"Cursed by my tribe
If I forgive him."
_Shylock._
The Indian had selected, for this desirable purpose, one of those steep,
pyramidal hills, which bear a strong resemblance to artificial mounds,
and which so frequently occur in the valleys of America. The one in
question was high and precipitous; its top flattened, as usual; but with
one of its sides more than ordinarily irregular. It possessed no other
apparent advantage for a resting-place than in its elevation and form,
which might render defence easy, and surprise nearly impossible. As
Heyward, however, no longer expected that rescue which time and distance
now rendered so improbable, he regarded these little peculiarities with
an eye devoid of interest, devoting himself entirely to the comfort and
condolence of his feebler companions. The Narragansetts were suffered to
browse on the branches of the trees and shrubs that were thinly
scattered over the summit of the hill, while the remains of their
provisions were spread under the shade of a beech, that stretched its
horizontal limbs like a canopy above them.
Notwithstanding the swiftness of their flight, one of the Indians had
found an opportunity to strike a straggling fawn with an arrow, and had
borne the more preferable fragments of the victim patiently on his
shoulders, to the stopping-place. Without any aid from the science of
cookery, he was immediately employed, in common with his fellows, in
gorging himself with this digestible sustenance. Magua alone sat apart,
without participation in the revolting meal, and apparently buried in
the deepest thought.
This abstinence, so remarkable in an Indian, when he possessed the means
of satisfying hunger, at length attracted the notice of Heyward. The
young man willingly believed that the Huron deliberated on the most
eligible manner of eluding the vigilance of his associates. With a view
to assist his plans, by any suggestion of his own, and to strengthen the
temptation, he left the beech, and straggled as if without an object, to
the spot where Le Renard was seated.
"Has not Magua kept the sun in his face long enough to escape all danger
from the Canadians?" he asked, as though no longer doubtful of the good
intelligence established between them; "and will not the chief of
William Henry be better pleased to see his daughters before another
night may have hardened his heart to their loss, to make him less
liberal in his reward?"
"Do the pale-faces love their children less in the morning than at
night?" asked the Indian, coldly.
"By no means," returned Heyward, anxious to recall his error, if he had
made one; "the white man may, and does often, forget the burial-place of
his fathers; he sometimes ceases to remember those he should love and
has promised to cherish; but the affection of a parent for his child is
never permitted to die."
"And is the heart of the white-headed chief soft, and will he think of
the babes that his squaws have given him? He is hard to his warriors,
and his eyes are made of stone!"
"He is severe to the idle and wicked, but to the sober and deserving he
is a leader, but just and humane. I have known many fond and tender
parents, but never have I seen a man whose heart was softer towards his
child. You have seen the gray-head in front of his warriors, Magua; but
I have seen his eyes swimming in water, when he spoke of those children
who are now in your power!"
Heyward paused, for he knew not how to construe the remarkable
expression that gleamed across the swarthy features of the attentive
Indian. At first it seemed as if the remembrance of the promised reward
grew vivid in his mind, while he listened to the sources of parental
feeling which were to assure its possession; but as Duncan proceeded,
the expression of joy became so fiercely malignant, that it was
impossible not to apprehend it proceeded from some passion more sinister
than avarice.
"Go," said the Huron, suppressing the alarming exhibition in an instant,
in a death-like calmness of countenance; "go to the dark-haired
daughter, and say, Magua waits to speak. The father will remember what
the child promises."
Duncan, who interpreted this speech to express a wish for some
additional pledge that the promised gifts should not be withheld,
slowly and reluctantly repaired to the place where the sisters were now
resting from their fatigue, to communicate its purport to Cora.
"You understand the nature of an Indian's wishes," he concluded, as he
led her towards the place where she was expected, "and must be prodigal
of your offers of powder and blankets. Ardent spirits are, however, the
most prized by such as he; nor would it be amiss to add some boon from
your own hand, with that grace you so well know how to practise.
