CHAPTER XII.

“Clo.—I am gone, sire,

And anon, sire, I’ll be with you again.”

—Twelfth Night

The Hurons stood aghast at this sudden visitation of death on one of their

band. But as they regarded the fatal accuracy of an aim which had dared to

immolate an enemy at so much hazard to a friend, the name of “La Longue

Carabine” burst simultaneously from every lip, and was succeeded by a

wild and a sort of plaintive howl. The cry was answered by a loud shout from a

little thicket, where the incautious party had piled their arms; and at the

next moment, Hawkeye, too eager to load the rifle he had regained, was seen

advancing upon them, brandishing the clubbed weapon, and cutting the air with

wide and powerful sweeps. Bold and rapid as was the progress of the scout, it

was exceeded by that of a light and vigorous form which, bounding past him,

leaped, with incredible activity and daring, into the very center of the

Hurons, where it stood, whirling a tomahawk, and flourishing a glittering

knife, with fearful menaces, in front of Cora. Quicker than the thoughts could

follow those unexpected and audacious movements, an image, armed in the

emblematic panoply of death, glided before their eyes, and assumed a

threatening attitude at the other’s side. The savage tormentors recoiled

before these warlike intruders, and uttered, as they appeared in such quick

succession, the often repeated and peculiar exclamations of surprise, followed

by the well-known and dreaded appellations of:

“Le Cerf Agile! Le Gros Serpent!”

But the wary and vigilant leader of the Hurons was not so easily disconcerted.

Casting his keen eyes around the little plain, he comprehended the nature of

the assault at a glance, and encouraging his followers by his voice as well as

by his example, he unsheathed his long and dangerous knife, and rushed with a

loud whoop upon the expected Chingachgook. It was the signal for a general

combat. Neither party had firearms, and the contest was to be decided in the

deadliest manner, hand to hand, with weapons of offense, and none of defense.

Uncas answered the whoop, and leaping on an enemy, with a single, well-directed

blow of his tomahawk, cleft him to the brain. Heyward tore the weapon of Magua

from the sapling, and rushed eagerly toward the fray. As the combatants were

now equal in number, each singled an opponent from the adverse band. The rush

and blows passed with the fury of a whirlwind, and the swiftness of lightning.

Hawkeye soon got another enemy within reach of his arm, and with one sweep of

his formidable weapon he beat down the slight and inartificial defenses of his

antagonist, crushing him to the earth with the blow. Heyward ventured to hurl

the tomahawk he had seized, too ardent to await the moment of closing. It

struck the Indian he had selected on the forehead, and checked for an instant

his onward rush. Encouraged by this slight advantage, the impetuous young man

continued his onset, and sprang upon his enemy with naked hands. A single

instant was enough to assure him of the rashness of the measure, for he

immediately found himself fully engaged, with all his activity and courage, in

endeavoring to ward the desperate thrusts made with the knife of the Huron.

Unable longer to foil an enemy so alert and vigilant, he threw his arms about

him, and succeeded in pinning the limbs of the other to his side, with an iron

grasp, but one that was far too exhausting to himself to continue long. In this

extremity he heard a voice near him, shouting:

“Extarminate the varlets! no quarter to an accursed Mingo!”

At the next moment, the breech of Hawkeye’s rifle fell on the naked head

of his adversary, whose muscles appeared to wither under the shock, as he sank

from the arms of Duncan, flexible and motionless.

