“Bot.—Abibl we all met?
Qui.—Pat—pat; and here’s a marvelous convenient place for our
rehearsal.”
—Midsummer Night’s Dream
The reader may better imagine, than we describe the surprise of Heyward. His
lurking Indians were suddenly converted into four-footed beasts; his lake into
a beaver pond; his cataract into a dam, constructed by those industrious and
ingenious quadrupeds; and a suspected enemy into his tried friend, David Gamut,
the master of psalmody. The presence of the latter created so many unexpected
hopes relative to the sisters that, without a moment’s hesitation, the
young man broke out of his ambush, and sprang forward to join the two principal
actors in the scene.
The merriment of Hawkeye was not easily appeased. Without ceremony, and with a
rough hand, he twirled the supple Gamut around on his heel, and more than once
affirmed that the Hurons had done themselves great credit in the fashion of his
costume. Then, seizing the hand of the other, he squeezed it with a grip that
brought tears into the eyes of the placid David, and wished him joy of his new
condition.
“You were about opening your throat-practisings among the beavers, were
ye?” he said. “The cunning devils know half the trade already, for
they beat the time with their tails, as you heard just now; and in good time it
was, too, or ‘killdeer’ might have sounded the first note among
them. I have known greater fools, who could read and write, than an experienced
old beaver; but as for squalling, the animals are born dumb! What think you of
such a song as this?”
David shut his sensitive ears, and even Heyward apprised as he was of the
nature of the cry, looked upward in quest of the bird, as the cawing of a crow
rang in the air about them.
“See!” continued the laughing scout, as he pointed toward the
remainder of the party, who, in obedience to the signal, were already
approaching; “this is music which has its natural virtues; it brings two
good rifles to my elbow, to say nothing of the knives and tomahawks. But we see
that you are safe; now tell us what has become of the maidens.”
“They are captives to the heathen,” said David; “and, though
greatly troubled in spirit, enjoying comfort and safety in the body.”
“Both!” demanded the breathless Heyward.
“Even so. Though our wayfaring has been sore and our sustenance scanty,
we have had little other cause for complaint, except the violence done our
feelings, by being thus led in captivity into a far land.”
“Bless ye for these very words!” exclaimed the trembling Munro;
“I shall then receive my babes, spotless and angel-like, as I lost
them!”
“I know not that their delivery is at hand,” returned the doubting
David; “the leader of these savages is possessed of an evil spirit that
no power short of Omnipotence can tame. I have tried him sleeping and waking,
but neither sounds nor language seem to touch his soul.”
“Where is the knave?” bluntly interrupted the scout.
“He hunts the moose to-day, with his young men; and tomorrow, as I hear,
they pass further into the forests, and nigher to the borders of Canada. The
elder maiden is conveyed to a neighboring people, whose lodges are situate
beyond yonder black pinnacle of rock; while the younger is detained among the
women of the Hurons, whose dwellings are but two short miles hence, on a
table-land, where the fire had done the office of the axe, and prepared the
place for their reception.”
“Alice, my gentle Alice!” murmured Heyward; “she has lost the
consolation of her sister’s presence!”
“Even so. But so far as praise and thanksgiving in psalmody can temper
the spirit in affliction, she has not suffered.”
“Has she then a heart for music?”
“Of the graver and more solemn character; though it must be acknowledged
that, in spite of all my endeavors, the maiden weeps oftener than she smiles.
At such moments I forbear to press the holy songs; but there are many sweet and
comfortable periods of satisfactory communication, when the ears of the savages
are astounded with the upliftings of our voices.”
“And why are you permitted to go at large, unwatched?”
David composed his features into what he intended should express an air of
modest humility, before he meekly replied:
“Little be the praise to such a worm as I. But, though the power of
psalmody was suspended in the terrible business of that field of blood through
which we have passed, it has recovered its influence even over the souls of the
heathen, and I am suffered to go and come at will.”
The scout laughed, and, tapping his own forehead significantly, he perhaps
explained the singular indulgence more satisfactorily when he said:
“The Indians never harm a non-composser. But why, when the path lay open
before your eyes, did you not strike back on your own trail (it is not so blind
as that which a squirrel would make), and bring in the tidings to
Edward?”
