice
soon caught a glimpse of his figure, reflected from a glass, and she sprang
blushing from her father’s knee, exclaiming aloud, in her surprise--
“Major Heyward!”
“What of the lad?”
demanded her father; “I have sent him to crack a little with the Frenchman. Ha!
sir, you are young, and your’re nimble! Away with you, ye baggage; as if there
were not troubles enough for a soldier, without having his camp filled with
such prattling hussies as yourself!”
Alice laughingly
followed her sister, who instantly led the way from an apartment, where she
perceived their presence was no longer desirable. Munro, instead of demanding
the result of the young man’s mission, paced the room for a few moments, with
his hands behind his back, and his head inclined towards the floor, like a man
lost in deep thought. At length, he raised his eyes, glistening with a father’s
fondness, and exclaimed--
“They are a pair of
excellent girls, Heyward, and such as any one may boast of!”
“You are not now to
learn my opinion of your daughters, Colonel Munro.”
“True, lad, true,”
interrupted the impatient old man; “you were about opening your mind more fully
on that matter the day you got in; but I did not think it becoming in an old
soldier to be talking of nuptial blessings, and wedding jokes, when the enemies
of his king were likely to be unbidden guests at the feast! But I was wrong,
Duncan, boy, I was wrong there; and I am now ready to hear what you have to
say.”
“Notwithstanding the
pleasure your assurance gives me, dear sir, I have, just now, a message from
Montcalm--”
“Let the Frenchman, and
all his host, go to the devil, sir!” exclaimed the veteran, frowning severely. “He
is not yet master of William Henry, nor shall he ever be, provided Webb proves
himself the man he should. No, sir! thank heaven, we are not yet in such a
strait, that it can be said, Munro is too much pressed to discharge the little
domestic duties of his own family! Your mother was the only child of my bosom
friend, Duncan; and I’ll just give you a hearing, though all the knights of St.
Louis were in a body at the sally-port, with the French saint at their head,
craving to speak a word, under favour. A pretty degree of knighthood, sir, is
that which can be bought with sugar-hogsheads! and then your two-penny
marquessates! The Thistle is the order for dignity and antiquity; the veritable
‘nemo me impune lacessit’ of chivalry! Ye had ancestors in that degree, Duncan,
and they were an ornament to the nobles of Scot and.”
Heyward, who perceived
that his superior took a malicious pleasure in exhibiting his contempt for the
message of the French general, was fain to humour a spleen that he knew would
be short lived; he, therefore, replied with as much indifference as he could
assume on such a subject--
“My request, as you
know, sir, went so far as to presume to the honour of being your son.”
“Ay, boy, you found
words to make yourself very plainly comprehended! But, let me ask ye, sir; have
you been as intelligible to the girl?”
“On my honour, no,”
exclaimed Duncan, warmly; “there would have been an abuse of a confided trust,
had I taken advantage of my situation, for such a purpose!”
“Your notions are those
of a gentleman, Major Heyward, and well enough in their place. But Cora Munro
is a maiden too discreet, and of a mind too elevated and improved, to need the
guardianship, even of a father.”
“Cora!”
“Ay--Cora! we are
talking of your pretensions to Miss Munro, are we not, sir?”
“I--I--I, was not
conscious of having mentioned her name,” said Duncan, stammering through
embarrassment.
“And, to marry whom,
then, did you wish my consent, Major Heyward,” demanded the old soldier,
erecting himself in all the dignity of offended feeling.
“You have another, and
not less lovely child.”
“Alice!” exclaimed the
father, in an astonishment equal to that with which Duncan had just repeated
the name of her sister.
“Such was the direction
of my wishes, sir.”
The young man awaited
in silence, the result of the extraordinary effect produced by a communication
which, as it now appeared, was so unexpected. For several minutes, Munro paced
the chamber with long and rapid strides, his rigid features working
convulsively, and every faculty seemingly absorbed in the musings of his own
mind. At length, he paused directly in front of Heyward, and riveting his eyes
upon those of the other, he said, with a lip that quivered violently with his
emotions--
“Duncan Heyward, I have
loved you for the sake of him whose blood is in your veins; I have loved you
for your own good qualities; and I have loved you, because I thought you would contribute
to the happiness of my child. But all this love would turn to hatred, were I
assured, that what I so much apprehend is true!”
“God forbid that any
act or thought of mine should lead to such a change!” exclaimed the young man,
whose eye never quailed under the penetrating look it encountered. Without
adverting to the impossibility of the other’s comprehending those feelings
which were hid in his own bosom, Munro suffered himself to be appeased by the
unaltered countenance he met, and with a voice sensibly softened, he
continued--
“You would be my son,
Duncan, and you’re ignorant of the history of the man you wish to call your
father. Sit ye down, young man, and I will open to you the wounds of a seared
heart, in as few words as may be suitable.”
By this time, the
message of Montcalm was as much forgotten by him who bore it, as by the man for
whose ears it was intended. Each drew a chair, and while the veteran communed a
few moments with his own thoughts, apparently in sadness, the youth suppressed
his impatience in a look and attitude of respectful attention. At length, the
former spoke--
“You’ll know, already,
Major Heyward, that my family was both ancient and honourable,” commenced the
Scotsman, “though it might not altogether be endowed with that amount of
wealth, that should correspond with its degree. I was, may be, such an one as
yourself, when I plighted my faith to Alice Graham; the only child of a
neighbouring laird of some estate. But the connexion was disagreeable to her
father, on more accounts than my poverty. I did, therefore, what an honest man
should; restored the maiden her troth, and departed the country, in the service
of my king. I had seen many regions, and had shed much blood in different
lands, before duty called me to the islands of the West Indies. There it was my
lot to form a connexion with one who in time became my wife, and the mother of
Cora. She was the daughter of a gentleman of those isles, by a lady, whose
misfortune it was, if you will,” said the old man, proudly, “to be descended,
remotely, from that unfortunate class, who are so basely enslaved to administer
to the wants of a luxurious people! Ay, sir, that is a curse entailed on
Scotland, by her unnatural union with a foreign and trading people. But could I
find a man among them, who would dare to reflect her descent on my child, he
should feel the weight of a father’s anger! Ha! Major Heyward, you are yourself
born at the south, where these unfortunate beings are considered of a race
inferior to your own!”
