CHAPTER XVIII.

“Why, anything;

An honorable murderer, if you will;

For naught I did in hate, but all in honor.”

—Othello

The bloody and inhuman scene rather incidentally mentioned than described in

the preceding chapter, is conspicuous in the pages of colonial history by the

merited title of “The Massacre of William Henry.” It so far

deepened the stain which a previous and very similar event had left upon the

reputation of the French commander that it was not entirely erased by his early

and glorious death. It is now becoming obscured by time; and thousands, who

know that Montcalm died like a hero on the plains of Abraham, have yet to learn

how much he was deficient in that moral courage without which no man can be

truly great. Pages might yet be written to prove, from this illustrious

example, the defects of human excellence; to show how easy it is for generous

sentiments, high courtesy, and chivalrous courage to lose their influence

beneath the chilling blight of selfishness, and to exhibit to the world a man

who was great in all the minor attributes of character, but who was found

wanting when it became necessary to prove how much principle is superior to

policy. But the task would exceed our prerogatives; and, as history, like love,

is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness, it

is probable that Louis de Saint Veran will be viewed by posterity only as the

gallant defender of his country, while his cruel apathy on the shores of the

Oswego and of the Horican will be forgotten. Deeply regretting this weakness on

the part of a sister muse, we shall at once retire from her sacred precincts,

within the proper limits of our own humble vocation.

The third day from the capture of the fort was drawing to a close, but the

business of the narrative must still detain the reader on the shores of the

“holy lake.” When last seen, the environs of the works were filled

with violence and uproar. They were now possessed by stillness and death. The

blood-stained conquerors had departed; and their camp, which had so lately rung

with the merry rejoicings of a victorious army, lay a silent and deserted city

of huts. The fortress was a smoldering ruin; charred rafters, fragments of

exploded artillery, and rent mason-work covering its earthen mounds in confused

disorder.

A frightful change had also occurred in the season. The sun had hid its warmth

behind an impenetrable mass of vapor, and hundreds of human forms, which had

blackened beneath the fierce heats of August, were stiffening in their

deformity before the blasts of a premature November. The curling and spotless

mists, which had been seen sailing above the hills toward the north, were now

returning in an interminable dusky sheet, that was urged along by the fury of a

tempest. The crowded mirror of the Horican was gone; and, in its place, the

green and angry waters lashed the shores, as if indignantly casting back its

impurities to the polluted strand. Still the clear fountain retained a portion

of its charmed influence, but it reflected only the somber gloom that fell from

the impending heavens. That humid and congenial atmosphere which commonly

adorned the view, veiling its harshness, and softening its asperities, had

disappeared, the northern air poured across the waste of water so harsh and

unmingled, that nothing was left to be conjectured by the eye, or fashioned by

the fancy.

The fiercer element had cropped the verdure of the plain, which looked as

though it were scathed by the consuming lightning. But, here and there, a dark

green tuft rose in the midst of the desolation; the earliest fruits of a soil

that had been fattened with human blood. The whole landscape, which, seen by a

favoring light, and in a genial temperature, had been found so lovely, appeared

now like some pictured allegory of life, in which objects were arrayed in their

harshest but truest colors, and without the relief of any shadowing.

The solitary and arid blades of grass arose from the passing gusts fearfully

perceptible; the bold and rocky mountains were too distinct in their

barrenness, and the eye even sought relief, in vain, by attempting to pierce

the illimitable void of heaven, which was shut to its gaze by the dusky sheet

of ragged and driving vapor.

The wind blew unequally; sometimes sweeping heavily along the ground, seeming

to whisper its moanings in the cold ears of the dead, then rising in a shrill

and mournful whistling, it entered the forest with a rush that filled the air

with the leaves and branches it scattered in its path. Amid the unnatural

shower, a few hungry ravens struggled with the gale; but no sooner was the

green ocean of woods which stretched beneath them, passed, than they gladly

stopped, at random, to their hideous banquet.

In short, it was a scene of wildness and desolation; and it appeared as if all

who had profanely entered it had been stricken, at a blow, by the relentless

arm of death. But the prohibition had ceased; and for the first time since the

perpetrators of those foul deeds which had assisted to disfigure the scene were

gone, living human beings had now presumed to approach the place.

