University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

The tribe, or rather half-tribe, of Delawares,
which has been so often mentioned, and whose present
place of encampment was so nigh the temporary
village of the Hurons, could assemble about an equal
number of warriors with the latter people. Like
their neighbours, they had followed Montcalm into the
territories of the English crown, and were making
heavy and serious inroads on the hunting grounds of
the Mohawks, though they had seen fit, with the
mysterious reserve so common among the natives,
to withhold their assistance at the moment when it
was most required. The French had accounted for
this unexpected defection on the part of their ally in
various ways. It was the prevalent opinion, however,
that they had been influenced by veneration for
the ancient treaty, that had once made them dependent
on the Iroquois for military protection, and
now rendered them reluctant to encounter their former
masters. As for the tribe itself, it had been
content to announce to Montcalm, through his emissaries,
with Indian brevity, that their hatchets were

dull, and time was necessary to sharpen them. The
politic captain of the Canadas had deemed it wiser
to submit to entertain a passive friend, than, by any
acts of ill-judged severity, to convert him into an
open enemy.

On that morning when Magua led his silent party
from the settlement of the beavers into the forest, in
the manner described, the sun rose upon the Delaware
encampment, as though it had suddenly burst upon
a busy people, actively employed in all the customary
avocations of high noon. The women ran from
lodge to lodge, some engaged in preparing their
morning's meal, a few earnestly bent on seeking the
comforts necessary to their habits, but more pausing
to exchange hasty and whispered sentences with
their friends. The warriors were lounging in groupes,
musing more than they conversed; and when a few
words were uttered, speaking like men who deeply
weighed their opinions. The instruments of the
chase were to be seen in abundance among the
lodges; but none departed. Here and there, a warrior
might be seen examining his arms, with an attention
that is rarely bestowed on the implements,
when no other enemy than the beasts of the forest
are expected to be encountered. And, occasionally,
the eyes of a whole groupe were turned simultaneously
towards a large and silent lodge in the centre of
the village, as if it contained the subject of their
common thoughts.

During the existence of this scene, a man suddenly
appeared at the farthest extremity of that platform
of rock which formed the level of the village. He

was without arms, and his paint tended rather to
soften than increase the natural sternness of his
austere and marked countenance. When in full view
of the Delawares, he stopped, and made a gesture of
amity, by throwing his arm upward towards heaven,
and then letting it fall impressively on his breast.
The inhabitants of the village answered his salute
by a low murmur of welcome, and encouraged him
to advance by similar indications of friendship. Fortified
by these assurances, the dark figure left the
brow of the natural rocky terrace, where it had stood
a moment, drawn in a strong outline against the
blushing morning sky, and moved, with dignity, into
the very centre of the huts. As he approached,
nothing was audible but the rattling of the light silver
ornaments that loaded his arms and neck, and the
tinkling of the little bells that fringed his deer-skin
moccasins. He made, as he advanced, many courteous
signs of greeting to the men he passed, neglecting
to notice the women, however, as though he
deemed their favour, in the present enterprise, of no
importance. When he had reached the groupe, in
which it was evident, by the haughtiness of their
common mien, that the principal chiefs were collected,
the stranger paused, and then the Delawares
saw that the active and erect form that stood before
them, was that of the well known Huron chief,
le Renard Subtil.

His reception was grave, silent, and wary. The
warriors in front stepped aside, opening the way to
their most approved orator by the action; one who

spoke all those languages, that were cultivated among
the northern aborigines.

“The wise Huron is welcome,” said the Delaware,
in the language of the Maquas; “he is come
to eat his `suc-ca-tush' with his brothers of the
lakes!”

“He is come;” repeated Magua, bending his head
with the dignity of an eastern prince.

The chief extended his arm, and taking the other
by the wrist, they once more exchanged their friendly
salutations. Then the Delaware invited his guest
to enter his own lodge, and share his morning meal.
The invitation was accepted, and the two warriors,
attended by three or four of the old men, walked
calmly away, leaving the rest of the tribe devoured
by a desire to understand the reasons of so unusual a
visit, and yet not betraying the least impatience, by
any sign or syllable.

During the short and frugal repast that followed,
the conversation was extremely circumspect, and
related entirely to the events of the hunt, in which
Magua had so lately been engaged. It would have
been impossible for the most finished breeding to
wear more of the appearance of considering the visit
as a thing of course, than did his hosts, notwithstanding
every individual present was perfectly
aware, that it must be connected with some secret
object, and that, probably, of the last importance to
themselves. When the appetites of the whole were
appeased, the squaws removed the trenchers and
gourds, and the two parties began to prepare themselves
for a keen and subtle trial of their wits.

