“I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn
As much as we this night have overwatched!”
—Midsummer Night’s Dream
The instant the shock of this sudden misfortune had abated, Duncan began to
make his observations on the appearance and proceedings of their captors.
Contrary to the usages of the natives in the wantonness of their success they
had respected, not only the persons of the trembling sisters, but his own. The
rich ornaments of his military attire had indeed been repeatedly handled by
different individuals of the tribes with eyes expressing a savage longing to
possess the baubles; but before the customary violence could be resorted to, a
mandate in the authoritative voice of the large warrior, already mentioned,
stayed the uplifted hand, and convinced Heyward that they were to be reserved
for some object of particular moment.
While, however, these manifestations of weakness were exhibited by the young
and vain of the party, the more experienced warriors continued their search
throughout both caverns, with an activity that denoted they were far from being
satisfied with those fruits of their conquest which had already been brought to
light. Unable to discover any new victim, these diligent workers of vengeance
soon approached their male prisoners, pronouncing the name “La Longue
Carabine,” with a fierceness that could not be easily mistaken. Duncan
affected not to comprehend the meaning of their repeated and violent
interrogatories, while his companion was spared the effort of a similar
deception by his ignorance of French. Wearied at length by their importunities,
and apprehensive of irritating his captors by too stubborn a silence, the
former looked about him in quest of Magua, who might interpret his answers to
questions which were at each moment becoming more earnest and threatening.
The conduct of this savage had formed a solitary exception to that of all his
fellows. While the others were busily occupied in seeking to gratify their
childish passion for finery, by plundering even the miserable effects of the
scout, or had been searching with such bloodthirsty vengeance in their looks
for their absent owner, Le Renard had stood at a little distance from the
prisoners, with a demeanor so quiet and satisfied, as to betray that he had
already effected the grand purpose of his treachery. When the eyes of Heyward
first met those of his recent guide, he turned them away in horror at the
sinister though calm look he encountered. Conquering his disgust, however, he
was able, with an averted face, to address his successful enemy.
“Le Renard Subtil is too much of a warrior,” said the reluctant
Heyward, “to refuse telling an unarmed man what his conquerors
say.”
“They ask for the hunter who knows the paths through the woods,”
returned Magua, in his broken English, laying his hand, at the same time, with
a ferocious smile, on the bundle of leaves with which a wound on his own
shoulder was bandaged. “‘La Longue Carabine’! His rifle is
good, and his eye never shut; but, like the short gun of the white chief, it is
nothing against the life of Le Subtil.”
“Le Renard is too brave to remember the hurts received in war, or the
hands that gave them.”
“Was it war, when the tired Indian rested at the sugartree to taste his
corn! who filled the bushes with creeping enemies! who drew the knife, whose
tongue was peace, while his heart was colored with blood! Did Magua say that
the hatchet was out of the ground, and that his hand had dug it up?”
As Duncan dared not retort upon his accuser by reminding him of his own
premeditated treachery, and disdained to deprecate his resentment by any words
of apology, he remained silent. Magua seemed also content to rest the
controversy as well as all further communication there, for he resumed the
leaning attitude against the rock from which, in momentary energy, he had
arisen. But the cry of “La Longue Carabine” was renewed the instant
the impatient savages perceived that the short dialogue was ended.
“You hear,” said Magua, with stubborn indifference: “the red
Hurons call for the life of ‘The Long Rifle’, or they will have the
blood of him that keep him hid!”
“He is gone—escaped; he is far beyond their reach.”
Renard smiled with cold contempt, as he answered:
“When the white man dies, he thinks he is at peace; but the red men know
how to torture even the ghosts of their enemies. Where is his body? Let the
Hurons see his scalp.”
“He is not dead, but escaped.”
Magua shook his head incredulously.
“Is he a bird, to spread his wings; or is he a fish, to swim without air!
The white chief read in his books, and he believes the Hurons are fools!”
“Though no fish, ‘The Long Rifle’ can swim. He floated down
the stream when the powder was all burned, and when the eyes of the Hurons were
behind a cloud.”
“And why did the white chief stay?” demanded the still incredulous
Indian. “Is he a stone that goes to the bottom, or does the scalp burn
his head?”
“That I am not stone, your dead comrade, who fell into the falls, might
answer, were the life still in him,” said the provoked young man, using,
in his anger, that boastful language which was most likely to excite the
admiration of an Indian. “The white man thinks none but cowards desert
their women.”
