part in the cruel game that was at hand. Even the children would not be

excluded; but boys, little able to wield the instruments, tore the tomahawks

from the belts of their fathers, and stole into the ranks, apt imitators of the

savage traits exhibited by their parents.

Large piles of brush lay scattered about the clearing, and a wary and aged

squaw was occupied in firing as many as might serve to light the coming

exhibition. As the flame arose, its power exceeded that of the parting day, and

assisted to render objects at the same time more distinct and more hideous. The

whole scene formed a striking picture, whose frame was composed of the dark and

tall border of pines. The warriors just arrived were the most distant figures.

A little in advance stood two men, who were apparently selected from the rest,

as the principal actors in what was to follow. The light was not strong enough

to render their features distinct, though it was quite evident that they were

governed by very different emotions. While one stood erect and firm, prepared

to meet his fate like a hero, the other bowed his head, as if palsied by terror

or stricken with shame. The high-spirited Duncan felt a powerful impulse of

admiration and pity toward the former, though no opportunity could offer to

exhibit his generous emotions. He watched his slightest movement, however, with

eager eyes; and, as he traced the fine outline of his admirably proportioned

and active frame, he endeavored to persuade himself, that, if the powers of

man, seconded by such noble resolution, could bear one harmless through so

severe a trial, the youthful captive before him might hope for success in the

hazardous race he was about to run. Insensibly the young man drew nigher to the

swarthy lines of the Hurons, and scarcely breathed, so intense became his

interest in the spectacle. Just then the signal yell was given, and the

momentary quiet which had preceded it was broken by a burst of cries, that far

exceeded any before heard. The more abject of the two victims continued

motionless; but the other bounded from the place at the cry, with the activity

and swiftness of a deer. Instead of rushing through the hostile lines, as had

been expected, he just entered the dangerous defile, and before time was given

for a single blow, turned short, and leaping the heads of a row of children, he

gained at once the exterior and safer side of the formidable array. The

artifice was answered by a hundred voices raised in imprecations; and the whole

of the excited multitude broke from their order, and spread themselves about

the place in wild confusion.

A dozen blazing piles now shed their lurid brightness on the place, which

resembled some unhallowed and supernatural arena, in which malicious demons had

assembled to act their bloody and lawless rites. The forms in the background

looked like unearthly beings, gliding before the eye, and cleaving the air with

frantic and unmeaning gestures; while the savage passions of such as passed the

flames were rendered fearfully distinct by the gleams that shot athwart their

inflamed visages.

It will easily be understood that, amid such a concourse of vindictive enemies,

no breathing time was allowed the fugitive. There was a single moment when it

seemed as if he would have reached the forest, but the whole body of his

captors threw themselves before him, and drove him back into the center of his

relentless persecutors. Turning like a headed deer, he shot, with the swiftness

of an arrow, through a pillar of forked flame, and passing the whole multitude

harmless, he appeared on the opposite side of the clearing. Here, too, he was

met and turned by a few of the older and more subtle of the Hurons. Once more

he tried the throng, as if seeking safety in its blindness, and then several

moments succeeded, during which Duncan believed the active and courageous young

stranger was lost.

Nothing could be distinguished but a dark mass of human forms tossed and

involved in inexplicable confusion. Arms, gleaming knives, and formidable

clubs, appeared above them, but the blows were evidently given at random. The

awful effect was heightened by the piercing shrieks of the women and the fierce

yells of the warriors. Now and then Duncan caught a glimpse of a light form

cleaving the air in some desperate bound, and he rather hoped than believed

that the captive yet retained the command of his astonishing powers of

activity. Suddenly the multitude rolled backward, and approached the spot where

he himself stood. The heavy body in the rear pressed upon the women and

children in front, and bore them to the earth. The stranger reappeared in the

confusion. Human power could not, however, much longer endure so severe a

trial. Of this the captive seemed conscious. Profiting by the momentary

opening, he darted from among the warriors, and made a desperate, and what

seemed to Duncan a final effort to gain the wood. As if aware that no danger

was to be apprehended from the young soldier, the fugitive nearly brushed his

person in his flight. A tall and powerful Huron, who had husbanded his forces,

pressed close upon his heels, and with an uplifted arm menaced a fatal blow.

