The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
found root, forming a thicket, into which Hawkeye darted with the swiftness of
a deer, followed by the active Duncan. Here they secured themselves, as well as
circumstances would permit, among the shrubs and fragments of stone that were
scattered about the place. Above them was a bare, rounded rock, on each side of
which the water played its gambols, and plunged into the abysses beneath, in
the manner already described. As the day had now dawned, the opposite shores no
longer presented a confused outline, but they were able to look into the woods,
and distinguish objects beneath a canopy of gloomy pines.
A long and anxious watch succeeded, but without any further evidences of a
renewed attack; and Duncan began to hope that their fire had proved more fatal
than was supposed, and that their enemies had been effectually repulsed. When
he ventured to utter this impression to his companions, it was met by Hawkeye
with an incredulous shake of the head.
“You know not the nature of a Maqua, if you think he is so easily beaten
back without a scalp!” he answered. “If there was one of the imps
yelling this morning, there were forty! and they know our number and quality
too well to give up the chase so soon. Hist! look into the water above, just
where it breaks over the rocks. I am no mortal, if the risky devils
haven’t swam down upon the very pitch, and, as bad luck would have it,
they have hit the head of the island. Hist! man, keep close! or the hair will
be off your crown in the turning of a knife!”
Heyward lifted his head from the cover, and beheld what he justly considered a
prodigy of rashness and skill. The river had worn away the edge of the soft
rock in such a manner as to render its first pitch less abrupt and
perpendicular than is usual at waterfalls. With no other guide than the ripple
of the stream where it met the head of the island, a party of their insatiable
foes had ventured into the current, and swam down upon this point, knowing the
ready access it would give, if successful, to their intended victims.
As Hawkeye ceased speaking, four human heads could be seen peering above a few
logs of drift-wood that had lodged on these naked rocks, and which had probably
suggested the idea of the practicability of the hazardous undertaking. At the
next moment, a fifth form was seen floating over the green edge of the fall, a
little from the line of the island. The savage struggled powerfully to gain the
point of safety, and, favored by the glancing water, he was already stretching
forth an arm to meet the grasp of his companions, when he shot away again with
the shirling current, appeared to rise into the air, with uplifted arms and
starting eyeballs, and fell, with a sudden plunge, into that deep and yawning
abyss over which he hovered. A single, wild, despairing shriek rose from the
cavern, and all was hushed again as the grave.
The first generous impulse of Duncan was to rush to the rescue of the hapless
wretch; but he felt himself bound to the spot by the iron grasp of the
immovable scout.
“Would ye bring certain death upon us, by telling the Mingoes where we
lie?” demanded Hawkeye, sternly; “’Tis a charge of powder
saved, and ammunition is as precious now as breath to a worried deer! Freshen
the priming of your pistols—the midst of the falls is apt to dampen the
brimstone—and stand firm for a close struggle, while I fire on their
rush.”
He placed a finger in his mouth, and drew a long, shrill whistle, which was
answered from the rocks that were guarded by the Mohicans. Duncan caught
glimpses of heads above the scattered drift-wood, as this signal rose on the
air, but they disappeared again as suddenly as they had glanced upon his sight.
A low, rustling sound next drew his attention behind him, and turning his head,
he beheld Uncas within a few feet, creeping to his side. Hawkeye spoke to him
in Delaware, when the young chief took his position with singular caution and
undisturbed coolness. To Heyward this was a moment of feverish and impatient
suspense; though the scout saw fit to select it as a fit occasion to read a
lecture to his more youthful associates on the art of using firearms with
discretion.
“Of all we’pons,” he commenced, “the long barreled,
true-grooved, soft-metaled rifle is the most dangerous in skillful hands,
though it wants a strong arm, a quick eye, and great judgment in charging, to
put forth all its beauties. The gunsmiths can have but little insight into
their trade when they make their fowling-pieces and short
horsemen’s—”
He was interrupted by the low but expressive “hugh” of Uncas.
“I see them, boy, I see them!” continued Hawkeye; “they are
gathering for the rush, or they would keep their dingy backs below the logs.
Well, let them,” he added, examining his flint; “the leading man
certainly comes on to his death, though it should be Montcalm himself!”
At that moment the woods were filled with another burst of cries, and at the
signal four savages sprang from the cover of the driftwood. Heyward felt a
burning desire to rush forward to meet them, so intense was the delirious
anxiety of the moment; but he was restrained by the deliberate examples of the
scout and Uncas.
When their foes, who had leaped over the black rocks that divided them, with
long bounds, uttering the wildest yells, were within a few rods, the rifle of
Hawkeye slowly rose among the shrubs, and poured out its fatal contents. The
foremost Indian bounded like a stricken deer, and fell headlong among the
clefts of the island.
“Now, Uncas!” cried the scout, drawing his long knife, while his
quick eyes began to flash with ardor, “take the last of the screeching
imps; of the other two we are sartain!”