“’Tis most
unfortunately true, sir,” said Duncan, unable any longer to prevent his eyes
from sinking to the floor in embarrassment.
“And you cast it on my
child as a reproash! You scorn to mingle the blood of the Heywards, with one so
degraded--lovely and virtuous though she be?” fiercely demanded the jealous
parent.
“Heaven protect me from
a prejudice so unworthy of my reason!” returned Duncan, at the same time
conscious of such a feeling, and that as deeply rooted as if it had been
engrafted in his nature. “The sweetness, the beauty, the witchery of your
younger daughter, Colonel Munro, might explain my motives, without imputing to
me this injustice.”
“Ye are right, sir,”
returned the old man, again changing his tones to those of gentleness, or
rather softness; “the girl is the image of what her mother was at her years,
and before she had become acquainted with grief. When death deprived me of my
wife, I returned to Scotland, enriched by the marriage; and would you think it,
Duncan! the suffering angel had remained in the heartless state of celibacy
twenty long years, and that for the sake of a man who could forget her! She did
more, sir; she overlooked my want of faith, and all difficulties being now
removed, she took me for her husband.”
“And became the mother
of Alice!” exclaimed Duncan, with an eagerness, that might have proved
dangerous, at a moment when the thoughts of Munro were less occupied than at
present.
“She did, indeed,” said
the old man, the muscles of his face working powerfully, as he proceeded, “and
dearly did she pay for the blessing she bestowed. But she is a saint in heaven,
sir; and it ill becomes one whose foot rests on the grave, to mourn a lot so
blessed. I had her but a single year, though; a short term of happiness, for
one who had seen her youth fade in hopeless pining!”
There was something so
commanding, if not awful, in the distress of the old man, that Heyward did not
dare to venture a syllable of consolation. Munro sat utterly unconscious of the
other’s presence, his features exposed and working with the anguish of his
regrets, while heavy tears fell from his eyes, and rolled unheeded from his
cheeks to the floor. At length he moved, as if suddenly recovering his
recollection; when he arose, and taking a single turn across the room, he
approached his companion with an air of high military grandeur, and demanded--
“Have you not, Major
Heyward, some communication, that I should hear, from the Marquis de Montcalm?”
Duncan started, in his
turn, and immediately commenced, in an embarrassed voice, to repeat the
half-forgotten message. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the evasive, though
polite manner, with which the French general had eluded every attempt of
Heyward to worm from him the purport of the communication he had proposed
making, or on the decided, though still polished message, by which he now gave
his enemy to understand, that unless he chose to receive it in person, he
should not receive it at all. As Munro listened to the lengthened detail of
Duncan, the excited feelings of the father gradually gave way before the
obligations of his station, and when the other was done, he saw before him
nothing but the veteran, swelling with the wounded feelings of a soldier.
“You have said enough,
Major Heyward!” exclaimed the angry old man; “enough to make a volume of
commentary on French civility! Here has this gentleman invited me to a
conference, and when I send him a capable substitute, for ye’re all that
Duncan, though your years are but few, he answers me with a riddle!”
“He may have thought
less favourably of the substitute, my dear sir,” returned Duncan, smiling; “and
you will remember that the invitation, which he now repeats, was to the
commandant of the works, and not to his second.”
“Well, sir, is not a
substitute clothed with all the power and dignity of him who grants the
commission! He wishes to confer with Munro! Faith, sir, I have much inclination
to indulge the man, if it should only be to let him behold the firm countenance
we maintain, in spite of his numbers and his summons! There might be no bad
policy in such a stroke, young man.”
Duncan, who believed it
of the last importance, that they should speedily come at the contents of the
letter borne by the scout, gladly encouraged this idea, saying--
“Without doubt, he
could gather no confidence by witnessing our indifference.”
“You never said truer
word. I could wish, sir, that he would visit the works in open day, and in the
form of a storming party: that is the least failing method of proving the
countenance of an enemy, and would be far preferable to the battering system he
has chosen. The beauty and manliness of warfare has been much deformed, Major
Heyward, by the arts of your Monsieur Vauban. Our ancestors were far above such
scientific cowardice!”
“It may be very true,
sir; but we are, now, obliged to repel art by art. What is your pleasure in the
matter of the interview?”
“I will meet the
Frenchman, and that without fear or delay; promptly, sir, as becomes a servant
of my royal master. Go, Major Heyward, and give them a flourish of the music,
and send out a messenger to let them know who is coming. We will follow with a
small guard, for such respect is due to one who holds the honour of his king in
keeping; and, hark’ee, Duncan,” he added, in a half whisper, though they were
alone, “it may be prudent to have some aid at hand, in case there should be
treachery at the bottom of it all.”
The young man availed
himself of this order, to quit the apartment; and, as the day was fast coming
to a close, he hastened, without delay, to make the necessary arrangements. A
very few minutes only were necessary to parade a few files, and to despatch an
orderly with a flag, to announce the approach of the commandant of the fort.
When Duncan had done both these, he led the guard to the sally-port, near which
he found his superior already, waiting his appearance. As soon as the usual
ceremonials of a military departure were observed, the veteran, and his more
youthful companion, left the fortress, attended by the escort.
They had proceeded only
a hundred yards from the works, when the little array which attended the French
general to the conference, was seen issuing from the hollow way, which formed
the bed of a brook, that ran between the batteries of the besiegers and the
fort. From the moment that Munro left his own works, to appear in front of his
enemies, his air had been grand, and his step and countenance highly military.
The instant he caught a glimpse of the white plume that waved in the hat of
Montcalm, his eye lighted with the consciousness of his own daring, and age no
longer appeared to possess any influence over his vast and still muscular
person.
