Chapter: "But though the beast of game
  The privilege of chase may claim;
  Though space and law the stag we lend
  Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend;
  Who ever recked, where, how, or when
  The prowling fox was trapped or slain?"

  _Lady of the Lake._


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

When Duncan and David, therefore, found themselves in the centre of the
children, who played the antics already mentioned, it was with the least
previous intimation of their approach. But so soon as they were
observed, the whole of the juvenile pack raised, by common consent, a
shrill and warning whoop; and then sank, as it were, by magic, from
before the sight of their visitors. The naked, tawny bodies of the
crouching urchins blended so nicely, at that hour, with the withered
herbage, that at first it seemed as if the earth had, in truth,
swallowed up their forms; though when surprise permitted Duncan to bend
his look more curiously about the spot, he found it everywhere met by
dark, quick, and rolling eyeballs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: _Copyright by Charles Scribner's Sons_

THE TERMAGANT

_Throwing back her light vestment, she stretched forth her long skinny
arm, in derision_]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If the Lenape are so skilful, why is one of their bravest warriors
here?"

"He followed in the steps of a flying coward, and fell into a snare. The
cunning beaver may be caught."

As Uncas thus replied, he pointed with his finger toward the solitary
Huron, but without deigning to bestow any other notice on so unworthy an
object. The words of the answer and the air of the speaker produced a
strong sensation among his auditors. Every eye rolled sullenly towards
the individual indicated by the simple gesture, and a low, threatening
murmur passed through the crowd. The ominous sounds reached the outer
door, and the women and children pressing into the throng, no gap had
been left, between shoulder and shoulder, that was not now filled with
the dark lineaments of some eager and curious human countenance.

In the meantime, the more aged chiefs, in the centre, communed with each
other in short and broken sentences. Not a word was uttered that did not
convey the meaning of the speaker, in the simplest and most energetic
form. Again, a long and deeply solemn pause took place. It was known,
by all present, to be the grave precursor of a weighty and important
judgment. They who composed the outer circle of faces were on tiptoe to
gaze; and even the culprit for an instant forgot his shame in a deeper
emotion, and exposed his abject features, in order to cast an anxious
and troubled glance at the dark assemblage of chiefs. The silence was
finally broken by the aged warrior so often named. He arose from the
earth, and moving past the immovable form of Uncas, placed himself in a
dignified attitude before the offender. At that moment, the withered
squaw already mentioned moved into the circle, in a slow, sideling sort
of a dance, holding the torch, and muttering the indistinct words of
what might have been a species of incantation. Though her presence was
altogether an intrusion, it was unheeded.

Approaching Uncas, she held the blazing brand in such a manner as to
cast its red glare on his person, and to expose the slightest emotion of
his countenance. The Mohican maintained his firm and haughty attitude;
and his eye, so far from deigning to meet her inquisitive look, dwelt
steadily on the distance, as though it penetrated the obstacles which
impeded the view, and looked into futurity. Satisfied with her
examination, she left him, with a slight expression of pleasure, and
proceeded to practise the same trying experiment on her delinquent
countryman.

The young Huron was in his war paint, and very little of a finely
moulded form was concealed by his attire. The light rendered every limb
and joint discernible, and Duncan turned away in horror when he saw they
were writhing in irrepressible agony. The woman was commencing a low and
plaintive howl at the sad and shameful spectacle, when the chief put
forth his hand and gently pushed her aside.

"Reed-that-bends," he said, addressing the young culprit by name, and in
his proper language, "though the Great Spirit has made you pleasant to
the eyes, it would have been better that you had not been born. Your
tongue is loud in the village, but in battle it is still. None of my
young men strike the tomahawk deeper into the war-post--none of them so
lightly on the Yengeese. The enemy know the shape of your back, but they
have never seen the color of your eyes. Three times have they called on
you to come, and as often did you forget to answer. Your name will never
be mentioned again in your tribe--it is already forgotten."

As the chief slowly uttered these words, pausing impressively between
each sentence, the culprit raised his face, in deference to the other's
rank and years. Shame, horror, and pride struggled in its lineaments.
His eye, which was contracted with inward anguish, gleamed on the
persons of those whose breath was his fame; and the latter emotion for
an instant predominated. He arose to his feet, and baring his bosom,
looked steadily on the keen, glittering knife, that was already upheld
by his inexorable judge. As the weapon passed slowly into his heart he
even smiled, as if in joy at having found death less dreadful than he
had anticipated, and fell heavily on his face, at the feet of the rigid
and unyielding form of Uncas.