“Is the face of my great Canada father turned
again towards his Huron children?” demanded the
orator of the Delawares.

“When was it ever otherwise!” returned Magua.
“He calls my people his `most beloved.' ”

The Delaware gravely bowed his acquiescence to
what he knew to be false, and continued—

“The tomahawks of your young men have been
very red!”

“It is so; but they are now bright and dull—for
the Yengeese are dead, and the Delawares are our
neighbours!”

The other acknowledged the pacific compliment
by a graceful gesture of the hand, and remained silent.
Then Magua, as if recalled to such a recollection, by
the allusion to the massacre, demanded—

“Does my prisoner give trouble to my brothers?”

“She is welcome.”

“The path between the Hurons and the Delawares
is short, and it is open; let her be sent to my squaws,
if she gives trouble to my brother.”

“She is welcome,” returned the chief of the latter
nation, still more emphatically.

The baffled Magua continued silent several minutes,
apparently indifferent, however, to the repulse
he had received in this, his opening, effort to regain
possession of Cora.

“Do my young men leave the Delawares room
on the mountains for their hunts?” he, at length,
continued.

“The Lenape are rulers of their own hills,” returned
the other, a little haughtily.

“It is well. Justice is the master of a red-skin!
Why should they brighten their tomahawks, and
sharpen their knives against each other! Are there
not pale-faces for enemies!”

“Good!” exclaimed two or three of his auditors
at the same time.

Magua waited a little, to permit his words to soften
the feelings of the Delawares, before he added—

“Have there not been strange moccasins in the
woods? Have not my brothers scented the feet of
white men?”

“Let my Canada father come!” returned the
other, evasively; “his children are ready to see him.”

“When the Great Chief comes, it is to smoke with
the Indians, in their wigwams. The Hurons say,
too, he is welcome. But the Yengeese have long
arms, and legs that never tire! My young men
dreamed they had seen the trail of the Yengeese nigh
the village of the Delawares?”

“They will not find the Lenape asleep.”

“It is well. The warrior whose eye is open, can
see his enemy,” said Magua, once more shifting his
ground, when he found himself unable to penetrate the
caution of his companion. “I have brought gifts to
my brother. His nation would not go on the warpath,
because they did not think it well; but their
friends have remembered where they lived.”

When he had thus announced his liberal intention,
the crafty chief arose, and gravely spread his presents
before the dazzled eyes of his hosts. They consisted

principally of trinkets of little value, plundered
from the slaughtered and captured females of
William Henry. In the division of the baubles, the
cunning Huron discovered no less art than in their
selection. While he bestowed those of greater value
on the two most distinguished warriors, one of whom
was his host, he seasoned his offerings to their inferiors
with such well-timed and apposite compliments,
as left them no grounds of complaint. In short, the
whole ceremony contained such a happy blending of
the profitable with the flattering, that it was not difficult
for the donor immediately to read the effect of
a generosity so aptly mingled with praise, in the eyes
of those he addressed.

This well judged and politic stroke on the part of
Magua, was not without its instantaneous results.
The Delawares lost their stern gravity, in a much
more cordial expression of features; and the host, in
particular, after contemplating his own liberal share
of the spoil, for some moments, with peculiar gratification,
repeated, with strong emphasis, the words—

“My brother is a wise chief. He is welcome!”

“The Hurons love their friends the Delawares,”
returned Magua. “Why should they not! they are
coloured by the same sun, and their just men will
hunt in the same grounds after death. The red-skins
should be friends, and look with open eyes on
the white men. Has not my brother scented spies
in the woods?”

The Delaware, whose name, in English, signified
“Hard-heart,” an appellation that the French
had translated into “Le-cœur-dur,” forgot that

obduracy of purpose, which had probably obtained
him so significant a title. His countenance grew
very sensibly less stern, and he now deigned to answer
more directly.

“There have been strange moccasins about my
camp. They have been tracked into my lodges.”

“Did my brother beat out the dogs?” asked Magua,
without adverting in any manner to the former
equivocation of the chief.

“It would not do. The stranger is always welcome
to the children of the Lenape.”

“The stranger, but not the spy!”

“Would the Yengeese send their women as spies?
Did not the Huron chief say he took women in the
battle?”

“He told no lie. The Yengeese have sent out
their scouts. They have been in my wigwams, but
they found there no one to say welcome. Then
they fled to the Delawares—for say they, the Delawares
are our friends; their minds are turned from
their Canada father!”

This insinuation was a home thrust, and one that,
in a more advanced state of society, would have entitled
Magua to the reputation of a skilful diplomatist.
The recent defection of their tribe had, as they well
knew themselves, subjected the Delawares to much
reproach among their French allies, and they were
now made to feel that their future actions were to be
regarded with jealousy and distrust. There was no
deep insight, into causes and effects, necessary to foresee
that such a situation of things was likely to prove
highly prejudicial to all their future movements.