“Speak to the boys to
be watchful, sir,” he said, in an under tone, to Duncan; “and to look well to
their flints and steel, for one is never safe with a servant of these Louis; at
the same time, we will show them the front of men in deep security. Ye’ll
understand me, Major Heyward!”
He was interrupted by
the clamour of a drum from the approaching Frenchmen, which was immediately
answered, when each party pushed an orderly in advance, bearing a white flag,
and the wary Scotsman halted, with his guard close at his back. As soon as this
slight salutation had passed, Montcalm moved towards them with a quick but
graceful step, baring his head to the veteran, and dropping his spotless plume
nearly to the earth, in courtesy. If the air of Munro was more commanding and
manly, it wanted both the ease and insinuating polish of the Frenchman. Neither
spoke for a few moments, each regarding the other with curious and interested
eyes. Then, as became his superior rank, and the nature of the interview,
Montcalm first broke the silence. After uttering the usual words of greeting to
Munro, he turned to Duncan, and continued, with a smile of recognition,
speaking always in French--
“I am rejoiced,
monsieur, that you have given us the pleasure of your company on this occasion.
There will be no necessity to employ an ordinary interpreter, for in your hands
I feel the same security, as if I spoke your language myself.”
Duncan acknowledged the
compliment, when Montcalm, turning to his guard, which, in imitation of that of
their enemies, pressed close upon him, he continued--
“En arriere, mes
enfans--il fait chaud; retirezvous un peu.”
Before Major Heyward
would imitate this proof of confidence, he glanced his eyes around the plain,
and beheld, with uneasiness, the numerous dusky groupes of savages, who looked
out from the margin of the surrounding woods, curious spectators of the pending
interview.
“Monsieur de Montcalm
will readily acknowledge the difference in our situation,” he said, with some
embarrassment, pointing, at the same time, towards those dangerous foes, who
were to be seen in almost every direction. “Were we to dismiss our guard, we
should stand here at the mercy of our enemies.”
“Monsieur, you have the
plighted faith of ‘un gentil-homme Francais,’ for your safety,” returned
Montcalm, laying his hand impressively on his heart; “and it should suffice.”
“It shall. Fall back,”
Duncan added to the officer who led the escort; “fall back, sir, beyond
hearing, and wait for orders.”
Munro witnessed this
movement with manifest uneasiness; nor did he fail to demand an instant
explanation.
“Is it not our
interest, sir, to betray no distrust?” retorted Duncan. “Monsieur de Montcalm
pledges his word for our safety, and I have ordered the men to withdraw a
little, in order to prove how much we depend on his assurance.”
“It may be all right,
sir, but I have no overweening reliance on the faith of these marquesses, or
marquis, as they call themselves. Their patents of nobility are too common, to
be certain that they bear the seal of true honour.”
“You forget, dear sir,
that we confer with an officer, distinguished alike in Europe and America, for
his deeds. From a soldier of his reputation we can have nothing to apprehend.”
The old man made a
gesture of resignation, though his rigid features still betrayed his obstinate
adherence to a distrust, which he derived from a sort of hereditary contempt of
his enemy, rather than from any present signs, which might warrant so
uncharitable a feeling. Montcalm waited, patiently, until this little dialogue
in demi-voice was ended, when he drew nigher, and opened the subject of their
conference.
“I have solicited this
interview from your superior, monsieur,” he said, “because I believe he will
allow himself to be persuaded, that he has already done every thing which is
necessary for the honour of his prince, and will now listen to the admonitions
of humanity. I will forever bear testimony that his resistance has been
gallant, and was continued, so long as there was any hope.”
When this opening was
translated to Munro, he answered with dignity, but with sufficient courtesy,
“However I may prize
such testimony from Monsieur Montcalm, it will be more valuable when it shall
be better merited.”
The French general
smiled, as Duncan gave him the purport of this reply, and observed--
“What is now so freely
accorded to approved courage, may be refused to useless obstinacy. Monsieur
would wish to see my camp, and witness, for himself, our numbers, and the
impossibility of his resisting them with success?”
“I know that the king
of France is well served,” returned the unmoved Scotsman, as soon as Duncan
ended his translation; “but my own royal master has as many and as faithful
troops.”
“Though not at hand,
fortunately for us,” said Montcalm, without waiting, in his ardour, for the
interpreter. “There is a destiny in war, to which a brave man knows how to
submit, with the same courage that he faces his foes.”
“Had I been conscious
that Monsieur Montcalm was master of the English, I would have spared myself
the trouble of so awkward a translation,” said the vexed Duncan, dryly;
remembering instantly his recent by-play with Munro.
“Your pardon, monsieur,”
rejoined the Frenchman, suffering a slight colour to appear on his dark cheek. “There
is a vast difference between understanding and speaking a foreign tongue; you
will, therefore, please to assist me still.” Then after a short pause, he
added, “These hills afford us every opportunity of reconnoitring your works,
messieurs, and I am possibly as well acquainted with their weak condition as you
can be yourselves.”
“Ask the French general
if his glasses can reach to the Hudson,” said Munro, proudly; “and if he knows
when and where to expect the army of Webb.”
“Let général Webb be
his own interpreter,” returned the politic Montcalm, suddenly extending an open
letter towards Munro, as he spoke; “you will there learn, monsieur, that his
movements are not likely to prove embarrassing to my army.”
The veteran seized the
offered paper without waiting for Duncan to translate the speech, and with an eagerness
that betrayed how important he deemed its contents. As his eye passed heavily
over the words, his countenance gradually changed from its look of military
pride, to one of deep chagrin; his lip began to quiver; and, as he suffered the
paper to fall from his hand, his head dropped upon his chest, like that of a
man whose hopes were all withered at a single blow. Duncan caught the letter
from the ground, and without apology for the liberty he took, he read, at a
glance, its cruel purport. Their common superior, so far from encouraging them
to resist, advised a speedy surrender, urging, in the plainest language, as a
reason, the utter impossibility of his sending a single man to their rescue.
