CHAPTER XXXI.

“Flue.—Kill the poys and the luggage! ’Tis expressly against

the law of arms; ’tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can

be offered in the ’orld.”

—King Henry V.

So long as their enemy and his victim continued in sight, the multitude

remained motionless as beings charmed to the place by some power that was

friendly to the Huron; but, the instant he disappeared, it became tossed and

agitated by fierce and powerful passion. Uncas maintained his elevated stand,

keeping his eyes on the form of Cora, until the colors of her dress were

blended with the foliage of the forest; when he descended, and, moving silently

through the throng, he disappeared in that lodge from which he had so recently

issued. A few of the graver and more attentive warriors, who caught the gleams

of anger that shot from the eyes of the young chief in passing, followed him to

the place he had selected for his meditations. After which, Tamenund and Alice

were removed, and the women and children were ordered to disperse. During the

momentous hour that succeeded, the encampment resembled a hive of troubled

bees, who only awaited the appearance and example of their leader to take some

distant and momentous flight.

A young warrior at length issued from the lodge of Uncas; and, moving

deliberately, with a sort of grave march, toward a dwarf pine that grew in the

crevices of the rocky terrace, he tore the bark from its body, and then turned

whence he came without speaking. He was soon followed by another, who stripped

the sapling of its branches, leaving it a naked and blazed[1]

trunk. A third colored the post with stripes of a dark red paint; all which

indications of a hostile design in the leaders of the nation were received by

the men without in a gloomy and ominous silence. Finally, the Mohican himself

reappeared, divested of all his attire, except his girdle and leggings, and

with one-half of his fine features hid under a cloud of threatening black.

[1]

A tree which has been partially or entirely stripped of its bark is said, in

the language of the country, to be “blazed.” The term is strictly

English, for a horse is said to be blazed when it has a white mark.

Uncas moved with a slow and dignified tread toward the post, which he

immediately commenced encircling with a measured step, not unlike an ancient

dance, raising his voice, at the same time, in the wild and irregular chant of

his war song. The notes were in the extremes of human sounds; being sometimes

melancholy and exquisitely plaintive, even rivaling the melody of

birds—and then, by sudden and startling transitions, causing the auditors

to tremble by their depth and energy. The words were few and often repeated,

proceeding gradually from a sort of invocation, or hymn, to the Deity, to an

intimation of the warrior’s object, and terminating as they commenced

with an acknowledgment of his own dependence on the Great Spirit. If it were

possible to translate the comprehensive and melodious language in which he

spoke, the ode might read something like the following: “Manitou!

Manitou! Manitou! Thou art great, thou art good, thou art wise: Manitou!

Manitou! Thou art just. In the heavens, in the clouds, oh, I see many

spots—many dark, many red: In the heavens, oh, I see many clouds.”

“In the woods, in the air, oh, I hear the whoop, the long yell, and the

cry: In the woods, oh, I hear the loud whoop!”

“Manitou! Manitou! Manitou! I am weak—thou art strong; I am slow;

Manitou! Manitou! Give me aid.”

At the end of what might be called each verse he made a pause, by raising a

note louder and longer than common, that was peculiarly suited to the sentiment

just expressed. The first close was solemn, and intended to convey the idea of

veneration; the second descriptive, bordering on the alarming; and the third

was the well-known and terrific war-whoop, which burst from the lips of the

young warrior, like a combination of all the frightful sounds of battle. The

last was like the first, humble and imploring. Three times did he repeat this

song, and as often did he encircle the post in his dance.

At the close of the first turn, a grave and highly esteemed chief of the Lenape

followed his example, singing words of his own, however, to music of a similar

character. Warrior after warrior enlisted in the dance, until all of any renown

and authority were numbered in its mazes. The spectacle now became wildly

terrific; the fierce-looking and menacing visages of the chiefs receiving

additional power from the appalling strains in which they mingled their

guttural tones. Just then Uncas struck his tomahawk deep into the post, and

raised his voice in a shout, which might be termed his own battle cry. The act

announced that he had assumed the chief authority in the intended expedition.

