The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
boasted; “but I see nothing, nor do I hear the sounds of man or beast;
’tis strange that an Indian should understand white sounds better than a
man who, his very enemies will own, has no cross in his blood, although he may
have lived with the red skins long enough to be suspected! Ha! there goes
something like the cracking of a dry stick, too—now I hear the bushes
move—yes, yes, there is a trampling that I mistook for the
falls—and—but here they come themselves; God keep them from the
Iroquois!”
CHAPTER IV.
“Well go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove
Till I torment thee for this injury.”—Midsummer Night’s
Dream.
The words were still in the mouth of the scout, when the leader of the party,
whose approaching footsteps had caught the vigilant ear of the Indian, came
openly into view. A beaten path, such as those made by the periodical passage
of the deer, wound through a little glen at no great distance, and struck the
river at the point where the white man and his red companions had posted
themselves. Along this track the travelers, who had produced a surprise so
unusual in the depths of the forest, advanced slowly toward the hunter, who was
in front of his associates, in readiness to receive them.
“Who comes?” demanded the scout, throwing his rifle carelessly
across his left arm, and keeping the forefinger of his right hand on the
trigger, though he avoided all appearance of menace in the act. “Who
comes hither, among the beasts and dangers of the wilderness?”
“Believers in religion, and friends to the law and to the king,”
returned he who rode foremost. “Men who have journeyed since the rising
sun, in the shades of this forest, without nourishment, and are sadly tired of
their wayfaring.”
“You are, then, lost,” interrupted the hunter, “and have
found how helpless ’tis not to know whether to take the right hand or the
left?”
“Even so; sucking babes are not more dependent on those who guide them
than we who are of larger growth, and who may now be said to possess the
stature without the knowledge of men. Know you the distance to a post of the
crown called William Henry?”
“Hoot!” shouted the scout, who did not spare his open laughter,
though instantly checking the dangerous sounds he indulged his merriment at
less risk of being overheard by any lurking enemies. “You are as much off
the scent as a hound would be, with Horican atwixt him and the deer! William
Henry, man! if you are friends to the king and have business with the army,
your way would be to follow the river down to Edward, and lay the matter before
Webb, who tarries there, instead of pushing into the defiles, and driving this
saucy Frenchman back across Champlain, into his den again.”
Before the stranger could make any reply to this unexpected proposition,
another horseman dashed the bushes aside, and leaped his charger into the
pathway, in front of his companion.
“What, then, may be our distance from Fort Edward?” demanded a new
speaker; “the place you advise us to seek we left this morning, and our
destination is the head of the lake.”
“Then you must have lost your eyesight afore losing your way, for the
road across the portage is cut to a good two rods, and is as grand a path, I
calculate, as any that runs into London, or even before the palace of the king
himself.”
“We will not dispute concerning the excellence of the passage,”
returned Heyward, smiling; for, as the reader has anticipated, it was he.
“It is enough, for the present, that we trusted to an Indian guide to
take us by a nearer, though blinder path, and that we are deceived in his
knowledge. In plain words, we know not where we are.”
“An Indian lost in the woods!” said the scout, shaking his head
doubtingly; “When the sun is scorching the tree tops, and the water
courses are full; when the moss on every beech he sees will tell him in what
quarter the north star will shine at night. The woods are full of deer-paths
which run to the streams and licks, places well known to everybody; nor have
the geese done their flight to the Canada waters altogether! ’Tis strange
that an Indian should be lost atwixt Horican and the bend in the river! Is he a
Mohawk?”
“Not by birth, though adopted in that tribe; I think his birthplace was
farther north, and he is one of those you call a Huron.”
“Hugh!” exclaimed the two companions of the scout, who had
continued until this part of the dialogue, seated immovable, and apparently
indifferent to what passed, but who now sprang to their feet with an activity
and interest that had evidently got the better of their reserve by surprise.
“A Huron!” repeated the sturdy scout, once more shaking his head in
open distrust; “they are a thievish race, nor do I care by whom they are
adopted; you can never make anything of them but skulks and vagabonds. Since
you trusted yourself to the care of one of that nation, I only wonder that you
have not fallen in with more.”
“Of that there is little danger, since William Henry is so many miles in
our front. You forget that I have told you our guide is now a Mohawk, and that
he serves with our forces as a friend.”
“And I tell you that he who is born a Mingo will die a Mingo,”
returned the other positively. “A Mohawk! No, give me a Delaware or a
Mohican for honesty; and when they will fight, which they won’t all do,
having suffered their cunning enemies, the Maquas, to make them women—but
when they will fight at all, look to a Delaware, or a Mohican, for a
warrior!”
“Enough of this,” said Heyward, impatiently; “I wish not to
inquire into the character of a man that I know, and to whom you must be a
stranger. You have not yet answered my question; what is our distance from the
main army at Edward?”
“It seems that may depend on who is your guide. One would think such a
horse as that might get over a good deal of ground atwixt sun-up and
sun-down.”
