United States History 17A

         Chapter I

          It was a feature peculiar to the colonial wars of
         North America, that the toils and dangers of the wilderness
         were encountered long before the enemies ever met.  The
         hardy colonist, and the trained European who fought at his
         side, frequently expended months in struggling against the
         rapids of the streams, or in negotiating the rugged passes
         of the mountains, in quest of an opportunity to exhibit
         their courage in a more martial conflict.
          Perhaps no district throughout the wide extent of
         the frontiers can furnish a livlier picture of the cruelty
         and fierceness of the savage warfare of those periods than
         the country which lies between the head waters of the Hudson
         and the lakes to the north.
            This district became the bloody arena in which
         most of the battles for mastery of the colonies were
         contested.  The forts erected at points along this route
         were taken and retaken, razed and rebuilt, as victory
         shifted back and forth among the hostile banners.  The arts
         of peace were unknown to this fatal region.  Its forests
         were alive with men; its shades and glens rang with the
         sounds of martial music.
          It was in this scene of strife and bloodshed that
         the incidents we shall attempt to relate occurred, during
         the third year of the war which England and France last
         waged for possession of a country that neither was destined
         to retain.
           It was during that year that the colonists saw a
         well-trained British army disgracefully routed by a handful
         of French and Indians.  A wide frontier had been laid naked
         by this unexpected disaster, and no ear in the provinces was
         so deaf as not to have drunk in the narrative of some
         fearful tale of midnight murder, in which the natives of the
         forest were the principal and barbarous actors.
          When, therefore, information was received at Fort
         Edward, which controlled the southern termination of the
         portage between the Hudson and the lakes, that the French
         General Montcalm had been seen moving down the Champlain
         with an army "numerous as the leaves on the trees", the news
         was received with great fear and trepidation.  The dreaded
         message had been brought towards the decline of a day in
         midsummer by an Indian runner, who also bore an urgent
         request for reinforcements from Lieutenant Colonel Munro,
         commander of Fort William Henry on the shore of Lake George,
         the "holy lake", which appeared to be the objective of the
         advancing French and Indian army.
 
 
 
 

           (General Webb, commander of Fort Edward,
         immediately
            sent a detachment of 1500 men to fort William
         Henry.
            Leaving shortly after the soldiers, led by a
         Huron Indian,
            Magua, and travelling separately along a
         little-known  path,
              were the two daughters of Lt. Col. Munro -
         Cora and Alice -                        and their escort,
         Major Duncan Heyward, a handsome young
                      British officer.)

         Chapter III
          A few miles from Fort Edward, two men were
         lingering on the banks of a small but rapid stream.  While
         one of these loiterers showed the red skin and wild
         accoutrements of a native of the woods, the other exhibited,
         even with his rude and nearly savage outfit, the lighter,
         though sunburnt and long-faded complexion of one who might
         claim descent from a European parentage.
          The former was seated on the end of a mossy log.
         His closely shaved head, on which no other hair than the
         well known and chivalrous scalping tuft was preserved, was
         without ornament of any kind, with the exception of a
         solitary eagle's plume, that crossed his crown, and fell
         over the left shoulder.  A tomahawk and scalping-knife, of
         English manufacture, were in his girdle; while a short
         military rifle, of that sort with which the whites armed
         their savage allies, lay carelessly across his bare and
         sinewy knee.
          The frame of the white man, judging by such parts
         as were not concealed by his clothes, was like that of one
         who had known hardships and exertion from his earliest
         youth.  He wore a hunting-shirt of forest green, fringed
         with faded yellow, and a summer cap of skins which had been
         shorn of their fur.  He also bore a knife in a girdle of
         wampum, like that which confined the scanty garments of the
         Indian, but no tomahawk.  His moccasins were ornamented
         after the gay fashion of the natives, while the only part of
         his under-dress which appeared below the hunting-frock, was
         a pair of buckskin leggings, that laced at the sides, and
         which were gartered above the knees with the sinews of a
         deer.  A pouch and horn completed his personal
         accoutrements, though a rifle of great length leaned against
         a neighboring sapling.  The eye of the hunter, or scout,
         whichever he might be, was small, quick, keen, and restless,
         roving while he spoke, on every side of him, as if in quest
         of game, or distrusting the sudden approach of some lurking
         enemy.
           They spoke in the tongue which was known to all
         the natives who formerly inhabited the country between the
         Hudson and the Potomac, and of which we shall give a free
         translation for the benefit of the reader.
          "My tribe is the grandfather of nations, but I am
         an unmixed man", said the Indian, whose name was
         Chingachgook.   "The blood of chiefs is in my veins, where
         it must stay forever.  The Dutch landed, and gave my people
         the fire-water; they drank until the heavens and the earth
         seemed to meet, and they foolishly thought they had found
         the Great Spirit.  Then they parted with their land.  Foot
         by foot, they were driven back from the shores, until I,
         that am a chief and a sagamore, have never seen the sun shin
         e but through the trees, and have never visited the graves
         of my fathers!  When Uncas, my son, follows in my footsteps,
         there will no longer be any of the blood of the sagamores,
         for my boy is the last of the Mohicans."
          "Uncas is here!" said another voice, in the same
         soft, gutteral tones, near his elbow.  Who speaks of Uncas?"
          The White man loosened his knife in his leathern
         sheath, and made an involuntary movement of the hand towards
         his rifle, at this sudden interruption, but the Indian sat
         composed, and without turning his head at the unexpected
         sounds.
          At the next instant, a youthful warrior passed
         between them, with a noiseless step, and seated himself on
         the bank of the rapid stream.  No exclamation of surprise
         escaped the father, nor was any question asked, or reply
         given, for several minutes, each appearing to await the
         moment when he might speak, without betraying womanish
         curiosity or childish impatience.  The white man seemed to
         take counsel from their customs, and, relinquishing his
         grasp of the rifle, he also remained silent and reserved.
          Bending his body till his ear nearly touched the
         earth, the young Uncas said, "I hear the sounds of feet!"
          "The horses of white men are coming," returned the
         father.  "Hawkeye, they are your brothers.  Speak to them."
 

               (It is Heyward and the two young women.
         Their Huron
           guide, Magua, had attempted to kidnap them, but
         they
           escaped.  Before they lost sight of him, however,
         they
           heard Magua vow to find them wherever they might
           try to hide in 'his' woods.  Heyward offers to
         pay Hawkeye
           and the two Mohicans to guide them safely to fort
         William Henry.)
 