When Uncas had brained his first antagonist, he turned, like a hungry lion, to

seek another. The fifth and only Huron disengaged at the first onset had paused

a moment, and then seeing that all around him were employed in the deadly

strife, he had sought, with hellish vengeance, to complete the baffled work of

revenge. Raising a shout of triumph, he sprang toward the defenseless Cora,

sending his keen axe as the dreadful precursor of his approach. The tomahawk

grazed her shoulder, and cutting the withes which bound her to the tree, left

the maiden at liberty to fly. She eluded the grasp of the savage, and reckless

of her own safety, threw herself on the bosom of Alice, striving with convulsed

and ill-directed fingers, to tear asunder the twigs which confined the person

of her sister. Any other than a monster would have relented at such an act of

generous devotion to the best and purest affection; but the breast of the Huron

was a stranger to sympathy. Seizing Cora by the rich tresses which fell in

confusion about her form, he tore her from her frantic hold, and bowed her down

with brutal violence to her knees. The savage drew the flowing curls through

his hand, and raising them on high with an outstretched arm, he passed the

knife around the exquisitely molded head of his victim, with a taunting and

exulting laugh. But he purchased this moment of fierce gratification with the

loss of the fatal opportunity. It was just then the sight caught the eye of

Uncas. Bounding from his footsteps he appeared for an instant darting through

the air and descending in a ball he fell on the chest of his enemy, driving him

many yards from the spot, headlong and prostrate. The violence of the exertion

cast the young Mohican at his side. They arose together, fought, and bled, each

in his turn. But the conflict was soon decided; the tomahawk of Heyward and the

rifle of Hawkeye descended on the skull of the Huron, at the same moment that

the knife of Uncas reached his heart.

[Illustration]

The battle was now entirely terminated with the exception of the protracted

struggle between “Le Renard Subtil” and “Le Gros

Serpent.” Well did these barbarous warriors prove that they deserved

those significant names which had been bestowed for deeds in former wars. When

they engaged, some little time was lost in eluding the quick and vigorous

thrusts which had been aimed at their lives. Suddenly darting on each other,

they closed, and came to the earth, twisted together like twining serpents, in

pliant and subtle folds. At the moment when the victors found themselves

unoccupied, the spot where these experienced and desperate combatants lay could

only be distinguished by a cloud of dust and leaves, which moved from the

center of the little plain toward its boundary, as if raised by the passage of

a whirlwind. Urged by the different motives of filial affection, friendship and

gratitude, Heyward and his companions rushed with one accord to the place,

encircling the little canopy of dust which hung above the warriors. In vain did

Uncas dart around the cloud, with a wish to strike his knife into the heart of

his father’s foe; the threatening rifle of Hawkeye was raised and

suspended in vain, while Duncan endeavored to seize the limbs of the Huron with

hands that appeared to have lost their power. Covered as they were with dust

and blood, the swift evolutions of the combatants seemed to incorporate their

bodies into one. The death-like looking figure of the Mohican, and the dark

form of the Huron, gleamed before their eyes in such quick and confused

succession, that the friends of the former knew not where to plant the

succoring blow. It is true there were short and fleeting moments, when the

fiery eyes of Magua were seen glittering, like the fabled organs of the

basilisk through the dusty wreath by which he was enveloped, and he read by

those short and deadly glances the fate of the combat in the presence of his

enemies; ere, however, any hostile hand could descend on his devoted head, its

place was filled by the scowling visage of Chingachgook. In this manner the

scene of the combat was removed from the center of the little plain to its

verge. The Mohican now found an opportunity to make a powerful thrust with his

knife; Magua suddenly relinquished his grasp, and fell backward without motion,

and seemingly without life. His adversary leaped on his feet, making the arches

of the forest ring with the sounds of triumph.

“Well done for the Delawares! victory to the Mohicans!” cried

Hawkeye, once more elevating the butt of the long and fatal rifle; “a

finishing blow from a man without a cross will never tell against his honor,

nor rob him of his right to the scalp.”

But at the very moment when the dangerous weapon was in the act of descending,

the subtle Huron rolled swiftly from beneath the danger, over the edge of the

precipice, and falling on his feet, was seen leaping, with a single bound, into

the center of a thicket of low bushes, which clung along its sides. The

Delawares, who had believed their enemy dead, uttered their exclamation of

surprise, and were following with speed and clamor, like hounds in open view of

the deer, when a shrill and peculiar cry from the scout instantly changed their

purpose, and recalled them to the summit of the hill.