“Here is no deception!”
exclaimed Duncan, examining the billet both inside and out; “this is the
signature of Webb, and must be the captured letter!”
“The man has betrayed
me!” Munro at length bitterly exclaimed; “he has brought dishonour to the door
of one, where disgrace was never before known to dwell, and shame has he heaped
heavily on my gray hairs!”
“Say not so!” cried
Duncan; “we are yet masters of the fort, and of our honour! Let us then sell
our lives at such a rate, as shall make our enemies believe the purchase too
dear!”
“Boy, I thank thee!”
exclaimed the old man, rousing himself from his stupor; “you have, for once,
reminded Munro of his duty. We will go back, and dig our graves behind those
ramparts!”
“Messieurs,” said
Montcalm, advancing towards them a step, in his generous interest; “you little
know Louis de St. Véran, if you believe him capable of profiting by this
letter, to humble brave men, or to build up a dishonest reputation for himself.
Listen to my terms before you leave me.”
“What says the
Frenchman,” demanded the veteran, sternly; “does he make a merit of having
captured a scout, with a note from head-quarters? Sir, he had better raise this
siege, and go to sit down before Edward, if he wishes to frighten his enemy
with words!”
Duncan explained the
other’s meaning.
“Monsieur de Montcalm,
we will hear you,” the veteran added, more calmly, as Duncan ended.
“To retain the fort is
now impossible,” said his liberal enemy; “it is necessary to the interests of
my master, that it should be destroyed; but, as for yourselves, and your brave
comrades, there is no privilege dear to a soldier that shall be denied.”
“Our colours?” demanded
Heyward.
“Carry them to England,
and show them to your king.”
“Our arms!”
“Keep them; none can
use them better!”
“Our march; the
surrender of the place?”
“Shall all be done in a
way most honourable to yourselves.”
Duncan now turned to
explain these proposals to his commander, who heard him with amazement, and a
sensibility that was deeply touched by such unusual and unexpected generosity.
“Go you, Duncan,” he
said; “go with this marquess, as indeed marquess he should be; go to his
marquee, and arrange it all. I have lived to see two things in my old age, that
never did I expect to behold. An Englishman afraid to support a friend, and a
Frenchman too honest to profit by his advantage!”
So saying, the veteran
again dropped his head to his chest, and returned slowly towards the fort,
exhibiting, in the dejection of his air, to the anxious garrison, a harbinger
of evil tidings.
Duncan remained to
settle the terms of the capitulation. He was seen to re-enter the works during
the first watches of the night, and immediately after a private conference with
the commandant, to leave them again. It was then openly announced, that
hostilities must cease--Munro having signed a treaty, by which the place was to
be yielded to the enemy, with the morning; the garrison to retain their arms,
their colours, and their baggage, and consequently, according to military
opinion, their honour.
“Weave we the woof. The
thread is spun.
The web is wove. The
work is done.”
--Gray
Thehostile armies, who
lay in the wilds of the Horican, passed the night of the ninth of August, 1757,
much in the manner that would have prevailed, had they encountered on the
fairest field of Europe. While the conquered were still, sullen and dejected,
the victors triumphed. But, there are limits, alike, to grief and joy; and long
before the dead watches of the morning came, the stillness of those boundless
woods was only broken, by a gay call from some exulting young Frenchman of the
advanced piquets, or a menacing challenge from the fort, which sternly forbade
the approach of any hostile footsteps before the stipulated moment should
arrive. Even these occasional threatening sounds ceased to be heard in that
dull hour which precedes the day, at which period a listener might have sought,
in vain, any evidence of the presence of those armed powers, that then
slumbered on the shores of the ‘holy lake.’
It was during these
moments of deep silence, that the canvass which concealed the entrance to a
spacious marquee, in the French encampment, was shoved aside, and a man issued
from beneath the drapery into the open air. He was enveloped in a cloak that
might have been intended as a protection from the chilling damps of the woods,
but which served equally well, as a mantle, to conceal his person. He was
permitted to pass the grenadier, who watched over the slumbers of the French
commander, without interruption, the man making the usual salute, which betokens
military deference, as the other passed swiftly through the little city of
tents, in the direction of William Henry. Whenever this unknown individual
encountered one of the numberless sentinels, who crossed his path, his answer
was prompt, and as it appeared satisfactory; for he was uniformly allowed to
proceed, without further interrogation.
With the exception of
such repeated, but brief interruptions, he had moved, silently, from the centre
of the camp, to its most advanced outposts, when he drew nigh the soldier, who
held his watch nearest to the works of the enemy. As he approached, he was
received with the usual challenge.
“Qui vive?”
“France”--was the
reply.
“Le mot d’ordre?”
“La victoire,” said the
other, drawing so nigh, as to be heard in a loud whisper.
“C’est bien,” returned
the sentinel, throwing his musket from the charge to his shoulder; “vous vous
promenez bien matin, monsieur!”
“II est necessaire d’être
vigilant, mon enfant,” the other observed, dropping a fold of his cloak, and
looking the soldier close in the face, as he passed him, still continuing his
way towards the British fortification. The man started; his arms rattled
heavily, as he threw them forward, in the lowest and most respectful salute;
and when he had again recovered his piece, he turned to walk his post,
muttering between his teeth,
“Il faut être vigilant,
en vérité! je crois que nous avons là, un caporal qui ne dort jamais!”
The officer proceeded,
without affecting to hear the words which escaped the sentinel in his surprise;
nor did he, again, pause, until he had reached the low strand, and in a
somewhat dangerous vicinity to the western water bastion of the fort. The light
of an obscured moon, was just sufficient to render objects, though dim,
perceptible in their outlines. He, therefore, took the precaution to place
himself against the trunk of a tree, where he leaned, for many minutes, and
seemed to contemplate the dark and silent mounds of the English works, in
profound attention. His gaze at the ramparts was not that of a curious or idle
spectator; but his looks wandered from point to point, denoting his knowledge
of military usages, and betraying that his search was not unaccompanied by
distrust. At length he appeared satisfied; and having cast his eyes, impatiently,
upward, towards the summit of the eastern mountain, as if anticipating the
approach of the morning, he was in the act of turning on his footsteps, when a
light sound on the nearest angle of the bastion, caught his ear, and induced
him to remain.