 

         Chapter V

          "Offer  your prayers to Him who can give us wisdom
         to circumvent the cunning of the devils who fill these
         woods," calmly interrupted the scout, "but spare your offers
         of money, which neither you may live to realize, nor I to
         profit by.  These Mohicans and I will do what man's thoughts
         can invent, to keep from harm such sweet flowers, which were
         never made for the wilderness.   And we will do this without
         hope of any other recompense but such as God always gives to
         upright dealings.  First, you must promise two things, both
         in your own name and for your friends'."
          "Name them."
          "The one is, to be as still as these sleeping
         woods, whatever happens.  And the other is, to keep the
         place where we shall take you forever a secret from all
         mortal men."
          "I will do my utmost to see both these conditions
         fulfilled."
          "Then follow, for we are losing moments that are
         as precious as the heart's blood to a stricken deer."
          The scout drew a canoe of bark from its place of
         concealment beneath some low bushes, whose branches were
         waving with the eddies of the current, and silently motioned
         for the females to enter.  They complied without hesitation,
         though many a fearful and anxious glance was thrown behind
         them towards the thickening gloom which now lay like a dark
         barrier along the margin of the stream.
          As soon as Cora and Alice were seated, the scout
         directed Heyward to support one side of the frail vessel,
         and posting himself at the other, they bore it up against
         the stream.  Heyward yielded the guidance of the canoe
         implicitly to the scout, who approached or receded from the
         shore, to avoid the fragments of rocks, or deeper parts of
         the river, with a readiness that showed his knowledge of
         their route.  Occasionally he would stop, and in the midst
         of a breathing stillness, that the dull but increasing roar
         of an approaching waterfall only served to render more
         impressive, he would listen with painful intenseness, to
         catch any sounds that might arise from the slumbering
         forest.  When assured that all was still, and unable to
         detect, even with the aid of his practiced senses, any sign
         of his approaching foes, he would deliberately resume his
         slow and unguarded progress.
          The river was confined between high and cragged
         rocks, one of which hung suspended over the spot where the
         canoe rested.  As these rocks, again, were surmounted by
         tall trees, which appeared to totter on the brows of the
         precipice, it gave the stream the appearance of running
         through a deep and narrow dell.  In front of them, and
         apparently at no great distance, the water seemed piled
         against the heavens, whence it tumbled into caverns, out of
         which issued the many sullen sounds that  loaded the evening
         atmosphere.  It seemed, in truth, to be a spot devoted to
         seclusion, and the sisters imbibed a soothing impression of
         security, as they gazed upon its romantic, though not
         unappalling beauties.
          The scout, placing his pole against a rock, by a
         powerful shove, sent his frail bark directly into the center
         of the turbulent stream.  For many minutes the struggle
         between the light bubble in which they floated, and the
         swift current, was severe and doubtful.  Forbidden to stir
         even a hand, and almost afraid to breathe, lest they should
         expose the frail fabric to the fury of the stream, the
         passengers watched the glancing waters in feverish suspense.
         Twenty times they thought the whirling eddies were sweeping
         them to destruction, but each time the master-hand of their
         pilot would turn the bow of the canoe to stem the rapid.  A
         long, a vigorous, and, as it appeared to the females, a
         desperate effort, closed the struggle.  Just as Alice veiled
         her eyes in horror, under the impression that they were
         about to be swept within the vortex at the foot of the
         waterfall, the canoe floated, stationary, at the side of a
         flat rock, that lay on a level with the water.
          "Where are we, and what is next to be done?"
         demanded Heyward, perceiving that the exertions of the scout
         had ceased.
          "You are at the foot of Glen's Falls," returned
         the other, speaking aloud, without fear of consequences,
         within the roar of the waterfall, "and the next thing is to
         make a steady landing, lest the canoe upset, and you should
         go down again the hard road we have travelled, faster than
         you came up.  There, go you all on the rock, and I will
         bring up the Mohicans, who have come overland with the
         venison."

           (The travellers relax and eat in the safety of a
         cavern
           on an island in the middle of the Hudson river
         near
           Glen's Falls.  That evening they come out for
         some fresh air.)
 

         CHAPTER VII

          On emerging from their place of confinement, the
         whole party instantly experienced a grateful renovation of
         spirits, by exchanging the pent air of the hiding-place for
         the cool and invigorating atmosphere which played around the
         whirlpools and pitches of the waterfall.  A heavy evening
         breeze swept along the surface of the river, and seemed to
         drive the roar of the falls into the recesses of the
         caverns, whence it issued heavily and constant, like thunder
         rumbling beyond the distant hills.  The moon had risen, and
         its light was already glancing here and there on the waters
         above them; but the extremity of the rock where they stood
         still lay in shadow.
            "Seat yourselves in the shade which the moon
         throws from yonder beech," said Hawkeye, "and let us wait
         for that which the Lord may choose to send next.  Let all
         your conversation be in whispers; though it would be better,
         and perhaps in the end, wiser, if each one held discourse
         with his own thoughts, for a time."
          In this manner, hours passed by without further
         interruption.  The moon reached the zenith, and shed its
         mild light perpendicularly on the lovely sight of the
         sisters slumbering peacefully in each other's arms.  All but
         Hawkeye and the Mohicans lost every idea of consciousness,
         in uncontrollable drowsiness.  But the watchfulness of these
         vigilant protectors neither tired nor slumbered.  Immovable
         as that rock of which each appeared to form a part, they
         lay, with their eyes roving, without intermission, along the
         dark margin of trees that bounded the adjacent shores of the
         narrow stream, until the moon had set, and a pale streak
         above the tree-tops, at the bend of the river a little
         below, announced the approach of day.
          "Cora!  Alice!  Awake!  The hour has come to
         move," whispered Hawkeye.
          While these words were still on his lips, there
         arose such a tumult of yells and cries as served to drive
         the swift currents of his own blood back from its bounding
         course into the fountains of his heart.  It seemed, for near
         a minute, as if the demons of hell had possessed themselves
         of the air about them, and were venting their savage humors
         in barbarous sounds. At this signal, four savages sprang
         from the cover of the drift-wood.  Heyward felt a burning
         desire to rush forward to meet them, so intense was the
         delirious anxiety of the moment; but he was restrained by
         the deliberate examples of the scout and Uncas.  When their
         foes who leaped over the black rock that divided them, with
         long bounds, uttering the wildest yells, were within a few
         rods, the rifle of Hawkeye slowly rose among the shrubs, and
         poured out its fatal contents.  The foremost Indian bounded
         like a stricken deer, and fell headlong among the clefts of
         the island.
          "Come on, you bloody-minded hell hounds!" muttered
         the scout with bitter disdain.  "You meet a man without a
         cross!"
          The words were barely uttered, when he encountered
         a savage of gigantic stature, and of the fiercest mien.  At
         the same moment, Duncan found himself engaged with another
         in a similar contest of hand to hand.  With steady skill,
         Hawkeye wrested his armed hand from the grasp of the foe,
         and drove his sharp knife through the Indian's naked bosom
         to the heart.  In the meantime, Heyward had been pressed in
         a more deadly struggle.  Though his slight sword was snapped
         in the first encounter, he soon succeeded in disarming his
         adversary, whose knife fell on the rock at their feet.  But
         from this moment it became a fierce struggle of who should
         cast the other over the dizzy height into a neighboring
         cavern of the falls.  Heyward felt the grasp of the other at
         his throat, and saw the grim smile the savage gave.  But at
         that instant of extreme danger, a dark hand and glancing
         knife of Uncas appeared before him, and the Indian released
         his hold, as the blood flowed freely from around the severed
         tendons of his wrist.  Duncan's eyes were still riveted on
         the fierce countenance of his foe, when the Indian fell
         sullenly and disappointed down the irrecoverable precipice.

           (Hawkeye and the Mohicans hold off their Huron
         attackers
            valiantly for some time.  But eventually their
         ammunition
            runs out, and their canoe - and their hope of
         escape - is
            stolen by one of the Hurons.  At this point,
         Hawkeye,
            Uncas and Chingachgook prepare to die. But Cora
         suggests
            that Hawkeye and his two companions escape while
         they can,
            and return as quickly as possible with her
         father and his troops
            to rescue them.  They reluctantly agree to
         leave, but before
            he goes, Chingachgook advises Cora to break
         twigs along
            their route if they are taken away into the
         forest, and this
           "trail" will lead the rescuers to them.  When the
         Indians,
            led by the treacherous Magua, find them and take
         them away,
            Cora's twig trail is quickly discovered by the
         Hurons,
            and she is prevented from breaking any more.
         They
            are taken deeper and deeper into the unknown
         forest
            to a spot Magua believes unassailable.)
 