Magua muttered a few words, inaudibly, between his teeth, before he continued,
aloud:
“Can the Delawares swim, too, as well as crawl in the bushes? Where is
‘Le Gros Serpent’?”
Duncan, who perceived by the use of these Canadian appellations, that his late
companions were much better known to his enemies than to himself, answered,
reluctantly: “He also is gone down with the water.”
“‘Le Cerf Agile’ is not here?”
“I know not whom you call ‘The Nimble Deer’,” said
Duncan gladly profiting by any excuse to create delay.
“Uncas,” returned Magua, pronouncing the Delaware name with even
greater difficulty than he spoke his English words. “‘Bounding
Elk’ is what the white man says, when he calls to the young
Mohican.”
“Here is some confusion in names between us, Le Renard,” said
Duncan, hoping to provoke a discussion. “Daim is the French for deer, and
cerf for stag; elan is the true term, when one would speak of an elk.”
“Yes,” muttered the Indian, in his native tongue; “the pale
faces are prattling women! they have two words for each thing, while a red-skin
will make the sound of his voice speak for him.” Then, changing his
language, he continued, adhering to the imperfect nomenclature of his
provincial instructors. “The deer is swift, but weak; the elk is swift,
but strong; and the son of ‘Le Serpent’ is ‘Le Cerf
Agile.’ Has he leaped the river to the woods?”
“If you mean the younger Delaware, he, too, has gone down with the
water.”
As there was nothing improbable to an Indian in the manner of the escape, Magua
admitted the truth of what he had heard, with a readiness that afforded
additional evidence how little he would prize such worthless captives. With his
companions, however, the feeling was manifestly different.
The Hurons had awaited the result of this short dialogue with characteristic
patience, and with a silence that increased until there was a general stillness
in the band. When Heyward ceased to speak, they turned their eyes, as one man,
on Magua, demanding, in this expressive manner, an explanation of what had been
said. Their interpreter pointed to the river, and made them acquainted with the
result, as much by the action as by the few words he uttered. When the fact was
generally understood, the savages raised a frightful yell, which declared the
extent of their disappointment. Some ran furiously to the water’s edge,
beating the air with frantic gestures, while others spat upon the element, to
resent the supposed treason it had committed against their acknowledged rights
as conquerors. A few, and they not the least powerful and terrific of the band,
threw lowering looks, in which the fiercest passion was only tempered by
habitual self-command, at those captives who still remained in their power,
while one or two even gave vent to their malignant feelings by the most
menacing gestures, against which neither the sex nor the beauty of the sisters
was any protection. The young soldier made a desperate but fruitless effort to
spring to the side of Alice, when he saw the dark hand of a savage twisted in
the rich tresses which were flowing in volumes over her shoulders, while a
knife was passed around the head from which they fell, as if to denote the
horrid manner in which it was about to be robbed of its beautiful ornament. But
his hands were bound; and at the first movement he made, he felt the grasp of
the powerful Indian who directed the band, pressing his shoulder like a vise.
Immediately conscious how unavailing any struggle against such an overwhelming
force must prove, he submitted to his fate, encouraging his gentle companions
by a few low and tender assurances, that the natives seldom failed to threaten
more than they performed.
But while Duncan resorted to these words of consolation to quiet the
apprehensions of the sisters, he was not so weak as to deceive himself. He well
knew that the authority of an Indian chief was so little conventional, that it
was oftener maintained by physical superiority than by any moral supremacy he
might possess. The danger was, therefore, magnified exactly in proportion to
the number of the savage spirits by which they were surrounded. The most
positive mandate from him who seemed the acknowledged leader, was liable to be
violated at each moment by any rash hand that might choose to sacrifice a
victim to the manes of some dead friend or relative. While, therefore, he
sustained an outward appearance of calmness and fortitude, his heart leaped
into his throat, whenever any of their fierce captors drew nearer than common
to the helpless sisters, or fastened one of their sullen, wandering looks on
those fragile forms which were so little able to resist the slightest assault.
His apprehensions were, however, greatly relieved, when he saw that the leader
had summoned his warriors to himself in counsel. Their deliberations were
short, and it would seem, by the silence of most of the party, the decision
unanimous. By the frequency with which the few speakers pointed in the
direction of the encampment of Webb, it was apparent they dreaded the approach
of danger from that quarter. This consideration probably hastened their
determination, and quickened the subsequent movements.
