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11 - The Last Of The Mohicans - James Cooper · Adventure Books Library

• Chapter eleven. Quote cursed be my tribe, if I forgive him quote Shylock. The Indian had selected for this desirable purpose 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. It possessed no other apparent advantage for a resting place than in its elevation and form, which might render defense easy and surprise nearly impossible. As Hayward, however, no longer expected that rescue, which time and distance now rendered so improbable. He regarded these little peculiarities with an eye devoid of interest, voting himself entirely to the comfort and condolence of his feebler companions. The Narragansets were suffered to browse on the branches of the trees and shrubs that were thinly scattered over the summit of the hill, while the remains of their provisions were spread under the shade of a beach that stretched its horizontal limbs like a canopy. Above them. 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 participating in the revolting meal, and apparently buried in the deepest thought. This abstinence, so remarkable in an Indian, when he possessed the means of satisfying hunger at length, attracted the notice of Heyward. The young man willingly believed that the Huron deliberated on the most eligible manner of eluding the vigilance of his associates, with a view to assist his plans by any suggestion of his own, and to strengthen the temptation. He left the beach and straggled as if without an object to the spot worthy Renard was seated. Has not Margua kept the sun in his face long enough to escape all danger from the Canadians. He asked, as though no longer doubtful of the good intelligence established between them, And will not the chief of William Henry be better pleased to see his daughters before another night may have hardened his heart to their loss, to make him less liberal in his reward? Do the pale faces love their children less in the morning than at night? Asked the Indian coldly, by no means return earned Heyward, anxious to recall his heir if he had made one. The white man may and does, often forget the burial place of his father's. He sometimes ceases to remember those he should love and is promised to cherish. But the affection of a parent for his child is never permitted to die. And is the heart are the white headed chief? Soft? And will he think of the babes that his squaws have given him? He is hard on his warriors, and his eyes are made of stone. He is severe to the idol and wicked, but to the sober and deserving he is a leader both just and humane. I have known many fond and tender parents, but never have I seen a man whose heart was softer toward his child. You have seen the gray head in front of his warriors Makua. But I have seen his eyes swimming in water when he spoke of those children who are now in your power. Heyward paused, for he knew not how to construe the remarkable expression that gleamed across the swarthy features of the attentive Indian. At first, it seemed as if the remembrance of the promised reward grew vivid in his mind while he listened to the sources of parental feeling which were to assure its possession. But as Duncan proceeded, the expression of joy became so fiercely malignant that it was impossible not to apprehend it proceeded from some passion more sinister than avarice Goat, said the Huron, suppressing the alarming exhibition in an instant, in a deathlike calmness of Countmans, go to the dark haired daughter and say, Machl wants to speak. The father will remember what the child promises. Duncan, who interpreted this speech to express a wish for some additional pledge that the promised gifts should not be withheld, slowly and reluctantly, repaired to the place where the sisters were now resting from their fatigue to communicate its purport to Cora. You understand the nature of an Indian's wishes, he concluded, as he led her toward the place where she was expected, and must be prodigal of your offers of powder and blankets. Ardent spirits are, however, the most prized by such as he. Nor would it be amiss to add some boon from your own hand with that grace you so well know how to practice. Remember Cora, that on your presence of mind an ingenuity, even your life, as well as that of Alice, may in some measure depend Heyward, and yours. Mine is of little moment. It is already sold to my king, and is apprized to be seized by any enemy who may possess the power. I have no father to expect me, and but few friends to lament a fate which I have corded with the insatiable longings of youth after distinction. But hush, we approached the Indian Maqua. The lady with whom you wish to speak is here. 