The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
silently and vigorously toward the western shore. Although the rugged outline
of mountain, to which they were steering, presented no distinctive marks to the
eyes of Duncan, the Mohican entered the little haven he had selected with the
confidence and accuracy of an experienced pilot.
The boat was again lifted and borne into the woods, where it was carefully
concealed under a pile of brush. The adventurers assumed their arms and packs,
and the scout announced to Munro and Heyward that he and the Indians were at
last in readiness to proceed.
CHAPTER XXI.
“If you find a man there, he shall die a flea’s death.”
—Merry Wives of Windsor.
The party had landed on the border of a region that is, even to this day, less
known to the inhabitants of the States than the deserts of Arabia, or the
steppes of Tartary. It was the sterile and rugged district which separates the
tributaries of Champlain from those of the Hudson, the Mohawk, and the St.
Lawrence. Since the period of our tale the active spirit of the country has
surrounded it with a belt of rich and thriving settlements, though none but the
hunter or the savage is ever known even now to penetrate its wild recesses.
As Hawkeye and the Mohicans had, however, often traversed the mountains and
valleys of this vast wilderness, they did not hesitate to plunge into its
depth, with the freedom of men accustomed to its privations and difficulties.
For many hours the travelers toiled on their laborious way, guided by a star,
or following the direction of some water-course, until the scout called a halt,
and holding a short consultation with the Indians, they lighted their fire, and
made the usual preparations to pass the remainder of the night where they then
were.
Imitating the example, and emulating the confidence of their more experienced
associates, Munro and Duncan slept without fear, if not without uneasiness. The
dews were suffered to exhale, and the sun had dispersed the mists, and was
shedding a strong and clear light in the forest, when the travelers resumed
their journey.
After proceeding a few miles, the progress of Hawkeye, who led the advance,
became more deliberate and watchful. He often stopped to examine the trees; nor
did he cross a rivulet without attentively considering the quantity, the
velocity, and the color of its waters. Distrusting his own judgment, his
appeals to the opinion of Chingachgook were frequent and earnest. During one of
these conferences Heyward observed that Uncas stood a patient and silent,
though, as he imagined, an interested listener. He was strongly tempted to
address the young chief, and demand his opinion of their progress; but the calm
and dignified demeanor of the native induced him to believe, that, like
himself, the other was wholly dependent on the sagacity and intelligence of the
seniors of the party. At last the scout spoke in English, and at once explained
the embarrassment of their situation.
“When I found that the home path of the Hurons run north,” he said,
“it did not need the judgment of many long years to tell that they would
follow the valleys, and keep atween the waters of the Hudson and the Horican,
until they might strike the springs of the Canada streams, which would lead
them into the heart of the country of the Frenchers. Yet here are we, within a
short range of the Scaroons, and not a sign of a trail have we crossed! Human
natur’ is weak, and it is possible we may not have taken the proper
scent.”
“Heaven protect us from such an error!” exclaimed Duncan.
“Let us retrace our steps, and examine as we go, with keener eyes. Has
Uncas no counsel to offer in such a strait?”
The young Mohican cast a glance at his father, but, maintaining his quiet and
reserved mien, he continued silent. Chingachgook had caught the look, and
motioning with his hand, he bade him speak. The moment this permission was
accorded, the countenance of Uncas changed from its grave composure to a gleam
of intelligence and joy. Bounding forward like a deer, he sprang up the side of
a little acclivity, a few rods in advance, and stood, exultingly, over a spot
of fresh earth, that looked as though it had been recently upturned by the
passage of some heavy animal. The eyes of the whole party followed the
unexpected movement, and read their success in the air of triumph that the
youth assumed.
“’Tis the trail!” exclaimed the scout, advancing to the spot;
“the lad is quick of sight and keen of wit for his years.”
“’Tis extraordinary that he should have withheld his knowledge so
long,” muttered Duncan, at his elbow.
“It would have been more wonderful had he spoken without a bidding. No,
no; your young white, who gathers his learning from books and can measure what
he knows by the page, may conceit that his knowledge, like his legs, outruns
that of his fathers’, but, where experience is the master, the scholar is
made to know the value of years, and respects them accordingly.”
“See!” said Uncas, pointing north and south, at the evident marks
of the broad trail on either side of him, “the dark-hair has gone toward
the forest.”
“Hound never ran on a more beautiful scent,” responded the scout,
dashing forward, at once, on the indicated route; “we are favored,
greatly favored, and can follow with high noses. Ay, here are both your
waddling beasts: this Huron travels like a white general. The fellow is
stricken with a judgment, and is mad! Look sharp for wheels, Sagamore,”
he continued, looking back, and laughing in his newly awakened satisfaction;
“we shall soon have the fool journeying in a coach, and that with three
of the best pair of eyes on the borders in his rear.”
