The Last of the Mohicans: A Narrative of 1757

by James Fenimore Cooper

  CHAPTER XI

  "Cursed by my tribe If I forgive him."

  _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 inquestion was high and precipitous; its top flattened, as usual; but withone of its sides more than ordinarily irregular. It possessed no otherapparent advantage for a resting-place than in its elevation and form,which might render defence easy, and surprise nearly impossible. AsHeyward, however, no longer expected that rescue which time and distancenow rendered so improbable, he regarded these little peculiarities withan eye devoid of interest, devoting himself entirely to the comfort andcondolence of his feebler companions. The Narragansetts were suffered tobrowse on the branches of the trees and shrubs that were thinlyscattered over the summit of the hill, while the remains of theirprovisions were spread under the shade of a beech, that stretched itshorizontal limbs like a canopy above them.

  Notwithstanding the swiftness of their flight, one of the Indians hadfound an opportunity to strike a straggling fawn with an arrow, and hadborne the more preferable fragments of the victim patiently on hisshoulders, to the stopping-place. Without any aid from the science ofcookery, he was immediately employed, in common with his fellows, ingorging himself with this digestible sustenance. Magua alone sat apart,without participation in the revolting meal, and apparently buried inthe deepest thought.

  This abstinence, so remarkable in an Indian, when he possessed the meansof satisfying hunger, at length attracted the notice of Heyward. Theyoung man willingly believed that the Huron deliberated on the mosteligible manner of eluding the vigilance of his associates. With a viewto assist his plans, by any suggestion of his own, and to strengthen thetemptation, he left the beech, and straggled as if without an object, tothe spot where Le Renard was seated.

  "Has not Magua kept the sun in his face long enough to escape all dangerfrom the Canadians?" he asked, as though no longer doubtful of the goodintelligence established between them; "and will not the chief ofWilliam Henry be better pleased to see his daughters before anothernight may have hardened his heart to their loss, to make him lessliberal in his reward?"

  "Do the pale-faces love their children less in the morning than atnight?" asked the Indian, coldly.

  "By no means," returned Heyward, anxious to recall his error, if he hadmade one; "the white man may, and does often, forget the burial-place ofhis fathers; he sometimes ceases to remember those he should love andhas promised to cherish; but the affection of a parent for his child isnever permitted to die."

  "And is the heart of the white-headed chief soft, and will he think ofthe babes that his squaws have given him? He is hard to his warriors,and his eyes are made of stone!"

  "He is severe to the idle and wicked, but to the sober and deserving heis a leader, but just and humane. I have known many fond and tenderparents, but never have I seen a man whose heart was softer towards hischild. You have seen the gray-head in front of his warriors, Magua; butI have seen his eyes swimming in water, when he spoke of those childrenwho are now in your power!"

  Heyward paused, for he knew not how to construe the remarkableexpression that gleamed across the swarthy features of the attentiveIndian. At first it seemed as if the remembrance of the promised rewardgrew vivid in his mind, while he listened to the sources of parentalfeeling which were to assure its possession; but as Duncan proceeded,the expression of joy became so fiercely malignant, that it wasimpossible not to apprehend it proceeded from some passion more sinisterthan avarice.

  "Go," said the Huron, suppressing the alarming exhibition in an instant,in a death-like calmness of countenance; "go to the dark-haireddaughter, and say, Magua waits to speak. The father will remember whatthe child promises."

  Duncan, who interpreted this speech to express a wish for someadditional pledge that the promised gifts should not be withheld,slowly and reluctantly repaired to the place where the sisters were nowresting from their fatigue, to communicate its purport to Cora.

  "You understand the nature of an Indian's wishes," he concluded, as heled her towards the place where she was expected, "and must be prodigalof your offers of powder and blankets. Ardent spirits are, however, themost prized by such as he; nor would it be amiss to add some boon fromyour own hand, with that grace you so well know how to practise.Remember, Cora, that on your presence of mind and ingenuity even yourlife, 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 a prizeto be seized by any enemy who may possess the power. I have no father toexpect me, and but few friends to lament a fate which I have courtedwith the insatiable longings of youth after distinction. But hush! weapproach the Indian. Magua, the lady with whom you wish to speak ishere."

  The Indian rose slowly from his seat, and stood for near a minute silentand motionless. He then signed with his hand for Heyward to retire,saying coldly,--

  "When the Huron talks to the women, his tribe shut their ears."

  Duncan, still lingering, as if refusing to comply, Cora said, with acalm smile--

  "You hear, Heyward, and delicacy at least should urge you to retire. Goto Alice, and comfort her with our reviving prospects."