Just then a figure was
seen to approach the edge of the rampart, where it stood, apparently,
contemplating in its turn the distant tents of the French encampment. Its head
was then turned towards the east, as though equally anxious for the appearance
of light, when the form leaned against the mound, and seemed to gaze upon the
glassy expanse of the waters, which, like a submarine firmament, glittered with
its thousand mimic stars. The melancholy air, the hour, together with the vast
frame of the man who thus leaned, in musing, against the English ramparts, left
no doubt as to his person, in the mind of the observant spectator. Delicacy, no
less than prudence, now urged him to retire; and he had mov’d cautiously round
the body of the tree, for that purpose, when another sound drew his attention,
and once more arrested his footsteps. It was a low, and almost inaudible
movement of the water, and was succeeded by a grating of pebbles, one against
the other. In a moment, he saw a dark form rise, as it were, out of the lake,
and steal, without farther noise, to the land, within a few feet of the place
where he himself stood. A rifle next slowly rose between his eyes and the
watery mirror; but before it could be discharged, his own hand was on the lock.
“Hugh!” exclaimed the
savage, whose treacherous aim was so singularly and so unexpectedly
interrupted.
Without making any
reply, the French officer laid his hand on the shoulder of the Indian, and led
him, in profound silence, to a distance from the spot, where their subsequent
dialogue might have proved dangerous, and where, it seemed, that one of them,
at least, sought a victim. Then, throwing open his cloak, so as to expose his
uniform, and the cross of St. Louis, which was suspended at his breast,
Montcalm sternly demanded--
“What means this! does
not my son know, that the hatchet is buried between the English and his
Canadian father?”
“What can the Hurons
do?” returned the savage, speaking, also, though imperfectly, in the French
language. “Not a warrior has a scalp, and the pale faces make friends!”
“Ha! le Renard Subtil!
Methinks this is an excess of zeal for a friend, who was so late an enemy! How
many suns have set, since le Renard struck the war post of the English?”
“Where is that sun!”
demanded the sullen savage. “Behind the hill; and it is dark and cold. But when
he comes again, it will be bright and warm. Le Subtil is the sun of his tribe.
There have been clouds, and many mountains between him and his nation; but now
he shines, and it is a clear sky!”
“That le Renard has
power with his people, I well know,” said Montcalm; “for yesterday he hunted
for their scalps, and to-day, they hear him at the council fire!”
“Magua is a great
chief!”
“Let him prove it, by
teaching his nation how to conduct towards our new friends!”
“Why did the chief of
the Canadas bring his young men into the woods, and fire his cannon at yonder
earthen house?” demanded the subtle Indian.
“To subdue it. My
master owns the land, and your father was ordered to drive off these English
squatters. They have consented to go, and now he calls them enemies no longer.”
“’Tis well. Magua took
the hatchet to colour it with blood. It is now bright; when it is red, it shall
be buried.”
“But Magua is pledged
not to sully the lilies of France. The enemies of the great king across the
salt lake, are his enemies; his friends, the friends of the Hurons.”
“Friends!” repeated the
Indian, in bitter scorn. “Let his father give Magua a hand.”
Montcalm, who felt that
his influence over the warlike tribes he had gathered, was to be maintained by
concession, rather than by power, complied, reluctantly, with the other’s
request. The savage placed the finger of the French commander on a deep scar in
his bosom, and then exultingly demanded--
“Does my father know
that?”
“What warrior does not!
’tis where the leaden bullet has cut.”
“And this!” continued
the Indian, who had turned his naked back to the other, his body being without
its usual calico mantle.
“This!--my son, has
been sadly injured, here! who has done this?”
“Magua slept hard in
the English wigwams, and the sticks have left their mark,” returned the savage,
with a hollow laugh, which did not, nor could not, however, conceal the fierce
temper that nearly choked him. Then, recollecting himself, with sudden and
native dignity, he added--“Go; teach your young men, it is peace! le Renard
Subtil knows how to speak to a Huron warrior!”
Without deigning to
bestow farther words, or to wait for any answer, the savage cast his rifle into
the hollow of his arm, and moved, silently, through the encampment towards the
woods, where his own tribe was known to lie. Every few yards, as he proceeded,
he was challenged by the sentinels; but he stalked, sullenly, onward, utterly
disregarding the summons of the soldiers, who only spared his life, because
they knew the air and tread, no less than the obstinate daring, of an Indian.
Montcalm lingered long
and melancholy on the strand, where he had been left by his companion, brooding
deeply on the temper which his ungovernable ally had just discovered. Already
had his fair fame been tarnished by one horrid scene, and in circumstances
fearfully resembling those, under which he now found himself. As he mused, he became
keenly sensible of the deep responsibility they assume, who disregard the means
to attain their end, and of all the danger of setting in motion an engine,
which it exceeds human power to control. Then shaking off a train of
reflections, that he accounted a weakness in such a moment of triumph, he
retraced his steps towards his tent, giving the order, as he passed, to make
the signal that should call the army from its slumbers.
The first tap of the
French drums was echoed from the bosom of the fort; and, presently, the valley
was filled with the strains of martial music, rising long, thrilling, and
lively, above the rattling accompaniment. The horns of the victors sounded
merry and cheerful flourishes, until the last laggard of the camp was at his
post; but the instant the British fifes had blown their shrill signal, they
became mute. In the mean time the day had dawned, and when the line of the
French army was ready to receive its general, the rays of a brilliant sun were
glancing along its glittering array. Then, that success which was already so
well known, was officially announced; the favoured band, who were selected to
guard the gates of the fort, were detailed, and defiled before their chief; the
signal of their approach was given, and all the usual preparations for a change
of masters, were ordered and executed directly under the guns of the contested
works.
