with a quick but graceful step, baring his head to the veteran, and dropping
his spotless plume nearly to the earth in courtesy. If the air of Munro was
more commanding and manly, it wanted both the ease and insinuating polish of
that of the Frenchman. Neither spoke for a few moments, each regarding the
other with curious and interested eyes. Then, as became his superior rank and
the nature of the interview, Montcalm broke the silence. After uttering the
usual words of greeting, he turned to Duncan, and continued, with a smile of
recognition, speaking always in French:

“I am rejoiced, monsieur, that you have given us the pleasure of your
company on this occasion. There will be no necessity to employ an ordinary
interpreter; for, in your hands, I feel the same security as if I spoke your
language myself.”

Duncan acknowledged the compliment, when Montcalm, turning to his guard, which
in imitation of that of their enemies, pressed close upon him, continued:

“En arriere, mes enfants—il fait chaud—-retirez-vous un
peu.”

Before Major Heyward would imitate this proof of confidence, he glanced his
eyes around the plain, and beheld with uneasiness the numerous dusky groups of
savages, who looked out from the margin of the surrounding woods, curious
spectators of the interview.

“Monsieur de Montcalm will readily acknowledge the difference in our
situation,” he said, with some embarrassment, pointing at the same time
toward those dangerous foes, who were to be seen in almost every direction.
“Were we to dismiss our guard, we should stand here at the mercy of our
enemies.”

“Monsieur, you have the plighted faith of ‘un gentilhomme
Français’, for your safety,” returned Montcalm, laying his hand
impressively on his heart; “it should suffice.”

“It shall. Fall back,” Duncan added to the officer who led the
escort; “fall back, sir, beyond hearing, and wait for orders.”

Munro witnessed this movement with manifest uneasiness; nor did he fail to
demand an instant explanation.

“Is it not our interest, sir, to betray no distrust?” retorted
Duncan. “Monsieur de Montcalm pledges his word for our safety, and I have
ordered the men to withdraw a little, in order to prove how much we depend on
his assurance.”

“It may be all right, sir, but I have no overweening reliance on the
faith of these marquesses, or marquis, as they call themselves. Their patents
of nobility are too common to be certain that they bear the seal of true
honor.”

“You forget, dear sir, that we confer with an officer, distinguished
alike in Europe and America for his deeds. From a soldier of his reputation we
can have nothing to apprehend.”

The old man made a gesture of resignation, though his rigid features still
betrayed his obstinate adherence to a distrust, which he derived from a sort of
hereditary contempt of his enemy, rather than from any present signs which
might warrant so uncharitable a feeling. Montcalm waited patiently until this
little dialogue in demi-voice was ended, when he drew nigher, and opened the
subject of their conference.

“I have solicited this interview from your superior, monsieur,” he
said, “because I believe he will allow himself to be persuaded that he
has already done everything which is necessary for the honor of his prince, and
will now listen to the admonitions of humanity. I will forever bear testimony
that his resistance has been gallant, and was continued as long as there was
hope.”

When this opening was translated to Munro, he answered with dignity, but with
sufficient courtesy:

“However I may prize such testimony from Monsieur Montcalm, it will be
more valuable when it shall be better merited.”

The French general smiled, as Duncan gave him the purport of this reply, and
observed:

“What is now so freely accorded to approved courage, may be refused to
useless obstinacy. Monsieur would wish to see my camp, and witness for himself
our numbers, and the impossibility of his resisting them with success?”

“I know that the king of France is well served,” returned the
unmoved Scotsman, as soon as Duncan ended his translation; “but my own
royal master has as many and as faithful troops.”

“Though not at hand, fortunately for us,” said Montcalm, without
waiting, in his ardor, for the interpreter. “There is a destiny in war,
to which a brave man knows how to submit with the same courage that he faces
his foes.”

“Had I been conscious that Monsieur Montcalm was master of the English, I
should have spared myself the trouble of so awkward a translation,” said
the vexed Duncan, dryly; remembering instantly his recent by-play with Munro.

“Your pardon, monsieur,” rejoined the Frenchman, suffering a slight
color to appear on his dark cheek. “There is a vast difference between
understanding and speaking a foreign tongue; you will, therefore, please to
assist me still.” Then, after a short pause, he added: “These hills
afford us every opportunity of reconnoitering your works, messieurs, and I am
possibly as well acquainted with their weak condition as you can be
yourselves.”

“Ask the French general if his glasses can reach to the Hudson,”
said Munro, proudly; “and if he knows when and where to expect the army
of Webb.”

“Let General Webb be his own interpreter,” returned the politic
Montcalm, suddenly extending an open letter toward Munro as he spoke;
“you will there learn, monsieur, that his movements are not likely to
prove embarrassing to my army.”

The veteran seized the offered paper, without waiting for Duncan to translate
the speech, and with an eagerness that betrayed how important he deemed its
contents. As his eye passed hastily over the words, his countenance changed
from its look of military pride to one of deep chagrin; his lip began to
quiver; and suffering the paper to fall from his hand, his head dropped upon
his chest, like that of a man whose hopes were withered at a single blow.
Duncan caught the letter from the ground, and without apology for the liberty
he took, he read at a glance its cruel purport. Their common superior, so far
from encouraging them to resist, advised a speedy surrender, urging in the
plainest language, as a reason, the utter impossibility of his sending a single
man to their rescue.

“Here is no deception!” exclaimed Duncan, examining the billet both
inside and out; “this is the signature of Webb, and must be the captured
letter.”

“The man has betrayed me!” Munro at length bitterly exclaimed;
“he has brought dishonor to the door of one where disgrace was never
before known to dwell, and shame has he heaped heavily on my gray hairs.”

“Say not so,” cried Duncan; “we are yet masters of the fort,
and of our honor. Let us, then, sell our lives at such a rate as shall make our
enemies believe the purchase too dear.”

“Boy, I thank thee,” exclaimed the old man, rousing himself from
his stupor; “you have, for once, reminded Munro of his duty. We will go
back, and dig our graves behind those ramparts.”

“Messieurs,” said Montcalm, advancing toward them a step, in
generous interest, “you little know Louis de St. Veran if you believe him
capable of profiting by this letter to humble brave men, or to build up a
dishonest reputation for himself. Listen to my terms before you leave
me.”

“What says the Frenchman?” demanded the veteran, sternly;
“does he make a merit of having captured a scout, with a note from
headquarters? Sir, he had better raise this siege, to go and sit down before
Edward if he wishes to frighten his enemy with words.”

Duncan explained the other’s meaning.

“Monsieur de Montcalm, we will hear you,” the veteran added, more
calmly, as Duncan ended.

“To retain the fort is now impossible,” said his liberal enemy;
“it is necessary to the interests of my master that it should be
destroyed; but as for yourselves and your brave comrades, there is no privilege
dear to a soldier that shall be denied.”

“Our colors?” demanded Heyward.

“Carry them to England, and show them to your king.”

“Our arms?”

“Keep them; none can use them better.”

“Our march; the surrender of the place?”

“Shall all be done in a way most honorable to yourselves.”

Duncan now turned to explain these proposals to his commander, who heard him
with amazement, and a sensibility that was deeply touched by so unusual and
unexpected generosity.

“Go you, Duncan,” he said; “go with this marquess, as,
indeed, marquess he should be; go to his marquee and arrange it all. I have
lived to see two things in my old age that never did I expect to behold. An
Englishman afraid to support a friend, and a Frenchman too honest to profit by
his advantage.”

So saying, the veteran again dropped his head to his chest, and returned slowly
toward the fort, exhibiting, by the dejection of his air, to the anxious
garrison, a harbinger of evil tidings.

From the shock of this unexpected blow the haughty feelings of Munro never
recovered; but from that moment there commenced a change in his determined
character, which accompanied him to a speedy grave. Duncan remained to settle
the terms of the capitulation. He was seen to re-enter the works during the
first watches of the night, and immediately after a private conference with the
commandant, to leave them again. It was then openly announced that hostilities
must cease—Munro having signed a treaty by which the place was to be
yielded to the enemy, with the morning; the garrison to retain their arms, the
colors and their baggage, and, consequently, according to military opinion,
their honor.

CHAPTER XVII.

“Weave we the woof.
The thread is spun.
The web is wove.
The work is done.”—Gray

The hostile armies, which lay in the wilds of the Horican, passed the night of
the ninth of August, 1757, much in the manner they would, had they encountered
on the fairest field of Europe. While the conquered were still, sullen, and
dejected, the victors triumphed. But there are limits alike to grief and joy;
and long before the watches of the morning came the stillness of those
boundless woods was only broken by a gay call from some exulting young
Frenchman of the advanced pickets, or a menacing challenge from the fort, which
sternly forbade the approach of any hostile footsteps before the stipulated
moment. Even these occasional threatening sounds ceased to be heard in that
dull hour which precedes the day, at which period a listener might have sought
in vain any evidence of the presence of those armed powers that then slumbered
on the shores of the “holy lake.”

It was during these moments of deep silence that the canvas which concealed the
entrance to a spacious marquee in the French encampment was shoved aside, and a
man issued from beneath the drapery into the open air. He was enveloped in a
cloak that might have been intended as a protection from the chilling damps of
the woods, but which served equally well as a mantle to conceal his person. He
was permitted to pass the grenadier, who watched over the slumbers of the
French commander, without interruption, the man making the usual salute which
betokens military deference, as the other passed swiftly through the little
city of tents, in the direction of William Henry. Whenever this unknown
individual encountered one of the numberless sentinels who crossed his path,
his answer was prompt, and, as it appeared, satisfactory; for he was uniformly
allowed to proceed without further interrogation.

With the exception of such repeated but brief interruptions, he had moved
silently from the center of the camp to its most advanced outposts, when he
drew nigh the soldier who held his watch nearest to the works of the enemy. As
he approached he was received with the usual challenge:

“Qui vive?”

“France,” was the reply.

“Le mot d’ordre?”

“La victorie,” said the other, drawing so nigh as to be heard in a
loud whisper.

“C’est bien,” returned the sentinel, throwing his musket from
the charge to his shoulder; “vous promenez bien matin, monsieur!”

“Il est necessaire d’être vigilant, mon enfant,” the other
observed, dropping a fold of his cloak, and looking the soldier close in the
face as he passed him, still continuing his way toward the British
fortification. The man started; his arms rattled heavily as he threw them
forward in the lowest and most respectful salute; and when he had again
recovered his piece, he turned to walk his post, muttering between his teeth:

“Il faut être vigilant, en vérité! je crois que nous avons là, un caporal
qui ne dort jamais!”

The officer proceeded, without affecting to hear the words which escaped the
sentinel in his surprise; nor did he again pause until he had reached the low
strand, and in a somewhat dangerous vicinity to the western water bastion of
the fort. The light of an obscure moon was just sufficient to render objects,
though dim, perceptible in their outlines. He, therefore, took the precaution
to place himself against the trunk of a tree, where he leaned for many minutes,
and seemed to contemplate the dark and silent mounds of the English works in
profound attention. His gaze at the ramparts was not that of a curious or idle
spectator; but his looks wandered from point to point, denoting his knowledge
of military usages, and betraying that his search was not unaccompanied by
distrust. At length he appeared satisfied; and having cast his eyes impatiently
upward toward the summit of the eastern mountain, as if anticipating the
approach of the morning, he was in the act of turning on his footsteps, when a
light sound on the nearest angle of the bastion caught his ear, and induced him
to remain.

Just then a figure was seen to approach the edge of the rampart, where it
stood, apparently contemplating in its turn the distant tents of the French
encampment. Its head was then turned toward the east, as though equally anxious
for the appearance of light, when the form leaned against the mound, and seemed
to gaze upon the glassy expanse of the waters, which, like a submarine
firmament, glittered with its thousand mimic stars. The melancholy air, the
hour, together with the vast frame of the man who thus leaned, musing, against
the English ramparts, left no doubt as to his person in the mind of the
observant spectator. Delicacy, no less than prudence, now urged him to retire;
and he had moved cautiously round the body of the tree for that purpose, when
another sound drew his attention, and once more arrested his footsteps. It was
a low and almost inaudible movement of the water, and was succeeded by a
grating of pebbles one against the other. In a moment he saw a dark form rise,
as it were, out of the lake, and steal without further noise to the land,
within a few feet of the place where he himself stood. A rifle next slowly rose
between his eyes and the watery mirror; but before it could be discharged his
own hand was on the lock.

“Hugh!” exclaimed the savage, whose treacherous aim was so
singularly and so unexpectedly interrupted.

Without making any reply, the French officer laid his hand on the shoulder of
the Indian, and led him in profound silence to a distance from the spot, where
their subsequent dialogue might have proved dangerous, and where it seemed that
one of them, at least, sought a victim. Then throwing open his cloak, so as to
expose his uniform and the cross of St. Louis which was suspended at his
breast, Montcalm sternly demanded:

“What means this? Does not my son know that the hatchet is buried between
the English and his Canadian Father?”

“What can the Hurons do?” returned the savage, speaking also,
though imperfectly, in the French language.

“Not a warrior has a scalp, and the pale faces make friends!”

