The Worlds Greatest Books - Arthur Mee, J. A. Hammerton, Eds.
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FENIMORE COOPER
The Last of the Mohicans
James Fenimore Cooper, born in New Jersey on September 15,
1789, was a hot-headed controversialist of Quaker descent,
who, after a restless youth, partly spent at sea, became the
earliest conspicuous American novelist. Apart from fiction,
Cooper's principal subject was American naval history. Though
he made many enemies and lived in turmoil, the novelist had a
strain of nobility in his character that is reflected
throughout his formal but manly narratives. Love interest
rarely rises in his stories beyond a mechanical
sentimentality; it is the descriptions of adventure that
attract. Nowhere are Fenimore Cooper's vivid powers of
description more apparent than in "The Last of the Mohicans,"
the second in order of the Leatherstocking tales. In the first
of the series, "The Pioneers," the Leatherstocking is
represented as already past the prime of life, and is
gradually being driven out of his beloved forests by the axe
and the smoke of the white settler. "The Last of the Mohicans"
takes the reader back before this period, to a time when the
red man was in his vigour, and was a power to be reckoned with
in the east of America. The third of the famous tales is "The
Prairie," in which Cooper's picturesque hero is laid in his
grave. Despite this, the author resuscitates him in the two
remaining volumes--"The Pathfinder" and "The Deerslayer." Of
these five novels, and, as a matter of fact, of all Cooper's
works, "The Last of the Mohicans" is regarded as the
masterpiece. In it are to be found all the author's virtues,
and few of his faults. It is certainly the most popular,
having been translated into several languages. It was first
published in 1826. Cooper died at Cooperstown, the family
locality, on September 14. 1851.
_I.--Betrayed by the Redskin_
It was the third year of the war between France and England in North
America. At Fort Edward, where General Webb lay with five thousand men,
the startling news had just been received that the French general,
Montcalm, was moving up the Champlain Lake with an army "numerous as the
leaves on the trees," with the forest fastness of Fort William Henry as
his object.
Fort William Henry was held by the veteran Scotchman, Munro, at the head
of a regiment of regulars and a few provincials. As this force was
utterly inadequate to stem Montcalm's advance, General Webb at once sent
fifteen hundred men to strengthen the position. While the camp was in a
state of bustle consequent on the departure of this relieving force,
Captain Duncan Hayward detached himself from the throng, and conducting
two ladies, the daughters of Munro, Alice and Cora, to their horses,
mounted another steed himself. It was his welcome duty to see that the
ladies reached Fort William Henry in safety. In order that they might
make the journey the more expeditiously, they had obtained the services
of a famous Indian runner, known by the name of Le Renard Subtil, whose
native appellation was Magua.
The party had but five leagues to traverse, and Magua had undertaken to
lead them a short way through the forest. The girls hesitated as they
reached the point where they left the military road and had to take to a
narrow and blind path amidst the dense trees and undergrowth. The
terrifying aspect of the guide and the loneliness of the route filled
them with alarm.
"Here, then, lies our way," said Duncan in a low voice. "Manifest no
distrust, or you may invite the danger you appear to apprehend."
Taking this hint, the girls whipped up their horses and followed the
runner along the dark and tangled pathway. They had not gone far when
they heard the sounds of a horse's hoofs behind them, and presently
there dashed up to their side a singular-looking person, with
extraordinary long thin legs, an emaciated body, and an enormous head.
The grotesqueness of his figure was enhanced by a sky-blue coat and a
soiled vest of embossed silk embroidered with tarnished silver lace.
Coming up with the party, he declared his intention of accompanying them
to Fort William Henry. Refusing to listen to any objection, he took from
his vest a curious musical instrument, and, placing it to his mouth,
drew from it a high, shrill sound. This done, he began singing in full
and melodious tones one of the New England versions of the Psalms.
Magua whispered something to Heyward, and the latter turned impatiently
to David Gamut--such was the singer's name--and requested him in the
name of common prudence to postpone his chant until a safer opportunity.
The Indian allies of Montcalm, it was known, swarmed in the forest, and
the object of the party was to move forward as quietly as possible.
As the cavalcade pressed deeper into the wild thicket, a savage face
peered out at them from between the bushes. A gleam of exultation shot
across his darkly painted lineaments as he watched his victims walking
unconsciously into the trap which Magua had prepared.
