The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
knife was passed around the head from which they fell, as if to denote the
horrid manner in which it was about to be robbed of its beautiful ornament. But
his hands were bound; and at the first movement he made, he felt the grasp of
the powerful Indian who directed the band, pressing his shoulder like a vise.
Immediately conscious how unavailing any struggle against such an overwhelming
force must prove, he submitted to his fate, encouraging his gentle companions
by a few low and tender assurances, that the natives seldom failed to threaten
more than they performed.
But while Duncan resorted to these words of consolation to quiet the
apprehensions of the sisters, he was not so weak as to deceive himself. He well
knew that the authority of an Indian chief was so little conventional, that it
was oftener maintained by physical superiority than by any moral supremacy he
might possess. The danger was, therefore, magnified exactly in proportion to
the number of the savage spirits by which they were surrounded. The most
positive mandate from him who seemed the acknowledged leader, was liable to be
violated at each moment by any rash hand that might choose to sacrifice a
victim to the manes of some dead friend or relative. While, therefore, he
sustained an outward appearance of calmness and fortitude, his heart leaped
into his throat, whenever any of their fierce captors drew nearer than common
to the helpless sisters, or fastened one of their sullen, wandering looks on
those fragile forms which were so little able to resist the slightest assault.
His apprehensions were, however, greatly relieved, when he saw that the leader
had summoned his warriors to himself in counsel. Their deliberations were
short, and it would seem, by the silence of most of the party, the decision
unanimous. By the frequency with which the few speakers pointed in the
direction of the encampment of Webb, it was apparent they dreaded the approach
of danger from that quarter. This consideration probably hastened their
determination, and quickened the subsequent movements.
During his short conference, Heyward, finding a respite from his gravest fears,
had leisure to admire the cautious manner in which the Hurons had made their
approaches, even after hostilities had ceased.
It has already been stated that the upper half of the island was a naked rock,
and destitute of any other defenses than a few scattered logs of driftwood.
They had selected this point to make their descent, having borne the canoe
through the wood around the cataract for that purpose. Placing their arms in
the little vessel a dozen men clinging to its sides had trusted themselves to
the direction of the canoe, which was controlled by two of the most skillful
warriors, in attitudes that enabled them to command a view of the dangerous
passage. Favored by this arrangement, they touched the head of the island at
that point which had proved so fatal to their first adventurers, but with the
advantages of superior numbers, and the possession of firearms. That such had
been the manner of their descent was rendered quite apparent to Duncan; for
they now bore the light bark from the upper end of the rock, and placed it in
the water, near the mouth of the outer cavern. As soon as this change was made,
the leader made signs to the prisoners to descend and enter.
As resistance was impossible, and remonstrance useless, Heyward set the example
of submission, by leading the way into the canoe, where he was soon seated with
the sisters and the still wondering David. Notwithstanding the Hurons were
necessarily ignorant of the little channels among the eddies and rapids of the
stream, they knew the common signs of such a navigation too well to commit any
material blunder. When the pilot chosen for the task of guiding the canoe had
taken his station, the whole band plunged again into the river, the vessel
glided down the current, and in a few moments the captives found themselves on
the south bank of the stream, nearly opposite to the point where they had
struck it the preceding evening.
Here was held another short but earnest consultation, during which the horses,
to whose panic their owners ascribed their heaviest misfortune, were led from
the cover of the woods, and brought to the sheltered spot. The band now
divided. The great chief, so often mentioned, mounting the charger of Heyward,
led the way directly across the river, followed by most of his people, and
disappeared in the woods, leaving the prisoners in charge of six savages, at
whose head was Le Renard Subtil. Duncan witnessed all their movements with
renewed uneasiness.
He had been fond of believing, from the uncommon forbearance of the savages,
that he was reserved as a prisoner to be delivered to Montcalm. As the thoughts
of those who are in misery seldom slumber, and the invention is never more
lively than when it is stimulated by hope, however feeble and remote, he had
even imagined that the parental feelings of Munro were to be made instrumental
in seducing him from his duty to the king. For though the French commander bore
a high character for courage and enterprise, he was also thought to be expert
in those political practises which do not always respect the nicer obligations
of morality, and which so generally disgraced the European diplomacy of that
period.
All those busy and ingenious speculations were now annihilated by the conduct
of his captors. That portion of the band who had followed the huge warrior took
the route toward the foot of the Horican, and no other expectation was left for
himself and companions, than that they were to be retained as hopeless captives
by their savage conquerors. Anxious to know the worst, and willing, in such an
emergency, to try the potency of gold he overcame his reluctance to speak to
Magua. Addressing himself to his former guide, who had now assumed the
authority and manner of one who was to direct the future movements of the
party, he said, in tones as friendly and confiding as he could assume:
“I would speak to Magua, what is fit only for so great a chief to
hear.”
