University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

It is unusual to find an encampment of the natives,
like those of the more instructed whites, guarded by
the presence of armed men. Well informed of the
approach of every danger, while it is yet at a distance,
the Indian generally rests secure under his
knowledge of the signs of the forest, and the long
and difficult paths that separate him from those
he has most reason to dread. But the enemy
who, by any lucky concurrence of accidents, has
found means to elude the vigilance of the scouts,
will seldom meet with sentinels nearer home to
sound the alarm. In addition to this general usage,
the tribes friendly to the French king knew too well
the weight of the blow that had just been struck, to
apprehend any immediate danger from the hostile
nations that were tributary to the crown of Britain.

When Duncan and David, therefore, found themselves
in the centre of the busy children, who played
the antics already mentioned, it was without the
least previous intimation of their approach. But

so soon as they were observed, the whole of the juvenile
pack raised, by common consent, a single
shrill and warning whoop; and then sunk, as it were,
by magic, from before the sight of their visiters.
The naked, tawny bodies of the crouching urchins,
blended so nicely, at that hour, with the withered
herbage, that at first it seemed as if the earth had, in
truth, swallowed up their forms; though when surprise
had permitted Duncan to bend his own wondering
looks more curiously about the spot, he found
them every where met by dark, quick, and rolling
eye-balls.

Gathering no encouragement from this startling
presage, of the nature of the scrutiny he was likely to
undergo from the more mature judgments of the men,
there was an instant when the young soldier would
gladly have retreated. It was, however, too late to
appear even to hesitate. The cry of the children
had drawn a dozen warriors to the door of the nearest
lodge, where they stood, clustered in a dark and
savage groupe, gravely awaiting the nearer approach
of those who had thus unexpectedly come among
them.

David, in some measure familiarized to the scene,
led the way, with a steadiness that no slight obstacle
was likely to disconcert, into this very building. It
was the principal edifice of the village, though roughly
constructed of the bark and branches of trees; being
the lodge in which the tribe held its councils and
public meetings, during their temporary residence
on the borders of the English province. Duncan
found it difficult to assume the necessary appearance
of unconcern, as he brushed the dark and powerful

frames of the savages who thronged its threshold;
but, conscious that his existence depended on his
presence of mind, he trusted to the discretion of his
companion, whose footsteps he closely followed, endeavouring,
as he proceeded, to rally his thoughts for
the occasion. His blood had stagnated for a moment,
when he found himself in absolute contact with such
fierce and implacable enemies; but he so far mastered
his feelings, as to pursue his way into the centre of the
lodge, with an exterior that did not betray the weakness.
Imitating the example of the deliberate Gamut,
he drew a bundle of fragrant brush from beneath
a pile, that filled a corner of the hut, and seated
himself, in silence.

So soon as their visiter had passed, the observant
warriors fell back from the entrance, and arranging
themselves about him, they seemed patiently to
await the moment when it might comport with the
dignity of the stranger to speak. By far the greater
number stood leaning, in lazy, lounging attitudes,
against the upright posts that supported the crazy
building, while three or four of the oldest and most
distinguished of the chiefs placed themselves, in
their ordinary manner, on the earth, a little more in
advance.

A flaring torch was burning in the place, and
sent its red glare from face to face, and figure to
figure, as it wavered, incostantly, in the currents of
air. Duncan profited by its light, to read, with
jealous looks, the probable character of his reception,
in the countenances of his hosts. But his ingenuity
availed him little, against the cold artifices of

the people he had encountered. The chiefs in front
scarce cast a glance at his person, keeping their
eyes fastened on the ground, with an air that might
have been intended for respect, but which it was
quite easy to construe into distrust. The men, in
shadow, were less reserved. Duncan soon detected
their searching, but stolen looks, which, in truth,
scanned his person and attire inch by inch; leaving
no emotion of the countenance, no gesture, no line of
the paint, nor even the fashion of a garment, unheeded,
and without its secret comment.

At length, one whose hair was beginning to be
sprinkled with gray, but whose sinewy limbs and
firm tread announced that he was still equal to the
arduous duties of manhood, advanced from out the
gloom of a corner, whither he had probably posted
himself to make his observations unseen, and spoke.
He used the language of the Wyandots, or Hurons:
his words were, consequently, unintelligible to Heyward,
though they seemed, by the gestures that accompanied
them, to be uttered more in courtesy than
anger. The latter shook his head, and made a gesture
indicative of his inability to reply.

