CHAPTER VI.

“Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide;

He wales a portion with judicious care;

And ‘Let us worship God’, he says, with solemn

air.”—Burns

Heyward and his female companions witnessed this mysterious movement with

secret uneasiness; for, though the conduct of the white man had hitherto been

above reproach, his rude equipments, blunt address, and strong antipathies,

together with the character of his silent associates, were all causes for

exciting distrust in minds that had been so recently alarmed by Indian

treachery.

The stranger alone disregarded the passing incidents. He seated himself on a

projection of the rocks, whence he gave no other signs of consciousness than by

the struggles of his spirit, as manifested in frequent and heavy sighs.

Smothered voices were next heard, as though men called to each other in the

bowels of the earth, when a sudden light flashed upon those without, and laid

bare the much-prized secret of the place.

At the further extremity of a narrow, deep cavern in the rock, whose length

appeared much extended by the perspective and the nature of the light by which

it was seen, was seated the scout, holding a blazing knot of pine. The strong

glare of the fire fell full upon his sturdy, weather-beaten countenance and

forest attire, lending an air of romantic wildness to the aspect of an

individual, who, seen by the sober light of day, would have exhibited the

peculiarities of a man remarkable for the strangeness of his dress, the

iron-like inflexibility of his frame, and the singular compound of quick,

vigilant sagacity, and of exquisite simplicity, that by turns usurped the

possession of his muscular features. At a little distance in advance stood

Uncas, his whole person thrown powerfully into view. The travelers anxiously

regarded the upright, flexible figure of the young Mohican, graceful and

unrestrained in the attitudes and movements of nature. Though his person was

more than usually screened by a green and fringed hunting-shirt, like that of

the white man, there was no concealment to his dark, glancing, fearless eye,

alike terrible and calm; the bold outline of his high, haughty features, pure

in their native red; or to the dignified elevation of his receding forehead,

together with all the finest proportions of a noble head, bared to the generous

scalping tuft. It was the first opportunity possessed by Duncan and his

companions to view the marked lineaments of either of their Indian attendants,

and each individual of the party felt relieved from a burden of doubt, as the

proud and determined, though wild expression of the features of the young

warrior forced itself on their notice. They felt it might be a being partially

benighted in the vale of ignorance, but it could not be one who would willingly

devote his rich natural gifts to the purposes of wanton treachery. The

ingenuous Alice gazed at his free air and proud carriage, as she would have

looked upon some precious relic of the Grecian chisel, to which life had been

imparted by the intervention of a miracle; while Heyward, though accustomed to

see the perfection of form which abounds among the uncorrupted natives, openly

expressed his admiration at such an unblemished specimen of the noblest

proportions of man.

“I could sleep in peace,” whispered Alice, in reply, “with

such a fearless and generous-looking youth for my sentinel. Surely, Duncan,

those cruel murders, those terrific scenes of torture, of which we read and

hear so much, are never acted in the presence of such as he!”

“This certainly is a rare and brilliant instance of those natural

qualities in which these peculiar people are said to excel,” he answered.

“I agree with you, Alice, in thinking that such a front and eye were

formed rather to intimidate than to deceive; but let us not practice a

deception upon ourselves, by expecting any other exhibition of what we esteem

virtue than according to the fashion of the savage. As bright examples of great

qualities are but too uncommon among Christians, so are they singular and

solitary with the Indians; though, for the honor of our common nature, neither

are incapable of producing them. Let us then hope that this Mohican may not

disappoint our wishes, but prove what his looks assert him to be, a brave and

constant friend.”

“Now Major Heyward speaks as Major Heyward should,” said Cora;

“who that looks at this creature of nature, remembers the shade of his

skin?”

A short and apparently an embarrassed silence succeeded this remark, which was

interrupted by the scout calling to them, aloud, to enter.

“This fire begins to show too bright a flame,” he continued, as

they complied, “and might light the Mingoes to our undoing. Uncas, drop

the blanket, and show the knaves its dark side. This is not such a supper as a

major of the Royal Americans has a right to expect, but I’ve known stout

detachments of the corps glad to eat their venison raw, and without a relish,

too[1]. Here, you

see, we have plenty of salt, and can make a quick broil. There’s fresh

sassafras boughs for the ladies to sit on, which may not be as proud as their

my-hog-guinea chairs, but which sends up a sweeter flavor, than the skin of any

hog can do, be it of Guinea, or be it of any other land. Come, friend,

don’t be mournful for the colt; ’twas an innocent thing, and had

not seen much hardship. Its death will save the creature many a sore back and

weary foot!”

