University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

The sudden and almost magical change, from the
stirring incidents of the combat, to the stillness that
now reigned around him, acted on the heated imagination
of Heyward like some exciting dream. While
all the images and events he had witnessed remained
deeply impressed on his memory, he felt a difficulty
in persuading himself of their truth. Still ignorant
of the fate of those who had trusted to the aid of the
swift current, he at first listened intently to any signal,
or sounds of alarm, which might announce the
good or evil fortune of their hazardous undertaking.
His attention was, however, bestowed in vain; for with
the disappearance of Uncas, every sign of the adventurers
had been lost, leaving him in total uncertainty
of their subsequent fate.

In a moment of such painful doubt, Duncan did
not hesitate to look about him, without consulting that
protection from the rocks which just before had been
so necessary to his safety. Every effort, however,
to detect the least evidence of the approach of their
hidden enemies, was as fruitless as the inquiry after

his late companions. The wooded banks of the
river seemed again deserted by every thing possessing
animal life. The uproar which had so lately echoed
through the vaults of the forest was gone, leaving
the rush of the waters to swell and sink on the currents
of the air, in the unmingled sweetness of nature.
A fish-hawk, who, secure on the topmost branches of
a dead pine, had been a distant spectator of the fray,
now stooped from his high and ragged perch, and soared,
in wide sweeps, above his prey; while a jay, whose
noisy voice had been stilled by the hoarser cries of the
savages, ventured again to open his discordant throat,
as though once more left in undisturbed possession
of his wild domains. Duncan caught from these natural
accompaniments of the solitary scene a glimmering
of hope, and he began to rally his faculties to
renewed exertions, with something like a reviving
confidence in their success.

“The Hurons are not to be seen,” he said, addressing
David, whose faculties had by no means recovered
from the effects of the stunning blow he had
received; “let us conceal ourselves in the cavern,
and trust the rest to Providence.”

“I remember to have united with two comely maidens,
in lifting up our voices in praise and thanks-giving,”
returned the bewildered singing-master;
“since which time I have been visited by a heavy
judgment for my sins. I have been mocked with the
likeness of sleep, while sounds of discord have rent
my ears; such as might manifest the fullness of time,
and that nature had forgotten her harmony.”

“Poor fellow! thine own period was, in truth, near

its accomplishment! But arouse, and come with me;
I will lead you where all other sounds, but those of
your own psalmody, shall be excluded.”

“There is melody in the fall of the cataract, and
the rushing of many waters is sweet to the senses!”
said David, pressing his hand confusedly on his brow.
“Is not the air yet filled with shrieks and cries, as
though the departed spirits of the damned—”

“Not now, not now,” interrupted the impatient
Heyward, “they have ceased; and they who raised
them, I trust in God, they are gone too! every thing
but the water is still and at peace; in, then, where
you may create those sounds you love so well to
hear.”

David smiled sadly, though not without a momentary
gleam of pleasure lighting his countenance, at this allusion
to his beloved vocation. He no longer hesitated
to be led to a spot, which promised such unalloyed
gratification to his wearied senses; and, leaning
on the arm of his companion, he entered the narrow
mouth of the cave. Duncan seized a pile of the
sassafras, which he drew before the passage, studiously
concealing every appearance of an aperture. Within
this fragile barrier he arranged the blankets abandonded
by the foresters, darkening the inner extremity
of the cavern, while its outer received a chastened
light from the narrow ravine, through which
one arm of the river rushed, to form the junction with
its sister branch, a few rods below.

“I like not that principle of the natives, which
teaches them to submit without a struggle, in emergencies
that appear desperate,” he said, while busied

in this employment; “our own maxim, which says,
`while life remains there is hope,' is more consoling,
and better suited to a soldier's temperament. To
you, Cora, I will urge no words of idle encouragement;
your own fortitude and undisturbed reason,
will teach you all that may become your sex; but
cannot we dry the tears of that trembling weeper in
your bosom?”

“I am calmer, Duncan,” said Alice, raising herself
from the arms of her sister, and forcing an appearance
of composure through her tears; “much
calmer, now. Surely, in this hidden spot, we are
safe, we are secret, free from injury; we will hope
every thing from those generous men, who have risked
so much already in our behalf.”

