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The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757

by James Fenimore Cooper · English · Gutenberg #940 · 866,073 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757

Author: James Fenimore Cooper


        
Release date: February 5, 2006 [eBook #940]
                Most recently updated: August 26, 2025

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/940

Credits: John Horner and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS; A NARRATIVE OF 1757 ***




The Last of the Mohicans

A Narrative of 1757

by James Fenimore Cooper


Contents

 INTRODUCTION
 CHAPTER I.
 CHAPTER II.
 CHAPTER III.
 CHAPTER IV.
 CHAPTER V.
 CHAPTER VI.
 CHAPTER VII.
 CHAPTER VIII.
 CHAPTER IX.
 CHAPTER X.
 CHAPTER XI.
 CHAPTER XII.
 CHAPTER XIII.
 CHAPTER XIV.
 CHAPTER XV.
 CHAPTER XVI.
 CHAPTER XVII.
 CHAPTER XVIII.
 CHAPTER XIX.
 CHAPTER XX.
 CHAPTER XXI.
 CHAPTER XXII.
 CHAPTER XXIII.
 CHAPTER XXIV.
 CHAPTER XXV.
 CHAPTER XXVI.
 CHAPTER XXVII.
 CHAPTER XXVIII.
 CHAPTER XXIX.
 CHAPTER XXX.
 CHAPTER XXXI.
 CHAPTER XXXII.
 CHAPTER XXXIII.

[Illustration]




INTRODUCTION


It is believed that the scene of this tale, and most of the information
necessary to understand its allusions, are rendered sufficiently obvious to the
reader in the text itself, or in the accompanying notes. Still there is so much
obscurity in the Indian traditions, and so much confusion in the Indian names,
as to render some explanation useful.

Few men exhibit greater diversity, or, if we may so express it, greater
antithesis of character, than the native warrior of North America. In war, he
is daring, boastful, cunning, ruthless, self-denying, and self-devoted; in
peace, just, generous, hospitable, revengeful, superstitious, modest, and
commonly chaste. These are qualities, it is true, which do not distinguish all
alike; but they are so far the predominating traits of these remarkable people
as to be characteristic.

It is generally believed that the Aborigines of the American continent have an
Asiatic origin. There are many physical as well as moral facts which
corroborate this opinion, and some few that would seem to weigh against it.

The color of the Indian, the writer believes, is peculiar to himself, and while
his cheek-bones have a very striking indication of a Tartar origin, his eyes
have not. Climate may have had great influence on the former, but it is
difficult to see how it can have produced the substantial difference which
exists in the latter. The imagery of the Indian, both in his poetry and in his
oratory, is oriental; chastened, and perhaps improved, by the limited range of
his practical knowledge. He draws his metaphors from the clouds, the seasons,
the birds, the beasts, and the vegetable world. In this, perhaps, he does no
more than any other energetic and imaginative race would do, being compelled to
set bounds to fancy by experience; but the North American Indian clothes his
ideas in a dress which is different from that of the African, and is oriental
in itself. His language has the richness and sententious fullness of the
Chinese. He will express a phrase in a word, and he will qualify the meaning of
an entire sentence by a syllable; he will even convey different significations
by the simplest inflections of the voice.

Philologists have said that there are but two or three languages, properly
speaking, among all the numerous tribes which formerly occupied the country
that now composes the United States. They ascribe the known difficulty one
people have to understand another to corruptions and dialects. The writer
remembers to have been present at an interview between two chiefs of the Great
Prairies west of the Mississippi, and when an interpreter was in attendance who
spoke both their languages. The warriors appeared to be on the most friendly
terms, and seemingly conversed much together; yet, according to the account of
the interpreter, each was absolutely ignorant of what the other said. They were
of hostile tribes, brought together by the influence of the American
government; and it is worthy of remark, that a common policy led them both to
adopt the same subject. They mutually exhorted each other to be of use in the
event of the chances of war throwing either of the parties into the hands of
his enemies. Whatever may be the truth, as respects the root and the genius of
the Indian tongues, it is quite certain they are now so distinct in their words
as to possess most of the disadvantages of strange languages; hence much of the
embarrassment that has arisen in learning their histories, and most of the
uncertainty which exists in their traditions.

Like nations of higher pretensions, the American Indian gives a very different
account of his own tribe or race from that which is given by other people. He
is much addicted to overestimating his own perfections, and to undervaluing
those of his rival or his enemy; a trait which may possibly be thought
corroborative of the Mosaic account of the creation.

The whites have assisted greatly in rendering the traditions of the Aborigines
more obscure by their own manner of corrupting names. Thus, the term used in
the title of this book has undergone the changes of Mahicanni, Mohicans, and
Mohegans; the latter being the word commonly used by the whites. When it is
remembered that the Dutch (who first settled New York), the English, and the
French, all gave appellations to the tribes that dwelt within the country which
is the scene of this story, and that the Indians not only gave different names
to their enemies, but frequently to themselves, the cause of the confusion will
be understood.