Duncan thrust forth a foot, and the shock precipitated the eager savage

headlong, many feet in advance of his intended victim. Thought itself is not

quicker than was the motion with which the latter profited by the advantage; he

turned, gleamed like a meteor again before the eyes of Duncan, and, at the next

moment, when the latter recovered his recollection, and gazed around in quest

of the captive, he saw him quietly leaning against a small painted post, which

stood before the door of the principal lodge.

Apprehensive that the part he had taken in the escape might prove fatal to

himself, Duncan left the place without delay. He followed the crowd, which drew

nigh the lodges, gloomy and sullen, like any other multitude that had been

disappointed in an execution. Curiosity, or perhaps a better feeling, induced

him to approach the stranger. He found him, standing with one arm cast about

the protecting post, and breathing thick and hard, after his exertions, but

disdaining to permit a single sign of suffering to escape. His person was now

protected by immemorial and sacred usage, until the tribe in council had

deliberated and determined on his fate. It was not difficult, however, to

foretell the result, if any presage could be drawn from the feelings of those

who crowded the place.

There was no term of abuse known to the Huron vocabulary that the disappointed

women did not lavishly expend on the successful stranger. They flouted at his

efforts, and told him, with bitter scoffs, that his feet were better than his

hands; and that he merited wings, while he knew not the use of an arrow or a

knife. To all this the captive made no reply; but was content to preserve an

attitude in which dignity was singularly blended with disdain. Exasperated as

much by his composure as by his good-fortune, their words became

unintelligible, and were succeeded by shrill, piercing yells. Just then the

crafty squaw, who had taken the necessary precaution to fire the piles, made

her way through the throng, and cleared a place for herself in front of the

captive. The squalid and withered person of this hag might well have obtained

for her the character of possessing more than human cunning. Throwing back her

light vestment, she stretched forth her long, skinny arm, in derision, and

using the language of the Lenape, as more intelligible to the subject of her

gibes, she commenced aloud:

[Illustration]

“Look you, Delaware,” she said, snapping her fingers in his face;

“your nation is a race of women, and the hoe is better fitted to your

hands than the gun. Your squaws are the mothers of deer; but if a bear, or a

wildcat, or a serpent were born among you, ye would flee. The Huron girls shall

make you petticoats, and we will find you a husband.”

A burst of savage laughter succeeded this attack, during which the soft and

musical merriment of the younger females strangely chimed with the cracked

voice of their older and more malignant companion. But the stranger was

superior to all their efforts. His head was immovable; nor did he betray the

slightest consciousness that any were present, except when his haughty eye

rolled toward the dusky forms of the warriors, who stalked in the background

silent and sullen observers of the scene.

Infuriated at the self-command of the captive, the woman placed her arms

akimbo; and, throwing herself into a posture of defiance, she broke out anew,

in a torrent of words that no art of ours could commit successfully to paper.

Her breath was, however, expended in vain; for, although distinguished in her

nation as a proficient in the art of abuse, she was permitted to work herself

into such a fury as actually to foam at the mouth, without causing a muscle to

vibrate in the motionless figure of the stranger. The effect of his

indifference began to extend itself to the other spectators; and a youngster,

who was just quitting the condition of a boy to enter the state of manhood,

attempted to assist the termagant, by flourishing his tomahawk before their

victim, and adding his empty boasts to the taunts of the women. Then, indeed,

the captive turned his face toward the light, and looked down on the stripling

with an expression that was superior to contempt. At the next moment he resumed

his quiet and reclining attitude against the post. But the change of posture

had permitted Duncan to exchange glances with the firm and piercing eyes of

Uncas.

Breathless with amazement, and heavily oppressed with the critical situation of

his friend, Heyward recoiled before the look, trembling lest its meaning 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 toward 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 background,

presenting a dark outline of swarthy and marked visages. In the very center 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 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 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 last

words shall be spoken.”

“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 man 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 bold 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 skillful, 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 toward 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 strong 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 meantime, the more aged chiefs, in the center, 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

brave 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 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 attitude before the offender. At that moment, the

withered squaw already mentioned moved into the circle, in a slow, sidling 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 to expose the slightest emotion of his

countenance. The Mohican maintained his firm and haughty attitude; and his

eyes, 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 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 molded 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 color 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 in its lineaments. His eye, which

was contracted with inward anguish, gleamed 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 everything in darkness. The whole shuddering group 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.