The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
victory!” answered the liberated David. “Friend,” he added,
thrusting forth his lean, delicate hand toward Hawkeye, in kindness, while his
eyes twinkled and grew moist, “I thank thee that the hairs of my head
still grow where they were first rooted by Providence; for, though those of
other men may be more glossy and curling, I have ever found mine own well
suited to the brain they shelter. That I did not join myself to the battle, was
less owing to disinclination, than to the bonds of the heathen. Valiant and
skillful hast thou proved thyself in the conflict, and I hereby thank thee,
before proceeding to discharge other and more important duties, because thou
hast proved thyself well worthy of a Christian’s praise.”
“The thing is but a trifle, and what you may often see if you tarry long
among us,” returned the scout, a good deal softened toward the man of
song, by this unequivocal expression of gratitude. “I have got back my
old companion, ‘killdeer’,” he added, striking his hand on
the breech of his rifle; “and that in itself is a victory. These Iroquois
are cunning, but they outwitted themselves when they placed their firearms out
of reach; and had Uncas or his father been gifted with only their common Indian
patience, we should have come in upon the knaves with three bullets instead of
one, and that would have made a finish of the whole pack; yon loping varlet, as
well as his commerades. But ’twas all fore-ordered, and for the
best.”
“Thou sayest well,” returned David, “and hast caught the true
spirit of Christianity. He that is to be saved will be saved, and he that is
predestined to be damned will be damned. This is the doctrine of truth, and
most consoling and refreshing it is to the true believer.”
The scout, who by this time was seated, examining into the state of his rifle
with a species of parental assiduity, now looked up at the other in a
displeasure that he did not affect to conceal, roughly interrupting further
speech.
“Doctrine or no doctrine,” said the sturdy woodsman,
“’tis the belief of knaves, and the curse of an honest man. I can
credit that yonder Huron was to fall by my hand, for with my own eyes I have
seen it; but nothing short of being a witness will cause me to think he has met
with any reward, or that Chingachgook there will be condemned at the final
day.”
“You have no warranty for such an audacious doctrine, nor any covenant to
support it,” cried David who was deeply tinctured with the subtle
distinctions which, in his time, and more especially in his province, had been
drawn around the beautiful simplicity of revelation, by endeavoring to
penetrate the awful mystery of the divine nature, supplying faith by
self-sufficiency, and by consequence, involving those who reasoned from such
human dogmas in absurdities and doubt; “your temple is reared on the
sands, and the first tempest will wash away its foundation. I demand your
authorities for such an uncharitable assertion (like other advocates of a
system, David was not always accurate in his use of terms). Name chapter and
verse; in which of the holy books do you find language to support you?”
“Book!” repeated Hawkeye, with singular and ill-concealed disdain;
“do you take me for a whimpering boy at the apronstring of one of your
old gals; and this good rifle on my knee for the feather of a goose’s
wing, my ox’s horn for a bottle of ink, and my leathern pouch for a
cross-barred handkercher to carry my dinner? Book! what have such as I, who am
a warrior of the wilderness, though a man without a cross, to do with books? I
never read but in one, and the words that are written there are too simple and
too plain to need much schooling; though I may boast that of forty long and
hard-working years.”
“What call you the volume?” said David, misconceiving the
other’s meaning.
“’Tis open before your eyes,” returned the scout; “and
he who owns it is not a niggard of its use. I have heard it said that there are
men who read in books to convince themselves there is a God. I know not but man
may so deform his works in the settlement, as to leave that which is so clear
in the wilderness a matter of doubt among traders and priests. If any such
there be, and he will follow me from sun to sun, through the windings of the
forest, he shall see enough to teach him that he is a fool, and that the
greatest of his folly lies in striving to rise to the level of One he can never
equal, be it in goodness, or be it in power.”
The instant David discovered that he battled with a disputant who imbibed his
faith from the lights of nature, eschewing all subtleties of doctrine, he
willingly abandoned a controversy from which he believed neither profit nor
credit was to be derived. While the scout was speaking, he had also seated
himself, and producing the ready little volume and the iron-rimmed spectacles,
he prepared to discharge a duty, which nothing but the unexpected assault he
had received in his orthodoxy could have so long suspended. He was, in truth, a
minstrel of the western continent—of a much later day, certainly, than
those gifted bards, who formerly sang the profane renown of baron and prince,
but after the spirit of his own age and country; and he was now prepared to
exercise the cunning of his craft, in celebration of, or rather in thanksgiving
for, the recent victory. He waited patiently for Hawkeye to cease, then lifting
his eyes, together with his voice, he said, aloud:
“I invite you, friends, to join in praise for this signal deliverance
from the hands of barbarians and infidels, to the comfortable and solemn tones
of the tune called ‘Northampton’.”
He next named the page and verse where the rhymes selected were to be found,
and applied the pitch-pipe to his lips, with the decent gravity that he had
been wont to use in the temple. This time he was, however, without any
accompaniment, for the sisters were just then pouring out those tender
effusions of affection which have been already alluded to. Nothing deterred by
the smallness of his audience, which, in truth, consisted only of the
discontented scout, he raised his voice, commencing and ending the sacred song
without accident or interruption of any kind.
