University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

A single moment, however, served to convince
the youth that he was mistaken. A hand was laid,
with a powerful pressure, on his arm, and then the
low voice of Uncas muttered in his ears—

“The Hurons are dogs! The sight of a coward's
blood can never make a warrior tremble. The
`gray head' and the Sagamore are safe, and the rifle of
Hawk-eye is not asleep. Go—Uncas and the `open
hand' are now strangers. It is enough.”

Heyward would gladly have heard more, but a
timely effort from his friend, urged him toward the
door, and admonished him of the danger that might
attend the discovery of their intercourse. Slowly
and reluctantly yielding to the necessity, he quitted
the place, and mingled with the throng that hovered
nigh. The dying fires in the clearing, cast a dim
and uncertain light on the dusky figures, that were
silently stalking to and fro; and, occasionally, a
brighter gleam than common glanced into the darkness
of the lodge, and exhibited the figure of Uncas,

still maintaining its upright attitude above the dead
body of the Huron.

A knot of warriors soon entered the place again,
and re-issuing, they bore the senseless remains into
the adjacent woods. After this solemn termination
of the scene, Duncan wandered among the lodges,
unquestioned and unnoticed, endeavouring to find
some trace of her, in whose behalf he incurred the
risk he ran. In the present temper of the tribe, it
would have been easy to have fled and rejoined his
companions, had such a wish crossed his mind.
But, in addition to the never-ceasing anxiety on account
of Alice, a fresher, though feebler, interest in
the fate of Uncas, assisted to chain him to the spot.
He continued, therefore, to stray from hut to hut,
looking into each only to encounter additional disappointments,
until he had made the entire circuit of the
village. Abandoning a species of inquiry that proved
so fruitless, he retraced his steps to the council
lodge, resolved to seek and question David, in order
to put an end to doubts that were becoming painful.

On reaching the building, which had proved alike
the seat of judgment and the place of execution, the
young man found that the excitement had already
subsided. The warriors had re-assembled, and were
now calmly smoking, while they conversed gravely
on the chief incidents of their recent expedition to
the head of the Horican. Though the return of
Duncan was likely to remind them of his character,
and the suspicious circumstances of his visit, it produced
no visible sensation. So far, the terrible
scene that had just occurred, proved favourable to

his views, and he required no other prompter than
his own feelings to convince, him of the expediency
of profiting by so unexpected an advantage.

Without seeming to hesitate, he walked into the
lodge, and took his seat with a gravity that accorded,
admirably, with the deportment of his hosts. A
hasty, but searching glance, sufficed to tell him, that
though Uncas still remained where he had left him,
David had not re-appeared. No other restraint was
imposed on the former, than the watchful looks of a
young Huron, who had placed himself at hand;
though an armed warrior leaned against the post that
formed one side of the narrow door-way. In every
other respect, the captive seemed at liberty; still,
he was excluded from all participation in the discourse,
and possessed much more of the air of some
finely moulded statue, than of a man having life and
volition.

Heyward had, too recently, witnessed a frightful instance
of the prompt punishments of the people, into
whose hands he had fallen, to hazard an exposure by
any officious boldness. He would greatly have preferred
silence and meditation to speech, when a discovery
of his real condition might prove so instantly fatal.
Unfortunately for this prudent resolution, his entertainers
appeared otherwise disposed. He had not long
occupied the seat he had wisely taken, a little in the
shade, when another of the elder warriors, who spoke
the French language, addressed him—

“My Canada father does not forget his children!”
said the chief; “I thank him. An evil spirit lives

in the wife of one of my young men. Can the cunning
stranger frighten him away?”

Heyward possessed some knowledge of the mummery
practised among the Indians, in the cases of
such supposed visitations. He saw, at a glance,
that the circumstance might possibly be improved to
further his own ends. It would, therefore, have been
difficult, just then, to have uttered a proposal, that
would have given him more satisfaction. Aware of
the necessity of preserving the dignity of his imaginary
character, however, he repressed his feelings,
and answered with suitable mystery—

“Spirits differ; some yield to the power of wisdom,
while others are too strong.”

