The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
fatal termination. Here he paused, and looked about him, in affected veneration
for the departed, but, in truth, to note the effect of his opening narrative.
As usual, every eye was riveted on his face. Each dusky figure seemed a
breathing statue, so motionless was the posture, so intense the attention of
the individual.
Then Magua dropped his voice which had hitherto been clear, strong and
elevated, and touched upon the merits of the dead. No quality that was likely
to command the sympathy of an Indian escaped his notice. One had never been
known to follow the chase in vain; another had been indefatigable on the trail
of their enemies. This was brave, that generous. In short, he so managed his
allusions, that in a nation which was composed of so few families, he contrived
to strike every chord that might find, in its turn, some breast in which to
vibrate.
“Are the bones of my young men,” he concluded, “in the
burial-place of the Hurons? You know they are not. Their spirits are gone
toward the setting sun, and are already crossing the great waters, to the happy
hunting-grounds. But they departed without food, without guns or knives,
without moccasins, naked and poor as they were born. Shall this be? Are their
souls to enter the land of the just like hungry Iroquois or unmanly Delawares,
or shall they meet their friends with arms in their hands and robes on their
backs? What will our fathers think the tribes of the Wyandots have become? They
will look on their children with a dark eye, and say, ‘Go! a Chippewa has
come hither with the name of a Huron.’ Brothers, we must not forget the
dead; a red-skin never ceases to remember. We will load the back of this
Mohican until he staggers under our bounty, and dispatch him after my young
men. They call to us for aid, though our ears are not open; they say,
‘Forget us not.’ When they see the spirit of this Mohican toiling
after them with his burden, they will know we are of that mind. Then will they
go on happy; and our children will say, ‘So did our fathers to their
friends, so must we do to them.’ What is a Yengee? we have slain many,
but the earth is still pale. A stain on the name of Huron can only be hid by
blood that comes from the veins of an Indian. Let this Delaware die.”
The effect of such an harangue, delivered in the nervous language and with the
emphatic manner of a Huron orator, could scarcely be mistaken. Magua had so
artfully blended the natural sympathies with the religious superstition of his
auditors, that their minds, already prepared by custom to sacrifice a victim to
the manes of their countrymen, lost every vestige of humanity in a wish for
revenge. One warrior in particular, a man of wild and ferocious mien, had been
conspicuous for the attention he had given to the words of the speaker. His
countenance had changed with each passing emotion, until it settled into a look
of deadly malice. As Magua ended he arose and, uttering the yell of a demon,
his polished little axe was seen glancing in the torchlight as he whirled it
above his head. The motion and the cry were too sudden for words to interrupt
his bloody intention. It appeared as if a bright gleam shot from his hand,
which was crossed at the same moment by a dark and powerful line. The former
was the tomahawk in its passage; the latter the arm that Magua darted forward
to divert its aim. The quick and ready motion of the chief was not entirely too
late. The keen weapon cut the war plume from the scalping tuft of Uncas, and
passed through the frail wall of the lodge as though it were hurled from some
formidable engine.
Duncan had seen the threatening action, and sprang upon his feet, with a heart
which, while it leaped into his throat, swelled with the most generous
resolution in behalf of his friend. A glance told him that the blow had failed,
and terror changed to admiration. Uncas stood still, looking his enemy in the
eye with features that seemed superior to emotion. Marble could not be colder,
calmer, or steadier than the countenance he put upon this sudden and vindictive
attack. Then, as if pitying a want of skill which had proved so fortunate to
himself, he smiled, and muttered a few words of contempt in his own tongue.
“No!” said Magua, after satisfying himself of the safety of the
captive; “the sun must shine on his shame; the squaws must see his flesh
tremble, or our revenge will be like the play of boys. Go! take him where there
is silence; let us see if a Delaware can sleep at night, and in the morning
die.”
The young men whose duty it was to guard the prisoner instantly passed their
ligaments of bark across his arms, and led him from the lodge, amid a profound
and ominous silence. It was only as the figure of Uncas stood in the opening of
the door that his firm step hesitated. There he turned, and, in the sweeping
and haughty glance that he threw around the circle of his enemies, Duncan
caught a look which he was glad to construe into an expression that he was not
entirely deserted by hope.
Magua was content with his success, or too much occupied with his secret
purposes to push his inquiries any further. Shaking his mantle, and folding it
on his bosom, he also quitted the place, without pursuing a subject which might
have proved so fatal to the individual at his elbow. Notwithstanding his rising
resentment, his natural firmness, and his anxiety on behalf of Uncas, Heyward
felt sensibly relieved by the absence of so dangerous and so subtle a foe. The
excitement produced by the speech gradually subsided. The warriors resumed
their seats and clouds of smoke once more filled the lodge. For near half an
hour, not a syllable was uttered, or scarcely a look cast aside; a grave and
meditative silence being the ordinary succession to every scene of violence and
commotion among these beings, who were alike so impetuous and yet so
self-restrained.