Hawkeye listened while he coolly adjusted his flint and reloaded his rifle; but
the sounds, wanting the extraneous assistance of scene and sympathy, failed to
awaken his slumbering emotions. Never minstrel, or by whatever more suitable
name David should be known, drew upon his talents in the presence of more
insensible auditors; though considering the singleness and sincerity of his
motive, it is probable that no bard of profane song ever uttered notes that
ascended so near to that throne where all homage and praise is due. The scout
shook his head, and muttering some unintelligible words, among which
“throat” and “Iroquois” were alone audible, he walked
away, to collect and to examine into the state of the captured arsenal of the
Hurons. In this office he was now joined by Chingachgook, who found his own, as
well as the rifle of his son, among the arms. Even Heyward and David were
furnished with weapons; nor was ammunition wanting to render them all
effectual.
When the foresters had made their selection, and distributed their prizes, the
scout announced that the hour had arrived when it was necessary to move. By
this time the song of Gamut had ceased, and the sisters had learned to still
the exhibition of their emotions. Aided by Duncan and the younger Mohican, the
two latter descended the precipitous sides of that hill which they had so
lately ascended under so very different auspices, and whose summit had so
nearly proved the scene of their massacre. At the foot they found the
Narragansetts browsing the herbage of the bushes, and having mounted, they
followed the movements of a guide, who, in the most deadly straits, had so
often proved himself their friend. The journey was, however, short. Hawkeye,
leaving the blind path that the Hurons had followed, turned short to his right,
and entering the thicket, he crossed a babbling brook, and halted in a narrow
dell, under the shade of a few water elms. Their distance from the base of the
fatal hill was but a few rods, and the steeds had been serviceable only in
crossing the shallow stream.
The scout and the Indians appeared to be familiar with the sequestered place
where they now were; for, leaning their rifle against the trees, they commenced
throwing aside the dried leaves, and opening the blue clay, out of which a
clear and sparkling spring of bright, glancing water, quickly bubbled. The
white man then looked about him, as though seeking for some object, which was
not to be found as readily as he expected.
“Them careless imps, the Mohawks, with their Tuscarora and Onondaga
brethren, have been here slaking their thirst,” he muttered, “and
the vagabonds have thrown away the gourd! This is the way with benefits, when
they are bestowed on such disremembering hounds! Here has the Lord laid his
hand, in the midst of the howling wilderness, for their good, and raised a
fountain of water from the bowels of the ’arth, that might laugh at the
richest shop of apothecary’s ware in all the colonies; and see! the
knaves have trodden in the clay, and deformed the cleanliness of the place, as
though they were brute beasts, instead of human men.”
Uncas silently extended toward him the desired gourd, which the spleen of
Hawkeye had hitherto prevented him from observing on a branch of an elm.
Filling it with water, he retired a short distance, to a place where the ground
was more firm and dry; here he coolly seated himself, and after taking a long,
and, apparently, a grateful draught, he commenced a very strict examination of
the fragments of food left by the Hurons, which had hung in a wallet on his
arm.
“Thank you, lad!” he continued, returning the empty gourd to Uncas;
“now we will see how these rampaging Hurons lived, when outlying in
ambushments. Look at this! The varlets know the better pieces of the deer; and
one would think they might carve and roast a saddle, equal to the best cook in
the land! But everything is raw, for the Iroquois are thorough savages. Uncas,
take my steel and kindle a fire; a mouthful of a tender broil will give
natur’ a helping hand, after so long a trail.”
Heyward, perceiving that their guides now set about their repast in sober
earnest, assisted the ladies to alight, and placed himself at their side, not
unwilling to enjoy a few moments of grateful rest, after the bloody scene he
had just gone through. While the culinary process was in hand, curiosity
induced him to inquire into the circumstances which had led to their timely and
unexpected rescue:
“How is it that we see you so soon, my generous friend,” he asked,
“and without aid from the garrison of Edward?”
“Had we gone to the bend in the river, we might have been in time to rake
the leaves over your bodies, but too late to have saved your scalps,”
coolly answered the scout. “No, no; instead of throwing away strength and
opportunity by crossing to the fort, we lay by, under the bank of the Hudson,
waiting to watch the movements of the Hurons.”
“You were, then, witnesses of all that passed?”
“Not of all; for Indian sight is too keen to be easily cheated, and we
kept close. A difficult matter it was, too, to keep this Mohican boy snug in
the ambushment. Ah! Uncas, Uncas, your behavior was more like that of a curious
woman than of a warrior on his scent.”
Uncas permitted his eyes to turn for an instant on the sturdy countenance of
the speaker, but he neither spoke nor gave any indication of repentance. On the
contrary, Heyward thought the manner of the young Mohican was disdainful, if
not a little fierce, and that he suppressed passions that were ready to