In these pages, Lenni-Lenape, Lenope, Delawares, Wapanachki, and Mohicans, all
mean the same people, or tribes of the same stock. The Mengwe, the Maquas, the
Mingoes, and the Iroquois, though not all strictly the same, are identified
frequently by the speakers, being politically confederated and opposed to those
just named. Mingo was a term of peculiar reproach, as were Mengwe and Maqua in
a less degree.

The Mohicans were the possessors of the country first occupied by the Europeans
in this portion of the continent. They were, consequently, the first
dispossessed; and the seemingly inevitable fate of all these people, who
disappear before the advances, or it might be termed the inroads, of
civilization, as the verdure of their native forests falls before the nipping
frosts, is represented as having already befallen them. There is sufficient
historical truth in the picture to justify the use that has been made of it.

In point of fact, the country which is the scene of the following tale has
undergone as little change, since the historical events alluded to had place,
as almost any other district of equal extent within the whole limits of the
United States. There are fashionable and well-attended watering-places at and
near the spring where Hawkeye halted to drink, and roads traverse the forests
where he and his friends were compelled to journey without even a path.
Glen’s has a large village; and while William Henry, and even a fortress
of later date, are only to be traced as ruins, there is another village on the
shores of the Horican. But, beyond this, the enterprise and energy of a people
who have done so much in other places have done little here. The whole of that
wilderness, in which the latter incidents of the legend occurred, is nearly a
wilderness still, though the red man has entirely deserted this part of the
state. Of all the tribes named in these pages, there exist only a few
half-civilized beings of the Oneidas, on the reservations of their people in
New York. The rest have disappeared, either from the regions in which their
fathers dwelt, or altogether from the earth.

There is one point on which we would wish to say a word before closing this
preface. Hawkeye calls the Lac du Saint Sacrement, the “Horican.”
As we believe this to be an appropriation of the name that has its origin with
ourselves, the time has arrived, perhaps, when the fact should be frankly
admitted. While writing this book, fully a quarter of a century since, it
occurred to us that the French name of this lake was too complicated, the
American too commonplace, and the Indian too unpronounceable, for either to be
used familiarly in a work of fiction. Looking over an ancient map, it was
ascertained that a tribe of Indians, called “Les Horicans” by the
French, existed in the neighborhood of this beautiful sheet of water. As every
word uttered by Natty Bumppo was not to be received as rigid truth, we took the
liberty of putting the “Horican” into his mouth, as the substitute
for “Lake George.” The name has appeared to find favor, and all
things considered, it may possibly be quite as well to let it stand, instead of
going back to the House of Hanover for the appellation of our finest sheet of
water. We relieve our conscience by the confession, at all events leaving it to
exercise its authority as it may see fit.




CHAPTER I.


“Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared:
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold:—
Say, is my kingdom lost?”—Shakespeare


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. 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 practiced
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
neighboring 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 title of lake “du Saint Sacrément.” The less
zealous English thought they conferred a sufficient honor 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.”[1]

 [1]
As each nation of the Indians had its language or its dialect, they usually
gave different names to the same places, though nearly all of their
appellations were descriptive of the object. Thus a literal translation of the
name of this beautiful sheet of water, used by the tribe that dwelt on its
banks, would be “The Tail of the Lake.” Lake George, as it is
vulgarly, and now, indeed, legally, called, forms a sort of tail to Lake
Champlain, when viewed on the map. Hence, the name.


Winding its way among countless islands, and imbedded in mountains, the
“holy lake” extended a dozen leagues still further 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,
razed and rebuilt, as victory alighted on the hostile banners. While the
husbandman shrank back from the dangerous passes, within the safer boundaries
of the more ancient settlements, armies larger than those that had often
disposed of the scepters of the mother countries, were seen to bury themselves
in these forests, whence they rarely returned 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 shades 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 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 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
blindly 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.[2]
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 traveler 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
naught the calculations of reason, and to render those who should have
remembered their manhood, the slaves of the basest 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.

 [2]
Washington, who, after uselessly admonishing the European general of the
danger into which he was heedlessly running, saved the remnants of the British
army, on this occasion, by his decision and courage. The reputation earned by
Washington in this battle was the principal cause of his being selected to
command the American armies at a later day. It is a circumstance worthy of
observation, that while all America rang with his well-merited reputation, his
name does not occur in any European account of the battle; at least the author
has searched for it without success. In this manner does the mother country
absorb even the fame, under that system of rule.