“’Twas like himself!” cried the inveterate forester, whose

prejudices contributed so largely to veil his natural sense of justice in all

matters which concerned the Mingoes; “a lying and deceitful varlet as he

is. An honest Delaware now, being fairly vanquished, would have lain still, and

been knocked on the head, but these knavish Maquas cling to life like so many

cats-o’-the-mountain. Let him go—let him go; ’tis but one

man, and he without rifle or bow, many a long mile from his French commerades;

and like a rattler that lost his fangs, he can do no further mischief, until

such time as he, and we too, may leave the prints of our moccasins over a long

reach of sandy plain. See, Uncas,” he added, in Delaware, “your

father is flaying the scalps already. It may be well to go round and feel the

vagabonds that are left, or we may have another of them loping through the

woods, and screeching like a jay that has been winged.”

So saying the honest but implacable scout made the circuit of the dead, into

whose senseless bosoms he thrust his long knife, with as much coolness as

though they had been so many brute carcasses. He had, however, been anticipated

by the elder Mohican, who had already torn the emblems of victory from the

unresisting heads of the slain.

But Uncas, denying his habits, we had almost said his nature, flew with

instinctive delicacy, accompanied by Heyward, to the assistance of the females,

and quickly releasing Alice, placed her in the arms of Cora. We shall not

attempt to describe the gratitude to the Almighty Disposer of Events which

glowed in the bosoms of the sisters, who were thus unexpectedly restored to

life and to each other. Their thanksgivings were deep and silent; the offerings

of their gentle spirits burning brightest and purest on the secret altars of

their hearts; and their renovated and more earthly feelings exhibiting

themselves in long and fervent though speechless caresses. As Alice rose from

her knees, where she had sunk by the side of Cora, she threw herself on the

bosom of the latter, and sobbed aloud the name of their aged father, while her

soft, dove-like eyes, sparkled with the rays of hope.

“We are saved! we are saved!” she murmured; “to return to the

arms of our dear, dear father, and his heart will not be broken with grief. And

you, too, Cora, my sister, my more than sister, my mother; you, too, are

spared. And Duncan,” she added, looking round upon the youth with a smile

of ineffable innocence, “even our own brave and noble Duncan has escaped

without a hurt.”

To these ardent and nearly innocent words Cora made no other answer than by

straining the youthful speaker to her heart, as she bent over her in melting

tenderness. The manhood of Heyward felt no shame in dropping tears over this

spectacle of affectionate rapture; and Uncas stood, fresh and blood-stained

from the combat, a calm, and, apparently, an unmoved looker-on, it is true, but

with eyes that had already lost their fierceness, and were beaming with a

sympathy that elevated him far above the intelligence, and advanced him

probably centuries before, the practises of his nation.

During this display of emotions so natural in their situation, Hawkeye, whose

vigilant distrust had satisfied itself that the Hurons, who disfigured the

heavenly scene, no longer possessed the power to interrupt its harmony,

approached David, and liberated him from the bonds he had, until that moment,

endured with the most exemplary patience.

“There,” exclaimed the scout, casting the last withe behind him,

“you are once more master of your own limbs, though you seem not to use

them with much greater judgment than that in which they were first fashioned.

If advice from one who is not older than yourself, but who, having lived most

of his time in the wilderness, may be said to have experience beyond his years,

will give no offense, you are welcome to my thoughts; and these are, to part

with the little tooting instrument in your jacket to the first fool you meet

with, and buy some we’pon with the money, if it be only the barrel of a

horseman’s pistol. By industry and care, you might thus come to some

prefarment; for by this time, I should think, your eyes would plainly tell you

that a carrion crow is a better bird than a mocking-thresher. The one will, at

least, remove foul sights from before the face of man, while the other is only

good to brew disturbances in the woods, by cheating the ears of all that hear

them.”