“My brother is a great medicine!” said the cunning
savage; “he will try?”

A gesture of assent was the answer. The Huron
was content with the assurance, and resuming his
pipe, he awaited the proper moment to move. The
impatient Heyward, inwardly execrating the cold
customs of the savages, which required such a sacrifice
to appearances, was fain to assume an air of
indifference, equal to that maintained by the chief,
who was, in truth, a near relative of the afflicted
woman. The minutes lingered, and the delay had
seemed an hour to the adventurer in empiricism,
when the Huron laid aside his pipe, and drew his
robe across his breast, as if about to lead the way to
the lodge of the invalid. Just then, a warrior of
powerful frame darkened the door, and stalking
silently among the attentive groupe, he seated himself
on one end of that low pile of brush, which sustained

Duncan on its other. The latter cast an impatient
look at his neighbour, and felt his flesh creep
with uncontrollable horror, when he found himself in
actual contact with Magua.

The sudden return of this artful and dreaded chief,
caused a delay in the intended departure of the Huron.
Several pipes, that had been extinguished,
were lighted again; while the new comer, without
speaking a word, drew his tomahawk from his girdle,
and filling the bowl on its head, began to inhale the
vapours of the weed through the hollow handle,
with as much indifference, as if he had not been absent
two weary days, on a long and toilsome hunt. Ten
minutes, which appeared so many ages to Duncan,
might have passed in this manner; and the warriors
were fairly enveloped in a could of white smoke,
before one of them uttered the significant word—

“Welcome! Has my friend found the moose?”

“The young men stagger under their burthens,”
returned Magua. “Let `Reed-that-bends' go on
the hunting path; he will meet them.”

A deep and awful silence succeeded the utterance
of the forbidden name. Each pipe dropped from
the lips of its owner, as though all had inhaled an
impurity at the same instant. The smoke wreathed
above their heads in little eddies, and curling in a
spiral form, it ascended swiftly through the opening
in the roof of the lodge, leaving the place beneath
clear of its fumes, and each dark visage distinctly
visible. The eyes of most of the warriors were
riveted on the earth; though a few of the younger
and less gifted of the party, suffered their wild and

glaring balls to roll in the direction of a white headed
savage, who sate between two of the most venerated
chiefs of the tribe. There was nothing in the
air or attire of this Indian, that would seem to entitle
him to such a distinction. The former was rather
depressed, than remarkable for the proud bearing
of the natives; and the latter was such as was commonly
worn by the ordinary men of the nation.
Like most around him, for more than a minute, his
look, too, was on the ground; but trusting his eyes, at
length, to steal a glance aside, he perceived that he
was becoming an object of general attention. Then
he arose, and lifted his voice amid the general silence.

“It was a lie,” he said; “I had no son! He
who was called by that name is forgotten; his blood
was pale, and came not from the veins of a Huron;
the wicked Chippewas cheated my squaw! The
Great Spirit has said, that the family of Wiss-en-tush
should end—he is happy who knows that the evil
of his race dies with himself! I have done.”

The father then looked round and about him, as
if seeking commendation for his stoicism, in the eyes
of his auditors. But the stern customs of his people
had made too severe an exaction of the feeble old
man. The expression of his eye contradicted his
figurative and boastful language, while every muscle
in his swarthy and wrinkled visage was working with
inward anguish. Standing a single minute to enjoy his
bitter triumph, he turned away, as if sickening at the
gaze of men, and veiling his face in his blanket, he
walked from the lodge, with the noiseless step of an
Indian, and sought, in the privacy of his own abode,

the sympathy of one like himself, aged, forlorn, and
childless.