“Now does our gentle Alice speak like a daughter
of Munro!” said Heyward, pausing to press
her hands as he passed towards the outer entrance of
the cavern. “With two such examples of courage
before him, a man would be ashamed to prove other
than a hero.” He then seated himself in the centre
of the cavern, grasping his remaining pistol with a
hand firmly clenched, while his contracted and frowning
eye announced the sullen desperation of his purpose.
“The Hurons, if they come, may not gain
our position so easily as they think,” he lowly muttered;
and dropping his head back against the rock,
he seemed to await the result in patience, though
his gaze was unceasingly bent on the open avenue to
their place of retreat.

With the last sound of his voice, a deep, a long,
and almost breathless silence succeeded. The fresh

air of the morning had penetrated the recess, and
its influence was gradually felt on the spirits of its inmates.
As minute after minute passed by, leaving
them in undisturbed security, the insinuating feeling
of hope was gradually gaining possession of every
bosom, though each one felt reluctant to give utterance
to expectations that the next moment might so fearfully
destroy.

David alone formed an exception to these varying
emotions. A gleam of light from the opening crossed
his wan countenance, and fell upon the pages of
the little volume, whose leaves he was again occupied
in turning, as if searching for some song more
fitted to their condition than any that had yet met his
eye. He was most probably acting all this time under
a confused recollection of the promised consolation
of Duncan. At length, it would seem, his patient
industry found its reward; for, without explanation
or apology, he pronounced aloud the characteristic
appellation of “Isle of Wight,” drew a long, sweet
sound from his pitch-pipe, and then ran through the
preliminary modulations of the air, whose name he
he had just mentioned, with the sweeter tones of his
own musical voice.

“May not this prove dangerous?” asked Cora,
glancing her dark eyes at Major Heyward.

“Poor fellow! his voice is too feeble to be heard
amid the din of the falls,” was the answer; “besides,
the cavern will prove his friend. Let him, then, indulge
his passion, since it may be done without hazard.”

“Isle of Wight!” repeated David, looking about

him with all that imposing dignity with which he had
long been wont to silence the whispering echoes of
his school; “ 'tis a brave tune, and set to solemn
words; let it therefore be sung with meet respect!”

After allowing a moment of awful stillness to enforce
his discipline, the voice of the singer was heard,
in low, murmuring syllables, gradually stealing on
the ear, until it filled the narrow vault, with sounds,
rendered trebly thrilling by the feeble and tremulous
utterance produced by his debility. The melody
which no weakness could destroy, gradually wrought
its sweet influence on the senses of those who heard it.
It even prevailed over the miserable travesty of the
song of David, which, after so much diligence, the singer
had selected from a volume of similar effusions, and
caused the sense to be forgotten, in the insinuating harmony
of the sounds. Alice unconsciously dried her
tears, and bent her melting eyes on the pallid features
of Gamut, with an expression of chastened delight,
that she neither affected, nor wished to conceal.
Cora bestowed an approving smile on the pious efforts
of the namesake of the Jewish prince, and Heyward
soon turned his steady, stern, look from the outlet of
the cavern, to fasten it, with a milder character, on
the face of David, or to meet the wandering beams
which at moments strayed from the humid eyes of
Alice. The open sympathy of the listeners soon stirred
the spirit of the votary of music, whose voice regained
its richness and volume, without losing that
touching softness which proved its secret charm. Exerting
his renovated powers to their utmost, he was
yet filling the arches of the cave with long and full

tones, when a yell burst into the air without, that
instantly stilled his pious strains, choking his voice
suddenly, as though his heart had literally bounded into
the passage of his throat.

“We are lost!” exclaimed Alice, throwing herself
into the expanded arms of Cora.

“Not yet, not yet,” returned the agitated but undaunted
Heyward; “the sound came from the centre
of the island, and it has been produced by the sight
of their dead companions. We are not yet discovered,
and there is still hope.”