The squaw gave a loud and plaintive yell, dashed the torch to the earth,
and buried everything in darkness. The whole shuddering group of
spectators glided from the lodge, like troubled sprites; and Duncan
thought that he and the yet throbbing body of the victim of an Indian
judgment had now become its only tenants.




  "Thus spoke the sage: the kings without delay
  Dissolve the council, and their chief obey."

  POPE'S _Iliad._


A single moment served to convince the youth that he was mistaken. A
hand was laid, with a powerful pressure, on his arm, and the low voice
of Uncas muttered in his ears,--

"The Hurons are dogs. The sight of a coward's blood can never make a
warrior tremble. The 'Gray Head' and the Sagamore are safe, and the
rifle of Hawkeye is not asleep. Go,--Uncas and the 'Open Hand' are now
strangers. It is enough."

Heyward would gladly have heard more, but a gentle push from his friend
urged him towards the door, and admonished him of the danger that might
attend the discovery of their intercourse. Slowly and reluctantly
yielding to the necessity, he quitted the place, and mingled with the
throng that hovered nigh. The dying fires in the clearing cast a dim and
uncertain light on the dusky figures that were silently stalking to and
fro; and occasionally a brighter gleam than common glanced into the
lodge, and exhibited the figure of Uncas still maintaining its upright
attitude near the dead body of the Huron.

A knot of warriors soon entered the place again, and reissuing, they
bore the senseless remains into the adjacent woods. After this
termination of the scene, Duncan wandered among the lodges, unquestioned
and unnoticed, endeavoring to find some trace of her in whose behalf he
incurred the risk he ran. In the present temper of the tribe, it would
have been easy to have fled and rejoined his companions, had such a wish
crossed his mind. But, in addition to the never-ceasing anxiety on
account of Alice, a fresher, though feebler interest in the fate of
Uncas assisted to chain him to the spot. He continued, therefore, to
stray from hut to hut, looking into each only to encounter additional
disappointment, until he had made the entire circuit of the village.
Abandoning a species of inquiry that proved so fruitless, he retraced
his steps to the council lodge, resolved to seek and question David, in
order to put an end to his doubts.

On reaching the building which had proved alike the seat of judgment
and the place of execution, the young man found that the excitement had
already subsided. The warriors had reassembled, and were now calmly
smoking, while they conversed gravely on the chief incidents of their
recent expedition to the head of the Horican. Though the return of
Duncan was likely to remind them of his character, and the suspicious
circumstances of his visit, it produced no visible sensation. So far,
the terrible scene that had just occurred proved favorable to his views,
and he required no other prompter than his own feelings to convince him
of the expediency of profiting by so unexpected an advantage.

Without seeming to hesitate, he walked into the lodge, and took his seat
with a gravity that accorded admirably with the deportment of his hosts.
A hasty but searching glance sufficed to tell him that, though Uncas
still remained where he had left him, David had not reappeared. No other
restraint was imposed on the former than the watchful looks of a young
Huron, who had placed himself at hand; though an armed warrior leaned
against the post that formed one side of the narrow door-way. In every
other respect, the captive seemed at liberty; still he was excluded from
all participation in the discourse, and possessed much more of the air
of some finely moulded statue than a man having life and volition.

Heyward had too recently witnessed a frightful instance of the prompt
punishments of the people into whose hands he had fallen, to hazard an
exposure by any officious boldness. He would greatly have preferred
silence and meditation to speech, when a discovery of his real condition
might prove so instantly fatal. Unfortunately for this prudent
resolution, his entertainers appeared otherwise disposed. He had not
long occupied the seat wisely taken a little in the shade, when another
of the elder warriors, who spoke the French language, addressed him:--

"My Canada father does not forget his children," said the chief; "I
thank him. An evil spirit lives in the wife of one of my young men. Can
the cunning stranger frighten him away?"