The Indians, who believe in the hereditary transmission
of virtues and defects in character, suffered
him to depart in silence. Then, with an elevation
of breeding that many in a more cultivated
state of society might profitably emulate, one of the
chiefs drew the attention of the young men from the
weakness they had just witnessed, by saying, in a
cheerful voice, addressing himself in courtesy to
Magua, as the newest comer—

“The Delawares have been like bears after the
honey-pots, prowling around my village. But who
has ever found a Huron asleep!”

The darkness of the impending cloud which precedes
a burst of thunder, was not blacker than the
brow of Magua, as he exclaimed—

“The Delawares of the Lakes!”

“Not so. They who wear the petticoats of
squaws on their own river. One of them has been
passing the tribe.”

“Did my young men take his scalp?”

“His legs were good, though his arm is better for
the hoe than the tomahawk,” returned the other,
pointing to the immovable form of Uncas.

Instead of manifesting any womanish curiosity to
feast his eyes with the sight of a captive from a people
he was known to have so much reason to hate, Magua
continued to smoke, with the meditative air that
he usually maintained, when there was no immediate
call on his cunning or his eloquence. Although
secretly amazed at the facts betrayed in the speech of

the aged father, he permitted himself to ask no questions,
reserving all his inquiries for a more suitable
moment. It was only after a sufficient interval, that
he shook the ashes from his pipe, replaced the tomahawk,
tightened his girdle, and arose, casting, for the
first time, a glance in the direction of the prisoner,
who stood a little behind him. The wary, though
seemingly abstracted, Uncas, caught a glimpse of the
movement, and turning suddenly to the light, their
looks met. Near a minute these two bold and untamed
spirits stood regarding one another steadily
in the eye, neither quailing in the least before the
fierce gaze he encountered. The form of Uncas dilated,
and his nostrils opened, like a tiger at bay; but
so rigid and unyielding was his posture, that he might
easily have been converted, by the imagination, into an
exquisite and faultless representation of the warlike
deity of his tribe. The lineaments of the quivering
features of Magua proved more ductile; his countenance
gradually lost its character of defiance in
an expression of ferocious oy, and heaving a breath
from the very bottom of his chest, he pronounced
aloud the formidable name of—

“Le Cerf Agile!”

Each warrior sprang upon his feet at the utterance
of the well-known appellation, and there was
a short period, during which the stoical constancy of
the natives was completely conquered by surprise.
The hated and yet respected name was repeated, as
by one voice, carrying the sound even beyond the
limits of the lodge. The women and children, who
lingered around the entrance, took up the words in an

echo, which was succeeded by another shrill and plaintive
howl. The latter was not yet ended, when the
sensation among the men had entirely abated. Each
one in presence seated himself, as though ashamed
of his precipitation, but it was many minutes before
their meaning eyes ceased to roll towards their captive,
in curious examination of a warrior, who had
so often proved his prowess on the best and proudest
of their nation.

Uncas enjoyed his victory, but was content with
merely exhibiting his triumph, by a quiet and proud
curl of the lip; an emblem of scorn that belongs to
all time and every nation. Magua caught the expression,
and raising his arm, he shook it at the captive—the
light silver ornaments attached to his
bracelet rattling with the trembling agitation of the
limb, as, in a tone of vengeance, he exclaimed, in
English—

“Mohican, you die!”

“The healing waters will never bring the dead
Hurons to life!” returned Uncas, in the music of the
Delawares; “the tumbling river washes their bones!
their men are squaws; their women owls. Go—call
together the Huron dogs, that they may look upon a
warrior. My nostrils are offended; they scent the
blood of a coward!”

The latter allusion struck deep, and the injury
rankled. Many of the Hurons understood the strange
tongue in which the captive spoke, among which
number was Magua. This cunning savage beheld,
and instantly profited by, his advantage. Dropping
the light robe of skin from his shoulder, he stretched
forth his arm, and commenced a burst of his dangerous

and artful eloquence. However much his influence
among his people had been impaired by his
occasional and besetting weakness, as well as by his
desertion of the tribe, his courage, and his fame as
an orator, were undeniable. He never spoke without
auditors, and rarely without making converts to
his opinions. On the present occasion, his native
powers were stimulated by the keenest thirst for revenge.

