The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
bent on the Indian near him. Instead of taking the alarm, the unconscious
savage stretched forward his neck, as if he also watched the movements about
the gloomy lake, with a sort of silly curiosity. In the meantime, the uplifted
hand of Hawkeye was above him. But, without any apparent reason, it was
withdrawn, and its owner indulged in another long, though still silent, fit of
merriment. When the peculiar and hearty laughter of Hawkeye was ended, instead
of grasping his victim by the throat, he tapped him lightly on the shoulder,
and exclaimed aloud:
“How now, friend! have you a mind to teach the beavers to sing?”
“Even so,” was the ready answer. “It would seem that the
Being that gave them power to improve His gifts so well, would not deny them
voices to proclaim His praise.”
CHAPTER XXII.
“Bot.—Abibl we all met?
Qui.—Pat—pat; and here’s a marvelous convenient place for our
rehearsal.”
—Midsummer Night’s Dream
The reader may better imagine, than we describe the surprise of Heyward. His
lurking Indians were suddenly converted into four-footed beasts; his lake into
a beaver pond; his cataract into a dam, constructed by those industrious and
ingenious quadrupeds; and a suspected enemy into his tried friend, David Gamut,
the master of psalmody. The presence of the latter created so many unexpected
hopes relative to the sisters that, without a moment’s hesitation, the
young man broke out of his ambush, and sprang forward to join the two principal
actors in the scene.
The merriment of Hawkeye was not easily appeased. Without ceremony, and with a
rough hand, he twirled the supple Gamut around on his heel, and more than once
affirmed that the Hurons had done themselves great credit in the fashion of his
costume. Then, seizing the hand of the other, he squeezed it with a grip that
brought tears into the eyes of the placid David, and wished him joy of his new
condition.
“You were about opening your throat-practisings among the beavers, were
ye?” he said. “The cunning devils know half the trade already, for
they beat the time with their tails, as you heard just now; and in good time it
was, too, or ‘killdeer’ might have sounded the first note among
them. I have known greater fools, who could read and write, than an experienced
old beaver; but as for squalling, the animals are born dumb! What think you of
such a song as this?”
David shut his sensitive ears, and even Heyward apprised as he was of the
nature of the cry, looked upward in quest of the bird, as the cawing of a crow
rang in the air about them.
“See!” continued the laughing scout, as he pointed toward the
remainder of the party, who, in obedience to the signal, were already
approaching; “this is music which has its natural virtues; it brings two
good rifles to my elbow, to say nothing of the knives and tomahawks. But we see
that you are safe; now tell us what has become of the maidens.”
“They are captives to the heathen,” said David; “and, though
greatly troubled in spirit, enjoying comfort and safety in the body.”
“Both!” demanded the breathless Heyward.
“Even so. Though our wayfaring has been sore and our sustenance scanty,
we have had little other cause for complaint, except the violence done our
feelings, by being thus led in captivity into a far land.”
“Bless ye for these very words!” exclaimed the trembling Munro;
“I shall then receive my babes, spotless and angel-like, as I lost
them!”
“I know not that their delivery is at hand,” returned the doubting
David; “the leader of these savages is possessed of an evil spirit that
no power short of Omnipotence can tame. I have tried him sleeping and waking,
but neither sounds nor language seem to touch his soul.”
“Where is the knave?” bluntly interrupted the scout.
“He hunts the moose to-day, with his young men; and tomorrow, as I hear,
they pass further into the forests, and nigher to the borders of Canada. The
elder maiden is conveyed to a neighboring people, whose lodges are situate
beyond yonder black pinnacle of rock; while the younger is detained among the
women of the Hurons, whose dwellings are but two short miles hence, on a
table-land, where the fire had done the office of the axe, and prepared the
place for their reception.”
“Alice, my gentle Alice!” murmured Heyward; “she has lost the
consolation of her sister’s presence!”
“Even so. But so far as praise and thanksgiving in psalmody can temper
the spirit in affliction, she has not suffered.”
“Has she then a heart for music?”
“Of the graver and more solemn character; though it must be acknowledged
that, in spite of all my endeavors, the maiden weeps oftener than she smiles.
At such moments I forbear to press the holy songs; but there are many sweet and
comfortable periods of satisfactory communication, when the ears of the savages
are astounded with the upliftings of our voices.”
“And why are you permitted to go at large, unwatched?”
David composed his features into what he intended should express an air of
modest humility, before he meekly replied:
“Little be the praise to such a worm as I. But, though the power of
psalmody was suspended in the terrible business of that field of blood through
which we have passed, it has recovered its influence even over the souls of the
heathen, and I am suffered to go and come at will.”
The scout laughed, and, tapping his own forehead significantly, he perhaps
explained the singular indulgence more satisfactorily when he said:
“The Indians never harm a non-composser. But why, when the path lay open
before your eyes, did you not strike back on your own trail (it is not so blind
as that which a squirrel would make), and bring in the tidings to
Edward?”
