University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

The Indian had selected for this desirable purpose,
one of those steep, pyramidal hills, which bear
a strong resemblance to artificial mounds, and which
so frequently occur in the valleys of the American
states. The one in question was high, and precipitous;
its top flattened, as usual; but with one of its
sides more than ordinarily irregular. It possessed no
other apparent advantages for a resting place, than
in its elevation and form, which might render defence
easy, and surprise nearly impossible. As Heyward,
however, no longer expected that rescue, which time
and distance now rendered so improbable, he regarded
these little peculiarities with an eye devoid
of interest, devoting himself entirely to the comfort
and condolence of his feebler companions. The
Narragansets were suffered to browse on the branches
of the trees and shrubs, that were thinly scattered
over the summit of the hill, while the remains of
their provisions were spread under the shade of a
beech, that stretched its horizontal limbs like a vast
canopy above them.

Notwithstanding the swiftness of their flight, one
of the Indians had found an opportunity to strike a
straggling fawn with an arrow, and had borne the
more preferable fragments of the victim, patiently
on his shoulders, to the stopping place. Without
any aid from the science of cookery, he was immediately
employed, in common with his fellows, in
gorging himself with this digestable sustenance. Magua
alone sat apart, without participation in the revolting
meal, and apparently buried in the deepest
thought.

This abstinence, so remarkable in an Indian, at
length attracted the notice of Heyward. The young
man willingly believed that the Huron deliberated on
the most eligible manner to elude the vigilance of his
associates, in order to possess himself of the promised
bribe. With a view to assist his plans by any
suggestion of his own, and to strengthen the temptation,
he left the beech, and straggled, as if without
an object, to the spot where le Renard was seated.

“Has not Magua kept the sun in his face long
enough to escape all danger from the Canadians?”
he asked, as though no longer doubtful of the good
intelligence established between them; “and will
not the chief of William Henry be better pleased to
see his daughters before another night may have hardened
his heart to their loss, and will make him less
liberal in his reward?”

“Do the pale faces love their children less in the
morning than at night?” asked the Indian, coldly.

“By no means,” returned Heyward, anxious to
recall his error, if he had made one; “the white

man may, and does often, forget the burial place of
his fathers; he sometimes ceases to remember those
he should love, and has promised to cherish; but the
affection of a parent for his child is never permitted
to die.”

“And is the heart of the white-headed chief soft,
and will he think of the babes that his squaws have
given him? He is hard to his warriors, and his eyes
are made of stone!”

“He is severe to the idle and wicked, but to the
sober and deserving he is a leader, both just and humane.
I have known many fond and tender parents,
but never have I seen a man whose heart was softer
towards his child. You have seen the gray-head in
front of his warriors, Magua, but I have seen his eyes
swimming in water, when he spoke of those children
who are now in your power!”

Heyward paused, for he knew not how to construe
the remarkable expression that gleamed across the
swarthy features of the attentive Indian. At first it
seemed as if the remembrance of the promised reward
grew vivid in his mind, as he listened to the
sources of parental feeling which were to assure its
possession; but as Duncan proceeded, the expression
of joy became so fiercely malignant, that it was impossible
not to apprehend it proceeded from some
passion even more sinister than avarice.

“Go,” said the Huron, suppressing the alarming
exhibition in an instant, in a death-like calmness of
countenance; “go to the dark-haired daughter, and
say, Magua waits to speak. The father will remember
what the child promises.”

Duncan, who interpreted this speech to express a
wish for some additional pledge that the promised gifts
should not be withheld, slowly and reluctantly repaired
to the place where the sisters were now resting from
their fatigue, to communicate its purport to Cora.

“You understand the nature of an Indian's wishes,”
he concluded, as he led her towards the place where
she was expected, “and must be prodigal of your
offers of powder and blankets. Ardent spirits are,
however, the most prized by such as he; nor would
it be amiss to add some boon from your own hand,
with that grace you so well know how to practise.
Remember, Cora, that on your presence of mind
and ingenuity, even your life, as well as that of Alice,
may in some measure depend.”

“Heyward, and yours!”

