“Can these things be?” returned David, breathing more freely, as the truth began to dawn upon him. “I have found many marvels during my sojourn with the heathen, but, surely, nothing to excel this!”
“Come, come,” returned Hawk-eye, uncasing his honest countenance, the better to assure the wavering confidence of his companion; “you may see a skin, which, if it be not as white as one of the gentle ones, has no tinge of red to it, that the winds of the heaven and the sun has not bestowed. Now let us to business.”
“First tell me of the maiden, and of the youth who so bravely sought her,” interrupted David.
“Ay, they are happily freed from the tomahawks of these varlets! But can you put me on the scent of Uncas?”
“The young man is in bondage, and much I fear is his death decreed. I greatly mourn, that one so well disposed should die in his ignorance, and I have sought a goodly hymn–”
“Can you lead me to him?”
“The task will not be difficult,” returned David, hesitating; “though I greatly fear your presence would rather increase than mitigate his unhappy fortunes.”
“No more words, but lead on,” returned Hawk-eye, concealing his face again, and setting the example in his own person, by instantly quitting the lodge.
As they proceeded, the scout ascertained that his companion found access to Uncas, under privilege of his imaginary infirmity, aided by the favour he had acquired with one of the guards, who, in consequence of speaking a little English, had been selected by David as the subject of a religious conversion. How far the Huron comprehended the intentions of his new friend, may well be doubted; but as exclusive attention is as flattering to a savage as to a more civilized individual, it had, assuredly, produced the effect we have mentioned. It is unnecessary to repeat the shrewd manner with which the scout extracted these particulars from the simple David; neither shall we dwell, in this place, on the nature of the instructions he delivered, when completely master of all the necessary facts, as the whole will be sufficiently explained to the reader in the due course of the narrative.
The lodge in which Uncas was confined, was in the very centre of the village, and in a situation, perhaps, more difficult than any other to approach or leave without observation. But it was not the policy of Hawk-eye to affect the least concealment. Presuming on his disguise, and his ability to sustain the character he had assumed, he took the most plain and direct route to the place. The hour, however, afforded him some little of that protection, which he appeared so much to despise. The boys were already buried in sleep, and all the women, and most of the warriors, had now retired to their lodges for the night. Four or five of the latter, only, lingered about the door of the prison of Uncas, wary, but close observers of the manner of their captive.
At the sight of Gamut, accompanied by one in the well known masquerade of their most distinguished conjuror, they readily made a passage to the entrance. Still, they betrayed no intention to depart. On the other hand, they were evidently disposed to remain bound to the place by an additional interest in the mysterious mummeries that they, of course, expected from such a visit. From the total inability of the scout to address the Hurons, in their own language, he was compelled to trust the conversation entirely to David. Notwithstanding the simplicity of the latter, he did ample justice to the instructions he had received, more than fulfilling the strongest hopes of his teacher.
“The Delawares are women!” he exclaimed. addressing himself to the savage who had a slight understanding of the language, in which he spoke; “the Yengeese, my foolish countrymen, have told them to take up the tomahawk, and strike their fathers in the Canadas, and they have forgotten their sex. Does my brother wish to hear ‘le Cerf Agile’ ask for his petticoats, and see him weep before the Hurons, at the stake?”
The exclamation, “hugh,” delivered in a strong tone of assent, announced the gratification the savage would receive, in witnessing such an exhibition of weakness in an enemy so long hated and so much feared.
“Then let him step aside, and the cunning man will blow upon the dog! Tell it to my brothers.”
The Huron explained the meaning of David to his fellows, who, in their turn, listened to the project with that sort of satisfaction, that their untamed spirits might be expected to find, in such a refinement in cruelty. They drew back a little from the entrance, and motioned to the supposed conjuror to enter. But the bear, instead of obeying, maintained the seat it had taken, and growled.
“The cunning man is afraid that his breath will blow upon his brothers, and take away their courage too,” continued David, improving the hint he received; “they must stand further off.”
The Hurons, who would have deemed such a misfortune the heaviest calamity that could befall them, fell back in a body, taking a position where they were out of ear-shot, though, at the same time, they could command a view of the entrance to the lodge. Then, as if satisfied of their safety, the scout left his position, and slowly entered the place. It was silent and gloomy, being tenanted solely by the captive, and lighted by the dying embers of a fire, which had been used for the purposes of cookery.
Uncas occupied a distant corner, in a reclining attitude, being rigidly bound, both hands and feet, by strong and painful withes. When the frightful object first presented itself to the young Mohican he did not deign to bestow a single glance on the animal. The scout, who had left David at the door, to ascertain they were not observed, thought it prudent to preserve his disguise until assured of their privacy. Instead of speaking, therefore, he exerted himself to enact one of the antics of the animal he represented. The young Mohican, who, at first, believed his enemies had sent in a real beast to torment him, and try his nerves, detected, in those performances that to Heyward had appeared so accurate, certain blemishes, that at once betrayed the counterfeit. Had Hawk-eye been aware of the low estimation in which the more skilful Uncas held his representations, he would, probably, have prolonged the entertainment a little in pique. But the scornful expression of the young man’s eye, admitted of so many constructions, that the worthy scout was spared the mortification of such a discovery. As soon, therefore, as David gave the preconcerted signal, a low, hissing sound, was heard in the lodge, in place of the fierce growlings of the bear.
Uncas had cast his body back against the wall of the but, and closed his eyes, as if willing to exclude such contemptible and disagreeable objects from his sight. But the moment the noise of the serpent was heard, he arose, and cast his looks on each side of him, bending his head low, and turning it inquiringly in every direction, until his keen eye rested on the shaggy monster, where it remained riveted, as though fixed by the power of a charm. Again the same sounds were repeated, evidently proceeding from the mouth of the beast. Once more the eyes of the youth roamed over the interior of the lodge, and returning to their former resting-place, he uttered, in a deep, suppressed voice, the usual exclamation–
“Hugh!”
“Cut his bands,” said Hawk-eye to David, who just then approached them.
The singer did as he was ordered, and Uncas found his limbs released. At the same moment, the dried skin of the animal rattled hurriedly, and presently the scout arose to his feet, in his proper person. The Mohican appeared to comprehend the nature of the attempt his friend had made, intuitively; neither tongue nor feature betraying another symptom of surprise. When Hawk-eye had cast his shaggy vestment, which was done by simply loosing certain thongs of skin, he drew a long glittering knife, and put it in the hands of Uncas.
“The red Hurons are without,” he said; “let us be ready.”
At the same time, he laid his finger significantly on another similar weapon; both being the fruits of his prowess among their enemies during the evening.
“We will go!” said Uncas.
“Whither?”
“To the Tortosies–they are the children of my grandfathers!”
“Ay, lad,” said the scout in English, a language he was apt to use when a little abstracted in mind; “the same blood runs in your veins, I believe; but time and distance has a little changed its colour! What shall we do with the Mingoes at the door! They count six, and this singer is as good as nothing.”
“The Hurons are boasters!” said Uncas, scornfully; “their ‘totem’ is a moose; and they run like snails. The Delawares are children of the tortoise; and they outstrip the deer!”