The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
the young man when the sun comes again.”
When the father had translated the meaning of the stranger’s words into
the Huron language, a suppressed murmur announced the satisfaction with which
this intelligence was received. The chief himself waved his hand for Duncan to
proceed, saying aloud, in a firm voice, and with a lofty manner:
“Go; I am a man, and I will enter the rock and fight the wicked
one.”
Heyward had gladly obeyed, and was already past the little group, when these
startling words arrested him.
“Is my brother mad?” he exclaimed; “is he cruel? He will meet
the disease, and it will enter him; or he will drive out the disease, and it
will chase his daughter into the woods. No; let my children wait without, and
if the spirit appears beat him down with clubs. He is cunning, and will bury
himself in the mountain, when he sees how many are ready to fight him.”
This singular warning had the desired effect. Instead of entering the cavern,
the father and husband drew their tomahawks, and posted themselves in readiness
to deal their vengeance on the imaginary tormentor of their sick relative,
while the women and children broke branches from the bushes, or seized
fragments of the rock, with a similar intention. At this favorable moment the
counterfeit conjurers disappeared.
Hawkeye, at the same time that he had presumed so far on the nature of the
Indian superstitions, was not ignorant that they were rather tolerated than
relied on by the wisest of the chiefs. He well knew the value of time in the
present emergency. Whatever might be the extent of the self-delusion of his
enemies, and however it had tended to assist his schemes, the slightest cause
of suspicion, acting on the subtle nature of an Indian, would be likely to
prove fatal. Taking the path, therefore, that was most likely to avoid
observation, he rather skirted than entered the village. The warriors were
still to be seen in the distance, by the fading light of the fires, stalking
from lodge to lodge. But the children had abandoned their sports for their beds
of skins, and the quiet of night was already beginning to prevail over the
turbulence and excitement of so busy and important an evening.
Alice revived under the renovating influence of the open air, and, as her
physical rather than her mental powers had been the subject of weakness, she
stood in no need of any explanation of that which had occurred.
“Now let me make an effort to walk,” she said, when they had
entered the forest, blushing, though unseen, that she had not been sooner able
to quit the arms of Duncan; “I am indeed restored.”
“Nay, Alice, you are yet too weak.”
The maiden struggled gently to release herself, and Heyward was compelled to
part with his precious burden. The representative of the bear had certainly
been an entire stranger to the delicious emotions of the lover while his arms
encircled his mistress; and he was, perhaps, a stranger also to the nature of
that feeling of ingenuous shame that oppressed the trembling Alice. But when he
found himself at a suitable distance from the lodges he made a halt, and spoke
on a subject of which he was thoroughly the master.
“This path will lead you to the brook,” he said; “follow its
northern bank until you come to a fall; mount the hill on your right, and you
will see the fires of the other people. There you must go and demand
protection; if they are true Delawares you will be safe. A distant flight with
that gentle one, just now, is impossible. The Hurons would follow up our trail,
and master our scalps before we had got a dozen miles. Go, and Providence be
with you.”
“And you!” demanded Heyward, in surprise; “surely we part not
here?”
“The Hurons hold the pride of the Delawares; the last of the high blood
of the Mohicans is in their power,” returned the scout; “I go to
see what can be done in his favor. Had they mastered your scalp, major, a knave
should have fallen for every hair it held, as I promised; but if the young
Sagamore is to be led to the stake, the Indians shall see also how a man
without a cross can die.”
Not in the least offended with the decided preference that the sturdy woodsman
gave to one who might, in some degree, be called the child of his adoption,
Duncan still continued to urge such reasons against so desperate an effort as
presented themselves. He was aided by Alice, who mingled her entreaties with
those of Heyward that he would abandon a resolution that promised so much
danger, with so little hope of success. Their eloquence and ingenuity were
expended in vain. The scout heard them attentively, but impatiently, and
finally closed the discussion, by answering, in a tone that instantly silenced
Alice, while it told Heyward how fruitless any further remonstrances would be.
“I have heard,” he said, “that there is a feeling in youth
which binds man to woman closer than the father is tied to the son. It may be
so. I have seldom been where women of my color dwell; but such may be the gifts
of nature in the settlements. You have risked life, and all that is dear to
you, to bring off this gentle one, and I suppose that some such disposition is
at the bottom of it all. As for me, I taught the lad the real character of a
rifle; and well has he paid me for it. I have fou’t at his side in many a
bloody scrimmage; and so long as I could hear the crack of his piece in one
ear, and that of the Sagamore in the other, I knew no enemy was on my back.
Winters and summer, nights and days, have we roved the wilderness in company,
eating of the same dish, one sleeping while the other watched; and afore it
shall be said that Uncas was taken to the torment, and I at hand—There is
but a single Ruler of us all, whatever may the color of the skin; and Him I
call to witness, that before the Mohican boy shall perish for the want of a
friend, good faith shall depart the ’arth, and ‘killdeer’
become as harmless as the tooting we’pon of the singer!”