The Indian turned his eyes on the young soldier scornfully, as he answered:
“Speak; trees have no ears.”
“But the red Hurons are not deaf; and counsel that is fit for the great
men of a nation would make the young warriors drunk. If Magua will not listen,
the officer of the king knows how to be silent.”
The savage spoke carelessly to his comrades, who were busied, after their
awkward manner, in preparing the horses for the reception of the sisters, and
moved a little to one side, whither by a cautious gesture he induced Heyward to
follow.
“Now, speak,” he said; “if the words are such as Magua should
hear.”
“Le Renard Subtil has proved himself worthy of the honorable name given
to him by his Canada fathers,” commenced Heyward; “I see his
wisdom, and all that he has done for us, and shall remember it when the hour to
reward him arrives. Yes! Renard has proved that he is not only a great chief in
council, but one who knows how to deceive his enemies!”
“What has Renard done?” coldly demanded the Indian.
“What! has he not seen that the woods were filled with outlying parties
of the enemies, and that the serpent could not steal through them without being
seen? Then, did he not lose his path to blind the eyes of the Hurons? Did he
not pretend to go back to his tribe, who had treated him ill, and driven him
from their wigwams like a dog? And, when we saw what he wished to do, did we
not aid him, by making a false face, that the Hurons might think the white man
believed that his friend was his enemy? Is not all this true? And when Le
Subtil had shut the eyes and stopped the ears of his nation by his wisdom, did
they not forget that they had once done him wrong, and forced him to flee to
the Mohawks? And did they not leave him on the south side of the river, with
their prisoners, while they have gone foolishly on the north? Does not Renard
mean to turn like a fox on his footsteps, and to carry to the rich and
gray-headed Scotchman his daughters? Yes, Magua, I see it all, and I have
already been thinking how so much wisdom and honesty should be repaid. First,
the chief of William Henry will give as a great chief should for such a
service. The medal[1]
of Magua will no longer be of tin, but of beaten gold; his horn will run over
with powder; dollars will be as plenty in his pouch as pebbles on the shore of
Horican; and the deer will lick his hand, for they will know it to be vain to
fly from the rifle he will carry! As for myself, I know not how to exceed the
gratitude of the Scotchman, but I—yes, I will—”
[1]
It has long been a practice with the whites to conciliate the important men
of the Indians by presenting medals, which are worn in the place of their own
rude ornaments. Those given by the English generally bear the impression of the
reigning king, and those given by the Americans that of the president.
“What will the young chief, who comes from toward the sun, give?”
demanded the Huron, observing that Heyward hesitated in his desire to end the
enumeration of benefits with that which might form the climax of an
Indian’s wishes.
“He will make the fire-water from the islands in the salt lake flow
before the wigwam of Magua, until the heart of the Indian shall be lighter than
the feathers of the humming-bird, and his breath sweeter than the wild
honeysuckle.”
Le Renard had listened gravely as Heyward slowly proceeded in this subtle
speech. When the young man mentioned the artifice he supposed the Indian to
have practised on his own nation, the countenance of the listener was veiled in
an expression of cautious gravity. At the allusion to the injury which Duncan
affected to believe had driven the Huron from his native tribe, a gleam of such
ungovernable ferocity flashed from the other’s eyes, as induced the
adventurous speaker to believe he had struck the proper chord. And by the time
he reached the part where he so artfully blended the thirst of vengeance with
the desire of gain, he had, at least, obtained a command of the deepest
attention of the savage. The question put by Le Renard had been calm, and with
all the dignity of an Indian; but it was quite apparent, by the thoughtful
expression of the listener’s countenance, that the answer was most
cunningly devised. The Huron mused a few moments, and then laying his hand on
the rude bandages of his wounded shoulder, he said, with some energy:
“Do friends make such marks?”
“Would ‘La Longue Carbine’ cut one so slight on an
enemy?”
“Do the Delawares crawl upon those they love like snakes, twisting
themselves to strike?”
“Would ‘Le Gros Serpent’ have been heard by the ears of one
he wished to be deaf?”
“Does the white chief burn his powder in the faces of his
brothers?”
“Does he ever miss his aim, when seriously bent to kill?” returned
Duncan, smiling with well acted sincerity.
Another long and deliberate pause succeeded these sententious questions and
ready replies. Duncan saw that the Indian hesitated. In order to complete his
victory, he was in the act of recommencing the enumeration of the rewards, when
Magua made an expressive gesture and said:
“Enough; Le Renard is a wise chief, and what he does will be seen. Go,
and keep the mouth shut. When Magua speaks, it will be the time to
answer.”
Heyward, perceiving that the eyes of his companion were warily fastened on the
rest of the band, fell back immediately, in order to avoid the appearance of
any suspicious confederacy with their leader. Magua approached the horses, and
affected to be well pleased with the diligence and ingenuity of his comrades.
He then signed to Heyward to assist the sisters into the saddles, for he seldom