He again recounted the events of the attack on the
island at Glenn's; the death of his associates; and
the escape of their most formidable enemies. Then
he described the nature and position of the mount
whither he had led such captives as had fallen into
their hands. Of his own bloody intentions towards
the maidens, and of his baffled malice, he made no
mention, but passed rapidly on to the surprise by the
party of “la Longue Carabine,” and its fatal termination.
Here he paused, and looked about him, in
affected veneration for the departed—but, in truth,
to note the effect of his opening narrative. As
usual, every eye was riveted on his face. Each
dusky figure seemed a breathing statue, so motionless
was the posture, so intense the attention of the individual.

Then Magua dropped his voice, which had hitherto
been clear, strong, and elevated, and touched
upon the merits of the dead. No quality that was
likely to command the sympathy of an Indian, escaped
his notice. One had never been known to follow
the chase in vain; another had been indefatigable
on the trail of their enemies. This was brave;

that, generous. In short, he so managed his allusions,
that in a nation which was composed of so
few families, he contrived to strike every chord that
might find, in its turn, some breast in which to vibrate.

“Are the bones of my young men,” he concluded,
“in the burial place of the Hurons! You know
they are not. Their spirits are gone towards the
setting sun, and are already crossing the great waters,
to the happy hunting grounds. But they departed
without food, without guns or knives, without moccasins,
naked and poor, as they were born. Shall
this be? Are their souls to enter the land of the
just, like hungry Iroquois, or unmanly Delawares;
or shall they meet their friends with arms in their
hands, and robes on their backs? What will our
fathers think the tribes of the Wyandots have become?
They will look on their children with a
dark eye, and say, go; a Chippewa has come hither
with the name of a Huron. Brothers, we must not
forget the dead; a red skin never ceases to remember.
We will load the back of this Mohican, until
he staggers under our bounty, and despatch him after
my young men. They call to us for aid, though our
ears are not open; they say, forget us not. When
they see the spirit of this Mohican toiling after them,
with his burthen, they will know we are of that
mind. Then will they go on happy; and our children
will say, `so did our fathers to their friends, so
must we do to them.' What is a Yengee! we have
slain many, but the earth is still pale. A stain on
the name of a Huron can, only, be hid by blood that

comes from the veins of an Indian. Let, then, this
Delaware die.”

The effect of such an harangue, delivered in the
nervous language, and with the emphatic manner of
a Huron orator, could scarcely be mistaken. Magua
had so artfully blended the natural sympathies
with the religious superstition of his auditors, that
their minds, already prepared by custom to sacrifice
a victim to the manes of their countrymen, lost every
vestige of humanity in a wish for instant revenge.
One warrior in particular, a man of wild and ferocious
mien, had been conspicuous for the attention
he had given to the words of the speaker. His countenance
had changed with each passing emotion,
until it settled into a continued and deadly look of
malice. As Magua ended, he arose, and uttering
the yell of a demon, his polished little axe was seen
glancing in the torch light, as he whirled it above
his head. The motion and the cry were too sudden
for words to interrupt his bloody intention. It appeared
as if a bright gleam shot from his hand, which
was crossed at the same moment by a dark and
powerful line. The former was the tomahawk in
its passage; the latter the arm that Magua darted
forward to divert its aim. The quick and ready
motion of the chief was not entirely too late. The
keen weapon cut the short war-plume from the
scalping tuft of Uncas, and passed through the frail
wall of the lodge, as though it were hurled from
some formidable engine.

