CHAPTER XXXVI.
“And I could weep “—th’ Oneida chief
His descant wildly thus begun—”
But that I may not stain with grief
The death-song of my father’s son.”—Gertrude OF Wyoming.
It was yet early on the following morning, when Elizabeth and Louisa
met by appointment, and proceeded to the store of Monsieur Le Quoi, in
order to redeem the pledge the former had given to the Leather-
Stocking. The people were again assembling for the business of the
day, but the hour was too soon for a crowd, and the ladies found the
place in possession of its polite owner, Billy Kirby, one female
customer, and the boy who did the duty of helper or clerk.
Monsieur Le Quoi was perusing a packet of letters with manifest
delight, while the wood-chopper, with one hand thrust in his bosom,
and the other in the folds of his jacket, holding an axe under his
right arm, stood sympathizing in the Frenchman’s pleasure with good-
natured interest. The freedom of manners that prevailed in the new
settlements commonly levelled all difference in rank, and with it,
frequently, all considerations of education and intelligence. At the
time the ladies entered the store, they were unseen by the owner, who
was saying to Kirby:
“Ah! ha! Monsieur Beel, dis lettair mak me de most happi of mans. Ah!
ma chére France! I vill see you again.”
“I rejoice, monsieur, at anything that contributes to your happiness,”
said Elizabeth, “ but hope we are not going to lose you entirely.”
The complaisant shopkeeper changed the language to French and
recounted rapidly to Elizabeth his hopes of being permitted to return
to his own country. Habit had, however, so far altered the manners of
this pliable person age, that he continued to serve the wood-chopper,
who was in quest of some tobacco, while he related to his more gentle
visitor the happy change that had taken place in the dispositions of
his own countrymen.
The amount of it all was, that Mr. Le Quoi, who had fled from his own
country more through terror than because he was offensive to the
ruling powers in France, had succeeded at length in getting an
assurance that his return to the West Indies would be unnoticed; and
the Frenchman, who had sunk into the character of a country shopkeeper
with so much grace, was about to emerge again from his obscurity into
his proper level in society.
We need not repeat the civil things that passed between the parties on
this occasion, nor recount the endless repetitions of sorrow that the
delighted Frenchman expressed at being compelled to quit the society
of Miss Temple. Elizabeth took an opportunity, during this
expenditure of polite expressions, to purchase the powder privately of
the boy, who bore the generic appellation of Jonathan. Be fore they
parted, however, Mr. Le Quoi, who seemed to think that he had not said
enough, solicited the honor of a private interview with the heiress,
with a gravity in his air that announced the importance of the
subject. After conceding the favor, and appointing a more favorable
time for the meeting, Elizabeth succeeded in getting out of the store,
into which the countrymen now began to enter, as usual, where they met
with the same attention and bien seance as formerly.
Elizabeth and Louisa pursued their walk as far as the bridge in
profound silence; but when they reached that place the latter stopped,
and appeared anxious to utter something that her diffidence
suppressed.
“Are you ill, Louisa?” exclaimed Miss Temple; “had we not better
return, and seek another opportunity to meet the old man?”
“Not ill, but terrified. Oh! I never, never can go on that hill again
with you only. I am not equal to it, in deed I am not.”
This was an unexpected declaration to Elizabeth, who, although she
experienced no idle apprehension of a danger that no longer existed,
felt most sensitively all the delicacy of maiden modesty. She stood
for some time, deeply reflecting within herself; but, sensible it was
a time for action instead of reflection, she struggled to shake off
her hesitation, and replied, firmly:
“Well, then it must be done by me alone. There is no other than
yourself to be trusted, or poor old Leather-Stocking will be
discovered. Wait for me in the edge of these woods, that at least I
may not be seen strolling in the hills by myself just now, One would
not wish to create remarks, Louisa—if—if— You will wait for me, dear
girl?”
“A year, in sight of the village, Miss Temple,’ returned the agitated
Louisa, “but do not, do not ask me to go on that hill.”