  She waited until he had departed, and then turning to the native, withthe dignity of her sex in her voice and manner, she added, "What wouldLe Renard say to the daughter of Munro?"

  "Listen," said the Indian, laying his hand firmly upon her arm, as ifwilling to draw her utmost attention to his words; a movement that Coraas 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 runoff in the streams, before he saw a pale-face; and he was happy! Thenhis Canada fathers came into the woods, and taught him to drink thefire-water, and he became a rascal. The Hurons drove him from the gravesof his fathers, as they would chase the hunted buffalo. He ran down theshores of the lakes, and followed their outlet to the 'city of cannon.'There he hunted and fished, till the people chased him again through thewoods into the arms of his enemies. The chief, who was born a Huron, wasat last a warrior among the Mohawks!"

  "Something like this I had heard before," said Cora, observing that hepaused to suppress those passions which began to burn with too bright aflame, as he recalled the recollection of his supposed injuries.

  "Was it the fault of Le Renard that his head was not made of rock? Whogave him the fire-water? who made him a villain? 'Twas the pale-faces,the people of your own color."

  "And am I answerable that thoughtless and unprincipled men exist, whoseshades of countenance may resemble mine?" Cora calmly demanded of theexcited savage.

  "No; Magua is a man, and not a fool; such as you never open their lipsto the burning stream: the Great Spirit has given you wisdom!"

  "What then have I to do, or say, in the matter of your misfortunes, notto say of your errors?"

  "Listen," repeated the Indian, resuming his earnest attitude; "when hisEnglish and French fathers dug up the hatchet, Le Renard struck thewar-post of the Mohawks, and went out against his own nation. Thepale-faces have driven the redskins from their hunting-grounds, and nowwhen 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 theMohawks do this, and do that, and he was minded. He made a law, that ifan Indian swallowed the fire-water, and came into the cloth wigwams ofhis warriors, it should not be forgotten. Magua foolishly opened hismouth, and the hot liquor led him into the cabin of Munro. What did thegray-head? let his daughter say."

  "He forgot not his words, and did justice by punishing the offender,"said the undaunted daughter.

  "Justice!" repeated the Indian, casting an oblique glance of the mostferocious expression at her unyielding countenance; "is it j
ustice tomake evil, and then punish for it? Magua was not himself; it was thefire-water that spoke and acted for him! but Munro did not believe it.The Huron chief was tied up before all the pale-faced warriors, andwhipped like a dog."

  Cora remained silent, for she knew not how to palliate this imprudentseverity on the part of her father, in a manner to suit thecomprehension of an Indian.

  "See!" continued Magua, tearing aside the slight calico that veryimperfectly concealed his painted breast; "here are scars given byknives and bullets--of these a warrior may boast before his nation; butthe gray-head has left marks on the back of the Huron chief, that hemust hide, like a squaw, under this painted cloth of the whites."

  "I had thought," resumed Cora, "that an Indian warrior was patient, andthat his spirit felt not, and knew not, the pain his body suffered."

  "When the Chippewas tied Magua to the stake, and cut this gash," saidthe other, laying his finger on a deep scar, "the Huron laughed in theirfaces, and told them, Women struck so light! His spirit was then in theclouds! But when he felt the blows of Munro, his spirit lay under thebirch. The spirit of a Huron is never drunk; it remembers forever!"

  "But it may be appeased. If my father has done you this injustice, showhim how an Indian can forgive an injury, and take back his daughters.You have heard from Major Heyward--"

  Magua shook his head, forbidding the repetition of offers he so muchdespised.

  "What would you have?" continued Cora, after a most painful pause, whilethe conviction forced itself on her mind that the too sanguine andgenerous Duncan had been cruelly deceived by the cunning of the savage.

  "What a Huron loves--good for good; bad for bad!"

  "You would then revenge the injury inflicted by Munro on his helplessdaughters. Would it not be more like a man to go before his face, andtake the satisfaction of a warrior?"

  "The arms of the pale-faces are long, and their knives sharp!" returnedthe savage, with a malignant laugh: "why should Le Renard go among themuskets of his warriors, when he holds the spirit of the gray-head inhis hand?"

  "Name your intention, Magua," said Cora, struggling with herself tospeak with steady calmness. "Is it to lead us prisoners to the woods, ordo you contemplate even some greater evil? Is there no reward, no meansof palliating the injury, and of softening your heart? At least, releasemy gentle sister, and pour out all your malice on me. Purchase wealth byher safety, and satisfy your revenge with a single victim. The loss ofboth of his daughters might bring the aged man to his grave, and wherewould then be the satisfaction of Le Renard?"

