The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
needed; and the women and children were ordered to retire, with a warning that
it was their province to be silent. When these several arrangements were made,
Magua passed through the village, stopping here and there to pay a visit where
he thought his presence might be flattering to the individual. He confirmed his
friends in their confidence, fixed the wavering, and gratified all. Then he
sought his own lodge. The wife the Huron chief had abandoned, when he was
chased from among his people, was dead. Children he had none; and he now
occupied a hut, without companion of any sort. It was, in fact, the dilapidated
and solitary structure in which David had been discovered, and whom he had
tolerated in his presence, on those few occasions when they met, with the
contemptuous indifference of a haughty superiority.
Hither, then, Magua retired, when his labors of policy were ended. While others
slept, however, he neither knew or sought repose. Had there been one
sufficiently curious to have watched the movements of the newly elected chief,
he would have seen him seated in a corner of his lodge, musing on the subject
of his future plans, from the hour of his retirement to the time he had
appointed for the warriors to assemble again. Occasionally the air breathed
through the crevices of the hut, and the low flame that fluttered about the
embers of the fire threw their wavering light on the person of the sullen
recluse. At such moments it would not have been difficult to have fancied the
dusky savage the Prince of Darkness brooding on his own fancied wrongs, and
plotting evil.
Long before the day dawned, however, warrior after warrior entered the solitary
hut of Magua, until they had collected to the number of twenty. Each bore his
rifle, and all the other accouterments of war, though the paint was uniformly
peaceful. The entrance of these fierce-looking beings was unnoticed: some
seating themselves in the shadows of the place, and others standing like
motionless statues, until the whole of the designated band was collected.
Then Magua arose and gave the signal to proceed, marching himself in advance.
They followed their leader singly, and in that well-known order which has
obtained the distinguishing appellation of “Indian file.” Unlike
other men engaged in the spirit-stirring business of war, they stole from their
camp unostentatiously and unobserved resembling a band of gliding specters,
more than warriors seeking the bubble reputation by deeds of desperate daring.
Instead of taking the path which led directly toward the camp of the Delawares,
Magua led his party for some distance down the windings of the stream, and
along the little artificial lake of the beavers. The day began to dawn as they
entered the clearing which had been formed by those sagacious and industrious
animals. Though Magua, who had resumed his ancient garb, bore the outline of a
fox on the dressed skin which formed his robe, there was one chief of his party
who carried the beaver as his peculiar symbol, or “totem.” There
would have been a species of profanity in the omission, had this man passed so
powerful a community of his fancied kindred, without bestowing some evidence of
his regard. Accordingly, he paused, and spoke in words as kind and friendly as
if he were addressing more intelligent beings. He called the animals his
cousins, and reminded them that his protecting influence was the reason they
remained unharmed, while many avaricious traders were prompting the Indians to
take their lives. He promised a continuance of his favors, and admonished them
to be grateful. After which, he spoke of the expedition in which he was himself
engaged, and intimated, though with sufficient delicacy and circumlocution, the
expediency of bestowing on their relative a portion of that wisdom for which
they were so renowned.[1]
[1]
These harangues of the beasts were frequent among the Indians. They often
address their victims in this way, reproaching them for cowardice or commending
their resolution, as they may happen to exhibit fortitude or the reverse, in
suffering.
During the utterance of this extraordinary address, the companions of the
speaker were as grave and as attentive to his language as though they were all
equally impressed with its propriety. Once or twice black objects were seen
rising to the surface of the water, and the Huron expressed pleasure,
conceiving that his words were not bestowed in vain. Just as he ended his
address, the head of a large beaver was thrust from the door of a lodge, whose
earthen walls had been much injured, and which the party had believed, from its
situation, to be uninhabited. Such an extraordinary sign of confidence was
received by the orator as a highly favorable omen; and though the animal
retreated a little precipitately, he was lavish of his thanks and
commendations.
When Magua thought sufficient time had been lost in gratifying the family
affection of the warrior, he again made the signal to proceed. As the Indians
moved away in a body, and with a step that would have been inaudible to the
ears of any common man, the same venerable-looking beaver once more ventured
his head from its cover. Had any of the Hurons turned to look behind them, they
would have seen the animal watching their movements with an interest and
sagacity that might easily have been mistaken for reason. Indeed, so very
distinct and intelligible were the devices of the quadruped, that even the most
experienced observer would have been at a loss to account for its actions,
until the moment when the party entered the forest, when the whole would have
been explained, by seeing the entire animal issue from the lodge, uncasing, by
the act, the grave features of Chingachgook from his mask of fur.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
“Brief, I pray for you; for you see, ’tis a busy time with
me.”
—Much Ado About Nothing.