The scout, remembering only his own sturdy and iron nature, had probably
exacted a task that David, under no circumstances, could have performed. But,
without entirely losing the meekness of his air, the latter was content to
answer:
“Though my soul would rejoice to visit the habitations of Christendom
once more, my feet would rather follow the tender spirits intrusted to my
keeping, even into the idolatrous province of the Jesuits, than take one step
backward, while they pined in captivity and sorrow.”
Though the figurative language of David was not very intelligible, the sincere
and steady expression of his eye, and the glow of his honest countenance, were
not easily mistaken. Uncas pressed closer to his side, and regarded the speaker
with a look of commendation, while his father expressed his satisfaction by the
ordinary pithy exclamation of approbation. The scout shook his head as he
rejoined:
“The Lord never intended that the man should place all his endeavors in
his throat, to the neglect of other and better gifts! But he has fallen into
the hands of some silly woman, when he should have been gathering his education
under a blue sky, among the beauties of the forest. Here, friend; I did intend
to kindle a fire with this tooting-whistle of thine; but, as you value the
thing, take it, and blow your best on it.”
Gamut received his pitch-pipe with as strong an expression of pleasure as he
believed compatible with the grave functions he exercised. After essaying its
virtues repeatedly, in contrast with his own voice, and, satisfying himself
that none of its melody was lost, he made a very serious demonstration toward
achieving a few stanzas of one of the longest effusions in the little volume so
often mentioned.
Heyward, however, hastily interrupted his pious purpose by continuing questions
concerning the past and present condition of his fellow captives, and in a
manner more methodical than had been permitted by his feelings in the opening
of their interview. David, though he regarded his treasure with longing eyes,
was constrained to answer, especially as the venerable father took a part in
the interrogatories, with an interest too imposing to be denied. Nor did the
scout fail to throw in a pertinent inquiry, whenever a fitting occasion
presented. In this manner, though with frequent interruptions which were filled
with certain threatening sounds from the recovered instrument, the pursuers
were put in possession of such leading circumstances as were likely to prove
useful in accomplishing their great and engrossing object—the recovery of
the sisters. The narrative of David was simple, and the facts but few.
Magua had waited on the mountain until a safe moment to retire presented
itself, when he had descended, and taken the route along the western side of
the Horican in direction of the Canadas. As the subtle Huron was familiar with
the paths, and well knew there was no immediate danger of pursuit, their
progress had been moderate, and far from fatiguing. It appeared from the
unembellished statement of David, that his own presence had been rather endured
than desired; though even Magua had not been entirely exempt from that
veneration with which the Indians regard those whom the Great Spirit had
visited in their intellects. At night, the utmost care had been taken of the
captives, both to prevent injury from the damps of the woods and to guard
against an escape. At the spring, the horses were turned loose, as has been
seen; and, notwithstanding the remoteness and length of their trail, the
artifices already named were resorted to, in order to cut off every clue to
their place of retreat. On their arrival at the encampment of his people,
Magua, in obedience to a policy seldom departed from, separated his prisoners.
Cora had been sent to a tribe that temporarily occupied an adjacent valley,
though David was far too ignorant of the customs and history of the natives, to
be able to declare anything satisfactory concerning their name or character. He
only knew that they had not engaged in the late expedition against William
Henry; that, like the Hurons themselves they were allies of Montcalm; and that
they maintained an amicable, though a watchful intercourse with the warlike and
savage people whom chance had, for a time, brought in such close and
disagreeable contact with themselves.
The Mohicans and the scout listened to his interrupted and imperfect narrative,
with an interest that obviously increased as he proceeded; and it was while
attempting to explain the pursuits of the community in which Cora was detained,
that the latter abruptly demanded:
“Did you see the fashion of their knives? were they of English or French
formation?”
“My thoughts were bent on no such vanities, but rather mingled in
consolation with those of the maidens.”
“The time may come when you will not consider the knife of a savage such
a despicable vanity,” returned the scout, with a strong expression of
contempt for the other’s dullness. “Had they held their corn
feast—or can you say anything of the totems of the tribe?”
“Of corn, we had many and plentiful feasts; for the grain, being in the
milk is both sweet to the mouth and comfortable to the stomach. Of totem, I
know not the meaning; but if it appertaineth in any wise to the art of Indian
music, it need not be inquired after at their hands. They never join their
voices in praise, and it would seem that they are among the profanest of the
idolatrous.”
