University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Cora stood foremost among the prisoners, entwining
her arms in those of Alice, in the fondest tenderness
of sisterly love. Notwithstanding the fearful
and menacing array of savages on every side of
her, no apprehension on her own account could prevent
the noble-minded maiden from keeping her eyes
fastened on the pale and anxious features of the
trembling Alice. Close at their side stood Heyward,
with an interest in both, that, at such a moment
of intense uncertainty, scarcely knew a preponderance
in favour of her whom he most loved. Hawk-eye
had placed himself a little in the rear, with a
deference to the superior rank of his companions,
that no similarity in the state of their present fortunes
could induce him to forget. Uncas was not
among them.

When perfect silence was again restored, and
after the usual, long, impressive pause, one of the
two aged chiefs, who sate at the side of the patriarch,
arose, and demanded aloud, in very intelligible English—

“Which of my prisoners is la Longue Carabine?”

Neither Duncan nor the scout made any answer.
The former, however, glanced his eyes around the
dark and silent assembly, and recoiled a pace, when
they fell on the malignant visage of Magua. He
saw, at once, that this wily savage had some secret
agency in their present arraignment before the nation,
and determined to throw every possible impediment
in the way of the execution of his sinister
plans. He had witnessed one instance of the summary
punishments of the Indians, and now dreaded
that his companion was to be selected for a second.
In this dilemma, with little or no time for reflection,
he suddenly determined to cloak his invaluable
friend, at any or every hazard to himself. Before
he had time, however, to speak, the question was
repeated in a louder voice, and with a clearer utterance.

“Give us arms,” the young man haughtily replied,
“and place us in yonder woods. Our deeds
shall speak for us!”

“This is the warrior whose name has filled our
ears!” returned the chief, regarding Heyward with
that sort of curious interest, which seems inseparable
from man, when first beholding one of his fellows,
to whom merit or accident, virtue or crime, has
given notoriety. “What has brought the white man
into the camp of the Delawares?”

“My necessities. I come for food, shelter, and
friends.”

“It cannot be. The woods are full of game.
The head of a warrior needs no other shelter than

a sky without clouds, and the Delawares are the enemies,
and not the friends, of the Yengeese. Go—
your mouth has spoken, while your heart has said
nothing.”

Duncan, a little at a loss in what manner to proceed,
remained silent; but the scout, who had listened
attentively to all that passed, now advanced
boldly to the front, and assumed the task of explaining.

“That I did not answer to the call for la Longue
Carabine, was not owing either to shame or fear,”
he said; “for neither one nor the other is the gift
of an honest man. But I do not admit the right of
the Mingoes to bestow a name on one, whose friends
have been mindful of his gifts, in this particular; especially,
as their title is all a lie; `kill-deer' being a
genuine grooved barrel, and no carabyne. I am the
man, however, that got the name of Nathaniel from
my kin; the compliment of Hawk-eye from the Delawares,
who live on their own river; and whom the
Iroquois have presumed to style the `long rifle,'
without any warranty from him who is most concerned
in the matter.”

The eyes of all present, which had hitherto been
gravely scanning the person of Duncan, were now
turned, on the instant, towards the upright, iron frame
of this new pretender to so distinguished an appellation.
It was in no degree remarkable, that there
should be found two who were willing to claim so
great an honour, for impostors, though rare, were
not unknown amongst the natives; but it was altogether
material to the just and severe intentions of the

Delawares, that there should be no mistake in the
matter. Some of their old men consulted together,
in private, and then, as it would seem, they determined
to interrogate their visiter on the subject.

“My brother has said that a snake crept into my
camp,” said the chief to Magua; “which is he?”

The Huron pointed to the scout, but continued
silent.

“Will a wise Delaware believe the barking of a
wolf!” exclaimed Duncan, still more confirmed in
the evil intentions of his ancient enemy; “a dog
never lies, but when was a wolf known to speak
the truth!”

The eyes of Magua flashed fire; but suddenly
recollecting the necessity of maintaining his presence
of mind, he turned away in silent disdain, well
assured that the sagacity of the Indians would not
fail to extract the real merits of the point in controversy.
He was not deceived; for, after another
short consultation, the wary Delaware turned to
him again, and expressed the determination of the
chiefs, though in the most considerate language.