The spirits of the scout, and the astonishing success of the chase, in which a
circuitous distance of more than forty miles had been passed, did not fail to
impart a portion of hope to the whole party. Their advance was rapid; and made
with as much confidence as a traveler would proceed along a wide highway. If a
rock, or a rivulet, or a bit of earth harder than common, severed the links of
the clew they followed, the true eye of the scout recovered them at a distance,
and seldom rendered the delay of a single moment necessary. Their progress was
much facilitated by the certainty that Magua had found it necessary to journey
through the valleys; a circumstance which rendered the general direction of the
route sure. Nor had the Huron entirely neglected the arts uniformly practised
by the natives when retiring in front of an enemy. False trails and sudden
turnings were frequent, wherever a brook or the formation of the ground
rendered them feasible; but his pursuers were rarely deceived, and never failed
to detect their error, before they had lost either time or distance on the
deceptive track.
By the middle of the afternoon they had passed the Scaroons, and were following
the route of the declining sun. After descending an eminence to a low bottom,
through which a swift stream glided, they suddenly came to a place where the
party of Le Renard had made a halt. Extinguished brands were lying around a
spring, the offals of a deer were scattered about the place, and the trees bore
evident marks of having been browsed by the horses. At a little distance,
Heyward discovered, and contemplated with tender emotion, the small bower under
which he was fain to believe that Cora and Alice had reposed. But while the
earth was trodden, and the footsteps of both men and beasts were so plainly
visible around the place, the trail appeared to have suddenly ended.
It was easy to follow the tracks of the Narragansetts, but they seemed only to
have wandered without guides, or any other object than the pursuit of food. At
length Uncas, who, with his father, had endeavored to trace the route of the
horses, came upon a sign of their presence that was quite recent. Before
following the clew, he communicated his success to his companions; and while
the latter were consulting on the circumstance, the youth reappeared, leading
the two fillies, with their saddles broken, and the housings soiled, as though
they had been permitted to run at will for several days.
“What should this prove?” said Duncan, turning pale, and glancing
his eyes around him, as if he feared the brush and leaves were about to give up
some horrid secret.
“That our march is come to a quick end, and that we are in an
enemy’s country,” returned the scout. “Had the knave been
pressed, and the gentle ones wanted horses to keep up with the party, he might
have taken their scalps; but without an enemy at his heels, and with such
rugged beasts as these, he would not hurt a hair of their heads. I know your
thoughts, and shame be it to our color that you have reason for them; but he
who thinks that even a Mingo would ill-treat a woman, unless it be to tomahawk
her, knows nothing of Indian natur’, or the laws of the woods. No, no; I
have heard that the French Indians had come into these hills to hunt the moose,
and we are getting within scent of their camp. Why should they not? The morning
and evening guns of Ty may be heard any day among these mountains; for the
Frenchers are running a new line atween the provinces of the king and the
Canadas. It is true that the horses are here, but the Hurons are gone; let us,
then, hunt for the path by which they parted.”
Hawkeye and the Mohicans now applied themselves to their task in good earnest.
A circle of a few hundred feet in circumference was drawn, and each of the
party took a segment for his portion. The examination, however, resulted in no
discovery. The impressions of footsteps were numerous, but they all appeared
like those of men who had wandered about the spot, without any design to quit
it. Again the scout and his companions made the circuit of the halting place,
each slowly following the other, until they assembled in the center once more,
no wiser than when they started.
“Such cunning is not without its deviltry,” exclaimed Hawkeye, when
he met the disappointed looks of his assistants.
“We must get down to it, Sagamore, beginning at the spring, and going
over the ground by inches. The Huron shall never brag in his tribe that he has
a foot which leaves no print.”
Setting the example himself, the scout engaged in the scrutiny with renewed
zeal. Not a leaf was left unturned. The sticks were removed, and the stones
lifted; for Indian cunning was known frequently to adopt these objects as
covers, laboring with the utmost patience and industry, to conceal each
footstep as they proceeded. Still no discovery was made. At length Uncas, whose
activity had enabled him to achieve his portion of the task the soonest, raked
the earth across the turbid little rill which ran from the spring, and diverted
its course into another channel. So soon as its narrow bed below the dam was
dry, he stooped over it with keen and curious eyes. A cry of exultation
immediately announced the success of the young warrior. The whole party crowded
to the spot where Uncas pointed out the impression of a moccasin in the moist
alluvion.
“This lad will be an honor to his people,” said Hawkeye, regarding
the trail with as much admiration as a naturalist would expend on the tusk of a
mammoth or the rib of a mastodon; “ay, and a thorn in the sides of the
Hurons. Yet that is not the footstep of an Indian! the weight is too much on
the heel, and the toes are squared, as though one of the French dancers had
been in, pigeon-winging his tribe! Run back, Uncas, and bring me the size of
the singer’s foot. You will find a beautiful print of it just opposite
yon rock, agin the hillside.”
While the youth was engaged in this commission, the scout and Chingachgook were
attentively considering the impressions. The measurements agreed, and the