Heyward possessed some knowledge of the mummery practised among the
Indians, in the cases of such supposed visitations. He saw, at a glance,
that the circumstance might possibly be improved to further his own end.
It would, therefore, have been difficult, just then, to have uttered a
proposal that would have given him more satisfaction. Aware of the
necessity of preserving the dignity of his imaginary character, however,
he repressed his feelings, and answered with suitable mystery,--

"Spirits differ; some yield to the power of wisdom, while others are too
strong."

"My brother is a great medicine," said the cunning savage; "he will
try?"

A gesture of assent was the answer. The Huron was content with the
assurance, and resuming his pipe, he awaited the proper moment to move.
The impatient Heyward, inwardly execrating the cold customs of the
savages, which required such sacrifices to appearance, was fain to
assume an air of indifference, equal to that maintained by the chief,
who was, in truth, a near relative of the afflicted woman. The minutes
lingered, and the delay had seemed an hour to the adventurer in
empiricism, when the Huron laid aside his pipe, and drew his robe across
his breast, as if about to lead the way to the lodge of the invalid.
Just then, a warrior of powerful frame darkened the door, and stalking
silently among the attentive group, he seated himself on one end of the
low pile of brush which sustained Duncan. The latter cast an impatient
look at his neighbor, and felt his flesh creep with uncontrollable
horror when he found himself in actual contact with Magua.

The sudden return of this artful and dreaded chief caused a delay in the
departure of the Huron. Several pipes, that had been extinguished, were
lighted again; while the newcomer, without speaking a word, drew his
tomahawk from his girdle, and filling the bowl on its head, began to
inhale the vapors of the weed through the hollow handle, with as much
indifference as if he had not been absent two weary days on a long and
toilsome hunt. Ten minutes, which appeared so many ages to Duncan, might
have passed in this manner; and the warriors were fairly enveloped in a
cloud of white smoke before any of them spoke.

"Welcome!" one at length uttered; "has my friend found the moose?"

"The young men stagger under their burdens," returned Magua. "Let
'Reed-that-bends' go on the hunting-path; he will meet them."

A deep and awful silence succeeded the utterance of the forbidden name.
Each pipe dropped from the lips of its owner as though all had inhaled
an impurity at the same instant. The smoke wreathed above their heads in
little eddies, and curling in a spiral form, it ascended swiftly
through the opening in the roof of the lodge, leaving the place beneath
clear of its fumes, and each dark visage distinctly visible. The looks
of most of the warriors were riveted on the earth; though a few of the
younger and less gifted of the party suffered their wild and glaring
eyeballs to roll in the direction of a white-headed savage, who sat
between two of the most venerated chiefs of the tribe. There was nothing
in the air or attire of this Indian that would seem to entitle him to
such a distinction. The former was rather depressed, than remarkable for
the bearing of the natives; and the latter was such as was commonly worn
by the ordinary men of the nation. Like most around him, for more than a
minute his look too was on the ground; but, trusting his eyes at length
to steal a glance aside, he perceived that he was becoming an object of
general attention. Then he arose and lifted his voice in the general
silence.

"It was a lie," he said; "I had no son. He who was called by that name
is forgotten; his blood was pale; and it came not from the veins of a
Huron; the wicked Chippewas cheated my squaw. The Great Spirit has said,
that the family of Wiss-entush should end; he is happy who knows that
the evil of his race dies with himself. I have done."

The speaker, who was the father of the recreant young Indian, looked
round and about him, as if seeking commendation of his stoicism in the
eyes of his auditors. But the stern customs of his people had made too
severe an exaction of the feeble old man. The expression of his eye
contradicted his figurative and boastful language, while every muscle in
his wrinkled visage was working with anguish. Standing a single minute
to enjoy his bitter triumph, he turned away, as if sickening at the gaze
of men, and veiling his face in his blanket, he walked from the lodge
with the noiseless step of an Indian, seeking, in the privacy of his own
abode, the sympathy of one like himself, aged, forlorn, and childless.

The Indians, who believe in the hereditary transmission of virtues and
defects in character, suffered him to depart in silence. Then, with an
elevation of breeding that many in a more cultivated state of society
might profitably emulate, one of the chiefs drew the attention of the
young men from the weakness they had just witnessed, by saying, in a
cheerful voice, addressing himself in courtesy to Magua, as the newest
comer,--

"The Delawares have been like bears after the honey-pots, prowling
around my village. But who has ever found a Huron asleep?"