 

         Chapter XI

          For his hideout, Magua had selected one of those
         steep, pyramidal hills, which bear a strong resemblance to
         artificial mounds, and which so frequently occur in the
         valleys of America.  The one in question was high and
         precipitous; its top flattened, as usual, but with one of
         its sides more than ordinarily irregular.   Its form and
         elevation rendered defense easy, and surprise nearly
         impossible.
          Notwithstanding the swiftness of their flight, one
         of the Indians had found an opportunity to strike a
         straggling fawn with an arrow, and had borne the more
         preferable fragments of the victim patiently on his
         shoulders, to the stopping-place.  Without any aid from the
         science of cookery, he was immediately employed, in common
         with his fellows, in gorging himself with this digestible
         sustenance.  Magua alone sat apart, without participation in
         the revolting meal, and apparently buried in the deepest
         thought.
          Heyward knew not how to construe the remarkable
         expression that gleamed across the swarthy features of the
         attentive Indian.
          "Go," said the Huron to Heyward suddenly, in a
         death-like calmness of countenance, "go to the dark-haired
         daughter, and say, Magua waits to speak with her."
          Heyward, who interpreted this speech to express an
         interest by the Indian in a ransom, should the girls be
         given over to their father, quickly repaired to the place
         where the sisters were now resting from their fatigue, to
         communicate his hopes to Cora.
          "You must understand the nature of an Indian's
         wishes," he told her, as he led her towards the place where
         she was expected, "He will be interested in powder and
         blankets, but ardent spirits, however, are the most prized
         by such as he.  Remember, Cora, that, on your presence of
         mind and ingenuity, your life, as well as that of Alice, may
         in some measure depend."
          "And yours, Heyward," she replied.
          "Hush, now!" he said.  "We approach the Indian.
         Magua, here is the lady with whom you wish to speak."
          The Indian rose slowly from his seat, and stood
         for near a minute silent and motionless.  He then signed
         with his hand for Heyward to retire.
          "Listen," said the Indian, laying his hand firmly
         upon Cora's arm, as if willing to draw her utmost attention
         to his words; a movement that  Cora as firmly but quietly
         repulsed, by extricating the limb from his grasp:  "Magua
         was born a chief and a warrior among the red Hurons of the
         lakes. He saw the suns of twenty summers make the snows of
         twenty winters run off in the streams, before he saw a
         pale-face, and he was happy!  Then, the white English
         soldiers came into the woods, and taught him to drink the
         fire-water, and he became a rascal.
          "With the English soldiers I, now called Le Renard
         Subtile - 'the sly fox' -  led the warriors of the Mohawks
         against my own  nation!  The old chief at the holy lake,
         your father, was the great captain of our war-party.  He
         said to the Mohawks do this, and do that, and he was obeyed.
         He made a law, that if an Indian swallowed the fire-water,
         and came into the cloth wigwams of the white soldiers, it
         should not be forgotten.  Magua foolishly opened his mouth,
         and the hot liquor led him into the cabin of Munro.  What
         did the gray-head do?   The Huron chief was tied up before
         all the pale-faced warriors, and whipped like a dog.
          "See! continued Magua, tearing aside the slight
         calico that very imperfectly concealed his painted breast.
         "Here are scars given by knives and bullets - of these a
         warrior may boast before his nation.  But the gray-head has
         left marks on the back of the Huron chief, that he must
         hide, like a squaw, under this painted cloth of the whites."
          "Name your intention, Magua," said Cora,
         struggling with herself to speak with steady calmness.  "Is
         it to lead us prisoners to the woods, or do you contemplate
         even some greater evil?  Is there no reward, no means of
         palliating the injury, and of softening your heart?  At
         least, release my gentle sister, and pour out all your
         malice on me.  Purchase wealth by her safety, and satisfy
         your revenge with a single victim.  The loss of both of his
         daughters might bring the aged man to his grave, and where
         would then be the satisfaction of Le Renard?"
          "Listen," said the Indian again.  "When Magua left
         his people, his wife was given to another chief.  The light
         eyes can go back to her father if the  dark-haired daughter
         of the English chief will follow Magua and live in his
         wigwam forever"
          "And what pleasure would Magua find in sharing his
         cabin with a wife he did not love?" asked Cora, "one who
         would be of a nation and color different from his own.  It
         would be better to take the gold of Munro, and buy the heart
         of some Huron maid with his gifts."
          The Indian made no reply for near a minute, but
         bent his fierce looks on the countenance of Cora in such
         wavering glances that her eye sank with shame, under an
         impression that, for the first time, they had encountered an
         expression that no chaste female might endure.
          "When the blows scorched his back, Magua knew what
         must be done. The daughter of Munro would draw his water,
         hoe his corn, and cook his venison.  The body of the
         gray-head would sleep among his cannon, but his heart would
         lie within reach of the knife of Le Renard Subtile."
          "Monster!  Well do you deserve your treacherous
         name!"  cried Cora, in an ungovernable burst of filial
         indignation.  "It is, in truth, the heart of Munro you hold,
         and it will surely defy your utmost malice!"   She beckoned
         him away with an emotion of disgust she could not control.
          But her indignant rage produced not the slightest
         impression upon the savage, who merely pointed with taunting
         irony towards Alice.
          "Look!  The child weeps!  She is young to die!
         Send her to Munro, to comb his gray hairs, and keep life in
         the heart of the old man."
          Cora could not resist the desire to look upon her
         youthful sister, in whose eyes she met an imploring glance,
         that betrayed the longings of nature.  It appeared as if the
         delicate and sensitive form of Alice would shrink into
         itself.  Her arms had fallen lengthwise before her, the
         fingers moving in slight convulsions; her head dropped upon
         her bosom, and her whole person seemed suspended, like some
         beautiful emblem of the wounded delicacy of her sex, devoid
         of animation, and yet keenly conscious. In a few moments,
         however, her head began to move slowly, in a sign of deep,
         unconquerable disapproval.
          "No, no, no!" she cried.  "Better that we die as
         we have lived, together!"
          "Then die!"  shouted Magua, hurling his tomahawk
         with violence at the unresisting speaker, and gnashing his
         teeth with a rage that could no longer be bridled, at this
         sudden exhibition of firmness in the one he believed the
         weakest of the party.  The axe cleaved the air in front of
         Heyward, and cutting some of the flowing ringlets of Alice,
         quivered in the tree above her head.  The sight maddened
         Heyward to desperation.  Collecting all his energies in one
         effort he rushed upon another savage who was preparing with
         loud yells, and a more deliberate aim, to repeat the blow.
         Heyward already saw the knife gleaming in the air, when a
         whistling sound swept past him, and was rather accompanied,
         than followed, by the sharp crack of a rifle.  He saw the
         savage expression of his adversary's countenance change to a
         look of vacant wildness, when the Indian fell dead on the
         faded leaves by his side.
          The Hurons stood aghast at this sudden visitation
         of death on one of their band, and the name of "La Longue
         Carabine" burst simultaneously from every lip, and was
         succeeded by a wild and a sort of plaintive howl.