Duncan released his hold on the arm of the scout, who turned, and steadily
retraced his steps toward the lodges. After pausing a moment to gaze at his
retiring form, the successful and yet sorrowful Heyward and Alice took their
way together toward the distant village of the Delawares.
CHAPTER XXVI.
“Bot.—Let me play the lion too.”
—Midsummer Night’s Dream
Notwithstanding the high resolution of Hawkeye he fully comprehended all the
difficulties and danger he was about to incur. In his return to the camp, his
acute and practised intellects were intently engaged in devising means to
counteract a watchfulness and suspicion on the part of his enemies, that he
knew were, in no degree, inferior to his own. Nothing but the color of his skin
had saved the lives of Magua and the conjurer, who would have been the first
victims sacrificed to his own security, had not the scout believed such an act,
however congenial it might be to the nature of an Indian, utterly unworthy of
one who boasted a descent from men that knew no cross of blood. Accordingly, he
trusted to the withes and ligaments with which he had bound his captives, and
pursued his way directly toward the center of the lodges. As he approached the
buildings, his steps become more deliberate, and his vigilant eye suffered no
sign, whether friendly or hostile, to escape him. A neglected hut was a little
in advance of the others, and appeared as if it had been deserted when half
completed—most probably on account of failing in some of the more
important requisites; such as wood or water. A faint light glimmered through
its cracks, however, and announced that, notwithstanding its imperfect
structure, it was not without a tenant. Thither, then, the scout proceeded,
like a prudent general, who was about to feel the advanced positions of his
enemy, before he hazarded the main attack.
Throwing himself into a suitable posture for the beast he represented, Hawkeye
crawled to a little opening, where he might command a view of the interior. It
proved to be the abiding place of David Gamut. Hither the faithful
singing-master had now brought himself, together with all his sorrows, his
apprehensions, and his meek dependence on the protection of Providence. At the
precise moment when his ungainly person came under the observation of the
scout, in the manner just mentioned, the woodsman himself, though in his
assumed character, was the subject of the solitary being’s profounded
reflections.
However implicit the faith of David was in the performance of ancient miracles,
he eschewed the belief of any direct supernatural agency in the management of
modern morality. In other words, while he had implicit faith in the ability of
Balaam’s ass to speak, he was somewhat skeptical on the subject of a
bear’s singing; and yet he had been assured of the latter, on the
testimony of his own exquisite organs. There was something in his air and
manner that betrayed to the scout the utter confusion of the state of his mind.
He was seated on a pile of brush, a few twigs from which occasionally fed his
low fire, with his head leaning on his arm, in a posture of melancholy musing.
The costume of the votary of music had undergone no other alteration from that
so lately described, except that he had covered his bald head with the
triangular beaver, which had not proved sufficiently alluring to excite the
cupidity of any of his captors.
The ingenious Hawkeye, who recalled the hasty manner in which the other had
abandoned his post at the bedside of the sick woman, was not without his
suspicions concerning the subject of so much solemn deliberation. First making
the circuit of the hut, and ascertaining that it stood quite alone, and that
the character of its inmate was likely to protect it from visitors, he ventured
through its low door, into the very presence of Gamut. The position of the
latter brought the fire between them; and when Hawkeye had seated himself on
end, near a minute elapsed, during which the two remained regarding each other
without speaking. The suddenness and the nature of the surprise had nearly
proved too much for—we will not say the philosophy—but for the
pitch and resolution of David. He fumbled for his pitch-pipe, and arose with a
confused intention of attempting a musical exorcism.
“Dark and mysterious monster!” he exclaimed, while with trembling
hands he disposed of his auxiliary eyes, and sought his never-failing resource
in trouble, the gifted version of the psalms; “I know not your nature nor
intents; but if aught you meditate against the person and rights of one of the
humblest servants of the temple, listen to the inspired language of the youth
of Israel, and repent.”
The bear shook his shaggy sides, and then a well-known voice replied:
“Put up the tooting we’pon, and teach your throat modesty. Five
words of plain and comprehendible English are worth just now an hour of
squalling.”
“What art thou?” demanded David, utterly disqualified to pursue his
original intention, and nearly gasping for breath.
“A man like yourself; and one whose blood is as little tainted by the
cross of a bear, or an Indian, as your own. Have you so soon forgotten from
whom you received the foolish instrument you hold in your hand?”
“Can these things be?” returned David, breathing more freely, as
the truth began to dawn upon him. “I have found many marvels during my
sojourn with the heathen, but surely nothing to excel this.”
“Come, come,” returned Hawkeye, uncasing his honest countenance,
the better to assure the wavering confidence of his companion; “you may
see a skin, which, if it be not as white as one of the gentle ones, has no
tinge of red to it that the winds of the heaven and the sun have not bestowed.
Now let us to business.”