Chapter: "Brief, I pray you; for you see, 'tis a busy time with me."

  _Much Ado About Nothing._


The tribe, or rather half tribe, of Delawares, which has been so often
mentioned, and whose present place of encampment was so nigh the
temporary village of the Hurons, could assemble about an equal number of
warriors with the latter people. Like their neighbors, they had followed
Montcalm into the territories of the English crown, and were making
heavy and serious inroads on the hunting-grounds of the Mohawks; though
they had seen fit, with the mysterious reserve so common among the
natives, to withhold their assistance at the moment when it was most
required. The French had accounted for this unexpected defection on the
part of their ally in various ways. It was the prevalent opinion,
however, that they had been influenced by veneration for the ancient
treaty, that had once made them dependent on the Six Nations for
military protection, and now rendered them reluctant to encounter their
former masters. As for the tribe itself, it had been content to announce
to Montcalm, through his emissaries, with Indian brevity, that their
hatchets were dull, and time was necessary to sharpen them. The politic
captain of the Canadas had deemed it wiser to submit to entertain a
passive friend, than by any acts of ill-judged severity to convert him
into an open enemy.

On that morning when Magua led his silent party from the settlement of
the beavers into the forest, in the manner described, the sun rose upon
the Delaware encampment as if it had suddenly burst upon a busy people,
actively employed in all the customary avocations of high noon. The
women ran from lodge to lodge, some engaged in preparing their morning's
meal, a few earnestly bent on seeking the comforts necessary to their
habits, but more pausing to exchange hasty and whispered sentences with
their friends. The warriors were lounging in groups, musing more than
they conversed; and when a few words were uttered, speaking like men who
deeply weighed their opinions. The instruments of the chase were to be
seen in abundance among the lodges; but none departed. Here and there a
warrior was examining his arms, with an attention that is rarely
bestowed on the implements, when no other enemy than the beasts of the
forest is expected to be encountered. And, occasionally, the eyes of a
whole group were turned simultaneously towards a large and silent lodge
in the centre of the village, as if it contained the subject of their
common thoughts.

During the existence of this scene, a man suddenly appeared at the
farthest extremity of a platform of rock which formed the level of the
village. He was without arms, and his paint tended rather to soften than
increase the natural sternness of his austere countenance. When in full
view of the Delawares he stopped, and made a gesture of amity, by
throwing his arm upward towards heaven, and then letting it fall
impressively on his breast. The inhabitants of the village answered his
salute by a low murmur of welcome, and encouraged him to advance by
similar indications of friendship. Fortified by these assurances, the
dark figure left the brow of the natural rocky terrace, where it had
stood a moment, drawn in a strong outline against the blushing morning
sky, and moved with dignity into the very centre of the huts. As he
approached, nothing was audible but the rattling of the light silver
ornaments that loaded his arms and neck, and the tinkling of the little
bells that fringed his deer-skin moccasins. He made, as he advanced,
many courteous signs of greeting to the men he passed, neglecting to
notice the women, however, like one who deemed their favor, in the
present enterprise, of no importance. When he had reached the group in
which it was evident, by the haughtiness of their common mien, that the
principal chiefs were collected, the stranger paused, and then the
Delawares saw that the active and erect form that stood before them was
that of the well-known Huron chief, Le Renard Subtil.

His reception was grave, silent, and wary. The warriors in front stepped
aside, opening the way to their most approved orator by the action; one
who spoke all those languages that were cultivated among the northern
aborigines.

"The wise Huron is welcome," said the Delaware, in the language of the
Maquas; "he is come to eat his 'succotash,'[25] with his brothers of the
lakes."

"He is come," repeated Magua, bending his head with the dignity of an
Eastern prince.

The chief extended his arm, and taking the other by the wrist, they once
more exchanged friendly salutations. Then the Delaware invited his guest
to enter his own lodge, and share his morning meal. The invitation was
accepted; and the two warriors, attended by three or four of the old
men, walked calmly away, leaving the rest of the tribe devoured by a
desire to understand the reasons of so unusual a visit, and yet not
betraying the least impatience by sign or word.

During the short and frugal repast that followed, the conversation was
extremely circumspect, and related entirely to the events of the hunt in
which Magua had so lately been engaged. It would have been impossible
for the most finished breeding to wear more of the appearance of
considering the visit as a matter of course, than did his hosts,
notwithstanding every individual present was perfectly aware that it
must be connected with some secret object, and that probably of
importance to themselves. When the appetites of the whole were appeased,
the squaws removed the trenchers and gourd, and the two parties began to
prepare themselves for a subtle trial of their wits.

"Is the face of my great Canada father turned again towards his Huron
children?" demanded the orator of the Delawares.