A very different scene
presented itself within the lines of the Anglo-American army. As soon as the
warning signal was given, it exhibited all the signs of a hurried and forced
departure. The sullen soldiers shouldered their empty tubes, and fell into
their places, like men whose blood had been heated by the past contest, and who
only desired the opportunity to revenge an indignity, which was still wounding
to their pride, concealed, as it was, under all the observances of military
etiquette. Women and children ran from place, to place, some bearing the scanty
remnants of their baggage, and others searching, in the ranks, for those
countenances they looked up to for protection.
Munro appeared among
his silent troops, firm, but dejected. It was evident that the unexpected blow
had struck deep into his heart, though he struggled to sustain his misfortune
with the port of a man.
Duncan was touched at
the quiet and impressive exhibition of his grief. He had discharged his own
duty, and he now pressed to the side of the old man, to know in what particular
he might serve him.
“My daughters,” was the
brief, but expressive reply.
“Good heavens! Are not
arrangements already made for their convenience?”
“To-day I am only a
soldier, Major Heyward,” said the veteran. “All that you see here, claim alike
to be my children.”
Duncan had heard
enough. Without losing one of those moments which had now become so precious,
he flew towards the quarters of Munro, in quest of the sisters. He found them
on the threshold of the low edifice, already prepared to depart, and surrounded
by a clamorous and weeping assemblage of their own sex, that had gathered about
the place, with a sort of instinctive consciousness, that it was the point most
likely to be protected. Though the cheeks of Cora were pale, and her
countenance anxious, she had lost none of her firmness; but the eyes of Alice
were inflamed, and betrayed how long and bitterly she had wept. They both,
however, received the young man with undisguised pleasure; the former, for a
novelty, being the first to speak.
“The fort is lost,” she
said, with a melancholy smile; “though our good name, I trust, remains!”
“’Tis brighter than
ever! But, dearest Miss Munro, it is time to think less of others, and to make
some provision for yourself. Military usage--pride--that pride on which you so
much value yourself, demands that your father and I should, for a little while,
continue with the troops. Then where to seek a proper protecter for you,
against the confusion and chances of such a scene!”--
“None is necessary,”
returned Cora; “who will dare to injure or insult the daughter of such a
father, at a time like this!”
“I would not leave you
alone,” continued the youth, looking about him in a hurried manner, “for the
command of the best regiment in the pay of the king! Remember, our Alice is not
gifted with all your firmness, and God only knows the terror she might endure.”
“You may be right,”
Cora replied, smiling again, but far more sadly than before. “Listen; chance
has already sent us a friend when he is most needed.”
Duncan did listen, and
on the instant comprehended her meaning. The low, and serious sounds of the
sacred music, so well known to the eastern provinces, caught his ear, and
instantly drew him to an apartment in an adjacent building, which had, already,
been deserted by its customary tenants. There he found David, pouring out his
pious feelings, through the only medium in which he ever indulged. Duncan
waited, until by the cessation of the movement of the hand, he believed the
strain was ended, when, by touching his shoulder, he drew the attention of the
other to himself, and in a few words explained his wishes.
“Even so,” replied the
single minded disciple of the King of Israel, when the young man had ended; “I
have found much that is comely and melodious in the maidens, and it is fitting
that we, who have consorted in so much peril, should abide together in peace. I
will attend them, when I have completed my morning praise, to which nothing is
now wanting, but the doxology. Wilt thou bear a part, friend? The metre is
common, and the tune known as ‘Southwell.”’
Then, extending the
little volume, and giving the pitch of the air, anew, with considerate
attention. David re-commenced and finished his strains, with a fixedness of
manner that it was not easy to interrupt. Heyward was fain to wait until the
verse was ended; when seeing David relieving himself from the spectacles, and
replacing the book, he continued--
“It will be your duty,
to see that none dare to approach the ladies, with any rude intention, or to
offer insult or taunt at the misfortune of their brave father. In this task,
you will be seconded by the domestics of their household.”
“Even so.”
“It is possible, that
the Indians and stragglers of the enemy may intrude; in which case, you will
remind them of the terms of the capitulation, and threaten to report their
conduct to Montcalm. A word will suffice.”
“If not, I have that
here which shall,” returned David, exhibiting his book, with an air, in which
meekness and confidence were singularly blended. “Here are words, which
uttered, or rather thundered, with proper emphasis, and in measured time, shall
quiet the most unruly temper.
“Why rage the heathen
furiously!”--
“Enough,” said Heyward,
interrupting the burst of his musical invocation; “we understand each other; it
is time that we should, now, assume our respective duties.”
Gamut cheerfully
assented, and together they immediately sought the maidens. Cora received her
new, and somewhat extraordinary, protector, courteously at least; and even the
pallid features of Alice lighted, again, with some of their native archness, as
she thanked Heyward for his care. Duncan took occasion to assure them he had
done the best that circumstances permitted, and, as he believed, quite enough
for the security of their feelings; of danger there was none. He then spoke
gladly of his intention to rejoin them, the moment he had led the advance a few
miles towards the Hudson, and immediately took his leave.
By this time the signal
of departure had been given, and the head of the English column was in motion.
The sisters started at the sound, and glancing their eyes around, they saw the
white uniforms of the French grenadiers, who had, already, taken possession of
the gates of the fort. At that moment, an enormous cloud seemed to pass
suddenly above their heads, and looking upward, they discovered that they stood
beneath the wide folds of the spotless standard of France.
“Let us go,” said Cora;
“this is no longer a fit place for the children of an English officer!”
Alice clung to the arm
of her sister, and together they left the parade, accompanied by the moving
throng, that still surrounded them.
As they passed the
gates, the French officers, who had learned their rank, bowed often and low,
forbearing, however, to intrude those attentions, which they saw, with peculiar
tact, might not be agreeable. As every vehicle, and each beast of burthen, was
occupied by the sick and wounded, Cora had decided to endure the fatigues of a
foot march, rather than interfere with their comforts. Indeed, many a maimed
and feeble soldier was compelled to drag his exhausted limbs, in the rear of
the columns, for the want of the necessary means of conveyance, in that
wilderness. The whole, however, was in motion; the weak and wounded, groaning,
and in suffering; their comrades, silent, and sullen; and the women and
children in terror, though they knew not of what.