About an hour before the setting of the sun, on the day already mentioned, the

forms of five men might have been seen issuing from the narrow vista of trees,

where the path to the Hudson entered the forest, and advancing in the direction

of the ruined works. At first their progress was slow and guarded, as though

they entered with reluctance amid the horrors of the post, or dreaded the

renewal of its frightful incidents. A light figure preceded the rest of the

party, with the caution and activity of a native; ascending every hillock to

reconnoiter, and indicating by gestures, to his companions, the route he deemed

it most prudent to pursue. Nor were those in the rear wanting in every caution

and foresight known to forest warfare. One among them, he also was an Indian,

moved a little on one flank, and watched the margin of the woods, with eyes

long accustomed to read the smallest sign of danger. The remaining three were

white, though clad in vestments adapted, both in quality and color, to their

present hazardous pursuit—that of hanging on the skirts of a retiring

army in the wilderness.

The effects produced by the appalling sights that constantly arose in their

path to the lake shore, were as different as the characters of the respective

individuals who composed the party. The youth in front threw serious but

furtive glances at the mangled victims, as he stepped lightly across the plain,

afraid to exhibit his feelings, and yet too inexperienced to quell entirely

their sudden and powerful influence. His red associate, however, was superior

to such a weakness. He passed the groups of dead with a steadiness of purpose,

and an eye so calm, that nothing but long and inveterate practise could enable

him to maintain. The sensations produced in the minds of even the white men

were different, though uniformly sorrowful. One, whose gray locks and furrowed

lineaments, blending with a martial air and tread, betrayed, in spite of the

disguise of a woodsman’s dress, a man long experienced in scenes of war,

was not ashamed to groan aloud, whenever a spectacle of more than usual horror

came under his view. The young man at his elbow shuddered, but seemed to

suppress his feelings in tenderness to his companion. Of them all, the

straggler who brought up the rear appeared alone to betray his real thoughts,

without fear of observation or dread of consequences. He gazed at the most

appalling sight with eyes and muscles that knew not how to waver, but with

execrations so bitter and deep as to denote how much he denounced the crime of

his enemies.

The reader will perceive at once, in these respective characters, the Mohicans,

and their white friend, the scout; together with Munro and Heyward. It was, in

truth, the father in quest of his children, attended by the youth who felt so

deep a stake in their happiness, and those brave and trusty foresters, who had

already proved their skill and fidelity through the trying scenes related.

When Uncas, who moved in front, had reached the center of the plain, he raised

a cry that drew his companions in a body to the spot. The young warrior had

halted over a group of females who lay in a cluster, a confused mass of dead.

Notwithstanding the revolting horror of the exhibition, Munro and Heyward flew

toward the festering heap, endeavoring, with a love that no unseemliness could

extinguish, to discover whether any vestiges of those they sought were to be

seen among the tattered and many-colored garments. The father and the lover

found instant relief in the search; though each was condemned again to

experience the misery of an uncertainty that was hardly less insupportable than

the most revolting truth. They were standing, silent and thoughtful, around the

melancholy pile, when the scout approached. Eyeing the sad spectacle with an

angry countenance, the sturdy woodsman, for the first time since his entering

the plain, spoke intelligibly and aloud:

“I have been on many a shocking field, and have followed a trail of blood

for weary miles,” he said, “but never have I found the hand of the

devil so plain as it is here to be seen! Revenge is an Indian feeling, and all

who know me know that there is no cross in my veins; but this much will I

say—here, in the face of heaven, and with the power of the Lord so

manifest in this howling wilderness—that should these Frenchers ever

trust themselves again within the range of a ragged bullet, there is one rifle

which shall play its part so long as flint will fire or powder burn! I leave

the tomahawk and knife to such as have a natural gift to use them. What say

you, Chingachgook,” he added, in Delaware; “shall the Hurons boast

of this to their women when the deep snows come?”

A gleam of resentment flashed across the dark lineaments of the Mohican chief;

he loosened his knife in his sheath; and then turning calmly from the sight,

his countenance settled into a repose as deep as if he knew the instigation of

passion.

“Montcalm! Montcalm!” continued the deeply resentful and less

self-restrained scout; “they say a time must come when all the deeds done

in the flesh will be seen at a single look; and that by eyes cleared from

mortal infirmities. Woe betide the wretch who is born to behold this plain,

with the judgment hanging about his soul! Ha—as I am a man of white

blood, yonder lies a red-skin, without the hair of his head where nature rooted

it! Look to him, Delaware; it may be one of your missing people; and he should

have burial like a stout warrior. I see it in your eye, Sagamore; a Huron pays

for this, afore the fall winds have blown away the scent of the blood!”