"When was it ever otherwise?" returned Magua. "He calls my people 'most
beloved.'"

The Delaware gravely bowed his acquiescence to what he knew to be false,
and continued,--

"The tomahawks of your young men have been very red."

"It is so; but they are now bright and dull; for the Yengeese are dead,
and the Delawares are our neighbors."

The other acknowledged the pacific compliment by a gesture of the hand,
and remained silent. Then Magua, as if recalled to such a recollection,
by the allusion to the massacre, demanded,--

"Does my prisoner give trouble to my brothers?"

"She is welcome."

"The path between the Hurons and the Delawares is short, and it is open;
let her be sent to my squaws, if she gives trouble to my brother."

"She is welcome," returned the chief of the latter nation, still more
emphatically.

The baffled Magua continued silent several minutes, apparently
indifferent, however, to the repulse he had received in this his open
effort to gain possession of Cora.

"Do my young men leave the Delawares room on the mountains for their
hunts?" he at length continued.

"The Lenape are rulers of their own hills," returned the other, a little
haughtily.

"It is well. Justice is the master of a redskin! Why should they
brighten their tomahawks, and sharpen their knives against each other?
Are not the pale-faces thicker than the swallows in the season of
flowers?"

"Good!" exclaimed two or three of his auditors at the same time.

Magua waited a little, to permit his words to soften the feelings of the
Delawares, before he added,--

"Have there not been strange moccasins in the woods? Have not my
brothers scented the feet of white men?"

"Let my Canada father come," returned the other evasively; "his children
are ready to see him."

"When the great chief comes, it is to smoke with the Indians in their
wigwams. The Hurons say, too, he is welcome. But the Yengeese have long
arms, and legs that never tire! My young men dreamed they had seen the
trail of the Yengeese nigh the village of the Delawares?"

"They will not find the Lenape asleep."

"It is well. The warrior whose eye is open can see his enemy," said
Magua, once more shifting his ground, when he found himself unable to
penetrate the caution of his companion. "I have brought gifts to my
brother. His nation would not go on the war-path because they did not
think it well; but their friends have remembered where they lived."

When he had thus announced his liberal intention, the crafty chief
arose, and gravely spread his presents before the dazzled eyes of his
hosts. They consisted principally of trinkets of little value, plundered
from the slaughtered females of William Henry. In the division of the
baubles the cunning Huron discovered no less art than in their
selection. While he bestowed those of greater value on the two most
distinguished warriors, one of whom was his host, he seasoned his
offerings to their inferiors with such well-timed and apposite
compliments, as left them no grounds of complaint. In short, the whole
ceremony contained such a happy blending of the profitable with the
flattering, that it was not difficult for the donor immediately to read
the effect of a generosity so aptly mingled with praise, in the eyes of
those he addressed.

This well-judged and politic stroke on the part of Magua was not without
instantaneous results. The Delawares lost their gravity in a much more
cordial expression; and the host, in particular, after contemplating his
own liberal share of the spoil for some moments with peculiar
gratification, repeated with strong emphasis, the words,--

"My brother is a wise chief. He is welcome!"

"The Hurons love their friends the Delawares," returned Magua. "Why
should they not? they are colored by the same sun, and their just men
will hunt in the same grounds after death. The redskins should be
friends, and look with open eyes on the white men. Has not my brother
scented spies in the woods?"

The Delaware, whose name in English signified "Hard Heart," an
appellation that the French had translated into "Le Coeur-dur," forgot
the obduracy of purpose, which had probably obtained him so significant
a title. His countenance grew very sensibly less stern, and now deigned
to answer more directly.

"There have been strange moccasins about my camp. They have been tracked
into my lodges."

"Did my brother beat out the dogs?" asked Magua, without adverting in
any manner to the former equivocation of the chief.

"It would not do. The stranger is always welcome to the children of the
Lenape."

"The stranger, but not the spy."

"Would the Yengeese send their women as spies? Did not the Huron chief
say he took women in the battle?"

"He told no lie. The Yengeese have sent out their scouts. They have been
in my wigwams, but they found there no one to say welcome. Then they
fled to the Delawares--for, say they, the Delawares are our friends;
their minds are turned from their Canada father!"

This insinuation was a home thrust, and one that in a more advanced
state of society, would have entitled Magua to the reputation of a
skilful diplomatist. The recent defection of the tribe had, as they well
knew themselves, subjected the Delawares to much reproach among their
French allies; and they were now made to feel that their future actions
were to be regarded with jealousy and distrust. There was no deep
insight into causes and effects necessary to foresee that such a
situation of things was likely to prove highly prejudicial to their
future movements. Their distant villages, their hunting-grounds, and
hundreds of their women and children, together with a material part of
their physical force, were actually within the limits of the French
territory. Accordingly, this alarming annunciation was received, as
Magua intended, with manifest disapprobation, if not with alarm.