“Mine is of little moment; it is already sold to my
king, and is a prize to be seized by any enemy who
may possess the power. I have no father to expect
me, and but few friends to lament a fate, which I have
courted with the unsatiable longings of youth after
distinction. But, hush; we approach the Indian.
Magua, the lady, with whom you wish to speak, is
here.”

The Indian rose slowly from his seat, and stood
for near a minute silent and motionless. He then
signed with his hand for Heyward to retire, saying,
coldly—

“When the Huron talks to the women, his tribe
shut their ears.”

Duncan still lingering, as if refusing to comply,
Cora said, with a calm smile—

“You hear, Heyward, and delicacy at least should
urge you to retire. Go to Alice, and comfort her
with our reviving prospects.”

She waited until he had departed, and then turning
to the native, with all the dignity of her sex, in
her voice and manner, she added: “What would le
Renard say to the daughter of Munro?”

“Listen,” said the Indian, laying his hand firmly
upon her arm, as if willing to draw her utmost attention
to his words; a movement that Cora as firmly,
but quietly repulsed, by extricating the limb from his
grasp—“Magua was born a chief and a warrior
among the red Hurons of the lakes; he saw the suns
of twenty summers make the snows of twenty winters
run off in the streams, before he saw a pale-face;
and he was happy! Then his Canada fathers came
into the woods, and taught him to drink the fire-water,
and he became a rascal. The Hurons drove
him from the graves of his fathers, as they would chase
the hunted buffalo. He ran down the shores of the
lakes, and followed their outlet to the `city of cannon.'
There he hunted and fished, till the people chased
him again through the woods into the arms of his enemies.
The chief, who was born a Huron, was at last
a warrior among the Mohawks!”

“Something like this I had heard before,” said
Cora, observing that he paused to suppress those
passions which began to burn with too bright a flame,
as he recalled the recollection of his supposed injuries.

“Was it the fault of le Renard that his head was
not made of rock? Who gave him the fire-water?

who made him a villain? 'Twas the pale-faces, the
people of your own colour.”

“And am I answerable that thoughtless and unprincipled
men exist, whose shades of countenance
may resemble mine?” Cora calmly demanded of the
excited savage.

“No; Magua is a man, and not a fool; such as
you never open their lips to the burning stream; the
Great Spirit has given you wisdom!”

“What then have I to do, or say, in the matter of
your misfortunes, not to say of your errors?”

“Listen,” repeated the Indian, resuming his earnest
attitude; “when his English and French fathers
dug up the hatchet, le Renard struck the war-post of
the Mohawks, and went out against his own nation.
The pale-faces have driven the red-skins from their
hunting grounds, and now, when they fight, a white
man leads the way. The old chief of Horican, your
father, was the great captain of our war party. He
said to the Mohawks do this, and do that, and he was
minded. He made a law, that if an Indian swallowed
the fire-water, and came into the cloth wigwams of
his warriors, it should not be forgotten. Magua
foolishly opened his mouth, and the hot liquor led him
into the cabin of Munro. What did the gray-head?
let his daughter say.”

“He forgot not his words, and did justice, by punishing
the offender,” said the undaunted maiden.

“Justice!” repeated the Indian, casting an oblique
glance of the most ferocious expression at her unyielding
countenance; “is it justice to make evil,
and then punish for it! Magua was not himself; it

was the fire-water that spoke and acted for him! but
Munro did not believe it. The Huron chief was
tied up before all the pale-faced warriors, and whipped
with sticks, like a dog.”

Cora remained silent, for she knew not how to
palliate this imprudent severity on the part of her
father, in a manner to suit the comprehension of an
Indian.

“See!” continued Magua, tearing aside the slight
calico that very imperfectly concealed his painted
breast; “here are scars given by knives and bullets—of
these a warrior may boast before his nation;
but the gray-head has left marks on the back of the
Huron chief, that he must hide, like a squaw, under
this painted cloth of the whites.”

“I had thought,” resumed Cora, “that an Indian
warrior was patient, and that his spirit felt not, and
knew not, the pain his body suffered?”