It was a signal that awakened all the slumbering passions of the nation. A

hundred youths, who had hitherto been restrained by the diffidence of their

years, rushed in a frantic body on the fancied emblem of their enemy, and

severed it asunder, splinter by splinter, until nothing remained of the trunk

but its roots in the earth. During this moment of tumult, the most ruthless

deeds of war were performed on the fragments of the tree, with as much apparent

ferocity as if they were the living victims of their cruelty. Some were

scalped; some received the keen and trembling axe; and others suffered by

thrusts from the fatal knife. In short, the manifestations of zeal and fierce

delight were so great and unequivocal, that the expedition was declared to be a

war of the nation.

The instant Uncas had struck the blow, he moved out of the circle, and cast his

eyes up to the sun, which was just gaining the point, when the truce with Magua

was to end. The fact was soon announced by a significant gesture, accompanied

by a corresponding cry; and the whole of the excited multitude abandoned their

mimic warfare, with shrill yells of pleasure, to prepare for the more hazardous

experiment of the reality.

The whole face of the encampment was instantly changed. The warriors, who were

already armed and painted, became as still as if they were incapable of any

uncommon burst of emotion. On the other hand, the women broke out of the

lodges, with the songs of joy and those of lamentation so strangely mixed that

it might have been difficult to have said which passion preponderated. None,

however, was idle. Some bore their choicest articles, others their young, and

some their aged and infirm, into the forest, which spread itself like a verdant

carpet of bright green against the side of the mountain. Thither Tamenund also

retired, with calm composure, after a short and touching interview with Uncas;

from whom the sage separated with the reluctance that a parent would quit a

long lost and just recovered child. In the meantime, Duncan saw Alice to a

place of safety, and then sought the scout, with a countenance that denoted how

eagerly he also panted for the approaching contest.

But Hawkeye was too much accustomed to the war song and the enlistments of the

natives, to betray any interest in the passing scene. He merely cast an

occasional look at the number and quality of the warriors, who, from time to

time, signified their readiness to accompany Uncas to the field. In this

particular he was soon satisfied; for, as has been already seen, the power of

the young chief quickly embraced every fighting man in the nation. After this

material point was so satisfactorily decided, he despatched an Indian boy in

quest of “killdeer” and the rifle of Uncas, to the place where they

had deposited their weapons on approaching the camp of the Delawares; a measure

of double policy, inasmuch as it protected the arms from their own fate, if

detained as prisoners, and gave them the advantage of appearing among the

strangers rather as sufferers than as men provided with means of defense and

subsistence. In selecting another to perform the office of reclaiming his

highly prized rifle, the scout had lost sight of none of his habitual caution.

He knew that Magua had not come unattended, and he also knew that Huron spies

watched the movements of their new enemies, along the whole boundary of the

woods. It would, therefore, have been fatal to himself to have attempted the

experiment; a warrior would have fared no better; but the danger of a boy would

not be likely to commence until after his object was discovered. When Heyward

joined him, the scout was coolly awaiting the result of this experiment.

The boy, who had been well instructed, and was sufficiently crafty, proceeded,

with a bosom that was swelling with the pride of such a confidence, and all the

hopes of young ambition, carelessly across the clearing to the wood, which he

entered at a point at some little distance from the place where the guns were

secreted. The instant, however, he was concealed by the foliage of the bushes,

his dusky form was to be seen gliding, like that of a serpent, toward the

desired treasure. He was successful; and in another moment he appeared flying

across the narrow opening that skirted the base of the terrace on which the

village stood, with the velocity of an arrow, and bearing a prize in each hand.

He had actually gained the crags, and was leaping up their sides with

incredible activity, when a shot from the woods showed how accurate had been

the judgment of the scout. The boy answered it with a feeble but contemptuous

shout; and immediately a second bullet was sent after him from another part of

the cover. At the next instant he appeared on the level above, elevating his

guns in triumph, while he moved with the air of a conqueror toward the renowned

hunter who had honored him by so glorious a commission.