_II.--In the Nick of Time_
Within an hour's journey of Fort Edward two men were lingering on the
banks of a small stream. One of them was a magnificent specimen of an
Indian--almost naked, with a terrific emblem of death painted upon his
chest. The other was a European, with the quick, roving eye, sun-tanned
cheeks, and rough dress of a hunter.
"Listen, Hawk-eye," said the Indian, addressing his companion, "and I
will tell you what my fathers have said, and what the Mohicans have
done. We came and made this land ours, and drove the Maquas who followed
us, into the woods with the bears. Then came the Dutch, and gave my
people the fire-water. They drank until the heavens and the earth seemed
to meet. Then they parted with their land, and now 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. When Uncas, my son, dies,
there will no longer be any of the blood of the Sagamores. My boy is the
last of the Mohicans."
"Uncas is here," said another voice, in the same soft, guttural tones.
"Who speaks to Uncas?" At the next instant a youthful warrior passed
between them with a noiseless tread, and seated himself by the side of
his father, Chingachgook. "I have been on the trail of the Maquas, who
lie hid like cowards," continued Uncas.
Further talk regarding their hated enemies, the Maquas, who acted as the
spies of Montcalm, was cut short by the sound of horses' feet. The three
men rose to their feet, their eyes watchful and attentive, and their
rifles ready for any emergency.
Presently, the cavalcade from Fort Edward appeared, and Heyward,
addressing Hawk-eye, asked for information as to their whereabouts,
explaining that they had trusted to an Indian, who had lost his way.
"An Indian lost in the woods?" exclaimed the scout. "I should like to
look at the creature."
Saying this, he crept stealthily into the thicket. In a few moments he
returned, his suspicions fully confirmed. Magua had clearly led the
party into a trap for purposes of his own, and Hawk-eye at once took
steps to secure his capture. While Heyward held the runner in
conversation, the scout and the two Mohicans crept silently through the
undergrowth to surround him, but the slight crackle of a breaking stick
aroused Magua's suspicion, and, even as the ambush closed on him, he
dodged under Heyward's arms and vanished into the opposite thicket.
Hawk-eye was too well acquainted with Indian ways to think of pursuing,
and, restraining the eagerness of Heyward, who would have followed
Magua, and would have been undoubtedly led to the place where the
scalping-knives of Magua's companions awaited him, the scout called a
council of war.
The position was serious in the extreme, how serious was disclosed that
night as they lay hid in a cave.
Suddenly, with blood-curdling yells, the Maquas surrounded them. They
were surrounded completely, and, to add to the terrors of their
situation, they discovered that their ammunition was exhausted. There
seemed nothing to be done but die fighting. It was Cora who suggested an
alternative: that Hawk-eye and the two Mohicans should make for Fort
William Henry and procure from their father, Munro, enough men to take
them back in safety. It was the one desperate chance, and the Mohicans
took it. Dropping silently down the river, they disappeared. Duncan,
David, and the two girls were left alone; but not for long. As the night
drew out, a body of the Maquas, swimming across the river, entered the
cave, and made the whole party prisoners.
It was Magua who directed all these operations, and it was Magua who
announced their fate to his prisoners. Alice should go back to her
father, but Cora was to become his squaw in an Indian wigwam.
"Monster!" cried Cora, when this proposal was laid before her. "None but
a fiend could meditate such a vengeance!"
Magua answered with a ghastly smile, and, at his command, the Indians,
seizing their white victims, bound them to four trees. Stakes of glowing
wood were prepared for their torture. Once more Magua offered the
alternative of dishonour or death. Cora wavered, but Alice strengthened
her resolution.
"No, no!" she cried. "Better that we die as we have lived, together."
"Then die!" shouted Magua, hurling his tomahawk at the girl's head. It
missed her by an inch. Another savage rushed to complete the terrible
deed. Maddened at the sight, Duncan broke his bonds, and flung himself
on the savage. He was at once overpowered. He saw a knife glistening
above his head; it was just about to descend. Suddenly there was a sharp
crack of a rifle, and his assailant fell dead at his feet. At the same
moment Hawk-eye and the two Mohicans dashed into the encampment. In a
few moments the six Indians, taken by surprise, were killed; only Magua
lived. He seemed to be at the mercy of Chingachgook. Already he lay
apparently lifeless. The Mohican rose with a yell of triumph, and raised
his knife to give the final blow. Even as he did so Magua rolled himself
over the edge of the precipice near which he lay, and, alighting on his
feet, leapt into the centre of a thicket of low bushes and disappeared.