“Do none of my brothers speak the French or the
English?” he said, in the former language, looking
about him, from countenance to countenance, in
hopes of finding a nod of assent.

Though more than one head turned, as if to catch
the meaning of his words, they remained unanswered.

“I should be grieved to think,” continued Duncan,
speaking slowly, and using the simplest French
of which he was the master, “to believe that none

of this wise and brave nation understand the language
that the `Grand Monarque' uses, when he talks to
his children. His heart would be heavy, did he
believe his red warriors paid him so little respect!”

A long and grave pause succeeded, during which
no movement of a limb, nor any expression of an
eye, betrayed the impression produced by his remark.
Duncan, who knew that silence was a virtue amongst
his hosts, gladly had recourse to the custom, in order
to arrange his ideas. At length, the same warrior,
who had before addressed him, replied, by dryly demanding,
in the slight patois of the Canadas—

“When our Great Father speaks to his people, is
it with the tongue of a Huron?”

“He knows no difference in his children, whether
the colour of the skin be red, or black, or white,”
returned Duncan, evasively; “though chiefly is he
satisfied with the brave Hurons.”

“In what manner will he speak,” demanded the
wary chief, “when the runners count, to him, the
scalps which five nights ago grew on the heads of the
Yengeese?”

“They were his enemies,” said Duncan, shuddering
involuntarily; “and, doubtless, he will say it
is good—my Hurons are very valiant.”

“Our Canada father does not think it. Instead
of looking forward to reward his Indians, his eyes
are turned backward. He sees the dead Yengeese,
but no Huron. What can this mean?”

“A great chief, like him, has more thoughts than
tongues. He looks to see that no enemies are on
his trail.”

“The canoe of a dead warrior will not float on
the Horican,” returned the savage, gloomily. “His
ears are open to the Delawares, who are not our
friends, and they fill them with lies.”

“It cannot be. See; he has bid me, who am a
man that knows the art of healing, to go to his children,
the red Hurons of the Great Lakes, and ask if
any are sick!”

Another long and deep silence succeeded this annunciation
of the character Duncan had assumed.
Every eye was simultaneously bent on his person, as
if to inquire into the truth or falsehood of the declaration,
with an intelligence and keenness, that caused
the subject of their scrutiny to tremble for the result.
He was, however, relieved again, by the former
speaker.

“Do the cunning men of the Canadas paint their
skins,” the Huron, coldly, continued; “we have
heard them boast that their faces were pale?”

“When an Indian chief comes among his white
fathers,” returned Duncan, with great steadiness,
“he lays aside his buffalo robe, to carry the shirt
that is offered him. My brothers have given me
paint, and I wear it.”

A low murmur of applause announced that the
compliment to the tribe was favourably received.
The elderly chief made a gesture of commendation,
which was answered by most of his companions,
who each threw forth a hand, and uttered the usual
brief exclamation of pleasure. Duncan began to
breathe more freely, believing that the weight of his
examination was past; and as he had already prepared

a simple and probable tale to support his pretended
occupation, his hopes of ultimate success
grew brighter.

After a silence of a few moments, as if adjusting
his thoughts, in order to make a suitable answer to the
declaration their guest had just given, another warrior
arose, and placed himself in an attitude to speak.
While his lips were yet in the act of parting, a low,
but fearful sound, arose from the forest, and was immediately
succeeded by a high, shrill yell, that was
drawn out, until it equalled the longest and most
plaintive howl of the wolf. The sudden and terrible
interruption caused Duncan to start from his
seat, unconscious of every thing, but the effect produced
by so frightful a cry. At the same moment,
the warriors glided in a body from the lodge, and
the outer air was filled with loud shouts, that nearly
drowned those awful sounds, which the organs of Duncan
occasionally announced, were still ringing beneath
the arches of the woods. Unable to command
himself any longer, the youth broke from the
place, and presently stood in the centre of a disorderly
throng, that included nearly every thing having life,
within the limits of the encampment. Men, women,
and children; the aged, the infirm, the active, and
the strong, were alike abroad; some exclaiming
aloud, others clapping their hands with a joy that
seemed frantic, and all expressing their savage pleasure
in some unexpected event. Though astounded,
at first, by the uproar, Heyward was soon enabled to
find its solution by the scene that followed.

