The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
“Your chiefest danger will be at the moment when the savages find out
that they have been deceived. If you are not then knocked on the head, your
being a non-composser will protect you; and you’ll then have a good
reason to expect to die in your bed. If you stay, it must be to sit down here
in the shadow, and take the part of Uncas, until such times as the cunning of
the Indians discover the cheat, when, as I have already said, your times of
trial will come. So choose for yourself—to make a rush or tarry
here.”
“Even so,” said David, firmly; “I will abide in the place of
the Delaware. Bravely and generously has he battled in my behalf, and this, and
more, will I dare in his service.”
“You have spoken as a man, and like one who, under wiser schooling, would
have been brought to better things. Hold your head down, and draw in your legs;
their formation might tell the truth too early. Keep silent as long as may be;
and it would be wise, when you do speak, to break out suddenly in one of your
shoutings, which will serve to remind the Indians that you are not altogether
as responsible as men should be. If however, they take your scalp, as I trust
and believe they will not, depend on it, Uncas and I will not forget the deed,
but revenge it as becomes true warriors and trusty friends.”
“Hold!” said David, perceiving that with this assurance they were
about to leave him; “I am an unworthy and humble follower of one who
taught not the damnable principle of revenge. Should I fall, therefore, seek no
victims to my manes, but rather forgive my destroyers; and if you remember them
at all, let it be in prayers for the enlightening of their minds, and for their
eternal welfare.”
The scout hesitated, and appeared to muse.
“There is a principle in that,” he said, “different from the
law of the woods; and yet it is fair and noble to reflect upon.” Then
heaving a heavy sigh, probably among the last he ever drew in pining for a
condition he had so long abandoned, he added: “it is what I would wish to
practise myself, as one without a cross of blood, though it is not always easy
to deal with an Indian as you would with a fellow Christian. God bless you,
friend; I do believe your scent is not greatly wrong, when the matter is duly
considered, and keeping eternity before the eyes, though much depends on the
natural gifts, and the force of temptation.”
So saying, the scout returned and shook David cordially by the hand; after
which act of friendship he immediately left the lodge, attended by the new
representative of the beast.
The instant Hawkeye found himself under the observation of the Hurons, he drew
up his tall form in the rigid manner of David, threw out his arm in the act of
keeping time, and commenced what he intended for an imitation of his psalmody.
Happily for the success of this delicate adventure, he had to deal with ears
but little practised in the concord of sweet sounds, or the miserable effort
would infallibly have been detected. It was necessary to pass within a
dangerous proximity of the dark group of the savages, and the voice of the
scout grew louder as they drew nigher. When at the nearest point the Huron who
spoke the English thrust out an arm, and stopped the supposed singing-master.
“The Delaware dog!” he said, leaning forward, and peering through
the dim light to catch the expression of the other’s features; “is
he afraid? Will the Hurons hear his groans?”
A growl, so exceedingly fierce and natural, proceeded from the beast, that the
young Indian released his hold and started aside, as if to assure himself that
it was not a veritable bear, and no counterfeit, that was rolling before him.
Hawkeye, who feared his voice would betray him to his subtle enemies, gladly
profited by the interruption, to break out anew in such a burst of musical
expression as would, probably, in a more refined state of society have been
termed “a grand crash.” Among his actual auditors, however, it
merely gave him an additional claim to that respect which they never withhold
from such as are believed to be the subjects of mental alienation. The little
knot of Indians drew back in a body, and suffered, as they thought, the
conjurer and his inspired assistant to proceed.
It required no common exercise of fortitude in Uncas and the scout to continue
the dignified and deliberate pace they had assumed in passing the lodge;
especially as they immediately perceived that curiosity had so far mastered
fear, as to induce the watchers to approach the hut, in order to witness the
effect of the incantations. The least injudicious or impatient movement on the
part of David might betray them, and time was absolutely necessary to insure
the safety of the scout. The loud noise the latter conceived it politic to
continue, drew many curious gazers to the doors of the different huts as thy
passed; and once or twice a dark-looking warrior stepped across their path, led
to the act by superstition and watchfulness. They were not, however,
interrupted, the darkness of the hour, and the boldness of the attempt, proving
their principal friends.
The adventurers had got clear of the village, and were now swiftly approaching
the shelter of the woods, when a loud and long cry arose from the lodge where
Uncas had been confined. The Mohican started on his feet, and shook his shaggy
covering, as though the animal he counterfeited was about to make some
desperate effort.
“Hold!” said the scout, grasping his friend by the shoulder,
“let them yell again! ’Twas nothing but wonderment.”
He had no occasion to delay, for at the next instant a burst of cries filled
the outer air, and ran along the whole extent of the village. Uncas cast his
skin, and stepped forth in his own beautiful proportions. Hawkeye tapped him
lightly on the shoulder, and glided ahead.