“Ha, Le Renard Subtil! Methinks this is an excess of zeal for a friend
who was so late an enemy! How many suns have set since Le Renard struck the
war-post of the English?”

“Where is that sun?” demanded the sullen savage. “Behind the
hill; and it is dark and cold. But when he comes again, it will be bright and
warm. Le Subtil is the sun of his tribe. There have been clouds, and many
mountains between him and his nation; but now he shines and it is a clear
sky!”

“That Le Renard has power with his people, I well know,” said
Montcalm; “for yesterday he hunted for their scalps, and to-day they hear
him at the council-fire.”

“Magua is a great chief.”

“Let him prove it, by teaching his nation how to conduct themselves
toward our new friends.”

“Why did the chief of the Canadas bring his young men into the woods, and
fire his cannon at the earthen house?” demanded the subtle Indian.

“To subdue it. My master owns the land, and your father was ordered to
drive off these English squatters. They have consented to go, and now he calls
them enemies no longer.”

“’Tis well. Magua took the hatchet to color it with blood. It is
now bright; when it is red, it shall be buried.”

“But Magua is pledged not to sully the lilies of France. The enemies of
the great king across the salt lake are his enemies; his friends, the friends
of the Hurons.”

“Friends!” repeated the Indian in scorn. “Let his father give
Magua a hand.”

Montcalm, who felt that his influence over the warlike tribes he had gathered
was to be maintained by concession rather than by power, complied reluctantly
with the other’s request. The savage placed the fingers of the French
commander on a deep scar in his bosom, and then exultingly demanded:

“Does my father know that?”

“What warrior does not? ’Tis where a leaden bullet has cut.”

“And this?” continued the Indian, who had turned his naked back to
the other, his body being without its usual calico mantle.

“This!—my son has been sadly injured here; who has done
this?”

“Magua slept hard in the English wigwams, and the sticks have left their
mark,” returned the savage, with a hollow laugh, which did not conceal
the fierce temper that nearly choked him. Then, recollecting himself, with
sudden and native dignity, he added: “Go; teach your young men it is
peace. Le Renard Subtil knows how to speak to a Huron warrior.”

Without deigning to bestow further words, or to wait for any answer, the savage
cast his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and moved silently through the
encampment toward the woods where his own tribe was known to lie. Every few
yards as he proceeded he was challenged by the sentinels; but he stalked
sullenly onward, utterly disregarding the summons of the soldiers, who only
spared his life because they knew the air and tread no less than the obstinate
daring of an Indian.

Montcalm lingered long and melancholy on the strand where he had been left by
his companion, brooding deeply on the temper which his ungovernable ally had
just discovered. Already had his fair fame been tarnished by one horrid scene,
and in circumstances fearfully resembling those under which he now found
himself. As he mused he became keenly sensible of the deep responsibility they
assume who disregard the means to attain the end, and of all the danger of
setting in motion an engine which it exceeds human power to control. Then
shaking off a train of reflections that he accounted a weakness in such a
moment of triumph, he retraced his steps toward his tent, giving the order as
he passed to make the signal that should arouse the army from its slumbers.

The first tap of the French drums was echoed from the bosom of the fort, and
presently the valley was filled with the strains of martial music, rising long,
thrilling and lively above the rattling accompaniment. The horns of the victors
sounded merry and cheerful flourishes, until the last laggard of the camp was
at his post; but the instant the British fifes had blown their shrill signal,
they became mute. In the meantime the day had dawned, and when the line of the
French army was ready to receive its general, the rays of a brilliant sun were
glancing along the glittering array. Then that success, which was already so
well known, was officially announced; the favored band who were selected to
guard the gates of the fort were detailed, and defiled before their chief; the
signal of their approach was given, and all the usual preparations for a change
of masters were ordered and executed directly under the guns of the contested
works.

A very different scene presented itself within the lines of the Anglo-American
army. As soon as the warning signal was given, it exhibited all the signs of a
hurried and forced departure. The sullen soldiers shouldered their empty tubes
and fell into their places, like men whose blood had been heated by the past
contest, and who only desired the opportunity to revenge an indignity which was
still wounding to their pride, concealed as it was under the observances of
military etiquette.

Women and children ran from place to place, some bearing the scanty remnants of
their baggage, and others searching in the ranks for those countenances they
looked up to for protection.

Munro appeared among his silent troops firm but dejected. It was evident that
the unexpected blow had struck deep into his heart, though he struggled to
sustain his misfortune with the port of a man.

Duncan was touched at the quiet and impressive exhibition of his grief. He had
discharged his own duty, and he now pressed to the side of the old man, to know
in what particular he might serve him.

“My daughters,” was the brief but expressive reply.

“Good heavens! are not arrangements already made for their
convenience?”

“To-day I am only a soldier, Major Heyward,” said the veteran.
“All that you see here, claim alike to be my children.”

Duncan had heard enough. Without losing one of those moments which had now
become so precious, he flew toward the quarters of Munro, in quest of the
sisters. He found them on the threshold of the low edifice, already prepared to
depart, and surrounded by a clamorous and weeping assemblage of their own sex,
that had gathered about the place, with a sort of instinctive consciousness
that it was the point most likely to be protected. Though the cheeks of Cora
were pale and her countenance anxious, she had lost none of her firmness; but
the eyes of Alice were inflamed, and betrayed how long and bitterly she had
wept. They both, however, received the young man with undisguised pleasure; the
former, for a novelty, being the first to speak.

“The fort is lost,” she said, with a melancholy smile;
“though our good name, I trust, remains.”

“’Tis brighter than ever. But, dearest Miss Munro, it is time to
think less of others, and to make some provision for yourself. Military
usage—pride—that pride on which you so much value yourself, demands
that your father and I should for a little while continue with the troops. Then
where to seek a proper protector for you against the confusion and chances of
such a scene?”

“None is necessary,” returned Cora; “who will dare to injure
or insult the daughter of such a father, at a time like this?”

“I would not leave you alone,” continued the youth, looking about
him in a hurried manner, “for the command of the best regiment in the pay
of the king. Remember, our Alice is not gifted with all your firmness, and God
only knows the terror she might endure.”

“You may be right,” Cora replied, smiling again, but far more sadly
than before. “Listen! chance has already sent us a friend when he is most
needed.”

Duncan did listen, and on the instant comprehended her meaning. The low and
serious sounds of the sacred music, so well known to the eastern provinces,
caught his ear, and instantly drew him to an apartment in an adjacent building,
which had already been deserted by its customary tenants. There he found David,
pouring out his pious feelings through the only medium in which he ever
indulged. Duncan waited, until, by the cessation of the movement of the hand,
he believed the strain was ended, when, by touching his shoulder, he drew the
attention of the other to himself, and in a few words explained his wishes.

“Even so,” replied the single-minded disciple of the King of
Israel, when the young man had ended; “I have found much that is comely
and melodious in the maidens, and it is fitting that we who have consorted in
so much peril, should abide together in peace. I will attend them, when I have
completed my morning praise, to which nothing is now wanting but the doxology.
Wilt thou bear a part, friend? The meter is common, and the tune
‘Southwell’.”

Then, extending the little volume, and giving the pitch of the air anew with
considerate attention, David recommenced and finished his strains, with a
fixedness of manner that it was not easy to interrupt. Heyward was fain to wait
until the verse was ended; when, seeing David relieving himself from the
spectacles, and replacing the book, he continued.

“It will be your duty to see that none dare to approach the ladies with
any rude intention, or to offer insult or taunt at the misfortune of their
brave father. In this task you will be seconded by the domestics of their
household.”

“Even so.”

“It is possible that the Indians and stragglers of the enemy may intrude,
in which case you will remind them of the terms of the capitulation, and
threaten to report their conduct to Montcalm. A word will suffice.”

“If not, I have that here which shall,” returned David, exhibiting
his book, with an air in which meekness and confidence were singularly blended.
Here are words which, uttered, or rather thundered, with proper emphasis, and
in measured time, shall quiet the most unruly temper:

“‘Why rage the heathen furiously’?”

“Enough,” said Heyward, interrupting the burst of his musical
invocation; “we understand each other; it is time that we should now
assume our respective duties.”

Gamut cheerfully assented, and together they sought the females. Cora received
her new and somewhat extraordinary protector courteously, at least; and even
the pallid features of Alice lighted again with some of their native archness
as she thanked Heyward for his care. Duncan took occasion to assure them he had
done the best that circumstances permitted, and, as he believed, quite enough
for the security of their feelings; of danger there was none. He then spoke
gladly of his intention to rejoin them the moment he had led the advance a few
miles toward the Hudson, and immediately took his leave.

By this time the signal for departure had been given, and the head of the
English column was in motion. The sisters started at the sound, and glancing
their eyes around, they saw the white uniforms of the French grenadiers, who
had already taken possession of the gates of the fort. At that moment an
enormous cloud seemed to pass suddenly above their heads, and, looking upward,
they discovered that they stood beneath the wide folds of the standard of
France.

“Let us go,” said Cora; “this is no longer a fit place for
the children of an English officer.”

Alice clung to the arm of her sister, and together they left the parade,
accompanied by the moving throng that surrounded them.

As they passed the gates, the French officers, who had learned their rank,
bowed often and low, forbearing, however, to intrude those attentions which
they saw, with peculiar tact, might not be agreeable. As every vehicle and each
beast of burden was occupied by the sick and wounded, Cora had decided to
endure the fatigues of a foot march, rather than interfere with their comforts.
Indeed, many a maimed and feeble soldier was compelled to drag his exhausted
limbs in the rear of the columns, for the want of the necessary means of
conveyance in that wilderness. The whole, however, was in motion; the weak and
wounded, groaning and in suffering; their comrades silent and sullen; and the
women and children in terror, they knew not of what.

As the confused and timid throng left the protecting mounds of the fort, and
issued on the open plain, the whole scene was at once presented to their eyes.
At a little distance on the right, and somewhat in the rear, the French army
stood to their arms, Montcalm having collected his parties, so soon as his
guards had possession of the works. They were attentive but silent observers of
the proceedings of the vanquished, failing in none of the stipulated military
honors, and offering no taunt or insult, in their success, to their less
fortunate foes. Living masses of the English, to the amount, in the whole, of
near three thousand, were moving slowly across the plain, toward the common
center, and gradually approached each other, as they converged to the point of
their march, a vista cut through the lofty trees, where the road to the Hudson
entered the forest. Along the sweeping borders of the woods hung a dark cloud
of savages, eyeing the passage of their enemies, and hovering at a distance,
like vultures who were only kept from swooping on their prey by the presence
and restraint of a superior army. A few had straggled among the conquered
columns, where they stalked in sullen discontent; attentive, though, as yet,
passive observers of the moving multitude.

The advance, with Heyward at its head, had already reached the defile, and was
slowly disappearing, when the attention of Cora was drawn to a collection of
stragglers by the sounds of contention. A truant provincial was paying the
forfeit of his disobedience, by being plundered of those very effects which had
caused him to desert his place in the ranks. The man was of powerful frame, and
too avaricious to part with his goods without a struggle. Individuals from
either party interfered; the one side to prevent and the other to aid in the
robbery. Voices grew loud and angry, and a hundred savages appeared, as it
were, by magic, where a dozen only had been seen a minute before. It was then
that Cora saw the form of Magua gliding among his countrymen, and speaking with
his fatal and artful eloquence. The mass of women and children stopped, and
hovered together like alarmed and fluttering birds. But the cupidity of the
Indian was soon gratified, and the different bodies again moved slowly onward.

The savages now fell back, and seemed content to let their enemies advance
without further molestation. But, as the female crowd approached them, the
gaudy colors of a shawl attracted the eyes of a wild and untutored Huron. He
advanced to seize it without the least hesitation. The woman, more in terror
than through love of the ornament, wrapped her child in the coveted article,
and folded both more closely to her bosom. Cora was in the act of speaking,
with an intent to advise the woman to abandon the trifle, when the savage
relinquished his hold of the shawl, and tore the screaming infant from her
arms. Abandoning everything to the greedy grasp of those around her, the mother
darted, with distraction in her mien, to reclaim her child. The Indian smiled
grimly, and extended one hand, in sign of a willingness to exchange, while,
with the other, he flourished the babe over his head, holding it by the feet as
if to enhance the value of the ransom.

“Here—here—there—all—any—everything!”
exclaimed the breathless woman, tearing the lighter articles of dress from her
person with ill-directed and trembling fingers; “take all, but give me my
babe!”

The savage spurned the worthless rags, and perceiving that the shawl had
already become a prize to another, his bantering but sullen smile changing to a
gleam of ferocity, he dashed the head of the infant against a rock, and cast
its quivering remains to her very feet. For an instant the mother stood, like a
statue of despair, looking wildly down at the unseemly object, which had so
lately nestled in her bosom and smiled in her face; and then she raised her
eyes and countenance toward heaven, as if calling on God to curse the
perpetrator of the foul deed. She was spared the sin of such a prayer for,
maddened at his disappointment, and excited at the sight of blood, the Huron
mercifully drove his tomahawk into her own brain. The mother sank under the
blow, and fell, grasping at her child, in death, with the same engrossing love
that had caused her to cherish it when living.

