Chapter 17

"Weave we the woof. The thread is spun. The web is wove.

The work is done."--Gray

The hostile armies, which lay in the wilds of the Horican,

passed the night of the ninth of August, 1757, much in the

manner they would, had they encountered on the fairest field

of Europe. While the conquered were still, sullen, and

dejected, the victors triumphed. But there are limits alike

to grief and joy; and long before the watches of the morning

came the stillness of those boundless woods was only broken

by a gay call from some exulting young Frenchman of the

advanced pickets, or a menacing challenge from the fort,

which sternly forbade the approach of any hostile footsteps

before the stipulated moment. Even these occasional

threatening sounds ceased to be heard in that dull hour

which precedes the day, at which period a listener might

have sought in vain any evidence of the presence of those

armed powers that then slumbered on the shores of the "holy

lake."

It was during these moments of deep silence that the canvas

which concealed the entrance to a spacious marquee in the

French encampment was shoved aside, and a man issued from

beneath the drapery into the open air. He was enveloped in

a cloak that might have been intended as a protection from

the chilling damps of the woods, but which served equally

well as a mantle to conceal his person. He was permitted to

pass the grenadier, who watched over the slumbers of the

French commander, without interruption, the man making the

usual salute which betokens military deference, as the other

passed swiftly through the little city of tents, in the

direction of William Henry. Whenever this unknown

individual encountered one of the numberless sentinels who

crossed his path, his answer was prompt, and, as it

appeared, satisfactory; for he was uniformly allowed to

proceed without further interrogation.

With the exception of such repeated but brief interruptions,

he had moved silently from the center of the camp to its

most advanced outposts, when he drew nigh the soldier who

held his watch nearest to the works of the enemy. As he

approached he was received with the usual challenge:

"Qui vive?"

"France," was the reply.

"Le mot d'ordre?"

"La victorie," said the other, drawing so nigh as to be

heard in a loud whisper.

"C'est bien," returned the sentinel, throwing his musket

from the charge to his shoulder; "vous promenez bien matin,

monsieur!"

"Il est necessaire d'etre vigilant, mon enfant," the other

observed, dropping a fold of his cloak, and looking the

soldier close in the face as he passed him, still continuing

his way toward the British fortification. The man started;

his arms rattled heavily as he threw them forward in the

lowest and most respectful salute; and when he had again

recovered his piece, he turned to walk his post, muttering

between his teeth:

"Il faut etre vigilant, en verite! je crois que nous avons

la, un caporal qui ne dort jamais!"

The officer proceeded, without affecting to hear the words

which escaped the sentinel in his surprise; nor did he again

pause until he had reached the low strand, and in a somewhat

dangerous vicinity to the western water bastion of the fort.

The light of an obscure moon was just sufficient to render

objects, though dim, perceptible in their outlines. He,

therefore, took the precaution to place himself against the

trunk of a tree, where he leaned for many minutes, and

seemed to contemplate the dark and silent mounds of the

English works in profound attention. His gaze at the

ramparts was not that of a curious or idle spectator; but

his looks wandered from point to point, denoting his

knowledge of military usages, and betraying that his search

was not unaccompanied by distrust. At length he appeared

satisfied; and having cast his eyes impatiently upward

toward the summit of the eastern mountain, as if

anticipating the approach of the morning, he was in the act

of turning on his footsteps, when a light sound on the

nearest angle of the bastion caught his ear, and induced him

to remain.

Just then a figure was seen to approach the edge of the

rampart, where it stood, apparently contemplating in its

turn the distant tents of the French encampment. Its head

was then turned toward the east, as though equally anxious

for the appearance of light, when the form leaned against

the mound, and seemed to gaze upon the glassy expanse of the

waters, which, like a submarine firmament, glittered with

its thousand mimic stars. The melancholy air, the hour,

together with the vast frame of the man who thus leaned,

musing, against the English ramparts, left no doubt as to

his person in the mind of the observant spectator.

Delicacy, no less than prudence, now urged him to retire;

and he had moved cautiously round the body of the tree for

that purpose, when another sound drew his attention, and

once more arrested his footsteps. It was a low and almost

inaudible movement of the water, and was succeeded by a

grating of pebbles one against the other. In a moment he

saw a dark form rise, as it were, out of the lake, and steal

without further noise to the land, within a few feet of the

place where he himself stood. A rifle next slowly rose

between his eyes and the watery mirror; but before it could

be discharged his own hand was on the lock.