“My brother has been called a liar,” he said;
“and his friends are angry. They will show that he
has spoken the truth. Give my prisoners guns, and
let them prove which is the man.”

Magua affected to consider the expedient, which
he well knew proceeded from distrust of himself, as
a compliment, and made a gesture of acquiescence,
well content that his veracity should be supported by
so skilful a marksman as the scout. The weapons
were instantly placed in the hands of the friendly opponents,

and they were bid to fire, over the heads of
the seated multitude, at an earthen vessel, which lay,
by accident, on a stump, some fifty yards from the
place where they stood.

Heyward smiled to himself, at the idea of such a
competition with the scout, though he determined to
persevere in the deception, until apprised of the designs
of Magua. Raising his rifle, then, with the
utmost care, and renewing his aim three several
times, he fired. The bullet cut the wood within a
few inches of the vessel, and a general exclamation
of satisfaction announced that the shot was considered
a singular proof of great skill in the use of the weapon.
Even Hawk-eye nodded his head, as if he
would say, it was better than he had expected. But,
instead of manifesting an intention to contend with
the successful marksman, he stood leaning on his
rifle for more than a minute, like a man who was
completely buried in deep thought. From this reverie
he was, however, speedily awakened, by one
of the young Indians who had furnished the arms,
and who now touched his shoulder, saying, in exceedingly
broken English—

“Can the pale-face beat it?”

“Yes, Huron!” exclaimed the scout, raising the
short rifle in his right hand, and shaking it at Magua,
with as much apparent ease as though it were a
reed; “yes, Huron, I could strike you now, and no
power of 'arth could prevent the deed! The soaring
hawk is not more certain of the dove, than I am this
moment of you, did I choose to send a bullet to your
heart! Why should I not! Why!—because the gifts

of my colour forbid it, and I might draw down evil
on tender and innocent heads! If you know such a
being as God, thank him, therefore, in your inward
soul—for you have reason!”

The flushed countenance, angry eye, and swelling
figure of the scout, produced a sensation of secret
awe in all that heard him. The Delawares held
their breath in intense expectation; but Magua
himself, even while he distrusted the forbearance of
his enemy, remained as immovable and calm, where
he stood, wedged in by the crowd, as though he grew
to the fatal spot.

“Beat it,” repeated the young Delaware at the
elbow of the scout.

“Beat what; fool!—what!”—exclaimed Hawk-eye,
still flourishing the weapon angrily above his
head, though his eye no longer sought the person of
Magua.

“If the white man is the warrior he pretends,”
said the aged chief, “let him strike nigher to the
mark.”

The scout laughed tauntingly, and aloud—a noise
that produced the startling effect of unnatural sounds
on Heyward—and then dropping the piece, heavily,
into his extended left hand, it was discharged, apparently
by the shock, driving the fragments of the vessel
high into the air, and scattering them on every side
of the stump. Almost at the same instant, the heavy
rattling sound of the rifle was heard, as he suffered it
to fall, contemptuously, to the earth.

The first impression of so strange a scene was
deep and engrossing admiration. Then a low, but

increasing murmur, ran through the multitude, and
finally swelled into sounds, that denoted lively opposition
in the sentiments of the spectators. While some
openly testified their satisfaction at such unexampled
dexterity, by far the larger portion of the tribe were
inclined to believe the success of the shot was the
result of accident. Heyward was not slow to confirm
an opinion that was so favourable to his own
pretensions.

“It was all a chance!” he exclaimed; “none can
shoot without an aim!”

“Chance!” echoed the excited woodsman, who
was now stubbornly bent on maintaining his identity,
at every hazard, and on whom the secret hints of
Heyward to acquiesce in the deception were entirely
lost. “Does yonder lying Huron, too, think it
chance? Give him another gun, and place us face
to face, without cover or dodge, and let Providence,
and our own eyes, decide the matter atween us! I
do not make the offer to you, major; for our blood is
of a colour, and we serve the same master.”

“That the Huron is a liar, is very evident,” returned
Heyward, coolly; “you have, yourself, heard
him assert you to be la Longue Carabine.”

It were impossible to say what violent assertion the
stubborn Hawk-eye would have next made, in his
headlong wish to vindicate his identity, had not the
aged Delaware once more interposed.