           (The young women and Heyward are rescued by
         Hawkeye
            and the Mohicans, but Magua escapes again.  The
         scout then
            leads them all on a long journey through the
         forest until
            they come within sight of their destination:
         Fort William Henry.)
 
 
 

         Chapter XIV

          The scout now told the sisters to dismount; and
         taking the bridles from the mouths, and the saddles off the
         backs of the jaded beasts, he turned them loose, to glean a
         scanty subsistence among the shrubs and meager herbage of
         that elevated region.
          "Have we no further need of them?" demanded
         Heyward.
          "See, and judge with your own eyes," said the
         scout, advancing towards the eastern brow of the mountain,
         whither he beckoned for the whole party to follow.
          When the travellers reached the verge of the
         precipice, they saw, at a glance, the truth of the scout's
         declaration, and the admirable foresight with which he had
         led them to their commanding station.
          The mountain on which they stood was a cone,
         elevated, perhaps, a thousand feet in the air. Immediately
         at the feet of the party, was the southern shore of Lake
         George.  This "holy lake", called Horican by the Indians,
         was indented with numberless bays, embellished by fantastic
         headlands, and dotted with countless islands.  Over the two
         ranges of hills, which bounded the opposite sides of the
         lake and valley, clouds of light vapor were rising in spiral
         wreaths from the uninhabited woods, looking like the smokes
         of hidden cottages; or rolled lazily down the slopes, to
         mingle with the fogs of the lower land.  A single, solitary,
         snow-white cloud floated above the valley.
          Directly on the shore of the lake, and nearer to
         its western than to its eastern margin, lay the extensive
         earthen ramparts and low buildings of William Henry.  The
         land had been cleared of wood for a reasonable distance
         around the work, but every other part of the scene lay in
         the green livery of nature, except where the limpid water
         mellowed the view, or the bold rocks thrust their black and
         naked heads above the undulating outline of the mountain
         ranges.  In its front might be seen the scattered sentinels,
         who held a weary watch against their numerous foes. From the
         woods, a little farther to the south, rose numerous dark and
         lurid smokes, evidence that the enemy lay in force in that
         direction.
           And even while the spectators above were looking
         down, with such different emotions, on a scene which lay
         like a map beneath their feet, the roar of artillery rose
         from the valley, and passed off in thundering echoes, along
         the eastern hills.
            "We are a few hours too late!"  said the scout.
         "Montcalm has already filled the woods with his accursed
         Hurons.  But look!  Here will soon be an end of the firing,
         for yonder comes a fog that will turn day to night, and make
         an Indian arrow more dangerous than a molded cannon.  Now,
         if you are equal to the work, and will follow, I will make a
         push; for I long to get down into that camp, if it be only
         to scatter some Mingo dogs that I see lurking in the skirts
         of yonder thicket of birch."
          "We are equal," said Cora, firmly.  "On such an
         errand we will follow to any danger."  The scout turned to
         her with a smile of honest and cordial  praise as he
         answered,
          "I wish I had a thousand men, of brawny limbs and
         quick eyes, that feared death as little as you!  I'd send
         them jabbering Frenchers back into their den again, afore
         the week was ended.  But hurry!  The fog comes rolling down
         so fast, we shall have but just the time to meet it on the
         plain, and use it as a cover.  Remember, if any accident
         should befall me, to keep the air blowing on your left
         cheeks - or rather, follow the Mohicans.  They'd scent their
         way, be it in day or be it at night."
          He then waved his hand for them to follow, and
         threw himself down the steep hillside, with free, but
         careful footsteps.  Heyward assisted the sisters to descend,
         and in a few minutes they were all far down a mountain whose
         sides they had climbed with so much toil and pain.

           (Under cover of the fog, the travellers slip
         through the
           French camp and are welcomed into the fort by a
         grateful
           father, Lt. Col. Munro.  Later, at a meeting in
         the woods
           with the French General, Montcalm, and his Indian
         ally,
              Magua,  Munro learns that General Webb, whom
         he had hoped
                     would come to their aid with
         reinforcements, has, instead,
              suggested that Munro surrender to Montcalm.
         With great
              regret, Munro agrees.  Magua, however, furious
         at being
            denied the chance to take Munro's scalp, stalks
         out of the
           French camp in disgust, taking many of the
         Indians with
           him. The next day, Munro readies his men for the
         surrender.)
 
 

         Chapter XVII

          By mid-morning 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
         flag of France.
          "Let us go," said Cora.  "This is no longer a fit
         place for the children of an English officer."
          At a little distance on the right, and somewhat in
         the rear, the French army stood to their arms.  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 to their less
         fortunate foes.  All of the English occupants of the fort,
         numbering nearly three thousand - civilians as well as
         soldiers -  were moving slowly across the plain, towards a
         common center, and gradually  converged near to the point
         where the road to the Hudson entered the forest.  Along the
         sweeping borders of the woods, hung a dark cloud of savages,
         eyeing 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.
          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.
          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
         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.
         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.
          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
         your soul."
          "Magua is a great chief! "  returned the exulting
         savage.  "Will the dark hair go to his tribe?"
          "Never!  Strike, if you will, and complete your
         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 it you
         do?"
          Magua entered the woods through a low ravine,
         where he quickly found his waiting horses.  Laying Alice on
         one of the steeds, 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 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.

         Chapter XVIII

          About an hour before the setting of the sun, on
         the day already mentioned, the forms of five men might have
         been seen issuing from the narrow vista of trees, where the
         path to the Hudson entered the forest, and advancing in the
         direction of the ruined works.  At first their progress was
         slow and guarded, as though they entered with reluctance
         amid the horrors of the spot, or dreaded the renewal of its
         frightful incidents.
          The reader will perceive at once, in these
         respective characters, the Mohicans, and their white friend,
         the scout; together with Munro and Heyward.  It was, in
         truth, the father in quest of his children, attended by the
         youth who felt so deep a stake in their happiness, and those
         brave and trusty foresters, who had already proved their
         skill and fidelity through the trying scenes related.
          When Uncas, who moved in front, had reached the
         center of the plain, he raised a cry that drew his
         companions in a body to the spot.
          "What is it, boy?"  whispered the scout, lowering
         his tall form into a crouching attitude, like a panther
         about to take his leap.
          Uncas, without making any reply, bounded away from
         the spot, and in the next instant he was seen tearing from a
         bush, and waving in triumph a fragment of the green
         riding-veil of Cora.  The movement, the exhibition, and the
         cry, which again burst from the lips of the young Mohican,
         instantly drew the whole party about him.
          "My child!"  said Munro, speaking quick and
         wildly. "Give me my child!"
          "Uncas will try," was the short and touching
         answer.
          "Hugh!"  exclaimed Chingachgook, who had been
         occupied in examining an opening that had been evidently
         made through the low underbrush, which skirted the forest;
         and who now stood erect, as he pointed downwards, in the
         attitude and with the air of a man who beheld a disgusting
         serpent.
          "Here is the palpable impression of the footstep
         of a man," cried Heyward, bending over the indicated spot.
         "He has trod in the margin of this pool, and the mark cannot
         be mistaken.  They are captives."
          "Magua!"
          "Ay, 'tis a settled thing.  Here then have passed
         the dark-hair and Magua."
          "And not Alice?"  demanded Heyward.
          "Of her we have not yet seen the signs,"  returned
         the scout, looking closely around at the trees, the bushes
         and the ground.
          "As we now possess these infallible signs,"  said
         Heyward, "let us commence our march.  A moment, at such a
         time, will appear an age to the captives."
          "Move on, Uncas," said Hawkeye, "and keep your
         eyes on the dried leaves.  I will watch the bushes, while
         your father shall run with a low nose to the ground.  Move
         on, friends.  The sun is getting behind the hills."
          Before they had proceeded many rods, the Mohicans
         stopped, and appeared to gaze at some signs on the earth,
         with more than their usual keenness.  Both father and son
         spoke quick and loud.
          "They have found the little foot!" exclaimed the
         scout, moving forward, without attending further to his own
         portion of the duty.  "Yes, here they have mounted.  There
         the beasts have been bound to a sapling, in waiting, and
         yonder runs the broad path away to the north, in full sweep
         for the Canadas."