  "Listen," said the Indian again. "The light eyes can go back to theHorican, and tell the old chief what has been done, if the dark-hairedwoman will swear by the Great Spirit of her fathers to tell no lie."

  "What must I promise?" demanded Cora, still maintaining a secretascendency over the fierce native, by the collected and feminine dignityof her presence.

  "When Magua left his people, his wife was given to another chief; he hasnow made friends with the Hurons, and will go back to the graves of histribe, on the shores of the great lake. Let the daughter of the Englishchief 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, sufficientself-command to reply, without betraying the weakness.

  "And what pleasure would Magua find in sharing his cabin with a wife hedid not love; one who would be of a nation and color different from hisown? It would be better to take the gold of Munro, and buy the heart ofsome Huron maid with his gifts."

  The Indian made no reply for near a minute, but bent his fierce looks onthe countenance of Cora, in such wavering glances, that her eyes sankwith shame, under an impression that, for the first time, they hadencountered an expression that no chaste female might endure. While shewas shrinking within herself, in dread of having her ears wounded bysome proposal still more shocking than the last, the voice of Maguaanswered, in its tones of deepest malignancy--

  "When the blows scorched the back of the Huron, he would know where tofind a woman to feel the smart. The daughter of Munro would draw hiswater, hoe his corn, and cook his venison. The body of the gray-headwould sleep among his cannon, but his heart would lie within reach ofthe knife of Le Subtil."

  "Monster! well dost thou deserve thy treacherous name!" cried Cora, inan ungovernable burst of filial indignation. "None but a fiend couldmeditate such a vengeance! But thou overratest thy power! You shall findit is, in truth, the heart of Munro you hold, and that it will defy yourutmost malice!"

  The Indian answered this bold defiance by a ghastly smile, that showedan unaltered purpose, while he motioned her away, as if to close theconference forever. Cora, already regretting her precipitation, wasobliged to comply, for Magua instantly left the spot, and approached hisgluttonous comrades. Heyward flew to the side of the agitated female,and demanded the result of a dialogue that he had watched at a distancewith so much interest. But unwilling to alarm the fears of Alice, sheevaded a direct reply, betraying only by her countenance her utter wantof success, and keeping her anxious looks fastened on the slightestmovements of their captors. To the reiterated and earnest questions ofher sister, concerning their probable destination, she made no otheranswer than by pointing towards the dark group, with an agitation shecould not control, and murmuring, as she folded Alice to her bosom--

  "There, there; read our fortunes in their faces; we shall see; we shallsee!"

  The action, and the choked utterance of Cora, spoke more impressivelythan any words, and quickly drew the attention of her companions on thatspot where her own was riveted with an intenseness that nothing but theimportance of the stake could create.

  When Magua reached the cluster of lolling savages, who, gorged withtheir disgusting meal, lay stretched on the earth in brutal indulgence,he commenced speaking with the dignity of an Indian chief. The firstsyllables he uttered had the effect to cause his listeners to raisethemselves in attitudes of respectful attention. As the Huron used hisnative language, the prisoners, notwithstanding the caution of thenatives had kept them within the swing of their tomahawks, could onlyconjecture the substance of his harrangue, from the nature of thosesignificant gestures with which an Indian always illustrates hiseloquence.

  At first, the language, as well as the action of Magua, appeared calmand deliberate. When he had succeeded in sufficiently awakening theattention of his comrades, Heyward fancied, by his pointing sofrequently towards the direction of the great lakes, that he spoke ofthe land of their fathers, and of their distant tribe. Frequentindications of applause escaped the listeners, who, as they uttered theexpressive "Hugh!" looked at each other in commendation of the speaker.Le Renard was too skilful to neglect his advantage. He now spoke of thelong and painful route by which they had left those spacious grounds andhappy villages, to come and battle against the enemies of theirCanadian fathers. He enumerated the warriors of the party; theirseveral merits; their frequent services to the nation; their wounds, andthe number of the scalps they had taken. Whenever he alluded to anypresent (and the subtle Indian neglected none), the dark countenance ofthe flattered individual gleamed with exultation, nor did he evenhesitate to assert the truth of the words, by gestures of applause andconfirmation. Then the voice of the speaker fell, and lost the loud,animated tones of triumph with which he had enumerated their deeds ofsuccess and victory. He described the cataract of Glenn's; theimpregnable position of its rocky island, with its caverns, and itsnumerous 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 aloud and long yell, with which the hated appellation was received. Hepointed towards the youthful military captive, and described the deathof a favorite warrior, who had been precipitated into the deep ravine byhis hand. He not only mentioned the fate of him who, hanging betweenheaven and earth, had presented such a spectacle of horror to the wholeband, but he acted anew the terrors of his situation, his resolution andhi
s death, on the branches of a sapling; and, finally, he rapidlyrecounted the manner in which each of their friends had fallen, neverfailing to touch upon their courage, and their most acknowledgedvirtues. When this recital of events was ended, his voice once morechanged, and became plaintive, and even musical, in its low gutturalsounds. He now spoke of the wives and children of the slain; theirdestitution; their misery, both physical and moral; their distance; and,at last, of their unavenged wrongs. Then suddenly lifting his voice to apitch of terrific energy, he concluded, by demanding,--