As the confused and timid
throng, left the protecting mounds of the fort, and issued on the open plain,
the whole scene was, at once, presented to their eyes. At a little distance on
the right, and somewhat in the rear, the French army stood to their arms,
Montcalm having collected his parties, so soon as his guards had possession of
the works. They were attentive, but silent observers of the proceedings of the
vanquished, failing in none of the stipulated military honours, and offering no
taunt or insult, in their success, to their less fortunate foes. Living masses
of the English, to the amount, in the whole, of near three thousand, were
moving slowly across the plain, towards the common center, and gradually
approached each other, as they converged to the point of their march, a vista
cut through the lofty trees, where the road to the Hudson entered the forest.
Along the sweeping borders of the woods, hung a dark cloud of savages, eyeing
the passage of their enemies, and hovering, at a distance, like vultures, who
were only kept from stooping on their prey, by the presence and restraint of a
superior army. A few had straggled among the conquered columns, where they
stalked, in sullen discontent; attentive, though, as yet, passive observers of
all that moving multitude.
The advance, with
Heyward at its head, had already reached the defile, and was slowly
disappearing, when the attention of Cora was drawn to a collection of
stragglers, by the sounds of contention. A truant provincial was paying the
forfeit of his disobedience, by being plundered of those very effects, which
had caused him to desert his place in the ranks. The man was of powerful frame,
and too avaricious to part with his goods, without a struggle. Individuals from
either party interfered; the one side to prevent, and the other to aid in the
robbery. Voices grew loud and angry, and a hundred savages appeared, as it
were, by magic, where a dozen only had been seen, a few minutes before. It was,
then, that Cora saw the form of Magua, gliding among his countrymen, and speaking,
with his fatal and artful eloquence. The mass of women and children stopped,
and hovered together, like alarmed and fluttering birds. But the cupidity of
the Indian was soon gratified, and the different bodies, again, moved slowly
onward.
The savages now fell
back, and seemed content to let their enemies advance, without further
molestation. But as the female crowd approached them, the gaudy colours of a
shawl attracted the eyes of a wild and untutored Huron. He advanced to seize
it, without the least hesitation. The woman, more in terror, than through love
of the ornament, wrapped her child in the coveted article, and folded both more
closely to her bosom. Cora was in the act of speaking, with an intent to advise
the woman to abandon the trifle, when the savage relinquished his hold of the
shawl, and tore the screaming infant from her arms. Abandoning every thing to
the greedy grasp of those around her, the mother darted, with distraction in
her mien, to reclaim her child. The Indian smiled grimly, and extended one
hand, in sign of a willingness to exchange, while, with the other, he
flourished the babe above his head, holding it by the feet, as if to enhance
the value of the ransom.
“Here--here--there--all--any--every
thing!” exclaimed the breathless woman; tearing the lighter articles of dress
from her person, with ill-directed and trembling fingers--“Take all, but give
me my babe!”
The savage spurned the
worthless rags, and perceiving that the shawl had already become a prize to
another, his bantering, but sullen smile, changing to a gleam of ferocity, he
dashed the head of the infant against a rock, and cast its quivering remains to
her very feet. For an instant, the mother stood, like a statue of despair,
looking wildly down at the unseemly object, which had so lately nestled in her
bosom and smiled in her face; and then she raised her eyes and countenance
towards heaven, as if calling on God to curse the perpetrator of the foul deed.
She was spared the sin of such a prayer; for, maddened at his disappointment,
and excited by the sight of blood, the Huron mercifully drove his tomahawk into
her own brain. The mother sunk under the blow, and fell, grasping at her child,
in death, with the same engrossing love, that had caused her to cherish it, when
living.
At that dangerous
moment Magua placed his hands to his mouth, and raised the fatal and appalling
whoop. The scattered Indians started at the well known cry, as coursers bound
at the signal to quit the goal; and, directly, there arose such a yell along
the plain, and through the arches of the wood, as seldom bursted from human
lips before. They who heard it, listened with a curdling horror at the heart,
little inferior to that dread which may be expected to attend the blasts of the
final summons.
More than two thousand
raging savages broke from the forest at the signal, and threw themselves across
the fatal plain with instinctive alacrity. We shall not dwell on the revolting
horrors that succeeded.-- Death was every where, and in his most terrific and
disgusting aspects. Resistance only served to inflame the murderers, who
inflicted their furious blows long after their victims were beyond the power of
their resentment. The flow of blood might be likened to the outbreaking of a
gushing torrent; and as the natives became heated and maddened by the sight,
many among them even kneeled to the earth, and drank freely, exultingly,
hellishly, of the crimson tide.
The trained bodies of
the troops threw themselves, quickly, into solid masses, endeavouring to awe
their assailants by the imposing appearance of a military front. The experiment
in some measure succeeded, though far too many suffered their unloaded muskets
to be torn from their hands, in the vain hope of appeasing the savages.
In such a scene, none
had leisure to note the fleeting moments. It might have been ten minutes, (it
seemed an age,) that the sisters had stood, rivetted to one spot,
horror-stricken, and nearly helpless. When the first blow was struck, their
screaming companions had pressed upon them in a body, rendering flight
impossible; and now that fear or death had scattered most, if not all, from
around them, they saw no avenue open, but such as conducted to the tomahawks of
their foes. On every side arose shrieks, groans, exhortations, and curses. At
this moment, Alice caught a glimpse of the vast form of her father, moving
rapidly across the plain, in the direction of the French army. Ha was, in
truth, proceeding to Montcalm, fearless of every danger, to claim the tardy
escort, for which he had before conditioned. Fifty glittering axes, and barbed
spears, were offered unheeded at his life, but the savages respected his rank
and calmness, even in their greatest fury. The dangerous weapons were brushed
aside by the still nervous arm of the veteran, or fell of themselves, after
menacing an act, that it would seem no one had courage to perform. Fortunately,
the vindictive Magua was searching his victim in the very band the veteran had
just quitted.