Elizabeth found that her companion was really unable to proceed, and
they completed their arrangement by posting Louisa out of the
observation of the people who occasionally passed, but nigh the road,
and in plain view of the whole valley. Miss Temple then proceeded
alone. She ascended the road which has been so often mentioned in our
narrative, with an elastic and firm step, fearful that the delay in
the store of Mr. Le Quoi, and the time necessary for reaching the
summit, would prevent her being punctual to the appointment Whenever
she pressed an opening in the bushes, she would pause for breath, or,
per haps, drawn from her pursuit by the picture at her feet, would
linger a moment to gaze at the beauties of the valley. The long
drought had, however, changed its coat of verdure to a hue of brown,
and, though the same localities were there, the view wanted the lively
and cheering aspect of early summer. Even the heavens seemed to share
in the dried appearance of the earth, for the sun was concealed by a
haziness in the atmosphere, which looked like a thin smoke without a
particle of moisture, if such a thing were possible. The blue sky was
scarcely to be seen, though now, and then there was a faint lighting
up in spots through which masses of rolling vapor could be discerned
gathering around the horizon, as if nature were struggling to collect
her floods for the relief of man. The very atmosphere that Elizabeth
inhaled was hot and dry, and by the time she reached the point where
the course led her from the highway she experienced a sensation like
suffocation. But, disregarding her feelings, she hastened to execute
her mission, dwelling on nothing but the disappointment, and even the
helplessness, the hunter would experience without her aid.
On the summit of the mountain which Judge Temple had named the
“Vision,” a little spot had been cleared, in order that a better view
might he obtained of the village and the valley. At this point
Elizabeth understood the hunter she was to meet him; and thither she
urged her way, as expeditiously as the difficulty of the ascent, and
the impediment of a forest, in a state of nature, would admit.
Numberless were the fragments of rocks, trunks of fallen trees, and
branches, with which she had to contend; but every difficulty vanished
before her resolution, and, by her own watch, she stood on the desired
spot several minutes before the appointed hour.
After resting a moment on the end of a log, Miss Temple cast a glance
about her in quest of her old friend, but he was evidently not in the
clearing; she arose and walked around its skirts, examining every
place where she thought it probable Natty might deem it prudent to
conceal him self. Her search was fruitless; and, after exhausting not
only herself, but her conjectures, in efforts to discover or imagine
his situation, she ventured to trust her voice in that solitary place.
“Natty! Leather-Stocking! old man!” she called aloud, in every
direction; but no answer was given, excepting the reverberations of
her own clear tones, as they were echoed in the parched forest.
Elizabeth approached the brow of the mountain, where a faint cry, like
the noise produced by striking the hand against the mouth, at the same
time that the breath is strongly exhaled, was heard answering to her
own voice. Not doubting in the least that it was the Leather-Stocking
lying in wait for her, and who gave that signal to indicate the place
where he was to be found, Elizabeth descended for near a hundred feet,
until she gained a little natural terrace, thinly scattered with
trees, that grew in the fissures of the rocks, which were covered by a
scanty soil. She had advanced to the edge of this platform, and was
gazing over the perpendicular precipice that formed its face, when a
rustling among the dry leaves near her drew her eyes in another
direction. Our heroine certainly was startled by the object that she
then saw, but a moment restored her self-possession, and she advanced
firmly, and with some interest in her manner, to the spot.
Mohegan was seated on the trunk of a fallen oak, with his tawny visage
turned toward her, and his eyes fixed on her face with an expression
of wildness and fire, that would have terrified a less resolute
female. His blanket had fallen from his shoulders, and was lying in
folds around him, leaving his breast, arms, and most of his body bare.
‘The medallion of Washington reposed on his chest, a badge of
distinction that Elizabeth well knew he only produced on great and
solemn occasions. But the whole appearance of the aged chief was more
studied than common, and in some particulars it was terrific. The
long black hair was plaited on his head, failing away, so as to expose
his high forehead and piercing eyes. In the enormous incisions of his
ears were entwined ornaments of silver, beads, and porcupine’s quills,
mingled in a rude taste, and after the Indian fashions. A large drop,
composed of similar materials, was suspended from the cartilage of his
nose, and, falling below his lips, rested on his chin. Streaks of red
paint crossed his wrinkled brow, and were traced down his cheeks, with
such variations in the lines as caprice or custom suggested. His body
was also colored in the same manner; the whole exhibiting an Indian
warrior prepared for some event of more than usual moment.