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 saying coldly, when the Huron talks to the women, his tribes shut their ears. Duncan, still lingering, as if refusing to comply, Corus said, with a calm smile, you hear, Heyward, and delicacy at least should urge you to retire. Go to Alice and comfort her with our reviving process. She waited until he had departed, and then, turning to the Native, with a dignity of her sex in her voice and manner, she added, what would la Renhard say to the daughter of Monroe Listen, said the Indian, laying his hand firmly upon her 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. Maquall was born a chief and a warrior among the Red Hurons of the Lakes. He saw the sons 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 his Canadian fathers came into the woods and taught him to drink the fire water, and he became a rascal. The Urons drove him from the grace of his father's as they would chase the hunted buffalo. He ran down the shores of the lakes and followed their outlet to the city of Cannon. There he hunted and fished till the people chased him again through the woods into the arms of his enemies. The chief, who was born a Huron, was at last a warrior among the mohawks. Something like this I had heard before, said Cora, observing that he paused to suppress those passions which began to burn with too bright a flame as he recalled the recollection of his supposed injuries. Was it the thought of le Renard that his head was not made of rock? Who gave him the fire water? Who made him a villain? Twas the pale faces the people of your own color, am I answerable? The thoughtless and unprincipled men exist whose shades of countenance may resemble mine? Cora calm, he demanded of the excited savage. No, Maqua is a man and not a fool such as you never opened their lips to the burning stream. The great Spirit has given you wisdom. What then have I to do or say? In the matter of your misfortunes, not to say of your errors listen, repeated the Indian, resuming his earnest attitude. When his English and French fathers dug up the hatchet, le Renard struck the war posts of the Mohawks and went out against his own nation. The pale faces have driven the redskins from their hunting grounds, and now when they fight, a white man leads the way. The old chief at Horican, your father was the great captain of our war party. He said to the Mohawks, do this and do that, And he was minded. He made a law that if an Indian swallowed the fire water and came into the cloth wigwams of his warriors, it should not be forgotten. Makwa, foolish opened his mouth, and the hot liquor led him into the cabin of Monroe. What did the gray head let his daughter say? He forgot not his words, and it justice, but punishing the offender, said the undoald daughter. Justice, repeated the Indian, casting an oblique glance of the most ferocious expression at her unyielding countenance. Is it justice to make evil and then punish for it? Maqua was not himself, It was the fire water that spoke and acted for him, But Monroe did believe it. The Iran chief was tied up before all the pale face wereriors, and whipped like a dog. Cora remained silent, for she knew not how to palliate this imprudent severity on the part of her father in a manner to suit the comprehension of an Indian see, continued Makua, 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. I had thought, resumed Cora that an Indian warrior was patient, and that his spirit felt not and knew not the pain his body suffered. When the Chippewas tied Makua to the stake and cut this gash, said the other, laying his finger on a deep scar, the Huron laughed in their faces and told them women struck so light. His spirit was then in the clouds, But when he felt the blowsom and row. His spirit lay under the birch. The spirit of a huron is never drunk. It remembers forever, but it may be appeased. If my father has done you this injustice, show him how an Indian can forgive an injury and take back his daughters. You have heard from Major Heyward makwas shook his head forbidding the repetition of offers he so much despised. What would you have? Continued Cora, after a most painful pause, while the conviction forced itself on her mind that the too sanguine and generous Duncan had been cruelly deceived by the cunning Savage. What a huron loves good for good, bad for bad? You would then revenge the injury inflicted by Monroe on his helpless daughters. Would it not be more like a man to go before his face and take the satisfaction of a warrior? The arms of a pale face are long and their knives sharp, returned the savage with a malignant laugh. Why should let Renard go among the muskets of his warriors when he holds the spirit of the gray head in his hand? Name your intention, Margua said Cora, struggling with herself to speak with steady calmness. Is it to lead us prisoners to the woods, or do you contemplate 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 your malice on me. Purchase wealth by her safety, and satisfy your revenge with a single victim. The loss of both his daughters might bring the aged man to his grave. And where would then be the satisfaction of le renard lessen, said the Indian again. The light eyes go back to the Horican and tell the old chief what has been done. If the dark haired