"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; Whoever 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
center of the children, who played the antics already
mentioned, it was without 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 center 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 the 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 set 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 the 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
expression 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 of
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 guests 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 equaled
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 center of a disorderly
throng, that included nearly everything having life, within
the limits of the encampment. Men, women, and children; the
aged, the inform, 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 toward 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-hallo"; 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 to 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 offense 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 toward 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 more 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 center 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 wildcat, 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 toward 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 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 women. Then, indeed, the captive turned his face toward
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.
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 toward 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 center
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 man 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 skillful, 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 toward 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 center,
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 brave 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,
sidling 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 eyes, 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 molded 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.