“John! how fare you, worthy John?” said Elizabeth, as she approached
him; “you have long been a stranger in the village. You promised me a
willow basket, and I have long had a shirt of calico in readiness for
you.”
The Indian looked steadily at her for some time without answering, and
then, shaking his head, he replied, in his low, guttural tones:
“John’s hand can make baskets no more—he wants no shirt.”
But if he should, he will know where to come for it,” returned Miss
Temple. “Indeed old John. I feel as if you had a natural right to
order what you will from us.”
“Daughter,” said the Indian, “listen : Six times ten hot summers have
passed since John was young tall like a pine; straight like the bullet
of Hawk-eye, strong as all buffalo; spry as the cat of the mountain.
He was strong, and a warrior like the Young Eagle. If his tribe
wanted to track the Maquas for many suns, the eye of Chingachgook
found the print of their moccasins. If the people feasted and were
glad, as they counted the scalps of their enemies, it was on his pole
they hung. If the squaws cried because there was no meat for their
children, he was the first in the chase. His bullet was swifter than
the deer. Daughter, then Chingachgook struck his tomahawk into the
trees; it was to tell the lazy ones where to find him and the Mingoes—
but he made no baskets.”
“Those times have gone by, old warrior,” returned Elizabeth ; “ since
then your people have disappeared, and, in place of chasing your
enemies, you have learned to fear God and to live at peace.”
“Stand here, daughter, where you can see the great spring, the wigwams
of your father, and the land on the crooked river. John was young
when his tribe gave away the country, in council, from where the blue
mountain stands above the water, to where the Susquehanna is hid by
the trees. All this, and all that grew in it, and all that walked
over it, and all that fed there, they gave to the Fire-eater——for they
loved him. He was strong, and they were women, and he helped them.
No Delaware would kill a deer that ran in his woods, nor stop a bird
that flew over his land; for it was his. Has John lived in peace?
Daughter, since John was young, he has seen the white man from
Frontinac come down on his white brothers at Albany and fight. Did
they fear God? He has seen his English and his American fathers
burying their tomahawks in each other’s brains, for this very land.
Did they fear God, and live in peace? He has seen the land pass away
from the Fire-eater, and his children, and the child of his child, and
a new chief set over the country. Did they live in peace who did
this? did they fear God?”
“Such is the custom of the whites, John. Do not the Delawares fight,
and exchange their lands for powder, and blankets, and merchandise?”
The Indian turned his dark eyes on his companion, and kept them there
with a scrutiny that alarmed her a little.
“Where are the blankets and merchandise that bought the right of the
Fire-eater?” he replied in a more animated voice; “are they with him
in his wigwam? Did they say to him, Brother, sell us your land, and
take this gold, this silver, these blankets, these rifles, or even
this rum? No; they tore it front him, as a scalp is torn from an
enemy; and they that did it looked not behind them, to see whether he
lived or died. Do such men live in peace and fear the Great Spirit?”
“But you hardly understand the circumstances,” said Elizabeth, more
embarrassed than she would own, even to herself. “If you knew our
laws and customs better, you would Judge differently of our acts. Do
not believe evil of my father, old Mohegan, for he is just and good.”
“The brother of Miquon is good, and he will do right. I have said it
to Hawk-eye---I have said it to the Young Eagle that the brother of
Miquon would do justice.”
“Whom call you the Young Eagle?” said Elizabeth, averting her face
from the gaze of the Indian, as she asked the question; “whence comes
he, and what are his rights?”
“Has my daughter lived so long with him to ask this question?”
returned the Indian warily. “Old age freezes up the blood, as the
frosts cover the great spring in winter; but youth keeps the streams
of the blood open like a sun in the time of blossoms. The Young Eagle
has eyes; had he no tongue?”