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 fear than with the stern joy that a warrior should feel, in
finding an enemy within reach of his blow. The news had been brought, toward
the decline of a day in midsummer, by an Indian runner, who also bore an urgent
request from Munro, the commander of a 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 traveled
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 favorite 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 General 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 antagonists,
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 rumor was
spread through the entrenched 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 rumor, 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 doubts 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 practiced 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 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 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 trappings and arms of an officer of the
staff; while the rest, from the plainness of the housings, and the traveling
mails with which they were encumbered, were evidently fitted for the reception
of as many menials, who were, seemingly, already waiting the pleasure of those
they served. At a respectful distance from this unusual show, were gathered
divers groups 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 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 the
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 a 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, in deference to the quarters of Webb, the
figure we have described stalked into the center of the domestics, freely
expressing his censures or commendations on the merits of the horses, 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 scows 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 on 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 had
descended to our own time; would it not, friend?”

Receiving no reply to this extraordinary appeal, which in truth, as it was
delivered with the vigor 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 colors 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
white man, had not his active curiosity been again drawn to other objects. A
general movement among the domestics, and a low sound of gentle voices,
announced the approach of those whose presence alone was wanted 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 dress of an officer, conducted to their steeds two females,
who, as it was apparent by their dresses, were prepared to encounter the
fatigues of a journey in the woods. One, and she was the more 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
attention of the young officer, concealed her charms from the gaze of the
soldiery with a care that seemed better fitted to the experience of four or
five additional years. It could be seen, however, that her person, though
molded with the same exquisite proportions, of which none of the graces were
lost by the traveling 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,
toward the northern entrance of the encampment. As they traversed that short
distance, not a voice was heard among 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 color 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 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.




CHAPTER II.


“Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola!”
—Shakespeare


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 alarm which induced
the exclamation, and, laughing at her own weakness, she inquired of the youth
who rode by her side:

“Are such specters frequent in the woods, Heyward, or is this sight an
especial entertainment ordered on 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 which we boast, even before we are
made to encounter the redoubtable Montcalm.”

“Yon Indian is a ‘runner’ of the army; and, after the fashion
of his people, he may be accounted a hero,” returned the officer.
“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. 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 among 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 girl. “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 the 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 Narrangansett[1]
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 pathway. 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 the 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 the 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 the 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 yet easy amble. The youth had turned to speak to the dark-eyed Cora,
when the distant sound 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.

 [1]
In the state of Rhode Island there is a bay called Narragansett, so named
after a powerful tribe of Indians, which formerly dwelt on its banks. Accident,
or one of those unaccountable freaks which nature sometimes plays in the animal
world, gave rise to a breed of horses which were once well known in America,
and distinguished by their habit of pacing. Horses of this race were, and are
still, in much request as saddle horses, on account of their hardiness and the
ease of their movements. As they were also sure of foot, the Narragansetts were
greatly sought for by females who were obliged to travel over the roots and
holes in the “new countries.”


In a few moments a colt was seen gliding, like a fallow deer, among 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. Until now this personage had escaped the observation of the
travelers. If he possessed the power to arrest any wandering eye when
exhibiting the glories of his altitude on foot, his equestrian graces were
still more likely to attract attention.

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 loping 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 footsteps 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 dimensions. 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 a 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 humor 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.”

“You appear to possess the privilege of a casting vote,” returned
Heyward; “we are three, while you have consulted no one but
yourself.”

“Even so. The first point to be obtained is to know one’s own mind.
Once sure of that, and where women are concerned it is not easy, the next is,
to act up to the decision. I have endeavored to do both, and here I am.”

“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, “It is not
prudent for any 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
wayfaring; 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 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
defense and offense; or, perhaps, you are one who draws lines and angles, under
the pretense of expounding the mathematics?”

The stranger regarded his interrogator a moment in wonder; and then, losing
every mark of self-satisfaction in an expression of solemn humility, he
answered:

“Of offense, I hope there is none, to either party: of defense, 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 petitioning and thanksgiving, as practiced in
psalmody.”

“The man is, most manifestly, a disciple of Apollo,” cried the
amused Alice, “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 clapped 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 Narragansett to renew its
amble. “Partial relatives have almost persuaded me that I am not entirely
worthless in a duet myself; and we may enliven our wayfaring by indulging in
our favorite 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 practiced in the art of psalmody?” demanded her
simple companion.

Alice felt disposed to laugh, though she succeeded in suppressing her
merriment, ere she answered:

“I apprehend that he is rather addicted to profane song. The 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. None can say they have ever known me to 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, opened the volume with a care and veneration suited to
its sacred purposes. Then, without circumlocution or apology, first pronounced
the 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 the head to the beard did go;
Down Aaron’s head, that downward went
    His garment’s skirts unto.”


The delivery of these skillful 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 long practice had rendered
this manual accompaniment necessary; for it did not cease until the preposition
which the poet had selected for the close of his verse had been duly delivered
like 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 possible. You will then, pardon
me, Alice, should I diminish your enjoyments, by requesting this gentleman to
postpone his chant until a safer opportunity.”

