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

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