The loveliness to which the old warrior alluded was in no degree
diminished by his allegorical speech; for the blushes of the maiden
who listened covered her burning cheeks till her dark eyes seemed to
glow with their reflection; but, after struggling a moment with shame,
she laughed, as if unwilling to understand him seriously, and replied
in pleasantry:
“Not to make me the mistress of his secret. He is too much of a
Delaware to tell his secret thoughts to a woman.”
“Daughter, the Great Spirit made your father with a white skin, and he
made mine with a red; but he colored both their hearts with blood.
When young, it is swift and warm; but when old, it is still and cold.
Is there difference below the skin? No. Once John had a woman. She
was the mother of so many sons”—he raised his hand with three fingers
elevated—” and she had daughters that would have made the young
Delawares happy. She was kind, daughter, and what I said she did.
You have different fashions; but do you think John did not love the
wife of his youth—the mother of his children?”
“And what has become of your family, John—your wife and your
children?” asked Elizabeth, touched by the Indian’s manner.
“Where is the ice that covered the great spring? It is melted, and
gone with the waters. John has lived till all his people have left
him for the land of spirits; his time has come, and he is ready.”
Mohegan dropped his head in his blanket, and sat in silence. Miss
Temple knew not what to say. She wished to draw the thoughts of the
old warrior from his gloomy recollections, but there was a dignity in
his sorrow, and in his fortitude, that repressed her efforts to speak.
After a long pause, however, she renewed the discourse by asking:
“Where is the Leather-Stocking, John? I have brought this canister of
powder at his request; but he is nowhere to he seen. Will you take
charge of it, and see it delivered?”
The Indian raised his head slowly and looked earnestly at the gift,
which she put into his hand.
“This is the great enemy of my nation. Without this, when could the
white man drive the Delawares? Daughter, the Great Spirit gave your
fathers to know how to make guns and powder, that they might sweep the
Indians from the land. There will soon be no red-skin in the country.
When John has gone, the last will leave these hills, and his family
will be dead.” The aged warrior stretched his body forward, leaning an
elbow on his knee, and appeared to be taking a parting look at the
objects of the vale, which were still visible through the misty
atmosphere, though the air seemed to thicken at each moment around
Miss Temple, who became conscious of an increased difficulty of
respiration. The eye of Mohegan changed gradually from its sorrowful
expression to a look of wildness that might be supposed to border on
the inspiration of a prophet, as he continued: “But he will go on to
the country where his fathers have met. The game shall be plenty as
the Ash in the lakes. No woman shall cry for meat: no Mingo can ever
come The chase shall be for children; and all just red men shall live
together as brothers.”
“John! this is not the heaven of a Christian,” cried Miss Temple; “you
deal now in the superstition of your forefathers.”
“Fathers! sons!” said Mohegan, with firmness.—” all gone—all gone!—!
have no son but the Young Eagle, and he has the blood of a white man.”
“Tell me, John,” said Elizabeth, willing to draw his thoughts to other
subjects, and at the same time yielding to her own powerful interest
in the youth; “who is this Mr. Edwards? why are you so fond of him,
and whence does he come ?”
The Indian started at the question, which evidently recalled his
recollection to earth. Taking her hand, he drew Miss Temple to a seat
beside him, and pointed to the country beneath them.
“See, daughter,” he said, directing her looks toward the north; “as
far as your young eyes can see, it was the land of his. But immense
volumes of smoke at that moment rolled over their heath, and, whirling
in the eddies formed by the mountains, interposed a barrier to their
sight, while he was speaking. Startled by this circumstance, Miss
Temple sprang to her feet, and, turning her eyes toward the summit of
the mountain, she beheld It covered by a similar canopy, while a
roaring sound was heard in the forest above her like the rushing of
winds.
“What means it, John?” she exclaimed: “we are enveloped in smoke, and
I feel a heat like the glow of a furnace.”
Before the Indian could reply, a voice was heard crying In the woods:
“John! where are you, old Mohegan! the woods are on fire, and you have
but a minute for escape.”
The chief put his hand before his mouth, and, making it lay on his
lips, produced the kind of noise that had attracted Elizabeth to the
place, when a quick and hurried step was heard dashing through the
dried underbrush and bushes, and presently Edwards rushed to his side,
with horror an every feature.
