the sea, where the earth is round, how in reason can the water be quiet? You might as well expect the river to lie still on the brink of those black rocks a mile above us, though your own ears tell you that it is tumbling over them at this very moment!’
If unsatisfied by the philosophy of his companion, the Indian was far too dignified to betray his unbelief. He listened like one who was convinced, and resumed his narrative in his former solemn manner.
‘We came from the place where the sun is hid at night, over great plains where the buffaloes live, until we reached the big river. There we fought the Alligewi, till the ground was red with their blood. From the banks of the big river to the shores of the salt lake, there was none to meet us. The Maquas followed at a distance. We said the country should be ours from the place where the water runs up no longer on this stream, to a river twenty suns’ journey toward the summer. The land we had taken like warriors, we kept like men. We drove the Maquas into the woods with the bears. They only tasted salt at the licks; they drew no fish from the great lake; we threw them the bones.’
‘All this I have heard and believe,’ said the white man, observing that the Indian paused; ‘but it was long before the English came into the country.’
‘A pine grew then where this chestnut now stands. The first palefaces who came among us spoke no English. They came in a large canoe, when my fathers had buried the tomahawk with the red men around them. Then, Hawkeye,’ he continued, betraying his deep emotion only by permitting his voice to fall to those low, guttural tones which render his language, as spoken at times, so very musical; ‘then, Hawkeye, we were one people, and we were happy. The salt lake gave us its fish, the wood its deer, and the air its birds. We took wives who bore us children; we worshipped the Great Spirit; and we kept the Maquas beyond the sound of our songs of triumph!’
‘Know you anything of your own family at that time?’ demanded the white. ‘But you are a just man, for an Indian! and, as I suppose you hold their gifts, your fathers must have been brave warriors, and wise men at the council fire.’
‘My tribe is the grandfather of nations,1 but I am an unmixed man. The blood of chiefs is in my veins, where it must stay for ever. The Dutch landed and gave my people the fire-water; they drank until the heavens and earth seemed to meet, and they foolishly thought they had found the Great Spirit. Then they parted with their land. Foot by foot, they were driven back from the shores, until I, that am a chief and a Sagamore, have never seen the sun shine but through the trees, and have never visited the graves of my fathers!’
‘Graves bring solemn feelings over the mind,’ returned the scout, a good deal touched at the calm suffering of his companion; ‘and they often aid a man in his good intentions; though, for myself, I expect to leave my own bones unburied, to bleach in the woods, or to be torn asunder by the wolves. But where are to be found those of your race who came to their kin in the Delaware country so many summers since?’
‘Where are the blossoms of those summers!—fallen, one by one: so all of my family departed, each in his turn, to the land of spirits. I am on the hill-top, and must go down into the valley; and when Uncas follows in my footsteps, there will no longer be any of the blood of the Sagamores, for my boy is the last of the Mohicans.’
‘Uncas is here!’ said another voice, in the same soft, guttural tones, near his elbow; ‘who speaks to Uncas?’
The white man loosened his knife in his leathern sheath, and made an involuntary movement of the hand towards his rifle, at this sudden interruption; but the Indian sat composed, and without turning his head at the unexpected sounds.
At the next instant, a youthful warrior passed between them, with a noiseless step, and seated himself on the bank of the rapid stream. No exclamation of surprise escaped the father, nor was any question asked, or reply given, for several minutes; each appearing to await the moment when he might speak, without betraying womanish curiosity or childish impatience. The white man seemed to take counsel from their customs, and, relinquishing his grasp of the rifle, he also remained silent and reserved. At length Chingachgook turned his eyes slowly towards his son, and demanded—
‘Do the Maquas dare to leave the print of their moccasins in these woods?’
‘I have been on their trail,’ replied the young Indian, ‘and know that they number as many as the fingers of my two hands; but they lie hid like cowards.’
‘The thieves are out-lying for scalps and plunder!’ said the white man, whom we shall call Hawkeye, after the manner of his companions. ‘That busy Frenchman, Montcalm, will send his spies into our very camp, but he will know what road we travel!’
‘’Tis enough!’ returned the father, glancing his eye towards the setting sun; ‘they shall be driven like deer from their bushes. Hawkeye, let us eat to-night, and show the Maquas that we are men to-morrow.’
‘I am as ready to do the one as the other: but to fight the Iroquois ’Tis necessary to find the skulkers; and to eat, ’Tis necessary to get the game—talk of the devil and he will come; there is a pair of the biggest antlers I have seen this season, moving the bushes below the hill! Now, Uncas,’ he continued, in a half-whisper, and laughing with a kind of inward sound, like one who had learnt to be watchful, ‘I will bet my charger three times full of powder, against a foot of wampum, that I take him atwixt the eyes, and nearer to the right than to the left.’
‘It cannot be!’ said the young Indian, springing to his feet with youthful eagerness; ‘all but the tips of his horns are hid!’
‘He’s a boy!’ said the white man, shaking his head while he spoke, and addressing the father. ‘Does he think when a hunter sees a part of the creatur’, he can’t tell where the rest of him should be?’
Adjusting his rifle, he was about to make an exhibition of that skill, on which he so much valued himself, when the warrior struck up the piece with his hand, saying:—
‘Hawkeye! will you fight the Maquas?’
‘These Indians know the nature of the woods, as it might be by instinct!’ returned the scout, dropping his rifle, and turning away like a man who was convinced of his error. ‘I must leave the buck to your arrow, Uncas, or we may kill a deer for them thieves, the Iroquois, to eat.’
The instant the father seconded this intimation by an expressive gesture of the hand, Uncas threw himself on the ground, and approached the animal with wary movements. When within a few yards of the cover, he fitted an arrow to his bow with the utmost care, while the antlers moved, as if their owner snuffed an enemy in the tainted air. In another moment the twang of the cord was heard, a white streak was seen glancing into the bushes, and the wounded buck plunged from the cover to the very feet of his hidden enemy. Avoiding the horns of the infuriated animal, Uncas darted to his side, and passed his knife across the throat, when bounding to the edge of the river it fell, dyeing the waters with its blood.
‘‘Twas done with Indian skill,’ said the scout, laughing inwardly, but with vast satisfaction; ‘and ‘twas a pretty sight to behold! Though an arrow is a near shot, and needs a knife to finish the work.’
‘Hugh!’ ejaculated his companion, turning quickly, like a hound who scented game.
‘As I live, there is a drove of them!’ exclaimed the scout, whose eyes began to glisten with the ardour of his usual occupation; ‘if they come within range of a bullet I will drop one, though the whole Six Nations should be lurking within sound! What do you hear, Chingachgook? for to my ears the woods are dumb.’
‘There