Remember, Cora, that on your presence of mind and ingenuity even your
life, as well as that of Alice, may in some measure depend."
"Heyward, and yours!"
"Mine is of little moment; it is already sold to my king, and is a prize
to be seized by any enemy who may possess the power. I have no father to
expect me, and but few friends to lament a fate which I have courted
with the insatiable longings of youth after distinction. But hush! we
approach the Indian. Magua, the lady with whom you wish to speak is
here."
The Indian rose slowly from his seat, and stood for near a minute silent
and motionless. He then signed with his hand for Heyward to retire,
saying coldly,--
"When the Huron talks to the women, his tribe shut their ears."
Duncan, still lingering, as if refusing to comply, Cora said, with a
calm smile--
"You hear, Heyward, and delicacy at least should urge you to retire. Go
to Alice, and comfort her with our reviving prospects."
She waited until he had departed, and then turning to the native, with
the dignity of her sex in her voice and manner, she added, "What would
Le Renard say to the daughter of Munro?"
"Listen," said the Indian, laying his hand firmly upon her arm, as if
willing to draw her utmost attention to his words; a movement that Cora
as firmly but quietly repulsed, by extricating the limb from his grasp:
"Magua was born a chief and a warrior among the red Hurons of the lakes;
he saw the suns of twenty summers make the snows of twenty winters run
off in the streams, before he saw a pale-face; and he was happy! Then
his Canada fathers came into the woods, and taught him to drink the
fire-water, and he became a rascal. The Hurons drove him from the graves
of his fathers, as they would chase the hunted buffalo. He ran down the
shores of the lakes, and followed their outlet to the 'city of cannon.'
There he hunted and fished, till the people chased him again through the
woods into the arms of his enemies. The chief, who was born a Huron, was
at last a warrior among the Mohawks!"
"Something like this I had heard before," said Cora, observing that he
paused to suppress those passions which began to burn with too bright a
flame, as he recalled the recollection of his supposed injuries.
"Was it the fault of Le Renard that his head was not made of rock? Who
gave him the fire-water? who made him a villain? 'Twas the pale-faces,
the people of your own color."
"And am I answerable that thoughtless and unprincipled men exist, whose
shades of countenance may resemble mine?" Cora calmly demanded of the
excited savage.
"No; Magua is a man, and not a fool; such as you never open their lips
to the burning stream: the Great Spirit has given you wisdom!"
"What then have I to do, or say, in the matter of your misfortunes, not
to say of your errors?"
"Listen," repeated the Indian, resuming his earnest attitude; "when his
English and French fathers dug up the hatchet, Le Renard struck the
war-post of the Mohawks, and went out against his own nation. The
pale-faces have driven the redskins from their hunting-grounds, and now
when they fight, a white man leads the way. The old chief at Horican,
your father, was the great captain of our war-party. He said to the
Mohawks do this, and do that, and he was minded. He made a law, that if
an Indian swallowed the fire-water, and came into the cloth wigwams of
his warriors, it should not be forgotten. Magua foolishly opened his
mouth, and the hot liquor led him into the cabin of Munro. What did the
gray-head? let his daughter say."
"He forgot not his words, and did justice by punishing the offender,"
said the undaunted daughter.
"Justice!" repeated the Indian, casting an oblique glance of the most
ferocious expression at her unyielding countenance; "is it justice to
make evil, and then punish for it? Magua was not himself; it was the
fire-water that spoke and acted for him! but Munro did not believe it.
The Huron chief was tied up before all the pale-faced warriors, and
whipped like a dog."
Cora remained silent, for she knew not how to palliate this imprudent
severity on the part of her father, in a manner to suit the
comprehension of an Indian.
"See!" continued Magua, tearing aside the slight calico that very
imperfectly concealed his painted breast; "here are scars given by
knives and bullets--of these a warrior may boast before his nation; but
the gray-head has left marks on the back of the Huron chief, that he
must hide, like a squaw, under this painted cloth of the whites."