“Therein you belie the natur’ of an Indian. Even the Mingo adores
but the true and loving God. ’Tis wicked fabrication of the whites, and I
say it to the shame of my color that would make the warrior bow down before
images of his own creation. It is true, they endeavor to make truces to the
wicked one—as who would not with an enemy he cannot conquer! but they
look up for favor and assistance to the Great and Good Spirit only.”
“It may be so,” said David; “but I have seen strange and
fantastic images drawn in their paint, of which their admiration and care
savored of spiritual pride; especially one, and that, too, a foul and loathsome
object.”
“Was it a sarpent?” quickly demanded the scout.
“Much the same. It was in the likeness of an abject and creeping
tortoise.”
“Hugh!” exclaimed both the attentive Mohicans in a breath; while
the scout shook his head with the air of one who had made an important but by
no means a pleasing discovery. Then the father spoke, in the language of the
Delawares, and with a calmness and dignity that instantly arrested the
attention even of those to whom his words were unintelligible. His gestures
were impressive, and at times energetic. Once he lifted his arm on high; and,
as it descended, the action threw aside the folds of his light mantle, a finger
resting on his breast, as if he would enforce his meaning by the attitude.
Duncan’s eyes followed the movement, and he perceived that the animal
just mentioned was beautifully, though faintly, worked in blue tint, on the
swarthy breast of the chief. All that he had ever heard of the violent
separation of the vast tribes of the Delawares rushed across his mind, and he
awaited the proper moment to speak, with a suspense that was rendered nearly
intolerable by his interest in the stake. His wish, however, was anticipated by
the scout who turned from his red friend, saying:
“We have found that which may be good or evil to us, as heaven disposes.
The Sagamore is of the high blood of the Delawares, and is the great chief of
their Tortoises! That some of this stock are among the people of whom the
singer tells us, is plain by his words; and, had he but spent half the breath
in prudent questions that he has blown away in making a trumpet of his throat,
we might have known how many warriors they numbered. It is, altogether, a
dangerous path we move in; for a friend whose face is turned from you often
bears a bloodier mind than the enemy who seeks your scalp.”
“Explain,” said Duncan.
“’Tis a long and melancholy tradition, and one I little like to
think of; for it is not to be denied that the evil has been mainly done by men
with white skins. But it has ended in turning the tomahawk of brother against
brother, and brought the Mingo and the Delaware to travel in the same
path.”
“You, then, suspect it is a portion of that people among whom Cora
resides?”
The scout nodded his head in assent, though he seemed anxious to waive the
further discussion of a subject that appeared painful. The impatient Duncan now
made several hasty and desperate propositions to attempt the release of the
sisters. Munro seemed to shake off his apathy, and listened to the wild schemes
of the young man with a deference that his gray hairs and reverend years should
have denied. But the scout, after suffering the ardor of the lover to expend
itself a little, found means to convince him of the folly of precipitation, in
a manner that would require their coolest judgment and utmost fortitude.
“It would be well,” he added, “to let this man go in again,
as usual, and for him to tarry in the lodges, giving notice to the gentle ones
of our approach, until we call him out, by signal, to consult. You know the cry
of a crow, friend, from the whistle of the whip-poor-will?”
“’Tis a pleasing bird,” returned David, “and has a soft
and melancholy note! though the time is rather quick and ill-measured.”
“He speaks of the wish-ton-wish,” said the scout; “well,
since you like his whistle, it shall be your signal. Remember, then, when you
hear the whip-poor-will’s call three times repeated, you are to come into
the bushes where the bird might be supposed—”
“Stop,” interrupted Heyward; “I will accompany him.”
“You!” exclaimed the astonished Hawkeye; “are you tired of
seeing the sun rise and set?”
“David is a living proof that the Hurons can be merciful.”
“Ay, but David can use his throat, as no man in his senses would pervart
the gift.”
“I too can play the madman, the fool, the hero; in short, any or
everything to rescue her I love. Name your objections no longer: I am
resolved.”