“You will diminish them, indeed,” returned the arch girl;
“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, 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 toward a thicket, and then bent his eyes suspiciously
on their guide, who continued his steady pace, in undisturbed gravity. The
young man smiled to himself, for he believed he had mistaken some shining berry
of the woods for the glistening eyeballs of a prowling savage, and he rode
forward, continuing the conversation which had been interrupted by the passing
thought.

Major Heyward was mistaken only in suffering his youthful and generous pride to
suppress 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 travelers. 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.




CHAPTER III.


“Before these fields were shorn and till’d,
Full to the brim our rivers flow’d;
The melody of waters fill’d
The fresh and boundless wood;
And torrents dash’d, and rivulets play’d,
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 were 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 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 vapors 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, the
occasional and lazy tap of a woodpecker, the discordant cry of some gaudy jay,
or a swelling on the ear, from the dull roar of a distant waterfall. 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 accouterments of a native of
the woods, the other exhibited, through the mask of his rude and nearly savage
equipments, the brighter, though sun-burned and long-faced complexion of one
who might claim descent from a 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 colors of white and black. His closely-shaved
head, on which no other hair than the well-known and chivalrous scalping
tuft[1]
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 vigor of his days, though no
symptoms of decay appeared to have yet weakened his manhood.

 [1]
The North American warrior caused the hair to be plucked from his whole body;
a small tuft was left on the crown of his head, in order that his enemy might
avail himself of it, in wrenching off the scalp in the event of his fall. The
scalp was the only admissible trophy of victory. Thus, it was deemed more
important to obtain the scalp than to kill the man. Some tribes lay great
stress on the honor of striking a dead body. These practices have nearly
disappeared among the Indians of the Atlantic states.


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[2],
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 which were gartered above the knees, with the sinews of a deer. A
pouch and horn completed his personal accouterments, though a rifle of great
length[3], which
the theory of the more ingenious whites had taught them was the most dangerous
of all firearms, leaned against a neighboring 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 the symptoms of
habitual suspicion, his countenance was not only without guile, but at the
moment at which he is introduced, it was charged with an expression of sturdy
honesty.

 [2]
The hunting-shirt is a picturesque smock-frock, being shorter, and ornamented
with fringes and tassels. The colors are intended to imitate the hues of the
wood, with a view to concealment. Many corps of American riflemen have been
thus attired, and the dress is one of the most striking of modern times. The
hunting-shirt is frequently white.


 [3]
The rifle of the army is short; that of the hunter is always long.


“Even your traditions make the case in my favor, Chingachgook,” he
said, speaking in the tongue which was known to all the natives who formerly
inhabited the country between the Hudson and the Potomac, and of which we shall
give a free translation for the benefit of the reader; endeavoring, 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[4], 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!”

 [4]
The Mississippi. The scout alludes to a tradition which is very popular among
the tribes of the Atlantic states. Evidence of their Asiatic origin is deduced
from the circumstances, though great uncertainty hangs over the whole history
of the Indians.


“My fathers fought with the naked red man!” returned the Indian,
sternly, in the same language. “Is there no difference, Hawkeye, 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 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 chases 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. “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 and 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 color 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 misspend
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 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 loath to answer for other people in such a matter. But every story
has its two sides; so I ask you, Chingachgook, what passed, according to the
traditions of the red men, 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, Hawkeye, and your ear shall drink no lie. ’Tis what my
fathers have said, and what the Mohicans have done.” He hesitated a
single instant, and bending a cautious glance toward his companion, he
continued, in a manner that was divided between interrogation and assertion.
“Does not this stream at our feet run toward 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, they
run 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
everything 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 was 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 sun’s
journey toward the summer. 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, Hawkeye,” 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, Hawkeye, 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 anything of your own family at that time?” demanded the
white. “But you are just a 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, but I am an unmixed man. The
blood of chiefs is in my veins, where it must stay forever. 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 they 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 those of your race who 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 hilltop 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 speaks to Uncas?”

The white man loosened his knife in his leathern sheath, and made an
involuntary movement of the hand toward 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 asked, or reply given, for
several minutes; each appearing to await the moment when he might speak,
without betraying 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 toward 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 Hawkeye, 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 toward
the setting sun; “they shall be driven like deer from their bushes.
Hawkeye, let us eat to-night, and show the Maquas that we are men
to-morrow.”

“I am as ready to do the one as the other; 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 learned 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 creature’, 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:

“Hawkeye! 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 cord 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, dyeing the waters with
its blood.

[Illustration]

“’Twas done with Indian skill,” said the scout laughing
inwardly, but with vast satisfaction; “and ’twas 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 game.