"Hugh!" exclaimed the savage, whose treacherous aim was so

singularly and so unexpectedly interrupted.

Without making any reply, the French officer laid his hand

on the shoulder of the Indian, and led him in profound

silence to a distance from the spot, where their subsequent

dialogue might have proved dangerous, and where it seemed

that one of them, at least, sought a victim. Then throwing

open his cloak, so as to expose his uniform and the cross of

St. Louis which was suspended at his breast, Montcalm

sternly demanded:

"What means this? Does not my son know that the hatchet is

buried between the English and his Canadian Father?"

"What can the Hurons do?" returned the savage, speaking

also, though imperfectly, in the French language.

"Not a warrior has a scalp, and the pale faces make

friends!"

"Ha, Le Renard Subtil! Methinks this is an excess of zeal

for a friend who was so late an enemy! How many suns have

set since Le Renard struck the war-post of the English?"

"Where is that sun?" demanded the sullen savage. "Behind

the hill; and it is dark and cold. But when he comes again,

it will be bright and warm. Le Subtil is the sun of his

tribe. There have been clouds, and many mountains between

him and his nation; but now he shines and it is a clear

sky!"

"That Le Renard has power with his people, I well know,"

said Montcalm; "for yesterday he hunted for their scalps,

and to-day they hear him at the council-fire."

"Magua is a great chief."

"Let him prove it, by teaching his nation how to conduct

themselves toward our new friends."

"Why did the chief of the Canadas bring his young men into

the woods, and fire his cannon at the earthen house?"

demanded the subtle Indian.

"To subdue it. My master owns the land, and your father was

ordered to drive off these English squatters. They have

consented to go, and now he calls them enemies no longer."

"'Tis well. Magua took the hatchet to color it with blood.

It is now bright; when it is red, it shall be buried."

"But Magua is pledged not to sully the lilies of France.

The enemies of the great king across the salt lake are his

enemies; his friends, the friends of the Hurons."

"Friends!" repeated the Indian in scorn. "Let his father

give Magua a hand."

Montcalm, who felt that his influence over the warlike

tribes he had gathered was to be maintained by concession

rather than by power, complied reluctantly with the other's

request. The savage placed the fingers of the French

commander on a deep scar in his bosom, and then exultingly

demanded:

"Does my father know that?"

"What warrior does not? 'Tis where a leaden bullet has cut."

"And this?" continued the Indian, who had turned his naked

back to the other, his body being without its usual calico

mantle.

"This!--my son has been sadly injured here; who has done

this?"

"Magua slept hard in the English wigwams, and the sticks

have left their mark," returned the savage, with a hollow

laugh, which did not conceal the fierce temper that nearly

choked him. Then, recollecting himself, with sudden and

native dignity, he added: "Go; teach your young men it is

peace. Le Renard Subtil knows how to speak to a Huron

warrior."

Without deigning to bestow further words, or to wait for any

answer, the savage cast his rifle into the hollow of his

arm, and moved silently through the encampment toward the

woods where his own tribe was known to lie. Every few yards

as he proceeded he was challenged by the sentinels; but he

stalked sullenly onward, utterly disregarding the summons of

the soldiers, who only spared his life because they knew the

air and tread no less than the obstinate daring of an

Indian.

Montcalm lingered long and melancholy on the strand where he

had been left by his companion, brooding deeply on the

temper which his ungovernable ally had just discovered.

Already had his fair fame been tarnished by one horrid

scene, and in circumstances fearfully resembling those under

which he how found himself. As he mused he became keenly

sensible of the deep responsibility they assume who

disregard the means to attain the end, and of all the danger

of setting in motion an engine which it exceeds human power

to control. Then shaking off a train of reflections that he

accounted a weakness in such a moment of triumph, he

retraced his steps toward his tent, giving the order as he

passed to make the signal that should arouse the army from

its slumbers.

The first tap of the French drums was echoed from the bosom

of the fort, and presently the valley was filled with the

strains of martial music, rising long, thrilling and lively

above the rattling accompaniment. The horns of the victors

sounded merry and cheerful flourishes, until the last

laggard of the camp was at his post; but the instant the

British fifes had blown their shrill signal, they became

mute. In the meantime the day had dawned, and when the line

of the French army was ready to receive its general, the

rays of a brilliant sun were glancing along the glittering

array. Then that success, which was already so well known,

was officially announced; the favored band who were selected

to guard the gates of the fort were detailed, and defiled

before their chief; the signal of their approach was given,

and all the usual preparations for a change of masters were

ordered and executed directly under the guns of the

contested works.