  "Are the Hurons dogs to bear this? Who shall say to the wife of Menowguathat the fishes have his scalp, and that his nation have not takenrevenge! Who will dare meet the mother of Wassawattimie, that scornfulwoman, with his hands clean! What shall be said to the old men when theyask us for scalps, and we have not a hair from a white head to givethem! The women will point their fingers at us. There is a dark spot onthe names of the Hurons, and it must be hid in blood!"

  His voice was no longer audible in the burst of rage which now brokeinto the air, as if the wood, instead of containing so small a band, wasfilled with the nation. During the foregoing address the progress of thespeaker was too plainly read by those most interested in his success,through the medium of the countenances of the men he addressed. They hadanswered his melancholy and mourning by sympathy and sorrow; hisassertions, by gestures of confirmation; and his boastings, with theexultation of savages. When he spoke of courage, their looks were firmand responsive; when he alluded to their injuries, their eyes kindledwith fury; when he mentioned the taunts of the women, they dropped theirheads in shame; but when he pointed out their means of vengeance, hestruck 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 bandsprang upon their feet as one man; giving utterance to their rage in themost frantic cries, they rushed upon their prisoners in a body withdrawn knives and uplifted tomahawks. Heyward threw himself between thesisters and the foremost, whom he grappled with a desperate strengththat for a moment checked his violence. This unexpected resistance gaveMagua time to interpose, and with rapid enunciation and animatedgesture, he drew the attention of the band again to himself. In thatlanguage he knew so well how to assume, he diverted his comrades fromtheir instant purpose, and invited them to prolong the misery of theirvictims. His proposal was received with acclamations, and executed withthe swiftness of thought.

  Two powerful warriors cast themselves on Heyward, while another wasoccupied in securing the less active singing-master. Neither of thecaptives, however, submitted without a desperate though fruitlessstruggle. Even David hurled his assailant to the earth; nor was Heywardsecured until the victory over his companion enabled the Indians todirect their united force to that object. He was then bound and fastenedto the body of the sapling, on whose branches Magua had acted thepantomime of the falling Huron. When the young soldier regained hisrecollection, he had the painful certainty before his eyes that a commonfate was intended for the whole party. On his right was Cora, in adurance similar to his own, pale and agitated, but with an eye, whosesteady look still read the proceedings of their enemies. On his left,the withes which bound her to a pine, performed that office for Alicewhich her trembling limbs refused, and alone kept her fragile form fromsinking. Her hands were clasped before her in prayer, but instead oflooking upwards towards that power which alone could rescue them, herunconscious looks wandered to the countenance of Duncan with infantiledependency. David had contended, and the novelty of the circumstanceheld him silent, in deliberation on the propriety of the unusualoccurrence.

  The vengeance of the Hurons had now taken a new direction, and theyprepared to execute it with that barbarous ingenuity with which theywere familiarized by the practice of centuries. Some sought knots, toraise the blazing pile; one was riving the splinters of pine, in orderto pierce the flesh of their captives with the burning fragments; andothers bent the tops of two saplings to the earth, in order to suspendHeyward by the arms between the recoiling branches. But the vengeance ofMagua sought a deeper and a more malignant enjoyment.

  While the less refined monsters of the band prepared, before the eyes ofthose who were to suffer, these well known and vulgar means of torture,he approached Cora, and pointed out, with the most malign expression ofcountenance, the speedy fate that awaited her:--

  "Ha!" he added, "what says the daughter of Munro? Her head is too goodto find a pillow in the wigwam of Le Renard; will she like it betterwhen it rolls about this hill a plaything for the wolves? Her bosomcannot nurse the children of a Huron; she will see it spit upon byIndians!"