There yet lingered sufficient light in the heavens,

to exhibit those bright openings among the tree-tops,
where different paths left the clearing to enter the
depths of the wilderness. Beneath one of them, a
line of warriors issued from the woods, and advanced
slowly towards the dwellings. One in front bore a
short pole, on which, as it afterwards appeared,
were suspended several human scalps. The startling
sounds that Duncan had heard, were what the
whites have, not inappropriately, called the “death-halloo;”
and each repetition of the cry was intended
to announce to the tribe, the fate of an enemy.
Thus far the knowledge of Heyward assisted him in
the explanation; and as he now knew that the interruption
was caused by the unlooked-for return of
a successful war-party, every disaggreeable sensation
was quieted, in inward congratulations, for the opportune
relief and insignificance it conferred on himself.

When at the distance of a few hundred feet from
the lodges, the newly arrived warriors halted. Their
plaintive and terrific cry, which was intended to represent,
equally, the wailings of the dead and the
triumph of the victors, had entirely ceased. One of
their number now called aloud, in words that were
far from appalling, though not more intelligible to
those for whose ears they were intended, than their
expressive yells. It would be difficult to convey a
suitable idea of the savage ecstacy with which the
news, thus imparted, was received. The whole encampment,
in a moment, became a scene of the
most violent bustle and commotion. The warriors
drew their knives, and flourishing them on high,

they arranged themselves in two lines, forming a
lane, that extended from the war-party to the lodges.
The squaws seized clubs, axes, or whatever weapon
of offence first offered itself to their hands, and rushed
eagerly to act their part in the cruel game that
was at hand. Even the children would not be excluded;
but boys, little able to wield the instruments,
tore the tomahawks from the belts of their fathers,
and stole into the ranks, apt imitators of the savage
traits exhibited by their parents.

Large piles of brush lay scattered about the clearing,
and a wary and aged squaw was occupied in
firing as many as might serve to light the coming
exhibition. As the flame arose, its power exceeded
that of the parting day, and assisted to render objects,
at the same time, more distinct and more hideous.
The whole scene formed a striking picture, whose
frame was composed by the dark and tall border of
pines. The warriors just arrived were the most distant
figures. A little in advance, stood two men, who
were apparently selected from the rest, as the principal
actors in what was to follow. The light was not
strong enough to render their features distinct, though
it was quite evident, that they were governed by very
different emotions. While one stood erect and
firm, prepared to meet his fate like a hero, the other
bowed his head, as if palsied by terror, or stricken
with shame. The high spirited Duncan felt a powerful
impulse of admiration and pity towards the former,
though no opportunity could offer to exhibit his
generous emotions. He watched his slightest movement,
however, with eager eyes; and as he traced

the fine outline of his admirably proportioned and
active frame, he endeavoured to persuade himself,
that if the powers of man, seconded by such noble resolution,
could bear one harmless through so severe a
trial, the youthful captive before him, might hope for
success in the hazardous race he was about to run.
Insensibly, the young man drew nigher to the swarthy
lines of the Hurons, and scarcely breathed, so intense
became his interest in the spectacle. Just
then the signal yell was given, and the momentary
quiet, which had preceded it, was broken by a burst
of cries, that far exceeded any before heard. The
most abject of the two victims continued motionless;
but the other bounded from the place, at the cry,
with the activity and swiftness of a deer. Instead of
rushing through the hostile lines, as had been expected,
he just entered the dangerous defile, and before
time was given for a single blow, turned short,
and leaping the heads of a row of children, he gained
at once the exterior and safer side of the formidable
array. The artifice was answered by a hundred
voices raised in imprecations, and the whole of the
excited multitude broke from their order, and spread
themselves about the place in wild confusion.

A dozen blazing piles now shed their lurid brightness
on the place, which resembled some unhallowed
and supernatural arena, in which malicious demons
had assembled to act their bloody and lawless rites.
Those forms in the back ground, looked like unearthly
beings, gliding before the eye, and cleaving
the air with frantic and unmeaning gestures; while
the savage passions of such as passed the flames,

were rendered fearfully distinct, by the gleams that
shot athwart their dusky but inflamed visages.