           (When darkness falls, the party camps for the
         night,
            and takes up the trail the next morning.)

         Chapter XXI

          After proceeding some miles, the progress of
         Hawkeye, who led the advance, became more deliberate and
         watchful.  He often stopped to examine the trees; nor did he
         cross a rivulet without attentively considering the
         quantity, the velocity, and the color of its waters.
         Distrusting his own judgment his appeals to the opinion of
         Chingachgook were frequent and earnest.  During one of these
         conferences, Heyward observed that Uncas stood a patient and
         silent, though, as he imagined, an interested listener.  He
         was strongly tempted to address the young chief, and demand
         his opinion of their progress; but the calm and dignified
         demeanor of the native induced him to believe that, like
         himself, the other was wholly dependent on the sagacity and
         intelligence of the seniors of the party.  At last, the
         scout spoke in English, and at once explained the
         embarrassment of their situation
          "Here are we, within a short range of the Scaroon,
         and not a sign of a trail have we crossed."
          The young Mohican cast a glance at his father, but
         maintaining his quiet and reserved mien, he continued
         silent.  Chingachgook had caught the look, and motioning
         with his hand, he bade him speak.  The moment this
         permission was accorded, the countenance of Uncas changed
         from its grave composure to a gleam of intelligence and joy.
         Bounding forward like a deer, he sprang up the side of a
         little hill,  a few rods in advance, and stood exultingly
         over a spot of fresh earth that looked as though it had been
         recently upturned by the passage of some heavy animal.  The
         eyes of the whole party followed the unexpected movement,
         and read their success in the air of triumph that the youth
         assumed.
          " 'Tis the trail!"  exclaimed the scout, advancing
         to the spot.  "The lad is quick of sight and keen of wit for
         his years."
          The spirits of the scout, and the astonishing
         success of the chase, in which a circuitous distance of more
         than forty miles had been passed, did not fail to impart a
         portion of hope to the whole party.  And their progress was
         much facilitated by the certainty that Magua had found it
         necessary to journey through the valleys; a circumstance
         which rendered the general direction of the route sure. The
         Huron, however, had not entirely neglected the arts
         uniformly practiced by the natives when retiring in front of
         any enemy.  False trails, and sudden turnings were frequent,
         wherever a brook, or the formation of the ground rendered
         them feasible; but his pursuers were rarely deceived and
         never failed to detect their error, before they had lost
         either time or distance on the deceptive track.
          By the middle of the afternoon they had passed the
         Scaroon, and were following the route of the declining sun.
         But now suddenly the speed of Hawkeye sensibly abated, and
         his head, instead of maintaining its former direct and
         forward look, began to turn suspiciously from side to side
         as if he were conscious of approaching danger.  He soon
         stopped again, and waited for the whole party to come up.
          "I scent the Hurons," he said, speaking to the
         Mohicans.
          Here the trees of many acres had been felled, and
         the glow of a mild summer's evening had fallen on the
         clearing, in beautiful contrast to the gray light of the
         forest.  Nearby a stream had seemingly expanded into a
         little lake, covering most of the low land, from mountain to
         mountain.  The water fell out of this wide basin, in a
         cataract so regular and gentle, that it appeared rather to
         be the work of human hands, than fashioned by nature.  A
         hundred earthen dwellings stood on the margin of the lake.
         Their rounded roofs, admirably molded for defense against
         the weather, denoted industry and foresight.  In short, the
         whole village or town, whichever it might be termed,
         possessed more of method and neatness of execution, than the
         white men had been accustomed to believe belonged,
         ordinarily, to the Indian habits.

            (Heyward sneaks into the Indian village to tey
         to rescue
            the kidnapped young women.)
 