A very different scene presented itself within the lines of

the Anglo-American army. As soon as the warning signal was

given, it exhibited all the signs of a hurried and forced

departure. The sullen soldiers shouldered their empty tubes

and fell into their places, like men whose blood had been

heated by the past contest, and who only desired the

opportunity to revenge an indignity which was still wounding

to their pride, concealed as it was under the observances of

military etiquette.

Women and children ran from place to place, some bearing the

scanty remnants of their baggage, and others searching in

the ranks for those countenances they looked up to for

protection.

Munro appeared among his silent troops firm but dejected.

It was evident that the unexpected blow had struck deep into

his heart, though he struggled to sustain his misfortune

with the port of a man.

Duncan was touched at the quiet and impressive exhibition of

his grief. He had discharged his own duty, and he now

pressed to the side of the old man, to know in what

particular he might serve him.

"My daughters," was the brief but expressive reply.

"Good heavens! are not arrangements already made for their

convenience?"

"To-day I am only a soldier, Major Heyward," said the

veteran. "All that you see here, claim alike to be my

children."

Duncan had heard enough. Without losing one of those

moments which had now become so precious, he flew toward the

quarters of Munro, in quest of the sisters. He found them

on the threshold of the low edifice, already prepared to

depart, and surrounded by a clamorous and weeping assemblage

of their own sex, that had gathered about the place, with a

sort of instinctive consciousness that it was the point most

likely to be protected. Though the cheeks of Cora were pale

and her countenance anxious, she had lost none of her

firmness; but the eyes of Alice were inflamed, and betrayed

how long and bitterly she had wept. They both, however,

received the young man with undisguised pleasure; the

former, for a novelty, being the first to speak.

"The fort is lost," she said, with a melancholy smile;

"though our good name, I trust, remains."

"'Tis brighter than ever. But, dearest Miss Munro, it is

time to think less of others, and to make some provision for

yourself. Military usage--pride--that pride on which

you so much value yourself, demands that your father and I

should for a little while continue with the troops. Then

where to seek a proper protector for you against the

confusion and chances of such a scene?"

"None is necessary," returned Cora; "who will dare to injure

or insult the daughter of such a father, at a time like

this?"

"I would not leave you alone," continued the youth, looking

about him in a hurried manner, "for the command of the best

regiment in the pay of the king. Remember, our Alice is not

gifted with all your firmness, and God only knows the terror

she might endure."

"You may be right," Cora replied, smiling again, but far

more sadly than before. "Listen! chance has already sent us

a friend when he is most needed."

Duncan did listen, and on the instant comprehended her

meaning. The low and serious sounds of the sacred music, so

well known to the eastern provinces, caught his ear, and

instantly drew him to an apartment in an adjacent building,

which had already been deserted by its customary tenants.

There he found David, pouring out his pious feelings through

the only medium in which he ever indulged. Duncan waited,

until, by the cessation of the movement of the hand, he

believed the strain was ended, when, by touching his

shoulder, he drew the attention of the other to himself, and

in a few words explained his wishes.

"Even so," replied the single-minded disciple of the King of

Israel, when the young man had ended; "I have found much

that is comely and melodious in the maidens, and it is

fitting that we who have consorted in so much peril, should

abide together in peace. I will attend them, when I have

completed my morning praise, to which nothing is now wanting

but the doxology. Wilt thou bear a part, friend? The meter

is common, and the tune 'Southwell'."

Then, extending the little volume, and giving the pitch of

the air anew with considerate attention, David recommenced

and finished his strains, with a fixedness of manner that it

was not easy to interrupt. Heyward was fain to wait until

the verse was ended; when, seeing David relieving himself

from the spectacles, and replacing the book, he continued.

"It will be your duty to see that none dare to approach the

ladies with any rude intention, or to offer insult or taunt

at the misfortune of their brave father. In this task you

will be seconded by the domestics of their household."

"Even so."

"It is possible that the Indians and stragglers of the enemy

may intrude, in which case you will remind them of the terms

of the capitulation, and threaten to report their conduct to

Montcalm. A word will suffice."

"If not, I have that here which shall," returned David,

exhibiting his book, with an air in which meekness and

confidence were singularly blended. Here are words which,

uttered, or rather thundered, with proper emphasis, and in

measured time, shall quiet the most unruly temper:

"'Why rage the heathen furiously'?"

