The Last of the Mohicans

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It is unusual to find an encampment of the natives, like those of the
more instructed whites, guarded by the presence of armed men. Well
informed of the approach of every danger, while it is yet at a distance,
the Indian generally rests secure under his knowledge of the signs of
the forest, and the long and difficult paths that separate him from
those he has most reason to dread. But the enemy who, by any lucky
concurrence of accidents, has found means to elude the vigilance of the
scouts, will seldom meet with sentinels nearer home to sound the alarm.
In addition to this general usage, the tribes friendly to the French
knew too well the weight of the blow that had just been struck, to
apprehend any immediate danger from the hostile nations that were
tributary to the crown of Britain.

When Duncan and David, therefore, found themselves in the center of the
children, who played the antics already mentioned, it was without the
least previous intimation of their approach. But so soon as they were
observed the whole of the juvenile pack raised, by common consent, a
shrill and warning whoop; and then sank, as it were, by magic, from
before the sight of their visitors. The naked, tawny bodies of the
crouching urchins blended so nicely at that hour, with the withered
herbage, that at first it seemed as if the earth had, in truth,
swallowed up their forms; though when surprise permitted Duncan to bend
his look more curiously about the spot, he found it everywhere met by
dark, quick, and rolling eyeballs.

Gathering no encouragement from this startling presage of the nature of
the scrutiny he was likely to undergo from the more mature judgments
of the men, there was an instant when the young soldier would have
retreated. It was, however, too late to appear to hesitate. The cry
of the children had drawn a dozen warriors to the door of the nearest
lodge, where they stood clustered in a dark and savage group, gravely
awaiting the nearer approach of those who had unexpectedly come among
them.

David, in some measure familiarized to the scene, led the way with a
steadiness that no slight obstacle was likely to disconcert, into this
very building. It was the principal edifice of the village, though
roughly constructed of the bark and branches of trees; being the lodge
in which the tribe held its councils and public meetings during their
temporary residence on the borders of the English province. Duncan found
it difficult to assume the necessary appearance of unconcern, as he
brushed the dark and powerful frames of the savages who thronged its
threshold; but, conscious that his existence depended on his presence of
mind, he trusted to the discretion of his companion, whose footsteps he
closely followed, endeavoring, as he proceeded, to rally his thoughts
for the occasion. His blood curdled when he found himself in absolute
contact with such fierce and implacable enemies; but he so far mastered
his feelings as to pursue his way into the center of the lodge, with an
exterior that did not betray the weakness. Imitating the example of the
deliberate Gamut, he drew a bundle of fragrant brush from beneath a pile
that filled the corner of the hut, and seated himself in silence.

So soon as their visitor had passed, the observant warriors fell back
from the entrance, and arranging themselves about him, they seemed
patiently to await the moment when it might comport with the dignity of
the stranger to speak. By far the greater number stood leaning, in lazy,
lounging attitudes, against the upright posts that supported the crazy
building, while three or four of the oldest and most distinguished of
the chiefs placed themselves on the earth a little more in advance.

A flaring torch was burning in the place, and set its red glare from
face to face and figure to figure, as it waved in the currents of air.
Duncan profited by its light to read the probable character of his
reception, in the countenances of his hosts. But his ingenuity availed
him little, against the cold artifices of the people he had encountered.
The chiefs in front scarce cast a glance at his person, keeping their
eyes on the ground, with an air that might have been intended for
respect, but which it was quite easy to construe into distrust. The men
in the shadow were less reserved. Duncan soon detected their searching,
but stolen, looks which, in truth, scanned his person and attire inch by
inch; leaving no emotion of the countenance, no gesture, no line of the
paint, nor even the fashion of a garment, unheeded, and without comment.

At length one whose hair was beginning to be sprinkled with gray, but
whose sinewy limbs and firm tread announced that he was still equal to
the duties of manhood, advanced out of the gloom of a corner, whither he
had probably posted himself to make his observations unseen, and
spoke. He used the language of the Wyandots, or Hurons; his words were,
consequently, unintelligible to Heyward, though they seemed, by the
gestures that accompanied them, to be uttered more in courtesy than
anger. The latter shook his head, and made a gesture indicative of his
inability to reply.