“The hawk which comes from the clouds, can return
when he will,” he said; “give them the guns.”

This time the scout seized the rifle with avidity;
nor had Magua, though he watched the movement of

the marksman with jealous eyes, any further cause
for apprehension.

“Now let it be proved, in the face of this tribe of
Delawares, who is the better man,” cried the scout,
tapping the butt of his piece with that finger which
had pulled so many fatal triggers. “You see the
gourd hanging against yonder tree, major; if you are
a marksman, fit for the borders, let me find that you
can break its shell!”

Duncan noted the object, and prepared himself to
renew the trial. The gourd was one of the usual
little vessels used by the Indians, and was suspended
from a dead branch of a small pine, by a thong of
deer-skin, at the full distance of a hundred yards.
So strangely compounded is the feeling of self-love,
that the young soldier, while he knew the utter
worthlessness of the suffrages of his savage umpires,
forgot the sudden motives of the contest, in a wish
to excel. It has been seen, already, that his skill was
far from being contemptible, and he now resolved to
put forth its nicest qualities. Had his life depended
on the issue, the aim of Duncan could not have been
more deliberate and guarded. He fired; and three
or four young Indians, who sprang forward at the
report, announced with a shout, that the ball was in
the tree, a very little on one side of the proper object.
The warriors uttered a common ejaculation of pleasure,
and then turned their eyes, inquiringly, on the
movements of his rival.

“It may do for the Royal Americans!” said
Hawk-eye, laughing once more in his own silent,
heartfelt, manner; “but had my gun often turned so

much from the true line, many a martin, whose skin
is in a lady's muff, would now be in the woods; ay,
and many a bloody Mingo, who has departed to his
final account, would be acting his deviltries at this
very day, atween the provinces. I hope the squaw
who owns the gourd, has more of them in her wigwam,
for this will never hold water again!”

The scout had shook his priming, and cocked his
piece, while speaking; and, as he ended, he threw back
a foot, and slowly raised the muzzle from the earth.
The motion was steady, uniform, and in one direction.
When on a perfect level, it remained for a
single moment without tremor or variation, as
though both man and rifle were carved in stone.
During that stationary instant, it poured forth its
contents, in a bright, glancing, sheet of flame. Again
the young Indians bounded forward, but their hurried
search and disappointed looks announced, that
no traces of the bullet were to be seen.

“Go,” said the old chief to the scout, in a tone
of strong disgust; “thou art a wolf in the skin of a
dog. I will talk to the `long rifle' of the Yengeese.”

“Ah! had I that piece which furnished the name
you use, I would obligate myself to cut the thong, and
drop the gourd, instead of breaking it!” returned
Hawk-eye, perfectly undisturbed by the other's manner.
“Fools, if you would find the bullet of a sharp-shooter
of these woods, you must look in the object,
and not around it?”

The Indian youths instantly comprehended his
meaning—for this time he spoke in the Delaware
tongue—and tearing the gourd from the tree, they

held it on high, with an exulting shout, displaying
a hole in its bottom, which had been cut by the
bullet, after passing through the usual orifice in the
centre of its upper side. At this unexpected exhibition,
a loud and vehement expression of pleasure
burst from the mouth of every warrior present. It
decided the question, and effectually established
Hawk-eye in the possession of his dangerous reputation.
Those curious and admiring eyes which had
been turned again on Heyward, were finally directed
to the weather-beaten form of the scout, who immediately
became the principal object of attention, to
the simple and unsophisticated beings, by whom
he was surrounded. When the sudden and noisy
commotion had a little subsided, the aged chief resumed
his examination.

“Why did you wish to stop my ears?” he said,
addressing Duncan; “are the Delawares fools, that
they could not know the young panther from the
cat?”

“They will yet find the Huron a singing-bird,” said
Duncan, endeavouring to adopt the figurative language
of the natives.

“It is good. We will know who can shut the
ears of men. Brother,” added the chief, turning
his eyes on Magua, “the Delawares listen.”