[1]

In vulgar parlance the condiments of a repast are called by the American

“a relish,” substituting the thing for its effect. These provincial

terms are frequently put in the mouths of the speakers, according to their

several conditions in life. Most of them are of local use, and others quite

peculiar to the particular class of men to which the character belongs. In the

present instance, the scout uses the word with immediate reference to the

“salt,” with which his own party was so fortunate as to be

provided.

Uncas did as the other had directed, and when the voice of Hawkeye ceased, the

roar of the cataract sounded like the rumbling of distant thunder.

“Are we quite safe in this cavern?” demanded Heyward. “Is

there no danger of surprise? A single armed man, at its entrance, would hold us

at his mercy.”

A spectral-looking figure stalked from out of the darkness behind the scout,

and seizing a blazing brand, held it toward the further extremity of their

place of retreat. Alice uttered a faint shriek, and even Cora rose to her feet,

as this appalling object moved into the light; but a single word from Heyward

calmed them, with the assurance it was only their attendant, Chingachgook, who,

lifting another blanket, discovered that the cavern had two outlets. Then,

holding the brand, he crossed a deep, narrow chasm in the rocks which ran at

right angles with the passage they were in, but which, unlike that, was open to

the heavens, and entered another cave, answering to the description of the

first, in every essential particular.

“Such old foxes as Chingachgook and myself are not often caught in a

barrow with one hole,” said Hawkeye, laughing; “you can easily see

the cunning of the place—the rock is black limestone, which everybody

knows is soft; it makes no uncomfortable pillow, where brush and pine wood is

scarce; well, the fall was once a few yards below us, and I dare to say was, in

its time, as regular and as handsome a sheet of water as any along the Hudson.

But old age is a great injury to good looks, as these sweet young ladies have

yet to l’arn! The place is sadly changed! These rocks are full of cracks,

and in some places they are softer than at othersome, and the water has worked

out deep hollows for itself, until it has fallen back, ay, some hundred feet,

breaking here and wearing there, until the falls have neither shape nor

consistency.”

“In what part of them are we?” asked Heyward.

“Why, we are nigh the spot that Providence first placed them at, but

where, it seems, they were too rebellious to stay. The rock proved softer on

each side of us, and so they left the center of the river bare and dry, first

working out these two little holes for us to hide in.”

“We are then on an island!”

“Ay! there are the falls on two sides of us, and the river above and

below. If you had daylight, it would be worth the trouble to step up on the

height of this rock, and look at the perversity of the water. It falls by no

rule at all; sometimes it leaps, sometimes it tumbles; there it skips; here it

shoots; in one place ’tis white as snow, and in another ’tis green

as grass; hereabouts, it pitches into deep hollows, that rumble and crush the

’arth; and thereaways, it ripples and sings like a brook, fashioning

whirlpools and gullies in the old stone, as if ’twas no harder than

trodden clay. The whole design of the river seems disconcerted. First it runs

smoothly, as if meaning to go down the descent as things were ordered; then it

angles about and faces the shores; nor are there places wanting where it looks

backward, as if unwilling to leave the wilderness, to mingle with the salt. Ay,

lady, the fine cobweb-looking cloth you wear at your throat is coarse, and like

a fishnet, to little spots I can show you, where the river fabricates all sorts

of images, as if having broke loose from order, it would try its hand at

everything. And yet what does it amount to! After the water has been suffered

so to have its will, for a time, like a headstrong man, it is gathered together

by the hand that made it, and a few rods below you may see it all, flowing on

steadily toward the sea, as was foreordained from the first foundation of the

’arth!”

While his auditors received a cheering assurance of the security of their place

of concealment from this untutored description of Glenn’s,[2]

they were much inclined to judge differently from Hawkeye, of its wild

beauties. But they were not in a situation to suffer their thoughts to dwell on

the charms of natural objects; and, as the scout had not found it necessary to

cease his culinary labors while he spoke, unless to point out, with a broken

fork, the direction of some particularly obnoxious point in the rebellious

stream, they now suffered their attention to be drawn to the necessary though

more vulgar consideration of their supper.

