Chapter 11

"Cursed be 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 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 Heyward, 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, devoting

himself entirely to the comfort and condolence of his

feebler companions. The Narragansetts 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

beech, 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 beech, and

straggled, as if without an object, to the spot where Le

Renard was seated.

"Has not Magua 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," returned Heyward, anxious to recall his

error, if he had made one; "the white man may, and does

often, forget the burial place of his fathers; he sometimes

ceases to remember those he should love, and has promised to

cherish; but the affection of a parent for his child is

never permitted to die."

"And is the heart of 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 idle 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, Magua; 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.

"Go," said the Huron, suppressing the alarming exhibition in

an instant, in a death-like calmness of countenance; "go to

the dark-haired daughter, and say, 'Magua waits 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 practise.

Remember, Cora, that on your presence of mind and 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 a prize 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 courted with the insatiable

longings of youth after distinction. But hush! we approach

the Indian. Magua, 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 tribe shut their

ears."

Duncan, still lingering, as if refusing to comply, Coras

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

prospects."

She waited until he had departed, and then turning to the

native, with the dignity of her sex in her voice and manner,

she added: "What would Le Renard say to the daughter of

Munro?"

"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: "Magua was born a

chief and a warrior among the red Hurons of the lakes; he

saw the suns of twenty summers make the snows of twenty

winters run off in the streams before he saw a pale face;

and he was happy! Then his Canada fathers came into the

woods, and taught him to drink the fire-water, and he became

a rascal. The Hurons drove him from the graves of his

fathers, 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 fault 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."

"And am I answerable that thoughtless and unprincipled men

exist, whose shades of countenance may resemble mine?" Cora

calmly demanded of the excited savage.

"No; Magua is a man, and not a fool; such as you never open

their lips to the burning stream: the Great Spirit has given

you wisdom!"

"What, then, have I do to, 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-post of the Mohawks, and

went out against his own nation. The pale faces have driven

the red-skins 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. Magua foolishly opened his mouth, and the

hot liquor led him into the cabin of Munro. What did the

gray-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 most ferocious expression at her unyielding countenance;

"is it justice to make evil and then punish for it? Magua

was not himself; it was the fire-water that spoke and acted

for him! but Munro did believe it. The Huron chief was tied

up before all the pale-faced warriors, 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 Magua, tearing aside the slight calico that

very imperfectly concealed his painted breast; "here are

scars given by knives and bullets--of these a warrior may

boast before his nation; but the gray-head has left marks on

the back of the Huron chief that he must hide like a squaw,

under this painted cloth of the whites."

"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 Magua 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 blows of Munro, 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

--"

Magua 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 of the savage.

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

"You would, then, revenge the injury inflicted by Munro 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 the pale faces are long, and their knives

sharp!" returned the savage, with a malignant laugh: "why

should Le Renard go among the muskets of his warriors, when

he holds the spirit of the gray-head in his hand?"

"Name your intention, Magua," said Cora, struggling with

herself to speak with steady calmness. "Is it to lead us

prisoners to the woods, or do you contemplate even some

greater evil? Is there no reward, no means of palliating the

injury, and of softening your heart? At least, release my

gentle sister, and pour out all your malice on me. Purchase

wealth by her safety and satisfy your revenge with a single

victim. The loss of both his daughters might bring the aged

man to his grave, and where would then be the satisfaction

of Le Renard?"

"Listen," said the Indian again. "The light eyes can 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 fathers 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 Magua 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 shores 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 Magua 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 Munro, and buy the heart of some Huron maid with

his gifts."

The Indian made no reply for near a minute, but bent his

fierce looks on the countenance of Cora, in such wavering

glances, that her eyes sank with shame, under an impression

that for the first time they had encountered an expression

that no chaste 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

Magua answered, in its tones of deepest malignancy:

"When the blows scorched the back of the Huron, he would

know where to find a woman to feel the smart. The daughter

of Munro would draw his water, hoe his corn, and cook his

venison. The body of the gray-head would sleep among his

cannon, but his heart would lie within reach of the knife of

Le Subtil."

"Monster! well dost thou deserve thy treacherous name,"

cried Cora, in an ungovernable burst of filial indignation.

"None but a fiend could meditate such a vengeance. But thou

overratest thy power! You shall find it is, in truth, the

heart of Munro 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

Magua instantly left the spot, and approached his gluttonous

comrades. Heyward flew to the side of the agitated female,

and demanded the result of a dialogue 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

stake could create.

When Magua reached the cluster of lolling 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 in

attitudes of respectful attention. As the Huron used his

native language, the prisoners, notwithstanding the caution

of the natives had kept them within the 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 Magua,

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 expressive "Hugh!" looked at each other in

commendation of the speaker. Le Renard 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 and 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, and the number of the 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 Glenn's; 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, who 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 rapidly

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 to a pitch of terrific energy, he concluded by

demanding:

"Are the Hurons dogs to bear this? Who shall say to the wife

of Menowgua that the fishes have his scalp, and that his

nation have not taken revenge! Who will dare meet the

mother of Wassawattimie, that scornful woman, with his hands

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

them! The women will point their fingers at us. There is a

dark spot on the names of the Hurons, 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 and 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. This

unexpected resistance gave Magua time to interpose, and with

rapid enunciation 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 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 to that object. He was then bound and

fastened to the body of the sapling, on whose branches Magua

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

similar to his own, pale and agitated, but with an eye whose

steady look still read the proceedings of their enemies. On

his left, the withes 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 that 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 on the

propriety of the unusual occurrence.

The vengeance of the Hurons had now taken a new direction,

and they prepared to execute it with that barbarous

ingenuity with which they were familiarized by the practise

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 saplings to the earth, in order

to suspend Heyward by the arms between the recoiling

branches. But the vengeance of Magua 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, these 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:

"Ha!" he added, "what says the daughter of Munro? 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 Huron; 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 Huron, 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 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

not control.

"Leave me," she said, with a solemnity that for a moment

checked the barbarity of the Indian; "you mingle bitterness

in 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 is too young to die! Send her

to Munro, to comb his gray hairs, and keep life in the heart

of the old man."

Cora could not resist the desire to look upon her youthful

sister, in whose eyes she met an imploring glance, that

betrayed the longings of nature.

"What says he, dearest Cora?" asked the trembling voice of

Alice. "Did he speak of sending me to our 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 fullness, 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, to our friends--to our father--

to our heart-stricken, childless father, if I will 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 could 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

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 be purchased by such a sacrifice?

Will you, Alice, receive it at my hands at 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! you jest with our misery! Name not the horrid

alternative again; the thought itself is worse than a

thousand deaths."

"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 will I 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 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 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 antagonist 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

accompanied 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

change to a look of vacant wildness, when the Indian fell

dead on the faded leaves by his side.

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