"Enough," said Heyward, interrupting the burst of his

musical invocation; "we understand each other; it is time

that we should now assume our respective duties."

Gamut cheerfully assented, and together they sought the

females. Cora received her new and somewhat extraordinary

protector courteously, at least; and even the pallid

features of Alice lighted again with some of their native

archness as she thanked Heyward for his care. Duncan took

occasion to assure them he had done the best that

circumstances permitted, and, as he believed, quite enough

for the security of their feelings; of danger there was

none. He then spoke gladly of his intention to rejoin them

the moment he had led the advance a few miles toward the

Hudson, and immediately took his leave.

By this time the signal for departure had been given, and

the head of the English column was in motion. The sisters

started at the sound, and glancing their eyes around, they

saw the white uniforms of the French grenadiers, who had

already taken possession of the gates of the fort. At that

moment an enormous cloud seemed to pass suddenly above their

heads, and, looking upward, they discovered that they stood

beneath the wide folds of the standard of France.

"Let us go," said Cora; "this is no longer a fit place for

the children of an English officer."

Alice clung to the arm of her sister, and together they left

the parade, accompanied by the moving throng that surrounded

them.

As they passed the gates, the French officers, who had

learned their rank, bowed often and low, forbearing,

however, to intrude those attentions which they saw, with

peculiar tact, might not be agreeable. As every vehicle and

each beast of burden was occupied by the sick and wounded,

Cora had decided to endure the fatigues of a foot march,

rather than interfere with their comforts. Indeed, many a

maimed and feeble soldier was compelled to drag his

exhausted limbs in the rear of the columns, for the want of

the necessary means of conveyance in that wilderness. The

whole, however, was in motion; the weak and wounded,

groaning and in suffering; their comrades silent and sullen;

and the women and children in terror, they knew not of what.

As the confused and timid throng left the protecting mounds

of the fort, and issued on the open plain, the whole scene

was at once presented to their eyes. At a little distance

on the right, and somewhat in the rear, the French army

stood to their arms, Montcalm having collected his parties,

so soon as his guards had possession of the works. They

were attentive but silent observers of the proceedings of

the vanquished, failing in none of the stipulated military

honors, and offering no taunt or insult, in their success,

to their less fortunate foes. Living masses of the English,

to the amount, in the whole, of near three thousand, were

moving slowly across the plain, toward the common center,

and gradually approached each other, as they converged to

the point of their march, a vista cut through the lofty

trees, where the road to the Hudson entered the forest.

Along the sweeping borders of the woods hung a dark cloud of

savages, eyeing the passage of their enemies, and hovering

at a distance, like vultures who were only kept from

swooping on their prey by the presence and restraint of a

superior army. A few had straggled among the conquered

columns, where they stalked in sullen discontent; attentive,

though, as yet, passive observers of the moving multitude.

The advance, with Heyward at its head, had already reached

the defile, and was slowly disappearing, when the attention

of Cora was drawn to a collection of stragglers by the

sounds of contention. A truant provincial was paying the

forfeit of his disobedience, by being plundered of those

very effects which had caused him to desert his place in the

ranks. The man was of powerful frame, and too avaricious to

part with his goods without a struggle. Individuals from

either party interfered; the one side to prevent and the

other to aid in the robbery. Voices grew loud and angry,

and a hundred savages appeared, as it were, by magic, where

a dozen only had been seen a minute before. It was then

that Cora saw the form of Magua gliding among his

countrymen, and speaking with his fatal and artful

eloquence. The mass of women and children stopped, and

hovered together like alarmed and fluttering birds. But the

cupidity of the Indian was soon gratified, and the different

bodies again moved slowly onward.

The savages now fell back, and seemed content to let their

enemies advance without further molestation. But, as the

female crowd approached them, the gaudy colors of a shawl

attracted the eyes of a wild and untutored Huron. He

advanced to seize it without the least hesitation. The

woman, more in terror than through love of the ornament,

wrapped her child in the coveted article, and folded both

more closely to her bosom. Cora was in the act of speaking,

with an intent to advise the woman to abandon the trifle,

when the savage relinquished his hold of the shawl, and tore

the screaming infant from her arms. Abandoning everything

to the greedy grasp of those around her, the mother darted,

with distraction in her mien, to reclaim her child. The

Indian smiled grimly, and extended one hand, in sign of a

willingness to exchange, while, with the other, he

flourished the babe over his head, holding it by the feet as

if to enhance the value of the ransom.

