Adventure Books
18 - The Last Of The Mohicans - James Cooper
https://www.solgoodmedia.com Listen to hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and ambient sounds all ad-free! Step into a world of daily intrigue and timeless tales with our Classic Adventure Podcast Series! Each day, we bring to life a new chapter from a beloved classic, inviting you on an exhilarating journey through some of the greatest adventure stories ever written. Imagine unraveling the mysteries with Sherlock Holmes, exploring bizarre landscapes with Alice, or circumnavigating the globe in just eighty days. Why settle for mundane daily commutes or routine chores when you can escape into the thrilling escapades of "Treasure Island" or the eerie encounters in "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"? Our podcast transforms your every day into a captivating adventure, perfect for both the literary enthusiast and the casual listener seeking an escape from the ordinary. Join us as we traverse the dark depths of "Heart of Darkness," soar through the imaginative realms of "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz," and survive the wilds with "Robinson Crusoe." Each episode is crafted to make the classics accessible and exciting, ensuring that whether you're reliving your favorite tales or discovering them for the first time, you're guaranteed a gripping experience. Subscribe to our Classic Adventure Podcast Series today and start your daily adventure! Let us awaken the explorer in you as we delve into these timeless narratives, chapter by chapter, transforming your daily routine into an extraordinary journey through the pages of history's most thrilling adventures. Don't just listen to stories—live them every day with us!
- Duration:
- 32m
- Broadcast on:
- 03 Aug 2024
- Audio Format:
- mp3
How to Have Fun, Anytime, Anywhere, Step 1. Go to Chumbakassino.com. Chumbakassino.com. Got it. Step 2. Collect your welcome bonus. Come to Topo Welcome Bonus. Step 3. Play hundreds of casino-style games for free. That's a lot of games, all for free. Step 4. Unleash your excitement. Woo-hoo! Chumbakassino has been delivering thrills for over a decade. So claim your free welcome bonus now and live the Chumbalife. Visit Chumbakassino.com. EW Group, no purchases are employed or prohibited by law, see terms and conditions, 18 plus. Hey there, listeners. Are you ready to unlock a world of captivating stories, soothing sounds, and enlightening lectures? At Solge Media, we believe in the power of audio to enrich your life. And now we're offering you a chance to experience it all for free. For a limited time, you can get a one-month free trial to our premium, add free service. Imagine having unlimited access to over 500 audiobooks, meditative sounds, and exclusive shows, all at your fingertips. Just head over to Solge Media dot com and sign up to start your free trial today. No ads, no interruptions, just pure, immersive audio content. Don't miss out. Transform your listening experience with Solge Media. Visit Solge Media dot com and start your free trial now. We can't wait for you to join our audio community. Happy listening. Chapter 18 Quote, "Why anything, an honorable murderer, if you will, for not I did and hate, but all in honor," unquote, from a fellow. The bloody and inhuman scene, rather incidentally mentioned than described in the preceding chapter, is conspicuous in the pages of colonial history by the merited title of "The Massacre of William Henry." It so far deepened the stain which a previous and very similar event had left upon the reputation of the French commander, that it was not entirely erased by his early and glorious death. It is now becoming obscured by time, and thousands who know that Mount Calm died like a hero in the plains of Abraham, have yet to learn how much he was deficient in that moral courage without which no man can be truly great. Pages might yet be written to prove from his illustrious example the defects of human excellence, to show how easy it is for generous sentiments, high courtesy, and chivalrous courage to lose their influence beneath the chilling blight of selfishness, and to exhibit to the world a man who was great in all the minor attributes of character, but who was found wanting when it became necessary to prove how much principle is superior to policy. But the task would exceed our prerogatives, and as history-like love is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness, it is probable that Louis de St. Véron will be viewed by posterity only as the gallant defender of his country, while his cruel apathy on the shores of the Asuego and of the Horican will be forgotten, deeply regretting this weakness on the part of a sister muse, we shall at once retire from her sacred precincts within the proper limits of our own humble vocation. The third day from the capture of the fort was drawing to a close, but the busyness of the narrative must still detain the reader on the shores of the Holy Lake. When last seen, the environs of the works were filled with violence and uproar. They were now possessed by stillness and death. The blood-stained conquerors had departed, and their camp which had so lately rung with the merry rejoicings of a victorious army lay a silent and deserted city of huts. The fortress was a smoldering ruin, charred rafters, fragments of exploded artillery, and rent mason work, covering its earthen mounds, in confused disorder. A frightful change had also occurred in the season. The sun had hit its warmth behind an impenetrable mass of vapor, and hundreds of human forms, which had blackened beneath the fierce heats of August, were stiffening in their deformity before the blast of a premature November. The curling and spotless mist which had been sailing above the