Thus singled, and directly called on, to declare
his object, the Huron arose, and advancing with
great deliberation and dignity, into the very centre
of the circle, where he stood confronted to the prisoners,
he placed himself in an attitude to speak. Before
opening his mouth, however, he bent his eyes

slowly along the whole living boundary of earnest
faces, as if to temper his expressions to the capacities
of his audience. On Hawk-eye he cast a glance of
respectful enmity; on Duncan, a look of inextinguishable
hatred; the shrinking figure of Alice, he
scarcely deigned to notice; but when his glance met
the firm, commanding, and yet lovely form of Cora,
his eye lingered a moment, with an expression, that
it might have been difficult to define. Then, filled
with his own dark intentions, he spoke in the language
of the Canadas, a tongue that he well knew
was comprehended by most of his auditors.

“The Spirit that made men, coloured them differently,”
commenced the subtle Huron. “Some
are blacker than the sluggish bear. These he
said should be slaves; and he ordered them to
work for ever, like the beaver. You may hear
them groan, when the south wind blows, louder than
the lowing buffaloes, along the shores of the great salt
water, where the big canoes come and go with them in
droves. Some he made with faces paler than the
ermine of the forests: and these he ordered to be
traders; dogs to their women, and wolves to their
slaves. He gave this people the nature of the pigeon;
wings that never tire; young, more plentiful
than the leaves on the trees, and appetites to devour
the earth. He gave them tongues like the false call
of the wild-cat; hearts like rabbits; the cunning of
the hog, (but none of the fox,) and arms longer than
the legs of the moose. With his tongue, he stops the
ears of the Indians; his heart teaches him to pay warriors
to fight his battles; his cunning tells him how to

get together the goods of the earth; and his arms enclose
the land from the shores of the salt water, to
the islands of the great lake. His gluttony makes him
sick. God gave him enough, and yet he wants all.
Such are the pale-faces.

“Some the Great Spirit made with skins brighter
and redder than yonder sun,” continued Magua,
pointing impressively upward to the lurid luminary,
which was struggling through the misty atmosphere
of the horizon; “and these did he fashion to his
own mind. He gave them this island as he had
made it, covered with trees, and filled with game.
The wind made their clearings; the sun and rains
ripened their fruits; and the snows came to tell
them to be thankful. What need had they of roads
to journey by! They saw through the hills! When
the beavers worked, they lay in the shade, and looked
on. The winds cooled them in summer; in winter,
skins kept them warm. If they fought among
themselves, it was to prove that they were men.
They were brave; they were just; they were happy.”

Here the speaker paused, and again looked around
him, to discover if his legend had touched the sympathies
of his listeners. He met every where with
eyes riveted on his own, heads erect, and nostrils
expanded, as though each individual present felt
himself able and willing, singly, to redress the wrongs
of his race.

“If the Great Spirit gave different tongues to his
red children,” he continued, in a low, still, melancholy
voice, “it was, that all animals might understand
them. Some he placed among the snows, with

their cousin the bear. Some he placed near the setting
sun, on the road to the happy hunting grounds.
Some on the lands around the great fresh waters;
but to his greatest, and most beloved, he gave the
sands of the salt lake. Do my brothers know the
name of this favoured people?”

“It was the Lenape!” exclaimed twenty eager
voices, in a breath.

“It was the Lenni Lenape,” returned Magua,
affecting to bend his head in reverence to their former
greatness. “It was the tribes of the Lenape! The
sun rose from the water that was salt, and set in water
that was sweet, and never hid himself from their
eyes. But why should I, a Huron of the woods, tell
a wise people their own traditions? Why remind
them of their injuries; their ancient greatness; their
deeds; their glory; their happiness—their losses;
their defeats; their misery? Is there not one among
them who has seen it all, and who knows it to be
true? I have done. My tongue is still, but my ears
are open.”

As the voice of the speaker suddenly ceased, every
face and all eyes turned, by a common movement, towards
the venerable Tamenund. From the moment
that he took his seat, until the present instant, the
lips of the patriarch had not severed, nor had scarcely
a sign of life escaped him. He had sate, bent in
feebleness, and apparently unconscious of the presence
he was in, during the whole of that opening
scene, in which the skill of the scout had been so
clearly established. At the nicely graduated sounds of
Magua's voice, however, he had betrayed some evidence

of consciousness, and once or twice he had
even raised his head, as if to listen. But when the
crafty Huron spoke of his nation by name, the eyelids
of the old man raised themselves, and he looked
out upon the multitude, with that sort of dull, unmeaning
expression, which might be supposed to belong
to the countenance of a spectre. Then he
made an effort to rise, and being upheld by his supporters,
he gained his feet, in a posture commanding
by its dignity, while he tottered with weakness.

