The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
The Delaware gravely bowed his acquiescence to what he knew to be false, and
continued:
“The tomahawks of your young men have been very red.”
“It is so; but they are now bright and dull; for the Yengeese are dead,
and the Delawares are our neighbors.”
The other acknowledged the pacific compliment by a gesture of the hand, and
remained silent. Then Magua, as if recalled to such a recollection, by the
allusion to the massacre, demanded:
“Does my prisoner give trouble to my brothers?”
“She is welcome.”
“The path between the Hurons and the Delawares is short and it is open;
let her be sent to my squaws, if she gives trouble to my brother.”
“She is welcome,” returned the chief of the latter nation, still
more emphatically.
The baffled Magua continued silent several minutes, apparently indifferent,
however, to the repulse he had received in this his opening effort to regain
possession of Cora.
“Do my young men leave the Delawares room on the mountains for their
hunts?” he at length continued.
“The Lenape are rulers of their own hills,” returned the other a
little haughtily.
“It is well. Justice is the master of a red-skin. Why should they
brighten their tomahawks and sharpen their knives against each other? Are not
the pale faces thicker than the swallows in the season of flowers?”
“Good!” exclaimed two or three of his auditors at the same time.
Magua waited a little, to permit his words to soften the feelings of the
Delawares, before he added:
“Have there not been strange moccasins in the woods? Have not my brothers
scented the feet of white men?”
“Let my Canada father come,” returned the other, evasively;
“his children are ready to see him.”
“When the great chief comes, it is to smoke with the Indians in their
wigwams. The Hurons say, too, he is welcome. But the Yengeese have long arms,
and legs that never tire! My young men dreamed they had seen the trail of the
Yengeese nigh the village of the Delawares!”
“They will not find the Lenape asleep.”
“It is well. The warrior whose eye is open can see his enemy,” said
Magua, once more shifting his ground, when he found himself unable to penetrate
the caution of his companion. “I have brought gifts to my brother. His
nation would not go on the warpath, because they did not think it well, but
their friends have remembered where they lived.”
When he had thus announced his liberal intention, the crafty chief arose, and
gravely spread his presents before the dazzled eyes of his hosts. They
consisted principally of trinkets of little value, plundered from the
slaughtered females of William Henry. In the division of the baubles the
cunning Huron discovered no less art than in their selection. While he bestowed
those of greater value on the two most distinguished warriors, one of whom was
his host, he seasoned his offerings to their inferiors with such well-timed and
apposite compliments, as left them no ground of complaint. In short, the whole
ceremony contained such a happy blending of the profitable with the flattering,
that it was not difficult for the donor immediately to read the effect of a
generosity so aptly mingled with praise, in the eyes of those he addressed.
This well-judged and politic stroke on the part of Magua was not without
instantaneous results. The Delawares lost their gravity in a much more cordial
expression; and the host, in particular, after contemplating his own liberal
share of the spoil for some moments with peculiar gratification, repeated with
strong emphasis, the words:
“My brother is a wise chief. He is welcome.”
“The Hurons love their friends the Delawares,” returned Magua.
“Why should they not? they are colored by the same sun, and their just
men will hunt in the same grounds after death. The red-skins should be friends,
and look with open eyes on the white men. Has not my brother scented spies in
the woods?”
The Delaware, whose name in English signified “Hard Heart,” an
appellation that the French had translated into “le Coeur-dur,”
forgot that obduracy of purpose, which had probably obtained him so significant
a title. His countenance grew very sensibly less stern and he now deigned to
answer more directly.
“There have been strange moccasins about my camp. They have been tracked
into my lodges.”
“Did my brother beat out the dogs?” asked Magua, without adverting
in any manner to the former equivocation of the chief.
“It would not do. The stranger is always welcome to the children of the
Lenape.”
“The stranger, but not the spy.”
“Would the Yengeese send their women as spies? Did not the Huron chief
say he took women in the battle?”
“He told no lie. The Yengeese have sent out their scouts. They have been
in my wigwams, but they found there no one to say welcome. Then they fled to
the Delawares—for, say they, the Delawares are our friends; their minds
are turned from their Canada father!”
This insinuation was a home thrust, and one that in a more advanced state of
society would have entitled Magua to the reputation of a skillful diplomatist.
The recent defection of the tribe had, as they well knew themselves, subjected
the Delawares to much reproach among their French allies; and they were now
made to feel that their future actions were to be regarded with jealousy and
distrust. There was no deep insight into causes and effects necessary to
foresee that such a situation of things was likely to prove highly prejudicial
to their future movements. Their distant villages, their hunting-grounds and
hundreds of their women and children, together with a material part of their
physical force, were actually within the limits of the French territory.
Accordingly, this alarming annunciation was received, as Magua intended, with
manifest disapprobation, if not with alarm.