         Chapter XXV

          Heyward had no other guide than a distant
         glimmering light, which served, however, the office of a
         polar star to the lover.  By its aid he was enabled to enter
         the haven of his hopes, where he found her that he sought -
         pale, anxious, and terrified, but lovely.
          "Duncan!"  she exclaimed, in a voice that seemed
         to tremble at the sounds created by itself.
          "Alice"  he answered, leaping carelessly among
         trunks, boxes, arms, and furniture, until he stood at her
         side.
          "I knew that you would never desert me," she said,
         looking up with a momentary glow on her otherwise dejected
         countenance.  "But you are alone?  Grateful as it is to be
         thus remembered, I could wish to think you are not entirely
         alone."
          "No, Alice, I am not alone," he said.  "And, now,
         by the assistance of our experienced and invaluable friend,
         the scout, we may find our way from this savage people, but
         you will have to exert your utmost fortitude.  Remember that
         you fly to the arms of your venerable parent, and how much
         his happiness, as well as your own, depends on those
         exertions."
          "Can I do otherwise for a father who has done so
         much for me?  But what of Cora?" she continued.  Where is
         Cora?"
          "She is not forgotten, I assure you!  We will find
         her!  But, Alice, you will not be offended when I say, that
         to me her worth was in a degree obscured by your - "
          "Then you knew not the merit of my sister," said
         Alice. Of you she ever speaks as of one who is her nearest
         friend."
          "I would gladly believe her such," returned
         Duncan, hastily.  "I could wish her to be even more.  But
         with you, Alice, I have the permission of your father to
         aspire to a still nearer and dearer tie."
          Alice trembled violently, and there was an instant
         during which she bent her face aside, yielding to the
         emotions common to her sex; but they quickly passed away,
         leaving her mistress of her deportment, if not of her
         affections.
          "Heyward," she said, looking him full in the face
         with a touching expression of innocence and dependency.
         "Give me the sacred presence and the holy sanction of that
         parent before you urge me further."
          The youth was about to answer, when he was
         interrupted by a light tap on the shoulder.  Starting to his
         feet, he turned, and, confronting the intruder, his looks
         fell on the dark form and malignant visage of Magua.  The
         deep guttural laugh of the savage sounded to Heyward, at
         such a moment, like the hellish taunt of a demon.  Had he
         pursued the sudden and fierce impulse of the instant, he
         would have cast himself on the Huron, and committed their
         fortunes to the issue of a deadly struggle.  But, without
         arms of any description, ignorant of what succor his subtle
         enemy could command, and charged with the safety of one who
         was just then dearer than ever to his heart, he no sooner
         entertained than he abandoned the desperate intention.
          "What is your purpose?" said Alice, meekly,
         folding her arms on her bosom.
          "Huron, do your worst!" exclaimed the excited
         Heyward.
          "Will the white man speak these words at the
         stake?" asked Magua.
          "Here, singly to your face, or in the presence of
         your nation."
          "Le Renard Subtile is a great chief!" returned the
         Indian.  He will go and bring his young men to see how
         bravely a pale-face can laugh at the tortures."
          He turned away while speaking, and was about to
         leave the place through the avenue by which Heyward
         approached, when a growl caught his ear, and caused him to
         hesitate.  The figure of a bear appeared in the door, where
         it sat, rolling from side to side in its customary
         restlessness.  Magua eyed it keenly for a moment, as if to
         ascertain its character.  He was far above the more vulgar
         superstitions of his tribe, and so soon as he recognized the
         well-known attire of the conjurer, he prepared to pass it in
         cool contempt.
          "Fool!" exclaimed the chief, in Huron.  "Go play
         with the children and squaws.  Leave men to their wisdom."
          He once more endeavored to pass the bear, but
         suddenly the beast extended its arms, or rather legs, and
         enclosed him in a grasp that might have vied with the famed
         power of the "bear hug" itself.  Heyward watched the whole
         procedure on the part of the bear with breathless interest.
         In spite of the accoutrements that gave the conjurer the
         likeness of a bear, there was something strangely familiar
         about the man beneath the disguise.  As Heyward watched the
         two men wrestle, a flap of bear skin was pushed back from
         the conjurer's face to reveal the sun-tanned countenance of
         the intrepid scout.
          "Hawkeye!" exclaimed the astonished Heyward and
         Alice almost simultaneously.
            Heyward then relinquished his hold of Alice and
         took up a thong of buckskin, which had been used around some
         bundle.  He maneuvered close to Magua, whose two arms had
         been pinned to his sides by the iron muscles of the scout,
         fell upon him, and tightly secured them around the Indian.
         Arms, legs, and feet were encircled in twenty folds of the
         thong, in less time than we have taken to record the
         circumstance.  When the formidable Huron was completely
         pinioned, the scout released his hold, and Heyward laid his
         enemy on his back, utterly helpless.
          The scout immediately gagged the Indian and then
         turned to Heyward.  The huge and unwieldy talons pawed
         stupidly about the grinning muzzle, and while Heyward kept
         his eyes riveted on its movements with jealous watchfulness,
         the grim head fell to one side, and in its place appeared
         the honest, sturdy countenance of Hawkeye, who was indulging
         from the bottom of his soul, in his own peculiar expression
         of merriment.
          "Bring on the gentle one," he said.  We must make
         a push for the woods."
           The scout boldly threw open the covering of bark,
         and left the place, enacting the character of the bear as he
         proceeded.  Heyward and Alice kept close at his heels.
         Taking the path that was most likely to avoid observation,
         they rather skirted than entered the village, and were soon
         buried in the somber darkness of the forest.

           (Hawkeye and the others finally locate Cora at a
         nearby
            camp of the  Delawares - allies of Magua.
         (Magua had
            left her there for safe-keeping.).
         Unfortunately, while
            trying to free Cora, everyone - Hawkeye,
         Heyward,
            Alice and the two Mohicans - are captured by the
            Delawares.  When Magua, released from his bonds,
            finally arrives with twenty of his most skillful
         Huron
            warriiors, he asks the Delawares to release Cora
         and
            Alice to him.  The women, he explains, are his
         rightful
            prisoners.  He is told, however that the
         decision as to
             who should have the young women, must be made
         by
            the great old chief, called Tamenund.)
 
 
 
 

         Chapter XXVIII

          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 opened, and three men, issuing from it, slowly
         approached the place of consultation.  They were all aged,
         but one in the center, 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 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 be decorated with 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.
         His head was encircled with a kind of crown, covered with
         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.
          The name of 'Tamenund' was whispered from mouth to
         mouth.
          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 center of his nation, with the dignity
         of a monarch and the air of a father.
          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.  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.

         Chapter XXIX

          "Who calls upon the children of the Delaware!"
         said Tamenund, in a deep, guttural voice, that was rendered
         awfully audible by the breathless silence of the multitude.
          "It is a Huron," said Magua, stepping closer to
         the rude platform on which the other stood.  A friend of
         Tamenund."
          "What brings a Huron here?" asked the sage.
          "Justice.  His prisoners are with his brothers,
         and he comes for his own."
          Tamenund turned his head towards one of his
         supporters, and listened to the short explanation the man
         gave.  Then facing Magua, he regarded him a moment with deep
         attention, after which he said, in a low and reluctant
         voice,
          "Justice is the law of the great Manitou.  My
         children, give the stranger food.  Then, Huron take thine
         own and depart."
          Magua cast a look of triumph around the whole
         assembly, before he proceeded to the execution of his
         purpose and turned his looks on her he valued most.  Cora
         met his gaze with an eye so calm and firm, that his
         resolution wavered.  Then recollecting his former artifice,
         he raised Alice from the arms of the warrior against whom
         she leaned, and beckoning Heyward to follow, he motioned for
         the encircling crowd to open.  But Cora, instead of obeying
         the impulse he had expected, rushed to the feet of the
         patriarch, and raising her voice, exclaimed aloud,
          "Just and venerable Delaware, on your wisdom and
         power we lean for mercy!  There is yet one of your own
         people who has not been brought before you.  Before you let
         the Huron depart in triumph, hear him speak."
          The old man looked down upon her from his elevated
         stand, with a benignant smile on his wasted countenance, and
         then casting his eyes slowly over the whole assemblage, he
         answered,
          "Let him come."

