Breathless with amazement, and heavily oppressed with the critical situation of his friend, Heyward recoiled before the look, trembling lest its meaning expression might, in some unknown manner, hasten the prisoner’s fate. There was not, however, any instant cause for such an apprehension. Just then a warrior forced his way into the exasperated crowd. Motioning the women and children aside with a stern gesture, he took Uncas by the arm, and led him towards the door of the council lodge. Thither all the chiefs, and most of the distinguished warriors, followed, among whom the anxious Heyward found means to enter, without attracting any dangerous attention to himself.
A few minutes were consumed in disposing of those present in a manner suitable to their rank and influence in the tribe. An order very similar to that adopted in the preceding interview was observed; the aged and superior chiefs occupying the area of the spacious apartment, within the powerful light of a glaring torch, while their juniors and inferiors were arranged in the back ground, presenting a dark outline to the picture, of swarthy and sternly marked visages. In the very centre of the lodge, immediately under an opening that admitted the twinkling light of one or two stars, stood Uncas, calm, elevated, and collected. His high and haughty carriage was not lost on his captors, who often bent their looks on his person, with eyes, which, while they lost none of their inflexibility of purpose, plainly betrayed their admiration of the stranger’s daring.
The case was different with the individual, whom Duncan had observed to stand forth with his friend, previously to the desperate trial of speed; and who, instead of joining in the chase, had remained, throughout all its turbulent uproar, like a cringing statue, expressive of shame and disgrace. Though not a hand had been extended to greet him, nor yet an eye had condescended to watch his movements, he had also entered the lodge, as though impelled by a fate, to whose decrees he submitted, seemingly, without a struggle. Heyward profited by the first opportunity to gaze in his face, secretly apprehensive he might find the features of another acquaintance, but they proved to be those of a stranger, and what was still more inexplicable, of one who bore all the distinctive marks of a Huron warrior. Instead of mingling with his tribe, however, he sat apart, a solitary being in a multitude, his form shrinking into a crouching and abject attitude, as if anxious to fill as little space as possible. When each individual had taken his proper station, and a breathing silence reigned in the place, the gray-haired chief, already introduced to the reader, spoke aloud, in the language of the Lenni Lenape.
“Delaware,” he said, “though one of a nation of women, you have proved yourself a man, I would give you food, but he who eats with a Huron, should become his friend. Rest in peace till the morning sun, when our words shall be spoken to you.”
“Seven nights, and as many summer days, have I fasted on the trail of the Hurons,” Uncas coldly replied; “the children of the Lenape know how to travel the path of the just, without lingering to eat.”
“Two of my young men are in pursuit of your companion,” resumed the other, without appearing to regard the boast of his captive; “when they get back, then will our wise men say to you–live or die.”
“Has a Huron no ears?” scornfully exclaimed Uncas; “twice since he has been your prisoner, has the Delaware heard a gun that he knows! Your young men will never come back.”
A short and sullen pause succeeded this confident assertion. Duncan, who understood the Mohican to allude to the fatal rifle of the scout, bent forward in earnest observation of the effect it might produce on the conquerors; but the chief was content with simply retorting–
“If the Lenape are so skilful, why is one of their bravest warriors here?”
“He followed in the steps of a flying coward, and fell into a snare. The cunning beaver may be caught!”
As Uncas thus replied, he pointed with his finger towards the solitary Huron, but without deigning to bestow any other notice on so unworthy an object. The words of the answer, and the air of the speaker, produced a powerful sensation among his auditors. Every eye rolled sullenly toward the individual indicated by the simple gesture, and a low, threatening murmur, passed through the crowd. The ominous sounds reached the outer door, and the women and children pressing into the throng, no gap had been left, between shoulder and shoulder, that was not, now, filled with the dark lineaments of some eager and curious human countenance.
In the mean time, the more aged chiefs, in the centre, communed with each other, in short and broken sentences. Not a word was uttered, that did not convey the meaning of the speaker, in the simplest and most energetic form. Again, a long and deeply solemn pause took place. It was known, by all present, to be the grave precursor of a weighty and important judgment. They who composed the outer circle of faces, were on tiptoe to gaze; and even the culprit, for an instant, forgot his shame, in a deeper emotion, and exposed his abject features, in order to cast an anxious and troubled glance at the dark assemblage of chiefs. The deep and impressive silence was finally broken by the aged warrior, so often named. He arose from the earth, and moving past the immovable form of Uncas, placed himself in a dignified and erect attitude before the offender. At that moment, the withered squaw, already mentioned, moved into the circle, in a slow, sideling sort of a dance, holding the torch, and muttering the indistinct words of what might have been a species of incantation. Though her presence was altogether an intrusion, it was unheeded.
Approaching Uncas, she held the blazing brand in such a manner, as to cast its red glare on his person, and expose the slightest emotion of his countenance. The Mohican chief maintained his firm and haughty attitude; and his eye, so far from deigning to meet her inquisitive look, dwelt steadily on the distance, as though it penetrated the obstacles which impeded the view, and looked deep into futurity. Satisfied with her examination, she left him, with a slight expression of pleasure, and proceeded to practise the same trying experiment on her delinquent countryman.
The young Huron was in his war paint, and very little of a finely moulded form was concealed by his attire. The light rendered every limb and joint discernible, and Duncan turned away in horror, when he saw they were writhing in irrepressible agony. The woman was commencing a low and plaintive howl, at the sad and shameful spectacle, when the chief put forth his hand, and gently pushed her aside.
“Reed-that-bends,” he said, addressing the young culprit by name, and in his proper language, “though the Great Spirit has made you pleasant to the eyes, it would have been better that you had not been born. Your tongue is loud in the village, but in battle it is still. None of my young men strike the tomahawk deeper into the war-post–none of them so lightly on the Yengeese. The enemy know the shape of your back, but they have never seen the colour of your eyes. Three times have they called on you to come, and as often did you forget to answer. Your name will never be mentioned, again, in your tribe–it is already forgotten.”
As the chief slowly uttered these words, pausing impressively between each sentence, the culprit raised his face, in deference to the other’s rank and years. Shame, horror, and pride, struggled fearfully in its speaking lineaments. His eye, which was contracted with inward anguish, gleamed around on the persons of those whose breath was his fame, and the latter emotion, for an instant predominated. He arose to his feet, and baring his bosom, looked steadily on the keen, glittering knife, that was already upheld by his inexorable judge. As the weapon passed slowly into his heart, he even smiled, as if in joy, at having found death less dreadful than he had anticipated, and fell heavily on his face, at the feet of the rigid and unyielding form of Uncas.
The squaw gave a loud and plaintive yell, dashed the torch to the earth, and buried every thing in darkness. The whole shuddering groupe of spectators glided from the lodge, like troubled sprites; and Duncan thought that he and the yet throbbing body of the victim of an Indian judgment, had now become its only tenants.
CHAPTER VII.
“Thus spoke the sage: the kings without delay
Dissolve the council, and their chief obey.”
Pope’s Iliad
A single moment, however, served to convince the youth that he was mistaken. A hand was laid, with a powerful pressure, on his arm, and then the low voice of Uncas muttered in his ears–