"Do none of my brothers speak the French or the English?" he said, in
the former language, looking about him from countenance to countenance,
in hopes of finding a nod of assent.

Though more than one had turned, as if to catch the meaning of his
words, they remained unanswered.

"I should be grieved to think," continued Duncan, speaking slowly, and
using the simplest French of which he was the master, "to believe that
none of this wise and brave nation understand the language that the
'Grand Monarque' uses when he talks to his children. His heart would be
heavy did he believe his red warriors paid him so little respect!"

A long and grave pause succeeded, during which no movement of a limb,
nor any expression of an eye, betrayed the expression produced by his
remark. Duncan, who knew that silence was a virtue among his hosts,
gladly had recourse to the custom, in order to arrange his ideas. At
length the same warrior who had before addressed him replied, by dryly
demanding, in the language of the Canadas:

"When our Great Father speaks to his people, is it with the tongue of a
Huron?"

"He knows no difference in his children, whether the color of the skin
be red, or black, or white," returned Duncan, evasively; "though chiefly
is he satisfied with the brave Hurons."

"In what manner will he speak," demanded the wary chief, "when the
runners count to him the scalps which five nights ago grew on the heads
of the Yengeese?"

"They were his enemies," said Duncan, shuddering involuntarily; "and
doubtless, he will say, it is good; my Hurons are very gallant."

"Our Canada father does not think it. Instead of looking forward to
reward his Indians, his eyes are turned backward. He sees the dead
Yengeese, but no Huron. What can this mean?"

"A great chief, like him, has more thoughts than tongues. He looks to
see that no enemies are on his trail."

"The canoe of a dead warrior will not float on the Horican," returned
the savage, gloomily. "His ears are open to the Delawares, who are not
our friends, and they fill them with lies."

"It cannot be. See; he has bid me, who am a man that knows the art of
healing, to go to his children, the red Hurons of the great lakes, and
ask if any are sick!"

Another silence succeeded this annunciation of the character Duncan
had assumed. Every eye was simultaneously bent on his person, as if
to inquire into the truth or falsehood of the declaration, with an
intelligence and keenness that caused the subject of their scrutiny to
tremble for the result. He was, however, relieved again by the former
speaker.

"Do the cunning men of the Canadas paint their skins?" the Huron coldly
continued; "we have heard them boast that their faces were pale."

"When an Indian chief comes among his white fathers," returned Duncan,
with great steadiness, "he lays aside his buffalo robe, to carry the
shirt that is offered him. My brothers have given me paint and I wear
it."

A low murmur of applause announced that the compliment of the tribe was
favorably received. The elderly chief made a gesture of commendation,
which was answered by most of his companions, who each threw forth
a hand and uttered a brief exclamation of pleasure. Duncan began to
breathe more freely, believing that the weight of his examination was
past; and, as he had already prepared a simple and probable tale to
support his pretended occupation, his hopes of ultimate success grew
brighter.

After a silence of a few moments, as if adjusting his thoughts, in
order to make a suitable answer to the declaration their guests had
just given, another warrior arose, and placed himself in an attitude to
speak. While his lips were yet in the act of parting, a low but fearful
sound arose from the forest, and was immediately succeeded by a high,
shrill yell, that was drawn out, until it equaled the longest and most
plaintive howl of the wolf. The sudden and terrible interruption caused
Duncan to start from his seat, unconscious of everything but the effect
produced by so frightful a cry. At the same moment, the warriors glided
in a body from the lodge, and the outer air was filled with loud shouts,
that nearly drowned those awful sounds, which were still ringing beneath
the arches of the woods. Unable to command himself any longer, the youth
broke from the place, and presently stood in the center of a disorderly
throng, that included nearly everything having life, within the limits
of the encampment. Men, women, and children; the aged, the inform, the
active, and the strong, were alike abroad, some exclaiming aloud, others
clapping their hands with a joy that seemed frantic, and all expressing
their savage pleasure in some unexpected event. Though astounded, at
first, by the uproar, Heyward was soon enabled to find its solution by
the scene that followed.