_III.--"The Jubilee of Devils_"
The party had reached William Henry only to leave it again. Montcalm
asked for an interview with Munro, and through Duncan, who acted as the
latter's representative, explained that it was hopeless to think of
holding the fort. General Webb had withdrawn the relieving force, and
the English were outnumbered by about twenty to one. With chivalrous
courtesy, the French general proposed that his brave enemies should
march out with their arms and ammunition and all the honours of war.
These conditions Munro sadly accepted. Compelled to be with his men,
Munro entrusted his daughters to the care of David.
According to the conditions of the surrender, the troops marched out.
Behind them came the women and stragglers, the French and their native
allies watching them in silence. At the other side of the plain was a
defile. The troops slowly entered this, and disappeared. The rear-guard
of civilians was now left alone on the plain. Cora, as she pressed
slowly onwards with her sister and David, saw Magua addressing the
natives, speaking with his fatal and artful eloquence. The effect of his
words was soon seen.
One of the savages, attracted by the shawl in which a mother had wrapped
her baby, seized the child, and dashed its brains out on the ground. As
the mother sprang forward, he buried his tomahawk in her brain. It was
the signal for a massacre. Magua raised the fatal and appalling
war-whoop. At its sound two thousand savages broke from the wood and
fell upon the unresisting victims. Death was everywhere, and in his most
terrific and disgusting aspect.
"It is the jubilee of devils," said David, who, in spite of his
uselessness, never dreamed of deserting his trust. "If David tamed the
evil spirit of Saul, it may not be amiss to try the potency of music
here."
He poured out a strain of song that echoed even over the din of that
bloody field. Magua heard it and, through the throng of savages, rushed
to their side.
"Come," he cried, seizing Alice in his blood-stained arms; "the wigwam
of the Huron is still open!"
In vain Cora begged him to release her sister. Across the plain he bore
her swiftly, followed by Cora and David. As soon as he reached the
woods, he placed the two girls on horses that were waiting there, and,
never heeding David, who mounted the remaining steed, dashed forward
into the wilds.
_IV.--Captives of the Hurons_
Three days after the surrender of the fort, Hawk-eye and his two Mohican
companions, accompanied by Munroe and Duncan, stood upon the fatal
plain. Everywhere they had searched for the bodies of the two girls, and
nowhere could they be found. It was clear to Hawk-eye that they still
lived, and had been carried off by Magua. With untiring energy he at
once set off to try and discover the trail. It was Uncas, who, finding a
portion of Cora's skirt caught on a bush, first opened up the line of
pursuit. He it was, too, who read the track of Magua's feet on the
ground--the unmistakable straddling toe of the drinking savage. An
ornament dropped by Alice, and the large footprints of the
singing-master, laid bare to the trained intelligence of the Indian
scout everything that had happened.
As they reached the outskirts of a clearing, they perceived a
melancholy-looking savage in war-paint and moccasins seated by the side
of a stream watching a colony of beavers busily engaged in making a dam.
Duncan was about to fire, but Hawk-eye, roaring with laughter, stayed
his arm. The savage was none other than David.
Alice and Cora were near at hand, and Duncan was all eager to make his
way to their side. Hawk-eye so far humoured his whim as to consent to
his visiting the encampment disguised as a medicine man.
As soon as he entered the camp he declared that he had been sent by the
Grand Monarque to heal the ills of the Hurons. The chief to whom he
spoke listened to him for some time, and then asked him to show his
skill by frightening away the evil spirit that lived in the wife of one
of his young men. Duncan could not refuse, though he felt certain that
the trial of his skill would result in the detection of his disguise.
Just as the chief was about to lead the way to the woman's side, Magua
joined the group, to be followed shortly afterwards by a number of young
men bringing with them a prisoner. A cry went up, "Le Cerf Agile!" and
every warrior sprang to his feet. To his dismay, Duncan saw that it was
Uncas. Magua gazed at his captive gravely for some time; then, raising
his arm, shook it at him, exclaiming, "Mohican, you die!"
Duncan's conductor led him to a cave which went some distance into the
rocky side of the mountain. As he entered, Duncan saw a dark;
mysterious-looking object that rose unexpectedly in his path. It was a
bear, and though the young soldier knew that the Indians often kept such
animals as pets, its deep growls, and the manner in which it clutched at
him as he passed up the long, narrow passage of the cave, caused him not
a little uneasiness.