The darkness of the impending cloud which precedes a burst of thunder
was not blacker than the brow of Magua as he exclaimed,--

"The Delawares of the Lakes!"

"Not so. They who wear the petticoats of squaws, on their own river. One
of them has been passing the tribe."

"Did my young men take his scalp?"

"His legs were good, though his arm is better for the hoe than the
tomahawk," returned the other, pointing to the immovable form of Uncas.

Instead of manifesting any womanish curiosity to feast his eyes with the
sight of a captive from a people he was known to have so much reason to
hate, Magua continued to smoke, with the meditative air that he usually
maintained, when there was no immediate call on his cunning or his
eloquence. Although secretly amazed at the facts communicated by the
speech of the aged father, he permitted himself to ask no questions,
reserving his inquiries for a more suitable moment. It was only after a
sufficient interval that he shook the ashes from his pipe, replaced the
tomahawk, tightened his girdle, and arose, casting for the first time a
glance in the direction of the prisoner, who stood a little behind him.
The wary, though seemingly abstracted Uncas, caught a glimpse of the
movement, and turning suddenly to the light, their looks met. Near a
minute these two bold and untamed spirits stood regarding one another
steadily in the eye, neither quailing in the least before the fierce
gaze he encountered. The form of Uncas dilated, and his nostrils opened
like those of a tiger at bay; but so rigid and unyielding was his
posture, that he might easily have been converted by the imagination
into an exquisite and faultless representation of the warlike deity of
his tribe. The lineaments of the quivering features of Magua proved more
ductile; his countenance gradually lost its character of defiance in an
expression of ferocious joy, and heaving a breath from the very bottom
of his chest, he pronounced aloud the very formidable name of--

"Le Cerf Agile!"

Each warrior sprang upon his feet at the utterance of the well known
appellation, and there was a short period during which the stoical
constancy of the natives was completely conquered by surprise. The
hated and yet respected name was repeated as by one voice, carrying the
sound even beyond the limits of the lodge. The women and children, who
lingered around the entrance, took up the words in an echo, which was
succeeded by another shrill and plaintive howl. The latter was not yet
ended, when the sensation among the men had entirely abated. Each one in
presence seated himself, as though ashamed of his precipitation; but it
was many minutes before their meaning eyes ceased to roll towards their
captive, in curious examination of a warrior who had so often proved his
prowess on the best and proudest of their nation. Uncas enjoyed his
victory, but was content with merely exhibiting his triumph by a quiet
smile--an emblem of scorn which belongs to all time and every nation.

Magua caught the expression, and raising his arm, he shook it at the
captive, the light silver ornaments attached to his bracelet rattling
with the trembling agitation of the limb, as, in a tone of vengeance, he
exclaimed, in English,--

"Mohican, you die!"

"The healing waters will never bring the dead Hurons to life," returned
Uncas, in the music of the Delawares; "the tumbling river washes their
bones; their men are squaws; their women owls. Go! call together the
Huron dogs, that they may look upon a warrior. My nostrils are offended;
they scent the blood of a coward."

The latter allusion struck deep, and the injury rankled. Many of the
Hurons understood the strange tongue in which the captive spoke, among
which number was Magua. This cunning savage beheld, and instantly
profited by his advantage. Dropping the light robe of skin from his
shoulder, he stretched forth his arm, and commenced a burst of his
dangerous and artful eloquence. However much his influence among his
people had been impaired by his occasional and besetting weakness, as
well as by his desertion of the tribe, his courage and his fame as an
orator were undeniable. He never spoke without auditors, and rarely
without making converts to his opinions. On the present occasion, his
native powers were stimulated by the thirst of revenge.

He again recounted the events of the attack on the island at Glenn's,
the death of his associates, and the escape of their most formidable
enemies. Then he described the nature and position of the mount whither
he had led such captives as had fallen into their hands. Of his own
bloody intentions towards the maidens, and of his baffled malice he made
no mention, but passed rapidly on to the surprise of the party by La
Longue Carabine, and its fatal termination. Here he paused, and looked
about him, in affected veneration for the departed, but, in truth, to
note the effect of his opening narrative. As usual, every eye was
riveted on his face. Each dusky figure seemed a breathing statue, so
motionless was the posture, so intense the attention of the individual.