At that dangerous moment, Magua placed his hands to his mouth, and raised the
fatal and appalling whoop. The scattered Indians started at the well-known cry,
as coursers bound at the signal to quit the goal; and directly there arose such
a yell along the plain, and through the arches of the wood, as seldom burst
from human lips before. They who heard it listened with a curdling horror at
the heart, little inferior to that dread which may be expected to attend the
blasts of the final summons.

More than two thousand raving savages broke from the forest at the signal, and
threw themselves across the fatal plain with instinctive alacrity. We shall not
dwell on the revolting horrors that succeeded. Death was everywhere, and in his
most terrific and disgusting aspects. Resistance only served to inflame the
murderers, who inflicted their furious blows long after their victims were
beyond the power of their resentment. The flow of blood might be likened to the
outbreaking of a torrent; and as the natives became heated and maddened by the
sight, many among them even kneeled to the earth, and drank freely, exultingly,
hellishly, of the crimson tide.

The trained bodies of the troops threw themselves quickly into solid masses,
endeavoring to awe their assailants by the imposing appearance of a military
front. The experiment in some measure succeeded, though far too many suffered
their unloaded muskets to be torn from their hands, in the vain hope of
appeasing the savages.

In such a scene none had leisure to note the fleeting moments. It might have
been ten minutes (it seemed an age) that the sisters had stood riveted to one
spot, horror-stricken and nearly helpless. When the first blow was struck,
their screaming companions had pressed upon them in a body, rendering flight
impossible; and now that fear or death had scattered most, if not all, from
around them, they saw no avenue open, but such as conducted to the tomahawks of
their foes. On every side arose shrieks, groans, exhortations and curses. At
this moment, Alice caught a glimpse of the vast form of her father, moving
rapidly across the plain, in the direction of the French army. He was, in
truth, proceeding to Montcalm, fearless of every danger, to claim the tardy
escort for which he had before conditioned. Fifty glittering axes and barbed
spears were offered unheeded at his life, but the savages respected his rank
and calmness, even in their fury. The dangerous weapons were brushed aside by
the still nervous arm of the veteran, or fell of themselves, after menacing an
act that it would seem no one had courage to perform. Fortunately, the
vindictive Magua was searching for his victim in the very band the veteran had
just quitted.

“Father—father—we are here!” shrieked Alice, as he
passed, at no great distance, without appearing to heed them. “Come to
us, father, or we die!”

The cry was repeated, and in terms and tones that might have melted a heart of
stone, but it was unanswered. Once, indeed, the old man appeared to catch the
sound, for he paused and listened; but Alice had dropped senseless on the
earth, and Cora had sunk at her side, hovering in untiring tenderness over her
lifeless form. Munro shook his head in disappointment, and proceeded, bent on
the high duty of his station.

“Lady,” said Gamut, who, helpless and useless as he was, had not
yet dreamed of deserting his trust, “it is the jubilee of the devils, and
this is not a meet place for Christians to tarry in. Let us up and fly.”

“Go,” said Cora, still gazing at her unconscious sister;
“save thyself. To me thou canst not be of further use.”

David comprehended the unyielding character of her resolution, by the simple
but expressive gesture that accompanied her words. He gazed for a moment at the
dusky forms that were acting their hellish rites on every side of him, and his
tall person grew more erect while his chest heaved, and every feature swelled,
and seemed to speak with the power of the feelings by which he was governed.

“If the Jewish boy might tame the great spirit of Saul by the sound of
his harp, and the words of sacred song, it may not be amiss,” he said,
“to try the potency of music here.”

Then raising his voice to its highest tone, he poured out a strain so powerful
as to be heard even amid the din of that bloody field. More than one savage
rushed toward them, thinking to rifle the unprotected sisters of their attire,
and bear away their scalps; but when they found this strange and unmoved figure
riveted to his post, they paused to listen. Astonishment soon changed to
admiration, and they passed on to other and less courageous victims, openly
expressing their satisfaction at the firmness with which the white warrior sang
his death song. Encouraged and deluded by his success, David exerted all his
powers to extend what he believed so holy an influence. The unwonted sounds
caught the ears of a distant savage, who flew raging from group to group, like
one who, scorning to touch the vulgar herd, hunted for some victim more worthy
of his renown. It was Magua, who uttered a yell of pleasure when he beheld his
ancient prisoners again at his mercy.

“Come,” he said, laying his soiled hands on the dress of Cora,
“the wigwam of the Huron is still open. Is it not better than this
place?”

“Away!” cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his revolting aspect.

The Indian laughed tauntingly, as he held up his reeking hand, and answered:
“It is red, but it comes from white veins!”

“Monster! there is blood, oceans of blood, upon thy soul; thy spirit has
moved this scene.”

“Magua is a great chief!” returned the exulting savage, “will
the dark-hair go to his tribe?”

“Never! strike if thou wilt, and complete thy revenge.” He
hesitated a moment, and then catching the light and senseless form of Alice in
his arms, the subtle Indian moved swiftly across the plain toward the woods.

“Hold!” shrieked Cora, following wildly on his footsteps;
“release the child! wretch! what is’t you do?”

But Magua was deaf to her voice; or, rather, he knew his power, and was
determined to maintain it.

“Stay—lady—stay,” called Gamut, after the unconscious
Cora. “The holy charm is beginning to be felt, and soon shalt thou see
this horrid tumult stilled.”

Perceiving that, in his turn, he was unheeded, the faithful David followed the
distracted sister, raising his voice again in sacred song, and sweeping the air
to the measure, with his long arm, in diligent accompaniment. In this manner
they traversed the plain, through the flying, the wounded and the dead. The
fierce Huron was, at any time, sufficient for himself and the victim that he
bore; though Cora would have fallen more than once under the blows of her
savage enemies, but for the extraordinary being who stalked in her rear, and
who now appeared to the astonished natives gifted with the protecting spirit of
madness.

Magua, who knew how to avoid the more pressing dangers, and also to elude
pursuit, entered the woods through a low ravine, where he quickly found the
Narragansetts, which the travelers had abandoned so shortly before, awaiting
his appearance, in custody of a savage as fierce and malign in his expression
as himself. Laying Alice on one of the horses, he made a sign to Cora to mount
the other.

Notwithstanding the horror excited by the presence of her captor, there was a
present relief in escaping from the bloody scene enacting on the plain, to
which Cora could not be altogether insensible. She took her seat, and held
forth her arms for her sister, with an air of entreaty and love that even the
Huron could not deny. Placing Alice, then, on the same animal with Cora, he
seized the bridle, and commenced his route by plunging deeper into the forest.
David, perceiving that he was left alone, utterly disregarded as a subject too
worthless even to destroy, threw his long limb across the saddle of the beast
they had deserted, and made such progress in the pursuit as the difficulties of
the path permitted.

They soon began to ascend; but as the motion had a tendency to revive the
dormant faculties of her sister, the attention of Cora was too much divided
between the tenderest solicitude in her behalf, and in listening to the cries
which were still too audible on the plain, to note the direction in which they
journeyed. When, however, they gained the flattened surface of the
mountain-top, and approached the eastern precipice, she recognized the spot to
which she had once before been led under the more friendly auspices of the
scout. Here Magua suffered them to dismount; and notwithstanding their own
captivity, the curiosity which seems inseparable from horror, induced them to
gaze at the sickening sight below.

The cruel work was still unchecked. On every side the captured were flying
before their relentless persecutors, while the armed columns of the Christian
king stood fast in an apathy which has never been explained, and which has left
an immovable blot on the otherwise fair escutcheon of their leader. Nor was the
sword of death stayed until cupidity got the mastery of revenge. Then, indeed,
the shrieks of the wounded, and the yells of their murderers grew less
frequent, until, finally, the cries of horror were lost to their ear, or were
drowned in the loud, long and piercing whoops of the triumphant savages.

CHAPTER XVIII.

“Why, anything;
An honorable murderer, if you will;
For naught I did in hate, but all in honor.”
—Othello

The bloody and inhuman scene rather incidentally mentioned than described in
the preceding chapter, is conspicuous in the pages of colonial history by the
merited title of “The Massacre of William Henry.” It so far
deepened the stain which a previous and very similar event had left upon the
reputation of the French commander that it was not entirely erased by his early
and glorious death. It is now becoming obscured by time; and thousands, who
know that Montcalm died like a hero on the plains of Abraham, have yet to learn
how much he was deficient in that moral courage without which no man can be
truly great. Pages might yet be written to prove, from this illustrious
example, the defects of human excellence; to show how easy it is for generous
sentiments, high courtesy, and chivalrous courage to lose their influence
beneath the chilling blight of selfishness, and to exhibit to the world a man
who was great in all the minor attributes of character, but who was found
wanting when it became necessary to prove how much principle is superior to
policy. But the task would exceed our prerogatives; and, as history, like love,
is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness, it
is probable that Louis de Saint Veran will be viewed by posterity only as the
gallant defender of his country, while his cruel apathy on the shores of the
Oswego and of the Horican will be forgotten. Deeply regretting this weakness on
the part of a sister muse, we shall at once retire from her sacred precincts,
within the proper limits of our own humble vocation.

The third day from the capture of the fort was drawing to a close, but the
business of the narrative must still detain the reader on the shores of the
“holy lake.” When last seen, the environs of the works were filled
with violence and uproar. They were now possessed by stillness and death. The
blood-stained conquerors had departed; and their camp, which had so lately rung
with the merry rejoicings of a victorious army, lay a silent and deserted city
of huts. The fortress was a smoldering ruin; charred rafters, fragments of
exploded artillery, and rent mason-work covering its earthen mounds in confused
disorder.

A frightful change had also occurred in the season. The sun had hid its warmth
behind an impenetrable mass of vapor, and hundreds of human forms, which had
blackened beneath the fierce heats of August, were stiffening in their
deformity before the blasts of a premature November. The curling and spotless
mists, which had been seen sailing above the hills toward the north, were now
returning in an interminable dusky sheet, that was urged along by the fury of a
tempest. The crowded mirror of the Horican was gone; and, in its place, the
green and angry waters lashed the shores, as if indignantly casting back its
impurities to the polluted strand. Still the clear fountain retained a portion
of its charmed influence, but it reflected only the somber gloom that fell from
the impending heavens. That humid and congenial atmosphere which commonly
adorned the view, veiling its harshness, and softening its asperities, had
disappeared, the northern air poured across the waste of water so harsh and
unmingled, that nothing was left to be conjectured by the eye, or fashioned by
the fancy.

The fiercer element had cropped the verdure of the plain, which looked as
though it were scathed by the consuming lightning. But, here and there, a dark
green tuft rose in the midst of the desolation; the earliest fruits of a soil
that had been fattened with human blood. The whole landscape, which, seen by a
favoring light, and in a genial temperature, had been found so lovely, appeared
now like some pictured allegory of life, in which objects were arrayed in their
harshest but truest colors, and without the relief of any shadowing.

The solitary and arid blades of grass arose from the passing gusts fearfully
perceptible; the bold and rocky mountains were too distinct in their
barrenness, and the eye even sought relief, in vain, by attempting to pierce
the illimitable void of heaven, which was shut to its gaze by the dusky sheet
of ragged and driving vapor.

The wind blew unequally; sometimes sweeping heavily along the ground, seeming
to whisper its moanings in the cold ears of the dead, then rising in a shrill
and mournful whistling, it entered the forest with a rush that filled the air
with the leaves and branches it scattered in its path. Amid the unnatural
shower, a few hungry ravens struggled with the gale; but no sooner was the
green ocean of woods which stretched beneath them, passed, than they gladly
stopped, at random, to their hideous banquet.

In short, it was a scene of wildness and desolation; and it appeared as if all
who had profanely entered it had been stricken, at a blow, by the relentless
arm of death. But the prohibition had ceased; and for the first time since the
perpetrators of those foul deeds which had assisted to disfigure the scene were
gone, living human beings had now presumed to approach the place.

About an hour before the setting of the sun, on the day already mentioned, the
forms of five men might have been seen issuing from the narrow vista of trees,
where the path to the Hudson entered the forest, and advancing in the direction
of the ruined works. At first their progress was slow and guarded, as though
they entered with reluctance amid the horrors of the post, or dreaded the
renewal of its frightful incidents. A light figure preceded the rest of the
party, with the caution and activity of a native; ascending every hillock to
reconnoiter, and indicating by gestures, to his companions, the route he deemed
it most prudent to pursue. Nor were those in the rear wanting in every caution
and foresight known to forest warfare. One among them, he also was an Indian,
moved a little on one flank, and watched the margin of the woods, with eyes
long accustomed to read the smallest sign of danger. The remaining three were
white, though clad in vestments adapted, both in quality and color, to their
present hazardous pursuit—that of hanging on the skirts of a retiring
army in the wilderness.