"I had thought," resumed Cora, "that an Indian warrior was patient, and
that his spirit felt not, and knew not, the pain his body suffered."
"When the Chippewas tied Magua to the stake, and cut this gash," said
the other, laying his finger on a deep scar, "the Huron laughed in their
faces, and told them, Women struck so light! His spirit was then in the
clouds! But when he felt the blows of Munro, his spirit lay under the
birch. The spirit of a Huron is never drunk; it remembers forever!"
"But it may be appeased. If my father has done you this injustice, show
him how an Indian can forgive an injury, and take back his daughters.
You have heard from Major Heyward--"
Magua shook his head, forbidding the repetition of offers he so much
despised.
"What would you have?" continued Cora, after a most painful pause, while
the conviction forced itself on her mind that the too sanguine and
generous Duncan had been cruelly deceived by the cunning of the savage.
"What a Huron loves--good for good; bad for bad!"
"You would then revenge the injury inflicted by Munro on his helpless
daughters. Would it not be more like a man to go before his face, and
take the satisfaction of a warrior?"
"The arms of the pale-faces are long, and their knives sharp!" returned
the savage, with a malignant laugh: "why should Le Renard go among the
muskets of his warriors, when he holds the spirit of the gray-head in
his hand?"
"Name your intention, Magua," said Cora, struggling with herself to
speak with steady calmness. "Is it to lead us prisoners to the woods, or
do you contemplate even some greater evil? Is there no reward, no means
of palliating the injury, and of softening your heart? At least, release
my gentle sister, and pour out all your malice on me. Purchase wealth by
her safety, and satisfy your revenge with a single victim. The loss of
both of his daughters might bring the aged man to his grave, and where
would then be the satisfaction of Le Renard?"
"Listen," said the Indian again. "The light eyes can go back to the
Horican, and tell the old chief what has been done, if the dark-haired
woman will swear by the Great Spirit of her fathers to tell no lie."
"What must I promise?" demanded Cora, still maintaining a secret
ascendency over the fierce native, by the collected and feminine dignity
of her presence.
"When Magua left his people, his wife was given to another chief; he has
now made friends with the Hurons, and will go back to the graves of his
tribe, on the shores of the great lake. Let the daughter of the English
chief follow, and live in his wigwam forever."
However revolting a proposal of such a character might prove to Cora,
she retained, notwithstanding her powerful disgust, sufficient
self-command to reply, without betraying the weakness.
"And what pleasure would Magua find in sharing his cabin with a wife he
did not love; one who would be of a nation and color different from his
own? It would be better to take the gold of Munro, and buy the heart of
some Huron maid with his gifts."
The Indian made no reply for near a minute, but bent his fierce looks on
the countenance of Cora, in such wavering glances, that her eyes sank
with shame, under an impression that, for the first time, they had
encountered an expression that no chaste female might endure. While she
was shrinking within herself, in dread of having her ears wounded by
some proposal still more shocking than the last, the voice of Magua
answered, in its tones of deepest malignancy--
"When the blows scorched the back of the Huron, he would know where to
find a woman to feel the smart. The daughter of Munro would draw his
water, hoe his corn, and cook his venison. The body of the gray-head
would sleep among his cannon, but his heart would lie within reach of
the knife of Le Subtil."
"Monster! well dost thou deserve thy treacherous name!" cried Cora, in
an ungovernable burst of filial indignation. "None but a fiend could
meditate such a vengeance! But thou overratest thy power! You shall find
it is, in truth, the heart of Munro you hold, and that it will defy your
utmost malice!"