“Now let the devils strike our scent!” said the scout, tearing two
rifles, with all their attendant accouterments, from beneath a bush, and
flourishing “killdeer” as he handed Uncas his weapon; “two,
at least, will find it to their deaths.”
Then, throwing their pieces to a low trail, like sportsmen in readiness for
their game, they dashed forward, and were soon buried in the somber darkness of
the forest.
CHAPTER XXVII.
“Ant. I shall remember: When C’sar says
Do this, it is performed.”
—Julius Caesar
The impatience of the savages who lingered about the prison of Uncas, as has
been seen, had overcome their dread of the conjurer’s breath. They stole
cautiously, and with beating hearts, to a crevice, through which the faint
light of the fire was glimmering. For several minutes they mistook the form of
David for that of the prisoner; but the very accident which Hawkeye had
foreseen occurred. Tired of keeping the extremities of his long person so near
together, the singer gradually suffered the lower limbs to extend themselves,
until one of his misshapen feet actually came in contact with and shoved aside
the embers of the fire. At first the Hurons believed the Delaware had been thus
deformed by witchcraft. But when David, unconscious of being observed, turned
his head, and exposed his simple, mild countenance, in place of the haughty
lineaments of their prisoner, it would have exceeded the credulity of even a
native to have doubted any longer. They rushed together into the lodge, and,
laying their hands, with but little ceremony, on their captive, immediately
detected the imposition. Then arose the cry first heard by the fugitives. It
was succeeded by the most frantic and angry demonstrations of vengeance. David,
however, firm in his determination to cover the retreat of his friends, was
compelled to believe that his own final hour had come. Deprived of his book and
his pipe, he was fain to trust to a memory that rarely failed him on such
subjects; and breaking forth in a loud and impassioned strain, he endeavored to
smooth his passage into the other world by singing the opening verse of a
funeral anthem. The Indians were seasonably reminded of his infirmity, and,
rushing into the open air, they aroused the village in the manner described.
A native warrior fights as he sleeps, without the protection of anything
defensive. The sounds of the alarm were, therefore, hardly uttered before two
hundred men were afoot, and ready for the battle or the chase, as either might
be required. The escape was soon known; and the whole tribe crowded, in a body,
around the council-lodge, impatiently awaiting the instruction of their chiefs.
In such a sudden demand on their wisdom, the presence of the cunning Magua
could scarcely fail of being needed. His name was mentioned, and all looked
round in wonder that he did not appear. Messengers were then despatched to his
lodge requiring his presence.
In the meantime, some of the swiftest and most discreet of the young men were
ordered to make the circuit of the clearing, under cover of the woods, in order
to ascertain that their suspected neighbors, the Delawares, designed no
mischief. Women and children ran to and fro; and, in short, the whole
encampment exhibited another scene of wild and savage confusion. Gradually,
however, these symptoms of disorder diminished; and in a few minutes the oldest
and most distinguished chiefs were assembled in the lodge, in grave
consultation.
The clamor of many voices soon announced that a party approached, who might be
expected to communicate some intelligence that would explain the mystery of the
novel surprise. The crowd without gave way, and several warriors entered the
place, bringing with them the hapless conjurer, who had been left so long by
the scout in duress.
Notwithstanding this man was held in very unequal estimation among the Hurons,
some believing implicitly in his power, and others deeming him an impostor, he
was now listened to by all with the deepest attention. When his brief story was
ended, the father of the sick woman stepped forth, and, in a few pithy
expression, related, in his turn, what he knew. These two narratives gave a
proper direction to the subsequent inquiries, which were now made with the
characteristic cunning of savages.
Instead of rushing in a confused and disorderly throng to the cavern, ten of
the wisest and firmest among the chiefs were selected to prosecute the
investigation. As no time was to be lost, the instant the choice was made the
individuals appointed rose in a body and left the place without speaking. On
reaching the entrance, the younger men in advance made way for their seniors;
and the whole proceeded along the low, dark gallery, with the firmness of
warriors ready to devote themselves to the public good, though, at the same
time, secretly doubting the nature of the power with which they were about to
contend.
The outer apartment of the cavern was silent and gloomy. The woman lay in her
usual place and posture, though there were those present who affirmed they had
seen her borne to the woods by the supposed “medicine of the white
men.” Such a direct and palpable contradiction of the tale related by the
father caused all eyes to be turned on him. Chafed by the silent imputation,
and inwardly troubled by so unaccountable a circumstance, the chief advanced to
the side of the bed, and, stooping, cast an incredulous look at the features,
as if distrusting their reality. His daughter was dead.
The unerring feeling of nature for a moment prevailed and the old warrior hid
his eyes in sorrow. Then, recovering his self-possession, he faced his
companions, and, pointing toward the corpse, he said, in the language of his
people:
“The wife of my young man has left us! The Great Spirit is angry with his
children.”
The mournful intelligence was received in solemn silence. After a short pause,