The effects produced by the appalling sights that constantly arose in their
path to the lake shore, were as different as the characters of the respective
individuals who composed the party. The youth in front threw serious but
furtive glances at the mangled victims, as he stepped lightly across the plain,
afraid to exhibit his feelings, and yet too inexperienced to quell entirely
their sudden and powerful influence. His red associate, however, was superior
to such a weakness. He passed the groups of dead with a steadiness of purpose,
and an eye so calm, that nothing but long and inveterate practise could enable
him to maintain. The sensations produced in the minds of even the white men
were different, though uniformly sorrowful. One, whose gray locks and furrowed
lineaments, blending with a martial air and tread, betrayed, in spite of the
disguise of a woodsman’s dress, a man long experienced in scenes of war,
was not ashamed to groan aloud, whenever a spectacle of more than usual horror
came under his view. The young man at his elbow shuddered, but seemed to
suppress his feelings in tenderness to his companion. Of them all, the
straggler who brought up the rear appeared alone to betray his real thoughts,
without fear of observation or dread of consequences. He gazed at the most
appalling sight with eyes and muscles that knew not how to waver, but with
execrations so bitter and deep as to denote how much he denounced the crime of
his enemies.

The reader will perceive at once, in these respective characters, the Mohicans,
and their white friend, the scout; together with Munro and Heyward. It was, in
truth, the father in quest of his children, attended by the youth who felt so
deep a stake in their happiness, and those brave and trusty foresters, who had
already proved their skill and fidelity through the trying scenes related.

When Uncas, who moved in front, had reached the center of the plain, he raised
a cry that drew his companions in a body to the spot. The young warrior had
halted over a group of females who lay in a cluster, a confused mass of dead.
Notwithstanding the revolting horror of the exhibition, Munro and Heyward flew
toward the festering heap, endeavoring, with a love that no unseemliness could
extinguish, to discover whether any vestiges of those they sought were to be
seen among the tattered and many-colored garments. The father and the lover
found instant relief in the search; though each was condemned again to
experience the misery of an uncertainty that was hardly less insupportable than
the most revolting truth. They were standing, silent and thoughtful, around the
melancholy pile, when the scout approached. Eyeing the sad spectacle with an
angry countenance, the sturdy woodsman, for the first time since his entering
the plain, spoke intelligibly and aloud:

“I have been on many a shocking field, and have followed a trail of blood
for weary miles,” he said, “but never have I found the hand of the
devil so plain as it is here to be seen! Revenge is an Indian feeling, and all
who know me know that there is no cross in my veins; but this much will I
say—here, in the face of heaven, and with the power of the Lord so
manifest in this howling wilderness—that should these Frenchers ever
trust themselves again within the range of a ragged bullet, there is one rifle
which shall play its part so long as flint will fire or powder burn! I leave
the tomahawk and knife to such as have a natural gift to use them. What say
you, Chingachgook,” he added, in Delaware; “shall the Hurons boast
of this to their women when the deep snows come?”

A gleam of resentment flashed across the dark lineaments of the Mohican chief;
he loosened his knife in his sheath; and then turning calmly from the sight,
his countenance settled into a repose as deep as if he knew the instigation of
passion.

“Montcalm! Montcalm!” continued the deeply resentful and less
self-restrained scout; “they say a time must come when all the deeds done
in the flesh will be seen at a single look; and that by eyes cleared from
mortal infirmities. Woe betide the wretch who is born to behold this plain,
with the judgment hanging about his soul! Ha—as I am a man of white
blood, yonder lies a red-skin, without the hair of his head where nature rooted
it! Look to him, Delaware; it may be one of your missing people; and he should
have burial like a stout warrior. I see it in your eye, Sagamore; a Huron pays
for this, afore the fall winds have blown away the scent of the blood!”

Chingachgook approached the mutilated form, and, turning it over, he found the
distinguishing marks of one of those six allied tribes, or nations, as they
were called, who, while they fought in the English ranks, were so deadly
hostile to his own people. Spurning the loathsome object with his foot, he
turned from it with the same indifference he would have quitted a brute
carcass. The scout comprehended the action, and very deliberately pursued his
own way, continuing, however, his denunciations against the French commander in
the same resentful strain.

“Nothing but vast wisdom and unlimited power should dare to sweep off men
in multitudes,” he added; “for it is only the one that can know the
necessity of the judgment; and what is there, short of the other, that can
replace the creatures of the Lord? I hold it a sin to kill the second buck
afore the first is eaten, unless a march in front, or an ambushment, be
contemplated. It is a different matter with a few warriors in open and rugged
fight, for ’tis their gift to die with the rifle or the tomahawk in hand;
according as their natures may happen to be, white or red. Uncas, come this
way, lad, and let the ravens settle upon the Mingo. I know, from often seeing
it, that they have a craving for the flesh of an Oneida; and it is as well to
let the bird follow the gift of its natural appetite.”

“Hugh!” exclaimed the young Mohican, rising on the extremities of
his feet, and gazing intently in his front, frightening the ravens to some
other prey by the sound and the action.

“What is it, boy?” whispered the scout, lowering his tall form into
a crouching attitude, like a panther about to take his leap; “God send it
be a tardy Frencher, skulking for plunder. I do believe ‘killdeer’
would take an uncommon range today!”

Uncas, without making any reply, bounded away from the spot, and in the next
instant he was seen tearing from a bush, and waving in triumph, a fragment of
the green riding-veil of Cora. The movement, the exhibition, and the cry which
again burst from the lips of the young Mohican, instantly drew the whole party
about him.

“My child!” said Munro, speaking quickly and wildly; “give me
my child!”

“Uncas will try,” was the short and touching answer.

The simple but meaning assurance was lost on the father, who seized the piece
of gauze, and crushed it in his hand, while his eyes roamed fearfully among the
bushes, as if he equally dreaded and hoped for the secrets they might reveal.

“Here are no dead,” said Heyward; “the storm seems not to
have passed this way.”

“That’s manifest; and clearer than the heavens above our
heads,” returned the undisturbed scout; “but either she, or they
that have robbed her, have passed the bush; for I remember the rag she wore to
hide a face that all did love to look upon. Uncas, you are right; the dark-hair
has been here, and she has fled like a frightened fawn, to the wood; none who
could fly would remain to be murdered. Let us search for the marks she left;
for, to Indian eyes, I sometimes think a humming-bird leaves his trail in the
air.”

The young Mohican darted away at the suggestion, and the scout had hardly done
speaking, before the former raised a cry of success from the margin of the
forest. On reaching the spot, the anxious party perceived another portion of
the veil fluttering on the lower branch of a beech.

“Softly, softly,” said the scout, extending his long rifle in front
of the eager Heyward; “we now know our work, but the beauty of the trail
must not be deformed. A step too soon may give us hours of trouble. We have
them, though; that much is beyond denial.”

“Bless ye, bless ye, worthy man!” exclaimed Munro; “whither
then, have they fled, and where are my babes?”

“The path they have taken depends on many chances. If they have gone
alone, they are quite as likely to move in a circle as straight, and they may
be within a dozen miles of us; but if the Hurons, or any of the French Indians,
have laid hands on them, ’tis probably they are now near the borders of
the Canadas. But what matters that?” continued the deliberate scout,
observing the powerful anxiety and disappointment the listeners exhibited;
“here are the Mohicans and I on one end of the trail, and, rely on it, we
find the other, though they should be a hundred leagues asunder! Gently,
gently, Uncas, you are as impatient as a man in the settlements; you forget
that light feet leave but faint marks!”

“Hugh!” exclaimed Chingachgook, who had been occupied in examining
an opening that had been evidently made through the low underbrush which
skirted the forest; and who now stood erect, as he pointed downward, in the
attitude and with the air of a man who beheld a disgusting serpent.

“Here is the palpable impression of the footstep of a man,” cried
Heyward, bending over the indicated spot; “he has trod in the margin of
this pool, and the mark cannot be mistaken. They are captives.”

“Better so than left to starve in the wilderness,” returned the
scout; “and they will leave a wider trail. I would wager fifty beaver
skins against as many flints, that the Mohicans and I enter their wigwams
within the month! Stoop to it, Uncas, and try what you can make of the
moccasin; for moccasin it plainly is, and no shoe.”

The young Mohican bent over the track, and removing the scattered leaves from
around the place, he examined it with much of that sort of scrutiny that a
money dealer, in these days of pecuniary doubts, would bestow on a suspected
due-bill. At length he arose from his knees, satisfied with the result of the
examination.

“Well, boy,” demanded the attentive scout; “what does it say?
Can you make anything of the tell-tale?”

“Well, boy,” demanded the attentive scout;
“what does it say? Can you make anything of the tell-tale?”

“Le Renard Subtil!”

“Ha! that rampaging devil again! there will never be an end of his loping
till ‘killdeer’ has said a friendly word to him.”

Heyward reluctantly admitted the truth of this intelligence, and now expressed
rather his hopes than his doubts by saying:

“One moccasin is so much like another, it is probable there is some
mistake.”

“One moccasin like another! you may as well say that one foot is like
another; though we all know that some are long, and others short; some broad
and others narrow; some with high, and some with low insteps; some intoed, and
some out. One moccasin is no more like another than one book is like another:
though they who can read in one are seldom able to tell the marks of the other.
Which is all ordered for the best, giving to every man his natural advantages.
Let me get down to it, Uncas; neither book nor moccasin is the worse for having
two opinions, instead of one.” The scout stooped to the task, and
instantly added:

“You are right, boy; here is the patch we saw so often in the other
chase. And the fellow will drink when he can get an opportunity; your drinking
Indian always learns to walk with a wider toe than the natural savage, it being
the gift of a drunkard to straddle, whether of white or red skin. ’Tis
just the length and breadth, too! look at it, Sagamore; you measured the prints
more than once, when we hunted the varmints from Glenn’s to the health
springs.”

Chingachgook complied; and after finishing his short examination, he arose, and
with a quiet demeanor, he merely pronounced the word:

“Magua!”

“Ay, ’tis a settled thing; here, then, have passed the dark-hair
and Magua.”

“And not Alice?” demanded Heyward.

“Of her we have not yet seen the signs,” returned the scout,
looking closely around at the trees, the bushes and the ground. “What
have we there? Uncas, bring hither the thing you see dangling from yonder
thorn-bush.”

When the Indian had complied, the scout received the prize, and holding it on
high, he laughed in his silent but heartfelt manner.

“’Tis the tooting we’pon of the singer! now we shall have a
trail a priest might travel,” he said. “Uncas, look for the marks
of a shoe that is long enough to uphold six feet two of tottering human flesh.
I begin to have some hopes of the fellow, since he has given up squalling to
follow some better trade.”

“At least he has been faithful to his trust,” said Heyward.
“And Cora and Alice are not without a friend.”

“Yes,” said Hawkeye, dropping his rifle, and leaning on it with an
air of visible contempt, “he will do their singing. Can he slay a buck
for their dinner; journey by the moss on the beeches, or cut the throat of a
Huron? If not, the first catbird[1]
he meets is the cleverer of the two. Well, boy, any signs of such a
foundation?”

 [1]
The powers of the American mocking-bird are generally known. But the true
mocking-bird is not found so far north as the state of New York, where it has,
however, two substitutes of inferior excellence, the catbird, so often named by
the scout, and the bird vulgarly called ground- thresher. Either of these last
two birds is superior to the nightingale or the lark, though, in general, the
American birds are less musical than those of Europe.

“Here is something like the footstep of one who has worn a shoe; can it
be that of our friend?”

“Touch the leaves lightly or you’ll disconsart the formation. That!
that is the print of a foot, but ’tis the dark-hair’s; and small it
is, too, for one of such a noble height and grand appearance. The singer would
cover it with his heel.”

“Where! let me look on the footsteps of my child,” said Munro,
shoving the bushes aside, and bending fondly over the nearly obliterated
impression. Though the tread which had left the mark had been light and rapid,
it was still plainly visible. The aged soldier examined it with eyes that grew
dim as he gazed; nor did he rise from this stooping posture until Heyward saw
that he had watered the trace of his daughter’s passage with a scalding
tear. Willing to divert a distress which threatened each moment to break
through the restraint of appearances, by giving the veteran something to do,
the young man said to the scout:

“As we now possess these infallible signs, let us commence our march. A
moment, at such a time, will appear an age to the captives.”

“It is not the swiftest leaping deer that gives the longest chase,”
returned Hawkeye, without moving his eyes from the different marks that had
come under his view; “we know that the rampaging Huron has passed, and
the dark-hair, and the singer, but where is she of the yellow locks and blue
eyes? Though little, and far from being as bold as her sister, she is fair to
the view, and pleasant in discourse. Has she no friend, that none care for
her?”

“God forbid she should ever want hundreds! Are we not now in her pursuit?
For one, I will never cease the search till she be found.”

“In that case we may have to journey by different paths; for here she has
not passed, light and little as her footsteps would be.”

Heyward drew back, all his ardor to proceed seeming to vanish on the instant.
Without attending to this sudden change in the other’s humor, the scout
after musing a moment continued:

“There is no woman in this wilderness could leave such a print as that,
but the dark-hair or her sister. We know that the first has been here, but
where are the signs of the other? Let us push deeper on the trail, and if
nothing offers, we must go back to the plain and strike another scent. Move on,
Uncas, and keep your eyes on the dried leaves. I will watch the bushes, while
your father shall run with a low nose to the ground. Move on, friends; the sun
is getting behind the hills.”

“Is there nothing that I can do?” demanded the anxious Heyward.

“You?” repeated the scout, who, with his red friends, was already
advancing in the order he had prescribed; “yes, you can keep in our rear
and be careful not to cross the trail.”