hills toward the north were now returning to an interminable dusky sheet, which was urged along by the fury of a tempest. The crowded mirror of the hurricane was gone, and in its place the green and angry waters lashed the shores, as if indignantly casting back its impurities to the polluted strand. Still, the clear fountain retained a portion of its charmed influence, but it reflected only the somber gloom that fell from the impending heavens. That humid and congenial atmosphere which commonly adorned a view, veiling its harshness, and softening its asperities had disappeared. The northern air poured across the waste of water so harsh and unmingled, that nothing was left to be conjectured by the eye. The fiercer element had cropped the vendor of the plane, which looked as though it were scathed by consuming lightning. But here and there a dark green tough rose in the midst of the desolation, the earliest fruits of a soil that had been fattened with human blood. The whole landscape, which seen by a favoring light and in a genial temperature, had been so lovely, appeared now like some pictured allegory of life, in which objects were arrayed in their harshest but truest colors, and without the relief of any shadowing. The solitary and arid blades of grass arose from the passing gust, fearfully perceptible. The bold and rocky mountains were too distinct in their barrenness, and the eye even sought relief in vain by attempting to pierce the illimitable void of heaven, which was shut to its gaze by the dusky sheet of ragged and driving vapor. The wind blew unequally, sometimes sweeping heavily along the ground, seeming to whisper its moneings in the cold ears of the dead. Then rising in a shrill and mournful whistling, it entered the forest with a rush that filled the air with the leaves and branches it scattered in its path. Did the unnatural shower, a few hungry ravens struggled with the gale, but no sooner was the green ocean of woods which stretched beneath them past, than they gladly stopped, at random, to their hideous bank. In short, it was a scene of wildness and desolation, and it appeared as if all who had profanely entered it had been stricken, at a blow, by the relentless arm of death. But the prohibition had ceased, and for the first time since the perpetrators of those foul deeds which had insisted to disfigure the scene were gone, living human beings had now presumed to approach the place. About an hour before the setting of the sun, on the day already mentioned, the forms of five men might have been seen issuing from the narrow vist of trees, where the path through the Hudson entered the forest, and advancing in the direction of the ruin works. At first their progress was slow and guarded, as though they entered with reluctance amid the horrors of the post, or dreaded the renewal of its frightful incidents. A light figure preceded the rest of the party with the caution and activity of a native, finding every hillock, to reconnoiter, and indicating by gestures to his companions, the route he deemed it most prudent to pursue, nor were those in the rear wanting in every caution and foresight known to forest warfare. One among them, he also was an Indian, moved a little on one flank, and watched the margin of the woods, with eyes long accustomed to read the smallest sign of danger. The remaining three were white, though clad investments adapted both in quality and color to their present hazardous pursuit, bad of hanging on the skirts of a retiring army in the wilderness. The effects produced by the appalling sights that constantly arose in their path to the lakeshore, were as different as the characters of the respective individuals who composed the party. The youth in front, through serious but fertile glances, at the mangled victims, has he stepped lightly across the plain, afraid to exhibit his feelings, and yet too inexperienced to quell entirely their sudden and powerful influence. His red associate, however, was superior to such a weakness. He passed the groups of dead with a steadiness of purpose, and an eye so calm that nothing but long and inverterate practice could enable him to maintain. The sensations produced in the minds of even the white men were different, though uniformly sorrowful. One whose gray locks and furrowed liniments, blending with a martial air and tread, betrayed in spite of the disguise of a woodsman's dress a man long experience in scenes of war, was not ashamed to grown aloud, whenever a spectacle of more than usual horror came under his view. The young man at his elbow shuddered, but seemed to suppress his feelings in tenderness to his companion. Of them all, the straggler who brought up the rear appeared alone to betray his real thoughts, without fear of observation or dread of consequences. He gazed on the most appalling sight, with eyes and muscles, that knew not how to waver, but with exacration so bitter and deep as to denote how much he denounced the crime of his enemies. The reader will perceive at once in these respective characters the Mohicans and their white friend the Scout, together with Monroe and Hayward. It was in truth the father in quest of his children, attended by the youth who felt so deep a stake in their happiness, and those brave and trusty foresters who had already proved their skill and fidelity through the trying scenes related. When Uncus, who moved in front, had reached the center of the plane, he raised a cry that drew his companions in a body to the spot. The young warrior had halted over a group of females who lay in a cluster, a confused mass of dead. Notwithstanding the revolting horror of the exhibition, Monroe and Hayward flew toward the festering heap, endeavoring with a love that no uneasiness could extinguish to discover whether any