There yet lingered sufficient light in the heavens to exhibit those
bright openings among the tree-tops, where different paths left the
clearing to enter the depths of the wilderness. Beneath one of them, a
line of warriors issued from the woods, and advanced slowly toward the
dwellings. One in front bore a short pole, on which, as it afterwards
appeared, were suspended several human scalps. The startling sounds that
Duncan had heard were what the whites have not inappropriately called
the "death-hallo"; and each repetition of the cry was intended to
announce to the tribe the fate of an enemy. Thus far the knowledge of
Heyward assisted him in the explanation; and as he now knew that the
interruption was caused by the unlooked-for return of a successful
war-party, every disagreeable sensation was quieted in inward
congratulation, for the opportune relief and insignificance it conferred
on himself.

When at the distance of a few hundred feet from the lodges the newly
arrived warriors halted. Their plaintive and terrific cry, which was
intended to represent equally the wailings of the dead and the triumph
to the victors, had entirely ceased. One of their number now called
aloud, in words that were far from appalling, though not more
intelligible to those for whose ears they were intended, than their
expressive yells. It would be difficult to convey a suitable idea of the
savage ecstasy with which the news thus imparted was received. The whole
encampment, in a moment, became a scene of the most violent bustle and
commotion. The warriors drew their knives, and flourishing them, they
arranged themselves in two lines, forming a lane that extended from
the war-party to the lodges. The squaws seized clubs, axes, or whatever
weapon of offense first offered itself to their hands, and rushed
eagerly to act their part in the cruel game that was at hand. Even
the children would not be excluded; but boys, little able to wield the
instruments, tore the tomahawks from the belts of their fathers, and
stole into the ranks, apt imitators of the savage traits exhibited by
their parents.

Large piles of brush lay scattered about the clearing, and a wary and
aged squaw was occupied in firing as many as might serve to light the
coming exhibition. As the flame arose, its power exceeded that of
the parting day, and assisted to render objects at the same time more
distinct and more hideous. The whole scene formed a striking picture,
whose frame was composed of the dark and tall border of pines. The
warriors just arrived were the most distant figures. A little in advance
stood two men, who were apparently selected from the rest, as the
principal actors in what was to follow. The light was not strong enough
to render their features distinct, though it was quite evident that
they were governed by very different emotions. While one stood erect and
firm, prepared to meet his fate like a hero, the other bowed his head,
as if palsied by terror or stricken with shame. The high-spirited Duncan
felt a powerful impulse of admiration and pity toward the former, though
no opportunity could offer to exhibit his generous emotions. He watched
his slightest movement, however, with eager eyes; and, as he traced
the fine outline of his admirably proportioned and active frame, he
endeavored to persuade himself, that, if the powers of man, seconded
by such noble resolution, could bear one harmless through so severe a
trial, the youthful captive before him might hope for success in the
hazardous race he was about to run. Insensibly the young man drew nigher
to the swarthy lines of the Hurons, and scarcely breathed, so intense
became his interest in the spectacle. Just then the signal yell was
given, and the momentary quiet which had preceded it was broken by a
burst of cries, that far exceeded any before heard. The more abject of
the two victims continued motionless; but the other bounded from the
place at the cry, with the activity and swiftness of a deer. Instead of
rushing through the hostile lines, as had been expected, he just entered
the dangerous defile, and before time was given for a single blow,
turned short, and leaping the heads of a row of children, he gained at
once the exterior and safer side of the formidable array. The artifice
was answered by a hundred voices raised in imprecations; and the whole
of the excited multitude broke from their order, and spread themselves
about the place in wild confusion.

A dozen blazing piles now shed their lurid brightness on the place,
which resembled some unhallowed and supernatural arena, in which
malicious demons had assembled to act their bloody and lawless rites.
The forms in the background looked like unearthly beings, gliding before
the eye, and cleaving the air with frantic and unmeaning gestures; while
the savage passions of such as passed the flames were rendered fearfully
distinct by the gleams that shot athwart their inflamed visages.

