The Last of the Mohicans

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"Have you not, Major Heyward, some communication that I should hear from
the marquis de Montcalm?"

Duncan started in his turn, and immediately commenced in an embarrassed
voice, the half-forgotten message. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the
evasive though polite manner with which the French general had
eluded every attempt of Heyward to worm from him the purport of the
communication he had proposed making, or on the decided, though still
polished message, by which he now gave his enemy to understand, that,
unless he chose to receive it in person, he should not receive it at
all. As Munro listened to the detail of Duncan, the excited feelings of
the father gradually gave way before the obligations of his station,
and when the other was done, he saw before him nothing but the veteran,
swelling with the wounded feelings of a soldier.

"You have said enough, Major Heyward," exclaimed the angry old man;
"enough to make a volume of commentary on French civility. Here has
this gentleman invited me to a conference, and when I send him a capable
substitute, for ye're all that, Duncan, though your years are but few,
he answers me with a riddle."

"He may have thought less favorably of the substitute, my dear sir; and
you will remember that the invitation, which he now repeats, was to the
commandant of the works, and not to his second."

"Well, sir, is not a substitute clothed with all the power and dignity
of him who grants the commission? He wishes to confer with Munro! Faith,
sir, I have much inclination to indulge the man, if it should only be to
let him behold the firm countenance we maintain in spite of his numbers
and his summons. There might be not bad policy in such a stroke, young
man."

Duncan, who believed it of the last importance that they should speedily
come to the contents of the letter borne by the scout, gladly encouraged
this idea.

"Without doubt, he could gather no confidence by witnessing our
indifference," he said.

"You never said truer word. I could wish, sir, that he would visit the
works in open day, and in the form of a storming party; that is the
least failing method of proving the countenance of an enemy, and would
be far preferable to the battering system he has chosen. The beauty and
manliness of warfare has been much deformed, Major Heyward, by the arts
of your Monsieur Vauban. Our ancestors were far above such scientific
cowardice!"

"It may be very true, sir; but we are now obliged to repel art by art.
What is your pleasure in the matter of the interview?"

"I will meet the Frenchman, and that without fear or delay; promptly,
sir, as becomes a servant of my royal master. Go, Major Heyward, and
give them a flourish of the music; and send out a messenger to let them
know who is coming. We will follow with a small guard, for such respect
is due to one who holds the honor of his king in keeping; and hark'ee,
Duncan," he added, in a half whisper, though they were alone, "it may be
prudent to have some aid at hand, in case there should be treachery at
the bottom of it all."

The young man availed himself of this order to quit the apartment; and,
as the day was fast coming to a close, he hastened without delay, to
make the necessary arrangements. A very few minutes only were necessary
to parade a few files, and to dispatch an orderly with a flag to
announce the approach of the commandant of the fort. When Duncan had
done both these, he led the guard to the sally-port, near which he
found his superior ready, waiting his appearance. As soon as the usual
ceremonials of a military departure were observed, the veteran and his
more youthful companion left the fortress, attended by the escort.

They had proceeded only a hundred yards from the works, when the little
array which attended the French general to the conference was seen
issuing from the hollow way which formed the bed of a brook that ran
between the batteries of the besiegers and the fort. From the moment
that Munro left his own works to appear in front of his enemy's, his
air had been grand, and his step and countenance highly military. The
instant he caught a glimpse of the white plume that waved in the hat
of Montcalm, his eye lighted, and age no longer appeared to possess any
influence over his vast and still muscular person.

"Speak to the boys to be watchful, sir," he said, in an undertone, to
Duncan; "and to look well to their flints and steel, for one is never
safe with a servant of these Louis's; at the same time, we shall show
them the front of men in deep security. Ye'll understand me, Major
Heyward!"

He was interrupted by the clamor of a drum from the approaching
Frenchmen, which was immediately answered, when each party pushed an
orderly in advance, bearing a white flag, and the wary Scotsman halted
with his guard close at his back. As soon as this slight salutation
had passed, Montcalm moved toward them 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 Francais',
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 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 17

"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'etre 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 etre vigilant, en verite! je crois que nous avons la, 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.