The tribe, or rather half tribe, of Delawares, which has been so often
mentioned, and whose present place of encampment was so nigh the temporary
village of the Hurons, could assemble about an equal number of warriors with
the latter people. Like their neighbors, they had followed Montcalm into the
territories of the English crown, and were making heavy and serious inroads on
the hunting-grounds of the Mohawks; though they had seen fit, with the
mysterious reserve so common among the natives, to withhold their assistance at
the moment when it was most required. The French had accounted for this
unexpected defection on the part of their ally in various ways. It was the
prevalent opinion, however, that they had been influenced by veneration for the
ancient treaty, that had once made them dependent on the Six Nations for
military protection, and now rendered them reluctant to encounter their former
masters. As for the tribe itself, it had been content to announce to Montcalm,
through his emissaries, with Indian brevity, that their hatchets were dull, and
time was necessary to sharpen them. The politic captain of the Canadas had
deemed it wiser to submit to entertain a passive friend, than by any acts of
ill-judged severity to convert him into an open enemy.
On that morning when Magua led his silent party from the settlement of the
beavers into the forests, in the manner described, the sun rose upon the
Delaware encampment as if it had suddenly burst upon a busy people, actively
employed in all the customary avocations of high noon. The women ran from lodge
to lodge, some engaged in preparing their morning’s meal, a few earnestly
bent on seeking the comforts necessary to their habits, but more pausing to
exchange hasty and whispered sentences with their friends. The warriors were
lounging in groups, musing more than they conversed and when a few words were
uttered, speaking like men who deeply weighed their opinions. The instruments
of the chase were to be seen in abundance among the lodges; but none departed.
Here and there a warrior was examining his arms, with an attention that is
rarely bestowed on the implements, when no other enemy than the beasts of the
forest is expected to be encountered. And occasionally, the eyes of a whole
group were turned simultaneously toward a large and silent lodge in the center
of the village, as if it contained the subject of their common thoughts.
During the existence of this scene, a man suddenly appeared at the furthest
extremity of a platform of rock which formed the level of the village. He was
without arms, and his paint tended rather to soften than increase the natural
sternness of his austere countenance. When in full view of the Delawares he
stopped, and made a gesture of amity, by throwing his arm upward toward heaven,
and then letting it fall impressively on his breast. The inhabitants of the
village answered his salute by a low murmur of welcome, and encouraged him to
advance by similar indications of friendship. Fortified by these assurances,
the dark figure left the brow of the natural rocky terrace, where it had stood
a moment, drawn in a strong outline against the blushing morning sky, and moved
with dignity into the very center of the huts. As he approached, nothing was
audible but the rattling of the light silver ornaments that loaded his arms and
neck, and the tinkling of the little bells that fringed his deerskin moccasins.
He made, as he advanced, many courteous signs of greeting to the men he passed,
neglecting to notice the women, however, like one who deemed their favor, in
the present enterprise, of no importance. When he had reached the group in
which it was evident, by the haughtiness of their common mien, that the
principal chiefs were collected, the stranger paused, and then the Delawares
saw that the active and erect form that stood before them was that of the
well-known Huron chief, Le Renard Subtil.
His reception was grave, silent, and wary. The warriors in front stepped aside,
opening the way to their most approved orator by the action; one who spoke all
those languages that were cultivated among the northern aborigines.
“The wise Huron is welcome,” said the Delaware, in the language of
the Maquas; “he is come to eat his ‘succotash’,[1]
with his brothers of the lakes.”
[1]
A dish composed of cracked corn and beans. It is much used also by the
whites. By corn is meant maise.
“He is come,” repeated Magua, bending his head with the dignity of
an eastern prince.
The chief extended his arm and taking the other by the wrist, they once more
exchanged friendly salutations. Then the Delaware invited his guest to enter
his own lodge, and share his morning meal. The invitation was accepted; and the
two warriors, attended by three or four of the old men, walked calmly away,
leaving the rest of the tribe devoured by a desire to understand the reasons of
so unusual a visit, and yet not betraying the least impatience by sign or word.
During the short and frugal repast that followed, the conversation was
extremely circumspect, and related entirely to the events of the hunt, in which
Magua had so lately been engaged. It would have been impossible for the most
finished breeding to wear more of the appearance of considering the visit as a
thing of course, than did his hosts, notwithstanding every individual present
was perfectly aware that it must be connected with some secret object and that
probably of importance to themselves. When the appetites of the whole were
appeased, the squaws removed the trenchers and gourds, and the two parties
began to prepare themselves for a subtle trial of their wits.
“Is the face of my great Canada father turned again toward his Huron
children?” demanded the orator of the Delawares.
“When was it ever otherwise?” returned Magua. “He calls my
people ‘most beloved’.”