Duncan had seen the threatening action, and
sprang upon his feet, with a heart which, while it

leaped into his throat, swelled with the most generous
resolution in behalf of his friend. A glance
told him that the blow had failed, and terror changed
to admiration. Uncas stood, still looking his enemy
in the eye, with features that seemed superior
to every emotion. Marble could not be colder,
calmer, or steadier, than the countenance he put upon
this sudden and vindictive attack. Then, as if pitying
a want of skill, which had proved so fortunate to
himself, he smiled, and muttered a few words of contempt,
in his own soft and musical tongue.

“No!” said Magua, after satisfying himself of the
safety of the captive; “the sun must shine upon his
shame; the squaws must see his flesh tremble, or
our revenge will be like the play of boys. Go—take
him where there is silence; let us see if a Delaware
can sleep at night, and, in the morning, die!”

The young men whose duty it was to guard the
prisoner, instantly passed their ligaments of bark
across his arms, and led him from the lodge, amid a
gloomy, profound, and ominous silence. It was
only as the figure of Uncas stood in the opening of
the door, that his firm step hesitated. There he
turned, and in the sweeping and haughty glance that
he threw around the circle of his enemies, Duncan
caught a look, which he was glad to construe into an
expression that he was not entirely deserted by hope.

Magua was content with his success, or too much
occupied with his secret purposes, to push his inquiries
any further. Shaking his mantle, and folding it
on his bosom, he also quitted the place, without pursuing
a subject that might have proved so fatal to the

individual at his elbow. Notwithstanding his rising
resentment, his natural firmness, and his anxiety in
behalf of Uncas, Heyward felt sensibly relieved by
the absence of so dangerous and so subtle a foe.
The excitement produced by the speech gradually
subsided. The warriors resumed their seats, and
clouds of smoke once more filled the lodge. For
near half an hour, not a syllable was uttered, or
scarcely a look cast aside—a grave and meditative
silence being in the ordinary succession to every
scene of violence and commotion, amongst those beings,
who were alike so impetuous, and yet so self-restrained.

When the chief who had solicited the aid of Duncan
had finished his pipe, he made a final and successful
movement towards departing. A motion of
a finger was the intimation he gave the supposed physician
to follow; and passing through the clouds of
smoke, Duncan was glad, on more accounts than
one, to be able, at last, to breathe the pure air of a
cool and refreshing summer evening.

Instead of pursuing his way among those lodges,
where Heyward had already made his unsuccessful
search, his companion turned aside, and proceeded directly
toward the base of an adjacent mountain, which
overhung the temporary village. A thicket of brush
skirted its foot, and it became necessary to proceed
through a crooked and narrow path. The boys had
resumed their sports in the clearing, and were enacting
a mimic chase to the post, among themselves.
In order to render their games as like the reality as
possible, one of the boldest of their number had conveyed

a few brands into some piles of tree-tops, that
had hitherto escaped the burning. The blaze of
one of these fires lighted the way of the chief and
Duncan, and gave a character of additional wildness
to the rude scenery. At a little distance from a
bald rock, and directly in its front, they entered
a grassy opening, which they prepared to cross.
Just then, fresh fuel was added to the fire, and a
powerful light penetrated even to that distant spot.
It fell upon the white surface of the mountain, and
was reflected downward upon a dark and mysterious
looking being, that arose, unexpectedly, in their
path.

The Indian paused, as if doubtful whether to proceed,
and permitted his companion to approach his
side. A large black ball, which at first seemed stationary,
now began to move in a manner, that to the
latter was inexplicable. Again the fire brightened,
and its glare fell more distinctly on the object.
Then even Duncan knew it, by its restless and sideling
attitudes, which kept the upper part of its form
in constant motion, while the animal itself appeared
seated, to be a bear. Though it growled loudly and
fiercely, and there were instants when its glistening
eye-balls might be seen, it gave no other indication of
hostility. The Huron, at least, seemed assured that
the intentions of this singular intruder were peaceable,
for after giving it an attentive examination, he quietly
pursued his course.

