Adventure Books
03 - The Last Of The Mohicans - James Cooper
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- Duration:
- 27m
- Broadcast on:
- 19 Jul 2024
- Audio Format:
- mp3
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All made right here in the USA, from growing the cotton to adding the final touches. So when you buy American giant, you create jobs for seamsters, cutters, and factory workers in towns and cities across the United States. And it's about more than an income. Jobs bring pride, purpose. They stitch people together. Support America's workers and get 20% off your first order at American-Giant.com, with promo code Staple20. That's 20% off your first order at American-Giant.com, code Staple20. Chapter 3. Quote, "Before these fields were shorn and tilled, full to the brim our rivers flowed, the melody of waters filled the fresh and boundless wood, and torrents dashed and rivulets played, and fountains spouted in the shade." Unquote. By Bryant. Leaving the unsuspecting Hayward and his confiding companions to penetrate still deeper into a forest that contains such treacherous inmates, we must use an author's privilege and shift the scene a few miles to the westward of the place where we have last seen them. On that day, two men were lingering on the banks of a small but rapid stream, within an hour's journey of the encampment of web. Like those who awaited the appearance of an absent person, or the approach of some expected event. The vast canopy of wood spread itself to the margin of the river, overhanging the water and shadowing its dark current with a deeper hue. The rays of the sun were beginning to grow less fierce, and the intense heat of the day was lessened, as the cooler vapors of the springs and fountains rose above their leafy beds and rested in the atmosphere. Still, that breathing silence which marks the drowsy sultranous of an American landscape in July, pervaded this occluded spot, interrupted only by the low voices of the men, the occasional and lazy tap of a woodpecker, the discordant cry of some gaudy jay, or a swelling on the ear, from the dull roar of a distant waterfall. These feeble and broken sounds were, however, too familiar to the foresters to draw their attention from the more interesting matter of their dialogue. While one of these loiterers showed the red skin and wild accoutrements of a native of the woods, the other exhibited, through the mask of his rude and nearly savage equipments, the brighter, though sunburned, and long-faced complexion of one who might claim descent from a European parentage. The former was seated on the end of a mossy log in a posture that permitted him to heighten the effect of his earnest language by the calm but expressive gestures of an Indian engaged in debate. His body, which was nearly naked, presented a terrific emblem of death, drawn in intermingled colors of white and black. His closely shaved head, on which no other hair than the well-known and chivalrous scalping tuft was preserved, was without ornament of any kind. With the exception of a solitary eagle's plume, the crossed his crown and depended over the left shoulder, footnote. The North American warrior caused the hair to be plucked from his whole body. A small tuft was left on the crown of his head, in order that his enemy might avail himself of it in the wrenching off the scalp in the event of his fall. The scalp was the only admissible trophy of victory. Thus, it was deemed more important to obtain the scalp than to kill the man. Some tribes lay great stress on the honor of striking a dead body. These practices have nearly disappeared among the Indians of the Atlantic States, and footnote. A tomahawk and scalping knife of English manufacture were in his girdle, while a short military rifle of that sort with which the policy of the Whites armed their savage allies lay carelessly across his bare and sinewy knee. The expanded chest, full form limbs, and grave countenance of this warrior would denote that he had reached the vigor of his days, though no symptoms of decay appeared to have yet weakened his manhood. The frame of the white man, judging from such parts as were not concealed by his clothes, was like that of one who had known hardships and exertion from his earliest youth. His person, though muscular, was rather attenuated than full, but every nerve and muscle appeared strung and indurated by unremitted exposure and toil. He wore a hunting-shirt, a forest-crained, fringed with faded yellow, and a summer cap of skins which had been shorn of their fur. Footnote, the hunting-shirt is a picturesque smock-frock, being shorter and ornamented with fringes and tassels. The colors are intended to imitate the hues of the wood with a view to concealment. Many core of American riflemen have been thus attired, and the dress is one of the most striking of modern times. The hunting-shirt is frequently white. He also bore a knife in a girdle of wampum, like that which confined the scanty garments of the Indian, but no tomahawk. His moccasins were ornamented after the gay fashion of the natives, while the only part of his underdress which appeared below the hunting-frock was a pair of buckskin leggings that laced at the sides, and which were guarded above the knees with the sinews of a deer. A pouch and horn completed his personal accoutrements, though a rifle of great length, which the theory of the more ingenious whites had taught them was the most dangerous of all firearms leaned against a neighboring sapling. Footnote, the rifle of the army is short, that of the hunter is always long, and footnote. The eye of the hunter or scout, whichever he might be, was small, quick, keen, and restless, roving while he spoke on every side of him, as if in quest of game or distrusting the sudden approach of some lurking enemy. Not withstanding the symptoms of habitual suspicion, his countenance was not only without guile, but at the moment