“When the Chippewas tied Magua to the stake, and
cut this gash,” said the other, laying his finger proudly
on a deep scar on his bosom, “the Huron laughed
in their faces, and told them, women struck so light!
His spirit was then in the clouds! But when he felt
the blows of Munro, his spirit lay under the birch.
The spirit of a Huron is never drunk; it remembers
for ever!”

“But it may be appeased. If my father has done
you this injustice, show him how an Indian can forgive
an injury, and take back his daughters. You
have heard from Major Heyward—”

Magua shook his head, forbidding the repetition of
offers he so much despised.

“What would you have,” continued Cora, after a
most painful pause, while the conviction forced itself
on her mind, that the too sanguine and generous Duncan
had been cruelly deceived by the cunning of the
savage.

“What a Huron loves—good for good; bad for
bad!”

“You would then revenge the injury inflicted by
Munro, on his helpless daughters. Would it not be
more like a man to go before his face, and take the
satisfaction of a warrior?”

“The arms of the pale-faces are long, and their
knives sharp!” returned the savage, with a malignant
laugh; “why should le Renard go among the muskets
of his warriors, when he holds the spirit of the
gray-head in his hand?”

“Name your intention, Magua,” said Cora, struggling
with herself to speak with steady calmness. “Is
it to lead us prisoners to the woods, or do you contemplate
even some greater evil? Is there no reward, no
means of palliating the injury, and of softening your
heart? At least, release my gentle sister, and pour
out all your malice on me. Purchase wealth by her
safety, and satisfy your revenge with a single victim.
The loss of both his daughters might bring the aged
man to his grave, and where would then be the satisfaction
of le Renard?”

“Listen,” said the Indian again. “The light
eyes can go back to the Horican, and tell the old chief
what has been done, if the dark-haired woman will
swear, by the Great Spirit of her fathers, to tell no
lie.”

“What must I promise?” demanded Cora, still

maintaining a secret ascendancy over the fierce passions
of the native, by the collected and feminine
dignity of her presence.

“When Magua left his people, his wife was given
to another chief; he has now made friends with the
Hurons, and will go back to the graves of his tribe,
on the shores of the great lake. Let the daughter of
the English chief follow, and live in his wigwam for
ever.”

However revolting a proposal of such a character
might prove to Cora, she retained, notwithstanding
her powerful disgust, sufficient self-command
to reply, without betraying the least weakness.

“And what pleasure would Magua find in sharing
his cabin with a wife he did not love; one who would
be of a nation and colour different from his own? It
would be better to take the gold of Munro, and
buy the heart of some Huron maid with his gifts and
generosity.”

The Indian made no reply for near a minute, but
bent his fierce looks on the countenance of Cora, in
such wavering glances, that her eyes sunk with shame,
under an impression, that, for the first time, they had
encountered an expression that no chaste female
might endure. While she was shrinking within herself,
in dread of having her ears wounded by some
proposal still more shocking than the last, the voice
of Magua answered, in its tones of deepest malignancy—

“When the blows scorched the back of the Huron,
he would know where to find a woman to feel the
smart. The daughter of Munro would draw his water,

hoe his corn, and cook his venison. The body of the
gray-head would sleep among his cannon, but his
heart would lie within reach of the knife of le Subtil.”

“Monster! well dost thou deserve thy treacherous
name!” cried Cora, in an ungovernable burst of
filial indignation. “None but a fiend could meditate
such a vengeance! But thou overratest thy power!
You shall find it is, in truth, the heart of Munro you
hold, and that it will defy your utmost malice!”

The Indian answered this bold defiance by a ghastly
smile, that showed an unaltered purpose, while he
motioned her away, as if to close their conference,
for ever. Cora, already regretting her precipitation,
was obliged to comply; for Magua instantly left the
spot, and approached his gluttonous comrades.
Heyward flew to the side of the agitated maiden, and
demanded the result of a dialogue, that he had
watched at a distance with so much interest. But
unwilling to alarm the fears of Alice, she evaded a
direct reply, betraying only by her countenance her
utter want of success, and keeping her anxious looks
fastened on the slightest movements of their captors.
To the reiterated and earnest questions of her sister,
concerning their probable destination, she made no
other answer, than by pointing towards the dark
groupe, with an agitation she could not control, and
murmuring, as she folded Alice to her bosom—

“There, there; read our fortunes in their faces;
we shall see! we shall see!”