When the chief, who had solicited the aid of Duncan, finished his pipe, he made
a final and successful movement toward departing. A motion of a finger was the
intimation he gave the supposed physician to follow; and passing through the
clouds of smoke, Duncad was glad, on more accounts than one, to be able at last
to breathe the pure air of a cool and refreshing summer evening.
Instead of pursuing his way among those lodges where Heyward had already made
his unsuccessful search, his companion turned aside, and proceeded directly
toward the base of an adjacent mountain, which overhung the temporary village.
A thicket of brush skirted its foot, and it became necessary to proceed through
a crooked and narrow path. The boys had resumed their sports in the clearing,
and were enacting a mimic chase to the post among themselves. In order to
render their games as like the reality as possible, one of the boldest of their
number had conveyed a few brands into some piles of tree-tops that had hitherto
escaped the burning. The blaze of one of these fires lighted the way of the
chief and Duncan, and gave a character of additional wildness to the rude
scenery. At a little distance from a bald rock, and directly in its front, they
entered a grassy opening, which they prepared to cross. Just then fresh fuel
was added to the fire, and a powerful light penetrated even to that distant
spot. It fell upon the white surface of the mountain, and was reflected
downward upon a dark and mysterious-looking being that arose, unexpectedly, in
their path. The Indian paused, as if doubtful whether to proceed, and permitted
his companion to approach his side. A large black ball, which at first seemed
stationary, now began to move in a manner that to the latter was inexplicable.
Again the fire brightened and its glare fell more distinctly on the object.
Then even Duncan knew it, by its restless and sidling attitudes, which kept the
upper part of its form in constant motion, while the animal itself appeared
seated, to be a bear. Though it growled loudly and fiercely, and there were
instants when its glistening eyeballs might be seen, it gave no other
indications of hostility. The Huron, at least, seemed assured that the
intentions of this singular intruder were peaceable, for after giving it an
attentive examination, he quietly pursued his course.
Duncan, who knew that the animal was often domesticated among the Indians,
followed the example of his companion, believing that some favorite of the
tribe had found its way into the thicket, in search of food. They passed it
unmolested. Though obliged to come nearly in contact with the monster, the
Huron, who had at first so warily determined the character of his strange
visitor, was now content with proceeding without wasting a moment in further
examination; but Heyward was unable to prevent his eyes from looking backward,
in salutary watchfulness against attacks in the rear. His uneasiness was in no
degree diminished when he perceived the beast rolling along their path, and
following their footsteps. He would have spoken, but the Indian at that moment
shoved aside a door of bark, and entered a cavern in the bosom of the mountain.
Profiting by so easy a method of retreat, Duncan stepped after him, and was
gladly closing the slight cover to the opening, when he felt it drawn from his
hand by the beast, whose shaggy form immediately darkened the passage. They
were now in a straight and long gallery, in a chasm of the rocks, where retreat
without encountering the animal was impossible. Making the best of the
circumstances, the young man pressed forward, keeping as close as possible to
his conductor. The bear growled frequently at his heels, and once or twice its
enormous paws were laid on his person, as if disposed to prevent his further
passage into the den.
How long the nerves of Heyward would have sustained him in this extraordinary
situation, it might be difficult to decide, for, happily, he soon found relief.
A glimmer of light had constantly been in their front, and they now arrived at
the place whence it proceeded.
A large cavity in the rock had been rudely fitted to answer the purposes of
many apartments. The subdivisions were simple but ingenious, being composed of
stone, sticks, and bark, intermingled. Openings above admitted the light by
day, and at night fires and torches supplied the place of the sun. Hither the
Hurons had brought most of their valuables, especially those which more
particularly pertained to the nation; and hither, as it now appeared, the sick
woman, who was believed to be the victim of supernatural power, had been
transported also, under an impression that her tormentor would find more
difficulty in making his assaults through walls of stone than through the leafy
coverings of the lodges. The apartment into which Duncan and his guide first
entered, had been exclusively devoted to her accommodation. The latter
approached her bedside, which was surrounded by females, in the center of whom
Heyward was surprised to find his missing friend David.
A single look was sufficient to apprise the pretended leech that the invalid
was far beyond his powers of healing. She lay in a sort of paralysis,
indifferent to the objects which crowded before her sight, and happily
unconscious of suffering. Heyward was far from regretting that his mummeries
were to be performed on one who was much too ill to take an interest in their
failure or success. The slight qualm of conscience which had been excited by
the intended deception was instantly appeased, and he began to collect his
thoughts, in order to enact his part with suitable spirit, when he found he was
about to be anticipated in his skill by an attempt to prove the power of music.
Gamut, who had stood prepared to pour forth his spirit in song when the
visitors entered, after delaying a moment, drew a strain from his pipe, and