At a short distance from the rock, their little bark was to be seen floating across the eddy, towards the swift current of the river, in a manner which proved that its course was directed by some hidden agent. The instant this unwelcome sight caught the eye of the scout, his rifle was levelled, as by instinct, but the barrel gave no answer to the bright sparks of the flint.
“ ’Tis too late, ’tis too late!” Hawk-eye exclaimed, dropping the useless piece, in bitter disappointment; “the miscreant has struck the rapid, and had we powder, it could hardly send the lead swifter than he now goes!”
As he ended, the adventurous Huron raised his head above the shelter of the canoe, and while it glided swiftly down the stream, waved his hand, and gave forth the shout, which was the known signal of success. His cry was answered by a yell, and a laugh from the woods, as tauntingly exulting as if fifty demons were uttering their blasphemies at the fall of some Christian soul.
“Well may you laugh, ye children of the devil!” said the scout, seating himself on a projection of the rock, and suffering his gun to fall neglected at his feet, “for the three quickest and truest rifles in these woods, are no better than so many stalks of mullen, or the last year’s horns of a buck!”
“What, then, is to be done?” demanded Duncan, losing the first feeling of disappointment, in a more manly desire for exertion; “what will become of us?”
Hawk-eye made no other reply than by passing his finger around the crown of his head, in a manner so significant, that none who witnessed the action could mistake its meaning.
“Surely, surely, our case is not so desperate!” exclaimed the youth; “the Hurons are not here; we may make good the caverns; we may oppose their landing.”
“With what?” coolly demanded the scout. “The arrows of Uncas, or such tears as women shed! No, no; you are young, and rich, and have friends, and at such an age I know it is hard to die! but,” glancing his eyes at the Mohicans, “let us remember, we are men without a cross, and let us teach these natives of the forest, that white blood can run as freely as red, when the appointed hour is come.”
Duncan turned quickly in the direction indicated by the other’s eyes, and read a confirmation of his worst apprehensions in the conduct of the Indians. Chingachgook, placing himself in a dignified posture on another fragment of the rock, had already laid aside his knife and tomahawk, and was in the act of taking the eagle’s plume from his head, and smoothing the solitary tuft of hair, in readiness to perform its last and revolting office. His countenance was composed, though thoughtful, while his dark, gleaming eyes, were gradually losing the fierceness of the combat in an expression better suited to the change he expected, momentarily, to undergo.
“Our case is not, cannot, be so hopeless!” said Duncan; “even at this very moment succour may be at hand. I see no enemies! they have sickened. of a struggle, in which they risk so much with so little prospect of gain?”
“It may be a minute, or it may be an hour, afore the wily sarpents steal upon us, and its quite in natur for them to be lying within hearing at this very moment,” said Hawk-eye; “but come they will, and in such a fashion as will leave us nothing to hope! Chingachgook”–he spoke in Delaware–“my brother, we have fought our last battle together, and the Maquas will triumph in the death of the sage man of the Mohicans, and of the pale face, whose eyes can make night as day, and level the clouds to the mists of the springs!”
“Let the Mingo women go weep over their slain!” returned the Indian, with characteristic pride, and unmoved firmness; “the great snake of the Mohicans has coiled himself in their wigwams, and has poisoned their triumph with the wailings of children, whose fathers have not returned! Eleven warriors lie hid from the graves of their tribe, since the snows have melted, and none will tell where to find them, when the tongue of Chingachgook shall be silent! Let them draw the sharpest knife, and whirl the swiftest tomahawk, for their bitterest enemy is in their hands. Uncas, my boy, topmost branch of a noble trunk, call on the cowards to hasten, or their hearts will soften, and they will change to women!”
“They look among the fishes for their dead!” returned the low, soft voice of the youthful chieftain; “the Hurons float with the slimy eels! They drop from the oaks like fruit that is ready to be eaten! and the Delawares laugh!”
“Ay, ay,” muttered the scout, who had listened to this peculiar burst of the natives with deep attention; “they have warmed their Indian feelings, and they’ll soon provoke the Maquas to give them a speedy end. As for me, who am of the whole blood of the whites, it is befitting that I should die as becomes my colour, with no words of scoffing in my mouth, and without bitterness at the heart!”
“Why die at all!” said Cora, advancing from the place where natural horror had, until this moment, held her riveted to the rock; “the path is open on every side; fly, then, to the woods, and call on God for succour! Go, brave men, we owe you too much already; let us no longer involve you in our hapless fortunes!”
“You but little know the craft of the Iroquois, lady, if you judge they have left the path open to the woods!” returned Hawk-eye, who, however, immediately added in his simplicity; “the down stream current, it is certain, might soon sweep us beyond the reach of their rifles, or the sounds of their voices.”
“Then try the river. Why linger, to add to the number of the victims of our merciless enemies?”
“Why!” repeated the scout, looking about him proudly, “because it is better for a man to die at peace with himself, than to live haunted by an evil conscience! What answer could we give to Munro, when he asked us, where and how we left his children?”
“Go to him, and say, that you left them with a message to hasten to their aid,” returned Cora, advancing nigher to the scout, in her generous ardour; “that the Hurons bear them into the northern wilds, but that by vigilance and speed they may yet be rescued; and if, after all, it should please heaven, that his assistance come too late, bear to him,” she continued, the firm tones of her voice gradually lowering, until they seemed nearly choked, “the love, the blessings, the final prayers of his daughters, and bid him not to mourn their early fate, but to look forward with humble confidence to the Christian’s goal to meet his children.”
The hard, weather-beaten features of the scout began sensibly to work, as he listened, and when she had ended, he dropped his chin to his hand, like a man musing profoundly on the nature of her proposal.
“There is reason in her words!” at length broke from his compressed and trembling lips; “ay, and they bear the spirit of christianity; what might be right and proper in a red skin, may be sinful in a man who has not even a cross in blood to plead for his ignorance. Chingachgook! Uncas! hear you the talk of the dark-eyed woman!”
He now spoke in Delaware to his companions, and his address, though calm and deliberate, seemed very decided. The elder Mohican heard him with deep gravity, and appeared to ponder on his words, as though he felt the importance of their import. After a moment of hesitation, he waved his hand in assent, and uttered the English word “good,” with the peculiar emphasis of his people. Then, replacing his knife and tomahawk in his girdle, the warrior moved silently to the edge of the rock most concealed from the hostile banks of the river. Here he paused a moment, pointed significantly to the woods below, and saying a few words in his own language, as if indicating his intended route, he dropped into the water, and sunk from before the eyes of the anxious witnesses of his movements.
The scout delayed his departure to speak to the generous maiden, whose breathing became lighter as she saw the success of her remonstrance.
“Wisdom is sometimes given to the young, as well as to the old,” he said; “and what you have spoken is wise, not to call it by a better word. If you are led into the woods, that is, such of you as may be spared for a while, break the twigs on the bushes as you pass, and make the marks of your trail, as broad as you can, when, if mortal eyes can see them, depend on having a friend who will follow to the ends of the ’arth afore he desarts you.”