It will easily be understood, that amid such a concourse
of vindictive enemies, no breathing time was
permitted to the fugitive. There was a single moment,
when it seemed as if he would have reached the
forest, but the whole body of his captors threw themselves
before him, and drove him back into the centre
of his relentless persecutors. Turning like a headed
deer, he shot, with the swiftness of an arrow, through
a pillar of forked flame, and passing the whole multitude
harmless, he appeared on the opposite side of
the clearing. Here, too, he was met and turned by
a few of the older and more subtle of the Hurons.
Once more he tried the throng, as if seeking safety
in its blindness, and then several moments succeeded,
during which Duncan believed the active and courageous
young stranger was irretrievably lost.

Nothing could be distinguished but a dark mass of
human forms, tossed and involved in inexplicable
confusion. Arms, gleaming knives, and formidable
clubs, appeared above them, but the blows were evidently
given at random. The awful effect was
heightened by the piercing shrieks of the women, and
the fierce yells of the warriors. Now and then,
Duncan caught a glimpse of a light form cleaving the
air in some desperate bound, and he rather hoped
than believed, that the captive yet retained the command
of his astonishing powers of activity. Suddenly,
the multitude rolled backward, and approached
the spot where he himself stood. The heavy
body in the rear pressed upon the women and children

in front, and bore them to the earth. The
stranger re-appeared in the confusion. Human power
could not, however, much longer endure so severe a
trial. Of this the captive seemed conscious. Profiting
by the momentary opening, he darted from among
the warriors, and made a desperate, and what seemed
to Duncan, a final effort to gain the wood. As if aware
that no danger was to be apprehended from the young
soldier, the fugitive nearly brushed his person in his
flight. A tall and powerful Huron, who had husbanded
his forces, pressed close upon his heels, and
with an uplifted arm, menaced a fatal blow. Duncan
thrust forth a foot, and the shock precipitated
the eager savage, headlong, many feet in advance
of his intended victim. Thought itself is not
quicker than was the motion with which the latter
profited by the advantage; he turned, gleamed like
a meteor again before the eyes of Duncan, and at
the next moment, when the latter recovered his recollection,
and gazed around in quest of the captive,
he saw him quietly leaning against a small painted
post, which stood before the door of the principal
lodge.

Apprehensive that the part he had taken in the escape
might prove fatal to himself, Duncan left the
place without delay. He followed the crowd, which
drew nigh the lodges, gloomy and sullen, like any
other multitude that had been disappointed in an execution.
Curiosity, or, perhaps, a better feeling, induced
him to approach the stranger. He found
him, standing, with one arm cast about the protecting

post, and breathing thick and hard, after his incredible
exertions, but still disdaining to permit a
single sign of suffering to escape. His person was
now protected, by immemorial and sacred usage,
until the tribe in council had deliberated and determined
on his fate. It was not difficult, however, to
foretel the result, if any presage could be drawn
from the feelings of those who crowded the place.

There was no term of abuse known to the Huron
vocabulary, that the disappointed women did not lavishly
expend on the successful stranger. They
flouted at his efforts, and told him, with many and
bitter scoffs, that his feet were better than his hands,
and that he merited wings, while he knew not the use
of an arrow, or a knife. To all this, the captive made
no reply; but was content to preserve an attitude, in
which dignity was singularly blended with disdain.
Exasperated as much by his composure as by his
good fortune, their words became unintelligible, and
were succeeded by shrill, piercing yells. Just then,
the crafty squaw, who had taken the necessary precaution
to fire the piles, made her way through the
throng, and cleared a place for herself in front of
the captive. The squalid and withered person of
this hag, might well have obtained for her the character
of possessing more than human cunning. Throwing
back her light vestment, she stretched forth her
long, skinny, arm in derision, and using the language
of the Lenape, as more intelligible to the subject of
her gibes, she commenced aloud.

“Look you, Delaware!” she said, snapping her
fingers in his face; “your nation is a race of women,

and the hoe is better fitted to your hands than the
gun! Your squaws are the mothers of deer; but if
a bear, or a wild cat, or a serpent, were born among
you, ye would flee! The Huron girls shall make
you petticoats, and we will find you a husband.”