woman will swear, by the great spirit of her father's to tell no lie, what must I promise? Demanded Cora, still maintaining a secret ascendancy over the fierce native by the collected and feminine dignity of her presence. When Maqua left his people, his wife was given to another chief. He has now made friends with the Hurons and will go back to the graves of his tribe on the shars of the great Lake. Let the daughter of the English chief follow and live in his wigwam forever. However revolting a proposal of such a character might prove to Cora, she retained, notwithstanding her powerful disgust, sufficient self command to reply without betraying the weakness. And what pleasure would Makua find in sharing his cabin with a wife he did not love, one who would be of a nation and color different from his own. It would be better to take the gold of Monroe, and by the heart of some Uron made with his gifts. The Indian made no reply for nearer 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 chase female might endure. While she was shrinking within herself in dread of having her ears wounded by some proposal still more shocking than the last, the voice of Makua answered, in its tones of deepest malignancy. When the blows scorched the back of the Uran, he would know where to find a woman to feel the smart The daughter of Munroe would draw his water, o his corn, and cock his venison. The body of the gray head would sleep among his cannon, but his heart would lie within reach of the knife. A less till monster. Well dost thou deserve thy tread's name, cried Cora in an ungovernable burst of filial indignation. None but a fiend could mediate such a vengeance. But thou overraatest thy power, you shall find it is in truth the heart of Monroe you hold, and that it will defy your utmost malice. The Indian answered this bold defiance by a ghastly smile that showed an unaltered purpose, while he motioned her away as if to close the conference forever. Cora, already regretting her precipitation, was obliged to comply, for Maqua instantly left the spot and approached his gluttonous comrades. Heyward flew to the side of the agitated female and demanded the result of a dialog that he had watched at a distance with so much interest. But unwilling to alarm the fears of Alice, she evaded a direct reply, betraying only by her anxious looks fastened on the slightest movements of her captors to the reiterated and earnest questions of her sister concerning their probable destination. She made no other answer than by pointing toward the dark group with an agitation she could not control, and murmuring as she folded alice to her bosom. There there read our fortunes in their faces. We shall see, we shall see. The action and the choked utterance of Cora spoke more impressively than any words, and quickly drew the attention of her companions on that spot where her own was riveted with an intenseness that nothing but the importance of the state could create. When Maukl reached the cluster of lulling savages, who gorged with their disgusting meal, lay stretched on the earth in brutal indulgence, he commenced, speaking with the dignity of an Indian chief. The first syllables he uttered had the effect to cause his listeners to raise themselves at attitudes of respectful attention. As the Huron used his native language, the prisoners, notwithstanding the caution of the natives, had kept them within swing of their tomahawks, could only conjecture the substance of his harangue from the nature of those significant gestures with which an Indian always illustrates his eloquence. At first, the language, as well as the action of Maqua, appeared calm and deliberative. When he had succeeded in sufficiently awakening the attention of his comrades, Heyward fancied by his pointing so frequently toward the direction of the Great Lakes, that he spoke of the land of their fathers and of their distant tribe. Frequent indications of applause escaped the listeners, who, as they uttered the express of Hugh, looked at each other in commendation to the speaker. Le Renaud was too skillful to neglect his advantage. He now spoke of the long and painful route by which they had left those spacious grounds and happy villages to come in battle against the enemies of their Canadian fathers. He enumerated the warriors of the party, their several merits, their frequent services to the nation, their wounds, the number of scalps they had taken. Whenever he alluded to any present, and the subtle Indian neglected none. The dark countenance of the flattered individual gleamed with exultation, nor did he even hesitate to assert the truth of the words by gestures of applause and confirmation. Then the voice of the speaker fell and lost the loud, animated tones of triumph with which he had enumerated their deeds of success and victory. He described the Cataract of Glens, the impregnable position of its rocky island, with its caverns, and its numerous rapids and whirlpools. He named the name of La Longue Carabine, and paused