[2]

Glenn’s Falls are on the Hudson, some forty or fifty miles above the

head of tide, or that place where the river becomes navigable for sloops. The

description of this picturesque and remarkable little cataract, as given by the

scout, is sufficiently correct, though the application of the water to uses of

civilized life has materially injured its beauties. The rocky island and the

two caverns are known to every traveler, since the former sustains the pier of

a bridge, which is now thrown across the river, immediately above the fall. In

explanation of the taste of Hawkeye, it should be remembered that men always

prize that most which is least enjoyed. Thus, in a new country, the woods and

other objects, which in an old country would be maintained at great cost, are

got rid of, simply with a view of “improving” as it is called.

The repast, which was greatly aided by the addition of a few delicacies that

Heyward had the precaution to bring with him when they left their horses, was

exceedingly refreshing to the weary party. Uncas acted as attendant to the

females, performing all the little offices within his power, with a mixture of

dignity and anxious grace, that served to amuse Heyward, who well knew that it

was an utter innovation on the Indian customs, which forbid their warriors to

descend to any menial employment, especially in favor of their women. As the

rights of hospitality were, however, considered sacred among them, this little

departure from the dignity of manhood excited no audible comment. Had there

been one there sufficiently disengaged to become a close observer, he might

have fancied that the services of the young chief were not entirely impartial.

That while he tendered to Alice the gourd of sweet water, and the venison in a

trencher, neatly carved from the knot of the pepperidge, with sufficient

courtesy, in performing the same offices to her sister, his dark eye lingered

on her rich, speaking countenance. Once or twice he was compelled to speak, to

command the attention of those he served. In such cases he made use of English,

broken and imperfect, but sufficiently intelligible, and which he rendered so

mild and musical, by his deep, guttural voice, that it never failed to cause

both ladies to look up in admiration and astonishment. In the course of these

civilities, a few sentences were exchanged, that served to establish the

appearance of an amicable intercourse between the parties.

In the meanwhile, the gravity of Chingcachgook remained immovable. He had

seated himself more within the circle of light, where the frequent, uneasy

glances of his guests were better enabled to separate the natural expression of

his face from the artificial terrors of the war paint. They found a strong

resemblance between father and son, with the difference that might be expected

from age and hardships. The fierceness of his countenance now seemed to

slumber, and in its place was to be seen the quiet, vacant composure which

distinguishes an Indian warrior, when his faculties are not required for any of

the greater purposes of his existence. It was, however, easy to be seen, by the

occasional gleams that shot across his swarthy visage, that it was only

necessary to arouse his passions, in order to give full effect to the terrific

device which he had adopted to intimidate his enemies. On the other hand, the

quick, roving eye of the scout seldom rested. He ate and drank with an appetite

that no sense of danger could disturb, but his vigilance seemed never to desert

him. Twenty times the gourd or the venison was suspended before his lips, while

his head was turned aside, as though he listened to some distant and distrusted

sounds—a movement that never failed to recall his guests from regarding

the novelties of their situation, to a recollection of the alarming reasons

that had driven them to seek it. As these frequent pauses were never followed

by any remark, the momentary uneasiness they created quickly passed away, and

for a time was forgotten.

“Come, friend,” said Hawkeye, drawing out a keg from beneath a

cover of leaves, toward the close of the repast, and addressing the stranger

who sat at his elbow, doing great justice to his culinary skill, “try a

little spruce; ’twill wash away all thoughts of the colt, and quicken the

life in your bosom. I drink to our better friendship, hoping that a little

horse-flesh may leave no heart-burnings atween us. How do you name

yourself?”

“Gamut—David Gamut,” returned the singing master, preparing

to wash down his sorrows in a powerful draught of the woodsman’s

high-flavored and well-laced compound.

“A very good name, and, I dare say, handed down from honest forefathers.

I’m an admirator of names, though the Christian fashions fall far below

savage customs in this particular. The biggest coward I ever knew was called

Lyon; and his wife, Patience, would scold you out of hearing in less time than

a hunted deer would run a rod. With an Indian ’tis a matter of

conscience; what he calls himself, he generally is—not that Chingachgook,

which signifies Big Sarpent, is really a snake, big or little; but that he

understands the windings and turnings of human natur’, and is silent, and

strikes his enemies when they least expect him. What may be your

calling?”

“I am an unworthy instructor in the art of psalmody.”