A loud burst of savage and taunting laughter succeeded
this attack, during which the soft and musical
merriment of the younger females, strangely chimed
with the cracked voice of their older and more malignant
companion. But the stranger was superior
to all their efforts. His head was immovable; nor
did he betray the slightest consciousness that any
were present, except when his haughty eye rolled
proudly towards the dusky forms of the warriors,
who stalked in the back ground, silent and sullen
observers of the scene.

Infuriated at the self-command of the captive, the
woman placed her arms akimbo, and throwing herself
into a posture of defiance, she broke out anew,
in a torrent of words, that no art of ours could commit,
successfully, to paper. Her breath was, however,
expended in vain; for, although distinguished
in her nation as a proficient in the art of abuse, she
was permitted to work herself into such a fury, as actually
to foam at the mouth, without causing a
muscle to vibrate in the motionless figure of the
stranger. The effect of his indifference began to extend
itself to the other spectators; and a youngster,
who was just quitting the condition of a boy, to enter
the state of manhood, attempted to assist the termagant,
by flourishing his tomahawk before their victim,
and adding his empty boasts to the taunts of the

woman. Then, indeed, the captive turned his face
towards the light, and looked down on the stripling
with a loftiness of expression, that was even superior
to contempt. At the next moment, he resumed his
quiet and reclining attitude against the post. But
the action and the change of posture had permitted
Duncan to exchange glances with the firm and piercing
eyes of Uncas.

Breathless with amazement, and heavily oppressed
with the critical situation of his friend, Heyward recoiled
before the look, trembling lest its meaning expression
might, in some unknown manner, hasten
the prisoner's fate. There was not, however, any
instant cause for such an apprehension. Just then
a warrior forced his way into the exasperated crowd.
Motioning the women and children aside with a stern
gesture, he took Uncas by the arm, and led him towards
the door of the council lodge. Thither all
the chiefs, and most of the distinguished warriors,
followed, among whom the anxious Heyward found
means to enter, without attracting any dangerous attention
to himself.

A few minutes were consumed in disposing of those
present in a manner suitable to their rank and influence
in the tribe. An order very similar to that
adopted in the preceding interview was observed;
the aged and superior chiefs occupying the area of
the spacious apartment, within the powerful light of
a glaring torch, while their juniors and inferiors
were arranged in the back ground, presenting a dark
outline to the picture, of swarthy and sternly marked
visages. In the very centre of the lodge, immediately

under an opening that admitted the twinkling light
of one or two stars, stood Uncas, calm, elevated, and
collected. His high and haughty carriage was not
lost on his captors, who often bent their looks on his
person, with eyes, which, while they lost none of
their inflexibility of purpose, plainly betrayed their
admiration of the stranger's daring.

The case was different with the individual, whom
Duncan had observed to stand forth with his friend,
previously to the desperate trial of speed; and who,
instead of joining in the chase, had remained, throughout
all its turbulent uproar, like a cringing statue, expressive
of shame and disgrace. Though not a hand
had been extended to greet him, nor yet an eye had
condescended to watch his movements, he had also
entered the lodge, as though impelled by a fate, to
whose decrees he submitted, seemingly, without a
struggle. Heyward profited by the first opportunity
to gaze in his face, secretly apprehensive he might find
the features of another acquaintance, but they proved
to be those of a stranger, and what was still more
inexplicable, of one who bore all the distinctive marks
of a Huron warrior. Instead of mingling with his
tribe, however, he sat apart, a solitary being in a
multitude, his form shrinking into a crouching and
abject attitude, as if anxious to fill as little space as
possible. When each individual had taken his proper
station, and a breathing silence reigned in the
place, the gray-haired chief, already introduced to
the reader, spoke aloud, in the language of the Lenni
Lenape.

“Delaware,” he said, “though one of a nation of

women, you have proved yourself a man, I would
give you food, but he who eats with a Huron, should
become his friend. Rest in peace till the morning
sun, when our words shall be spoken to you.”

“Seven nights, and as many summer days, have I
fasted on the trail of the Hurons,” Uncas coldly replied;
“the children of the Lenape know how to
travel the path of the just, without lingering to eat.”

“Two of my young men are in pursuit of your
companion,” resumed the other, without appearing
to regard the boast of his captive; “when they get
back, then will our wise men say to you—live or die.”

“Has a Huron no ears?” scornfully exclaimed
Uncas; “twice since he has been your prisoner, has
the Delaware heard a gun that he knows! Your
young men will never come back.”