The Indian answered this bold defiance by a ghastly smile, that showed
an unaltered purpose, while he motioned her away, as if to close the
conference forever. Cora, already regretting her precipitation, was
obliged to comply, for Magua instantly left the spot, and approached his
gluttonous comrades. Heyward flew to the side of the agitated female,
and demanded the result of a dialogue that he had watched at a distance
with so much interest. But unwilling to alarm the fears of Alice, she
evaded a direct reply, betraying only by her countenance her utter want
of success, and keeping her anxious looks fastened on the slightest
movements of their captors. To the reiterated and earnest questions of
her sister, concerning their probable destination, she made no other
answer than by pointing towards the dark group, with an agitation she
could not control, and murmuring, as she folded Alice to her bosom--
"There, there; read our fortunes in their faces; we shall see; we shall
see!"
The action, and the choked utterance of Cora, spoke more impressively
than any words, and quickly drew the attention of her companions on that
spot where her own was riveted with an intenseness that nothing but the
importance of the stake could create.
When Magua reached the cluster of lolling savages, who, gorged with
their disgusting meal, lay stretched on the earth in brutal indulgence,
he commenced speaking with the dignity of an Indian chief. The first
syllables he uttered had the effect to cause his listeners to raise
themselves in attitudes of respectful attention. As the Huron used his
native language, the prisoners, notwithstanding the caution of the
natives had kept them within the swing of their tomahawks, could only
conjecture the substance of his harrangue, from the nature of those
significant gestures with which an Indian always illustrates his
eloquence.
At first, the language, as well as the action of Magua, appeared calm
and deliberate. When he had succeeded in sufficiently awakening the
attention of his comrades, Heyward fancied, by his pointing so
frequently towards the direction of the great lakes, that he spoke of
the land of their fathers, and of their distant tribe. Frequent
indications of applause escaped the listeners, who, as they uttered the
expressive "Hugh!" looked at each other in commendation of the speaker.
Le Renard was too skilful to neglect his advantage. He now spoke of the
long and painful route by which they had left those spacious grounds and
happy villages, to come and battle against the enemies of their
Canadian fathers. He enumerated the warriors of the party; their
several merits; their frequent services to the nation; their wounds, and
the number of the scalps they had taken. Whenever he alluded to any
present (and the subtle Indian neglected none), the dark countenance of
the flattered individual gleamed with exultation, nor did he even
hesitate to assert the truth of the words, by gestures of applause and
confirmation. Then the voice of the speaker fell, and lost the loud,
animated tones of triumph with which he had enumerated their deeds of
success and victory. He described the cataract of Glenn's; the
impregnable position of its rocky island, with its caverns, and its
numerous rapids and whirlpools; he named the name of La Longue Carabine,
and paused until the forest beneath them had sent up the last echo of a
loud and long yell, with which the hated appellation was received. He
pointed towards the youthful military captive, and described the death
of a favorite warrior, who had been precipitated into the deep ravine by
his hand. He not only mentioned the fate of him who, hanging between
heaven and earth, had presented such a spectacle of horror to the whole
band, but he acted anew the terrors of his situation, his resolution and
his death, on the branches of a sapling; and, finally, he rapidly
recounted the manner in which each of their friends had fallen, never
failing to touch upon their courage, and their most acknowledged
virtues. When this recital of events was ended, his voice once more
changed, and became plaintive, and even musical, in its low guttural
sounds. He now spoke of the wives and children of the slain; their
destitution; their misery, both physical and moral; their distance; and,
at last, of their unavenged wrongs. Then suddenly lifting his voice to a
pitch of terrific energy, he concluded, by demanding,--
"Are the Hurons dogs to bear this? Who shall say to the wife of Menowgua
that the fishes have his scalp, and that his nation have not taken
revenge! Who will dare meet the mother of Wassawattimie, that scornful
woman, with his hands clean! What shall be said to the old men when they
ask us for scalps, and we have not a hair from a white head to give
them! The women will point their fingers at us. There is a dark spot on
the names of the Hurons, and it must be hid in blood!"