“Anan!”

“I teach singing to the youths of the Connecticut levy.”

“You might be better employed. The young hounds go laughing and singing

too much already through the woods, when they ought not to breathe louder than

a fox in his cover. Can you use the smoothbore, or handle the rifle?”

“Praised be God, I have never had occasion to meddle with murderous

implements!”

“Perhaps you understand the compass, and lay down the watercourses and

mountains of the wilderness on paper, in order that they who follow may find

places by their given names?”

“I practice no such employment.”

“You have a pair of legs that might make a long path seem short! you

journey sometimes, I fancy, with tidings for the general.”

“Never; I follow no other than my own high vocation, which is instruction

in sacred music!”

“’Tis a strange calling!” muttered Hawkeye, with an inward

laugh, “to go through life, like a catbird, mocking all the ups and downs

that may happen to come out of other men’s throats. Well, friend, I

suppose it is your gift, and mustn’t be denied any more than if

’twas shooting, or some other better inclination. Let us hear what you

can do in that way; ’twill be a friendly manner of saying good-night, for

’tis time that these ladies should be getting strength for a hard and a

long push, in the pride of the morning, afore the Maquas are stirring.”

“With joyful pleasure do I consent”, said David, adjusting his

iron-rimmed spectacles, and producing his beloved little volume, which he

immediately tendered to Alice. “What can be more fitting and consolatory,

than to offer up evening praise, after a day of such exceeding jeopardy!”

Alice smiled; but, regarding Heyward, she blushed and hesitated.

“Indulge yourself,” he whispered; “ought not the suggestion

of the worthy namesake of the Psalmist to have its weight at such a

moment?”

Encouraged by his opinion, Alice did what her pious inclinations, and her keen

relish for gentle sounds, had before so strongly urged. The book was open at a

hymn not ill adapted to their situation, and in which the poet, no longer

goaded by his desire to excel the inspired King of Israel, had discovered some

chastened and respectable powers. Cora betrayed a disposition to support her

sister, and the sacred song proceeded, after the indispensable preliminaries of

the pitchpipe, and the tune had been duly attended to by the methodical David.

The air was solemn and slow. At times it rose to the fullest compass of the

rich voices of the females, who hung over their little book in holy excitement,

and again it sank so low, that the rushing of the waters ran through their

melody, like a hollow accompaniment. The natural taste and true ear of David

governed and modified the sounds to suit the confined cavern, every crevice and

cranny of which was filled with the thrilling notes of their flexible voices.

The Indians riveted their eyes on the rocks, and listened with an attention

that seemed to turn them into stone. But the scout, who had placed his chin in

his hand, with an expression of cold indifference, gradually suffered his rigid

features to relax, until, as verse succeeded verse, he felt his iron nature

subdued, while his recollection was carried back to boyhood, when his ears had

been accustomed to listen to similar sounds of praise, in the settlements of

the colony. His roving eyes began to moisten, and before the hymn was ended

scalding tears rolled out of fountains that had long seemed dry, and followed

each other down those cheeks, that had oftener felt the storms of heaven than

any testimonials of weakness. The singers were dwelling on one of those low,

dying chords, which the ear devours with such greedy rapture, as if conscious

that it is about to lose them, when a cry, that seemed neither human nor

earthly, rose in the outward air, penetrating not only the recesses of the

cavern, but to the inmost hearts of all who heard it. It was followed by a

stillness apparently as deep as if the waters had been checked in their furious

progress, at such a horrid and unusual interruption.

“What is it?” murmured Alice, after a few moments of terrible

suspense.

[Illustration]

“What is it?” murmured Alice, after a few

moments of terrible suspense.

“What is it?” repeated Hewyard aloud.

Neither Hawkeye nor the Indians made any reply. They listened, as if expecting

the sound would be repeated, with a manner that expressed their own

astonishment. At length they spoke together, earnestly, in the Delaware

language, when Uncas, passing by the inner and most concealed aperture,

cautiously left the cavern. When he had gone, the scout first spoke in English.

“What it is, or what it is not, none here can tell, though two of us have

ranged the woods for more than thirty years. I did believe there was no cry

that Indian or beast could make, that my ears had not heard; but this has

proved that I was only a vain and conceited mortal.”

“Was it not, then, the shout the warriors make when they wish to

intimidate their enemies?” asked Cora who stood drawing her veil about

her person, with a calmness to which her agitated sister was a stranger.

