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  • 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 1

  • "Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared: The worst is wordly 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 Sacrement."

  • 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."

  • (FOOTNOTE: 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.

  • (FOOTNOTE: 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.)

  • 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.

  • 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 2

  • "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 (FOOTNOTE: 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.")

  • -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.

  • 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 3

  • "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 (FOOTNOTE: 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.)

  • -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.

  • 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, (FOOTNOTE: 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.) -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, (FOOTNOTE: The rifle of the army is short; that of the hunter is always

  • long.)

  • -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.

  • "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, (FOOTNOTE: 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.)

  • -fought the people of the country, and took the land; and mine came from the red sky of

  • the morning, over the salt lake, and did their work much after the fashion that had

  • been set them by yours; then let God judge

  • the matter between us, and friends spare their words!"

  • "My fathers fought with the naked red man!" returned the Indian, sternly, in the same

  • language.

  • "Is there no difference, 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.

  • "'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 4

  • "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 skulls 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,

  • (FOOTNOTE: The scene of this tale was in the 42d degree of latitude, where the

  • twilight is never of long continuation.)

  • -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.

  • "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 5

  • ..."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 (FOOTNOTE: 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.)

  • -of his tribe be in Canada, or be in York."

  • Heyward, perceiving that the stubborn adherence of the scout to the cause of his

  • friends the Delawares, or Mohicans, for they were branches of the same numerous

  • people, was likely to prolong a useless discussion, 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.

  • >

INTRODUCTION

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