It will easily be understood that, amid such a concourse of vindictive
enemies, no breathing time was allowed the fugitive. There was a single
moment when it seemed as if he would have reached the forest, but the
whole body of his captors threw themselves before him, and drove him
back into the center of his relentless persecutors. Turning like a
headed deer, he shot, with the swiftness of an arrow, through a pillar
of forked flame, and passing the whole multitude harmless, he appeared
on the opposite side of the clearing. Here, too, he was met and turned
by a few of the older and more subtle of the Hurons. Once more he tried
the throng, as if seeking safety in its blindness, and then several
moments succeeded, during which Duncan believed the active and
courageous young stranger was lost.

Nothing could be distinguished but a dark mass of human forms tossed
and involved in inexplicable confusion. Arms, gleaming knives, and
formidable clubs, appeared above them, but the blows were evidently
given at random. The awful effect was heightened by the piercing shrieks
of the women and the fierce yells of the warriors. Now and then Duncan
caught a glimpse of a light form cleaving the air in some desperate
bound, and he rather hoped than believed that the captive yet retained
the command of his astonishing powers of activity. Suddenly the
multitude rolled backward, and approached the spot where he himself
stood. The heavy body in the rear pressed upon the women and children
in front, and bore them to the earth. The stranger reappeared in the
confusion. Human power could not, however, much longer endure so
severe a trial. Of this the captive seemed conscious. Profiting by
the momentary opening, he darted from among the warriors, and made a
desperate, and what seemed to Duncan a final effort to gain the wood.
As if aware that no danger was to be apprehended from the young soldier,
the fugitive nearly brushed his person in his flight. A tall and
powerful Huron, who had husbanded his forces, pressed close upon his
heels, and with an uplifted arm menaced a fatal blow. Duncan thrust
forth a foot, and the shock precipitated the eager savage headlong, many
feet in advance of his intended victim. Thought itself is not quicker
than was the motion with which the latter profited by the advantage; he
turned, gleamed like a meteor again before the eyes of Duncan, and, at
the next moment, when the latter recovered his recollection, and gazed
around in quest of the captive, he saw him quietly leaning against a
small painted post, which stood before the door of the principal lodge.

Apprehensive that the part he had taken in the escape might prove fatal
to himself, Duncan left the place without delay. He followed the crowd,
which drew nigh the lodges, gloomy and sullen, like any other multitude
that had been disappointed in an execution. Curiosity, or perhaps a
better feeling, induced him to approach the stranger. He found him,
standing with one arm cast about the protecting post, and breathing
thick and hard, after his exertions, but disdaining to permit a single
sign of suffering to escape. His person was now protected by immemorial
and sacred usage, until the tribe in council had deliberated and
determined on his fate. It was not difficult, however, to foretell the
result, if any presage could be drawn from the feelings of those who
crowded the place.

There was no term of abuse known to the Huron vocabulary that the
disappointed women did not lavishly expend on the successful stranger.
They flouted at his efforts, and told him, with bitter scoffs, that his
feet were better than his hands; and that he merited wings, while he
knew not the use of an arrow or a knife. To all this the captive made
no reply; but was content to preserve an attitude in which dignity was
singularly blended with disdain. Exasperated as much by his composure
as by his good-fortune, their words became unintelligible, and were
succeeded by shrill, piercing yells. Just then the crafty squaw, who had
taken the necessary precaution to fire the piles, made her way through
the throng, and cleared a place for herself in front of the captive. The
squalid and withered person of this hag might well have obtained for her
the character of possessing more than human cunning. Throwing back her
light vestment, she stretched forth her long, skinny arm, in derision,
and using the language of the Lenape, as more intelligible to the
subject of her gibes, she commenced aloud:

"Look you, Delaware," she said, snapping her fingers in his face; "your
nation is a race of women, and the hoe is better fitted to your hands
than the gun. Your squaws are the mothers of deer; but if a bear, or
a wildcat, or a serpent were born among you, ye would flee. The Huron
girls shall make you petticoats, and we will find you a husband."

A burst of savage laughter succeeded this attack, during which the soft
and musical merriment of the younger females strangely chimed with
the cracked voice of their older and more malignant companion. But the
stranger was superior to all their efforts. His head was immovable; nor
did he betray the slightest consciousness that any were present, except
when his haughty eye rolled toward the dusky forms of the warriors, who
stalked in the background silent and sullen observers of the scene.