“I wish no contention of idle words with you, friend,” said
Heyward, curbing his dissatisfied manner, and speaking in a more gentle voice;
“if you will tell me the distance to Fort Edward, and conduct me thither,
your labor shall not go without its reward.”
“And in so doing, how know I that I don’t guide an enemy and a spy
of Montcalm, to the works of the army? It is not every man who can speak the
English tongue that is an honest subject.”
“If you serve with the troops, of whom I judge you to be a scout, you
should know of such a regiment of the king as the Sixtieth.”
“The Sixtieth! you can tell me little of the Royal Americans that I
don’t know, though I do wear a hunting-shirt instead of a scarlet
jacket.”
“Well, then, among other things, you may know the name of its
major?”
“Its major!” interrupted the hunter, elevating his body like one
who was proud of his trust. “If there is a man in the country who knows
Major Effingham, he stands before you.”
“It is a corps which has many majors; the gentleman you name is the
senior, but I speak of the junior of them all; he who commands the companies in
garrison at William Henry.”
“Yes, yes, I have heard that a young gentleman of vast riches, from one
of the provinces far south, has got the place. He is over young, too, to hold
such rank, and to be put above men whose heads are beginning to bleach; and yet
they say he is a soldier in his knowledge, and a gallant gentleman!”
“Whatever he may be, or however he may be qualified for his rank, he now
speaks to you and, of course, can be no enemy to dread.”
The scout regarded Heyward in surprise, and then lifting his cap, he answered,
in a tone less confident than before—though still expressing doubt.
“I have heard a party was to leave the encampment this morning for the
lake shore?”
“You have heard the truth; but I preferred a nearer route, trusting to
the knowledge of the Indian I mentioned.”
“And he deceived you, and then deserted?”
“Neither, as I believe; certainly not the latter, for he is to be found
in the rear.”
“I should like to look at the creature; if it is a true Iroquois I can
tell him by his knavish look, and by his paint,” said the scout; stepping
past the charger of Heyward, and entering the path behind the mare of the
singing master, whose foal had taken advantage of the halt to exact the
maternal contribution. After shoving aside the bushes, and proceeding a few
paces, he encountered the females, who awaited the result of the conference
with anxiety, and not entirely without apprehension. Behind these, the runner
leaned against a tree, where he stood the close examination of the scout with
an air unmoved, though with a look so dark and savage, that it might in itself
excite fear. Satisfied with his scrutiny, the hunter soon left him. As he
repassed the females, he paused a moment to gaze upon their beauty, answering
to the smile and nod of Alice with a look of open pleasure. Thence he went to
the side of the motherly animal, and spending a minute in a fruitless inquiry
into the character of her rider, he shook his head and returned to Heyward.
“A Mingo is a Mingo, and God having made him so, neither the Mohawks nor
any other tribe can alter him,” he said, when he had regained his former
position. “If we were alone, and you would leave that noble horse at the
mercy of the wolves to-night, I could show you the way to Edward myself, within
an hour, for it lies only about an hour’s journey hence; but with such
ladies in your company ’tis impossible!”
“And why? They are fatigued, but they are quite equal to a ride of a few
more miles.”
“’Tis a natural impossibility!” repeated the scout; “I
wouldn’t walk a mile in these woods after night gets into them, in
company with that runner, for the best rifle in the colonies. They are full of
outlying Iroquois, and your mongrel Mohawk knows where to find them too well to
be my companion.”
“Think you so?” said Heyward, leaning forward in the saddle, and
dropping his voice nearly to a whisper; “I confess I have not been
without my own suspicions, though I have endeavored to conceal them, and
affected a confidence I have not always felt, on account of my companions. It
was because I suspected him that I would follow no longer; making him, as you
see, follow me.”
“I knew he was one of the cheats as soon as I laid eyes on him!”
returned the scout, placing a finger on his nose, in sign of caution.
“The thief is leaning against the foot of the sugar sapling, that you can
see over them bushes; his right leg is in a line with the bark of the tree,
and,” tapping his rifle, “I can take him from where I stand,
between the angle and the knee, with a single shot, putting an end to his
tramping through the woods, for at least a month to come. If I should go back
to him, the cunning varmint would suspect something, and be dodging through the
trees like a frightened deer.”
“It will not do. He may be innocent, and I dislike the act. Though, if I
felt confident of his treachery—”
“’Tis a safe thing to calculate on the knavery of an
Iroquois,” said the scout, throwing his rifle forward, by a sort of
instinctive movement.
“Hold!” interrupted Heyward, “it will not do—we must
think of some other scheme—and yet, I have much reason to believe the
rascal has deceived me.”
The hunter, who had already abandoned his intention of maiming the runner,
mused a moment, and then made a gesture, which instantly brought his two red
companions to his side. They spoke together earnestly in the Delaware language,
though in an undertone; and by the gestures of the white man, which were
frequently directed towards the top of the sapling, it was evident he pointed
out the situation of their hidden enemy. His companions were not long in
comprehending his wishes, and laying aside their firearms, they parted, taking