“By the Lord, there is a drove of them!” exclaimed the scout, whose
eyes began to glisten with the ardor 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 the buck to shelter, and are following on
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 his former
composure. “Hawkeye, they are your brothers; speak to them.”

“That I will, 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 trampling that I mistook for the
falls—and—but here they come themselves; God keep them from the
Iroquois!”




CHAPTER IV.


“Well go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove
Till I torment thee for this injury.”—Midsummer 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 travelers, who had produced a surprise so
unusual in the depths of the forest, advanced slowly toward 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 forefinger 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. “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 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 what
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 everybody; 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 adopted in that tribe; I think his birthplace 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 immovable, and apparently
indifferent to what passed, but who now sprang to their feet with an activity
and interest that had evidently got 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 anything 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 labor 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 Sixtieth.”

“The Sixtieth! you can tell me little of the Royal Americans that I
don’t know, though I do wear a hunting-shirt 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 a 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 vast riches, 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 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 creature; 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 contribution. 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, 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 they are quite equal to a ride of a few
more miles.”

“’Tis a natural impossibility!” repeated the scout; “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 endeavored 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 a 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 angle and the knee, with a single shot, putting an end to 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 a 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 of maiming the runner,
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 undertone; 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 firearms, they parted, taking
opposite sides of the path, and burying themselves in the thicket, with such
cautious 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!”

“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 confidence. The sun had already
disappeared, and the woods, suddenly deprived of his light[1],
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 near. Stimulated by apprehension, he left the
scout, who immediately entered into a loud conversation with the stranger that
had so unceremoniously enlisted himself in the party of travelers 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 the 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.

 [1]
The scene of this tale was in the 42d degree of latitude, where the twilight
is never of long continuation.


“You may see, Magua,” he said, endeavoring 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 rising 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 deerpaths 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 color.”

“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.
“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?”

“Though the gray head has a loud voice, and a long arm, Le Renard will
not hear him, nor feel him, in the woods.”

“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 he 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, he 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 toward 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 it 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 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, he darted beneath it, and plunged, at a single bound, into the
opposite thicket. At the next instant the form of Chingachgook appeared from
the bushes, looking like a specter 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.




CHAPTER V.


...”In such a night
Did This be 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 yon big pine,
I pulled as it might be on the scent; but ’twouldn’t do! and yet
for a reasoning aim, if anybody 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 everybody 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 creature 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-whoop 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 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.”

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 human aid, his unresisting companions would soon lie at the
entire mercy of those 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 never ceasing 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-color, while the imbedded stream, which glided past the spot where he
stood, was to be traced only by the dark boundary of its wooded banks.

“What is 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 seniors. It was evident that they debated on the
propriety of some measure, that nearly concerned the welfare of the travelers.
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 group, 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 harboring place forever. If
you would save these tender blossoms from the fangs of the worst of serpents,
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 wisdom to circumvent 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 he moved in his footsteps, swiftly,
toward the place where he had left the remainder of the 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
the 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, and when they descended quickly to the
water’s edge, where the scout had collected the rest of the party, more
by the agency of expressive gestures than by any use of words.

“What to do with these dumb creatures!” 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 fireballs 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 the 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 no 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 motions of the struggling victim, he dashed
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 travelers 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 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 meantime, the scout drew a canoe
of bark from its place of concealment beneath some low bushes, whose branches
were waving with the eddies of the current, into which he silently motioned for
the females to enter. They complied without hesitation, though many a fearful
and anxious glance was thrown behind them, toward 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
sounds that might arise from the slumbering forest. When assured that all was
still, and unable to detect, even by the aid of his practiced senses, any sign
of his 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, 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 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 travelers 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 toward 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 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
breath, lest they should expose the frail fabric to the fury of the stream, the
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.
A long, a vigorous, and, as it appeared to the females, a desperate effort,
closed the struggle. 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 upset,
and you should go down again the hard road we have traveled faster than you
came up; ’tis a hard rift to stem, when the river is a little swelled;
and five is an unnatural number to keep dry, in a 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 travelers 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 see anything 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 an 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 French!”

“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!”

“Aye, shame on the Hollanders and Iroquois, who circumvented them by
their deviltries, into such a treaty! But I have known them for twenty years,
and I call him liar that says cowardly blood runs in the veins of a Delaware.
You have driven their tribes from the seashore, 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[1] of his
tribe be in Canada, or be in York.”

 [1]
The principal villages of the Indians are still called “castles”
by the whites of New York. “Oneida castle” is no more than a
scattered hamlet; but the name is in general use.


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, changed the
subject.

“Treaty or no treaty, I know full well that your two companions are brave
and cautious warriors! have they heard or seen anything 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 scrimmage. 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; “thy foal was
foreordained to become a prey to ravenous beasts!” Then, suddenly lifting
up 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 won’t 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, while making his remarks, was busied in collecting certain necessary
implements; as he concluded, he moved silently by the group of travelers,
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.




