The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
former unhesitatingly pronounced that the footstep was that of David, who had
once more been made to exchange his shoes for moccasins.
“I can now read the whole of it, as plainly as if I had seen the arts of
Le Subtil,” he added; “the singer being a man whose gifts lay
chiefly in his throat and feet, was made to go first, and the others have trod
in his steps, imitating their formation.”
“But,” cried Duncan, “I see no signs of—”
“The gentle ones,” interrupted the scout; “the varlet has
found a way to carry them, until he supposed he had thrown any followers off
the scent. My life on it, we see their pretty little feet again, before many
rods go by.”
The whole party now proceeded, following the course of the rill, keeping
anxious eyes on the regular impressions. The water soon flowed into its bed
again, but watching the ground on either side, the foresters pursued their way
content with knowing that the trail lay beneath. More than half a mile was
passed, before the rill rippled close around the base of an extensive and dry
rock. Here they paused to make sure that the Hurons had not quitted the water.
It was fortunate they did so. For the quick and active Uncas soon found the
impression of a foot on a bunch of moss, where it would seem an Indian had
inadvertently trodden. Pursuing the direction given by this discovery, he
entered the neighboring thicket, and struck the trail, as fresh and obvious as
it had been before they reached the spring. Another shout announced the good
fortune of the youth to his companions, and at once terminated the search.
“Ay, it has been planned with Indian judgment,” said the scout,
when the party was assembled around the place, “and would have blinded
white eyes.”
“Shall we proceed?” demanded Heyward.
“Softly, softly, we know our path; but it is good to examine the
formation of things. This is my schooling, major; and if one neglects the book,
there is little chance of learning from the open land of Providence. All is
plain but one thing, which is the manner that the knave contrived to get the
gentle ones along the blind trail. Even a Huron would be too proud to let their
tender feet touch the water.”
“Will this assist in explaining the difficulty?” said Heyward,
pointing toward the fragments of a sort of handbarrow, that had been rudely
constructed of boughs, and bound together with withes, and which now seemed
carelessly cast aside as useless.
“’Tis explained!” cried the delighted Hawkeye. “If them
varlets have passed a minute, they have spent hours in striving to fabricate a
lying end to their trail! Well, I’ve known them to waste a day in the
same manner to as little purpose. Here we have three pair of moccasins, and two
of little feet. It is amazing that any mortal beings can journey on limbs so
small! Pass me the thong of buckskin, Uncas, and let me take the length of this
foot. By the Lord, it is no longer than a child’s and yet the maidens are
tall and comely. That Providence is partial in its gifts, for its own wise
reasons, the best and most contented of us must allow.”
“The tender limbs of my daughters are unequal to these hardships,”
said Munro, looking at the light footsteps of his children, with a
parent’s love; “we shall find their fainting forms in this
desert.”
“Of that there is little cause of fear,” returned the scout, slowly
shaking his head; “this is a firm and straight, though a light step, and
not over long. See, the heel has hardly touched the ground; and there the
dark-hair has made a little jump, from root to root. No, no; my knowledge for
it, neither of them was nigh fainting, hereaway. Now, the singer was beginning
to be footsore and leg-weary, as is plain by his trail. There, you see, he
slipped; here he has traveled wide and tottered; and there again it looks as
though he journeyed on snowshoes. Ay, ay, a man who uses his throat altogether,
can hardly give his legs a proper training.”
From such undeniable testimony did the practised woodsman arrive at the truth,
with nearly as much certainty and precision as if he had been a witness of all
those events which his ingenuity so easily elucidated. Cheered by these
assurances, and satisfied by a reasoning that was so obvious, while it was so
simple, the party resumed its course, after making a short halt, to take a
hurried repast.
When the meal was ended, the scout cast a glance upward at the setting sun, and
pushed forward with a rapidity which compelled Heyward and the still vigorous
Munro to exert all their muscles to equal. Their route now lay along the bottom
which has already been mentioned. As the Hurons had made no further efforts to
conceal their footsteps, the progress of the pursuers was no longer delayed by
uncertainty. Before an hour had elapsed, however, the speed of Hawkeye sensibly
abated, and his head, instead of maintaining its former direct and forward
look, began to turn suspiciously from side to side, as if he were conscious of
approaching danger. He soon stopped again, and waited for the whole party to
come up.
“I scent the Hurons,” he said, speaking to the Mohicans;
“yonder is open sky, through the treetops, and we are getting too nigh
their encampment. Sagamore, you will take the hillside, to the right; Uncas
will bend along the brook to the left, while I will try the trail. If anything
should happen, the call will be three croaks of a crow. I saw one of the birds
fanning himself in the air, just beyond the dead oak—another sign that we
are approaching an encampment.”
The Indians departed their several ways without reply, while Hawkeye cautiously
proceeded with the two gentlemen. Heyward soon pressed to the side of their
guide, eager to catch an early glimpse of those enemies he had pursued with so
much toil and anxiety. His companion told him to steal to the edge of the wood,
which, as usual, was fringed with a thicket, and wait his coming, for he wished
to examine certain suspicious signs a little on one side. Duncan obeyed, and
soon found himself in a situation to command a view which he found as
extraordinary as it was novel.