Notwithstanding the lively interest Hawkeye had taken in the fate of his

messenger, he received “killdeer” with a satisfaction that,

momentarily, drove all other recollections from his mind. After examining the

piece with an intelligent eye, and opening and shutting the pan some ten or

fifteen times, and trying sundry other equally important experiments on the

lock, he turned to the boy and demanded with great manifestations of kindness,

if he was hurt. The urchin looked proudly up in his face, but made no reply.

“Ah! I see, lad, the knaves have barked your arm!” added the scout,

taking up the limb of the patient sufferer, across which a deep flesh wound had

been made by one of the bullets; “but a little bruised alder will act

like a charm. In the meantime I will wrap it in a badge of wampum! You have

commenced the business of a warrior early, my brave boy, and are likely to bear

a plenty of honorable scars to your grave. I know many young men that have

taken scalps who cannot show such a mark as this. Go!” having bound up

the arm; “you will be a chief!”

The lad departed, prouder of his flowing blood than the vainest courtier could

be of his blushing ribbon; and stalked among the fellows of his age, an object

of general admiration and envy.

But, in a moment of so many serious and important duties, this single act of

juvenile fortitude did not attract the general notice and commendation it would

have received under milder auspices. It had, however, served to apprise the

Delawares of the position and the intentions of their enemies. Accordingly a

party of adventurers, better suited to the task than the weak though spirited

boy, was ordered to dislodge the skulkers. The duty was soon performed; for

most of the Hurons retired of themselves when they found they had been

discovered. The Delawares followed to a sufficient distance from their own

encampment, and then halted for orders, apprehensive of being led into an

ambush. As both parties secreted themselves, the woods were again as still and

quiet as a mild summer morning and deep solitude could render them.

The calm but still impatient Uncas now collected his chiefs, and divided his

power. He presented Hawkeye as a warrior, often tried, and always found

deserving of confidence. When he found his friend met with a favorable

reception, he bestowed on him the command of twenty men, like himself, active,

skillful and resolute. He gave the Delawares to understand the rank of Heyward

among the troops of the Yengeese, and then tendered to him a trust of equal

authority. But Duncan declined the charge, professing his readiness to serve as

a volunteer by the side of the scout. After this disposition, the young Mohican

appointed various native chiefs to fill the different situations of

responsibility, and, the time pressing, he gave forth the word to march. He was

cheerfully, but silently obeyed by more than two hundred men.

Their entrance into the forest was perfectly unmolested; nor did they encounter

any living objects that could either give the alarm, or furnish the

intelligence they needed, until they came upon the lairs of their own scouts.

Here a halt was ordered, and the chiefs were assembled to hold a

“whispering council.”

At this meeting divers plans of operation were suggested, though none of a

character to meet the wishes of their ardent leader. Had Uncas followed the

promptings of his own inclinations, he would have led his followers to the

charge without a moment’s delay, and put the conflict to the hazard of an

instant issue; but such a course would have been in opposition to all the

received practises and opinions of his countrymen. He was, therefore, fain to

adopt a caution that in the present temper of his mind he execrated, and to

listen to advice at which his fiery spirit chafed, under the vivid recollection

of Cora’s danger and Magua’s insolence.

After an unsatisfactory conference of many minutes, a solitary individual was

seen advancing from the side of the enemy, with such apparent haste, as to

induce the belief he might be a messenger charged with pacific overtures. When

within a hundred yards, however, of the cover behind which the Delaware council

had assembled, the stranger hesitated, appeared uncertain what course to take,

and finally halted. All eyes were turned now on Uncas, as if seeking directions

how to proceed.

“Hawkeye,” said the young chief, in a low voice, “he must

never speak to the Hurons again.”