During his short conference, Heyward, finding a respite from his gravest fears,
had leisure to admire the cautious manner in which the Hurons had made their
approaches, even after hostilities had ceased.
It has already been stated that the upper half of the island was a naked rock,
and destitute of any other defenses than a few scattered logs of driftwood.
They had selected this point to make their descent, having borne the canoe
through the wood around the cataract for that purpose. Placing their arms in
the little vessel a dozen men clinging to its sides had trusted themselves to
the direction of the canoe, which was controlled by two of the most skillful
warriors, in attitudes that enabled them to command a view of the dangerous
passage. Favored by this arrangement, they touched the head of the island at
that point which had proved so fatal to their first adventurers, but with the
advantages of superior numbers, and the possession of firearms. That such had
been the manner of their descent was rendered quite apparent to Duncan; for
they now bore the light bark from the upper end of the rock, and placed it in
the water, near the mouth of the outer cavern. As soon as this change was made,
the leader made signs to the prisoners to descend and enter.
As resistance was impossible, and remonstrance useless, Heyward set the example
of submission, by leading the way into the canoe, where he was soon seated with
the sisters and the still wondering David. Notwithstanding the Hurons were
necessarily ignorant of the little channels among the eddies and rapids of the
stream, they knew the common signs of such a navigation too well to commit any
material blunder. When the pilot chosen for the task of guiding the canoe had
taken his station, the whole band plunged again into the river, the vessel
glided down the current, and in a few moments the captives found themselves on
the south bank of the stream, nearly opposite to the point where they had
struck it the preceding evening.
[Illustration]
Here was held another short but earnest consultation, during which the horses,
to whose panic their owners ascribed their heaviest misfortune, were led from
the cover of the woods, and brought to the sheltered spot. The band now
divided. The great chief, so often mentioned, mounting the charger of Heyward,
led the way directly across the river, followed by most of his people, and
disappeared in the woods, leaving the prisoners in charge of six savages, at
whose head was Le Renard Subtil. Duncan witnessed all their movements with
renewed uneasiness.
He had been fond of believing, from the uncommon forbearance of the savages,
that he was reserved as a prisoner to be delivered to Montcalm. As the thoughts
of those who are in misery seldom slumber, and the invention is never more
lively than when it is stimulated by hope, however feeble and remote, he had
even imagined that the parental feelings of Munro were to be made instrumental
in seducing him from his duty to the king. For though the French commander bore
a high character for courage and enterprise, he was also thought to be expert
in those political practises which do not always respect the nicer obligations
of morality, and which so generally disgraced the European diplomacy of that
period.
All those busy and ingenious speculations were now annihilated by the conduct
of his captors. That portion of the band who had followed the huge warrior took
the route toward the foot of the Horican, and no other expectation was left for
himself and companions, than that they were to be retained as hopeless captives
by their savage conquerors. Anxious to know the worst, and willing, in such an
emergency, to try the potency of gold he overcame his reluctance to speak to
Magua. Addressing himself to his former guide, who had now assumed the
authority and manner of one who was to direct the future movements of the
party, he said, in tones as friendly and confiding as he could assume:
“I would speak to Magua, what is fit only for so great a chief to
hear.”
The Indian turned his eyes on the young soldier scornfully, as he answered:
“Speak; trees have no ears.”
“But the red Hurons are not deaf; and counsel that is fit for the great
men of a nation would make the young warriors drunk. If Magua will not listen,
the officer of the king knows how to be silent.”
The savage spoke carelessly to his comrades, who were busied, after their
awkward manner, in preparing the horses for the reception of the sisters, and
moved a little to one side, whither by a cautious gesture he induced Heyward to
follow.
“Now, speak,” he said; “if the words are such as Magua should
hear.”
“Le Renard Subtil has proved himself worthy of the honorable name given
to him by his Canada fathers,” commenced Heyward; “I see his
wisdom, and all that he has done for us, and shall remember it when the hour to
reward him arrives. Yes! Renard has proved that he is not only a great chief in
council, but one who knows how to deceive his enemies!”
“What has Renard done?” coldly demanded the Indian.