Before they had proceeded many rods, the Indians stopped, and appeared to gaze
at some signs on the earth with more than their usual keenness. Both father and
son spoke quick and loud, now looking at the object of their mutual admiration,
and now regarding each other with the most unequivocal pleasure.

“They have found the little foot!” exclaimed the scout, moving
forward, without attending further to his own portion of the duty. “What
have we here? An ambushment has been planted in the spot! No, by the truest
rifle on the frontiers, here have been them one-sided horses again! Now the
whole secret is out, and all is plain as the north star at midnight. Yes, here
they have mounted. There the beasts have been bound to a sapling, in waiting;
and yonder runs the broad path away to the north, in full sweep for the
Canadas.”

“But still there are no signs of Alice, of the younger Miss Munro,”
said Duncan.

“Unless the shining bauble Uncas has just lifted from the ground should
prove one. Pass it this way, lad, that we may look at it.”

Heyward instantly knew it for a trinket that Alice was fond of wearing, and
which he recollected, with the tenacious memory of a lover, to have seen, on
the fatal morning of the massacre, dangling from the fair neck of his mistress.
He seized the highly prized jewel; and as he proclaimed the fact, it vanished
from the eyes of the wondering scout, who in vain looked for it on the ground,
long after it was warmly pressed against the beating heart of Duncan.

“Pshaw!” said the disappointed Hawkeye, ceasing to rake the leaves
with the breech of his rifle; “’tis a certain sign of age, when the
sight begins to weaken. Such a glittering gewgaw, and not to be seen! Well,
well, I can squint along a clouded barrel yet, and that is enough to settle all
disputes between me and the Mingoes. I should like to find the thing, too, if
it were only to carry it to the right owner, and that would be bringing the two
ends of what I call a long trail together, for by this time the broad St.
Lawrence, or perhaps, the Great Lakes themselves, are between us.”

“So much the more reason why we should not delay our march,”
returned Heyward; “let us proceed.”

“Young blood and hot blood, they say, are much the same thing. We are not
about to start on a squirrel hunt, or to drive a deer into the Horican, but to
outlie for days and nights, and to stretch across a wilderness where the feet
of men seldom go, and where no bookish knowledge would carry you through
harmless. An Indian never starts on such an expedition without smoking over his
council-fire; and, though a man of white blood, I honor their customs in this
particular, seeing that they are deliberate and wise. We will, therefore, go
back, and light our fire to-night in the ruins of the old fort, and in the
morning we shall be fresh, and ready to undertake our work like men, and not
like babbling women or eager boys.”

Heyward saw, by the manner of the scout, that altercation would be useless.
Munro had again sunk into that sort of apathy which had beset him since his
late overwhelming misfortunes, and from which he was apparently to be roused
only by some new and powerful excitement. Making a merit of necessity, the
young man took the veteran by the arm, and followed in the footsteps of the
Indians and the scout, who had already begun to retrace the path which
conducted them to the plain.

CHAPTER XIX.

“Salar.—Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his
flesh; what’s that good for?
Shy.—To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my
revenge.”
—Merchant of Venice

The shades of evening had come to increase the dreariness of the place, when
the party entered the ruins of William Henry. The scout and his companions
immediately made their preparations to pass the night there; but with an
earnestness and sobriety of demeanor that betrayed how much the unusual horrors
they had just witnessed worked on even their practised feelings. A few
fragments of rafters were reared against a blackened wall; and when Uncas had
covered them slightly with brush, the temporary accommodations were deemed
sufficient. The young Indian pointed toward his rude hut when his labor was
ended; and Heyward, who understood the meaning of the silent gestures, gently
urged Munro to enter. Leaving the bereaved old man alone with his sorrows,
Duncan immediately returned into the open air, too much excited himself to seek
the repose he had recommended to his veteran friend.

While Hawkeye and the Indians lighted their fire and took their evening’s
repast, a frugal meal of dried bear’s meat, the young man paid a visit to
that curtain of the dilapidated fort which looked out on the sheet of the
Horican. The wind had fallen, and the waves were already rolling on the sandy
beach beneath him, in a more regular and tempered succession. The clouds, as if
tired of their furious chase, were breaking asunder; the heavier volumes,
gathering in black masses about the horizon, while the lighter scud still
hurried above the water, or eddied among the tops of the mountains, like broken
flights of birds, hovering around their roosts. Here and there, a red and fiery
star struggled through the drifting vapor, furnishing a lurid gleam of
brightness to the dull aspect of the heavens. Within the bosom of the
encircling hills, an impenetrable darkness had already settled; and the plain
lay like a vast and deserted charnel-house, without omen or whisper to disturb
the slumbers of its numerous and hapless tenants.

Of this scene, so chillingly in accordance with the past, Duncan stood for many
minutes a rapt observer. His eyes wandered from the bosom of the mound, where
the foresters were seated around their glimmering fire, to the fainter light
which still lingered in the skies, and then rested long and anxiously on the
embodied gloom, which lay like a dreary void on that side of him where the dead
reposed. He soon fancied that inexplicable sounds arose from the place, though
so indistinct and stolen, as to render not only their nature but even their
existence uncertain. Ashamed of his apprehensions, the young man turned toward
the water, and strove to divert his attention to the mimic stars that dimly
glimmered on its moving surface. Still, his too-conscious ears performed their
ungrateful duty, as if to warn him of some lurking danger. At length, a swift
trampling seemed, quite audibly, to rush athwart the darkness. Unable any
longer to quiet his uneasiness, Duncan spoke in a low voice to the scout,
requesting him to ascend the mound to the place where he stood. Hawkeye threw
his rifle across an arm and complied, but with an air so unmoved and calm, as
to prove how much he counted on the security of their position.

“Listen!” said Duncan, when the other placed himself deliberately
at his elbow; “there are suppressed noises on the plain which may show
Montcalm has not yet entirely deserted his conquest.”

“Then ears are better than eyes,” said the undisturbed scout, who,
having just deposited a portion of a bear between his grinders, spoke thick and
slow, like one whose mouth was doubly occupied. “I myself saw him caged
in Ty, with all his host; for your Frenchers, when they have done a clever
thing, like to get back, and have a dance, or a merry-making, with the women
over their success.”

“I know not. An Indian seldom sleeps in war, and plunder may keep a Huron
here after his tribe has departed. It would be well to extinguish the fire, and
have a watch—listen! you hear the noise I mean!”

“An Indian more rarely lurks about the graves. Though ready to slay, and
not over regardful of the means, he is commonly content with the scalp, unless
when blood is hot, and temper up; but after spirit is once fairly gone, he
forgets his enmity, and is willing to let the dead find their natural rest.
Speaking of spirits, major, are you of opinion that the heaven of a red-skin
and of us whites will be of one and the same?”

“No doubt—no doubt. I thought I heard it again! or was it the
rustling of the leaves in the top of the beech?”

“For my own part,” continued Hawkeye, turning his face for a moment
in the direction indicated by Heyward, but with a vacant and careless manner,
“I believe that paradise is ordained for happiness; and that men will be
indulged in it according to their dispositions and gifts. I, therefore, judge
that a red-skin is not far from the truth when he believes he is to find them
glorious hunting grounds of which his traditions tell; nor, for that matter, do
I think it would be any disparagement to a man without a cross to pass his
time—”

“You hear it again?” interrupted Duncan.

“Ay, ay; when food is scarce, and when food is plenty, a wolf grows
bold,” said the unmoved scout. “There would be picking, too, among
the skins of the devils, if there was light and time for the sport. But,
concerning the life that is to come, major; I have heard preachers say, in the
settlements, that heaven was a place of rest. Now, men’s minds differ as
to their ideas of enjoyment. For myself, and I say it with reverence to the
ordering of Providence, it would be no great indulgence to be kept shut up in
those mansions of which they preach, having a natural longing for motion and
the chase.”

Duncan, who was now made to understand the nature of the noise he had heard,
answered, with more attention to the subject which the humor of the scout had
chosen for discussion, by saying:

“It is difficult to account for the feelings that may attend the last
great change.”

“It would be a change, indeed, for a man who has passed his days in the
open air,” returned the single-minded scout; “and who has so often
broken his fast on the head waters of the Hudson, to sleep within sound of the
roaring Mohawk. But it is a comfort to know we serve a merciful Master, though
we do it each after his fashion, and with great tracts of wilderness atween
us—what goes there?”

“Is it not the rushing of the wolves you have mentioned?”

Hawkeye slowly shook his head, and beckoned for Duncan to follow him to a spot
to which the glare from the fire did not extend. When he had taken this
precaution, the scout placed himself in an attitude of intense attention and
listened long and keenly for a repetition of the low sound that had so
unexpectedly startled him. His vigilance, however, seemed exercised in vain;
for after a fruitless pause, he whispered to Duncan:

“We must give a call to Uncas. The boy has Indian senses, and he may hear
what is hid from us; for, being a white-skin, I will not deny my nature.”

The young Mohican, who was conversing in a low voice with his father, started
as he heard the moaning of an owl, and, springing on his feet, he looked toward
the black mounds, as if seeking the place whence the sounds proceeded. The
scout repeated the call, and in a few moments, Duncan saw the figure of Uncas
stealing cautiously along the rampart, to the spot where they stood.

Hawkeye explained his wishes in a very few words, which were spoken in the
Delaware tongue. So soon as Uncas was in possession of the reason why he was
summoned, he threw himself flat on the turf; where, to the eyes of Duncan, he
appeared to lie quiet and motionless. Surprised at the immovable attitude of
the young warrior, and curious to observe the manner in which he employed his
faculties to obtain the desired information, Heyward advanced a few steps, and
bent over the dark object on which he had kept his eye riveted. Then it was he
discovered that the form of Uncas vanished, and that he beheld only the dark
outline of an inequality in the embankment.

“What has become of the Mohican?” he demanded of the scout,
stepping back in amazement; “it was here that I saw him fall, and could
have sworn that here he yet remained.”

“Hist! speak lower; for we know not what ears are open, and the Mingoes
are a quick-witted breed. As for Uncas, he is out on the plain, and the Maquas,
if any such are about us, will find their equal.”

“You think that Montcalm has not called off all his Indians? Let us give
the alarm to our companions, that we may stand to our arms. Here are five of
us, who are not unused to meet an enemy.”

“Not a word to either, as you value your life. Look at the Sagamore, how
like a grand Indian chief he sits by the fire. If there are any skulkers out in
the darkness, they will never discover, by his countenance, that we suspect
danger at hand.”

“But they may discover him, and it will prove his death. His person can
be too plainly seen by the light of that fire, and he will become the first and
most certain victim.”

“It is undeniable that now you speak the truth,” returned the
scout, betraying more anxiety than was usual; “yet what can be done? A
single suspicious look might bring on an attack before we are ready to receive
it. He knows, by the call I gave to Uncas, that we have struck a scent; I will
tell him that we are on the trail of the Mingoes; his Indian nature will teach
him how to act.”

The scout applied his fingers to his mouth, and raised a low hissing sound,
that caused Duncan at first to start aside, believing that he heard a serpent.
The head of Chingachgook was resting on a hand, as he sat musing by himself but
the moment he had heard the warning of the animal whose name he bore, he arose
to an upright position, and his dark eyes glanced swiftly and keenly on every
side of him. With his sudden and, perhaps, involuntary movement, every
appearance of surprise or alarm ended. His rifle lay untouched, and apparently
unnoticed, within reach of his hand. The tomahawk that he had loosened in his
belt for the sake of ease, was even suffered to fall from its usual situation
to the ground, and his form seemed to sink, like that of a man whose nerves and
sinews were suffered to relax for the purpose of rest. Cunningly resuming his
former position, though with a change of hands, as if the movement had been
made merely to relieve the limb, the native awaited the result with a calmness
and fortitude that none but an Indian warrior would have known how to exercise.

But Heyward saw that while to a less instructed eye the Mohican chief appeared
to slumber, his nostrils were expanded, his head was turned a little to one
side, as if to assist the organs of hearing, and that his quick and rapid
glances ran incessantly over every object within the power of his vision.

“See the noble fellow!” whispered Hawkeye, pressing the arm of
Heyward; “he knows that a look or a motion might disconsart our schemes,
and put us at the mercy of them imps—”

He was interrupted by the flash and report of a rifle. The air was filled with
sparks of fire, around that spot where the eyes of Heyward were still fastened,
with admiration and wonder. A second look told him that Chingachgook had
disappeared in the confusion. In the meantime, the scout had thrown forward his
rifle, like one prepared for service, and awaited impatiently the moment when
an enemy might rise to view. But with the solitary and fruitless attempt made
on the life of Chingachgook, the attack appeared to have terminated. Once or
twice the listeners thought they could distinguish the distant rustling of
bushes, as bodies of some unknown description rushed through them; nor was it
long before Hawkeye pointed out the “scampering of the wolves,” as
they fled precipitately before the passage of some intruder on their proper
domains. After an impatient and breathless pause, a plunge was heard in the
water, and it was immediately followed by the report of another rifle.

“There goes Uncas!” said the scout; “the boy bears a smart
piece! I know its crack, as well as a father knows the language of his child,
for I carried the gun myself until a better offered.”