  "What means the monster!" demanded the astonished Heyward.

  "Nothing!" was the firm reply. "He is a savage, a barbarous and ignorantsavage, and knows not what he does. Let us find leisure, with our dyingbreath, to ask for him penitence and pardon."

  "Pardon!" echoed the fierce Huron, mistaking, in his anger, the meaningof her words; "the memory of an Indian is longer than the arm of thepale-faces; his mercy shorter than their justice! Say; shall I send theyellow hair to her father, and will you follow Magua to the great lakes,to carry his water, and feed him with corn?"

  Cora beckoned him away, with an emotion of disgust she could notcontrol.

  "Leave me," she said, with a solemnity that for a moment checked thebarbarity of the Indian; "you mingle bitterness in my prayers; you standbetween me and my God!"

  The slight impression produced on the savage was, however, soonforgotten, and he continued pointing, with taunting irony, towardsAlice.

  "Look! the child weeps! She is young to die! Send her to Munro, to combhis gray hairs, and keep life in the heart of the old man."

  Cora could not resist the desire to look upon her youthful sister, inwhose eyes she met an imploring glance, that betrayed the longings ofnature.

  "What says he, dearest Cora?" asked the trembling voice of Alice. "Didhe speak of sending me to our father?"

  For many moments the elder sister looked upon the younger, with acountenance that wavered with powerful and contending emotions. Atlength 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, our invaluable Duncan, as well as you, toour friends--to our father--to our heart-stricken, childless father, ifI will bow down this rebellious, stubborn pride of mine, and consent--"

  Her voice became choked, and clasping her hands, she looked upward, asif seeking, in her agony, intelligence from a wisdom that was infinite.

  "Say on," cried Alice; "to what, dearest Cora? O, that the proffer weremade to me! to save you, to cheer our aged father, to restore Duncan,how cheerfully could I die!"

  "Die!" repeated Cora, with a calmer and a firmer voice, "that were easy!Perhaps the alternative may not be less so. He would have me," shecontinued, her accents sinking under a deep consciousness of thedegradation of the proposal, "follow him to the wilderness; go to thehabitations of the Hurons; 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 bepurchased by such a sacrifice? Will you, Alice, receive it at my handsat such a price? And _you_, Duncan, guide me; control me between you;for I am wholly yours."

  "Would I!" echoed the indignant and astonished youth. "Cora! Cora! youjest with our misery! Name not the horrid alternative again; the thoughtitself is worse than a thousand deaths."

  "That such would be _your_ answer, I well knew!" exclaimed Cora, hercheeks flushing, and her dark eyes once more sparkling with thelingering emotions of a woman. "What says my Alice? for her will Isubmit without another murmur."

  Although both Heyward and Cora listened with painful suspense and thedeepest attention, no sounds were heard in reply. It appeared as if thedelicate and sensitive form of Alice would shrink into itself, as shelistened to this proposal
. Her arms had fallen lengthwise before her,the fingers moving in slight convulsions; her head dropped upon herbosom, and her whole person seemed suspended against the tree, lookinglike some beautiful emblem of the wounded delicacy of her sex, devoid ofanimation, and yet keenly conscious. In a few moments, however, her headbegan to move slowly, in a sign of deep, unconquerable disapprobation.

  "No, no, no; better that we die as we have lived, together!"

  "Then die!" shouted Magua, hurling his tomahawk with violence at theunresisting speaker, and gnashing his teeth with a rage that could nolonger be bridled, at this sudden exhibition of firmness in the one hebelieved the weakest of the party. The axe cleaved the air in front ofHeyward, and cutting some of the flowing ringlets of Alice, quivered inthe tree above her head. The sight maddened Duncan to desperation.Collecting all his energies in one effort, he snapped the twigs whichbound him and rushed upon another savage who was preparing with loudyells, and a more deliberate aim, to repeat the blow. They encountered,grappled, and fell to the earth together. The naked body of hisantagonist afforded Heyward no means of holding his adversary, whoglided from his grasp, and rose again with one knee on his chest,pressing him down with the weight of a giant. Duncan already saw theknife gleaming in the air, when a whistling sound swept past him, andwas rather accompanied, than followed, by the sharp crack of a rifle. Hefelt his breast relieved from the load it had endured; he saw the savageexpression of his adversary's countenance change to a look of vacantwildness, when the Indian fell dead on the faded leaves by his side.