Hawkeye regarded the young man a moment in speechless amazement. But Duncan,
who, in deference to the other’s skill and services, had hitherto
submitted somewhat implicitly to his dictation, now assumed the superior, with
a manner that was not easily resisted. He waved his hand, in sign of his
dislike to all remonstrance, and then, in more tempered language, he continued:
“You have the means of disguise; change me; paint me, too, if you will;
in short, alter me to anything—a fool.”
“It is not for one like me to say that he who is already formed by so
powerful a hand as Providence, stands in need of a change,” muttered the
discontented scout. “When you send your parties abroad in war, you find
it prudent, at least, to arrange the marks and places of encampment, in order
that they who fight on your side may know when and where to expect a
friend.”
“Listen,” interrupted Duncan; “you have heard from this
faithful follower of the captives, that the Indians are of two tribes, if not
of different nations. With one, whom you think to be a branch of the Delawares,
is she you call the ‘dark-hair’; the other, and younger, of the
ladies, is undeniably with our declared enemies, the Hurons. It becomes my
youth and rank to attempt the latter adventure. While you, therefore, are
negotiating with your friends for the release of one of the sisters, I will
effect that of the other, or die.”
The awakened spirit of the young soldier gleamed in his eyes, and his form
became imposing under its influence. Hawkeye, though too much accustomed to
Indian artifices not to foresee the danger of the experiment, knew not well how
to combat this sudden resolution.
Perhaps there was something in the proposal that suited his own hardy nature,
and that secret love of desperate adventure, which had increased with his
experience, until hazard and danger had become, in some measure, necessary to
the enjoyment of his existence. Instead of continuing to oppose the scheme of
Duncan, his humor suddenly altered, and he lent himself to its execution.
“Come,” he said, with a good-humored smile; “the buck that
will take to the water must be headed, and not followed. Chingachgook has as
many different paints as the engineer officer’s wife, who takes down
natur’ on scraps of paper, making the mountains look like cocks of rusty
hay, and placing the blue sky in reach of your hand. The Sagamore can use them,
too. Seat yourself on the log; and my life on it, he can soon make a natural
fool of you, and that well to your liking.”
Duncan complied; and the Mohican, who had been an attentive listener to the
discourse, readily undertook the office. Long practised in all the subtle arts
of his race, he drew, with great dexterity and quickness, the fantastic shadow
that the natives were accustomed to consider as the evidence of a friendly and
jocular disposition. Every line that could possibly be interpreted into a
secret inclination for war, was carefully avoided; while, on the other hand, he
studied those conceits that might be construed into amity.
In short, he entirely sacrificed every appearance of the warrior to the
masquerade of a buffoon. Such exhibitions were not uncommon among the Indians,
and as Duncan was already sufficiently disguised in his dress, there certainly
did exist some reason for believing that, with his knowledge of French, he
might pass for a juggler from Ticonderoga, straggling among the allied and
friendly tribes.
When he was thought to be sufficiently painted, the scout gave him much
friendly advice; concerted signals, and appointed the place where they should
meet, in the event of mutual success. The parting between Munro and his young
friend was more melancholy; still, the former submitted to the separation with
an indifference that his warm and honest nature would never have permitted in a
more healthful state of mind. The scout led Heyward aside, and acquainted him
with his intention to leave the veteran in some safe encampment, in charge of
Chingachgook, while he and Uncas pursued their inquires among the people they
had reason to believe were Delawares. Then, renewing his cautions and advice,
he concluded by saying, with a solemnity and warmth of feeling, with which
Duncan was deeply touched:
“And, now, God bless you! You have shown a spirit that I like; for it is
the gift of youth, more especially one of warm blood and a stout heart. But
believe the warning of a man who has reason to know all he says to be true. You
will have occasion for your best manhood, and for a sharper wit than what is to
be gathered in books, afore you outdo the cunning or get the better of the
courage of a Mingo. God bless you! if the Hurons master your scalp, rely on the
promise of one who has two stout warriors to back him. They shall pay for their
victory, with a life for every hair it holds. I say, young gentleman, may
Providence bless your undertaking, which is altogether for good; and, remember,
that to outwit the knaves it is lawful to practise things that may not be
naturally the gift of a white-skin.”
Duncan shook his worthy and reluctant associate warmly by the hand, once more
recommended his aged friend to his care, and returning his good wishes, he
motioned to David to proceed. Hawkeye gazed after the high-spirited and
adventurous young man for several moments, in open admiration; then, shaking
his head doubtingly, he turned, and led his own division of the party into the
concealment of the forest.