Duncan, who knew that the animal was often
found domesticated among the Indians, followed the
example of his companion, believing that some favourite

of the tribe had found its way into the thicket,
in search of food. They passed it unmolested.
Though obliged to come nearly in contact with the
monster, the Huron, who had at first so warily determined
the character of his strange visiter, was now
content with proceeding without wasting a moment
in further examination; but Heyward was unable to
prevent his eyes from looking backward, in a sort of
salutary watchfulness against attacks in the rear.
His uneasiness was in no degree diminished, when
he perceived the beast rolling along their path, and
following their footsteps. He would have spoken,
but the Indian at that moment shoved aside a door
of bark, and entered a cavern in the bosom of the
mountain.

Profiting by so easy a method of retreat, Duncan
stepped after him, and was gladly closing the slight
cover to the opening, when he felt it drawn from his
hand by the beast, whose shaggy form immediately
darkened the passage. They were now in a straight
and long gallery, in a chasm of the rocks, where retreat,
without encountering the animal, was impossible.
Making the best of the circumstances, the
young man pressed forward, keeping as close as possible
to his conductor. The bear growled frequently
at his heels, and once or twice its enormous
paws were laid on his person, as though disposed to
prevent his further passage into the den.

How long the nerves of Heyward would have sustained
him in this extraordinary situation, it might
be difficult to decide, for, happily, he soon found
relief. A glimmer of light had constantly been

in their front, and they now arrived at the place
whence it proceeded.

A large cavity in the rock had been rudely fitted
to answer the purposes of many apartments. The
subdivisions were simple, but ingenious; being composed
of stone, sticks, and bark, intermingled. Openings
above admitted the light by day, and at night
fires and torches supplied the place of the sun. Hither
the Hurons had brought most of their valuables,
especially those which more particularly pertained
to the nation; and hither, as it now appeared, the
sick woman, who was believed to be the victim of
supernatural power, had been transported also, under
an impression, that her tormentor would find
more difficulty in making his assaults through walls
of stone, than through the leafy coverings of the
lodges. The apartment into which Duncan and his
guide first entered, had been exclusively devoted to
her accommodation. The latter approached her
bed-side, which was surrounded by females, in the
centre of whom, Heyward was surprised to find his
missing friend David.

A single look was sufficient to apprise the pretended
leech, that the invalid was far beyond his
powers of healing. She lay in a sort of paralysis,
indifferent to the objects which crowded before her
sight, and happily unconscious of suffering. Heyward
was far from regretting that his mummeries
were to be performed on one who was much too
ill to take an interest in their failure or success.
The slight qualm of conscience which had been excited
by the intended deception, was instantly appeased

at the sight, and he began, busily, to collect
his thoughts, in order to enact his part with suitable
spirit, when he found he was about to be anticipated
in his skill, by an attempt to prove the power of
music.

Gamut, who had stood prepared to pour forth his
spirit in song when the visiters entered, after delaying
a moment, drew a strain from his pipe, and commenced
a hymn, that might have worked a miracle,
had faith in its efficacy been of much avail. He
was allowed to proceed to the close, the Indians
respecting his imaginary infirmity, and Duncan too
glad of the delay to hazard the slightest interruption.
As the dying cadence of his strains was falling on the
ears of the latter, he started aside at hearing them
repeated behind him, in a voice half human and half
sepulchral. Looking around, he beheld the shaggy
monster seated on end, in a shadow of the cavern,
where, while his restless body swung in the uneasy
manner of the animal, it repeated, in a sort of low
growl, sounds, if not words, which bore some slight
resemblance to the melody of the singer.

The effect of so strange an echo, on David, may
better be imagined than described. His eyes opened,
as if he doubted their truth; and his voice became
instantly mute, in excess of wonder. A deep
laid scheme of communicating some important intelligence
to Heyward, was driven from his recollection
by an emotion which very nearly resembled fear,
but which he was fain to believe was admiration.
Under its influence, he exclaimed aloud—“She expects
you, and is at hand”—and precipitately left the
cavern.