His voice was no longer audible in the burst of rage which now broke
into the air, as if the wood, instead of containing so small a band, was
filled with the nation. During the foregoing address the progress of the
speaker was too plainly read by those most interested in his success,
through the medium of the countenances of the men he addressed. They had
answered his melancholy and mourning by sympathy and sorrow; his
assertions, by gestures of confirmation; and his boastings, with the
exultation of savages. When he spoke of courage, their looks were firm
and responsive; when he alluded to their injuries, their eyes kindled
with fury; when he mentioned the taunts of the women, they dropped their
heads in shame; but when he pointed out their means of vengeance, he
struck a chord which never failed to thrill in the breast of an Indian.
With the first intimation that it was within their reach, the whole band
sprang upon their feet as one man; giving utterance to their rage in the
most frantic cries, they rushed upon their prisoners in a body with
drawn knives and uplifted tomahawks. Heyward threw himself between the
sisters and the foremost, whom he grappled with a desperate strength
that for a moment checked his violence. This unexpected resistance gave
Magua time to interpose, and with rapid enunciation and animated
gesture, he drew the attention of the band again to himself. In that
language he knew so well how to assume, he diverted his comrades from
their instant purpose, and invited them to prolong the misery of their
victims. His proposal was received with acclamations, and executed with
the swiftness of thought.
Two powerful warriors cast themselves on Heyward, while another was
occupied in securing the less active singing-master. Neither of the
captives, however, submitted without a desperate though fruitless
struggle. Even David hurled his assailant to the earth; nor was Heyward
secured until the victory over his companion enabled the Indians to
direct their united force to that object. He was then bound and fastened
to the body of the sapling, on whose branches Magua had acted the
pantomime of the falling Huron. When the young soldier regained his
recollection, he had the painful certainty before his eyes that a common
fate was intended for the whole party. On his right was Cora, in a
durance similar to his own, pale and agitated, but with an eye, whose
steady look still read the proceedings of their enemies. On his left,
the withes which bound her to a pine, performed that office for Alice
which her trembling limbs refused, and alone kept her fragile form from
sinking. Her hands were clasped before her in prayer, but instead of
looking upwards towards that power which alone could rescue them, her
unconscious looks wandered to the countenance of Duncan with infantile
dependency. David had contended, and the novelty of the circumstance
held him silent, in deliberation on the propriety of the unusual
occurrence.
The vengeance of the Hurons had now taken a new direction, and they
prepared to execute it with that barbarous ingenuity with which they
were familiarized by the practice of centuries. Some sought knots, to
raise the blazing pile; one was riving the splinters of pine, in order
to pierce the flesh of their captives with the burning fragments; and
others bent the tops of two saplings to the earth, in order to suspend
Heyward by the arms between the recoiling branches. But the vengeance of
Magua sought a deeper and a more malignant enjoyment.
While the less refined monsters of the band prepared, before the eyes of
those who were to suffer, these well known and vulgar means of torture,
he approached Cora, and pointed out, with the most malign expression of
countenance, the speedy fate that awaited her:--
"Ha!" he added, "what says the daughter of Munro? Her head is too good
to find a pillow in the wigwam of Le Renard; will she like it better
when it rolls about this hill a plaything for the wolves? Her bosom
cannot nurse the children of a Huron; she will see it spit upon by
Indians!"
"What means the monster!" demanded the astonished Heyward.
"Nothing!" was the firm reply. "He is a savage, a barbarous and ignorant
savage, and knows not what he does. Let us find leisure, with our dying
breath, to ask for him penitence and pardon."
"Pardon!" echoed the fierce Huron, mistaking, in his anger, the meaning
of her words; "the memory of an Indian is longer than the arm of the
pale-faces; his mercy shorter than their justice! Say; shall I send the
yellow hair to her father, and will you follow Magua to the great lakes,
to carry his water, and feed him with corn?"
Cora beckoned him away, with an emotion of disgust she could not
control.
"Leave me," she said, with a solemnity that for a moment checked the
barbarity of the Indian; "you mingle bitterness in my prayers; you stand
between me and my God!"