Then Magua dropped his voice, which had hitherto been clear, strong, and
elevated, and touched upon the merits of the dead. No quality that was
likely to command the sympathy of an Indian escaped his notice. One had
never been known to follow the chase in vain; another had been
indefatigable on the trail of their enemies. This was brave, that
generous. In short, he so managed his allusions, that in a nation, which
was composed of so few families, he contrived to strike every chord that
might find, in its turn, some breast in which to vibrate.

"Are the bones of my young men," he concluded, "in the burial-place of
the Hurons? You know they are not. Their spirits are gone towards the
setting sun, and are already crossing the great waters, to the happy
hunting-grounds. But they departed without food, without guns or knives,
without moccasins, naked and poor as they were born. Shall this be? Are
their souls to enter the land of the just like hungry Iroquois or
unmanly Delawares; or shall they meet their friends with arms in their
hands and robes on their backs? What will our fathers think the tribes
of the Wyandots have become? They will look on their children with a
dark eye, and say, Go! a Chippewa has come hither with the name of a
Huron. Brothers, we must not forget the dead; a redskin never ceases to
remember. We will load the back of this Mohican until he staggers under
our bounty, and despatch him after my young men. They call to us for
aid, though our ears are not open; they say, Forget us not. When they
see the spirit of this Mohican toiling after them with his burden, they
will know we are of that mind. Then will they go on happy; and our
children will say, 'So did our fathers to their friends, so must we do
to them.' What is a Yengee? we have slain many, but the earth is still
pale. A stain on the name of a Huron can only be hid by blood that comes
from the veins of an Indian. Let this Delaware die."

The effect of such an harangue, delivered in the nervous language and
with the emphatic manner of a Huron orator, could scarcely be mistaken.
Magua had so artfully blended the natural sympathies with the religious
superstition of his auditors, that their minds, already prepared by
custom to sacrifice a victim to the _manes_ of their countrymen, lost
every vestige of humanity in a wish for revenge. One warrior in
particular, a man of wild and ferocious mien, had been conspicuous for
the attention he had given to the words of the speaker. His countenance
had changed with each passing emotion, until it settled into a look of
deadly malice. As Magua ended he arose, and uttering the yell of a
demon, his polished little axe was seen glancing in the torch-light as
he whirled it above his head. The motion and the cry were too sudden for
words to interrupt his bloody intention. It appeared as if a bright
gleam shot from his hand, which was crossed at the same moment by a dark
and powerful line. The former was the tomahawk in its passage; the
latter the arm that Magua darted forward to divert its aim. The quick
and ready motion of the chief was not entirely too late. The keen weapon
cut the war-plume from the scalping-tuft of Uncas, and passed through
the frail wall of the lodge, as though it were hurled from some
formidable engine.

Duncan had seen the threatening action, and sprang upon his feet, with a
heart which while it leaped into his throat, swelled with the most
generous resolution in behalf of his friend. A glance told him that the
blow had failed, and terror changed to admiration. Uncas stood still,
looking his enemy in the eye with features that seemed superior to
emotion. Marble could not be colder, calmer, or steadier than the
countenance he put upon this sudden and vindictive attack. Then, as if
pitying a want of skill which had proved so fortunate to himself, he
smiled, and muttered a few words of contempt in his own tongue.

"No!" said Magua, after satisfying himself of the safety of the captive;
"the sun must shine on his shame; the squaws must see his flesh tremble,
or our revenge will be like the play of boys. Go! take him where there
is silence; let us see if a Delaware can sleep at night, and in the
morning die."

The young men whose duty it was to guard the prisoner instantly passed
their ligaments of bark across his arms, and led him from the lodge,
amid a profound and ominous silence. It was only as the figure of Uncas
stood in the opening of the door that his firm step hesitated. There he
turned, and, in the sweeping and haughty glance that he threw around the
circle of his enemies, Duncan caught a look which he was glad to
construe into an expression that he was not entirely deserted by hope.