The route taken by Duncan and David lay directly across the clearing of the
beavers, and along the margin of their pond.
When the former found himself alone with one so simple, and so little qualified
to render any assistance in desperate emergencies, he first began to be
sensible of the difficulties of the task he had undertaken. The fading light
increased the gloominess of the bleak and savage wilderness that stretched so
far on every side of him, and there was even a fearful character in the
stillness of those little huts, that he knew were so abundantly peopled. It
struck him, as he gazed at the admirable structures and the wonderful
precautions of their sagacious inmates, that even the brutes of these vast
wilds were possessed of an instinct nearly commensurate with his own reason;
and he could not reflect, without anxiety, on the unequal contest that he had
so rashly courted. Then came the glowing image of Alice; her distress; her
actual danger; and all the peril of his situation was forgotten. Cheering
David, he moved on with the light and vigorous step of youth and enterprise.
After making nearly a semicircle around the pond, they diverged from the
water-course, and began to ascend to the level of a slight elevation in that
bottom land, over which they journeyed. Within half an hour they gained the
margin of another opening that bore all the signs of having been also made by
the beavers, and which those sagacious animals had probably been induced, by
some accident, to abandon, for the more eligible position they now occupied. A
very natural sensation caused Duncan to hesitate a moment, unwilling to leave
the cover of their bushy path, as a man pauses to collect his energies before
he essays any hazardous experiment, in which he is secretly conscious they will
all be needed. He profited by the halt, to gather such information as might be
obtained from his short and hasty glances.
On the opposite side of the clearing, and near the point where the brook
tumbled over some rocks, from a still higher level, some fifty or sixty lodges,
rudely fabricated of logs brush, and earth intermingled, were to be discovered.
They were arranged without any order, and seemed to be constructed with very
little attention to neatness or beauty. Indeed, so very inferior were they in
the two latter particulars to the village Duncan had just seen, that he began
to expect a second surprise, no less astonishing that the former. This
expectation was in no degree diminished, when, by the doubtful twilight, he
beheld twenty or thirty forms rising alternately from the cover of the tall,
coarse grass, in front of the lodges, and then sinking again from the sight, as
it were to burrow in the earth. By the sudden and hasty glimpses that he caught
of these figures, they seemed more like dark, glancing specters, or some other
unearthly beings, than creatures fashioned with the ordinary and vulgar
materials of flesh and blood. A gaunt, naked form was seen, for a single
instant, tossing its arms wildly in the air, and then the spot it had filled
was vacant; the figure appearing suddenly in some other and distant place, or
being succeeded by another, possessing the same mysterious character. David,
observing that his companion lingered, pursued the direction of his gaze, and
in some measure recalled the recollection of Heyward, by speaking.
“There is much fruitful soil uncultivated here,” he said;
“and, I may add, without the sinful leaven of self-commendation, that,
since my short sojourn in these heathenish abodes, much good seed has been
scattered by the wayside.”
“The tribes are fonder of the chase than of the arts of men of
labor,” returned the unconscious Duncan, still gazing at the objects of
his wonder.
“It is rather joy than labor to the spirit, to lift up the voice in
praise; but sadly do these boys abuse their gifts. Rarely have I found any of
their age, on whom nature has so freely bestowed the elements of psalmody; and
surely, surely, there are none who neglect them more. Three nights have I now
tarried here, and three several times have I assembled the urchins to join in
sacred song; and as often have they responded to my efforts with whoopings and
howlings that have chilled my soul!”
“Of whom speak you?”
“Of those children of the devil, who waste the precious moments in yonder
idle antics. Ah! the wholesome restraint of discipline is but little known
among this self-abandoned people. In a country of birches, a rod is never seen,
and it ought not to appear a marvel in my eyes, that the choicest blessings of
Providence are wasted in such cries as these.”
David closed his ears against the juvenile pack, whose yell just then rang
shrilly through the forest; and Duncan, suffering his lip to curl, as in
mockery of his own superstition, said firmly:
“We will proceed.”
Without removing the safeguards form his ears, the master of song complied, and
together they pursued their way toward what David was sometimes wont to call
the “tents of the Philistines.”