at which he is introduced. It was charged with an expression of sturdy honesty. "Even your traditions make the case in my favor," Chinchacchok. He said, speaking in the tongue which was known to all the natives who formerly inhabited the country between the Hudson and the Potomac, and of which we shall give a free translation for the benefit of the reader, endeavoring at the same time to preserve some of the peculiarities both of the individual and of the language. Your fathers came from the setting sun, crossed the big river, fought the people of the country, and took the land, and mine came from the red sky of the morning over the Salt Lake, and did their work much after the fashion that had been set them by yours. Then let God judge the matter between us and friends spare their words. Footnote. The Mississippi. The scout alludes to a tradition which is very popular among the tribes of the Atlantic states. Evidence of their Asiatic origin is deduced from the circumstances, though great uncertainty hangs over the whole history of the Indians, and footnote. My fathers fought with the naked red man, returned the Indian, sternly in the same language. Is there no difference, Hawkeye, between the stone-headed arrow of the warrior, and the leaden bullet with which you kill? "There is reason in an Indian, though nature has made him with a red skin," said the white man, shaking his head like one on whom such an appeal to his justice was not thrown away. For a moment he appeared to be conscious of having the worst of the argument. Then, rallying again, he answered the objection of his antagonist in the best manner his limited information would allow. I am no scholar, and I care not who knows it. But, judging from what I've seen at dear chases and squirrel hunts, of the sparks below, I should think a rifle in the hands of their grandfathers was not so dangerous as a hickory bow and a good flinthead might be, if drawn with Indian judgment, and sent by an Indian eye. You have told the story told by your fathers, returned the other coldly, waving his hand. What say, your old men, do they tell the young warriors that the pale faces met the red men, painted for war and armed with the stone hatchet and wooden gun? I am not a prejudiced man, nor one who vaunts himself on his natural privileges. Though the worst enemy I have on earth, and he is an Iroquois, dare't deny I am genuine white," the scout replied, surveying with secret satisfaction, the faded color of his bony and sinewy hand. And, I am willing to own that my people have many ways of which, as an honest man, I can't prove. It is one of their customs to write in books what they have done and seen, instead of telling them in their villages, where the lie can be given to the face of a cowardly boaster, and a brave soldier can call on his comrades to witness for the truth of his words. In consequence of this bad fashion, a man who is too conscientious to misbend his days among the women in learning the names of blackmarks may never hear the deeds of his fathers, nor feel a pride in striving to outdo them. For myself, I conclude the bumpos could shoot, for I have a natural turn with a rifle which must have been handed down from generation to generation. As our holy commandments tell us, all good and evil gifts are bestowed, though I should be loath to answer for other people in such a matter. But every story has its two sides, so I ask you, chin-chouch-cook, what passed according to the traditions of the Red Men, when our fathers first met, a silence of a minute seceded, during which the Indians sat mute. Then, full of the dignity of his office, he commenced his brief tale with a solemnity that served to heighten its appearance of truth. Listen, Hawkeye, and your ear shall drink no lie. 'Tis what my fathers have said, and what the Mohicans have done. He hesitated a single instant, and bending a cautious glance toward his companion, he continued in a manner that was divided between interrogation and assertion. Does not this stream at our feet run toward the summer until its waters grow salt and the current flows upward? 'It can't be denied that your traditions tell you true in both these matters,' said the white men. 'For I have been there, and have seen them. The why water, which is so sweet in the shade, should become bitter in the sun, is an alteration for which I have never been able to account. And the current demanded the Indian, who expected his reply with that sort of interest that a man feels in the confirmation of testimony, at which he marvels even while he respects it. The fathers of Chinggajkok have not lied. The Holy Bible is not more true, and that is the truest thing in nature. They call this upstream current the tide, which is a thing soon explained and clear enough. Six hours the waters run in, and six hours they run out. And the reason is this, when there is higher water in the sea than in the river, they run in until the river gets to be highest, and then it runs out again. The waters in the woods and on the great lakes run downward until they lie like my hand,' said the Indian, stretching the limb horizontally before him. And then they run no more. 