until the forest beneath them had sent up the last echo of a loud and long yell, with which the hated appellation was received. He pointed toward the youthful military captive and described the death of a favorite warrior had been precipitated into the deep ravine by his hand. He not only mentioned the fate of him, who, hanging between heaven and Earth, had presented such a spectacle of horror to the whole band, but he acted anew the terrors of his situation, his resolution, and his death on the branches of a sapling, And finally he rapped. But he recounted the manner in which each of their friends had fallen, never failing to touch upon their courage, and their most acknowledged virtues. When this recital of events was ended, his voice once more changed and became plaintive and even musical. In its low guttural sounds. He now spoke of the wives and children of the slain, their destitution, their misery both physical and moral, their distance, and at last, of their unavenged wrongs. Then, suddenly, lifting his voice through a pitch of terrific energy, he concluded by demanding, are the Iran's dogs to bear this? Who shall say to the wife of Monoqua, that the fishes have his scalp and that his nation have not taken revenge? Who will dare meet the mother of wassn't to me that scornful woman with his an clean? What shall be said to the old men when they ask us for scalps and we have not a hair from a white head to give him? The women will point their fingers at us. There is a dark spot on the name of the Rans, and it must be hid in blood. His voice was no longer audible in the burst of rage, which now broke into the air, as if the wood, instead of containing so small a band, was filled with the nation. During the foregoing address. The progress of the speaker was too plainly read by those most interested in his success through the medium of the countenances of the men he addressed. They had answered his melancholy in mourning by sympathy and sorrow, his assertions by gestures of confirmation, and his boasting with the exultation of savages. When he spoke of courage, their looks were firm and responsive. When he alluded to their injuries, their eyes kindled with fury. When he mentioned the taunts of the women, they dropped their heads in shame. But when he pointed out their means of vengeance, he struck a chord which never failed to thrill in the breast of an Indian. With the first intimation that it was within their reach, the whole band sprang upon their feet as one man, giving utterance to their rage. In the most frantic cries, they rushed upon their prisoners in a body with drawn knives and uplifted tomahawks. Heyward threw himself between the sisters and the foremost, whom he grappled with a desperate strength that for a moment checked his violence. The unexpected resistance gave Makwa time to interpose and with rapid nunciation and animated gesture, he drew the attention of the band again to himself. In that language he knew so well how to assume, he diverted his comrades from their instant purpose and invited them to prolong along the misery of their victims. His proposal was received with acclamations and executed with the swiftness of thought. Two powerful warriors cast themselves on Heyward, while another was occupied in securing the less active singing master. Neither of the captives, however, submitted without a desperate though fruitless struggle. Even David hurled his assailant to the earth. Nor was Heyward secured until the victory over his companion enabled the Indians to direct their united force on that object. He was then bound and fastened to the body of the sapling on whose branches Maqua had acted the pantomime of the falling Huron. When the young soldier regained his recollection, he had the painful certainty before his eyes that a common fate was intended for the whole party. On his right was Cora in a durance. Snam were to his own, pale and agitated, but with an eye whose steady look still read the proceedings of their enemies. On his left. The wives, which bound her to a pine, performed that office for Alice, which her trembling limbs refused, and alone kept her fragile form from sinking. Her hands were clasped before her in prayer, but instead of looking upward toward the power which alone could rescue them, her unconscious looks wandered to the countenance of Duncan. With infantile dependency. David had contended, and the novelty of the circumstance held him silent in deliberation of the propriety of the unusual currents. The vengeance of the Hurons had not taken a new direction, and they prepared to execute it with that barbarous ingenuity with which they were familiarized by the practice of centuries. Some sought knots to raise the blazing pile. One was riving the splinters of pine in order to pierce the flesh of their captives with the burning fragments, and others bent the tops of two samplings to the earth in order to suspend Heyward by the arms between the recoiling branches. But the vengeance of Makua sought a deeper and more