A short and sullen pause succeeded this confident
assertion. Duncan, who understood the Mohican
to allude to the fatal rifle of the scout, bent forward
in earnest observation of the effect it might produce
on the conquerors; but the chief was content with
simply retorting—

“If the Lenape are so skilful, why is one of their
bravest warriors here?”

“He followed in the steps of a flying coward,
and fell into a snare. The cunning beaver may be
caught!”

As Uncas thus replied, he pointed with his finger
towards the solitary Huron, but without deigning to
bestow any other notice on so unworthy an object.
The words of the answer, and the air of the speaker,
produced a powerful sensation among his auditors.

Every eye rolled sullenly toward the individual indicated
by the simple gesture, and a low, threatening
murmur, passed through the crowd. The ominous
sounds reached the outer door, and the women and
children pressing into the throng, no gap had been
left, between shoulder and shoulder, that was not,
now, filled with the dark lineaments of some eager
and curious human countenance.

In the mean time, the more aged chiefs, in the
centre, communed with each other, in short and
broken sentences. Not a word was uttered, that
did not convey the meaning of the speaker, in
the simplest and most energetic form. Again, a
long and deeply solemn pause took place. It was
known, by all present, to be the grave precursor
of a weighty and important judgment. They who
composed the outer circle of faces, were on tiptoe
to gaze; and even the culprit, for an instant, forgot
his shame, in a deeper emotion, and exposed his
abject features, in order to cast an anxious and troubled
glance at the dark assemblage of chiefs. The
deep and impressive silence was finally broken by
the aged warrior, so often named. He arose from
the earth, and moving past the immovable form of
Uncas, placed himself in a dignified and erect attitude
before the offender. At that moment, the
withered squaw, already mentioned, moved into the
circle, in a slow, sideling sort of a dance, holding the
torch, and muttering the indistinct words of what
might have been a species of incantation. Though
her presence was altogether an intrusion, it was unheeded.

Approaching Uncas, she held the blazing brand in
such a manner, as to cast its red glare on his person,
and expose the slightest emotion of his countenance.
The Mohican chief maintained his firm and haughty
attitude; and his eye, so far from deigning to meet
her inquisitive look, dwelt steadily on the distance,
as though it penetrated the obstacles which impeded
the view, and looked deep into futurity. Satisfied
with her examination, she left him, with a slight expression
of pleasure, and proceeded to practise the
same trying experiment on her delinquent countryman.

The young Huron was in his war paint, and very
little of a finely moulded form was concealed by
his attire. The light rendered every limb and joint
discernible, and Duncan turned away in horror,
when he saw they were writhing in irrepressible
agony. The woman was commencing a low and
plaintive howl, at the sad and shameful spectacle,
when the chief put forth his hand, and gently pushed
her aside.

“Reed-that-bends,” he said, addressing the young
culprit by name, and in his proper language, “though
the Great Spirit has made you pleasant to the eyes,
it would have been better that you had not been
born. Your tongue is loud in the village, but in
battle it is still. None of my young men strike the
tomahawk deeper into the war-post—none of them
so lightly on the Yengeese. The enemy know the
shape of your back, but they have never seen the
colour of your eyes. Three times have they called
on you to come, and as often did you forget to answer.

Your name will never be mentioned, again,
in your tribe—it is already forgotten.”

As the chief slowly uttered these words, pausing
impressively between each sentence, the culprit
raised his face, in deference to the other's rank and
years. Shame, horror, and pride, struggled fearfully
in its speaking lineaments. His eye, which was
contracted with inward anguish, gleamed around on
the persons of those whose breath was his fame, and
the latter emotion, for an instant predominated. He
arose to his feet, and baring his bosom, looked steadily
on the keen, glittering knife, that was already upheld
by his inexorable judge. As the weapon passed
slowly into his heart, he even smiled, as if in joy, at
having found death less dreadful than he had anticipated,
and fell heavily on his face, at the feet of the
rigid and unyielding form of Uncas.

The squaw gave a loud and plaintive yell, dashed
the torch to the earth, and buried every thing in
darkness. The whole shuddering groupe of spectators
glided from the lodge, like troubled sprites; and
Duncan thought that he and the yet throbbing body
of the victim of an Indian judgment, had now become
its only tenants.