vestiges of those they sought were to be seen among the tattered and many colored garments. The father and the lover found instant relief in the search, though each was condemned again to experience the misery of an uncertainty that was hardly less insupportable than the most revolting truth. They were standing silent and thoughtful around the melancholy pile when the Scout approached, eyeing the sad spectacle with an angry countenance, the sturdy woodsman for the first time since his entering the plane, spoken telegibly and aloud. "I have been on many a shocking field and have followed a trail of blood for weary miles," he said. "But never have I found the hand of the devil so plain, as it is here to be seen. Revenge is an Indian feeling, and all who know me know that there is no cross in my veins. But this much will I say, here, in the face of heaven and with the power of the Lord so manifest in this howling wilderness. That should these Frenchers ever trust themselves again with in the rage of a ragged bullet? There is one rifle which shall play its part so long as flint will fire or powder burn. I leave the tomahawk and knife to such as have a natural gift to use them. What say you, Chingguchko, key added in Delaware? Shall the heroines boast of this to their women when the deep snows come? A gleam of resentment flashed across the dark liniments of the Mohican chief. He loosened his knife in his sheath, and then turning calmly from the sight. His countenance settled into a repose as deep as if he knew the instigation of passion. "Mott com, mott com!" continued the deeply resentful and less self-restraint scout. They say a time must come when all the deeds done in the flesh will be seen at a single look, and that by eyes cleared for mortal infirmities. "Woe, betied the wretch who is born to behold this plain, with the judgment hanging about his soul. Has I am a man of white blood yonder lies a red skin without the hair of his head where nature rooted it. Look to him, Delaware. It may be one of your missing people, and he should have burial like a stout warrior. I see it in your eyes, Sagamore. A Huron pays for this, for the fall winds have blown away the scent of the blood. Chinggachkok approached the mutilated form, and turning it over he found the distinguishing marks of one of those six allied tribes or nations as they were called, who, while they fought in the English ranks, were so deadly hostile to his own people. Setting the loathsome object with his foot, he turned from it with the same difference he would have quitted a brute carcass. The scout comprehended the action, and very deliberately pursued his own way. Continuing, however, his denunciations against the French commander in the same resentful strain. "Nothing but vast wisdom and unlimited power should dare to sweep off men in multitudes," he added. "For it is only the one that can know the necessity of the judgment, and what is there short of the other that can replace the creatures of the Lord." I hold it as sin to kill the second buck before the first is eaten, unless a march in front or an ambush meant be contemplated. It is a different matter for a few warriors in open and rugged fight, for 'tis their gift to die with the rifle or the tomahawk in hand, according as their natures may happen to be red or white. "Anchos, come this way, lad, and let the raven settle upon the Mingo. I know, from often seeing it, that they are craving for the flesh of an anaida, and it is well to let the bird follow the gift of its natural appetite." "Oh!" exclaimed the young Mohican, rising on the extremities of his feet and gazing intently in his front, frightening the ravens to some other prey by the sound of the action. "What is it, boy?" whispered the scout, lowering his tall form into a crouching attitude, like a panther about to take his leap. "God send it be a tartie-fringer sulking for plunder? I do believe Kildir would have uncommon range today." "Anchos, without making any reply, bounded away from the spot, and in the next instant he was seen tearing from a bush and waving in triumph, a fragment from the green-riding veil of Quora. The movement, the exhibition, and the cry which again burst from the lips of the young Mohican instantly drew the whole party about him. "My child," said Monroe, speaking quickly and wildly, "give me my child! Onkos will try!" was the short and touching answer. The simple but meaning assurance was lost on the father, who seized the peace of God, and crushed it in his hand while his eyes roamed fearfully among the bushes, as if he equally dreadeded and hoped for the secrets they might reveal. "Here are no dead," said Hayward. The storm seems not to have passed this way. "That's manifest and clearer than the heavens above our heads," returned the undisturbed scout. "But either she or they that have robbed her have passed the bush, for I remember the rags she wore to hide a face that all did love to look upon. "Anchos, you are right. The wood. None who could fly would remain to be murdered. Let us search for the marks she left, for to Indian eyes I sometimes think a hummingbird leaves his trail in the air. The young Mohican darted away at the suggestion, and the scout had hardly done speaking before the former raised a cry of success from the margin of the forest. On reaching the spot the anxious party perceived another portion of the veil fluttering on the lower branch of a beach. "Softly, softly," said the scout, extending his long rifle in front of the eager Hayward. "We know now our work, but the beauty of the trail must not be deformed. A step too soon may give us hours of trouble. We have them though. That much is beyond denial. "Bless she, bless she worthy man," exclaimed Monroe, "wither than have they fled. But where are my