"Let my father look in my face," said Le Coeur-dur; "he will see no
change. It is true, my young men did not go out on the war-path; they
had dreams for not doing so. But they love and venerate the great white
chief."

"Will he think so when he hears that his greatest enemy is fed in the
camp of his children? When he is told a bloody Yengee smokes at your
fire? That the pale-face who has slain so many of his friends goes in
and out among the Delawares? Go! my great Canada father is not a fool!"

"Where is the Yengee that the Delawares fear?" returned the other; "who
has slain my young men? who is the mortal enemy of my Great Father!"

"La Longue Carabine."

The Delaware warriors started at the well-known name, betraying, by
their amazement, that they now learnt, for the first time, one so famous
among the Indian allies of France was within their power.

"What does my brother mean?" demanded Le Coeur-dur, in a tone that, by
its wonder, far exceeded the usual apathy of his race.

"A Huron never lies!" returned Magua coldly, leaning his head against
the side of the lodge, and drawing his slight robe across his tawny
breast. "Let the Delawares count their prisoners; they will find one
whose skin is neither red nor pale."

A long and musing pause succeeded. The chief consulted apart with his
companions, and messengers were despatched to collect certain others of
the most distinguished men of the tribe.

As warrior after warrior dropped in, they were each made acquainted, in
turn, with the important intelligence that Magua had just communicated.
The air of surprise, and the usual low, deep, guttural exclamation, were
common to them all. The news spread from mouth to mouth, until the whole
encampment became powerfully agitated. The women suspended their
labors, to catch such syllables as unguardedly fell from the lips of the
consulting warriors. The boys deserted their sports, and walking
fearlessly among their fathers, looked up in curious admiration, as they
heard the brief exclamations of wonder they so freely expressed at the
temerity of their hated foe. In short, every occupation was abandoned
for the time, and all other pursuits seemed discarded, in order that the
tribe might freely indulge, after their own peculiar manner, in an open
expression of feeling.

When the excitement had a little abated, the old men disposed themselves
seriously to consider that which it became the honor and safety of their
tribe to perform, under circumstances of so much delicacy and
embarrassment. During all these movements, and in the midst of the
general commotion, Magua had not only maintained his seat, but the very
attitude he had originally taken, against the side of the lodge, where
he continued as immovable, and, apparently, as unconcerned, as if he had
no interest in the result. Not a single indication of the future
intentions of his hosts, however, escaped his vigilant eyes. With his
consummate knowledge of the nature of the people with whom he had to
deal, he anticipated every measure on which they decided; and it might
almost be said, that, in many instances, he knew their intentions, even
before they became known to themselves.

The council of the Delawares was short. When it was ended, a general
bustle announced that it was to be immediately succeeded by a solemn and
formal assemblage of the nation. As such meetings were rare, and only
called on occasions of the last importance, the subtle Huron, who still
sat apart, a wily and dark observer of the proceedings, now knew that
all his projects must be brought to their final issue. He therefore left
the lodge, and walked silently forth to the place in front of the
encampment whither the warriors were already beginning to collect.

It might have been half an hour before each individual, including even
the women and children, was in his place. The delay had been created by
the grave preparations that were deemed necessary to so solemn and
unusual a conference. But when the sun was seen climbing above the tops
of that mountain against whose bosom the Delawares had constructed their
encampment, most were seated; and as his bright rays darted from behind
the outline of trees that fringed the eminence, they fell upon as grave,
as attentive, and as deeply interested a multitude, as was probably
ever before lighted by his morning beams. Its number somewhat exceeded a
thousand souls.

In a collection of such serious savages, there is never to be found any
impatient aspirant after premature distinction, standing ready to move
his auditors to some hasty, and, perhaps, injudicious discussion, in
order that his own reputation may be the gainer. An act of so much
precipitancy and presumption would seal the downfall of precocious
intellect forever. It rested solely with the oldest and most experienced
of the men to lay the subject of the conference before the people. Until
such a one chose to make some movement, no deeds in arms, no natural
gifts, nor any renown as an orator, would have justified the slightest
interruption. On the present occasion, the aged warrior whose privilege
it was to speak, was silent, seemingly oppressed with the magnitude of
his subject. The delay had already continued long beyond the usual
deliberative pause that always precedes a conference; but no sign of
impatience or surprise escaped even the youngest boy. Occasionally, an
eye was raised from the earth, where the looks of most were riveted, and
strayed towards a particular lodge, that was, however, in no manner
distinguished from those around it, except in the peculiar care that had
been taken to protect it against the assaults of the weather.