“Who calls upon the children of the Lenape!”
he said, in a deep, guttural voice, that was rendered
awfully audible by the breathless silence of the multitude;
“who speaks of things gone! Does not the
egg become a worm—the worm a fly—and perish!
Why tell the Delawares of good that is past? Better
thank the Manitto for that which remains.”

“It is a Wyandot,” said Magua, stepping nigher
to the rude platform on which the other stood; “a
friend of Tamenund.”

“A friend!” repeated the sage, on whose brow a
dark frown settled, imparting a portion of that severity,
which had rendered his eye so terrible in middle
age—“Are the Mingoes rulers of the earth!
What brings a Huron here?”

“Justice. His prisoners are with his brothers,
and he comes for his own.”

Tamenund turned his head towards one of his
supporters, and listened to the short explanation the
man gave. Then facing the applicant, he regarded
him a moment with deep attention; after which, he
said, in a low and reluctant voice—

“Justice is the law of the Great Manitto. My
children, give the stranger food. Then, Huron, take
thine own, and depart.”

On the delivery of this solemn judgment, the patriarch
seated himself, and closed his eyes again, as
if better pleased with the images of his own ripened
experience, than with the visible objects of the
world. Against such a decree, there was no Delaware
sufficiently hardy to murmur, much less oppose
himself. The words were barely uttered, when four
or five of the younger warriors stepping behind Heyward
and the scout, passed thongs so dexterously and
rapidly around their arms, as to hold them both in
instant bondage. The former was too much engrossed
with his precious and nearly insensible burthen,
to be aware of their intentions before they
were executed; and the latter, who considered even
the hostile tribes of the Delawares a superior race
of beings, submitted without resistance. Perhaps,
however, the manner of the scout would not have
been so passive, had he fully comprehended the language
in which the preceding dialogue had been conducted.

Magua cast a look of triumph around the whole
assembly, before he proceeded to the execution of
his purpose. Perceiving that the men were unable
to offer any resistance, he turned his looks on her he
valued most. Cora met his gaze with an eye so
calm and firm, that his resolution wavered. Then
recollecting his former artifice, he raised Alice from
the arms of the warrior, against whom she leaned, and
beckoning Heyward to follow, he motioned for the

encircling crowd to open. But Cora, instead of
obeying the impulse he had expected, rushed to the
feet of the patriarch, and raising her voice, exclaimed
aloud—

“Just and venerable Delaware, on thy wisdom
and power, we lean for mercy! Be deaf to younder
artful and remorseless monster, who poisons thy ears
with falsehoods, to feed his thirst for blood. Thou,
that hast lived long, and that hast seen the evil of
the world, should know how to temper its calamities
to the miserable.”

The eyes of the old man opened heavily, and he
once more looked upward at the multitude. As the
full, piercing tones of the supplicant swelled on his
ears, they moved slowly in the direction of her person,
and finally settled there, in a steady, riveted gaze.
Cora had cast herself to her knees, and with hands
clenched in each other, and pressed upon her bosom,
she remained like a beauteous and breathing model
of her sex, looking up in his faded, but majestic countenance,
with a species of holy reverence. Gradually,
the expression of Tamenund's features changed,
and losing their vacancy in admiration, they lighted
with a portion of that intelligence, which, a century
before, had been wont to communicate his youthful
fire to the extensive bands of the Delawares. Rising,
without assistance, and, seemingly, without an
effort, he demanded, in a voice that startled its auditors
by its firmness—

“What art thou?”

“A woman. One of a hated race, if thou wilt—
a Yengee. But one who has never harmed thee, and

who cannot harm thy people, if she would; who
asks for succour.”

“Tell me, my children,” continued the patriarch,
hoarsely, motioning to those around him, though
his eyes still dwelt upon the kneeling form of Cora,
“where have the Delawares 'camped?”