"Here--here--there--all--any--everything!"

exclaimed the breathless woman, tearing the lighter articles

of dress from her person with ill-directed and trembling

fingers; "take all, but give me my babe!"

The savage spurned the worthless rags, and perceiving that

the shawl had already become a prize to another, his

bantering but sullen smile changing to a gleam of ferocity,

he dashed the head of the infant against a rock, and cast

its quivering remains to her very feet. For an instant the

mother stood, like a statue of despair, looking wildly down

at the unseemly object, which had so lately nestled in her

bosom and smiled in her face; and then she raised her eyes

and countenance toward heaven, as if calling on God to curse

the perpetrator of the foul deed. She was spared the sin of

such a prayer for, maddened at his disappointment, and

excited at the sight of blood, the Huron mercifully drove

his tomahawk into her own brain. The mother sank under the

blow, and fell, grasping at her child, in death, with the

same engrossing love that had caused her to cherish it when

living.

At that dangerous moment, Magua placed his hands to his

mouth, and raised the fatal and appalling whoop. The

scattered Indians started at the well-known cry, as coursers

bound at the signal to quit the goal; and directly there

arose such a yell along the plain, and through the arches of

the wood, as seldom burst from human lips before. They who

heard it listened with a curdling horror at the heart,

little inferior to that dread which may be expected to

attend the blasts of the final summons.

More than two thousand raving savages broke from the forest

at the signal, and threw themselves across the fatal plain

with instinctive alacrity. We shall not dwell on the

revolting horrors that succeeded. Death was everywhere, and

in his most terrific and disgusting aspects. Resistance

only served to inflame the murderers, who inflicted their

furious blows long after their victims were beyond the power

of their resentment. The flow of blood might be likened to

the outbreaking of a torrent; and as the natives became

heated and maddened by the sight, many among them even

kneeled to the earth, and drank freely, exultingly,

hellishly, of the crimson tide.

The trained bodies of the troops threw themselves quickly

into solid masses, endeavoring to awe their assailants by

the imposing appearance of a military front. The experiment

in some measure succeeded, though far too many suffered

their unloaded muskets to be torn from their hands, in the

vain hope of appeasing the savages.

In such a scene none had leisure to note the fleeting

moments. It might have been ten minutes (it seemed an age)

that the sisters had stood riveted to one spot, horror-

stricken and nearly helpless. When the first blow was

struck, their screaming companions had pressed upon them in

a body, rendering flight impossible; and now that fear or

death had scattered most, if not all, from around them, they

saw no avenue open, but such as conducted to the tomahawks

of their foes. On every side arose shrieks, groans,

exhortations and curses. At this moment, Alice caught a

glimpse of the vast form of her father, moving rapidly

across the plain, in the direction of the French army. He

was, in truth, proceeding to Montcalm, fearless of every

danger, to claim the tardy escort for which he had before

conditioned. Fifty glittering axes and barbed spears were

offered unheeded at his life, but the savages respected his

rank and calmness, even in their fury. The dangerous

weapons were brushed aside by the still nervous arm of the

veteran, or fell of themselves, after menacing an act that

it would seem no one had courage to perform. Fortunately,

the vindictive Magua was searching for his victim in the

very band the veteran had just quitted.

"Father--father--we are here!" shrieked Alice, as he

passed, at no great distance, without appearing to heed

them. "Come to us, father, or we die!"

The cry was repeated, and in terms and tones that might have

melted a heart of stone, but it was unanswered. Once,

indeed, the old man appeared to catch the sound, for he

paused and listened; but Alice had dropped senseless on the

earth, and Cora had sunk at her side, hovering in untiring

tenderness over her lifeless form. Munro shook his head in

disappointment, and proceeded, bent on the high duty of his

station.

"Lady," said Gamut, who, helpless and useless as he was, had

not yet dreamed of deserting his trust, "it is the jubilee

of the devils, and this is not a meet place for Christians

to tarry in. Let us up and fly."

"Go," said Cora, still gazing at her unconscious sister;

"save thyself. To me thou canst not be of further use."

David comprehended the unyielding character of her

resolution, by the simple but expressive gesture that

accompanied her words. He gazed for a moment at the dusky

forms that were acting their hellish rites on every side of

him, and his tall person grew more erect while his chest

heaved, and every feature swelled, and seemed to speak with

the power of the feelings by which he was governed.

"If the Jewish boy might tame the great spirit of Saul by

the sound of his harp, and the words of sacred song, it may

not be amiss," he said, "to try the potency of music here."