“His time has come,” said the laconic scout, thrusting the long

barrel of his rifle through the leaves, and taking his deliberate and fatal

aim. But, instead of pulling the trigger, he lowered the muzzle again, and

indulged himself in a fit of his peculiar mirth. “I took the imp for a

Mingo, as I’m a miserable sinner!” he said; “but when my eye

ranged along his ribs for a place to get the bullet in—would you think

it, Uncas—I saw the musicianer’s blower; and so, after all, it is

the man they call Gamut, whose death can profit no one, and whose life, if this

tongue can do anything but sing, may be made serviceable to our own ends. If

sounds have not lost their virtue, I’ll soon have a discourse with the

honest fellow, and that in a voice he’ll find more agreeable than the

speech of ‘killdeer’.”

So saying, Hawkeye laid aside his rifle; and, crawling through the bushes until

within hearing of David, he attempted to repeat the musical effort, which had

conducted himself, with so much safety and eclat, through the Huron encampment.

The exquisite organs of Gamut could not readily be deceived (and, to say the

truth, it would have been difficult for any other than Hawkeye to produce a

similar noise), and, consequently, having once before heard the sounds, he now

knew whence they proceeded. The poor fellow appeared relieved from a state of

great embarrassment; for, pursuing the direction of the voice—a task that

to him was not much less arduous that it would have been to have gone up in the

face of a battery—he soon discovered the hidden songster.

“I wonder what the Hurons will think of that!” said the scout,

laughing, as he took his companion by the arm, and urged him toward the rear.

“If the knaves lie within earshot, they will say there are two

non-compossers instead of one! But here we are safe,” he added, pointing

to Uncas and his associates. “Now give us the history of the Mingo

inventions in natural English, and without any ups and downs of voice.”

David gazed about him, at the fierce and wild-looking chiefs, in mute wonder;

but assured by the presence of faces that he knew, he soon rallied his

faculties so far as to make an intelligent reply.

“The heathen are abroad in goodly numbers,” said David; “and,

I fear, with evil intent. There has been much howling and ungodly revelry,

together with such sounds as it is profanity to utter, in their habitations

within the past hour, so much so, in truth, that I have fled to the Delawares

in search of peace.”

“Your ears might not have profited much by the exchange, had you been

quicker of foot,” returned the scout a little dryly. “But let that

be as it may; where are the Hurons?”

“They lie hid in the forest, between this spot and their village in such

force, that prudence would teach you instantly to return.”

Uncas cast a glance along the range of trees which concealed his own band and

mentioned the name of:

“Magua?”

“Is among them. He brought in the maiden that had sojourned with the

Delawares; and, leaving her in the cave, has put himself, like a raging wolf,

at the head of his savages. I know not what has troubled his spirit so

greatly!”

“He has left her, you say, in the cave!” interrupted Heyward;

“’tis well that we know its situation! May not something be done

for her instant relief?”

Uncas looked earnestly at the scout, before he asked:

“What says Hawkeye?”

“Give me twenty rifles, and I will turn to the right, along the stream;

and, passing by the huts of the beaver, will join the Sagamore and the colonel.

You shall then hear the whoop from that quarter; with this wind one may easily

send it a mile. Then, Uncas, do you drive in the front; when they come within

range of our pieces, we will give them a blow that, I pledge the good name of

an old frontiersman, shall make their line bend like an ashen bow. After which,

we will carry the village, and take the woman from the cave; when the affair

may be finished with the tribe, according to a white man’s battle, by a

blow and a victory; or, in the Indian fashion, with dodge and cover. There may

be no great learning, major, in this plan, but with courage and patience it can

all be done.”

“I like it very much,” cried Duncan, who saw that the release of

Cora was the primary object in the mind of the scout; “I like it much.

Let it be instantly attempted.”

After a short conference, the plan was matured, and rendered more intelligible

to the several parties; the different signals were appointed, and the chiefs

separated, each to his allotted station.

The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757 · 第 31 / 33 章