“In the mountains of the Iroquois; beyond the
clear springs of the Horican.”

“Many parching summers are come and gone,”
continued the sage, “since I drank of the waters of
my own river. The children of Miquon are the
justest white men; but they were thirsty, and they
took it to themselves. Do they follow us so far?

“We follow none; we covet nothing;” answered
the ardent Cora. “Captives, against our wills,
have we been brought amongst you; and we ask but
permission to depart to our own, in peace. Art
thou not Tamenund—the father—the judge—I had
almost said, the prophet—of this people?”

“I am Tamenund, of many days.”

“'Tis now some seven years that one of thy people
was at the mercy of a white chief, on the borders
of this province. He claimed to be of the blood of
the good and just Tamenund. `Go,' said the white
man, `for thy parent's sake, thou art free.' Dost
thou remember the name of that English warrior?”

“I remember, that when a laughing boy,” returned
the patriarch, with the peculiar recollection
of vast age, “I stood upon the sands of the sea-shore,
and saw a big canoe, with wings whiter than the
swan's, and wider than many eagles, come from the
rising sun—”

“Nay, nay; I speak not of a time so very distant;
but of favour shown to thy kindred by one of mine,
within the memory of thy youngest warrior.”

“Was it when the Yengeese and the Dutchemanne
fought for the hunting grounds of the Delawares?
Then Tamenund was a chief, and first laid aside the
bow for the lightning of the pale-faces—”

“Nor yet then,” interrupted Cora again, “by
many ages; I speak of a thing of yesterday. Surely,
surely, you forget it not!”

“It was but yesterday,” rejoined the aged man,
with a touching pathos in his hollow voice, “that
the children of the Lenape were masters of the
world! The fishes of the salt-lake, the birds, the
beasts, and the Mengwe of the woods, owned them
for Sagamores.”

Cora bowed her head in the anguish of disappointment,
and, for a bitter moment, struggled with
her chagrin. Then elevating her rich features and
beaming eyes, she continued, in tones scarcely less
penetrating than the unearthly voice of the patriarch
himself,

“Tell me, is Tamenund a father?”

The old man looked down upon her, from his elevated
stand, with a benignant smile on his wasted
countenance, and then casting his eyes slowly over
the whole assemblage, he answered—

“Of a nation.”

“For myself I ask nothing. Like thee and thine,
venerable chief,” she continued, pressing her hands
convulsively on her heart, and suffering her head to
droop, until her burning cheeks were nearly concealed

in the maze of dark, glossy tresses, that fell
in disorder upon her shoulders, “the curse of my
ancestors has fallen heavily on their child! But
yonder is one, who has never known the weight of
Heaven's displeasure until now. She is the daughter
of an old and failing man, whose days are near their
close. She has many, very many, to love her, and
delight in her; and she is too good, much too precious,
to become the victim of that villain.”

“I know that the pale-faces are a proud and
hungry race. I know that they claim, not only to
have the earth, but that the meanest of their colour is
better than the Sachems of the red man. The dogs
and crows of their tribes,” continued the earnest old
chieftain, without heeding the wounded spirit of his
listener, whose head was nearly crushed to the
earth, in shame, as he proceeded, “would bark and
caw, before they would take a woman to their wigwams,
whose blood was not of the colour of snow.
But let them not boast before the face of the Manitto
too loud. They entered the land at the rising, and
may yet go off at the setting sun! I have often seen
the locusts strip the leaves from the trees, but the
season of blossoms has always come again!”

“It is so,” said Cora, drawing a long breath, as if
reviving from a trance, raising her face, and shaking
back her shining veil, with a kindling eye, that contradicted
the death-like paleness of her countenance;
“but why—it is not permitted us to inquire! There
is yet one of thine own people, who has not been
brought before thee; before thou lettest the Huron
depart in triumph, hear him speak.”

Observing Tamenund to look about him doubtingly,
one of his companions said—

“It is a snake—a red-skin in the pay of the Yengeese.
We keep him for the torture.”

“Let him come,” returned the sage.

Then Tamenund once more sunk into his seat,
and a silence so deep prevailed, while the young
men prepared to obey his simple mandate, that the
leaves, which fluttered in the draught of the light
morning air, were distinctly heard rustling in the surrounding
forest.