Infuriated at the self-command of the captive, the woman placed her arms
akimbo; and, throwing herself into a posture of defiance, she broke
out anew, in a torrent of words that no art of ours could commit
successfully to paper. Her breath was, however, expended in vain; for,
although distinguished in her nation as a proficient in the art of
abuse, she was permitted to work herself into such a fury as actually to
foam at the mouth, without causing a muscle to vibrate in the motionless
figure of the stranger. The effect of his indifference began to extend
itself to the other spectators; and a youngster, who was just quitting
the condition of a boy to enter the state of manhood, attempted to
assist the termagant, by flourishing his tomahawk before their victim,
and adding his empty boasts to the taunts of the women. Then, indeed,
the captive turned his face toward the light, and looked down on the
stripling with an expression that was superior to contempt. At the next
moment he resumed his quiet and reclining attitude against the post. But
the change of posture had permitted Duncan to exchange glances with the
firm and piercing eyes of Uncas.

Breathless with amazement, and heavily oppressed with the critical
situation of his friend, Heyward recoiled before the look, trembling
lest its meaning might, in some unknown manner, hasten the prisoner's
fate. There was not, however, any instant cause for such an
apprehension. Just then a warrior forced his way into the exasperated
crowd. Motioning the women and children aside with a stern gesture, he
took Uncas by the arm, and led him toward the door of the council-lodge.
Thither all the chiefs, and most of the distinguished warriors,
followed; among whom the anxious Heyward found means to enter without
attracting any dangerous attention to himself.

A few minutes were consumed in disposing of those present in a manner
suitable to their rank and influence in the tribe. An order very similar
to that adopted in the preceding interview was observed; the aged and
superior chiefs occupying the area of the spacious apartment, within
the powerful light of a glaring torch, while their juniors and inferiors
were arranged in the background, presenting a dark outline of swarthy
and marked visages. In the very center of the lodge, immediately under
an opening that admitted the twinkling light of one or two stars, stood
Uncas, calm, elevated, and collected. His high and haughty carriage was
not lost on his captors, who often bent their looks on his person, with
eyes which, while they lost none of their inflexibility of purpose,
plainly betrayed their admiration of the stranger's daring.

The case was different with the individual whom Duncan had observed to
stand forth with his friend, previously to the desperate trial of speed;
and who, instead of joining in the chase, had remained, throughout
its turbulent uproar, like a cringing statue, expressive of shame and
disgrace. Though not a hand had been extended to greet him, nor yet an
eye had condescended to watch his movements, he had also entered the
lodge, as though impelled by a fate to whose decrees he submitted,
seemingly, without a struggle. Heyward profited by the first opportunity
to gaze in his face, secretly apprehensive he might find the features
of another acquaintance; but they proved to be those of a stranger, and,
what was still more inexplicable, of one who bore all the distinctive
marks of a Huron warrior. Instead of mingling with his tribe, however,
he sat apart, a solitary being in a multitude, his form shrinking into a
crouching and abject attitude, as if anxious to fill as little space as
possible. When each individual had taken his proper station, and silence
reigned in the place, the gray-haired chief already introduced to the
reader, spoke aloud, in the language of the Lenni Lenape.

"Delaware," he said, "though one of a nation of women, you have proved
yourself a man. I would give you food; but he who eats with a Huron
should become his friend. Rest in peace till the morning sun, when our
last words shall be spoken."

"Seven nights, and as many summer days, have I fasted on the trail of
the Hurons," Uncas coldly replied; "the children of the Lenape know how
to travel the path of the just without lingering to eat."

"Two of my young men are in pursuit of your companion," resumed the
other, without appearing to regard the boast of his captive; "when they
get back, then will our wise man say to you 'live' or 'die'."

"Has a Huron no ears?" scornfully exclaimed Uncas; "twice, since he has
been your prisoner, has the Delaware heard a gun that he knows. Your
young men will never come back!"

A short and sullen pause succeeded this bold assertion. Duncan, who
understood the Mohican to allude to the fatal rifle of the scout, bent
forward in earnest observation of the effect it might produce on the
conquerors; but the chief was content with simply retorting: