Chapter: "Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.
  The web is wove. The work is done."

  GRAY.


The hostile armies, which lay in the wilds of the Horican, passed the
night of the 9th of August, 1757, much in the manner they would had they
encountered on the fairest fields of Europe. While the conquered were
still, sullen, and dejected, the victors triumphed. But there are limits
alike to grief and joy; and long before the watches of the morning came,
the stillness of those boundless woods was only broken by a gay call
from some exulting young Frenchman of the advanced pickets, or a
menacing challenge from the fort, which sternly forbade the approach of
any hostile footsteps before the stipulated moment. Even these
occasional threatening sounds ceased to be heard in that dull hour which
precedes the day, at which period a listener might have sought in vain
any evidence of the presence of those armed powers that then slumbered
on the shores of the "holy lake."

It was during these moments of deep silence, that the canvas which
concealed the entrance to a spacious marquee in the French encampment
was shoved aside, and a man issued from beneath the drapery into the
open air. He was enveloped in a cloak that might have been intended as a
protection from the chilling damps of the woods, but which served
equally well as a mantle, to conceal his person. He was permitted to
pass the grenadier, who watched over the slumbers of the French
commander, without interruption, the man making the usual salute which
betokens military deference, as the other passed swiftly through the
little city of tents, in the direction of William Henry. Whenever this
unknown individual encountered one of the numberless sentinels who
crossed his path, his answer was prompt, and as it appeared
satisfactory; for he was uniformly allowed to proceed, without further
interrogation.

With the exception of such repeated, but brief interruptions, he had
moved, silently, from the centre of the camp, to its most advanced
outposts, when he drew nigh the soldier who held his watch nearest to
the works of the enemy. As he approached he was received with the usual
challenge,--

"Qui vive?"

"France," was the reply.

"Le mot d'ordre?"

"La victoire," said the other, drawing so nigh as to be heard in a loud
whisper.

"C'est bien," returned the sentinel, throwing his musket from the charge
to his shoulder; "vous vous promenez bien matin, monsieur!"

"Il est necessaire d'etre vigilant, mon enfant," the other observed,
dropping a fold of his cloak, and looking the soldier close in the face,
as he passed him, still continuing his way towards the British
fortification. The man started; his arms rattled heavily, as he threw
them forward, in the lowest and most respectful salute; and when he had
again recovered his piece, he turned to walk his post, muttering between
his teeth,--

"Il faut etre vigilant, en verite! je crois que nous avons la, un
caporal qui ne dort jamais!"

The officer proceeded, without affecting to hear the words which escaped
the sentinel in his surprise; nor did he again pause until he had
reached the low strand, and in a somewhat dangerous vicinity to the
western water bastion of the fort. The light of an obscure moon was just
sufficient to render objects, though dim, perceptible in their outlines.
He, therefore, took the precaution to place himself against the trunk of
a tree, where he leaned for many minutes, and seemed to contemplate the
dark and silent mounds of the English works in profound attention. His
gaze at the ramparts was not that of a curious or idle spectator; but
his looks wandered from point to point, denoting his knowledge of
military usages, and betraying that his search was not unaccompanied by
distrust. At length he appeared satisfied; and having cast his eyes
impatiently upwards towards the summit of the eastern mountain, as if
anticipating the approach of the morning, he was in the act of turning
on his footsteps, when a light sound on the nearest angle of the bastion
caught his ear, and induced him to remain.

Just then a figure was seen to approach the edge of the rampart, where
it stood, apparently contemplating in its turn the distant tents of the
French encampment. Its head was then turned towards the east, as though
equally anxious for the appearance of light, when the form leaned
against the mound, and seemed to gaze upon the glassy expanse of the
waters, which, like a submarine firmament, glittered with its thousand
mimic stars. The melancholy air, the hour, together with the vast frame
of the man who thus leaned, in musing, against the English ramparts,
left no doubt as to his person, in the mind of his observant spectator.
Delicacy, no less than prudence, now urged him to retire; and he had
moved cautiously round the body of the tree for that purpose, when
another sound drew his attention, and once more arrested his footsteps.
It was a low and almost inaudible movement of the water, and was
succeeded by a grating of pebbles one against the other. In a moment he
saw a dark form rise, as it were out of the lake, and steal without
further noise to the land, within a few feet of the place where he
himself stood. A rifle next slowly rose between his eyes and the watery
mirror; but before it could be discharged his own hand was on the lock.

"Hugh!" exclaimed the savage, whose treacherous aim was so singularly
and so unexpectedly interrupted.

Without making any reply, the French officer laid his hand on the
shoulder of the Indian, and led him in profound silence to a distance
from the spot, where their subsequent dialogue might have proved
dangerous, and where it seemed that one of them, at least, sought a
victim. Then, throwing open his cloak, so as to expose his uniform and
the cross of St. Louis which was suspended at his breast, Montcalm
sternly demanded,--

"What means this! Does not my son know that the hatchet is buried
between the English and his Canadian Father?"

"What can the Hurons do?" returned the savage, speaking also, though
imperfectly, in the French language. "Not a warrior has a scalp, and the
pale-faces make friends!"

"Ha! Le Renard Subtil! Methinks this is an excess of zeal for a friend
who was so late an enemy! How many suns have set since Le Renard struck
the war-post of the English?"

"Where is that sun!" demanded the sullen savage. "Behind the hill; and
it is dark and cold. But when he comes again, it will be bright and
warm. Le Subtil is the sun of his tribe. There have been clouds, and
many mountains between him and his nation; but now he shines, and it is
a clear sky!"

"That Le Renard has power with his people, I well know," said Montcalm;
"for yesterday he hunted for their scalps, and to-day they hear him at
the council-fire."

"Magua is a great chief."

"Let him prove it, by teaching his nation how to conduct itself towards
our new friends."

"Why did the chief of the Canadas bring his young men into the woods,
and fire his cannon at the earthen house?" demanded the subtle Indian.

"To subdue it. My master owns the land, and your father has been ordered
to drive off these English squatters. They have consented to go, and now
he calls them enemies no longer."

"'Tis well. Magua took the hatchet to color it with blood. It is now
bright; when it is red, it shall be buried."

"But Magua is pledged not to sully the lilies of France. The enemies of
the great king across the salt lake are his enemies; his friends, the
friends of the Hurons."

"Friends!" repeated the Indian, in scorn. "Let his father give Magua a
hand."

Montcalm, who felt that his influence over the warlike tribes he had
gathered was to be maintained by concession rather than by power,
complied reluctantly with the other's request. The savage placed the
finger of the French commander on a deep scar in his bosom, and then
exultingly demanded,--

"Does my father know that?"

"What warrior does not? 'tis where a leaden bullet has cut."

"And this?" continued the Indian, who had turned his naked back to the
other, his body being without its usual calico mantle.

"This!--my son has been sadly injured, here; who has done this?"

"Magua slept hard in the English wigwams, and the sticks have left their
mark," returned the savage, with a hollow laugh, which did not conceal
the fierce temper that nearly choked him. Then recollecting himself,
with sudden and native dignity, he added, "Go; teach your young men, it
is peace. Le Renard Subtil knows how to speak to a Huron warrior."

Without deigning to bestow further words, or to wait for any answer, the
savage cast his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and moved silently
through the encampment towards the woods where his own tribe was known
to lie. Every few yards as he proceeded he was challenged by the
sentinels; but he stalked sullenly onward, utterly disregarding the
summons of the soldiers, who only spared his life because they knew the
air and tread no less than the obstinate daring of an Indian.

Montcalm lingered long and melancholy on the strand, where he had been
left by his companion, brooding deeply on the temper which his
ungovernable ally had just discovered. Already had his fair fame been
tarnished by one horrid scene, and in circumstances fearfully resembling
those under which he now found himself. As he mused he became keenly
sensible of the deep responsibility they assume who disregard the means
to attain their end, and of all the danger of setting in motion an
engine which it exceeds human power to control. Then shaking off a train
of reflections that he accounted a weakness in such a moment of triumph,
he retraced his steps towards his tent, giving the order as he passed,
to make the signal that should arouse the army from its slumbers.

The first tap of the French drums was echoed from the bosom of the fort,
and presently the valley was filled with the strains of martial music,
rising long, thrilling, and lively above the rattling accompaniment. The
horns of the victors sounded merry and cheerful flourishes, until the
last laggard of the camp was at his post; but the instant the British
fifes had blown their shrill signal, they became mute. In the meantime
the day had dawned, and when the line of the French army was ready to
receive its general, the rays of a brilliant sun were glancing along the
glittering array. Then that success, which was already so well known,
was officially announced; the favored band who were selected to guard
the gates of the fort were detailed, and defiled before their chief; the
signal of their approach was given, and all the usual preparations for a
change of masters were ordered and executed directly under the guns of
the contested works.

A very different scene presented itself within the lines of the
Anglo-American army. As soon as the warning signal was given, it
exhibited all the signs of a hurried and forced departure. The sullen
soldiers shouldered their empty tubes and fell into their places, like
men whose blood had been heated by the past contest, and who only
desired the opportunity to revenge an indignity which was still wounding
to their pride, concealed as it was under all the observances of
military etiquette. Women and children ran from place to place, some
bearing the scanty remnants of their baggage, and others searching in
the ranks for those countenances they looked up to for protection.

Munro appeared among his silent troops firm but dejected. It was evident
that the unexpected blow had struck deep into his heart, though he
struggled to sustain his misfortune with the port of man.

Duncan was touched at the quiet and impressive exhibition of his grief.
He had discharged his own duty, and he now pressed to the side of the
old man, to know in what particular he might serve him.

"My daughters," was the brief but expressive reply.

"Good heavens! are not arrangements already made for their convenience?"

"To-day I am only a soldier, Major Heyward," said the veteran. "All that
you see here, claim alike to be my children."

Duncan had heard enough. Without losing one of those moments which had
now become so precious, he flew towards the quarters of Munro, in quest
of the sisters. He found them on the threshold of the low edifice,
already prepared to depart, and surrounded by a clamorous and weeping
assemblage of their own sex, that had gathered about the place, with a
sort of instinctive consciousness that it was the point most likely to
be protected. Though the cheeks of Cora were pale, and her countenance
anxious, she had lost none of her firmness; but the eyes of Alice were
inflamed, and betrayed how long and bitterly she had wept. They both,
however, received the young man with undisguised pleasure; the former,
for a novelty, being the first to speak.

"The fort is lost," she said, with a melancholy smile; "though our good
name, I trust, remains."

"'Tis brighter than ever. But, dearest Miss Munro, it is time to think
less of others, and to make some provision for yourself. Military
usage,--pride,--that pride on which you so much value yourself, demands
that your father and I should for a little while continue with the
troops. Then where to seek a proper protector for you against the
confusion and chances of such a scene?"

"None is necessary," returned Cora; "who will dare to injure or insult
the daughter of such a father, at a time like this?"

"I would not leave you alone," continued the youth, looking about him in
a hurried manner, "for the command of the best regiment in the pay of
the king. Remember, our Alice is not gifted with all your firmness, and
God only knows the terror she might endure."

"You may be right," Cora replied, smiling again, but far more sadly than
before. "Listen! chance has already sent us a friend when he is most
needed."

Duncan did listen, and on the instant comprehended her meaning. The low
and serious sounds of the sacred music, so well known to the eastern
provinces, caught his ear, and instantly drew him to an apartment in an
adjacent building, which had already been deserted by its customary
tenants. There he found David, pouring out his pious feelings, through
the only medium in which he ever indulged. Duncan waited, until, by the
cessation of the movement of the hand, he believed the strain was ended,
when, by touching his shoulder, he drew the attention of the other to
himself, and in a few words explained his wishes.

"Even so," replied the single-minded disciple of the King of Israel,
when the young man had ended; "I have found much that is comely and
melodious in the maidens, and it is fitting that we who have consorted
in so much peril, should abide together in peace. I will attend them,
when I have completed my morning praise, to which nothing is now wanting
but the doxology. Wilt thou bear a part, friend? The metre is common,
and the tune, 'Southwell.'"

Then, extending the little volume, and giving the pitch of the air anew
with considerate attention, David recommenced and finished his strains,
with a fixedness of manner that it was not easy to interrupt. Heyward
was fain to wait until the verse was ended; when, seeing David relieving
himself from the spectacles, and replacing the book, he continued,--

"It will be your duty to see that none dare to approach the ladies with
any rude intention, or to offer insult or taunt at the misfortune of
their brave father. In this task you will be seconded by the domestics
of their household."

"Even so."

"It is possible that the Indians and stragglers of the enemy may
intrude, in which case you will remind them of the terms of the
capitulation, and threaten to report their conduct to Montcalm. A word
will suffice."

"If not, I have that here which shall," returned David, exhibiting his
book, with an air in which meekness and confidence were singularly
blended. "Here are words which, uttered, or rather thundered, with
proper emphasis, and in measured time, shall quiet the most unruly
temper:--

  "'Why rage the heathen furiously!'"--

"Enough," said Heyward, interrupting the burst of his musical
invocation: "we understand each other; it is time that we should now
assume our respective duties."

Gamut cheerfully assented, and together they sought the females. Cora
received her new, and somewhat extraordinary protector, courteously at
least; and even the pallid features of Alice lighted again with some of
their native archness as she thanked Heyward for his care. Duncan took
occasion to assure them he had done the best that circumstances
permitted, and, as he believed, quite enough for the security of their
feelings; of danger there was none. He then spoke gladly of his
intention to rejoin them the moment he had led the advance a few miles
towards the Hudson, and immediately took his leave.

By this time the signal of departure had been given, and the head of the
English column was in motion. The sisters started at the sound, and
glancing their eyes around, they saw the white uniforms of the French
grenadiers, who had already taken possession of the gates of the fort.
At that moment, an enormous cloud seemed to pass suddenly above their
heads, and looking upward, they discovered that they stood beneath the
wide folds of the standard of France.

"Let us go," said Cora; "this is no longer a fit place for the children
of an English officer."

Alice clung to the arm of her sister, and together they left the parade,
accompanied by the moving throng that surrounded them.

As they passed the gates, the French officers, who had learned their
rank, bowed often and low, forbearing, however, to intrude those
attentions which they saw, with peculiar tact, might not be agreeable.
As every vehicle and each beast of burden was occupied by the sick and
wounded, Cora had decided to endure the fatigues of a foot march, rather
than interfere with their comforts. Indeed, many a maimed and feeble
soldier was compelled to drag his exhausted limbs in the rear of the
columns, for the want of the necessary means of conveyance, in that
wilderness. The whole, however, was in motion; the weak and wounded,
groaning, and in suffering; their comrades, silent and sullen; and the
women and children in terror, they knew not of what.

As the confused and timid throng left the protecting mounds of the fort,
and issued on the open plain, the whole scene was at once presented to
their eyes. At a little distance on the right, and somewhat in the rear,
the French army stood to their arms, Montcalm having collected his
parties, so soon as his guards had possession of the works. They were
attentive but silent observers of the proceedings of the vanquished,
failing in none of the stipulated military honors, and offering no taunt
or insult, in their success, to their less fortunate foes. Living masses
of the English, to the amount in the whole of near three thousand, were
moving slowly across the plain, towards the common centre, and gradually
approached each other, as they converged to the point of their march, a
vista cut through the lofty trees, where the road to the Hudson entered
the forest. Along the sweeping borders of the woods, hung a dark cloud
of savages, eying the passage of their enemies, and hovering, at a
distance, like vultures, who were only kept from swooping on their prey,
by the presence and restraint of a superior army. A few had straggled
among the conquered columns, where they stalked in sullen discontent;
attentive, though, as yet, passive observers of the moving multitude.

The advance, with Heyward at its head, had already reached the defile,
and was slowly disappearing, when the attention of Cora was drawn to a
collection of stragglers, by the sounds of contention. A truant
provincial was paying the forfeit of his disobedience, by being
plundered of those very effects which had caused him to desert his place
in the ranks. The man was of powerful frame, and too avaricious to part
with his goods without a struggle. Individuals from either party
interfered; the one side to prevent, and the other to aid in the
robbery. Voices grew loud and angry, and a hundred savages appeared, as
it were by magic, where a dozen only had been seen a minute before. It
was then that Cora saw the form of Magua gliding among his countrymen,
and speaking with his fatal and artful eloquence. The mass of women and
children stopped, and hovered together like alarmed and fluttering
birds. But the cupidity of the Indian was soon gratified, and the
different bodies again moved slowly onward.

The savages now fell back, and seemed content to let their enemies
advance without further molestation. But as the female crowd approached
them, the gaudy colors of a shawl attracted the eyes of a wild and
untutored Huron. He advanced to seize it, without the least hesitation.
The woman, more in terror than through love of the ornament, wrapped her
child in the coveted article, and folded both more closely to her bosom.
Cora was in the act of speaking, with an intent to advise the woman to
abandon the trifle, when the savage relinquished his hold of the shawl,
and tore the screaming infant from her arms. Abandoning everything to
the greedy grasp of those around her, the mother darted, with
distraction in her mien, to reclaim her child. The Indian smiled grimly,
and extended one hand, in sign of a willingness to exchange, while with
the other, he flourished the babe over his head, holding it by the feet
as if to enhance the value of the ransom.

"Here--here--there--all--any--everything!" exclaimed the breathless
woman; tearing the lighter articles of dress from her person, with
ill-directed and trembling fingers; "take all, but give me my babe!"

The savage spurned the worthless rags, and perceiving that the shawl had
already become a prize to another, his bantering but sullen smile
changing to a gleam of ferocity, he dashed the head of the infant
against a rock, and cast its quivering remains to her very feet. For an
instant, the mother stood, like a statue of despair, looking wildly down
at the unseemly object, which had so lately nestled in her bosom and
smiled in her face; and then she raised her eyes and countenance towards
heaven, as if calling on God to curse the perpetrator of the foul deed.
She was spared the sin of such a prayer; for, maddened at his
disappointment, and excited at the sight of blood, the Huron mercifully
drove his tomahawk into her own brain. The mother sank under the blow,
and fell, grasping at her child, in death, with the same engrossing love
that had caused her to cherish it when living.

At that dangerous moment Magua placed his hands to his mouth, and raised
the fatal and appalling whoop. The scattered Indians started at the
well-known cry, as coursers bound at the signal to quit the goal; and,
directly, there arose such a yell along the plain, and through the
arches of the wood, as seldom burst from human lips before. They who
heard it listened with a curdling horror at the heart, little inferior
to that dread which may be expected to attend the blasts of the final
summons.

More than two thousand raving savages broke from the forest at the
signal, and threw themselves across the fatal plain with instinctive
alacrity. We shall not dwell on the revolting horrors that succeeded.
Death was everywhere, and in his most terrific and disgusting aspects.
Resistance only served to inflame the murderers, who inflicted their
furious blows long after their victims were beyond the power of their
resentment. The flow of blood might be likened to the outbreaking of a
torrent; and, as the natives became heated and maddened by the sight,
many among them even kneeled to the earth, and drank freely, exultingly,
hellishly, of the crimson tide.

The trained bodies of the troops threw themselves quickly into solid
masses, endeavoring to awe their assailants by the imposing appearance
of a military front. The experiment in some measure succeeded, though
far too many suffered their unloaded muskets to be torn from their
hands, in the vain hope of appeasing the savages.

In such a scene none had leisure to note the fleeting moments. It might
have been ten minutes (it seemed an age), that the sisters had stood
riveted to one spot, horror-stricken, and nearly helpless. When the
first blow was struck, their screaming companions had pressed upon them
in a body, rendering flight impossible; and now that fear or death had
scattered most, if not all, from around them, they saw no avenue open,
but such as conducted to the tomahawks of their foes. On every side
arose shrieks, groans, exhortations, and curses. At this moment Alice
caught a glimpse of the vast form of her father, moving rapidly across
the plain, in the direction of the French army. He was, in truth,
proceeding to Montcalm, fearless of every danger, to claim the tardy
escort for which he had before conditioned. Fifty glittering axes and
barbed spears were offered unheeded at his life, but the savages
respected his rank and calmness, even in their fury. The dangerous
weapons were brushed aside by the still nervous arm of the veteran, or
fell of themselves, after menacing an act that it would seem no one had
courage to perform. Fortunately, the vindictive Magua was searching for
his victim in the very band the veteran had just quitted.

"Father--father--we are here!" shrieked Alice, as he passed, at no great
distance, without appearing to heed them. "Come to us, father, or we
die!"

The cry was repeated, and in terms and tones that might have melted a
heart of stone, but it was unanswered. Once, indeed, the old man
appeared to catch the sounds, for he paused and listened; but Alice had
dropped senseless on the earth, and Cora had sunk at her side, hovering
in untiring tenderness over her lifeless form. Munro shook his head in
disappointment, and proceeded, bent on the high duty of his station.

"Lady," said Gamut, who, helpless and useless as he was, had not yet
dreamed of deserting his trust, "it is the jubilee of the devils, and
this is not a meet place for Christians to tarry in. Let us up and fly."

"Go," said Cora, still gazing at her unconscious sister; "save thyself.
To me thou canst not be of further use."

David comprehended the unyielding character of her resolution, by the
simple but expressive gesture that accompanied her words. He gazed, for
a moment, at the dusky forms that were acting their hellish rites on
every side of him, and his tall person grew more erect, while his chest
heaved, and every feature swelled, and seemed to speak with the power of
the feelings by which he was governed.

"If the Jewish boy might tame the evil spirit of Saul by the sound of
his harp, and the words of sacred song, it may not be amiss," he said,
"to try the potency of music here."

Then raising his voice to its highest tones, he poured out a strain so
powerful as to be heard even amid the din of that bloody field. More
than one savage rushed towards them, thinking to rifle the unprotected
sisters of their attire, and bear away their scalps; but when they found
this strange and unmoved figure riveted to his post, they paused to
listen. Astonishment soon changed to admiration, and they passed on to
other and less courageous victims, openly expressing their satisfaction
at the firmness with which the white warrior sang his death song.
Encouraged and deluded by his success, David exerted all his powers to
extend what he believed so holy an influence. The unwonted sounds caught
the ears of a distant savage, who flew raging from group to group, like
one who, scorning to touch the vulgar herd, hunted for some victim more
worthy of his renown. It was Magua, who uttered a yell of pleasure when
he beheld his ancient prisoners again at his mercy.

"Come," he said, laying his soiled hands on the dress of Cora, "the
wigwam of the Huron is still open. Is it not better than this place?"

"Away!" cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his revolting aspect.

The Indian laughed tauntingly, as he held up his reeking hand, and
answered,--"It is red, but it comes from white veins!"

"Monster! there is blood, oceans of blood, upon thy soul; thy spirit has
moved this scene."

"Magua is a great chief!" returned the exulting savage; "will the dark
hair go to his tribe?"

"Never! strike, if thou wilt, and complete thy revenge."

He hesitated a moment; and then catching the light and senseless form of
Alice in his arms, the subtle Indian moved swiftly across the plain
towards the woods.

"Hold!" shrieked Cora, following wildly on his footsteps; "release the
child! wretch! what is't you do?"

But Magua was deaf to her voice; or rather he knew his power, and was
determined to maintain it.

"Stay--lady--stay," called Gamut, after the unconscious Cora. "The holy
charm is beginning to be felt, and soon shalt thou see this horrid
tumult stilled."