Chingachgook approached the mutilated form, and, turning it over, he found the

distinguishing marks of one of those six allied tribes, or nations, as they

were called, who, while they fought in the English ranks, were so deadly

hostile to his own people. Spurning the loathsome object with his foot, he

turned from it with the same indifference he would have quitted a brute

carcass. The scout comprehended the action, and very deliberately pursued his

own way, continuing, however, his denunciations against the French commander in

the same resentful strain.

“Nothing but vast wisdom and unlimited power should dare to sweep off men

in multitudes,” he added; “for it is only the one that can know the

necessity of the judgment; and what is there, short of the other, that can

replace the creatures of the Lord? I hold it a sin to kill the second buck

afore the first is eaten, unless a march in front, or an ambushment, be

contemplated. It is a different matter with a few warriors in open and rugged

fight, for ’tis their gift to die with the rifle or the tomahawk in hand;

according as their natures may happen to be, white or red. Uncas, come this

way, lad, and let the ravens settle upon the Mingo. I know, from often seeing

it, that they have a craving for the flesh of an Oneida; and it is as well to

let the bird follow the gift of its natural appetite.”

“Hugh!” exclaimed the young Mohican, rising on the extremities of

his feet, and gazing intently in his front, frightening the ravens to some

other prey by the sound and the action.

“What is it, boy?” whispered the scout, lowering his tall form into

a crouching attitude, like a panther about to take his leap; “God send it

be a tardy Frencher, skulking for plunder. I do believe ‘killdeer’

would take an uncommon range today!”

Uncas, without making any reply, bounded away from the spot, and in the next

instant he was seen tearing from a bush, and waving in triumph, a fragment of

the green riding-veil of Cora. The movement, the exhibition, and the cry which

again burst from the lips of the young Mohican, instantly drew the whole party

about him.

“My child!” said Munro, speaking quickly and wildly; “give me

my child!”

“Uncas will try,” was the short and touching answer.

The simple but meaning assurance was lost on the father, who seized the piece

of gauze, and crushed it in his hand, while his eyes roamed fearfully among the

bushes, as if he equally dreaded and hoped for the secrets they might reveal.

“Here are no dead,” said Heyward; “the storm seems not to

have passed this way.”

“That’s manifest; and clearer than the heavens above our

heads,” returned the undisturbed scout; “but either she, or they

that have robbed her, have passed the bush; for I remember the rag she wore to

hide a face that all did love to look upon. Uncas, you are right; the dark-hair

has been here, and she has fled like a frightened fawn, to the wood; none who

could fly would remain to be murdered. Let us search for the marks she left;

for, to Indian eyes, I sometimes think a humming-bird leaves his trail in the

air.”

The young Mohican darted away at the suggestion, and the scout had hardly done

speaking, before the former raised a cry of success from the margin of the

forest. On reaching the spot, the anxious party perceived another portion of

the veil fluttering on the lower branch of a beech.

“Softly, softly,” said the scout, extending his long rifle in front

of the eager Heyward; “we now know our work, but the beauty of the trail

must not be deformed. A step too soon may give us hours of trouble. We have

them, though; that much is beyond denial.”

“Bless ye, bless ye, worthy man!” exclaimed Munro; “whither

then, have they fled, and where are my babes?”

“The path they have taken depends on many chances. If they have gone

alone, they are quite as likely to move in a circle as straight, and they may

be within a dozen miles of us; but if the Hurons, or any of the French Indians,

have laid hands on them, ’tis probably they are now near the borders of

the Canadas. But what matters that?” continued the deliberate scout,

observing the powerful anxiety and disappointment the listeners exhibited;

“here are the Mohicans and I on one end of the trail, and, rely on it, we

find the other, though they should be a hundred leagues asunder! Gently,

gently, Uncas, you are as impatient as a man in the settlements; you forget

that light feet leave but faint marks!”

“Hugh!” exclaimed Chingachgook, who had been occupied in examining

an opening that had been evidently made through the low underbrush which

skirted the forest; and who now stood erect, as he pointed downward, in the

attitude and with the air of a man who beheld a disgusting serpent.

“Here is the palpable impression of the footstep of a man,” cried

Heyward, bending over the indicated spot; “he has trod in the margin of

this pool, and the mark cannot be mistaken. They are captives.”