CHAPTER VI.


“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 those without, and laid
bare the much-prized secret of the place.

At the further 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. The travelers 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 screened 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 burden 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 practice a
deception upon ourselves, by expecting any other exhibition of what we esteem
virtue than according to the fashion of the 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 honor of our common nature, neither
are incapable of producing them. Let us then hope that this Mohican may not
disappoint our wishes, but prove what his looks assert him to be, a brave and
constant friend.”

“Now Major Heyward speaks as Major Heyward should,” said Cora;
“who that looks at this creature of nature, remembers the shade of his
skin?”

A short and apparently an embarrassed silence succeeded this 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[1]. Here, you
see, we have plenty of salt, and can make a quick broil. There’s fresh
sassafras 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 flavor, than the skin of any
hog can do, be it of Guinea, or be it of any other land. Come, friend,
don’t be mournful for the colt; ’twas an innocent thing, and had
not seen much hardship. Its death will save the creature many a sore back and
weary foot!”

 [1]
In vulgar parlance the condiments of a repast are called by the American
“a relish,” substituting the thing for its effect. These provincial
terms are frequently put in the mouths of the speakers, according to their
several conditions in life. Most of them are of local use, and others quite
peculiar to the particular class of men to which the character belongs. In the
present instance, the scout uses the word with immediate reference to the
“salt,” with which his own party was so fortunate as to be
provided.


Uncas did as the other had directed, and when the voice of Hawkeye 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 of the darkness behind the scout,
and seizing a blazing brand, held it toward 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
barrow with one hole,” said Hawkeye, laughing; “you can easily see
the cunning of the place—the rock is black limestone, which everybody
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 the spot that Providence first placed them at, but
where, it seems, they were too rebellious to stay. The rock proved softer on
each side of us, and so they left the center 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 crush the
’arth; and thereaways, 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 fishnet, 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
everything. And yet what does it amount to! After the water has been suffered
so 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 toward 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,[2]
they were much inclined to judge differently from Hawkeye, 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 labors 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.

 [2]
Glenn’s Falls are on the Hudson, some forty or fifty miles above the
head of tide, or that place where the river becomes navigable for sloops. The
description of this picturesque and remarkable little cataract, as given by the
scout, is sufficiently correct, though the application of the water to uses of
civilized life has materially injured its beauties. The rocky island and the
two caverns are known to every traveler, since the former sustains the pier of
a bridge, which is now thrown across the river, immediately above the fall. In
explanation of the taste of Hawkeye, it should be remembered that men always
prize that most which is least enjoyed. Thus, in a new country, the woods and
other objects, which in an old country would be maintained at great cost, are
got rid of, simply with a view of “improving” as it is called.


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 weary 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 favor of their women. As the
rights 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 gourd of sweet water, and the venison in a
trencher, neatly carved from the knot of the pepperidge, with sufficient
courtesy, in performing the same offices to her sister, his dark eye lingered
on her rich, speaking countenance. 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 Chingcachgook 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 gourd 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
for a time was forgotten.

“Come, friend,” said Hawkeye, drawing out a keg from beneath a
cover of leaves, toward 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
horse-flesh may leave no heart-burnings atween us. How do you name
yourself?”

“Gamut—David Gamut,” returned the singing master, preparing
to wash down his sorrows in a powerful draught of the woodsman’s
high-flavored and well-laced compound.

“A very good name, 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 smoothbore, or handle the rifle?”

“Praised be God, I have never had occasion to meddle with murderous
implements!”

“Perhaps you understand the compass, and lay down the watercourses and
mountains of the wilderness on paper, in order that they who follow may find
places by their given names?”

“I practice 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 Hawkeye, with an inward
laugh, “to go through life, like a catbird, 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 that 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, 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 her pious inclinations, and her keen
relish for gentle sounds, had before so strongly urged. 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 pitchpipe, 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 females, who hung over their little book in holy excitement,
and again it sank 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 the confined cavern, every crevice and
cranny of which was filled with the thrilling notes of their flexible 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 boyhood, when his ears had
been accustomed to listen to similar sounds of praise, in the settlements of
the colony. His roving eyes began to moisten, and before the hymn was ended
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.

[Illustration]
“What is it?” murmured Alice, after a few
moments of terrible suspense.


“What is it?” repeated Hewyard aloud.

Neither Hawkeye 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 anything else.
Well, Uncas!” speaking in 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 Hawkeye, 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 favorable 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 further end of the cavern, to an outlet, which, like the
others, was concealed by blankets; and removing the thick screen, 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 defense, 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 much
embarrassment, but I would have proved to him, that however others might
neglect him in his strait his children at least 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 honor 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,” 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 riveted on those of Alice, who
had turned toward 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 danger, against which all his cunning and experience
might prove of no avail.