         Chapter XXX

          The silence continued unbroken by human sounds for
         many anxious minutes.  Then the waving multitude opened and
         shut again, and Uncas stood in the living circle.  All those
         eyes, which had been curiously studying the lineaments of
         the sage, as the source of their own intelligence, turned on
         the instant, and were now bent in secret admiration on the
         erect, agile, and faultless person of the captive.
          "With what tongue does the prisoner speak to the
         Manitou?" demanded the patriarch, without unclosing his
         eyes.
          "Like his fathers," Uncas replied, "with the
         tongue of a Delaware."
          "A Delaware!" returned the sage.  "Never before
         have I found a Delaware so base as to creep, like a
         poisonous serpent, into the camps of his nation.  Little are
         you worthy of your name.  My people have not seen a bright
         sun in many winters, and the warrior who deserts his tribe
         when hid in clouds is doubly a traitor.  The law of the
         Manitou is just.  It is so - while the rivers run and the
         mountains stand, while the blossoms come and go on the trees
         - it must be so.  He is yours, my children.  Deal justly by
         him."
          A cry of vengeance burst at once from the united
         lips of the nation.  In the midst of these prolonged and
         savage yells, a chief proclaimed, in a high voice, that
         Uncas was condemned to endure the dreadful trial of torture
         by fire.
          But when the tormentors came to seize him, Uncas
         met them with a firm and upright attitude.  One among them,
         if possible, more fierce and savage than his fellows, seized
         the hunting-shirt of the young warrior, and at a single
         effort, tore it from his body.  Then, with a yell of frantic
         pleasure, he leaped towards his unresisting victim, and
         prepared to lead him to the stake.  But, at that moment,
         when he appeared most a stranger to the feelings of
         humanity, the purpose of the savage was arrested as suddenly
         as if a supernatural agency had interposed in the behalf of
         Uncas.  Raising his hand with a slow and regulated motion,
         he pointed with a finger to the bosom of the captive.  His
         companions crowded about him in wonder, and every eye was,
         like his own, fastened intently on the figure of a small
         tortoise, beautifully tattooed on the breast of the
         prisoner, in bright blue tint.
          "Who are you?"  demanded Tamenund.
          "Uncas, the son of Chingachgook," answered the
         captive modestly, turning from the nation, and bending his
         head in reverence to the other's character and years.  "I am
         a son of the great Unamis." (turtle)
          "The hour of Tamenund is nigh!"  exclaimed the
         sage.  The day is come, at last, to the night!  I thank the
         Manitou, that one is here to fill my place at the
         council-fire.  Let the eyes of the dying eagle gaze on the
         rising sun."
          The calm and deep silence which succeeded these
         words, sufficiently announced the awful reverence with which
         his people received the communication of the patriarch.
         Uncas, looking in his face with the fondness and veneration
         of a favored child, presumed on his own high and
         acknowledged rank, to reply:
          "The blood of the turtle has been in many chiefs,
         but all have gone back into the earth from whence they came
         except Chingachgook and his son."
          "It is true - it is true," returned the sage, a
         flash of recollection restoring him at once to a
         consciousness of the true history of his nation.  "Our wise
         men have often said that two warriors of the unchanged race
         were in the hills."
          Now Magua, whose feelings during this scene of
         Uncas' triumph may be much better imagined than described,
         stepped boldly in front of the patriarch.
          "The just Tamenund," he said, "will not keep what
         a Huron has lent.  "As for the others, I care not.  But the
         woman that I brought into your camp - she is mine."
          A short and impressive pause succeeded, during
         which it was very apparent with what reluctance the
         multitude admitted the justice of the Mingo's claim.  At
         length the sage, in whom alone the decision depended, said,
         in a firm voice,
          "Then depart with your own.  The great Manitou
         forbids that a Delaware should be unjust."
          Magua advanced, and seized his captive strongly by
         the arm.  The Delawares fell back, in silence, and Cora, as
         if conscious that remonstrance would be useless, prepared to
         submit to her fate without resistance.  Then, quite
         suddenly, she spoke coldly to the Huron chief:
          "I am your prisoner, and at a fitting time shall
         be ready to follow, even to my death."  Now turning to
         Hawkeye, she added, "Generous hunter!  Look after my sister,
         that drooping, humbled child!  Abandon her not until you
         leave her in the habitation of civilized men.  I will not
         say," wringing the hard hand of the scout, "that our father
         will reward you - for such as you are above the rewards of
         men - but he will thank you, and bless you.  And, believe
         me, the blessing of a just and aged man has virtue in the
         sight of Heaven.  She is as  kind, gentle, sweet and good as
         a mortal may be.  There is not a blemish in her mind or
         person at which the proudest of you all would sicken.  She
         is fair -- O!  how surpassingly fair!"
          Her voice became inaudible, and her face was bent
         over the form of her sister.  After a long and burning kiss,
         she arose, and with features of the hue of death, but
         without even a tear in her feverish eye, she turned away,
         and added to the savage, with all her former elevation of
         manner,
          "Now, sir, if it be your pleasure, I will follow."
           "Dogs, rabbits, thieves - I spit on you!"
         exclaimed Magua with a taunting laugh.  And with these
         biting words in his mouth, the triumphant Magua passed
         unmolested into the forest, followed by his passive captive,
         Cora, and protected by the inviolable laws of Indian
         hospitality.

           (Uncas convinces the Delawares that Magua must be
         stopped
            and organizes a war party to get Cora back.
         When they
           finally find the fleeing Hurons, a fierce hand to
         hand battle
           ensues, and, as Magua senses the Hurons defeat,
           he and two of his warriors grab Cora and ascend a
           nearby mountain, with Uncas and the others close
         behind.)

         Chapter XXXII

           "I will go no farther," cried Cora, stepping
         unexpectedly on a ledge of rocks, that overhung a deep
         precipice, at no great distance from the summit of the
         mountain.  "Kill me if you will, detestable Huron.  I will
         go no farther."
          The supporters of the maiden raised their ready
         tomahawks with the impious joy that fiends are thought to
         take in mischief, but Magua stayed the uplifted arms.  The
         Huron chief, after casting the weapons he had wrested from
         his companions over the rock, drew his knife, and turned to
         his captive, with a look in which conflicting passions
         fiercely contended.
          "Woman," he said, " choose!  The wigwam or the
         knife of Le Renard Subtile!"
          Cora regarded him not, but dropping on her knees,
         she raised her eyes and stretched her arms towards heaven,
         saying in a meek and yet confiding voice,
          "I am yours!  Do with me as you see best!"
          "Woman," repeated Magua, hoarsely, and endeavoring
         in vain to catch a glance from her serene and beaming eye,
         "Choose!"
          But Cora neither heard nor heeded his demand.  The
         form of the Huron trembled in every fiber, and he raised his
         arm on high, but dropped it again with a bewildered air,
         like one who doubted.  Once more he struggled with himself
         and lifted the keen weapon again, but just then a piercing
         cry was heard above them, and Uncas appeared, leaping
         frantically, from a fearful height, upon the ledge.  Magua
         recoiled a step, and one of his assistants, profiting by the
         chance, buried his own knife in the bosom of Cora.
          The Huron sprang like a tiger on his offending and
         already retreating countryman, but the falling form of Uncas
         separated the unnatural combatants.  Diverted from his
         object by this interruption, and maddened by the murder he
         had just witnessed, Magua plunged his weapon into the back
         of the prostrate Uncas, uttering an unearthly shout as he
         committed the dastardly deed.  But Uncas arose from the
         blow, as the wounded panther turns upon his foe, and struck
         the murderer of Cora to his feet, by an effort in which the
         last of his failing strength was expended.  Then, with a
         stern and steady look, he turned to Le Renard Subtile, and
         indicated by the expression of his eye, all that he would
         do, had not the power deserted him.  The latter seized the
         nerveless arm of the unresisting Uncas, and passed his knife
         into his bosom three times, before his victim, still keeping
         his gaze riveted on his enemy with a look of
         inextinguishable scorn, fell dead at his feet.
          "Mercy!  Mercy!  Huron," cried Heyward, from
         above, in tones nearly choked by horror.  "Give mercy, and
         you shall receive it!"
          Whirling the bloody knife up at the imploring
         youth, the victorious Magua uttered a cry so fierce, so
         wild, and yet so joyous, that it conveyed the sounds of
         savage triumph to the ears of those who fought in the
         valley, a thousand feet below.  He was answered by a burst
         from the lips of the scout, whose tall person was just then
         seen moving swiftly towards him, along those dangerous
         crags, with steps as bold and reckless as if he possessed
         the power to move in air.  But when the hunter reached the
         scene of the ruthless massacre, the ledge was tenanted only
         by the dead.
          His keen eye took a single look at the victims,
         and then shot its glances over the difficulties of the
         ascent in his front.  The form of Magua stood just beneath
         the summit of the mountain, on the very edge of the giddy
         height, with uplifted arms, in an awful attitude of menace.
         A single bound would carry him across a narrow precipice,
         and assure his safety.  Before taking the leap, however, the
         Huron paused, and shaking his hand at the scout, he shouted,
          "The pale-faces are dogs!  The Delawares women!
         Magua leaves them on the rocks, for the crows!."
          Laughing hoarsely, he made a desperate leap, but
         fell short of his mark, though his hand grasped a shrub on
         the verge of the height.  Without exhausting himself with
         fruitless efforts, the cunning Magua suffered his body to
         drop to the length of his arms, and found a fragment for his
         feet to rest on.  Then summoning all his powers, he renewed
         the attempt, and so far succeeded, as to draw his knees on
         the edge of the mountain.  It was now, when the body of his
         enemy was most collected together, that the agitated weapon
         of the scout was drawn to his shoulder.  The surrounding
         rocks themselves were not steadier than the rifle itself in
         the single instant that it poured out its contents.  The
         arms of the Huron relaxed, and his body fell back a little,
         while his knees still kept their position.  Turning a
         relentless look on his enemy, he shook a hand in grim
         defiance.  But his hold loosened, and his dark person was
         seen cutting the air with its head downwards, for a fleeting
         instant, until it glided past the fringe of shrubbery which
         clung to the mountain, in its rapid flight to destruction.