He was obeyed; and but two enemies remained to be overcome. Heyward had given
one of his pistols to Hawkeye, and together they rushed down a little declivity
toward their foes; they discharged their weapons at the same instant, and
equally without success.
“I know’d it! and I said it!” muttered the scout, whirling
the despised little implement over the falls with bitter disdain. “Come
on, ye bloody minded hell-hounds! ye meet a man without a cross!”
The words were barely uttered, when he encountered a savage of gigantic
stature, of the fiercest mien. At the same moment, Duncan found himself engaged
with the other, in a similar contest of hand to hand. With ready skill, Hawkeye
and his antagonist each grasped that uplifted arm of the other which held the
dangerous knife. For near a minute they stood looking one another in the eye,
and gradually exerting the power of their muscles for the mastery.
At length, the toughened sinews of the white man prevailed over the less
practiced limbs of the native. The arm of the latter slowly gave way before the
increasing force of the scout, who, suddenly wresting his armed hand from the
grasp of the foe, drove the sharp weapon through his naked bosom to the heart.
In the meantime, Heyward had been pressed in a more deadly struggle. His slight
sword was snapped in the first encounter. As he was destitute of any other
means of defense, his safety now depended entirely on bodily strength and
resolution. Though deficient in neither of these qualities, he had met an enemy
every way his equal. Happily, he soon succeeded in disarming his adversary,
whose knife fell on the rock at their feet; and from this moment it became a
fierce struggle who should cast the other over the dizzy height into a
neighboring cavern of the falls. Every successive struggle brought them nearer
to the verge, where Duncan perceived the final and conquering effort must be
made. Each of the combatants threw all his energies into that effort, and the
result was, that both tottered on the brink of the precipice. Heyward felt the
grasp of the other at his throat, and saw the grim smile the savage gave, under
the revengeful hope that he hurried his enemy to a fate similar to his own, as
he felt his body slowly yielding to a resistless power, and the young man
experienced the passing agony of such a moment in all its horrors. At that
instant of extreme danger, a dark hand and glancing knife appeared before him;
the Indian released his hold, as the blood flowed freely from around the
severed tendons of the wrist; and while Duncan was drawn backward by the saving
hand of Uncas, his charmed eyes still were riveted on the fierce and
disappointed countenance of his foe, who fell sullenly and disappointed down
the irrecoverable precipice.
“To cover! to cover!” cried Hawkeye, who just then had despatched
the enemy; “to cover, for your lives! the work is but half ended!”
The young Mohican gave a shout of triumph, and followed by Duncan, he glided up
the acclivity they had descended to the combat, and sought the friendly shelter
of the rocks and shrubs.
CHAPTER VIII.
“They linger yet,
Avengers of their native land.”—Gray
The warning call of the scout was not uttered without occasion. During the
occurrence of the deadly encounter just related, the roar of the falls was
unbroken by any human sound whatever. It would seem that interest in the result
had kept the natives on the opposite shores in breathless suspense, while the
quick evolutions and swift changes in the positions of the combatants
effectually prevented a fire that might prove dangerous alike to friend and
enemy. But the moment the struggle was decided, a yell arose as fierce and
savage as wild and revengeful passions could throw into the air. It was
followed by the swift flashes of the rifles, which sent their leaden messengers
across the rock in volleys, as though the assailants would pour out their
impotent fury on the insensible scene of the fatal contest.
A steady, though deliberate return was made from the rifle of Chingachgook, who
had maintained his post throughout the fray with unmoved resolution. When the
triumphant shout of Uncas was borne to his ears, the gratified father raised
his voice in a single responsive cry, after which his busy piece alone proved
that he still guarded his pass with unwearied diligence. In this manner many
minutes flew by with the swiftness of thought; the rifles of the assailants
speaking, at times, in rattling volleys, and at others in occasional,
scattering shots. Though the rock, the trees, and the shrubs, were cut and torn
in a hundred places around the besieged, their cover was so close, and so
rigidly maintained, that, as yet, David had been the only sufferer in their
little band.
“Let them burn their powder,” said the deliberate scout, while
bullet after bullet whizzed by the place where he securely lay; “there
will be a fine gathering of lead when it is over, and I fancy the imps will
tire of the sport afore these old stones cry out for mercy! Uncas, boy, you
waste the kernels by overcharging; and a kicking rifle never carries a true
bullet. I told you to take that loping miscreant under the line of white point;
now, if your bullet went a hair’s breadth it went two inches above it.
The life lies low in a Mingo, and humanity teaches us to make a quick end to
the sarpents.”
A quiet smile lighted the haughty features of the young Mohican, betraying his
knowledge of the English language as well as of the other’s meaning; but
he suffered it to pass away without vindication of reply.
“I cannot permit you to accuse Uncas of want of judgment or of
skill,” said Duncan; “he saved my life in the coolest and readiest
manner, and he has made a friend who never will require to be reminded of the
debt he owes.”
Uncas partly raised his body, and offered his hand to the grasp of Heyward.
During this act of friendship, the two young men exchanged looks of
intelligence which caused Duncan to forget the character and condition of his