The action, and the choked utterance of Cora,
spoke more impressively than any words, and quickly

drew the attention of her companions on that spot,
where her own was riveted with an intenseness,
that nothing but the importance of the stake could
create.

When Magua reached the cluster of lolling savages,
who, gorged with their disgusting meal, lay stretched
on the earth, in a sort of brutal indulgence, he commenced
speaking with the utmost dignity of an Indian
chief. The first syllables he uttered, had the effect
to cause his listeners to raise themselves in attitudes
of respectful attention. As the Huron used his native
language, the prisoners, notwithstanding the
caution of the natives had kept them within the
swing of their tomahawks, could only conjecture the
substance of his harangue, from the nature of those
significant gestures with which an Indian always illustrates
his eloquence.

At first, the language, as well as the action of Magua,
appeared calm and deliberative. When he had
succeeded in sufficiently awakening the attention of his
comrades, Heyward fancied, by his pointing so frequently
toward the direction of the great lakes, that he
spoke of the land of their fathers, and of their distant
tribe. Frequent indications of applause escaped the
listeners, who, as they uttered the expressive “hugh!”
looked at each other in open commendation of the
speaker. Le Renard was too skilful to neglect his
advantage. He now spoke of the long and painful
route by which they had left those spacious hunting
grounds and happy villages, to come and battle
against the enemies of their Canadian fathers. He
enumerated the warriors of the party; their several

merits; their frequent services to the nation; their
wounds, and the number of the scalps they had taken.
Whenever he alluded to any present, (and the subtle
Indian neglected none,) the dark countenance of the
flattered individual gleamed with exultation, nor did
he even hesitate to assert the truth of the words, by gestures
of applause and confirmation. Then the voice
of the speaker fell, and lost the loud, animated tones
of triumph with which he had enumerated their deeds
of success and victory. He described the cataract
of Glenn's; the impregnable position of its rocky
island, with its caverns, and its numerous encircling
rapids and whirlpools; he named the name of `la
Longue Carabine,' and paused until the forest beneath
them had sent up the last echo of a loud and long
yell, with which the hated appellation was received.
He pointed toward the youthful military captive, and
described the death of a favourite warrior, who had
been precipitated into the deep ravine by his hand.
He not only mentioned the fate of him who, hanging
between heaven and earth, had presented such a
spectacle of horror to the whole band, but he acted
anew the terrors of his situation, his resolution and
his death, on the branches of a sapling; and, finally,
he rapidly recounted the manner in which each
of their friends had fallen, never failing to touch upon
their courage, and their most acknowledged virtues.
When this recital of events was ended, his voice once
more changed, and became plaintive, and even musical,
in its low, soft, guttural sounds. He now spoke
of the wives and children of the slain; their destitution;
their misery, both physical and moral; their
distance; and, at last, of their unavenged wrongs.
Then suddenly lifting his voice to a pitch of terrific
energy, he concluded, by demanding—

“Are the Hurons dogs, to bear this? Who shall
say to the wife of Menowgua, that the fishes have his
scalp, and that his nation have not taken revenge!
Who will dare meet the mother of Wassawattimie, that
scornful woman, with his hands clean! What shall
be said to the old men, when they ask us for scalps,
and we have not a hair from a white head to give
them! The women will point their fingers at us.
There is a dark spot on the names of the Hurons, and
it must be hid in blood!—”