“Arms and the clarion for the battle, but the song of thanksgiving to the

victory!” answered the liberated David. “Friend,” he added,

thrusting forth his lean, delicate hand toward Hawkeye, in kindness, while his

eyes twinkled and grew moist, “I thank thee that the hairs of my head

still grow where they were first rooted by Providence; for, though those of

other men may be more glossy and curling, I have ever found mine own well

suited to the brain they shelter. That I did not join myself to the battle, was

less owing to disinclination, than to the bonds of the heathen. Valiant and

skillful hast thou proved thyself in the conflict, and I hereby thank thee,

before proceeding to discharge other and more important duties, because thou

hast proved thyself well worthy of a Christian’s praise.”

“The thing is but a trifle, and what you may often see if you tarry long

among us,” returned the scout, a good deal softened toward the man of

song, by this unequivocal expression of gratitude. “I have got back my

old companion, ‘killdeer’,” he added, striking his hand on

the breech of his rifle; “and that in itself is a victory. These Iroquois

are cunning, but they outwitted themselves when they placed their firearms out

of reach; and had Uncas or his father been gifted with only their common Indian

patience, we should have come in upon the knaves with three bullets instead of

one, and that would have made a finish of the whole pack; yon loping varlet, as

well as his commerades. But ’twas all fore-ordered, and for the

best.”

“Thou sayest well,” returned David, “and hast caught the true

spirit of Christianity. He that is to be saved will be saved, and he that is

predestined to be damned will be damned. This is the doctrine of truth, and

most consoling and refreshing it is to the true believer.”

The scout, who by this time was seated, examining into the state of his rifle

with a species of parental assiduity, now looked up at the other in a

displeasure that he did not affect to conceal, roughly interrupting further

speech.

“Doctrine or no doctrine,” said the sturdy woodsman,

“’tis the belief of knaves, and the curse of an honest man. I can

credit that yonder Huron was to fall by my hand, for with my own eyes I have

seen it; but nothing short of being a witness will cause me to think he has met

with any reward, or that Chingachgook there will be condemned at the final

day.”

“You have no warranty for such an audacious doctrine, nor any covenant to

support it,” cried David who was deeply tinctured with the subtle

distinctions which, in his time, and more especially in his province, had been

drawn around the beautiful simplicity of revelation, by endeavoring to

penetrate the awful mystery of the divine nature, supplying faith by

self-sufficiency, and by consequence, involving those who reasoned from such

human dogmas in absurdities and doubt; “your temple is reared on the

sands, and the first tempest will wash away its foundation. I demand your

authorities for such an uncharitable assertion (like other advocates of a

system, David was not always accurate in his use of terms). Name chapter and

verse; in which of the holy books do you find language to support you?”

“Book!” repeated Hawkeye, with singular and ill-concealed disdain;

“do you take me for a whimpering boy at the apronstring of one of your

old gals; and this good rifle on my knee for the feather of a goose’s

wing, my ox’s horn for a bottle of ink, and my leathern pouch for a

cross-barred handkercher to carry my dinner? Book! what have such as I, who am

a warrior of the wilderness, though a man without a cross, to do with books? I

never read but in one, and the words that are written there are too simple and

too plain to need much schooling; though I may boast that of forty long and

hard-working years.”

“What call you the volume?” said David, misconceiving the

other’s meaning.

“’Tis open before your eyes,” returned the scout; “and

he who owns it is not a niggard of its use. I have heard it said that there are

men who read in books to convince themselves there is a God. I know not but man

may so deform his works in the settlement, as to leave that which is so clear

in the wilderness a matter of doubt among traders and priests. If any such

there be, and he will follow me from sun to sun, through the windings of the

forest, he shall see enough to teach him that he is a fool, and that the

greatest of his folly lies in striving to rise to the level of One he can never

equal, be it in goodness, or be it in power.”