CHAPTER VII.


“They do not sleep,
On yonder cliffs, a grizzly band,
I see them sit.”—Gray


“’Twould be neglecting a warning that is given for our good to lie
hid any longer,” said Hawkeye “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 Sixtieth 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 confined to such as proceed
from supernatural causes, we have but little occasion to be alarmed,”
continued the undisturbed Cora, “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 on the quickness of his ears. There is no whine of the panther, no
whistle of the catbird, 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!” said 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 spirits, by exchanging the pent air of the
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 cavern, 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 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, and 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 conducive
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 Hawkeye, 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 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 it too well to 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
expressive exclamation, “hugh!” as the truth first glanced upon
their minds, while the former, after a short, musing pause, took upon 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 Hawkeye, turning away from
his companions; “now we begin again to know the signs of our course, and
the paths are cleared from briers! Seat yourselves in the shade which the moon
throws from yonder beech—’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 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 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 Hawkeye 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 treetops, at the bend of the river a little below,
announced the approach of day.

Then, for the first time, Hawkeye 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 got 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 females. 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 youth; “Duncan is here,
and while life continues or danger remains, 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
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 humors 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 at 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 nowhere to be seen on its dark waters. He had just fancied they were
cruelly deserted by their scout, as a stream of flame issued from the rock
beneath them, and a fierce yell, blended with a shriek of agony, announced that
the messenger of death sent from the fatal weapon of Hawkeye, had found a
victim. At this slight repulse the assailants instantly withdrew, and gradually
the place became as still as before the sudden tumult.

Duncan seized the favorable 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 Hawkeye, 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. 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 Hawkeye, 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 sassafras. 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
knows the Indian customs!”

“You hear our probable fortunes, Cora,” said Duncan, “and you
know we have everything 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. He turned and beheld the speaker, whose color had changed
to a deadly paleness, and whose lips quivered, 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 telltale blood stole over
her features, crimsoning her very temples, “how very deservedly dear you
are to all of the name of Munro.”

“If anything 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 Sixtieth, 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 a 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 of bringing
the death screech from a Mingo! At least, such has been my experience with the
creatur’s. Come, friends: let us to our covers, for no man can tell when
or where a Maqua[1]
will strike his blow.”

 [1]
Mingo was the Delaware term of the Five Nations. Maquas was the name given
them by the Dutch. The French, from their first intercourse with them, called
them Iroquois.


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 center of the little island, a few short and stunted pines had
found root, forming a thicket, into which Hawkeye 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 each 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 a canopy of gloomy pines.

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 companions, it was met by Hawkeye
with an incredulous shake of the head.

“You know not the nature of a Maqua, if you think he is so easily beaten
back without a scalp!” he answered. “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, if successful, to their intended victims.

As Hawkeye 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 line of the island. The savage struggled powerfully to gain the
point of safety, and, favored 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 shirling current, appeared to rise into the air, with uplifted arms and
starting eyeballs, and fell, with a sudden plunge, into that deep and yawning
abyss over which he hovered. A single, wild, despairing shriek rose from the
cavern, 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
immovable scout.

“Would ye bring certain death upon us, by telling the Mingoes where we
lie?” demanded Hawkeye, 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 midst of the falls is apt to dampen the
brimstone—and stand firm for a close struggle, while I fire on their
rush.”

He placed a finger in his mouth, and drew a long, shrill whistle, which was
answered from the rocks 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. Hawkeye 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 barreled,
true-grooved, soft-metaled 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
horsemen’s—”

He was interrupted by the low but expressive “hugh” of Uncas.

“I see them, boy, I see them!” continued Hawkeye; “they are
gathering for the 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 driftwood. 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 had leaped over the black rocks that divided them, with
long bounds, uttering the wildest yells, were within a few rods, the rifle of
Hawkeye 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 ardor, “take the last of the screeching
imps; 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 Hawkeye, and together they rushed down a little declivity
toward 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, 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, Hawkeye
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.

[Illustration]

At length, the toughened sinews of the white man prevailed over the less
practiced 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 the 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 defense, 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
neighboring 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 the wrist; and while Duncan was drawn backward by the saving
hand of Uncas, his charmed eyes still were riveted on the fierce and
disappointed countenance of his foe, who fell sullenly and disappointed down
the irrecoverable precipice.

“To cover! to cover!” cried Hawkeye, who just then had despatched
the enemy; “to cover, for your lives! the work is but half ended!”

The young Mohican gave a 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.




CHAPTER VIII.


“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 volleys, 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 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 volleys, 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 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 point;
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 to
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 other’s meaning; but
he suffered it to pass away without vindication of 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, Hawkeye, who looked on this burst of youthful
feeling with a cool but kind regard made the following reply:

“Life is an obligation which friends often owe 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 the rock at his side with a
smart rebound.