His voice was no longer audible in the burst of
rage, which now broke into the air, as if the wood, instead
of containing so small a band, was filled with their
nation. During the foregoing address, the progress of
the speaker was too plainly read by those most interested
in his success, through the medium of the
countenances of the men he addressed. They had
answered his melancholy and mourning, by sympathy
and sorrow; his assertions, by gestures of confirmation;
and his boastings, with the exultation of savages.
When he spoke of courage, their looks were
firm and responsive; when he alluded to their injuries,
their eyes kindled with fury; when he mentioned
the taunts of their women, they dropped
their heads in shame; but when he pointed out
their means of vengeance, he struck a chord which
never failed to thrill in the breast of an Indian.
With the first intimation that it was within their
reach, the whole band sprang upon their feet, as one

man, and giving utterance to their rage for a single
instant, in the most frantic cries, they rushed upon
their prisoners in a body, with drawn knives and uplifted
tomahawks. Heyward threw himself between
the sisters and their enemies, the foremost of whom he
grappled with a desperate strength that for a moment
checked his violence. This unexpected resistance
gave Magua time to interpose, and with rapid enunciation
and animated gestures, he drew the attention of the
band again to himself. In that language he knew so well
how to assume, he diverted his comrades from their
instant purpose, and invited them to prolong the misery
of their victims. His proposal was received
with acclamations, and executed with the swiftness of
thought.

Two powerful warriors cast themselves together
on Heyward, while another was occupied in securing
the less active singing-master. Neither of the
captives, however, submitted without a desperate
though fruitless struggle. Even David hurled his assailant
to the earth; nor was Heyward secured,
until the victory over his companion enabled the Indians
to direct their united force to that object. He
was then bound and fastened to the body of the sapling,
on whose branches Magua had acted the pantomime
of the falling Huron. When the young soldier
regained his recollection, he had the painful certainty
before his eyes, that a common fate was intended for
the whole party. On his right was Cora, in a durance
similar to his own, pale and agitated, but with
an eye, whose steady look still read the proceedings of
their enemies. On his left, the withes which bound

her to a pine, performed that office for Alice which
her trembling limbs refused, and alone kept her
lovely but fragile form from sinking to the ground.
Her hands were clasped before her in prayer, but
instead of looking upward to that power which alone
could rescue them, her unconscious looks wandered
to the countenance of Duncan, with a species of infantile
dependency. David had contended; and the
novelty of the circumstance held him silent, in deliberation,
on the propriety of the unusual occurrence.

The vengeance of the Hurons had now taken a new
direction, and they prepared to execute it, with all
that barbarous ingenuity, with which they were familiarized
by the practice of centuries. Some
sought knots, to raise the blazing pile; one was riving
the splinters of pine, in order to pierce the flesh of
their captives with the burning fragments; and others
bent the tops of two saplings to the earth, in order to
suspend Heyward by the arms between the recoiling
branches. But the vengeance of Magua sought a
deeper and a more malignant enjoyment.

While the less refined monsters of the band prepared,
before the eyes of those who were to suffer,
these well known and vulgar means of torture, he approached
Cora, and pointed out, with the most malign
expression of countenance, the speedy fate that
awaited her—

“Ha!” he added, “what says the daughter of
Munro? Her head is too good to find a pillow in the
wigwam of le Renard; will she like it better when
it rolls about this hill, a plaything for the wolves?

Her bosom cannot nurse the children of a Huron;
she will see it spit upon by Indians!”

“What means the monster!” demanded the astonished
Heyward.

“Nothing!” was the firm but mild reply. “He
is a savage, a barbarous and ignorant savage, and
knows not what he does. Let us find leisure, with
our dying breath, to ask for him penitence and pardon.”

“Pardon!” echoed the fierce Huron, mistaking,
in his anger, the meaning of her words; “the memory
of an Indian is longer than the arm of the palefaces;
his mercy shorter than their justice! Say;
shall I send the yellow-hair to her father, and will you
follow Magua to the great lakes, to carry his water,
and feed him with corn?”

Cora beckoned him away, with an emotion of disgust
she could not control.

“Leave me,” she said, with a solemnity that for
a moment checked the barbarity of the Indian; “you
mingle bitterness in my prayers, and stand between
me and my God!”

The slight impression produced on the savage was,
however, soon forgotten, and he continued pointing,
with taunting irony, towards Alice.