Their distant villages, their hunting grounds, and
hundreds of their women and children, together with
a material part of their physical force, were all actually
within the limits of the French territory. Accordingly,
this alarming annunciation was received,
as Magua intended, with manifest disapprobation, if
not with alarm.

“Let my father look in my face,” said Le-cœur-dur;
“he will see no change. It is true, my young
men did not go out on the war-path; they had dreams
for not doing so. But they love and venerate the
great white chief.”

“Will he think so, when he hears that his greatest
enemy is fed in the camp of his children! When he
is told, a bloody Yengee smokes at your fire! That
the pale-face, who has slain so many of his friends,
goes in and out among the Delawares! Go—my
great Canada Father is not a fool!”

“Where is the Yengee that the Delawares fear!”
returned the other; “who has slain my young men!
who is the mortal enemy of my Great Father!”

“La Longue Carabine.”

The Delaware warriors started at the well known
name, betraying, by their amazement, they now learnt,
for the first time, that one so famous among the
Indian allies of France, was within their power.

“What does my brother mean?” demanded Le-cœur-dur,
in a tone that, by its wonder, far exceeded
the usual apathy of his race.

“A Huron never lies,” returned Magua, coldly,
leaning his head against the side of the lodge, and
drawing his slight robe across his tawny breast.

“Let the Delawares count their prisoners; they
will find one whose skin is neither red nor pale.”

A long and musing pause succeeded. Then the
chief consulted, apart, with his companions, and messengers
were despatched to collect certain others of
the most distinguished men of the tribe.

As warrior after warrior dropped in, they were
each made acquainted, in turn, with the important
intelligence that Magua had just communicated.
The air of surprise, and the usual, low, deep, guttural
exclamation, were common to them all. The news
spread from mouth to mouth, until the whole encampment
became powerfully agitated. The women
suspended their labours, to catch such syllables
as unguardedly fell from the lips of the consulting
warriors. The boys deserted their sports, and
walking fearlessly among their fathers, looked up in
curious admiration, as they heard the brief exclamations
of wonder they so freely expressed, at the temerity
of their hated foe. In short, every occupation
was abandoned, for the time; and all other pursuits
seemed discarded, in order that the tribe might freely
indulge, after their own peculiar manner, in an open
expression of their feelings.

When the excitement had a little abated, the old
men disposed themselves seriously to a consideration
of that which it became the honour and safety of
their tribe to perform, under circumstances of so
much delicacy and embarrassment. During all these
movements, and in the midst of the general commotion,
Magua had not only maintained his seat, but
the very attitude he had originally taken, against the

side of the lodge, where he continued as immovable,
and, apparently, as unconcerned, as if he had no interest
in the result. Not a single indication of the
future intentions of his hosts, however, escaped his
vigilant eyes. With his consummate knowledge
of the nature of the people with whom he had to
deal, he anticipated every measure on which they
decided; and it might almost be said, that in many
instances, he knew their intentions even before they
became known to themselves.

The council of the Delawares was short. When
it was ended, a general bustle announced that it was
to be immediately succeeded by a solemn and formal
assemblage of the nation. As such meetings were
rare, and only called on occasions of the last importance,
the subtle Huron, who still sate apart, a wily
and dark observer of the proceedings, now knew that
all his projects must be brought to their final issue.
He, therefore, left the lodge, and walked silently
forth to the place, in front of the encampment,
whither the warriors were already beginning to collect.

It might have been half an hour before each individual,
including even the women and children, was
in his place. The delay had been created by the
grave preparations that were deemed necessary to so
solemn and unusual a conference. But, when the sun
was seen climbing above the tops of that mountain,
against whose bosom the Delawares had constructed
their encampment, most were seated; and as his bright
rays darted from behind the outline of trees that fringed
the eminence, they fell upon as grave, as attentive,

and as deeply interested a multitude, as was
probably ever before lighted by his morning beams.
Its number somewhat exceeded a thousand souls.

In a collection of such serious savages, there is
never to be found any impatient aspirant after premature
distinction, standing ready to move his
auditors to some hasty, and, perhaps, injudicious discussion,
in order that his own reputation may be the
gainer. An act of so much precipitancy and presumption,
would seal the downfall of precocious intellect
for ever. It rested solely with the oldest and
most experienced of the men to lay the subject of their
conference before the people. Until such an one
chose to make some movement, no deeds in arms, no
natural gifts, nor any renown as an orator, would have
justified the slightest interruption. On the present
occasion, the aged warrior whose privilege it was to
speak, was silent, seemingly oppressed with the magnitude
of his subject. The delay had already continued
long beyond the usual, deliberative pause, that always
precedes a conference; but no sign of impatience,
or surprise, escaped even the youngest boy.
Occasionally, an eye was raised from the earth, where
the looks of most were riveted, and strayed towards a
particular lodge, that was, however, in no manner distinguished
from those around it, except in the peculiar
care that had been taken to protect it against
the assaults of the weather.