“What can this mean?” demanded Duncan, “we are watched, and,
as it would seem, marked for destruction.”

“Yonder scattered brand can witness that no good was intended, and this
Indian will testify that no harm has been done,” returned the scout,
dropping his rifle across his arm again, and following Chingachgook, who just
then reappeared within the circle of light, into the bosom of the work.
“How is it, Sagamore? Are the Mingoes upon us in earnest, or is it only
one of those reptiles who hang upon the skirts of a war-party, to scalp the
dead, go in, and make their boast among the squaws of the valiant deeds done on
the pale faces?”

Chingachgook very quietly resumed his seat; nor did he make any reply, until
after he had examined the firebrand which had been struck by the bullet that
had nearly proved fatal to himself. After which he was content to reply,
holding a single finger up to view, with the English monosyllable:

“One.”

“I thought as much,” returned Hawkeye, seating himself; “and
as he had got the cover of the lake afore Uncas pulled upon him, it is more
than probable the knave will sing his lies about some great ambushment, in
which he was outlying on the trail of two Mohicans and a white hunter—for
the officers can be considered as little better than idlers in such a
scrimmage. Well, let him—let him. There are always some honest men in
every nation, though heaven knows, too, that they are scarce among the Maquas,
to look down an upstart when he brags ag’in the face of reason. The
varlet sent his lead within whistle of your ears, Sagamore.”

Chingachgook turned a calm and incurious eye toward the place where the ball
had struck, and then resumed his former attitude, with a composure that could
not be disturbed by so trifling an incident. Just then Uncas glided into the
circle, and seated himself at the fire, with the same appearance of
indifference as was maintained by his father.

Of these several moments Heyward was a deeply interested and wondering
observer. It appeared to him as though the foresters had some secret means of
intelligence, which had escaped the vigilance of his own faculties. In place of
that eager and garrulous narration with which a white youth would have
endeavored to communicate, and perhaps exaggerate, that which had passed out in
the darkness of the plain, the young warrior was seemingly content to let his
deeds speak for themselves. It was, in fact, neither the moment nor the
occasion for an Indian to boast of his exploits; and it is probably that, had
Heyward neglected to inquire, not another syllable would, just then, have been
uttered on the subject.

“What has become of our enemy, Uncas?” demanded Duncan; “we
heard your rifle, and hoped you had not fired in vain.”

The young chief removed a fold of his hunting skirt, and quietly exposed the
fatal tuft of hair, which he bore as the symbol of victory. Chingachgook laid
his hand on the scalp, and considered it for a moment with deep attention. Then
dropping it, with disgust depicted in his strong features, he ejaculated:

“Oneida!”

“Oneida!” repeated the scout, who was fast losing his interest in
the scene, in an apathy nearly assimilated to that of his red associates, but
who now advanced in uncommon earnestness to regard the bloody badge. “By
the Lord, if the Oneidas are outlying upon the trail, we shall by flanked by
devils on every side of us! Now, to white eyes there is no difference between
this bit of skin and that of any other Indian, and yet the Sagamore declares it
came from the poll of a Mingo; nay, he even names the tribe of the poor devil,
with as much ease as if the scalp was the leaf of a book, and each hair a
letter. What right have Christian whites to boast of their learning, when a
savage can read a language that would prove too much for the wisest of them
all! What say you, lad, of what people was the knave?”

Uncas raised his eyes to the face of the scout, and answered, in his soft
voice:

“Oneida.”

“Oneida, again! when one Indian makes a declaration it is commonly true;
but when he is supported by his people, set it down as gospel!”

“The poor fellow has mistaken us for French,” said Heyward;
“or he would not have attempted the life of a friend.”

“He mistake a Mohican in his paint for a Huron! You would be as likely to
mistake the white-coated grenadiers of Montcalm for the scarlet jackets of the
Royal Americans,” returned the scout. “No, no, the sarpent knew his
errand; nor was there any great mistake in the matter, for there is but little
love atween a Delaware and a Mingo, let their tribes go out to fight for whom
they may, in a white quarrel. For that matter, though the Oneidas do serve his
sacred majesty, who is my sovereign lord and master, I should not have
deliberated long about letting off ‘killdeer’ at the imp myself,
had luck thrown him in my way.”

“That would have been an abuse of our treaties, and unworthy of your
character.”

“When a man consort much with a people,” continued Hawkeye,
“if they were honest and he no knave, love will grow up atwixt them. It
is true that white cunning has managed to throw the tribes into great
confusion, as respects friends and enemies; so that the Hurons and the Oneidas,
who speak the same tongue, or what may be called the same, take each
other’s scalps, and the Delawares are divided among themselves; a few
hanging about their great council-fire on their own river, and fighting on the
same side with the Mingoes while the greater part are in the Canadas, out of
natural enmity to the Maquas—thus throwing everything into disorder, and
destroying all the harmony of warfare. Yet a red natur’ is not likely to
alter with every shift of policy; so that the love atwixt a Mohican and a Mingo
is much like the regard between a white man and a sarpent.”

“I regret to hear it; for I had believed those natives who dwelt within
our boundaries had found us too just and liberal, not to identify themselves
fully with our quarrels.”

“Why, I believe it is natur’ to give a preference to one’s
own quarrels before those of strangers. Now, for myself, I do love justice;
and, therefore, I will not say I hate a Mingo, for that may be unsuitable to my
color and my religion, though I will just repeat, it may have been owing to the
night that ‘killdeer’ had no hand in the death of this skulking
Oneida.”

Then, as if satisfied with the force of his own reasons, whatever might be
their effect on the opinions of the other disputant, the honest but implacable
woodsman turned from the fire, content to let the controversy slumber. Heyward
withdrew to the rampart, too uneasy and too little accustomed to the warfare of
the woods to remain at ease under the possibility of such insidious attacks.
Not so, however, with the scout and the Mohicans. Those acute and
long-practised senses, whose powers so often exceed the limits of all ordinary
credulity, after having detected the danger, had enabled them to ascertain its
magnitude and duration. Not one of the three appeared in the least to doubt
their perfect security, as was indicated by the preparations that were soon
made to sit in council over their future proceedings.

The confusion of nations, and even of tribes, to which Hawkeye alluded, existed
at that period in the fullest force. The great tie of language, and, of course,
of a common origin, was severed in many places; and it was one of its
consequences, that the Delaware and the Mingo (as the people of the Six Nations
were called) were found fighting in the same ranks, while the latter sought the
scalp of the Huron, though believed to be the root of his own stock. The
Delawares were even divided among themselves. Though love for the soil which
had belonged to his ancestors kept the Sagamore of the Mohicans with a small
band of followers who were serving at Edward, under the banners of the English
king, by far the largest portion of his nation were known to be in the field as
allies of Montcalm. The reader probably knows, if enough has not already been
gleaned form this narrative, that the Delaware, or Lenape, claimed to be the
progenitors of that numerous people, who once were masters of most of the
eastern and northern states of America, of whom the community of the Mohicans
was an ancient and highly honored member.

It was, of course, with a perfect understanding of the minute and intricate
interests which had armed friend against friend, and brought natural enemies to
combat by each other’s side, that the scout and his companions now
disposed themselves to deliberate on the measures that were to govern their
future movements, amid so many jarring and savage races of men. Duncan knew
enough of Indian customs to understand the reason that the fire was
replenished, and why the warriors, not excepting Hawkeye, took their seats
within the curl of its smoke with so much gravity and decorum. Placing himself
at an angle of the works, where he might be a spectator of the scene without,
he awaited the result with as much patience as he could summon.

After a short and impressive pause, Chingachgook lighted a pipe whose bowl was
curiously carved in one of the soft stones of the country, and whose stem was a
tube of wood, and commenced smoking. When he had inhaled enough of the
fragrance of the soothing weed, he passed the instrument into the hands of the
scout. In this manner the pipe had made its rounds three several times, amid
the most profound silence, before either of the party opened his lips. Then the
Sagamore, as the oldest and highest in rank, in a few calm and dignified words,
proposed the subject for deliberation. He was answered by the scout; and
Chingachgook rejoined, when the other objected to his opinions. But the
youthful Uncas continued a silent and respectful listener, until Hawkeye, in
complaisance, demanded his opinion. Heyward gathered from the manners of the
different speakers, that the father and son espoused one side of a disputed
question, while the white man maintained the other. The contest gradually grew
warmer, until it was quite evident the feelings of the speakers began to be
somewhat enlisted in the debate.

Notwithstanding the increasing warmth of the amicable contest, the most
decorous Christian assembly, not even excepting those in which its reverend
ministers are collected, might have learned a wholesome lesson of moderation
from the forbearance and courtesy of the disputants. The words of Uncas were
received with the same deep attention as those which fell from the maturer
wisdom of his father; and so far from manifesting any impatience, neither spoke
in reply, until a few moments of silent meditation were, seemingly, bestowed in
deliberating on what had already been said.

The language of the Mohicans was accompanied by gestures so direct and natural
that Heyward had but little difficulty in following the thread of their
argument. On the other hand, the scout was obscure; because from the lingering
pride of color, he rather affected the cold and artificial manner which
characterizes all classes of Anglo-Americans when unexcited. By the frequency
with which the Indians described the marks of a forest trial, it was evident
they urged a pursuit by land, while the repeated sweep of Hawkeye’s arm
toward the Horican denoted that he was for a passage across its waters.

The latter was to every appearance fast losing ground, and the point was about
to be decided against him, when he arose to his feet, and shaking off his
apathy, he suddenly assumed the manner of an Indian, and adopted all the arts
of native eloquence. Elevating an arm, he pointed out the track of the sun,
repeating the gesture for every day that was necessary to accomplish their
objects. Then he delineated a long and painful path, amid rocks and
water-courses. The age and weakness of the slumbering and unconscious Munro
were indicated by signs too palpable to be mistaken. Duncan perceived that even
his own powers were spoken lightly of, as the scout extended his palm, and
mentioned him by the appellation of the “Open Hand”—a name
his liberality had purchased of all the friendly tribes. Then came a
representation of the light and graceful movements of a canoe, set in forcible
contrast to the tottering steps of one enfeebled and tired. He concluded by
pointing to the scalp of the Oneida, and apparently urging the necessity of
their departing speedily, and in a manner that should leave no trail.

The Mohicans listened gravely, and with countenances that
reflected the
sentiments of the speaker.

The Mohicans listened gravely, and with countenances that reflected the
sentiments of the speaker. Conviction gradually wrought its influence, and
toward the close of Hawkeye’s speech, his sentences were accompanied by
the customary exclamation of commendation. In short, Uncas and his father
became converts to his way of thinking, abandoning their own previously
expressed opinions with a liberality and candor that, had they been the
representatives of some great and civilized people, would have infallibly
worked their political ruin, by destroying forever their reputation for
consistency.

The instant the matter in discussion was decided, the debate, and everything
connected with it, except the result appeared to be forgotten. Hawkeye, without
looking round to read his triumph in applauding eyes, very composedly stretched
his tall frame before the dying embers, and closed his own organs in sleep.

Left now in a measure to themselves, the Mohicans, whose time had been so much
devoted to the interests of others, seized the moment to devote some attention
to themselves. Casting off at once the grave and austere demeanor of an Indian
chief, Chingachgook commenced speaking to his son in the soft and playful tones
of affection. Uncas gladly met the familiar air of his father; and before the
hard breathing of the scout announced that he slept, a complete change was
effected in the manner of his two associates.

It is impossible to describe the music of their language, while thus engaged in
laughter and endearments, in such a way as to render it intelligible to those
whose ears have never listened to its melody. The compass of their voices,
particularly that of the youth, was wonderful—extending from the deepest
bass to tones that were even feminine in softness. The eyes of the father
followed the plastic and ingenious movements of the son with open delight, and
he never failed to smile in reply to the other’s contagious but low
laughter. While under the influence of these gentle and natural feelings, no
trace of ferocity was to be seen in the softened features of the Sagamore. His
figured panoply of death looked more like a disguise assumed in mockery than a
fierce annunciation of a desire to carry destruction in his footsteps.

After an hour had passed in the indulgence of their better feelings,
Chingachgook abruptly announced his desire to sleep, by wrapping his head in
his blanket and stretching his form on the naked earth. The merriment of Uncas
instantly ceased; and carefully raking the coals in such a manner that they
should impart their warmth to his father’s feet, the youth sought his own
pillow among the ruins of the place.

Imbibing renewed confidence from the security of these experienced foresters,
Heyward soon imitated their example; and long before the night had turned, they
who lay in the bosom of the ruined work, seemed to slumber as heavily as the
unconscious multitude whose bones were already beginning to bleach on the
surrounding plain.

CHAPTER XX.

“Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes
On thee; thou rugged nurse of savage men!”
—Childe Harold

The heavens were still studded with stars, when Hawkeye came to arouse the
sleepers. Casting aside their cloaks Munro and Heyward were on their feet while
the woodsman was still making his low calls, at the entrance of the rude
shelter where they had passed the night. When they issued from beneath its
concealment, they found the scout awaiting their appearance nigh by, and the
only salutation between them was the significant gesture for silence, made by
their sagacious leader.