         Chapter XXXIII

          The sun found the Delawares, on the succeeding
         day, a nation of mourners.   The lodges were deserted, but a
         broad belt of earnest faces encircled a spot in their
         vicinity, where everything possessing life had repaired, and
         where all were now collected, in deep and awful silence.
          Six Delaware girls, with their long, dark, flowing
         tresses falling loosely across their bosoms, stood apart,
         and only gave proofs of their existence as they occasionally
         strewed sweet-scented herbs and forest flowers on a litter
         of fragrant plants, that, under a pall of Indian robes,
         supported all that now remained of the ardent, high-souled,
         and generous Cora.  At her feet was seated the desolate
         Munro.  His aged head was bowed nearly to the earth, in
         compelled submission to the stroke of Providence.
          But sad and melancholy as this group may easily be
         imagined, it was far less touching than another, that
         occupied the opposite space of the same area.  Seated, as in
         life, with his form and limbs arranged in grave and decent
         composure, Uncas appeared, arrayed in the most gorgeous
         ornaments that the wealth of the tribe could furnish.  Rich
         plumes nodded above his head; wampum, bracelets, and medals,
         adorned his person in profusion.
          The day was drawing to the close of its first
         quarter, and yet no sound louder than a stifled sob had been
         heard among the multitude since dawn, nor had even a limb
         been moved throughout that long and painful period, except
         to perform the simple and touching offerings that were made,
         from time to time, in commemoration of the dead.
          At length, the sage of the Delawares stretched
         forth an arm, and leaning on the shoulders of his
         attendants, he arose with an air as feeble as if another age
         had already intervened between the man who had met his
         nation the preceding day, and him who now tottered on his
         elevated stand.
          "Men of the Delaware!"  he said, in hollow tones
         that sounded like a voice charged with some prophetic
         mission.  "The face of the Manitou is behind a cloud!  His
         eye is turned from you.  His ears are shut.  His tongue
         gives no answer.  You see Him not, yet His judgments are
         before you.  Let your hearts be open and your spirits tell
         no lie.  Men of the Delaware!  The face of the Manitou is
         behind a cloud."
          A signal was now given, by one of the elder
         chiefs, to the women who crowded that part of the circle
         near which the body of Cora lay.  Obedient to the sign, the
         girls raised the bier to the elevation of their heads, and
         advanced with slow and regulated steps, chanting, as they
         proceeded.
          The place which had been chosen for the grave of
         Cora was a little knoll, where a cluster of young and
         healthful pines had taken root, forming of themselves a
         melancholy and appropriate shade over the spot.  On reaching
         it the girls deposited their burden, and continued for many
         minutes waiting, with characteristic patience, and native
         timidity, for some evidence that they whose feelings were
         most concerned were content with the arrangement.  At length
         the scout, who alone understood their habits, said, in their
         own language,
          "My daughters have done well.  The white men thank
         them."
          Munro sensed that the time was come for him to
         exert what is, perhaps, the greatest effort of which human
         nature is capable.  He bared his gray locks, and looked
         around the timid and quiet throng by which he was encircled
         with a firm and collected countenance.  Then motioning with
         his hand for the scout to listen, he said,
          "Say to these kind and gentle females, that a
         heartbroken and failing man returns them his thanks."  Then
         he added, in a voice of choked firmness, "Cora, my child!
         If the prayers of a heartbroken father could help you now,
         how blessed should you be!  Come, gentlemen," he said,
         looking about him with an air of lofty composure, though the
         anguish that quivered in his faded countenance was far too
         powerful to be concealed,  "our duty here is ended.  Let us
         depart."
          With Heyward and Alice following in sorrowing
         silence, all the white men, with the exception of Hawkeye,
         passed from before the eyes of the Delawares, and were soon
         buried in the vast forests of that region.
          Deserted by all of his color, Hawkeye returned to
         the spot where his own sympathies led him.  He was just in
         time to catch a parting look at the features of Uncas, whom
         the Delawares were already enclosing in his last vestments
         of skins.  They paused to permit the longing and lingering
         gaze of the sturdy woodsman, and when it was ended, the body
         was enveloped, never to be opened again.
          Now Chingachgook became the object of the common
         attention.  He had not yet spoken, and something consolatory
         and instructive was expected from so renowned a chief on an
         occasion of such interest.
          "Why do my brothers mourn?"  he said, regarding
         the dark race of dejected warriors by whom he was encircled.
         "Why do my daughters weep?  that a young man has gone to the
         happy hunting-grounds; that a chief has filled his time with
         honor?  He was good.  He was dutiful.  He was brave.  Who
         can deny it?  The Manitou had need of such a warrior, and He
         has called him away.  As for me, the son and father of
         Uncas, I am a blazed pine, in a clearing of the pale-faces.
         My race has gone from the shores of the salt lake, and the
         hills of the Delawares.   I am alone."
          "No, no" cried Hawkeye, who had been gazing with a
         yearning look at the rigid features of his friend.  "No,
         Sagamore, not alone.  The gifts of our colors may be
         different, but God has so placed us as to journey in the
         same path.  I have no kin, and I may also say, like you, no
         people.  He was your son, and a redskin by nature, and it
         may be that your blood was nearer - but if ever I forget the
         lad who has so often fought at my side in war, and slept at
         my side in peace, may He who made us all, whatever may be
         our color or our gifts, forget me!  The boy has left us for
         a time, but, Sagamore, you are not alone."
          Chingachgook grasped the hand that, in the warmth
         of feeling, the scout had stretched across the fresh earth.
         And in that attitude of friendship these two sturdy and
         intrepid woodsmen bowed their heads together, while scalding
         tears fell to their feet, watering the grave of Uncas like
         drops of falling rain.
          In the midst of the awful stillness with which
         such a burst of feeling, coming, as it did, from the two
         most renowned warriors of that region, was received,
         Tamenund lifted his voice to disperse the multitude.
          "It is enough," he said.  "Go, children of the
         Delaware, the anger of the Manitou is not done.  Why should
         Tamenund stay? The pale-faces are masters of the earth, and
         the time of the redmen has not yet come again.  My day has
         been too long.  In the morning I saw the sons of Unamis
         happy and strong; and yet, before the night has come, I have
         lived to see the last warrior of the wise race of the
         Mohicans."

Return to Study Guide #9

Revised November 9, 2003
by Tom Gallup