The Last of the Mohicans

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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 18

"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.