'No honest man will deny it,' said the scout, a little nettled at the implied distrust of his explanation on the mystery of the tides. And I grant that it is true on the small scale and where the land is level. But everything depends on what scale you look at things. Now on the small scale the earth is level, but on the large scale it is round. In this manner pools and ponds and even the great freshwater lakes may be stagnant, as you and I both know they are, having seen them. But when you come to spread water over a great tract like 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 our 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 hit at night, over great plains where the buffaloes live, until we reached the big river. There we fought the eligui 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 makwas 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 20 suns journey toward the summer. We drove the makwas 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 pale faces 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 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 wooded steer, and the air, its birds. We took wives who bore us children. We worshipped the great spirit, and we kept the makwas beyond the sound of our songs of triumph. "Know you anything of your own family at that time," demanded the white. "But you are just a man for an Indian. And I suppose you hold their gifts. Your fathers must have been brave warriors. And wise men at the councilfire. My tribe is the grandfather of nations, but I am an unmixed man. The blood of chiefs is in my veins, where it must stay forever. 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 Sagamor, have never seen the sunshine 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 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 hilltop and must go down into the valley. And when Onkis follows in my footsteps, there will no longer be any of the blood of the Sagamors. For my boy is the last of the Mohicans. "Onkis is here," said another voice in the same soft guttural tones near his valbeau. "Who speaks for Onkis?" The white man loosened his knife in his leather and sheath and made an involuntary movement of the hand toward 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 stepped 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, Chingotch Cook turned his eyes slowly toward his son and demanded. "Do the mokwas 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 outlying for scalps and plunders," said the white man, whom we shall call Hawkeye after the manner of his companions. That busy Frenchman Montkholm will send his spies into our very camp, but he will know what road we travel. "Tis enough," returned the father, glancing his eye toward the setting-son. "They shall be driven like deer from their bushes." Hawkeye led us eat tonight and show the mokwas that we are men tomorrow. "I am as ready to do one as the other, but to fight the Iroquois is necessary to find the Sculkers, 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, Angas," he continued in a half-whisper, and laughing with a kind of inward sound like one who had learned to be watchful, "I will pet my charger three times full of powder against a foot of wampum that I take him at twix the eyes, and near to the right than the left. "It cannot be," said the young Indian, springing to his feet with youthful eagerness. "Oh, 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 a creature? 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 hands, saying, "Hakai, will you fight them, Aquas?" "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 convinced of his air. "I must leave the buck to your arrow, Angas, or we may kill a deer for them thieves the Iroquois eat." The instant the father seconded this intimation by an expressive gesture of the hand, Angas threw himself on the ground and approached the animal with worry 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 owners 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, Angas darted to a side and passed his knife across the throat, when bounding to the edge of the river it fell, dying the water with its blood. "Twas done within the unskilled," said the scout, laughing inwardly, but with vast satisfaction, and was a pretty sight to behold. Though an arrow is a near shot and needs a knife to finish the work, ejaculated his companion, turning quickly, like a hound who sent a gain. "By the Lord there's a drove of them," exclaimed the scout, whose eyes began to glisten with the ardor of his usual occupation. "If they come with in range of a bullet, I will drop one, though the whole six nations should be lurking within sound. What do you hear, Chinchkach cook? For to my ears the woods are dumb. "There is but one deer, and he is dead," said the Indian. Ben his body to his ear nearly touched the earth. "I hear the sounds of feet." Perhaps the wolves have driven the buck to shelter and are following on his trail. "No, the horses of white men are coming," returned the other, raising himself with dignity, and resuming his seat on the log with his former composure. "Hakai, they are your brothers. Speak to them." "That I will, and in English that the king needn't be ashamed to answer," returned the hunter, speaking in the language of which he boasted, "but I see nothing, nor do I hear the sounds of man or beast." 'Tis strange that an Indian should understand white sounds. Better than a man whose very enemies will own has no cross in his blood. Although he may have lived with the Redskins long enough to be suspected. "Ha! There goes something like the crackling of a dry stick, too. Now I hear the bushes move. Yes, yes, there is a trampling that I mistook for the falls, and... but here they come themselves. God keep them from the Iroquois." End of chapter three. An official message from Medicare. A new law is helping me save more money on prescription drug costs. You may be able to save, too. With Medicare's extra help program, my premium is zero, and my out-of-pocket costs are low. Who should apply? Single people making less than $23,000 a year, or married couples who make less than $31,000 a year. Even if you don't think you qualify, it pays to find out. Go to ssa.gov/extrahelp, paid for by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Hey everyone, it is Ryan Seacrest here, ready to heat up your summer vacation? Get ready, things are about to get sizzling at Chumba Casino. Your summer getting a whole lot hotter with a special daily login bonus waiting just for you. So, sign up now for reals of fun and reals of prizes right here at Chumba Casino. See yours truly. 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