“Father--father--we are
here!” shrieked Alice, as he passed, at no great distance, without appearing to
heed them. “Come to us, father, or we die!”
The cry was repeated,
and in terms and tones, that might have melted a heart of stone, but it was
unanswered. Once, indeed, the old man appeared to catch the sounds, for he
paused, and listened; but Alice had dropped senseless on the earth, and Cora
had sunk at her side, hovering, in untiring tenderness, over her lifeless form.
Munro shook his head, in disappointment, and proceeded, bent on the high duty
of his responsible station.
“Lady,” said Gamut,
who, helpless and useless as he was, had not yet dreamed of deserting his
trust, “it is the jubilee of the devils, and this is not a meet place for
christians to tarry in. Let us up and fly!”
“Go,” said Cora, still
gazing at her unconscious sister; “save thyself. To me thou canst not be of
further use.”
David comprehended the
unyielding character of her resolution, by the simple, but expressive, gesture,
that accompanied her words. He gazed, for a moment, at the dusky forms that
were acting their hellish rites on every side of him, and his tall person grew
more erect, while his chest heaved, and every feature swelled, and seemed to
speak with the power of the feelings by which he was gorerned.
“If the Jewish boy
might tame the evil spirit of Saul, by the sound of his harp, and the words of
sacred song, it may not be amiss,” he said, “to try the potency of music here.”
Then raising his voice
to its highest tones, he poured out a strain so powerful as to be heard, even
amid the din of that bloody field. More that one savage rushed towards them,
thinking to rifle the unprotected sisters of their attire, and bear away their
scalps; but when they found this strange and unmoved figure, rivetted to his
post, they paused to listen. Astonishment soon changed to admiration, and they
passed on to other, and less courageous victims, openly expressing their
satisfaction at the firmness with which the white warrior sung his death song.
Encouraged and deluded by his success, David exerted all his powers to extend
what he believed so holy an influence. The unwonted sounds caught the ears of a
distant savage, who flew, raging from groupe to groupe, like one who, scorning
to touch the vulgar herd, hunted for some victim more worthy of his renown. It
was Magua, who uttered a yell of pleasure when he beheld his ancient prisoners
again at his mercy.
“Come,” he said, laying
his soiled hand on the dress of Cora, “the wigwam of the Huron is open. Is it
not better than this place?”
“Away!” cried Cora,
veiling her eyes from his revolting aspect.
The Indian laughed
tauntingly as he held up his reeking hand, and answered--“It is red, but it
comes from white veins!”
“Monster! there is
blood, oceans of blood, upon thy soul; thy spirit has moved this scene.”
“Magua is a great
chief!” returned the exulting savage--“will the dark-hair go to his tribe!”
“Never! strike, if thou
wilt, and complete thy hellish revenge.”
He hesitated a moment;
and then catching the light and senseless form of Alice in his arms, the subtle
Indian moved swiftly across the plain toward the woods.
“Hold!” shrieked Cora,
following wildly on his footsteps, “release the child! wretch! what is’t you
do!”
But Magua was deaf to
her voice; or rather he knew his power, and was determined to maintain it.
“Stay--lady--stay,”
called Gamut, after the unconscious Cora. “The holy charm is beginning to be
felt, and soon shalt thou see this horrid tumult stilled.”
Perceiving that, in his
turn, he was unheeded, the faithful David followed the distracted sister,
raising his voice again in sacred song, and sweeping the air to the measure,
with his long arm, in diligent accompaniment. In this manner they traversed the
plain, through the flying, the wounded, and the dead. The fierce Huron was, at
any time, sufficient for himself and the victim that he bore; though Cora would
have fallen, more than once, under the blows of her savage enemies, but for the
extraordinary being who stalked in her rear, and who now appeared to the
astonished natives gifted with the protecting spirit of madness.
Magua, who knew how to
avoid the more pressing dangers, and, also, to elude pursuit, entered the woods
through a low ravine, where he quickly found the Narragansetts, which the
travellers had abandoned so shortly before, awaiting his appearance, in custody
of a savage as fierce and as malign in his expression as himself. Laying Alice
on one of the horses, he made a sign for Cora to mount the other.
Notwithstanding the
horror excited by the presence of her captor, there was a present relief in
escaping from the bloody scene enacting on the plain, to which the maiden could
not be altogether insensible. She took her seat, and held forth her arms for
her sister, with an air of entreaty and love, that even the Huron could not
deny. Placing Alice, then, on the same animal with Cora, he seized the bridle,
and commenced his route by plunging deeper into the forest. David, perceiving
that he was left alone, utterly disregarded, as a subject too worthless even to
destroy, threw his long limb across the saddle of the beast they had deserted,
and made such progress in the pursuit, as the difficulties of the path
permitted.
They soon began to ascend;
but as the motion had a tendency to revive the dormant faculties of her sister,
the attention of Cora was too much divided between the tenderest solicitude in
her behalf, and in listening to the cries, which were still too audible on the
plain, to note the direction in which they journeyed. When, however, they
gained the flattened surface of the mountain top, and approached the eastern
precipice, she recognised the spot to which she had, once before, been led,
under the more friendly auspices of the scout. Here Magua suffered them to
dismount, and, notwithstanding their own captivity, the curiosity which seems
inseparable from horror, induced them to gaze at the sickening sight below.
The cruel work was
still unchecked. On every side the captured were flying before their relentless
persecutors, while the armed columns of the Christian King stood fast, in an
apathy which has never been explained, and which has left an immoveable blot on
the, otherwise, fair escutcheon of their leader. Nor was the sword of death
stayed, until cupidity got the mastery of revenge. Then, indeed, the shriaks of
the wounded, and the yells of their murderers, grew less frequent, until
finally the cries of horror were lost to their ear, or were drowned in the
loud, long and piercing whoops of the triumphant savages.
END OF VOLUME FIRST.