Magua was content with his success, or too much occupied with his secret
purposes to push his inquiries any further. Shaking his mantle, and
folding it on his bosom, he also quitted the place, without pursuing a
subject which might have proved so fatal to the individual at his elbow.
Notwithstanding his rising resentment, his natural firmness, and his
anxiety in behalf of Uncas, Heyward felt sensibly relieved by the
absence of so dangerous and so subtle a foe. The excitement produced by
the speech gradually subsided. The warriors resumed their seats, and
clouds of smoke once more filled the lodge. For near half an hour, not a
syllable was uttered, or scarcely a look cast aside; a grave and
meditative silence being the ordinary succession to every scene of
violence and commotion among those beings, who were alike so impetuous
and yet so self-restrained.

When the chief who had solicited the aid of Duncan finished his pipe, he
made a final and successful movement towards departing. A motion of a
finger was the intimation he gave the supposed physician to follow; and
passing through the clouds of smoke, Duncan was glad, on more accounts
than one, to be able, at last, to breathe the pure air of a cool and
refreshing summer evening.

Instead of pursuing his way among those lodges where Heyward had already
made his unsuccessful search, his companion turned aside, and proceeded
directly towards the base of an adjacent mountain, which overhung the
temporary village. A thicket of brush skirted its foot, and it became
necessary to proceed through a crooked and narrow path. The boys had
resumed their sports in the clearing, and were enacting a mimic chase to
the post among themselves. In order to render their games as like the
reality as possible, one of the boldest of their number had conveyed a
few brands into some piles of tree-tops that had hitherto escaped the
burning. The blaze of one of these fires lighted the way of the chief
and Duncan, and gave a character of additional wildness to the rude
scenery. At a little distance from a bald rock, and directly in its
front, they entered a grassy opening, which they prepared to cross. Just
then fresh fuel was added to the fire, and a powerful light penetrated
even to that distant spot. It fell upon the white surface of the
mountain, and was reflected downwards upon a dark and mysterious-looking
being that arose, unexpectedly, in their path.

The Indian paused, as if doubtful whether to proceed, and permitted his
companion to approach his side. A large black ball, which at first
seemed stationary, now began to move in a manner that to the latter was
inexplicable. Again the fire brightened, and its glare fell more
distinctly on the object. Then even Duncan knew it, by its restless and
sideling attitudes, which kept the upper part of its form in constant
motion, while the animal itself appeared seated, to be a bear. Though it
growled loudly and fiercely, and there were instants when its glistening
eyeballs might be seen, it gave no other indications of hostility. The
Huron, at least, seemed assured that the intentions of this singular
intruder were peaceable, for after giving it an attentive examination,
he quietly pursued his course.

Duncan, who knew that the animal was often domesticated among the
Indians, followed the example of his companion, believing that some
favorite of the tribe had found its way into the thicket, in search of
food. They passed it unmolested. Though obliged to come nearly in
contact with the monster, the Huron, who had at first so warily
determined the character of his strange visitor, was now content with
proceeding without wasting a moment in further examination; but Heyward
was unable to prevent his eyes from looking backward, in salutary
watchfulness against attacks in the rear. His uneasiness was in no
degree diminished when he perceived the beast rolling along their path,
and following their footsteps. He would have spoken, but the Indian at
that moment shoved aside a door of bark, and entered a cavern in the
bosom of the mountain.

Profiting by so easy a method of retreat, Duncan stepped after him, and
was gladly closing the slight cover to the opening, when he felt it
drawn from his hand by the beast, whose shaggy form immediately darkened
the passage. They were now in a straight and long gallery, in a chasm of
the rocks, where retreat without encountering the animal was impossible.
Making the best of the circumstances, the young man pressed forward,
keeping as close as possible to his conductor. The bear growled
frequently at his heels, and once or twice its enormous paws were laid
on his person, as if disposed to prevent his further passage into the
den.

How long the nerves of Heyward would have sustained him in this
extraordinary situation, it might be difficult to decide; for, happily,
he soon found relief. A glimmer of light had constantly been in their
front, and they now arrived at the place whence it proceeded.

A large cavity in the rock had been rudely fitted to answer the purposes
of many apartments. The subdivisions were simple but ingenious, being
composed of stone, sticks, and bark, intermingled. Openings above
admitted the light by day, and at night fires and torches supplied the
place of the sun. Hither the Hurons had brought most of their valuables,
especially those which more particularly pertained to the nation; and
hither, as it now appeared, the sick woman, who was believed to be the
victim of supernatural power, had been transported also, under an
impression that her tormentor would find more difficulty in making his
assaults through walls of stone than through the leafy coverings of the
lodges. The apartment into which Duncan and his guide first entered, had
been exclusively devoted to her accommodation. The latter approached her
bedside, which was surrounded by females, in the centre of whom Heyward
was surprised to find his missing friend David.