Then raising his voice to its highest tone, he poured out a

strain so powerful as to be heard even amid the din of that

bloody field. More than one savage rushed toward them,

thinking to rifle the unprotected sisters of their attire,

and bear away their scalps; but when they found this strange

and unmoved figure riveted to his post, they paused to

listen. Astonishment soon changed to admiration, and they

passed on to other and less courageous victims, openly

expressing their satisfaction at the firmness with which the

white warrior sang his death song. Encouraged and deluded

by his success, David exerted all his powers to extend what

he believed so holy an influence. The unwonted sounds

caught the ears of a distant savage, who flew raging from

group to group, like one who, scorning to touch the vulgar

herd, hunted for some victim more worthy of his renown. It

was Magua, who uttered a yell of pleasure when he beheld his

ancient prisoners again at his mercy.

"Come," he said, laying his soiled hands on the dress of

Cora, "the wigwam of the Huron is still open. Is it not

better than this place?"

"Away!" cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his revolting

aspect.

The Indian laughed tauntingly, as he held up his reeking

hand, and answered: "It is red, but it comes from white

veins!"

"Monster! there is blood, oceans of blood, upon thy soul;

thy spirit has moved this scene."

"Magua is a great chief!" returned the exulting savage,

"will the dark-hair go to his tribe?"

"Never! strike if thou wilt, and complete thy revenge." He

hesitated a moment, and then catching the light and

senseless form of Alice in his arms, the subtle Indian moved

swiftly across the plain toward the woods.

"Hold!" shrieked Cora, following wildly on his footsteps;

"release the child! wretch! what is't you do?"

But Magua was deaf to her voice; or, rather, he knew his

power, and was determined to maintain it.

"Stay--lady--stay," called Gamut, after the unconscious

Cora. "The holy charm is beginning to be felt, and soon

shalt thou see this horrid tumult stilled."

Perceiving that, in his turn, he was unheeded, the faithful

David followed the distracted sister, raising his voice

again in sacred song, and sweeping the air to the measure,

with his long arm, in diligent accompaniment. In this

manner they traversed the plain, through the flying, the

wounded and the dead. The fierce Huron was, at any time,

sufficient for himself and the victim that he bore; though

Cora would have fallen more than once under the blows of her

savage enemies, but for the extraordinary being who stalked

in her rear, and who now appeared to the astonished natives

gifted with the protecting spirit of madness.

Magua, who knew how to avoid the more pressing dangers, and

also to elude pursuit, entered the woods through a low

ravine, where he quickly found the Narragansetts, which the

travelers had abandoned so shortly before, awaiting his

appearance, in custody of a savage as fierce and malign in

his expression as himself. Laying Alice on one of the

horses, he made a sign to Cora to mount the other.

Notwithstanding the horror excited by the presence of her

captor, there was a present relief in escaping from the

bloody scene enacting on the plain, to which Cora could not

be altogether insensible. She took her seat, and held forth

her arms for her sister, with an air of entreaty and love

that even the Huron could not deny. Placing Alice, then, on

the same animal with Cora, he seized the bridle, and

commenced his route by plunging deeper into the forest.

David, perceiving that he was left alone, utterly

disregarded as a subject too worthless even to destroy,

threw his long limb across the saddle of the beast they had

deserted, and made such progress in the pursuit as the

difficulties of the path permitted.

They soon began to ascend; but as the motion had a tendency

to revive the dormant faculties of her sister, the attention

of Cora was too much divided between the tenderest

solicitude in her behalf, and in listening to the cries

which were still too audible on the plain, to note the

direction in which they journeyed. When, however, they

gained the flattened surface of the mountain-top, and

approached the eastern precipice, she recognized the spot to

which she had once before been led under the more friendly

auspices of the scout. Here Magua suffered them to

dismount; and notwithstanding their own captivity, the

curiosity which seems inseparable from horror, induced them

to gaze at the sickening sight below.

The cruel work was still unchecked. On every side the

captured were flying before their relentless persecutors,

while the armed columns of the Christian king stood fast in

an apathy which has never been explained, and which has left

an immovable blot on the otherwise fair escutcheon of their

leader. Nor was the sword of death stayed until cupidity

got the mastery of revenge. Then, indeed, the shrieks of

the wounded, and the yells of their murderers grew less

frequent, until, finally, the cries of horror were lost to

their ear, or were drowned in the loud, long and piercing

whoops of the triumphant savages.

Back to top