Perceiving that, in his turn, he was unheeded, the faithful David
followed the distracted sister, raising his voice again in sacred song,
and sweeping the air to the measure, with his long arm, in diligent
accompaniment. In this manner they traversed the plain, through the
flying, the wounded, and the dead. The fierce Huron was, at any time,
sufficient for himself and the victim that he bore; though Cora would
have fallen, more than once, under the blows of her savage enemies, but
for the extraordinary being who stalked in her rear, and who now
appeared to the astonished natives gifted with the protecting spirit of
madness.

Magua, who knew how to avoid the more pressing dangers, and also to
elude pursuit, entered the woods through a low ravine, where he quickly
found the Narragansetts, which the travellers had abandoned so shortly
before, awaiting his appearance, in custody of a savage as fierce and as
malign in his expression as himself. Laying Alice on one of the horses,
he made a sign to Cora to mount the other.

Notwithstanding the horror excited by the presence of her captor, there
was a present relief in escaping from the bloody scene enacting on the
plain, to which Cora could not be altogether insensible. She took her
seat, and held forth her arms for her sister, with an air of entreaty
and love that even the Huron could not deny. Placing Alice, then, on the
same animal with Cora, he seized the bridle, and commenced his route by
plunging deeper into the forest. David, perceiving that he was left
alone, utterly disregarded, as a subject too worthless even to destroy,
threw his long limb across the saddle of the beast they had deserted,
and made such progress in the pursuit as the difficulties of the path
permitted.

They soon began to ascend, but as the motion had a tendency to revive
the dormant faculties of her sister, the attention of Cora was too much
divided between the tenderest solicitude in her behalf, and in listening
to the cries which were still too audible on the plain, to note the
direction in which they journeyed. When, however, they gained the
flattened surface of the mountain-top, and approached the eastern
precipice, she recognized the spot to which she had once before been led
under the more friendly auspices of the scout. Here Magua suffered them
to dismount; and, notwithstanding their own captivity, the curiosity
which seems inseparable from horror, induced them to gaze at the
sickening sight below.

The cruel work was still unchecked. On every side the captured were
flying before their relentless persecutors, while the armed columns of
the Christian king stood fast in an apathy which has never been
explained, and which has left an unmovable blot on the otherwise fair
escutcheon of their leader. Nor was the sword of death stayed until
cupidity got the mastery of revenge. Then, indeed, the shrieks of the
wounded and the yells of their murderers grew less frequent, until,
finally, the cries of horror were lost to their ear, or were drowned in
the loud, long, and piercing whoops of the triumphant savages.

 It is just before day on the 10th of August 1757, as a cloaked figure emerges from the main French tent and moves beyond the farthest outpost to stand against a tree near the western water bastion of the fort. Just as the huge form of Munro appears on the rampart, the dark profile of Magua comes from the lake shore and raises a rifle toward the Scotsman, but Montcalm stops him in time. Le Renard Subtil sullenly explains his reason for revenge, but he leaves, saying hintingly that he "knows how to speak to a Huron warrior." French drums and English fifes start the day of evacuation. Heyward, who has to lead the troops, puts Gamut in charge of the sisters. Following the soldiers at some distance, the domestics are passing near the Indians when one of them, thwarted in stealing a shawl from a woman, grabs her baby, dashes its head against a rock, and brains the mother with his tomahawk. Since Montcalm has failed in his promised escort for the English, Magua raises a whoop and the appalling massacre begins, some of the Indians drinking the blood of their victims. Alice faints, and Gamut's loudly singing a psalm awes the Indians and thus keeps him and the girls safe until Magua, unable to find Munro, grabs Alice and dashes off, followed wildly by Cora. He puts the girls on one of the hidden Narragansets and leads it away as Gamut mounts the other horse and stays close behind. The Huron takes them to the very spot on the mountaintop where the protagonists had released the horses six days earlier. There they watch the massacre until the Indians finally turn to stealing and raising triumphant whoops.