malignant enjoyment, while the less refined monsters of the band prepared before the eyes of those who were to suffer those well known and vulgar means of torture. He approached Cora and pointed out, with the most malign expression of countenance, the speedy fate that awaited her a He added, what says the daughter of Monreau, Her head is too good to find a pillow in the wigwam of le Renard. Will she like it better when it rolls about this hill a plaything for the wolves. Her bosom cannot nurse the children of a Uron. She will see it spit upon by Indians. What means the monster, demanded the astonished Heyward. Nothing, was the firm reply. He is a savage, a barbarous and ignorant savage, and knows not what he does. Let us find leisure with our dying breath to ask for him penitence and pardon. Pardon, echoed the fierce Chiron, mistaking in his anger the meaning of her words. The memory of an Indian is no longer than the arm of the pale faces, his mercy shorter than their justice. Say shall I send the yellow hair to her father, and will you follow Makua to the Great Lakes to carry his flater and feed him with corn. Cora beckoned him away with an emotion of disgust she could not control. Leave me, She said, with a solemnity that for a moment checked the barbarity of the Indian. You mingle bitterness with my prayers. You stand between me and my God. The slight impression produced on the savage was, however, soon forgotten, and he continued pointing with taunting irony toward Alice. Look, the child weeps, she's too young to die. Send her to Monroe 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. What says he dear is, Cora asked the trembling voice of Alice. Did he speak of sending me to her father? For many moments, the elder sister looked upon the younger with a countenance that wavered with powerful and contending emotions. At length, she spoke, though her tones had lost their rich and calm fulness. In an expression of tenderness that seemed maternal, Alice, she said, the Huron offers us both life, nay more than both. He offers to restore Duncan. Are invaluable Duncan as well as you, to our friends, to our father, to our heart stricken, childless father. If I would bow down this rebellious, stubborn pride of mine and consent, Her voice became choked, and clasping her hands, she looked upward, as if seeking in her agony intelligence from a wisdom that was infinite. Say On, cried Alice, to what, dearest Cora, Oh, that the proffer were made to me to save you, to cheer our aged father, to restore Duncan. How cheerfully would I die? Die? Repeated Cora, with a calmer and firmer voice. That were easy. Perhaps the alternative may not be less, so he would have me. She continued her accents, sinking under a deep consciousness of the degradation of the proposal. Follow him to the wilderness, go to the habitations of the Urons, to remain there, in short, to become his wife. Speak, then, Alice, child of my affections, sister of my love, and you too, Major Heyward aid, my weak reason with your counsel is life to be purchased by such a sacrifice? Will you, Alice, receive it at my hands at such a price? And you, duncan guide me control between you? For I am wholly yours would I echoed the indignant and astonished youth, Cora. Cora, you jest with her misery name not the horrid alternative again, the thought itself is worse than a follow than death. That such would be your answer I well knew, exclaimed Cora, her cheeks flushing and her dark eyes once more sparkling with the lingering emotions of a woman. What says my alice for her? I will submit without another murmur. Although both Heyward and Cora listened with painful suspense and the deepest attention, no sounds were heard in reply. It appeared as if the delicate and sensitive form of Alice would shrink into itself. As she listened to this proposal. 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 against the tree, looking 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 deep sign of unconquerable disapprobation. No, no, no better than retire as we have lived together. Then die, shouted Makua, 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 Duncan to desperation. Collecting all his energies in one effort, he snapped the twigs which bound him and rushed upon another savage, who was preparing, with loud yells and a more deliberate aim to repeat the blow. They encountered, grappled, and fell to the earth together. The naked body of his antagonists afforded Heyward no means of holding his adversary, who glided from his grasp and rose again, with one knee on his chest, pressing him down with the weight of a giant. Duncan already saw the knife gleaming in the air. When a whistling sound swept past him and was rather accompanying than followed by the sharp crack of a rifle. He felt his breast relieved from the load it had endured. He saw the savage expression of his adversary's countenance changed to a look of vacant wildness when the Indian fell dead on the faded leaves by his side. End of Chapter eleven.