“No, no; this was bad, and shocking, and had a sort of unhuman sound; but

when you once hear the war-whoop, you will never mistake it for anything else.

Well, Uncas!” speaking in Delaware to the young chief as he re-entered,

“what see you? do our lights shine through the blankets?”

The answer was short, and apparently decided, being given in the same tongue.

“There is nothing to be seen without,” continued Hawkeye, shaking

his head in discontent; “and our hiding-place is still in darkness. Pass

into the other cave, you that need it, and seek for sleep; we must be afoot

long before the sun, and make the most of our time to get to Edward, while the

Mingoes are taking their morning nap.”

Cora set the example of compliance, with a steadiness that taught the more

timid Alice the necessity of obedience. Before leaving the place, however, she

whispered a request to Duncan, that he would follow. Uncas raised the blanket

for their passage, and as the sisters turned to thank him for this act of

attention, they saw the scout seated again before the dying embers, with his

face resting on his hands, in a manner which showed how deeply he brooded on

the unaccountable interruption which had broken up their evening devotions.

Heyward took with him a blazing knot, which threw a dim light through the

narrow vista of their new apartment. Placing it in a favorable position, he

joined the females, who now found themselves alone with him for the first time

since they had left the friendly ramparts of Fort Edward.

“Leave us not, Duncan,” said Alice: “we cannot sleep in such

a place as this, with that horrid cry still ringing in our ears.”

“First let us examine into the security of your fortress,” he

answered, “and then we will speak of rest.”

He approached the further end of the cavern, to an outlet, which, like the

others, was concealed by blankets; and removing the thick screen, breathed the

fresh and reviving air from the cataract. One arm of the river flowed through a

deep, narrow ravine, which its current had worn in the soft rock, directly

beneath his feet, forming an effectual defense, as he believed, against any

danger from that quarter; the water, a few rods above them, plunging, glancing,

and sweeping along in its most violent and broken manner.

“Nature has made an impenetrable barrier on this side,” he

continued, pointing down the perpendicular declivity into the dark current

before he dropped the blanket; “and as you know that good men and true

are on guard in front I see no reason why the advice of our honest host should

be disregarded. I am certain Cora will join me in saying that sleep is

necessary to you both.”

“Cora may submit to the justice of your opinion though she cannot put it

in practice,” returned the elder sister, who had placed herself by the

side of Alice, on a couch of sassafras; “there would be other causes to

chase away sleep, though we had been spared the shock of this mysterious noise.

Ask yourself, Heyward, can daughters forget the anxiety a father must endure,

whose children lodge he knows not where or how, in such a wilderness, and in

the midst of so many perils?”

“He is a soldier, and knows how to estimate the chances of the

woods.”

“He is a father, and cannot deny his nature.”

“How kind has he ever been to all my follies, how tender and indulgent to

all my wishes!” sobbed Alice. “We have been selfish, sister, in

urging our visit at such hazard.”

“I may have been rash in pressing his consent in a moment of much

embarrassment, but I would have proved to him, that however others might

neglect him in his strait his children at least were faithful.”

“When he heard of your arrival at Edward,” said Heyward, kindly,

“there was a powerful struggle in his bosom between fear and love; though

the latter, heightened, if possible, by so long a separation, quickly

prevailed. ‘It is the spirit of my noble-minded Cora that leads them,

Duncan’, he said, ‘and I will not balk it. Would to God, that he

who holds the honor of our royal master in his guardianship, would show but

half her firmness!’”

“And did he not speak of me, Heyward?” demanded Alice, with jealous

affection; “surely, he forgot not altogether his little Elsie?”

“That were impossible,” returned the young man; “he called

you by a thousand endearing epithets, that I may not presume to use, but to the

justice of which, I can warmly testify. Once, indeed, he said—”

Duncan ceased speaking; for while his eyes were riveted on those of Alice, who

had turned toward him with the eagerness of filial affection, to catch his

words, the same strong, horrid cry, as before, filled the air, and rendered him

mute. A long, breathless silence succeeded, during which each looked at the

others in fearful expectation of hearing the sound repeated. At length, the

blanket was slowly raised, and the scout stood in the aperture with a

countenance whose firmness evidently began to give way before a mystery that

seemed to threaten some danger, against which all his cunning and experience

might prove of no avail.