The trees of many acres had been felled, and the glow of a mild summer’s
evening had fallen on the clearing, in beautiful contrast to the gray light of
the forest. A short distance from the place where Duncan stood, the stream had
seemingly expanded into a little lake, covering most of the low land, from
mountain to mountain. The water fell out of this wide basin, in a cataract so
regular and gentle, that it appeared rather to be the work of human hands than
fashioned by nature. A hundred earthen dwellings stood on the margin of the
lake, and even in its waters, as though the latter had overflowed its usual
banks. Their rounded roofs, admirably molded for defense against the weather,
denoted more of industry and foresight than the natives were wont to bestow on
their regular habitations, much less on those they occupied for the temporary
purposes of hunting and war. In short, the whole village or town, whichever it
might be termed, possessed more of method and neatness of execution, than the
white men had been accustomed to believe belonged, ordinarily, to the Indian
habits. It appeared, however, to be deserted. At least, so thought Duncan for
many minutes; but, at length, he fancied he discovered several human forms
advancing toward him on all fours, and apparently dragging in the train some
heavy, and as he was quick to apprehend, some formidable engine. Just then a
few dark-looking heads gleamed out of the dwellings, and the place seemed
suddenly alive with beings, which, however, glided from cover to cover so
swiftly, as to allow no opportunity of examining their humors or pursuits.
Alarmed at these suspicious and inexplicable movements, he was about to attempt
the signal of the crows, when the rustling of leaves at hand drew his eyes in
another direction.
The young man started, and recoiled a few paces instinctively, when he found
himself within a hundred yards of a stranger Indian. Recovering his
recollection on the instant, instead of sounding an alarm, which might prove
fatal to himself, he remained stationary, an attentive observer of the
other’s motions.
An instant of calm observation served to assure Duncan that he was
undiscovered. The native, like himself, seemed occupied in considering the low
dwellings of the village, and the stolen movements of its inhabitants. It was
impossible to discover the expression of his features through the grotesque
mask of paint under which they were concealed, though Duncan fancied it was
rather melancholy than savage. His head was shaved, as usual, with the
exception of the crown, from whose tuft three or four faded feathers from a
hawk’s wing were loosely dangling. A ragged calico mantle half encircled
his body, while his nether garment was composed of an ordinary shirt, the
sleeves of which were made to perform the office that is usually executed by a
much more commodious arrangement. His legs were, however, covered with a pair
of good deer-skin moccasins. Altogether, the appearance of the individual was
forlorn and miserable.
Duncan was still curiously observing the person of his neighbor when the scout
stole silently and cautiously to his side.
“You see we have reached their settlement or encampment,” whispered
the young man; “and here is one of the savages himself, in a very
embarrassing position for our further movements.”
Hawkeye started, and dropped his rifle, when, directed by the finger of his
companion, the stranger came under his view. Then lowering the dangerous muzzle
he stretched forward his long neck, as if to assist a scrutiny that was already
intensely keen.
“The imp is not a Huron,” he said, “nor of any of the Canada
tribes; and yet you see, by his clothes, the knave has been plundering a white.
Ay, Montcalm has raked the woods for his inroad, and a whooping, murdering set
of varlets has he gathered together. Can you see where he has put his rifle or
his bow?”
“He appears to have no arms; nor does he seem to be viciously inclined.
Unless he communicate the alarm to his fellows, who, as you see, are dodging
about the water, we have but little to fear from him.”
The scout turned to Heyward, and regarded him a moment with unconcealed
amazement. Then opening wide his mouth, he indulged in unrestrained and
heartfelt laughter, though in that silent and peculiar manner which danger had
so long taught him to practise.
Repeating the words, “Fellows who are dodging about the water!” he
added, “so much for schooling and passing a boyhood in the settlements!
The knave has long legs, though, and shall not be trusted. Do you keep him
under your rifle while I creep in behind, through the bush, and take him alive.
Fire on no account.”
Heyward had already permitted his companion to bury part of his person in the
thicket, when, stretching forth his arm, he arrested him, in order to ask:
“If I see you in danger, may I not risk a shot?”
Hawkeye regarded him a moment, like one who knew not how to take the question;
then, nodding his head, he answered, still laughing, though inaudibly:
“Fire a whole platoon, major.”
In the next moment he was concealed by the leaves. Duncan waited several
minutes in feverish impatience, before he caught another glimpse of the scout.
Then he reappeared, creeping along the earth, from which his dress was hardly
distinguishable, directly in the rear of his intended captive. Having reached
within a few yards of the latter, he arose to his feet, silently and slowly. At
that instant, several loud blows were struck on the water, and Duncan turned
his eyes just in time to perceive that a hundred dark forms were plunging, in a
body, into the troubled little sheet. Grasping his rifle his looks were again