Having shown him the sick woman, who, it was clear, was dying, the
Indians left the supposed medicine man to fight the devils by himself.
To his horror, Duncan saw that the bear remained behind, growling
savagely. Watching it uneasily, he noticed its head suddenly fall on one
side, and in its place appeared the sturdy countenance of the scout. As
quickly as he could Hawk-eye explained how he had come across a wizard
preparing for a _seance_, how he had knocked him on the head and taken
the bear's skin in which the charlatan had proposed to make his magic.
While the scout rearranged his disguise, Duncan, searching the cave, in
another compartment discovered Alice. But even as the girl was in the
first throes of delight at this unexpected meeting, the guttural laugh
of Magua was heard, and she saw the dark form and malignant visage of
the savage.
"Huron, do your worst!" exclaimed the excited Heyward, as he saw that
all his plans were brought to nought.
"Will the white man speak these words at the stake?" asked Magua,
turning to leave the cave. As he did so the bear growled loudly and
threateningly; believing it to be one of the wizards, Magua attempted to
pass it contemptuously. Suddenly the animal rushed at him, and, seizing
him in its arms, completely overpowered him. Duncan at once ran to the
scout's assistance, and secured the savage.
At Hawk-eye's suggestion, Alice was wrapped up in the dying woman's
clothes, and, completely hidden from view, was carried out of the cave.
"The disease has gone out of her," explained Duncan to the father and
husband who waited without. "I go to take the woman to a distance, where
I will strengthen her against any further attack. Let my children wait
without, and if the evil spirit appears beat him down with clubs."
Leaving the Indians with a certainty that they would not enter the
cavern and discover Magua, Duncan and the scout made their way to the
hut where Uncas lay bound. Entering with David, they released the
Mohican, and immediately hastened to take the next step suggested by the
resourceful Hawk-eye. David was secure from all harm; so the scout,
stepping out of his bear-skin, dressed himself in the singing-master's
clothes, while Uncas donned the wizard's disguise. Thus arrayed they
ventured out among the natives, leaving David within. Without being
suspected, they passed through the encampment; but they had not got far
before a yell announced that their subterfuge had been discovered. Uncas
cast his skin, and having used their rifles with deadly effect, he and
the scout made their escape into the woods, taking Alice with them.
_V.--Hawk-eye's Revenge_
Magua, for motives of policy, had, while keeping Alice in his own hands,
entrusted Cora to the neighbouring tribe of Tortoise Delawares. Thither
went Magua, to find that the scout and his companions were before him.
Nothing daunted, Magua almost persuaded the Tortoises to surrender the
girl. As the chief of the tribe hesitated how to act, Uncas stepped
forward and bared his breast. A cry rose from all present, for there,
delicately tatooed on the young Mohican's skin, was the emblem of a
Tortoise. In him the tribe recognised the long-lost scion of the purest
race of the Delawares, who, tradition said, still wandered far and
unknown on the hills and through the forests.
But in spite of Uncas's authority, the Indian law could not be set
aside. Cora was Magua's captive of war. He had sought her in peace, and
she must follow him. By all the laws of Indian hospitality his person
was sacred till the setting of the sun.
As soon as the Maquas had disappeared, the Tortoises made ready for war,
with all the grim and terrifying ceremonies of their race. As hour after
hour slipped by, the savage spirit of the tribe increased in fury. Uncas
alone remained unmoved. Standing in the midst of the now maddened
savages, he kept his eyes fixed upon the declining sun. It dipped
beneath the horizon; at once the whole encampment was broken up, and the
warriors rushed down the trail which Magua had followed.
As soon as they came in touch with the enemy, a desperate and bloody
battle was fought. Under the leadership of the two Mohicans and
Hawk-eye, victory swayed to the side of the Tortoises. Huron after Huron
fell, until only Magua and two companions were left. Then, with a yell,
Le Renard Subtil rushed from the field of battle, and, seizing Cora, ran
up a steep defile towards the mountains. On the side of the precipice
Cora refused to move any farther.
"Woman!" cried Magua, raising his knife, "choose--the wigwam or the
knife of Le Subtil?"