Faint and almost despairing as was the prospect of
escape, the words of Duncan were not thrown away,
for it awakened the powers of the sisters in such a
manner, that they awaited the result in silence. A
second yell soon followed the first, when a rush of
voices was heard pouring down the island, from its
upper to its lower extremity, until they reached the
naked rock above the caverns, where, after a shout of
savage triumph, the air continued full of horrible
cries and screams, such as man alone can utter, and
he only when in a state of the fiercest barbarity.

The sounds quickly spread around them in every
direction. Some called to their fellows from the
water's edge, and were answered from the heights
above. Cries were heard in the startling vicinity of
the chasm between the two caves, which mingled
with hoarser yells that arose out of the abyss of the
deep ravine. In short, so rapidly had the savage
sounds diffused themselves over the barren rock, that
it was not difficult for the anxious listeners to imagine

that they could be heard beneath, as, in truth, they
were above, and on every side of them.

In the midst of this tumult, a triumphant yell was
raised within a few feet of the hidden entrance to the
cave. Heyward abandoned every hope, with the
belief it was the signal that they were discovered.
Again the impression passed away, as he heard the
voices collect near the spot where the white man had
so reluctantly abandoned his rifle. Amid the jargon
of the Indian dialects that he now plainly heard, it
was easy to distinguish not only words, but sentences
in the patois of the Canadas. A burst of
voices had shouted, simultaneously, “la Longue Carabine!”
causing the opposite woods to re-echo
with a name which Heyward well remembered to have
heard, had been given by his enemies to a celebrated
hunter and scout of the English camp, and who he
now learnt, for the first time, had been his late companion.

“La Longue Carabine! la Longue Carabine!” passed
from mouth to mouth, until the whole band appeared
to be collected around a trophy, which would
seem to announce the death of its formidable owner.
After a vociferous consultation, which was, at times,
deafened by bursts of savage joy, they again separated,
filling the air with the name of a foe, whose body,
Heyward could collect from their expressions, they
hoped to find concealed in some crevice of the
island.

“Now,” he whispered to the trembling sisters,
“now is the moment of uncertainty! if our place of
retreat escape this scrutiny, we are still safe! In

every event, we are assured, by what has fallen from
our enemies, that our friends have escaped, and in
two short hours we may look for succour from Webb.”

There were now a few minutes of fearful stillness,
during which Heyward well knew that the savages
conducted their search with greater vigilance and
method. More than once he could distinguish their
footsteps, as they brushed the sassafras, causing the
faded leaves to rustle, and the branches to snap. At
length, the pile yielded a little, a corner of a blanket
fell, and a faint ray of light gleamed into the inner
part of the cave. Cora folded Agnes to her bosom
in agony, and Duncan sprang like lightning to his
feet. A shout was at that moment heard, as if issuing
from the centre of the rock, announcing that the
neighbouring cavern had at length been entered. In
a minute, the number and loudness of the voices indicated
that the whole party were collected in and
around that secret place.

As the inner passages to the two caves were so close
to each other, Duncan, believing that escape was no
longer possible, passed David and the sisters, to place
himself between the latter and the first onset of the
terrible meeting. Grown desperate by his situation,
he drew nigh the slight barrier which separated him
only by a few feet from his relentless pursuers, and placing
his face to the casual opening, he even looked
out, with a sort of appalling indifference, on their
movements.

Within reach of his arm was the brawny shoulder
of a gigantic Indian, whose deep and authoritative
voice appeared to give directions to the proceedings

of his fellows. Beyond him again, Duncan could
look into the deep vault opposite, which was filled
with savages, upturning and rifling the humble furniture
of the scout. The wound of David had died
the leaves of sassafras with a colour, that the natives
well knew was anticipating the season. Over
this sign of their success, they set up a howl, like an
opening from so many hounds, who had recovered
their lost trail. After this yell of victory, they tore up
the fragrant bed of the cavern, and bore the branches
into the chasm, scattering the boughs, as if they suspected
them of concealing the person of the man they
had so long hated and feared. One fierce and wild
looking warrior, approached the chief, bearing a load
of the brush, and pointing, exultingly, to the deep red
stains with which it was sprinkled, uttered his joy in
Indian yells, whose meaning Heyward was only enabled
to comprehend, by the frequent repetition of the
name of “la Longue Carabine!” When his triumph
had ceased, he cast the brush on the slight heap that
Duncan had made before the entrance of the second
cavern, and closed the view. His example was followed
by others; who, as they drew the branches from
the cave of the scout, threw them into one pile, adding
unconsciously to the security of those they sought.
The very slightness of the defence was its chief merit,
for no one thought of disturbing a mass of brush,
which all of them believed, in that moment of hurry
and confusion, had been accidentally raised by the
hands of their own party.