The instant David discovered that he battled with a disputant who imbibed his

faith from the lights of nature, eschewing all subtleties of doctrine, he

willingly abandoned a controversy from which he believed neither profit nor

credit was to be derived. While the scout was speaking, he had also seated

himself, and producing the ready little volume and the iron-rimmed spectacles,

he prepared to discharge a duty, which nothing but the unexpected assault he

had received in his orthodoxy could have so long suspended. He was, in truth, a

minstrel of the western continent—of a much later day, certainly, than

those gifted bards, who formerly sang the profane renown of baron and prince,

but after the spirit of his own age and country; and he was now prepared to

exercise the cunning of his craft, in celebration of, or rather in thanksgiving

for, the recent victory. He waited patiently for Hawkeye to cease, then lifting

his eyes, together with his voice, he said, aloud:

“I invite you, friends, to join in praise for this signal deliverance

from the hands of barbarians and infidels, to the comfortable and solemn tones

of the tune called ‘Northampton’.”

He next named the page and verse where the rhymes selected were to be found,

and applied the pitch-pipe to his lips, with the decent gravity that he had

been wont to use in the temple. This time he was, however, without any

accompaniment, for the sisters were just then pouring out those tender

effusions of affection which have been already alluded to. Nothing deterred by

the smallness of his audience, which, in truth, consisted only of the

discontented scout, he raised his voice, commencing and ending the sacred song

without accident or interruption of any kind.

[Illustration]

Hawkeye listened while he coolly adjusted his flint and reloaded his rifle; but

the sounds, wanting the extraneous assistance of scene and sympathy, failed to

awaken his slumbering emotions. Never minstrel, or by whatever more suitable

name David should be known, drew upon his talents in the presence of more

insensible auditors; though considering the singleness and sincerity of his

motive, it is probable that no bard of profane song ever uttered notes that

ascended so near to that throne where all homage and praise is due. The scout

shook his head, and muttering some unintelligible words, among which

“throat” and “Iroquois” were alone audible, he walked

away, to collect and to examine into the state of the captured arsenal of the

Hurons. In this office he was now joined by Chingachgook, who found his own, as

well as the rifle of his son, among the arms. Even Heyward and David were

furnished with weapons; nor was ammunition wanting to render them all

effectual.

When the foresters had made their selection, and distributed their prizes, the

scout announced that the hour had arrived when it was necessary to move. By

this time the song of Gamut had ceased, and the sisters had learned to still

the exhibition of their emotions. Aided by Duncan and the younger Mohican, the

two latter descended the precipitous sides of that hill which they had so

lately ascended under so very different auspices, and whose summit had so

nearly proved the scene of their massacre. At the foot they found the

Narragansetts browsing the herbage of the bushes, and having mounted, they

followed the movements of a guide, who, in the most deadly straits, had so

often proved himself their friend. The journey was, however, short. Hawkeye,

leaving the blind path that the Hurons had followed, turned short to his right,

and entering the thicket, he crossed a babbling brook, and halted in a narrow

dell, under the shade of a few water elms. Their distance from the base of the

fatal hill was but a few rods, and the steeds had been serviceable only in

crossing the shallow stream.

The scout and the Indians appeared to be familiar with the sequestered place

where they now were; for, leaning their rifle against the trees, they commenced

throwing aside the dried leaves, and opening the blue clay, out of which a

clear and sparkling spring of bright, glancing water, quickly bubbled. The

white man then looked about him, as though seeking for some object, which was

not to be found as readily as he expected.

“Them careless imps, the Mohawks, with their Tuscarora and Onondaga

brethren, have been here slaking their thirst,” he muttered, “and

the vagabonds have thrown away the gourd! This is the way with benefits, when

they are bestowed on such disremembering hounds! Here has the Lord laid his

hand, in the midst of the howling wilderness, for their good, and raised a

fountain of water from the bowels of the ’arth, that might laugh at the

richest shop of apothecary’s ware in all the colonies; and see! the

knaves have trodden in the clay, and deformed the cleanliness of the place, as

though they were brute beasts, instead of human men.”

Uncas silently extended toward him the desired gourd, which the spleen of

Hawkeye had hitherto prevented him from observing on a branch of an elm.