“Better so than left to starve in the wilderness,” returned the

scout; “and they will leave a wider trail. I would wager fifty beaver

skins against as many flints, that the Mohicans and I enter their wigwams

within the month! Stoop to it, Uncas, and try what you can make of the

moccasin; for moccasin it plainly is, and no shoe.”

The young Mohican bent over the track, and removing the scattered leaves from

around the place, he examined it with much of that sort of scrutiny that a

money dealer, in these days of pecuniary doubts, would bestow on a suspected

due-bill. At length he arose from his knees, satisfied with the result of the

examination.

“Well, boy,” demanded the attentive scout; “what does it say?

Can you make anything of the tell-tale?”

[Illustration]

“Well, boy,” demanded the attentive scout;

“what does it say? Can you make anything of the tell-tale?”

“Le Renard Subtil!”

“Ha! that rampaging devil again! there will never be an end of his loping

till ‘killdeer’ has said a friendly word to him.”

Heyward reluctantly admitted the truth of this intelligence, and now expressed

rather his hopes than his doubts by saying:

“One moccasin is so much like another, it is probable there is some

mistake.”

“One moccasin like another! you may as well say that one foot is like

another; though we all know that some are long, and others short; some broad

and others narrow; some with high, and some with low insteps; some intoed, and

some out. One moccasin is no more like another than one book is like another:

though they who can read in one are seldom able to tell the marks of the other.

Which is all ordered for the best, giving to every man his natural advantages.

Let me get down to it, Uncas; neither book nor moccasin is the worse for having

two opinions, instead of one.” The scout stooped to the task, and

instantly added:

“You are right, boy; here is the patch we saw so often in the other

chase. And the fellow will drink when he can get an opportunity; your drinking

Indian always learns to walk with a wider toe than the natural savage, it being

the gift of a drunkard to straddle, whether of white or red skin. ’Tis

just the length and breadth, too! look at it, Sagamore; you measured the prints

more than once, when we hunted the varmints from Glenn’s to the health

springs.”

Chingachgook complied; and after finishing his short examination, he arose, and

with a quiet demeanor, he merely pronounced the word:

“Magua!”

“Ay, ’tis a settled thing; here, then, have passed the dark-hair

and Magua.”

“And not Alice?” demanded Heyward.

“Of her we have not yet seen the signs,” returned the scout,

looking closely around at the trees, the bushes and the ground. “What

have we there? Uncas, bring hither the thing you see dangling from yonder

thorn-bush.”

When the Indian had complied, the scout received the prize, and holding it on

high, he laughed in his silent but heartfelt manner.

“’Tis the tooting we’pon of the singer! now we shall have a

trail a priest might travel,” he said. “Uncas, look for the marks

of a shoe that is long enough to uphold six feet two of tottering human flesh.

I begin to have some hopes of the fellow, since he has given up squalling to

follow some better trade.”

“At least he has been faithful to his trust,” said Heyward.

“And Cora and Alice are not without a friend.”

“Yes,” said Hawkeye, dropping his rifle, and leaning on it with an

air of visible contempt, “he will do their singing. Can he slay a buck

for their dinner; journey by the moss on the beeches, or cut the throat of a

Huron? If not, the first catbird[1]

he meets is the cleverer of the two. Well, boy, any signs of such a

foundation?”

[1]

The powers of the American mocking-bird are generally known. But the true

mocking-bird is not found so far north as the state of New York, where it has,

however, two substitutes of inferior excellence, the catbird, so often named by

the scout, and the bird vulgarly called ground- thresher. Either of these last

two birds is superior to the nightingale or the lark, though, in general, the

American birds are less musical than those of Europe.

“Here is something like the footstep of one who has worn a shoe; can it

be that of our friend?”

“Touch the leaves lightly or you’ll disconsart the formation. That!

that is the print of a foot, but ’tis the dark-hair’s; and small it

is, too, for one of such a noble height and grand appearance. The singer would

cover it with his heel.”

“Where! let me look on the footsteps of my child,” said Munro,

shoving the bushes aside, and bending fondly over the nearly obliterated

impression. Though the tread which had left the mark had been light and rapid,

it was still plainly visible. The aged soldier examined it with eyes that grew

dim as he gazed; nor did he rise from this stooping posture until Heyward saw

that he had watered the trace of his daughter’s passage with a scalding

tear. Willing to divert a distress which threatened each moment to break

through the restraint of appearances, by giving the veteran something to do,

the young man said to the scout:

“As we now possess these infallible signs, let us commence our march. A

moment, at such a time, will appear an age to the captives.”