At length, one of those low murmurs that are so
apt to disturb a multitude, was heard, and the whole
nation arose to their feet by a common impulse. At
that instant, the door of the lodge in question opened,

and three men issuing from it, slowly approached
the place of consultation. They were all aged,
even beyond that period to which the oldest present
had reached; but one in the centre, who leaned on
his companions for support, had numbered an amount
of years, to which the human race is seldom permitted
to attain. His frame, which had once been tall
and erect, like the cedar, was now bending under the
pressure of more than a century. The elastic, light
step of an Indian was gone, and in its place, he was
compelled to toil his tardy way over the ground, inch
by inch. His dark, wrinkled countenance, was in
singular and wild contrast with his long white locks,
which floated on his shoulders, in such thickness, as to
announce that generations had probably passed away,
since they had last been shorn.

The dress of this patriarch, for such, considering
his vast age, in conjunction with his affinity and
influence with his people, he might very properly be
termed, was rich and imposing, though strictly after
the simple fashions of the tribe. His robe was of
the finest skins, which had been deprived of their
fur, in order to admit of a hieroglyphical representation
of various deeds in arms, done in former
ages. His bosom was loaded with medals, some in
massive silver, and one or two even in gold, the gifts
of various christian potentates, during the long period
of his life. He also wore armlets, and cinctures above
the ancles, of the latter precious metal. His head,
on the whole of which the hair had been permitted
to grow, the pursuits of war having so long been abandoned,
was encircled by a sort of silver diadem, which,

in its turn, bore lesser and more glittering ornaments,
that sparkled amid the glossy hues of three drooping
ostrich feathers, dyed a deep black, in touching contrast
to the colour of his snow-white locks. His tomahawk
was nearly hid in silver, and the handle of
his knife shone like a horn of solid gold.

So soon as the first hum of emotion and pleasure,
which the sudden appearance of this venerated individual
created, had a little subsided, the name of
“Tamenund” was whispered from mouth to mouth.
Magua had often heard the fame of this wise and
just Delaware; a reputation that even proceeded so
far as to bestow on him the rare gift of holding secret
communion with the Great Spirit, and which has
since transmitted his name, with some slight alteration,
to the white usurpers of his ancient territory, as the
imaginary, tutelar saint* of a vast empire. The
Huron chief, therefore, stepped eagerly out a little
from the throng, to a spot whence he might catch a
nearer glimpse of the features of the man, whose
decision was likely to produce so deep an influence
on his own fortunes.

The eyes of the old man were closed, as though the
organs were wearied with having so long witnessed
the selfish workings of human passions. The colour
of his skin differed from that of most around
him, being richer and darker; the latter hue having
been produced by certain delicate and mazy lines
of complicated and yet beautiful figures, which had
been traced over most of his person by the operation

of tattooing. Notwithstanding the position of
the Huron, he passed the observant and silent Magua
without notice, and leaning on his two venerable
supporters, proceeded to the high place of the
multitude, where he seated himself in the centre of
his nation, with the dignity of a monarch, and the air
of a father.

Nothing could surpass the reverence and affection
with which this unexpected visit, from one who belonged
rather to another world than to this, was received
by his people. After a suitable and decent
pause, the principal chiefs arose, and approaching
the patriarch, they placed his hands reverently on
their heads, seeming to intreat a blessing. The
younger men were content with touching his robe,
or even with drawing nigh his person, in order to
breathe in the atmosphere of one so aged, so just,
and so valiant. None but the most distinguished
among the youthful warriors even presumed so far as
to perform the latter ceremony; the great mass of the
multitude deeming it a sufficient happiness to look
upon a form so deeply venerated, and so well beloved.
When these acts of affection and respect
were performed, the chiefs drew back again to their
several places, and a deep and breathing silence
reigned in the whole encampment.

After a short delay, a few of the young men, to
whom instructions had been whispered by one of the
aged attendants of Tamenund, arose, left the crowd,
and entered the lodge which has already been noted
as the object of so much attention, throughout
that morning. In a few minutes they re-appeared,
escorting the individuals who had caused all

these solemn preparations, towards the seat of judgment.
The crowd opened in a lane, and when the
party had re-entered, it closed in again, forming a
large and dense belt of human bodies, arranged in an
open circle.