Filling it with water, he retired a short distance, to a place where the ground

was more firm and dry; here he coolly seated himself, and after taking a long,

and, apparently, a grateful draught, he commenced a very strict examination of

the fragments of food left by the Hurons, which had hung in a wallet on his

arm.

“Thank you, lad!” he continued, returning the empty gourd to Uncas;

“now we will see how these rampaging Hurons lived, when outlying in

ambushments. Look at this! The varlets know the better pieces of the deer; and

one would think they might carve and roast a saddle, equal to the best cook in

the land! But everything is raw, for the Iroquois are thorough savages. Uncas,

take my steel and kindle a fire; a mouthful of a tender broil will give

natur’ a helping hand, after so long a trail.”

Heyward, perceiving that their guides now set about their repast in sober

earnest, assisted the ladies to alight, and placed himself at their side, not

unwilling to enjoy a few moments of grateful rest, after the bloody scene he

had just gone through. While the culinary process was in hand, curiosity

induced him to inquire into the circumstances which had led to their timely and

unexpected rescue:

“How is it that we see you so soon, my generous friend,” he asked,

“and without aid from the garrison of Edward?”

“Had we gone to the bend in the river, we might have been in time to rake

the leaves over your bodies, but too late to have saved your scalps,”

coolly answered the scout. “No, no; instead of throwing away strength and

opportunity by crossing to the fort, we lay by, under the bank of the Hudson,

waiting to watch the movements of the Hurons.”

“You were, then, witnesses of all that passed?”

“Not of all; for Indian sight is too keen to be easily cheated, and we

kept close. A difficult matter it was, too, to keep this Mohican boy snug in

the ambushment. Ah! Uncas, Uncas, your behavior was more like that of a curious

woman than of a warrior on his scent.”

Uncas permitted his eyes to turn for an instant on the sturdy countenance of

the speaker, but he neither spoke nor gave any indication of repentance. On the

contrary, Heyward thought the manner of the young Mohican was disdainful, if

not a little fierce, and that he suppressed passions that were ready to

explode, as much in compliment to the listeners, as from the deference he

usually paid to his white associate.

“You saw our capture?” Heyward next demanded.

“We heard it,” was the significant answer. “An Indian yell is

plain language to men who have passed their days in the woods. But when you

landed, we were driven to crawl like sarpents, beneath the leaves; and then we

lost sight of you entirely, until we placed eyes on you again trussed to the

trees, and ready bound for an Indian massacre.”

“Our rescue was the deed of Providence. It was nearly a miracle that you

did not mistake the path, for the Hurons divided, and each band had its

horses.”

“Ay! there we were thrown off the scent, and might, indeed, have lost the

trail, had it not been for Uncas; we took the path, however, that led into the

wilderness; for we judged, and judged rightly, that the savages would hold that

course with their prisoners. But when we had followed it for many miles,

without finding a single twig broken, as I had advised, my mind misgave me;

especially as all the footsteps had the prints of moccasins.”

“Our captors had the precaution to see us shod like themselves,”

said Duncan, raising a foot, and exhibiting the buckskin he wore.

“Aye, ’twas judgmatical and like themselves; though we were too

expart to be thrown from a trail by so common an invention.”

“To what, then, are we indebted for our safety?”

“To what, as a white man who has no taint of Indian blood, I should be

ashamed to own; to the judgment of the young Mohican, in matters which I should

know better than he, but which I can now hardly believe to be true, though my

own eyes tell me it is so.”

“’Tis extraordinary! will you not name the reason?”

“Uncas was bold enough to say, that the beasts ridden by the gentle

ones,” continued Hawkeye, glancing his eyes, not without curious

interest, on the fillies of the ladies, “planted the legs of one side on

the ground at the same time, which is contrary to the movements of all trotting

four-footed animals of my knowledge, except the bear. And yet here are horses

that always journey in this manner, as my own eyes have seen, and as their

trail has shown for twenty long miles.”

“’Tis the merit of the animal! They come from the shores of

Narrangansett Bay, in the small province of Providence Plantations, and are

celebrated for their hardihood, and the ease of this peculiar movement; though

other horses are not unfrequently trained to the same.”