As the blankets yielded before the outward pressure,
and the branches settled into the fissure of the

rock by its own weight, forming a compact body,
Duncan once more breathed freely. With a light
step, and lighter heart, he returned to the centre of
the cave, and took the place he had left, where he
could command a view of the opening next the river.
While he was in the act of making this movement,
the Indians, as if changing their purpose by a common
impulse, broke away from the chasm in a body,
and were heard rushing up the island again, towards
the point, whence they had originally descended.
Here another wailing cry betrayed that they were
again collected around the bodies of their dead comrades.

Duncan now ventured to look at his companions;
for, during the most critical moments of their danger,
he had been apprehensive that the anxiety of his
countenance might communicate some additional
alarm, to those who were so little able to sustain it.

“They are gone, Cora!” he whispered; “Alice,
they are returned whence they came, and we are saved!
To heaven, that has alone delivered us from
the grasp of so merciless an enemy, be all the praise!”

“Then to heaven will I return my thanks!” exclaimed
the younger sister, rising from the encircling
arms of Cora, and casting herself, with enthusiastic
gratitude, on the naked rock to her knees; “to that
heaven who has spared the tears of a gray-headed
father; has saved the lives of those I so much love—”

Both Heyward, and the more tempered Cora, witnessed
the act of involuntary emotion with powerful
sympathy, the former secretly believing that piety
had never worn a form so lovely, as it had now assumed

in the youthful person of Alice. Her eyes
were radiant with the glow of her grateful feelings;
the flush of her beauty was again seated on her cheeks,
and her whole soul seemed ready and anxious to pour
out its thanksgivings, through the medium of her eloquent
features. But when her lips moved, the words
they should have uttered appeared frozen by some new
and sudden chill. Her bloom gave place to the
paleness of death; her soft and melting eyes grew
hard, and seemed contracting with horror; while
those hands, which she had raised, clasped in each
other, towards heaven, dropped in horizontal lines before
her, the fingers pointing forward in convulsed
motion. Heyward turned the instant she gave a direction
to his suspicions, and, peering just above the
ledge which formed the threshold of the open outlet
of the cavern, he beheld the malignant, fierce, and savage
features of le Renard Subtil.

In that moment of horrid surprise, the self-possession
of Heyward did not desert him. He observed
by the vacant expression of the Indian's countenance,
that his eye, accustomed to the open air, had not yet
been able to penetrate the dusky light which pervaded
the depth of the cavern. He had even thought of
retreating beyond a curvature in the natural wall,
which might still conceal him and his companions,
when, by the sudden gleam of intelligence that shot
across the features of the savage, he saw it was too
late, and that they were betrayed.

The look of exultation and brutal triumph which
announced this terrible truth, was irresistibly irritating.
Forgetful of every thing but the impulses of

his hot blood, Duncan levelled his pistol and fired.
The report of the weapon made the cavern bellow
like an eruption from a volcano, and when the smoke,
it vomited, had driven away before the current of air
which issued from the ravine, the place so lately occupied
by the features of his treacherous guide was
vacant. Rushing to the outlet, Heyward caught a
glimpse of his dark figure, stealing around a low and narrow
ledge, which soon hid him entirely from his sight.

Among the savages, a frightful stillness succeeded the
explosion, which had just been heard bursting from the
bowels of the rock. But when le Renard raised his
voice in a long and intelligible whoop, it was answered
by a spontaneous yell from the mouth of every Indian
within hearing of the sound. The clamorous noises
again rushed down the island, and before Duncan had
time to recover from the shock, his feeble barrier of
brush was scattered to the winds, the cavern was entered
at both its extremities, and he and his companions
were dragged from their shelter, and borne into the
day, where they stood surrounded by the whole band
of the triumphant Hurons.