“Think over your prayers,” he whispered, as they approached him;
“for He to whom you make them, knows all tongues; that of the heart, as
well as those of the mouth. But speak not a syllable; it is rare for a white
voice to pitch itself properly in the woods, as we have seen by the example of
that miserable devil, the singer. Come,” he continued, turning toward a
curtain of the works; “let us get into the ditch on this side, and be
regardful to step on the stones and fragments of wood as you go.”

His companions complied, though to two of them the reasons of this
extraordinary precaution were yet a mystery. When they were in the low cavity
that surrounded the earthen fort on three sides, they found that passage nearly
choked by the ruins. With care and patience, however, they succeeded in
clambering after the scout, until they reached the sandy shore of the Horican.

“That’s a trail that nothing but a nose can follow,” said the
satisfied scout, looking back along their difficult way; “grass is a
treacherous carpet for a flying party to tread on, but wood and stone take no
print from a moccasin. Had you worn your armed boots, there might, indeed, have
been something to fear; but with the deer-skin suitably prepared, a man may
trust himself, generally, on rocks with safety. Shove in the canoe nigher to
the land, Uncas; this sand will take a stamp as easily as the butter of the
Jarmans on the Mohawk. Softly, lad, softly; it must not touch the beach, or the
knaves will know by what road we have left the place.”

The young man observed the precaution; and the scout, laying a board from the
ruins to the canoe, made a sign for the two officers to enter. When this was
done, everything was studiously restored to its former disorder; and then
Hawkeye succeeded in reaching his little birchen vessel, without leaving behind
him any of those marks which he appeared so much to dread. Heyward was silent
until the Indians had cautiously paddled the canoe some distance from the fort,
and within the broad and dark shadows that fell from the eastern mountain on
the glassy surface of the lake; then he demanded:

“What need have we for this stolen and hurried departure?”

“If the blood of an Oneida could stain such a sheet of pure water as this
we float on,” returned the scout, “your two eyes would answer your
own question. Have you forgotten the skulking reptile Uncas slew?”

“By no means. But he was said to be alone, and dead men give no cause for
fear.”

“Ay, he was alone in his deviltry! but an Indian whose tribe counts so
many warriors, need seldom fear his blood will run without the death shriek
coming speedily from some of his enemies.”

“But our presence—the authority of Colonel Munro—would prove
sufficient protection against the anger of our allies, especially in a case
where the wretch so well merited his fate. I trust in Heaven you have not
deviated a single foot from the direct line of our course with so slight a
reason!”

“Do you think the bullet of that varlet’s rifle would have turned
aside, though his sacred majesty the king had stood in its path?”
returned the stubborn scout. “Why did not the grand Frencher, he who is
captain-general of the Canadas, bury the tomahawks of the Hurons, if a word
from a white can work so strongly on the natur’ of an Indian?”

The reply of Heyward was interrupted by a groan from Munro; but after he had
paused a moment, in deference to the sorrow of his aged friend he resumed the
subject.

“The marquis of Montcalm can only settle that error with his God,”
said the young man solemnly.

“Ay, ay, now there is reason in your words, for they are bottomed on
religion and honesty. There is a vast difference between throwing a regiment of
white coats atwixt the tribes and the prisoners, and coaxing an angry savage to
forget he carries a knife and rifle, with words that must begin with calling
him your son. No, no,” continued the scout, looking back at the dim shore
of William Henry, which was now fast receding, and laughing in his own silent
but heartfelt manner; “I have put a trail of water atween us; and unless
the imps can make friends with the fishes, and hear who has paddled across
their basin this fine morning, we shall throw the length of the Horican behind
us before they have made up their minds which path to take.”

“With foes in front, and foes in our rear, our journey is like to be one
of danger.”

“Danger!” repeated Hawkeye, calmly; “no, not absolutely of
danger; for, with vigilant ears and quick eyes, we can manage to keep a few
hours ahead of the knaves; or, if we must try the rifle, there are three of us
who understand its gifts as well as any you can name on the borders. No, not of
danger; but that we shall have what you may call a brisk push of it, is
probable; and it may happen, a brush, a scrimmage, or some such divarsion, but
always where covers are good, and ammunition abundant.”

It is possible that Heyward’s estimate of danger differed in some degree
from that of the scout, for, instead of replying, he now sat in silence, while
the canoe glided over several miles of water. Just as the day dawned, they
entered the narrows of the lake[1],
and stole swiftly and cautiously among their numberless little islands. It was
by this road that Montcalm had retired with his army, and the adventurers knew
not but he had left some of his Indians in ambush, to protect the rear of his
forces, and collect the stragglers. They, therefore, approached the passage
with the customary silence of their guarded habits.

 [1]
The beauties of Lake George are well known to every American tourist. In the
height of the mountains which surround it, and in artificial accessories, it is
inferior to the finest of the Swiss and Italian lakes, while in outline and
purity of water it is fully their equal; and in the number and disposition of
its isles and islets much superior to them all together. There are said to be
some hundreds of islands in a sheet of water less than thirty miles long. The
narrows, which connect what may be called, in truth, two lakes, are crowded
with islands to such a degree as to leave passages between them frequently of
only a few feet in width. The lake itself varies in breadth from one to three
miles.

Chingachgook laid aside his paddle; while Uncas and the scout urged the light
vessel through crooked and intricate channels, where every foot that they
advanced exposed them to the danger of some sudden rising on their progress.
The eyes of the Sagamore moved warily from islet to islet, and copse to copse,
as the canoe proceeded; and, when a clearer sheet of water permitted, his keen
vision was bent along the bald rocks and impending forests that frowned upon
the narrow strait.

Heyward, who was a doubly interested spectator, as well from the beauties of
the place as from the apprehension natural to his situation, was just believing
that he had permitted the latter to be excited without sufficient reason, when
the paddle ceased moving, in obedience to a signal from Chingachgook.

“Hugh!” exclaimed Uncas, nearly at the moment that the light tap
his father had made on the side of the canoe notified them of the vicinity of
danger.

“What now?” asked the scout; “the lake is as smooth as if the
winds had never blown, and I can see along its sheet for miles; there is not so
much as the black head of a loon dotting the water.”

The Indian gravely raised his paddle, and pointed in the direction in which his
own steady look was riveted. Duncan’s eyes followed the motion. A few
rods in their front lay another of the wooded islets, but it appeared as calm
and peaceful as if its solitude had never been disturbed by the foot of man.

“I see nothing,” he said, “but land and water; and a lovely
scene it is.”

“Hist!” interrupted the scout. “Ay, Sagamore, there is always
a reason for what you do. ’Tis but a shade, and yet it is not natural.
You see the mist, major, that is rising above the island; you can’t call
it a fog, for it is more like a streak of thin cloud—”

“It is vapor from the water.”

“That a child could tell. But what is the edging of blacker smoke that
hangs along its lower side, and which you may trace down into the thicket of
hazel? ’Tis from a fire; but one that, in my judgment, has been suffered
to burn low.”

“Let us, then, push for the place, and relieve our doubts,” said
the impatient Duncan; “the party must be small that can lie on such a bit
of land.”

“If you judge of Indian cunning by the rules you find in books, or by
white sagacity, they will lead you astray, if not to your death,”
returned Hawkeye, examining the signs of the place with that acuteness which
distinguished him. “If I may be permitted to speak in this matter, it
will be to say, that we have but two things to choose between: the one is, to
return, and give up all thoughts of following the Hurons—”

“Never!” exclaimed Heyward, in a voice far too loud for their
circumstances.

“Well, well,” continued Hawkeye, making a hasty sign to repress his
impatience; “I am much of your mind myself; though I thought it becoming
my experience to tell the whole. We must, then, make a push, and if the Indians
or Frenchers are in the narrows, run the gauntlet through these toppling
mountains. Is there reason in my words, Sagamore?”

The Indian made no other answer than by dropping his paddle into the water, and
urging forward the canoe. As he held the office of directing its course, his
resolution was sufficiently indicated by the movement. The whole party now
plied their paddles vigorously, and in a very few moments they had reached a
point whence they might command an entire view of the northern shore of the
island, the side that had hitherto been concealed.

“There they are, by all the truth of signs,” whispered the scout,
“two canoes and a smoke. The knaves haven’t yet got their eyes out
of the mist, or we should hear the accursed whoop. Together, friends! we are
leaving them, and are already nearly out of whistle of a bullet.”

The well-known crack of a rifle, whose ball came skipping along the placid
surface of the strait, and a shrill yell from the island, interrupted his
speech, and announced that their passage was discovered. In another instant
several savages were seen rushing into canoes, which were soon dancing over the
water in pursuit. These fearful precursors of a coming struggle produced no
change in the countenances and movements of his three guides, so far as Duncan
could discover, except that the strokes of their paddles were longer and more
in unison, and caused the little bark to spring forward like a creature
possessing life and volition.

“Hold them there, Sagamore,” said Hawkeye, looking coolly backward
over this left shoulder, while he still plied his paddle; “keep them just
there. Them Hurons have never a piece in their nation that will execute at this
distance; but ‘killdeer’ has a barrel on which a man may
calculate.”

The scout having ascertained that the Mohicans were sufficient of themselves to
maintain the requisite distance, deliberately laid aside his paddle, and raised
the fatal rifle. Three several times he brought the piece to his shoulder, and
when his companions were expecting its report, he as often lowered it to
request the Indians would permit their enemies to approach a little nigher. At
length his accurate and fastidious eye seemed satisfied, and, throwing out his
left arm on the barrel, he was slowly elevating the muzzle, when an exclamation
from Uncas, who sat in the bow, once more caused him to suspend the shot.

“What, now, lad?” demanded Hawkeye; “you save a Huron from
the death-shriek by that word; have you reason for what you do?”

Uncas pointed toward a rocky shore a little in their front, whence another war
canoe was darting directly across their course. It was too obvious now that
their situation was imminently perilous to need the aid of language to confirm
it. The scout laid aside his rifle, and resumed the paddle, while Chingachgook
inclined the bows of the canoe a little toward the western shore, in order to
increase the distance between them and this new enemy. In the meantime they
were reminded of the presence of those who pressed upon their rear, by wild and
exulting shouts. The stirring scene awakened even Munro from his apathy.

“Let us make for the rocks on the main,” he said, with the mien of
a tired soldier, “and give battle to the savages. God forbid that I, or
those attached to me and mine, should ever trust again to the faith of any
servant of the Louis’s!”

“He who wishes to prosper in Indian warfare,” returned the scout,
“must not be too proud to learn from the wit of a native. Lay her more
along the land, Sagamore; we are doubling on the varlets, and perhaps they may
try to strike our trail on the long calculation.”

Hawkeye was not mistaken; for when the Hurons found their course was likely to
throw them behind their chase they rendered it less direct, until, by gradually
bearing more and more obliquely, the two canoes were, ere long, gliding on
parallel lines, within two hundred yards of each other. It now became entirely
a trial of speed. So rapid was the progress of the light vessels, that the lake
curled in their front, in miniature waves, and their motion became undulating
by its own velocity. It was, perhaps, owing to this circumstance, in addition
to the necessity of keeping every hand employed at the paddles, that the Hurons
had not immediate recourse to their firearms. The exertions of the fugitives
were too severe to continue long, and the pursuers had the advantage of
numbers. Duncan observed with uneasiness, that the scout began to look
anxiously about him, as if searching for some further means of assisting their
flight.

“Edge her a little more from the sun, Sagamore,” said the stubborn
woodsman; “I see the knaves are sparing a man to the rifle. A single
broken bone might lose us our scalps. Edge more from the sun and we will put
the island between us.”

The expedient was not without its use. A long, low island lay at a little
distance before them, and, as they closed with it, the chasing canoe was
compelled to take a side opposite to that on which the pursued passed. The
scout and his companions did not neglect this advantage, but the instant they
were hid from observation by the bushes, they redoubled efforts that before had
seemed prodigious. The two canoes came round the last low point, like two
coursers at the top of their speed, the fugitives taking the lead. This change
had brought them nigher to each other, however, while it altered their relative
positions.

“You showed knowledge in the shaping of a birchen bark, Uncas, when you
chose this from among the Huron canoes,” said the scout, smiling,
apparently more in satisfaction at their superiority in the race than from that
prospect of final escape which now began to open a little upon them. “The
imps have put all their strength again at the paddles, and we are to struggle
for our scalps with bits of flattened wood, instead of clouded barrels and true
eyes. A long stroke, and together, friends.”

“They are preparing for a shot,” said Heyward; “and as we are
in a line with them, it can scarcely fail.”

“Get you, then, into the bottom of the canoe,” returned the scout;
“you and the colonel; it will be so much taken from the size of the
mark.”

Heyward smiled, as he answered:

“It would be but an ill example for the highest in rank to dodge, while
the warriors were under fire.”

“Lord! Lord! That is now a white man’s courage!” exclaimed
the scout; “and like to many of his notions, not to be maintained by
reason. Do you think the Sagamore, or Uncas, or even I, who am a man without a
cross, would deliberate about finding a cover in the scrimmage, when an open
body would do no good? For what have the Frenchers reared up their Quebec, if
fighting is always to be done in the clearings?”

“All that you say is very true, my friend,” replied Heyward;
“still, our customs must prevent us from doing as you wish.”