Hawkeye 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 stunted limbs, a 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
Hawkeye; “keep him in play, boy, until I can bring ‘killdeer’
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
Hawkeye 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 varmint from his roost.”

The signal was instantly given; and, before Hawkeye 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 him. Hawkeye 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 center 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, Hawkeye 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
still grasped a ragged and naked branch of the tree with 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 Hawkeye; “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 to keep the skin on the head.”

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 Hawkeye; 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
forever.

No shout of triumph succeeded this important advantage, but even the Mohicans
gazed at each other in silent horror. A single yell burst from the woods, and
all was again still. Hawkeye, 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 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 unpracticed ears of Duncan,
as the signal of some new and unexpected calamity. Every thought filled with
apprehension for the previous 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 practiced stoicism of their youthful Indian protector.

At a short distance from the rock, their little bark was to be seen floating
across the eddy, toward 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 leveled as by
instinct, but the barrel gave no answer to the bright sparks of the flint.

“’Tis too late, ’tis too late!” Hawkeye 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!”

The adventurous Huron raised his head above the shelter of the canoe, and,
while it glided swiftly down the stream, he 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 mullein, or the last year’s
horns of a buck!”

“What is to be done?” demanded Duncan, losing the first feeling of
disappointment in a more manly desire for exertion; “what will become of
us?”

Hawkeye 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 succor 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 it is quite in natur’ for them to be lying within hearing at
this very moment,” said Hawkeye; “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 the 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 tribes 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, 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 color, 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 succor. 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 Hawkeye, 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 sound 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 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 ardor;
“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, her voice
gradually lowering, until it seemed nearly choked, “the love, the
blessings, the final prayers of his daughters, and bid him not 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 to work, and when she had ended, he dropped his chin to his hand,
like a man musing profoundly on the nature of the 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 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 which was most concealed from the 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 sank from before the eyes of the witnesses of his
movements.

The scout delayed his departure to speak to the generous girl, 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 awhile,
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 now were turned on Uncas, who stood leaning against the ragged rock,
in immovable composure. After waiting a short time, Cora pointed down the
river, and said:

“Your friends 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 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 gaze of the Mohican, and perhaps, with an intuitive 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 sank, 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 a 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 eye fell wistfully on the beautiful form of Alice,
who was clinging to his arm with the dependency of an infant.

“Consider,” continued Cora, after a pause, during which she seemed
to struggle with a pang even more acute than any that her fears had excited,
“that 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 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 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.




CHAPTER IX.


“Be gay securely;
Dispel, my fair, with smiles, the tim’rous clouds,
That hang on thy clear brow.”—Death of Agrippina


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 him 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 fate.

In a moment of such painful doubt, Duncan did not hesitate to look around 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
everything 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, which, secure on the topmost branches of a dead pine, had
been a distant spectator of the fray, now swooped 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 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 of success.

“The Hurons are not to be seen,” he said, addressing David, who 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 thanksgiving,” 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!
everything 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, 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 abandoned 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 the 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
on 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 everything 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 hand as he passed toward 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 center
of the cavern, grasping his remaining pistol with a hand convulsively 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 slowly muttered; and propping 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 their
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 words “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 had just mentioned, with the sweeter tones of his own musical voice.

“May not this prove dangerous?” asked Cora, glancing her dark eye
at Major Heyward.

“Poor fellow! his voice is too feeble to be heard above the din of the
falls,” was the answer; “beside, the cavern will prove his friend.
Let him indulge his passions since it may be done without hazard.”

“Isle of Wight!” repeated David, looking about him with that
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 be
sung with meet respect!”

After allowing a moment of 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 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 or 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 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 arms of
Cora.

“Not yet, not yet,” returned the agitated but undaunted Heyward:
“the sound came from the center 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 results 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
they could be heard beneath, as in truth they were above on every side of them.

In the midst of this tumult, a triumphant yell was raised within a few yards 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 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, had been given by his enemies to a celebrated
hunter and scout of the English camp, and who, he now learned 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, Heywood 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
succor 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 Alice to her
bosom in agony, and Duncan sprang to his feet. A shout was at that moment
heard, as if issuing from the center of the rock, announcing that the
neighboring cavern had at length been entered. In a minute, the number and
loudness of the voices indicated that the whole party was 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 desperate
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 vault opposite, which
was filled with savages, upturning and rifling the humble furniture of the
scout. The wound of David had dyed the leaves of sassafras with a color that
the native well knew as anticipating the season. Over this sign of their
success, they sent up a howl, like an opening from so many hounds who had
recovered a 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
“La Longue Carabine!” When his triumph had ceased, he cast the
brush on the slight heap 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
defense 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
in the fissure of the rock by their own weight, forming a compact body, Duncan
once more breathed freely. With a light step and lighter heart, he returned to
the center 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 impuls

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