Cora neither heard nor heeded his demands. Magua trembled in every
fibre. He raised his arm on high. Just then a piercing cry was heard
from above, and Uncas leapt frantically from a fearful height upon the
ledge on which they stood. He fell prostrate for a moment. As he lay
there, Magua plunged his knife into his back, and at the same moment one
of the other Indians stretched Cora lifeless. With the last effort of
his strength Uncas rose to his feet, and hurled Cora's murderer into the
abyss below. Then, with a stern and steady look, he turned to Le Subtil
and indicated with the expression of his eye all that he would do had
not the power deserted him, Magua seized his nerveless arm and stretched
him dead by passing his dagger several times through his body.
"Mercy!" cried Heyward from above. "Give mercy, and thou shalt receive
it!"
For answer, Magua raised a shout of triumph, and, leaping a wide
fissure, made for the summit of the mountain. A single bound would carry
him to the brow of the precipice and assure his safety. Before taking
the leap he shook his hand defiantly at Hawk-eye, who waited with his
rifle raised.
"The pale faces are dogs! The Delawares women! Magua leaves them on the
rocks for the crows!"
Making a desperate leap, and falling short of his mark, Magua saved
himself by grasping some shrub on the verge of the height. With an
effort he pulled himself up. Hawk-eye, whose rifle shook with suppressed
excitement, watched him closely. As his body was thus collected
together, he drew the weapon to his shoulder and fired.
The arms of the Huron relaxed and his body fell back a little, but his
knees still kept their position. Turning a relentless look on his enemy,
he shook his hand at him in grim defiance. But his hold loosened, and
his dark person was seen cutting the air, with its head downwards, for a
fleeting instant, until it glided past the fringe of shrubbery in its
rapid flight to destruction.
* * * * *
The Spy
Cooper's first success, "The Spy," appeared when he was
thirty-two, and his novel-writing period extended over a
quarter of a century. The best tales--the famous
Leatherstocking series--were begun two years after "The Spy."
Susceptible patriotism has discovered in his writings an
anti-English bias, but "The Spy" is rather a proof of balanced
judgment in the midst of sharp national antagonisms.
_I.--Uncomfortable Visitors_
Near the close of the year 1780 a solitary traveller was pursuing his
way through one of the numerous little valleys of New York State which
were then common ground for the British and Revolutionary forces.
Anxious to obtain a speedy shelter from the increasing violence of the
storm, the traveller knocked at the door of a house which had an air
altogether superior to the common farmhouses of the country. In answer
to his knocking, an aged black appeared, and, without seeming to think
it necessary to consult his superiors, acceded to the request for
accommodation.
The stranger was shown into a neat parlour, where, after politely
repeating his request to an old gentleman who arose to receive him, and
paying his compliments to three ladies who were seated at work with
their needles, he commenced laying aside his outer garments, and
exhibited to the scrutiny of the observant family party a tall and
graceful person, apparently fifty years of age. His countenance evinced
a settled composure and dignity; his eye was quiet, thoughtful, and
rather melancholy; the mouth expressive of decision and much character.
His whole appearance was so decidedly that of a gentleman that the
ladies arose and, together with the master of the house, received anew
and returned the complimentary greetings suitable for the occasion.
After handing a glass of excellent Madeira to his guest, Mr. Wharton,
for so was the owner of this retired estate called, threw an inquiring
glance on the stranger and asked, "To whose health am I to have the
honour of drinking?"
The traveller replied, while a faint tinge gathered on his features--
"Mr. Harper."
"Mr. Harper," resumed the other, with the formal precision of the day,
"I have the honour to drink your health, and to hope you will sustain no
injury from the rain to which you have been exposed."
Mr. Harper bowed in silence to the compliment, and seated himself by the
fire with an air of reserve that baffled further inquiry.
The storm now began to rage without with great violence, and on the way
being led to the supper-table a loud summons again called the black to
the portal. In a minute he returned and informed his master that another
traveller desired shelter for the night.
Mr. Wharton, who had risen from his seat in evident uneasiness, scarcely
had time to bid the black show the second man in before the door was
thrown hastily open and the stranger himself entered the apartment. He
paused a moment as the person of Harper met his view, and then repeated
the request he had made through the servant.
Throwing aside a rough great-coat, the intruder very composedly
proceeded to allay the cravings of an appetite which appeared by no
means delicate. But at every mouthful he turned an unquiet eye on
Harper, who studied his appearance with a closeness that was very
embarrassing. At length, pouring out a glass of wine and nodding to his
examiner, the newcomer said, "I drink to our better acquaintance, sir; I
believe this is the first time we have met, though your attention would
seem to say otherwise."