The scout, remembering only his own sturdy and iron nature, had probably
exacted a task that David, under no circumstances, could have performed. But,
without entirely losing the meekness of his air, the latter was content to
answer:
“Though my soul would rejoice to visit the habitations of Christendom
once more, my feet would rather follow the tender spirits intrusted to my
keeping, even into the idolatrous province of the Jesuits, than take one step
backward, while they pined in captivity and sorrow.”
Though the figurative language of David was not very intelligible, the sincere
and steady expression of his eye, and the glow of his honest countenance, were
not easily mistaken. Uncas pressed closer to his side, and regarded the speaker
with a look of commendation, while his father expressed his satisfaction by the
ordinary pithy exclamation of approbation. The scout shook his head as he
rejoined:
“The Lord never intended that the man should place all his endeavors in
his throat, to the neglect of other and better gifts! But he has fallen into
the hands of some silly woman, when he should have been gathering his education
under a blue sky, among the beauties of the forest. Here, friend; I did intend
to kindle a fire with this tooting-whistle of thine; but, as you value the
thing, take it, and blow your best on it.”
Gamut received his pitch-pipe with as strong an expression of pleasure as he
believed compatible with the grave functions he exercised. After essaying its
virtues repeatedly, in contrast with his own voice, and, satisfying himself
that none of its melody was lost, he made a very serious demonstration toward
achieving a few stanzas of one of the longest effusions in the little volume so
often mentioned.
Heyward, however, hastily interrupted his pious purpose by continuing questions
concerning the past and present condition of his fellow captives, and in a
manner more methodical than had been permitted by his feelings in the opening
of their interview. David, though he regarded his treasure with longing eyes,
was constrained to answer, especially as the venerable father took a part in
the interrogatories, with an interest too imposing to be denied. Nor did the
scout fail to throw in a pertinent inquiry, whenever a fitting occasion
presented. In this manner, though with frequent interruptions which were filled
with certain threatening sounds from the recovered instrument, the pursuers
were put in possession of such leading circumstances as were likely to prove
useful in accomplishing their great and engrossing object—the recovery of
the sisters. The narrative of David was simple, and the facts but few.
Magua had waited on the mountain until a safe moment to retire presented
itself, when he had descended, and taken the route along the western side of
the Horican in direction of the Canadas. As the subtle Huron was familiar with
the paths, and well knew there was no immediate danger of pursuit, their
progress had been moderate, and far from fatiguing. It appeared from the
unembellished statement of David, that his own presence had been rather endured
than desired; though even Magua had not been entirely exempt from that
veneration with which the Indians regard those whom the Great Spirit had
visited in their intellects. At night, the utmost care had been taken of the
captives, both to prevent injury from the damps of the woods and to guard
against an escape. At the spring, the horses were turned loose, as has been
seen; and, notwithstanding the remoteness and length of their trail, the
artifices already named were resorted to, in order to cut off every clue to
their place of retreat. On their arrival at the encampment of his people,
Magua, in obedience to a policy seldom departed from, separated his prisoners.
Cora had been sent to a tribe that temporarily occupied an adjacent valley,
though David was far too ignorant of the customs and history of the natives, to
be able to declare anything satisfactory concerning their name or character. He
only knew that they had not engaged in the late expedition against William
Henry; that, like the Hurons themselves they were allies of Montcalm; and that
they maintained an amicable, though a watchful intercourse with the warlike and
savage people whom chance had, for a time, brought in such close and
disagreeable contact with themselves.
The Mohicans and the scout listened to his interrupted and imperfect narrative,
with an interest that obviously increased as he proceeded; and it was while
attempting to explain the pursuits of the community in which Cora was detained,
that the latter abruptly demanded:
“Did you see the fashion of their knives? were they of English or French
formation?”
“My thoughts were bent on no such vanities, but rather mingled in
consolation with those of the maidens.”
“The time may come when you will not consider the knife of a savage such
a despicable vanity,” returned the scout, with a strong expression of
contempt for the other’s dullness. “Had they held their corn
feast—or can you say anything of the totems of the tribe?”
“Of corn, we had many and plentiful feasts; for the grain, being in the
milk is both sweet to the mouth and comfortable to the stomach. Of totem, I
know not the meaning; but if it appertaineth in any wise to the art of Indian
music, it need not be inquired after at their hands. They never join their
voices in praise, and it would seem that they are among the profanest of the
idolatrous.”
“Therein you belie the natur’ of an Indian. Even the Mingo adores
but the true and loving God. ’Tis wicked fabrication of the whites, and I
say it to the shame of my color that would make the warrior bow down before
images of his own creation. It is true, they endeavor to make truces to the
wicked one—as who would not with an enemy he cannot conquer! but they
look up for favor and assistance to the Great and Good Spirit only.”
“It may be so,” said David; “but I have seen strange and
fantastic images drawn in their paint, of which their admiration and care