“It may be—it may be,” said Hawkeye, who had listened with

singular attention to this explanation; “though I am a man who has the

full blood of the whites, my judgment in deer and beaver is greater than in

beasts of burden. Major Effingham has many noble chargers, but I have never

seen one travel after such a sidling gait.”

“True; for he would value the animals for very different properties.

Still is this a breed highly esteemed and, as you witness, much honored with

the burdens it is often destined to bear.”

The Mohicans had suspended their operations about the glimmering fire to

listen; and, when Duncan had done, they looked at each other significantly, the

father uttering the never-failing exclamation of surprise. The scout ruminated,

like a man digesting his newly-acquired knowledge, and once more stole a glance

at the horses.

“I dare to say there are even stranger sights to be seen in the

settlements!” he said, at length. “Natur’ is sadly abused by

man, when he once gets the mastery. But, go sidling or go straight, Uncas had

seen the movement, and their trail led us on to the broken bush. The outer

branch, near the prints of one of the horses, was bent upward, as a lady breaks

a flower from its stem, but all the rest were ragged and broken down, as if the

strong hand of a man had been tearing them! So I concluded that the cunning

varments had seen the twig bent, and had torn the rest, to make us believe a

buck had been feeling the boughs with his antlers.”

“I do believe your sagacity did not deceive you; for some such thing

occurred!”

“That was easy to see,” added the scout, in no degree conscious of

having exhibited any extraordinary sagacity; “and a very different matter

it was from a waddling horse! It then struck me the Mingoes would push for this

spring, for the knaves well know the vartue of its waters!”

“Is it, then, so famous?” demanded Heyward, examining, with a more

curious eye, the secluded dell, with its bubbling fountain, surrounded, as it

was, by earth of a deep, dingy brown.

“Few red-skins, who travel south and east of the great lakes but have

heard of its qualities. Will you taste for yourself?”

Heyward took the gourd, and after swallowing a little of the water, threw it

aside with grimaces of discontent. The scout laughed in his silent but

heartfelt manner, and shook his head with vast satisfaction.

“Ah! you want the flavor that one gets by habit; the time was when I

liked it as little as yourself; but I have come to my taste, and I now crave

it, as a deer does the licks[1].

Your high-spiced wines are not better liked than a red-skin relishes this

water; especially when his natur’ is ailing. But Uncas has made his fire,

and it is time we think of eating, for our journey is long, and all before

us.”

[1]

Many of the animals of the American forests resort to those spots where salt

springs are found. These are called “licks” or “salt

licks,” in the language of the country, from the circumstance that the

quadruped is often obliged to lick the earth, in order to obtain the saline

particles. These licks are great places of resort with the hunters, who waylay

their game near the paths that lead to them.

Interrupting the dialogue by this abrupt transition, the scout had instant

recourse to the fragments of food which had escaped the voracity of the Hurons.

A very summary process completed the simple cookery, when he and the Mohicans

commenced their humble meal, with the silence and characteristic diligence of

men who ate in order to enable themselves to endure great and unremitting toil.

When this necessary, and, happily, grateful duty had been performed, each of

the foresters stooped and took a long and parting draught at that solitary and

silent spring[2],

around which and its sister fountains, within fifty years, the wealth, beauty

and talents of a hemisphere were to assemble in throngs, in pursuit of health

and pleasure. Then Hawkeye announced his determination to proceed. The sisters

resumed their saddles; Duncan and David grapsed their rifles, and followed on

footsteps; the scout leading the advance, and the Mohicans bringing up the

rear. The whole party moved swiftly through the narrow path, toward the north,

leaving the healing waters to mingle unheeded with the adjacent brooks and the

bodies of the dead to fester on the neighboring mount, without the rites of

sepulture; a fate but too common to the warriors of the woods to excite either

commiseration or comment.

[2]

The scene of the foregoing incidents is on the spot where the village of

Ballston now stands; one of the two principal watering places of America.