A volley from the Hurons interrupted the discourse, and as the bullets whistled
about them, Duncan saw the head of Uncas turned, looking back at himself and
Munro. Notwithstanding the nearness of the enemy, and his own great personal
danger, the countenance of the young warrior expressed no other emotion, as the
former was compelled to think, than amazement at finding men willing to
encounter so useless an exposure. Chingachgook was probably better acquainted
with the notions of white men, for he did not even cast a glance aside from the
riveted look his eye maintained on the object by which he governed their
course. A ball soon struck the light and polished paddle from the hands of the
chief, and drove it through the air, far in the advance. A shout arose from the
Hurons, who seized the opportunity to fire another volley. Uncas described an
arc in the water with his own blade, and as the canoe passed swiftly on,
Chingachgook recovered his paddle, and flourishing it on high, he gave the
war-whoop of the Mohicans, and then lent his strength and skill again to the
important task.

The clamorous sounds of “Le Gros Serpent!” “La Longue
Carabine!” “Le Cerf Agile!” burst at once from the canoes
behind, and seemed to give new zeal to the pursuers. The scout seized
“killdeer” in his left hand, and elevating it about his head, he
shook it in triumph at his enemies. The savages answered the insult with a
yell, and immediately another volley succeeded. The bullets pattered along the
lake, and one even pierced the bark of their little vessel. No perceptible
emotion could be discovered in the Mohicans during this critical moment, their
rigid features expressing neither hope nor alarm; but the scout again turned
his head, and, laughing in his own silent manner, he said to Heyward:

“The knaves love to hear the sounds of their pieces; but the eye is not
to be found among the Mingoes that can calculate a true range in a dancing
canoe! You see the dumb devils have taken off a man to charge, and by the
smallest measurement that can be allowed, we move three feet to their
two!”

Duncan, who was not altogether as easy under this nice estimate of distances as
his companions, was glad to find, however, that owing to their superior
dexterity, and the diversion among their enemies, they were very sensibly
obtaining the advantage. The Hurons soon fired again, and a bullet struck the
blade of Hawkeye’s paddle without injury.

“That will do,” said the scout, examining the slight indentation
with a curious eye; “it would not have cut the skin of an infant, much
less of men, who, like us, have been blown upon by the heavens in their anger.
Now, major, if you will try to use this piece of flattened wood, I’ll let
‘killdeer’ take a part in the conversation.”

Heyward seized the paddle, and applied himself to the work with an eagerness
that supplied the place of skill, while Hawkeye was engaged in inspecting the
priming of his rifle. The latter then took a swift aim and fired. The Huron in
the bows of the leading canoe had risen with a similar object, and he now fell
backward, suffering his gun to escape from his hands into the water. In an
instant, however, he recovered his feet, though his gestures were wild and
bewildered. At the same moment his companions suspended their efforts, and the
chasing canoes clustered together, and became stationary. Chingachgook and
Uncas profited by the interval to regain their wind, though Duncan continued to
work with the most persevering industry. The father and son now cast calm but
inquiring glances at each other, to learn if either had sustained any injury by
the fire; for both well knew that no cry or exclamation would, in such a moment
of necessity have been permitted to betray the accident. A few large drops of
blood were trickling down the shoulder of the Sagamore, who, when he perceived
that the eyes of Uncas dwelt too long on the sight, raised some water in the
hollow of his hand, and washing off the stain, was content to manifest, in this
simple manner, the slightness of the injury.

“Softly, softly, major,” said the scout, who by this time had
reloaded his rifle; “we are a little too far already for a rifle to put
forth its beauties, and you see yonder imps are holding a council. Let them
come up within striking distance—my eye may well be trusted in such a
matter—and I will trail the varlets the length of the Horican,
guaranteeing that not a shot of theirs shall, at the worst, more than break the
skin, while ‘killdeer’ shall touch the life twice in three
times.”

“We forget our errand,” returned the diligent Duncan. “For
God’s sake let us profit by this advantage, and increase our distance
from the enemy.”

“Give me my children,” said Munro, hoarsely; “trifle no
longer with a father’s agony, but restore me my babes.”

Long and habitual deference to the mandates of his superiors had taught the
scout the virtue of obedience. Throwing a last and lingering glance at the
distant canoes, he laid aside his rifle, and, relieving the wearied Duncan,
resumed the paddle, which he wielded with sinews that never tired. His efforts
were seconded by those of the Mohicans and a very few minutes served to place
such a sheet of water between them and their enemies, that Heyward once more
breathed freely.

The lake now began to expand, and their route lay along a wide reach, that was
lined, as before, by high and ragged mountains. But the islands were few, and
easily avoided. The strokes of the paddles grew more measured and regular,
while they who plied them continued their labor, after the close and deadly
chase from which they had just relieved themselves, with as much coolness as
though their speed had been tried in sport, rather than under such pressing,
nay, almost desperate, circumstances.

Instead of following the western shore, whither their errand led them, the wary
Mohican inclined his course more toward those hills behind which Montcalm was
known to have led his army into the formidable fortress of Ticonderoga. As the
Hurons, to every appearance, had abandoned the pursuit, there was no apparent
reason for this excess of caution. It was, however, maintained for hours, until
they had reached a bay, nigh the northern termination of the lake. Here the
canoe was driven upon the beach, and the whole party landed. Hawkeye and
Heyward ascended an adjacent bluff, where the former, after considering the
expanse of water beneath him, pointed out to the latter a small black object,
hovering under a headland, at the distance of several miles.

“Do you see it?” demanded the scout. “Now, what would you
account that spot, were you left alone to white experience to find your way
through this wilderness?”

“But for its distance and its magnitude, I should suppose it a bird. Can
it be a living object?”

“’Tis a canoe of good birchen bark, and paddled by fierce and
crafty Mingoes. Though Providence has lent to those who inhabit the woods eyes
that would be needless to men in the settlements, where there are inventions to
assist the sight, yet no human organs can see all the dangers which at this
moment circumvent us. These varlets pretend to be bent chiefly on their
sun-down meal, but the moment it is dark they will be on our trail, as true as
hounds on the scent. We must throw them off, or our pursuit of Le Renard Subtil
may be given up. These lakes are useful at times, especially when the game take
the water,” continued the scout, gazing about him with a countenance of
concern; “but they give no cover, except it be to the fishes. God knows
what the country would be, if the settlements should ever spread far from the
two rivers. Both hunting and war would lose their beauty.”

“Let us not delay a moment, without some good and obvious cause.”

“I little like that smoke, which you may see worming up along the rock
above the canoe,” interrupted the abstracted scout. “My life on it,
other eyes than ours see it, and know its meaning. Well, words will not mend
the matter, and it is time that we were doing.”

Hawkeye moved away from the lookout, and descended, musing profoundly, to the
shore. He communicated the result of his observations to his companions, in
Delaware, and a short and earnest consultation succeeded. When it terminated,
the three instantly set about executing their new resolutions.

The canoe was lifted from the water, and borne on the shoulders of the party,
they proceeded into the wood, making as broad and obvious a trail as possible.
They soon reached the water-course, which they crossed, and, continuing onward,
until they came to an extensive and naked rock. At this point, where their
footsteps might be expected to be no longer visible, they retraced their route
to the brook, walking backward, with the utmost care. They now followed the bed
of the little stream to the lake, into which they immediately launched their
canoe again. A low point concealed them from the headland, and the margin of
the lake was fringed for some distance with dense and overhanging bushes. Under
the cover of these natural advantages, they toiled their way, with patient
industry, until the scout pronounced that he believed it would be safe once
more to land.

The halt continued until evening rendered objects indistinct and uncertain to
the eye. Then they resumed their route, and, favored by the darkness, pushed
silently and vigorously toward the western shore. Although the rugged outline
of mountain, to which they were steering, presented no distinctive marks to the
eyes of Duncan, the Mohican entered the little haven he had selected with the
confidence and accuracy of an experienced pilot.

The boat was again lifted and borne into the woods, where it was carefully
concealed under a pile of brush. The adventurers assumed their arms and packs,
and the scout announced to Munro and Heyward that he and the Indians were at
last in readiness to proceed.

CHAPTER XXI.

“If you find a man there, he shall die a flea’s death.”
—Merry Wives of Windsor.

The party had landed on the border of a region that is, even to this day, less
known to the inhabitants of the States than the deserts of Arabia, or the
steppes of Tartary. It was the sterile and rugged district which separates the
tributaries of Champlain from those of the Hudson, the Mohawk, and the St.
Lawrence. Since the period of our tale the active spirit of the country has
surrounded it with a belt of rich and thriving settlements, though none but the
hunter or the savage is ever known even now to penetrate its wild recesses.

As Hawkeye and the Mohicans had, however, often traversed the mountains and
valleys of this vast wilderness, they did not hesitate to plunge into its
depth, with the freedom of men accustomed to its privations and difficulties.
For many hours the travelers toiled on their laborious way, guided by a star,
or following the direction of some water-course, until the scout called a halt,
and holding a short consultation with the Indians, they lighted their fire, and
made the usual preparations to pass the remainder of the night where they then
were.

Imitating the example, and emulating the confidence of their more experienced
associates, Munro and Duncan slept without fear, if not without uneasiness. The
dews were suffered to exhale, and the sun had dispersed the mists, and was
shedding a strong and clear light in the forest, when the travelers resumed
their journey.

After proceeding a few miles, the progress of Hawkeye, who led the advance,
became more deliberate and watchful. He often stopped to examine the trees; nor
did he cross a rivulet without attentively considering the quantity, the
velocity, and the color of its waters. Distrusting his own judgment, his
appeals to the opinion of Chingachgook were frequent and earnest. During one of
these conferences Heyward observed that Uncas stood a patient and silent,
though, as he imagined, an interested listener. He was strongly tempted to
address the young chief, and demand his opinion of their progress; but the calm
and dignified demeanor of the native induced him to believe, that, like
himself, the other was wholly dependent on the sagacity and intelligence of the
seniors of the party. At last the scout spoke in English, and at once explained
the embarrassment of their situation.

“When I found that the home path of the Hurons run north,” he said,
“it did not need the judgment of many long years to tell that they would
follow the valleys, and keep atween the waters of the Hudson and the Horican,
until they might strike the springs of the Canada streams, which would lead
them into the heart of the country of the Frenchers. Yet here are we, within a
short range of the Scaroons, and not a sign of a trail have we crossed! Human
natur’ is weak, and it is possible we may not have taken the proper
scent.”

“Heaven protect us from such an error!” exclaimed Duncan.
“Let us retrace our steps, and examine as we go, with keener eyes. Has
Uncas no counsel to offer in such a strait?”

The young Mohican cast a glance at his father, but, maintaining his quiet and
reserved mien, he continued silent. Chingachgook had caught the look, and
motioning with his hand, he bade him speak. The moment this permission was
accorded, the countenance of Uncas changed from its grave composure to a gleam
of intelligence and joy. Bounding forward like a deer, he sprang up the side of
a little acclivity, a few rods in advance, and stood, exultingly, over a spot
of fresh earth, that looked as though it had been recently upturned by the
passage of some heavy animal. The eyes of the whole party followed the
unexpected movement, and read their success in the air of triumph that the
youth assumed.

“’Tis the trail!” exclaimed the scout, advancing to the spot;
“the lad is quick of sight and keen of wit for his years.”

“’Tis extraordinary that he should have withheld his knowledge so
long,” muttered Duncan, at his elbow.

“It would have been more wonderful had he spoken without a bidding. No,
no; your young white, who gathers his learning from books and can measure what
he knows by the page, may conceit that his knowledge, like his legs, outruns
that of his fathers’, but, where experience is the master, the scholar is
made to know the value of years, and respects them accordingly.”

“See!” said Uncas, pointing north and south, at the evident marks
of the broad trail on either side of him, “the dark-hair has gone toward
the forest.”

“Hound never ran on a more beautiful scent,” responded the scout,
dashing forward, at once, on the indicated route; “we are favored,
greatly favored, and can follow with high noses. Ay, here are both your
waddling beasts: this Huron travels like a white general. The fellow is
stricken with a judgment, and is mad! Look sharp for wheels, Sagamore,”
he continued, looking back, and laughing in his newly awakened satisfaction;
“we shall soon have the fool journeying in a coach, and that with three
of the best pair of eyes on the borders in his rear.”

The spirits of the scout, and the astonishing success of the chase, in which a
circuitous distance of more than forty miles had been passed, did not fail to
impart a portion of hope to the whole party. Their advance was rapid; and made
with as much confidence as a traveler would proceed along a wide highway. If a
rock, or a rivulet, or a bit of earth harder than common, severed the links of
the clew they followed, the true eye of the scout recovered them at a distance,
and seldom rendered the delay of a single moment necessary. Their progress was
much facilitated by the certainty that Magua had found it necessary to journey
through the valleys; a circumstance which rendered the general direction of the
route sure. Nor had the Huron entirely neglected the arts uniformly practised
by the natives when retiring in front of an enemy. False trails and sudden
turnings were frequent, wherever a brook or the formation of the ground
rendered them feasible; but his pursuers were rarely deceived, and never failed
to detect their error, before they had lost either time or distance on the