“It is not the swiftest leaping deer that gives the longest chase,”

returned Hawkeye, without moving his eyes from the different marks that had

come under his view; “we know that the rampaging Huron has passed, and

the dark-hair, and the singer, but where is she of the yellow locks and blue

eyes? Though little, and far from being as bold as her sister, she is fair to

the view, and pleasant in discourse. Has she no friend, that none care for

her?”

“God forbid she should ever want hundreds! Are we not now in her pursuit?

For one, I will never cease the search till she be found.”

“In that case we may have to journey by different paths; for here she has

not passed, light and little as her footsteps would be.”

Heyward drew back, all his ardor to proceed seeming to vanish on the instant.

Without attending to this sudden change in the other’s humor, the scout

after musing a moment continued:

“There is no woman in this wilderness could leave such a print as that,

but the dark-hair or her sister. We know that the first has been here, but

where are the signs of the other? Let us push deeper on the trail, and if

nothing offers, we must go back to the plain and strike another scent. Move on,

Uncas, and keep your eyes on the dried leaves. I will watch the bushes, while

your father shall run with a low nose to the ground. Move on, friends; the sun

is getting behind the hills.”

“Is there nothing that I can do?” demanded the anxious Heyward.

“You?” repeated the scout, who, with his red friends, was already

advancing in the order he had prescribed; “yes, you can keep in our rear

and be careful not to cross the trail.”

Before they had proceeded many rods, the Indians stopped, and appeared to gaze

at some signs on the earth with more than their usual keenness. Both father and

son spoke quick and loud, now looking at the object of their mutual admiration,

and now regarding each other with the most unequivocal pleasure.

“They have found the little foot!” exclaimed the scout, moving

forward, without attending further to his own portion of the duty. “What

have we here? An ambushment has been planted in the spot! No, by the truest

rifle on the frontiers, here have been them one-sided horses again! Now the

whole secret is out, and all is plain as the north star at midnight. Yes, here

they have mounted. There the beasts have been bound to a sapling, in waiting;

and yonder runs the broad path away to the north, in full sweep for the

Canadas.”

“But still there are no signs of Alice, of the younger Miss Munro,”

said Duncan.

“Unless the shining bauble Uncas has just lifted from the ground should

prove one. Pass it this way, lad, that we may look at it.”

Heyward instantly knew it for a trinket that Alice was fond of wearing, and

which he recollected, with the tenacious memory of a lover, to have seen, on

the fatal morning of the massacre, dangling from the fair neck of his mistress.

He seized the highly prized jewel; and as he proclaimed the fact, it vanished

from the eyes of the wondering scout, who in vain looked for it on the ground,

long after it was warmly pressed against the beating heart of Duncan.

“Pshaw!” said the disappointed Hawkeye, ceasing to rake the leaves

with the breech of his rifle; “’tis a certain sign of age, when the

sight begins to weaken. Such a glittering gewgaw, and not to be seen! Well,

well, I can squint along a clouded barrel yet, and that is enough to settle all

disputes between me and the Mingoes. I should like to find the thing, too, if

it were only to carry it to the right owner, and that would be bringing the two

ends of what I call a long trail together, for by this time the broad St.

Lawrence, or perhaps, the Great Lakes themselves, are between us.”

“So much the more reason why we should not delay our march,”

returned Heyward; “let us proceed.”

“Young blood and hot blood, they say, are much the same thing. We are not

about to start on a squirrel hunt, or to drive a deer into the Horican, but to

outlie for days and nights, and to stretch across a wilderness where the feet

of men seldom go, and where no bookish knowledge would carry you through

harmless. An Indian never starts on such an expedition without smoking over his

council-fire; and, though a man of white blood, I honor their customs in this

particular, seeing that they are deliberate and wise. We will, therefore, go

back, and light our fire to-night in the ruins of the old fort, and in the

morning we shall be fresh, and ready to undertake our work like men, and not

like babbling women or eager boys.”

Heyward saw, by the manner of the scout, that altercation would be useless.

Munro had again sunk into that sort of apathy which had beset him since his

late overwhelming misfortunes, and from which he was apparently to be roused

only by some new and powerful excitement. Making a merit of necessity, the

young man took the veteran by the arm, and followed in the footsteps of the

Indians and the scout, who had already begun to retrace the path which

conducted them to the plain.