“What! has he not seen that the woods were filled with outlying parties
of the enemies, and that the serpent could not steal through them without being
seen? Then, did he not lose his path to blind the eyes of the Hurons? Did he
not pretend to go back to his tribe, who had treated him ill, and driven him
from their wigwams like a dog? And, when we saw what he wished to do, did we
not aid him, by making a false face, that the Hurons might think the white man
believed that his friend was his enemy? Is not all this true? And when Le
Subtil had shut the eyes and stopped the ears of his nation by his wisdom, did
they not forget that they had once done him wrong, and forced him to flee to
the Mohawks? And did they not leave him on the south side of the river, with
their prisoners, while they have gone foolishly on the north? Does not Renard
mean to turn like a fox on his footsteps, and to carry to the rich and
gray-headed Scotchman his daughters? Yes, Magua, I see it all, and I have
already been thinking how so much wisdom and honesty should be repaid. First,
the chief of William Henry will give as a great chief should for such a
service. The medal[1]
of Magua will no longer be of tin, but of beaten gold; his horn will run over
with powder; dollars will be as plenty in his pouch as pebbles on the shore of
Horican; and the deer will lick his hand, for they will know it to be vain to
fly from the rifle he will carry! As for myself, I know not how to exceed the
gratitude of the Scotchman, but I—yes, I will—”
[1]
It has long been a practice with the whites to conciliate the important men
of the Indians by presenting medals, which are worn in the place of their own
rude ornaments. Those given by the English generally bear the impression of the
reigning king, and those given by the Americans that of the president.
“What will the young chief, who comes from toward the sun, give?”
demanded the Huron, observing that Heyward hesitated in his desire to end the
enumeration of benefits with that which might form the climax of an
Indian’s wishes.
“He will make the fire-water from the islands in the salt lake flow
before the wigwam of Magua, until the heart of the Indian shall be lighter than
the feathers of the humming-bird, and his breath sweeter than the wild
honeysuckle.”
Le Renard had listened gravely as Heyward slowly proceeded in this subtle
speech. When the young man mentioned the artifice he supposed the Indian to
have practised on his own nation, the countenance of the listener was veiled in
an expression of cautious gravity. At the allusion to the injury which Duncan
affected to believe had driven the Huron from his native tribe, a gleam of such
ungovernable ferocity flashed from the other’s eyes, as induced the
adventurous speaker to believe he had struck the proper chord. And by the time
he reached the part where he so artfully blended the thirst of vengeance with
the desire of gain, he had, at least, obtained a command of the deepest
attention of the savage. The question put by Le Renard had been calm, and with
all the dignity of an Indian; but it was quite apparent, by the thoughtful
expression of the listener’s countenance, that the answer was most
cunningly devised. The Huron mused a few moments, and then laying his hand on
the rude bandages of his wounded shoulder, he said, with some energy:
“Do friends make such marks?”
“Would ‘La Longue Carbine’ cut one so slight on an
enemy?”
“Do the Delawares crawl upon those they love like snakes, twisting
themselves to strike?”
“Would ‘Le Gros Serpent’ have been heard by the ears of one
he wished to be deaf?”
“Does the white chief burn his powder in the faces of his
brothers?”
“Does he ever miss his aim, when seriously bent to kill?” returned
Duncan, smiling with well acted sincerity.
Another long and deliberate pause succeeded these sententious questions and
ready replies. Duncan saw that the Indian hesitated. In order to complete his
victory, he was in the act of recommencing the enumeration of the rewards, when
Magua made an expressive gesture and said:
“Enough; Le Renard is a wise chief, and what he does will be seen. Go,
and keep the mouth shut. When Magua speaks, it will be the time to
answer.”
Heyward, perceiving that the eyes of his companion were warily fastened on the
rest of the band, fell back immediately, in order to avoid the appearance of
any suspicious confederacy with their leader. Magua approached the horses, and
affected to be well pleased with the diligence and ingenuity of his comrades.
He then signed to Heyward to assist the sisters into the saddles, for he seldom
deigned to use the English tongue, unless urged by some motive of more than
usual moment.