At length, one of those low murmurs that are so apt to disturb a
multitude, was heard, and the whole nation arose to their feet by a
common impulse. At that the door of the lodge in question opened, and
three men, issuing from it, slowly approached the place of consultation.
They were all aged, even beyond that period to which the oldest present
had reached; but one in the centre, who leaned on his companions for
support, had numbered an amount of years to which the human race is
seldom permitted to attain. His frame, which had once been tall and
erect, like the cedar, was now bending under the pressure of more than a
century. The elastic, light step of an Indian was gone, and in its place
he was compelled to toil his tardy way over the ground, inch by inch.
His dark, wrinkled countenance was in singular and wild contrast with
the long white locks which floated on his shoulders in such thickness as
to announce that generations had probably passed away since they had
last been shorn.

The dress of this patriarch--for such, considering his vast age, in
conjunction with his affinity and influence with his people, he might
very properly be termed--was rich and imposing, though strictly after
the simple fashions of the tribe. His robe was of the finest skins,
which had been deprived of their fur, in order to admit of a
hieroglyphical representation of various deeds in arms, done in former
ages. His bosom was loaded with medals, some in massive silver, and one
or two even in gold, the gifts of various Christian potentates during
the long period of his life. He also wore armlets, and cinctures above
the ankles, of the latter precious metal. His head, on the whole of
which the hair had been permitted to grow, the pursuits of war having so
long been abandoned, was encircled by a sort of plated diadem, which, in
its turn, bore lesser and more glittering ornaments, that sparkled amid
the glossy hues of three drooping ostrich feathers, dyed a deep black,
in touching contrast to the color of his snow-white locks. His tomahawk
was nearly hid in silver, and the handle of his knife shone like a horn
of solid gold.

So soon as the first hum of emotion and pleasure, which the sudden
appearance of this venerated individual created, had a little subsided,
the name of "Tamenund" was whispered from mouth to mouth. Magua had
often heard the fame of this wise and just Delaware; a reputation that
even proceeded so far as to bestow on him the rare gift of holding
secret communion with the Great Spirit, and which has since transmitted
his name, with some slight alteration, to the white usurpers of his
ancient territory, as the imaginary tutelar saint of a vast empire. The
Huron chief, therefore, stepped eagerly out a little from the throng, to
a spot whence he might catch a nearer glimpse of the features of the
man, whose decision was likely to produce so deep an influence on his
own fortunes.

The eyes of the old man were closed, as though the organs were wearied
with having so long witnessed the selfish workings of the human
passions. The color of his skin differed from that of most around him,
being richer and darker, the latter hue having been produced by certain
delicate and mazy lines of complicated and yet beautiful figures, which
had been traced over most of his person by the operation of tattooing.
Notwithstanding the position of the Huron, he passed the observant and
silent Magua without notice, and leaning on his two venerable supporters
proceeded to the high place of the multitude, where he seated himself in
the centre of his nation, with the dignity of a monarch and the air of a
father.

Nothing could surpass the reverence and affection with which this
unexpected visit from one who belonged rather to another world than to
this, was received by his people. After a suitable and decent pause, the
principal chiefs arose; and approaching the patriarch, they placed his
hands reverently on their heads, seeming to entreat a blessing. The
younger men were content with touching his robe, or even drawing nigh
his person, in order to breathe in the atmosphere of one so aged, so
just, and so valiant. None but the most distinguished among the youthful
warriors even presumed so far as to perform the latter ceremony; the
great mass of the multitude deeming it a sufficient happiness to look
upon a form so deeply venerated, and so well beloved. When these acts of
affection and respect were performed, the chiefs drew back again to
their several places, and silence reigned in the whole encampment.

After a short delay, a few of the young men, to whom instructions had
been whispered by one of the aged attendants of Tamenund, arose, left
the crowd, and entered the lodge which has already been noted as the
object of so much attention throughout that morning. In a few minutes
they reappeared, escorting the individuals who had caused all these
solemn preparations towards the seat of judgment. The crowd opened in a
lane; and when the party had re-entered, it closed in again, forming a
large and dense belt of human bodies, arranged in an open circle.

 Magua appears in the Delaware camp the next morning, looking unarmed and peaceful. He discusses the current situation with Hard Heart, the great Delaware orator. However, Magua does not learn any news about Cora, who first came to the camp as his prisoner. He seeks to please the chief of the tribe by giving him gifts. He shocks the assembled Indians by revealing that he suspects the white man La Longue Carabine hides among them. Magua reminds the people that La Longue Carabine is a notorious Indian-killer