“Look! the child weeps! She is young to die!
Send her to Munro, to comb his gray hairs, and keep
the life in the heart of the old man.”

Cora could not resist the desire to look upon her
youthful sister, in whose eyes she met an imploring
glance, that betrayed the longings of nature.

“What says he, dearest Cora?” asked the trembling

voice of Alice. “Did he speak of sending me
to our father?”

For many moments the elder sister looked upon
the younger, with a countenance that wavered with
powerful and contending emotions. At length she
spoke, though her tones had lost their rich and calm
fulness, in an expression of tenderness, that seemed
maternal.

“Alice,” she said, “the Huron offers us both
life—nay, more than both; he offers to restore Duncan—our
invaluable Duncan, as well as you, to our
friends—to our father—to our heart-stricken, childless
father, if I will bow down this rebellious, stubborn
pride of mine, and consent—”

Her voice became choked, and clasping her hand,
she looked upward, as if seeking, in her agony, intelligence
from a wisdom that was infinite.

“Say on,” cried Alice; “to what, dearest Cora?
Oh! that the proffer were made to me! to save you,
to cheer our aged father! to restore Duncan, how
cheerfully could I die!”

“Die!” repeated Cora, with a calmer and a firmer
voice, “that were easy! Perhaps the alternative
may not be less so. He would have me,” she continued,
her accents sinking under a deep consciousness
of the degradation of the proposal, “follow him
to the wilderness; to go to the habitations of the
Hurons; to remain there: in short, to become his
wife! Speak then, Alice; child of my affections!
sister of my love! And you too, Major Heyward,
aid my weak reason with your counsel. Is life to be
purchased by such a sacrifice? Will you, Alice, receive

it at my hands, at such a price? And you,
Duncan; guide me; control me between you; for I
am wholly yours.”

“Would I!” echoed the indignant and astonished
youth. “Cora! Cora! you jest with our misery!
Name not the horrid alternative again; the thought
itself is worse than a thousand deaths.”

“That such would be your answer, I well knew!”
exclaimed Cora, her cheeks flushing, and her dark
eyes once more sparkling with the glow of the lingering
but momentary emotions of a woman. “What
says my Alice? for her will I submit without another
murmur.”

Although both Heyward and Cora listened with
painful suspense and the deepest attention, no sounds
were heard in reply. It appeared as if the delicate
and sensitive form of Alice had shrunk into itself, as
she listened to this proposal. Her arms had fallen
lengthwise before her, with the fingers moving in
slight convulsions; her head dropped upon her bosom,
and her whole person seemed suspended against
the tree, looking like some beautiful emblem of the
wounded delicacy of her sex, devoid of animation, and
yet keenly conscious. In a few moments, however,
her head began to move slowly, in a sign of deep, unconquerable
disapprobation, and by the time the flush
of maiden pride had diffused itself over her fine features,
and her eye had lighted with the feelings which
oppressed her, she found strength to murmur—

“No, no, no; better that we should die, as we have
lived, together!”

“Then die!” shouted Magua, hurling his tomahawk

with violence at the unresisting speaker, and
gnashing his teeth with a rage that could no longer
be bridled, at this sudden exhibition of firmness in
the one he believed the weakest of the party. The axe
cleaved the air in front of Heyward, and cutting some
of the flowing ringlets of Alice, buried itself, and quivered
in the tree above her head. The sight maddened
Duncan to desperation. Collecting all his
energies in one effort, he snapped the twigs which
bound him, and rushed upon another savage, who
was preparing, with loud yells, and a more deliberate
aim, to repeat the blow. They encountered
grappled, and fell to the earth together. The naked
body of his antagonist, afforded Heyward no means of
holding his adversary, who glided from his grasp, and
rose again with one knee on his chest, pressing him
down with the weight of a giant. Duncan already saw
the knife gleaming in the air, when a whistling sound
swept past him, and was rather accompanied, than followed,
by the sharp crack of a rifle. He felt his breast
relieved from the load it had endured; he saw the savage
expression of his adversary's countenance change
to a look of vacant wildness, and then the Indian fell
prostrate and dead, on the faded leaves by his side.