There was no longer any plausible pretext for delay; and Duncan was obliged,
however reluctantly, to comply. As he performed this office, he whispered his
reviving hopes in the ears of the trembling females, who, through dread of
encountering the savage countenances of their captors, seldom raised their eyes
from the ground. The mare of David had been taken with the followers of the
large chief; in consequence, its owner, as well as Duncan, was compelled to
journey on foot. The latter did not, however, so much regret this circumstance,
as it might enable him to retard the speed of the party; for he still turned
his longing looks in the direction of Fort Edward, in the vain expectation of
catching some sound from that quarter of the forest, which might denote the
approach of succor. When all were prepared, Magua made the signal to proceed,
advancing in front to lead the party in person. Next followed David, who was
gradually coming to a true sense of his condition, as the effects of the wound
became less and less apparent. The sisters rode in his rear, with Heyward at
their side, while the Indians flanked the party, and brought up the close of
the march, with a caution that seemed never to tire.
In this manner they proceeded in uninterrupted silence, except when Heyward
addressed some solitary word of comfort to the females, or David gave vent to
the moanings of his spirit, in piteous exclamations, which he intended should
express the humility of resignation. Their direction lay toward the south, and
in a course nearly opposite to the road to William Henry. Notwithstanding this
apparent adherence in Magua to the original determination of his conquerors,
Heyward could not believe his tempting bait was so soon forgotten; and he knew
the windings of an Indian’s path too well to suppose that its apparent
course led directly to its object, when artifice was at all necessary. Mile
after mile was, however, passed through the boundless woods, in this painful
manner, without any prospect of a termination to their journey. Heyward watched
the sun, as he darted his meridian rays through the branches of the trees, and
pined for the moment when the policy of Magua should change their route to one
more favorable to his hopes. Sometimes he fancied the wary savage, despairing
of passing the army of Montcalm in safety, was holding his way toward a
well-known border settlement, where a distinguished officer of the crown, and a
favored friend of the Six Nations, held his large possessions, as well as his
usual residence. To be delivered into the hands of Sir William Johnson was far
preferable to being led into the wilds of Canada; but in order to effect even
the former, it would be necessary to traverse the forest for many weary
leagues, each step of which was carrying him further from the scene of the war,
and, consequently, from the post, not only of honor, but of duty.
Cora alone remembered the parting injunctions of the scout, and whenever an
opportunity offered, she stretched forth her arm to bend aside the twigs that
met her hands. But the vigilance of the Indians rendered this act of precaution
both difficult and dangerous. She was often defeated in her purpose, by
encountering their watchful eyes, when it became necessary to feign an alarm
she did not feel, and occupy the limb by some gesture of feminine apprehension.
Once, and once only, was she completely successful; when she broke down the
bough of a large sumach, and by a sudden thought, let her glove fall at the
same instant. This sign, intended for those that might follow, was observed by
one of her conductors, who restored the glove, broke the remaining branches of
the bush in such a manner that it appeared to proceed from the struggling of
some beast in its branches, and then laid his hand on his tomahawk, with a look
so significant, that it put an effectual end to these stolen memorials of their
passage.
As there were horses, to leave the prints of their footsteps, in both bands of
the Indians, this interruption cut off any probable hopes of assistance being
conveyed through the means of their trail.
Heyward would have ventured a remonstrance had there been anything encouraging
in the gloomy reserve of Magua. But the savage, during all this time, seldom
turned to look at his followers, and never spoke. With the sun for his only
guide, or aided by such blind marks as are only known to the sagacity of a
native, he held his way along the barrens of pine, through occasional little
fertile vales, across brooks and rivulets, and over undulating hills, with the
accuracy of instinct, and nearly with the directness of a bird. He never seemed
to hesitate. Whether the path was hardly distinguishable, whether it
disappeared, or whether it lay beaten and plain before him, made no sensible
difference in his speed or certainty. It seemed as if fatigue could not affect
him. Whenever the eyes of the wearied travelers rose from the decayed leaves
over which they trod, his dark form was to be seen glancing among the stems of
the trees in front, his head immovably fastened in a forward position, with the
light plume on his crest fluttering in a current of air, made solely by the
swiftness of his own motion.
But all this diligence and speed were not without an object. After crossing a
low vale, through which a gushing brook meandered, he suddenly ascended a hill,
so steep and difficult of ascent, that the sisters were compelled to alight in
order to follow. When the summit was gained, they found themselves on a level
spot, but thinly covered with trees, under one of which Magua had thrown his
dark form, as if willing and ready to seek that rest which was so much needed
by the whole party.