The slight impression produced on the savage was, however, soon
forgotten, and he continued pointing, with taunting irony, towards
Alice.
"Look! the child weeps! She is young to die! Send her to Munro, to comb
his gray hairs, and keep life in the heart of the old man."
Cora could not resist the desire to look upon her youthful sister, in
whose eyes she met an imploring glance, that betrayed the longings of
nature.
"What says he, dearest Cora?" asked the trembling voice of Alice. "Did
he speak of sending me to our father?"
For many moments the elder sister looked upon the younger, with a
countenance that wavered with powerful and contending emotions. At
length she spoke, though her tones had lost their rich and calm fulness,
in an expression of tenderness that seemed maternal.
"Alice," she said, "the Huron offers us both life, nay, more than both;
he offers to restore Duncan, our invaluable Duncan, as well as you, to
our friends--to our father--to our heart-stricken, childless father, if
I will bow down this rebellious, stubborn pride of mine, and consent--"
Her voice became choked, and clasping her hands, she looked upward, as
if seeking, in her agony, intelligence from a wisdom that was infinite.
"Say on," cried Alice; "to what, dearest Cora? O, that the proffer were
made to me! to save you, to cheer our aged father, to restore Duncan,
how cheerfully could I die!"
"Die!" repeated Cora, with a calmer and a firmer voice, "that were easy!
Perhaps the alternative may not be less so. He would have me," she
continued, her accents sinking under a deep consciousness of the
degradation of the proposal, "follow him to the wilderness; go to the
habitations of the Hurons; to remain there: in short to become his wife!
Speak, then, Alice; child of my affections! sister of my love! And you,
too, Major Heyward, aid my weak reason with your counsel. Is life to be
purchased by such a sacrifice? Will you, Alice, receive it at my hands
at such a price? And _you_, Duncan, guide me; control me between you;
for I am wholly yours."
"Would I!" echoed the indignant and astonished youth. "Cora! Cora! you
jest with our misery! Name not the horrid alternative again; the thought
itself is worse than a thousand deaths."
"That such would be _your_ answer, I well knew!" exclaimed Cora, her
cheeks flushing, and her dark eyes once more sparkling with the
lingering emotions of a woman. "What says my Alice? for her will I
submit without another murmur."
Although both Heyward and Cora listened with painful suspense and the
deepest attention, no sounds were heard in reply. It appeared as if the
delicate and sensitive form of Alice would shrink into itself, as she
listened to this proposal. Her arms had fallen lengthwise before her,
the fingers moving in slight convulsions; her head dropped upon her
bosom, and her whole person seemed suspended against the tree, looking
like some beautiful emblem of the wounded delicacy of her sex, devoid of
animation, and yet keenly conscious. In a few moments, however, her head
began to move slowly, in a sign of deep, unconquerable disapprobation.
"No, no, no; better that we die as we have lived, together!"
"Then die!" shouted Magua, hurling his tomahawk with violence at the
unresisting speaker, and gnashing his teeth with a rage that could no
longer be bridled, at this sudden exhibition of firmness in the one he
believed the weakest of the party. The axe cleaved the air in front of
Heyward, and cutting some of the flowing ringlets of Alice, quivered in
the tree above her head. The sight maddened Duncan to desperation.
Collecting all his energies in one effort, he snapped the twigs which
bound him and rushed upon another savage who was preparing with loud
yells, and a more deliberate aim, to repeat the blow. They encountered,
grappled, and fell to the earth together. The naked body of his
antagonist afforded Heyward no means of holding his adversary, who
glided from his grasp, and rose again with one knee on his chest,
pressing him down with the weight of a giant. Duncan already saw the
knife gleaming in the air, when a whistling sound swept past him, and
was rather accompanied, than followed, by the sharp crack of a rifle. He
felt his breast relieved from the load it had endured; he saw the savage
expression of his adversary's countenance change to a look of vacant
wildness, when the Indian fell dead on the faded leaves by his side.