A single look was sufficient to apprise the pretended leech that the
invalid was far beyond his powers of healing. She lay in a sort of
paralysis, indifferent to the objects which crowded before her sight,
and happily unconscious of suffering. Heyward was far from regretting
that his mummeries were to be performed on one who was much too ill to
take an interest in their failure or success. The slight qualm of
conscience which had been excited by the intended deception was
instantly appeased, and he began to collect his thoughts, in order to
enact his part with suitable spirit, when he found he was about to be
anticipated in his skill by an attempt to prove the power of music.

Gamut, who had stood prepared to pour forth his spirit in song when the
visitors entered, after delaying a moment, drew a strain from his pipe,
and commenced a hymn that might have worked a miracle, had faith in its
efficacy been of much avail. He was allowed to proceed to the close, the
Indians respecting his imaginary infirmity, and Duncan too glad of the
delay to hazard the slightest interruption. As the dying cadence of his
strains was falling on the ears of the latter, he started aside at
hearing them repeated behind him in a voice half human, half
sepulchral. Looking around, he beheld the shaggy monster seated on end
in a shadow of the cavern, where, while his restless body swung in the
uneasy manner of the animal, it repeated, in a sort of low growl, sound,
if not words, which bore some slight resemblance to the melody of the
singer.

The effect of so strange an echo on David may better be imagined than
described. His eyes opened as if he doubted their truth; and his voice
became instantly mute in excess of wonder. A deep-laid scheme, of
communicating some important intelligence to Heyward, was driven from
his recollection by an emotion which very nearly resembled fear, but
which he was fain to believe was admiration. Under its influence, he
exclaimed aloud--"She expects you, and is at hand;" and precipitately
left the cavern.

 Typically the village has no guards, but the whooping of the children brings warriors to the door of the nearest lodge as Gamut and Heyward approach the principal building, brush past savages to the center of the lodge, and seat themselves in silence. In the light of a torch, Heyward assumes the part of a French doctor and has to placate the Hurons, who feel deserted by the French. Shouts bring everyone outdoors where a war party has unexpectedly returned with several human scalps. In the lurid light from scattered piles of brush, two men stand forth, one erect and firm, the other with bowed head. The first is a prisoner who, surrounded at all perimeters, must run a hazardous race, either to escape or to reach a small painted post in front of the main lodge. The man shows remarkable speed and agility, but he is outnumbered and outflanked and finally reaches the post only when Heyward without detection trips the closest pursuer. The panting man is mocked and derided by the women but keeps his self-command, only once turning his head so that Heyward sees it is Uncas. With all the principals inside the main lodge, a council begins. Through the capture of Uncas, the downcast young Huron has been caught in his third act of cowardice and continues to writhe in fright. Because of his acts, his aged father ritualistically plunges a knife into his heart, saying that his name is already forgotten. Immediately the torch is extinguished and everyone leaves except Heyward, Uncas, and the dead Huron. Urged outside by Uncas, the supposed doctor wanders from hut to hut but cannot find any sign of Alice. Returning to the lodge where Uncas still stands and warriors are calmly smoking, he is about to be taken by a chief to cure a sick squaw when Magua appears. When Magua inadvertently refers to the cowardly Huron, there is silence until the father declares that he never had a son and leaves -- in shame, for the Indians believe that virtues and defects in character come through heredity. Magua surprises the others by identifying Uncas as Le Cerf Agile. He then orates for revenge on Uncas, and the Mohican is taken out to await torture and death the next morning. After Magua leaves, smoke fills the lodge again before the chief beckons to Heyward and leads him outside and toward the base of a mountain. They encounter a bear that seems relatively friendly but follows them closely as they enter a cavern. A glimmering light ahead directs them to a large cavity of many apartments where the Hurons keep their valuables and where a sick woman's bedside is surrounded by females and Gamut. Somewhat thankfully, Heyward sees that the paralyzed woman is beyond healing. Gamut pours forth a hymn and is so struck with wonder when the bear tries to imitate him that all he can say to Heyward is "She expects you, she is at hand" and exits precipitately.