“Let my father look in my face,” said Le Coeur-dur; “he will
see no change. It is true, my young men did not go out on the war-path; they
had dreams for not doing so. But they love and venerate the great white
chief.”
“Will he think so when he hears that his greatest enemy is fed in the
camp of his children? When he is told a bloody Yengee smokes at your fire? That
the pale face who has slain so many of his friends goes in and out among the
Delawares? Go! my great Canada father is not a fool!”
“Where is the Yengee that the Delawares fear?” returned the other;
“who has slain my young men? Who is the mortal enemy of my Great
Father?”
“La Longue Carabine!”
The Delaware warriors started at the well-known name, betraying by their
amazement, that they now learned, for the first time, one so famous among the
Indian allies of France was within their power.
“What does my brother mean?” demanded Le Coeur-dur, in a tone that,
by its wonder, far exceeded the usual apathy of his race.
“A Huron never lies!” returned Magua, coldly, leaning his head
against the side of the lodge, and drawing his slight robe across his tawny
breast. “Let the Delawares count their prisoners; they will find one
whose skin is neither red nor pale.”
A long and musing pause succeeded. The chief consulted apart with his
companions, and messengers despatched to collect certain others of the most
distinguished men of the tribe.
As warrior after warrior dropped in, they were each made acquainted, in turn,
with the important intelligence that Magua had just communicated. The air of
surprise, and the usual low, deep, guttural exclamation, were common to them
all. The news spread from mouth to mouth, until the whole encampment became
powerfully agitated. The women suspended their labors, to catch such syllables
as unguardedly fell from the lips of the consulting warriors. The boys deserted
their sports, and walking fearlessly among their fathers, looked up in curious
admiration, as they heard the brief exclamations of wonder they so freely
expressed the temerity of their hated foe. In short, every occupation was
abandoned for the time, and all other pursuits seemed discarded in order that
the tribe might freely indulge, after their own peculiar manner, in an open
expression of feeling.
When the excitement had a little abated, the old men disposed themselves
seriously to consider that which it became the honor and safety of their tribe
to perform, under circumstances of so much delicacy and embarrassment. During
all these movements, and in the midst of the general commotion, Magua had not
only maintained his seat, but the very attitude he had originally taken,
against the side of the lodge, where he continued as immovable, and,
apparently, as unconcerned, as if he had no interest in the result. Not a
single indication of the future intentions of his hosts, however, escaped his
vigilant eyes. With his consummate knowledge of the nature of the people with
whom he had to deal, he anticipated every measure on which they decided; and it
might almost be said, that, in many instances, he knew their intentions, even
before they became known to themselves.
The council of the Delawares was short. When it was ended, a general bustle
announced that it was to be immediately succeeded by a solemn and formal
assemblage of the nation. As such meetings were rare, and only called on
occasions of the last importance, the subtle Huron, who still sat apart, a wily
and dark observer of the proceedings, now knew that all his projects must be
brought to their final issue. He, therefore, left the lodge and walked silently
forth to the place, in front of the encampment, whither the warriors were
already beginning to collect.
It might have been half an hour before each individual, including even the
women and children, was in his place. The delay had been created by the grave
preparations that were deemed necessary to so solemn and unusual a conference.
But when the sun was seen climbing above the tops of that mountain, against
whose bosom the Delawares had constructed their encampment, most were seated;
and as his bright rays darted from behind the outline of trees that fringed the
eminence, they fell upon as grave, as attentive, and as deeply interested a
multitude, as was probably ever before lighted by his morning beams. Its number
somewhat exceeded a thousand souls.
In a collection of so serious savages, there is never to be found any impatient
aspirant after premature distinction, standing ready to move his auditors to
some hasty, and, perhaps, injudicious discussion, in order that his own
reputation may be the gainer. An act of so much precipitancy and presumption
would seal the downfall of precocious intellect forever. It rested solely with
the oldest and most experienced of the men to lay the subject of the conference
before the people. Until such a one chose to make some movement, no deeds in
arms, no natural gifts, nor any renown as an orator, would have justified the
slightest interruption. On the present occasion, the aged warrior whose
privilege it was to speak, was silent, seemingly oppressed with the magnitude
of his subject. The delay had already continued long beyond the usual
deliberative pause that always preceded a conference; but no sign of impatience
or surprise escaped even the youngest boy. Occasionally an eye was raised from
the earth, where the looks of most were riveted, and strayed toward a
particular lodge, that was, however, in no manner distinguished from those
around it, except in the peculiar care that had been taken to protect it
against the assaults of the weather.
At length one of those low murmurs, that are so apt to disturb a multitude, was
heard, and the whole nation arose to their feet by a common impulse. At that
instant the door of the lodge in question opened, and three men, issuing from
it, slowly approached the place of consultation. They were all aged, even