His reception was grave, silent, and wary. The warriors in front stepped aside, opening the way to their most approved orator by the action; one who spoke all those languages, that were cultivated among the northern aborigines.
“The wise Huron is welcome,” said the Delaware, in the language of the Maquas; “he is come to eat his ‘suc-ca-tush’ with his brothers of the lakes!”
“He is come;” repeated Magua, bending his head with the dignity of an eastern prince.
The chief extended his arm, and taking the other by the wrist, they once more exchanged their friendly salutations. Then the Delaware invited his guest to enter his own lodge, and share his morning meal. The invitation was accepted, and the two warriors, attended by three or four of the old men, walked calmly away, leaving the rest of the tribe devoured by a desire to understand the reasons of so unusual a visit, and yet not betraying the least impatience, by any sign or syllable.
During the short and frugal repast that followed, the conversation was extremely circumspect, and related entirely to the events of the hunt, in which Magua had so lately been engaged. It would have been impossible for the most finished breeding to wear more of the appearance of considering the visit as a thing of course, than did his hosts, notwithstanding every individual present was perfectly aware, that it must be connected with some secret object, and that, probably, of the last importance to themselves. When the appetites of the whole were appeased, the squaws removed the trenchers and gourds, and the two parties began to prepare themselves for a keen and subtle trial of their wits.
“Is the face of my great Canada father turned again towards his Huron children?” demanded the orator of the Delawares.
“When was it ever otherwise!” returned Magua. “He calls my people his ‘most beloved.’ ”
The Delaware gravely bowed his acquiescence to what he knew to be false, and continued–
“The tomahawks of your young men have been very red!”
“It is so; but they are now bright and dull–for the Yengeese are dead, and the Delawares are our neighbours!”
The other acknowledged the pacific compliment by a graceful gesture of the hand, and remained silent. Then Magua, as if recalled to such a recollection, by the allusion to the massacre, demanded–
“Does my prisoner give trouble to my brothers?”
“She is welcome.”
“The path between the Hurons and the Delawares is short, and it is open; let her be sent to my squaws, if she gives trouble to my brother.”
“She is welcome,” returned the chief of the latter nation, still more emphatically.
The baffled Magua continued silent several minutes, apparently indifferent, however, to the repulse he had received in this, his opening, effort to regain possession of Cora.
“Do my young men leave the Delawares room on the mountains for their hunts?” he, at length, continued.
“The Lenape are rulers of their own hills,” returned the other, a little haughtily.
“It is well. Justice is the master of a red-skin! Why should they brighten their tomahawks, and sharpen their knives against each other! Are there not pale-faces for enemies!”
“Good!” exclaimed two or three of his auditors at the same time.
Magua waited a little, to permit his words to soften the feelings of the Delawares, before he added–
“Have there not been strange moccasins in the woods? Have not my brothers scented the feet of white men?”
“Let my Canada father come!” returned the other, evasively; “his children are ready to see him.”
“When the Great Chief comes, it is to smoke with the Indians, in their wigwams. The Hurons say, too, he is welcome. But the Yengeese have long arms, and legs that never tire! My young men dreamed they had seen the trail of the Yengeese nigh the village of the Delawares?”
“They will not find the Lenape asleep.”
“It is well. The warrior whose eye is open, can see his enemy,” said Magua, once more shifting his ground, when he found himself unable to penetrate the caution of his companion. “I have brought gifts to my brother. His nation would not go on the warpath, because they did not think it well; but their friends have remembered where they lived.”
When he had thus announced his liberal intention, the crafty chief arose, and gravely spread his presents before the dazzled eyes of his hosts. They consisted principally of trinkets of little value, plundered from the slaughtered and captured females of William Henry. In the division of the baubles, the cunning Huron discovered no less art than in their selection. While he bestowed those of greater value on the two most distinguished warriors, one of whom was his host, he seasoned his offerings to their inferiors with such well-timed and apposite compliments, as left them no grounds of complaint. In short, the whole ceremony contained such a happy blending of the profitable with the flattering, that it was not difficult for the donor immediately to read the effect of a generosity so aptly mingled with praise, in the eyes of those he addressed.
This well judged and politic stroke on the part of Magua, was not without its instantaneous results. The Delawares lost their stern gravity, in a much more cordial expression of features; and the host, in particular, after contemplating his own liberal share of the spoil, for some moments, with peculiar gratification, repeated, with strong emphasis, the words–
“My brother is a wise chief. He is welcome!”
“The Hurons love their friends the Delawares,” returned Magua. “Why should they not! they are coloured by the same sun, and their just men will hunt in the same grounds after death. The red-skins should be friends, and look with open eyes on the white men. Has not my brother scented spies in the woods?”
The Delaware, whose name, in English, signified “Hard-heart,” an appellation that the French had translated into “Le-cœur-dur,” forgot that obduracy of purpose, which had probably obtained him so significant a title. His countenance grew very sensibly less stern, and he now deigned to answer more directly.
“There have been strange moccasins about my camp. They have been tracked into my lodges.”
“Did my brother beat out the dogs?” asked Magua, without adverting in any manner to the former equivocation of the chief.
“It would not do. The stranger is always welcome to the children of the Lenape.”
“The stranger, but not the spy!”
“Would the Yengeese send their women as spies? Did not the Huron chief say he took women in the battle?”
“He told no lie. The Yengeese have sent out their scouts. They have been in my wigwams, but they found there no one to say welcome. Then they fled to the Delawares–for say they, the Delawares are our friends; their minds are turned from their Canada father!”
This insinuation was a home thrust, and one that, in a more advanced state of society, would have entitled Magua to the reputation of a skilful diplomatist. The recent defection of their tribe had, as they well knew themselves, subjected the Delawares to much reproach among their French allies, and they were now made to feel that their future actions were to be regarded with jealousy and distrust. There was no deep insight, into causes and effects, necessary to foresee that such a situation of things was likely to prove highly prejudicial to all their future movements. Their distant villages, their hunting grounds, and hundreds of their women and children, together with a material part of their physical force, were all actually within the limits of the French territory. Accordingly, this alarming annunciation was received, as Magua intended, with manifest disapprobation, if not with alarm.
“Let my father look in my face,” said Le-cœur-dur; “he will see no change. It is true, my young men did not go out on the war-path; they had dreams for not doing so. But they love and venerate the great white chief.”
“Will he think so, when he hears that his greatest enemy is fed in the camp of his children! When he is told, a bloody Yengee smokes at your fire! That the pale-face, who has slain so many of his friends, goes in and out among the Delawares! Go–my great Canada Father is not a fool!”
“Where is the Yengee that the Delawares fear!” returned the other; “who has slain my young men! who is the mortal enemy of my Great Father!”
“La Longue Carabine.”
The Delaware warriors started at the well known name, betraying, by their amazement, they now learnt, for the first time, that one so famous among the Indian allies of France, was within their power.
“What does my brother mean?” demanded Le-cœur-dur, in a tone that, by its wonder, far exceeded the usual apathy of his race.
“A Huron never lies,” returned Magua, coldly, leaning his head against the side of the lodge, and drawing his slight robe across his tawny breast. “Let the Delawares count their prisoners; they will find one whose skin is neither red nor pale.”