babes?" The path they have taken depends on many chances. If they have gone alone they are quite as likely to move in a circle as straight, and they may be within a dozen miles of us. But if the Iran's or any of the French Indians have laid hands on them, 'tis probably they are now near the borders of the candidates. But what matters that?" He did the deliberate scout, observing the powerful anxiety and disappointment the listeners exhibited. "Here are the Mohicans, an eye on one end of the trail. And rely on it. We find the other though they should be a hundred leagues asunder. Gently, gently, uncles, you are as impatient as a man in the settlements. You forget that light feet leave but faint marks." HUH! exclaimed Shinjrajkok, who had been occupied in examining an opening that had been evidently made through the low underbrush which scurred the forest, and who now stood erect as he pointed downward in the attitude with an air of a man who beheld a disgusting serpent. "Here is the palpable impression of the footsteps of a man," cried Hayward, bending over the indicated spot. "He is trod in the margin of this pull, and the mark cannot be mistaken. They are captives." "Better so than left to starve in the wilderness," returned the scout, "and they will leave a wider trail. I would wager fifty beaver skins against as many flints, that the Mohicans and I enter their wigwams within the month. Oop to it, Angkis, and try what you can make of the moccasin, for moccasin it plainly is, and no shoe. The young Mohican bent over the track and removing the scattered leaves from around the place. He examined it, with much of that sort of scrutiny that a money-dealer in these days of pecuniary doubts would be stow on a suspected do-bill. At length he arose from his knees, satisfied with the result of the examination. "Well, boy," demanded the attentive scout, "what does it say? Can you make anything of the tell-tale?" "They are not a subteal." "Ha! That rampaging devil again! There will never be an end of his loping till Kildir has said a friendly word to him." Hayward reluctantly admitted the truth of this intelligence, and now expressed rather his hopes than his doubts by saying, "One moccasin is so much like another. It is probable there is some mistake." One moccasin like another? You may as well say that one foot is like another, though we all know that some are long and others short, some broad and others narrow, some with high and some with low insteps, some in toad and some out. One moccasin is no more like another than one book is like another, though they who can read in one are seldom able to tell the marks of the other, which is all ordered for the best, giving to every man his natural advantages. Let me go down to it, unkis, neither book nor moccasin is the worst for having two opinions instead of one. The scout stooped to the task and instantly added, "You are right, boy. Here is the patch we saw so often in the other chase, and the fellow will drink when he can get an opportunity. You are drinking, Indian, always learns to walk with a wider toe than the natural savage, it being the gift of a drunker to straddle, whether of white or red skin. 'Tis just the length in bread, too. Look at it, Sagamor. You measured the prince more than once when we hunted the varmints from the glens to the health-springs." Chinggachkok complied, and after finishing his short examination, he arose, and with a quiet demayner, he merely pronounced the word. 'Makwa.' 'Aye, 'tis a settled thing. Here then have passed the dark hair and makwa.' 'And not Alice,' demanded Hayward. 'Of her, we have not yet seen the signs,' returned the scout, looking closely around the trees, the bushes and the ground. What have we there, unkis, bring hither the thing you see dangling from yonder thorn-bush. When the Indian had complied, the scout received the prize, and holding it on high, he laughed in his silent but heartfelt manner. 'Tis the tooting weapon of the singer. Now we shall have a trail a priest might travel,' he said. 'Unkis, look for the marks of a shoe that is long enough to uphold six feet two of tottering human flesh. I begin to have some hopes of the fellow since he has given up squalling to follow some better trade. At least he has been faithful to his trust,' said Hayward, 'and Cora and Alice are not without a friend.' 'Yes,' said Hawkeye, dropping his rifle and leaning on it with an air of visible contempt. He will do their singing. Can he slay a buck for their dinner, journey by the moss on the beaches, or cut the throat of a urine? If not, the first catbird he meets is the cleverer of the two. Note note, the powers of the American mockingbird are generally known, but the true mockingbird is not found so far north as the state of New York, where it has, however, two substitutes of inferior excellence. The catbird so often named by the scout and the bird vulgarly called ground-thresher. Either these last two birds is superior to the Nightingale or the Lark, though in general the American birds are less musical than those of Europe. And footnote, well boy, any signs of such a foundation? Here is something like the footstep of one who has worn a shoe. Can that be our friend? Touch the leaves lightly, or you'll disconcert the formation. That, that is the print of a foot, put his the dark hairs, and small it is too. For one of such a noble height and grand appearance, the singer would cover it with his heel. "Where, let me look on the footsteps of my child!" said Monroe, shoving the bushes aside and bending fondly over the nearly obliterated impression. Though the tread which had left the mark had been light and rapid, it was still plainly visible. The aged soldier examined it with eyes that grew dim as he gazed, nor did he rise from his stooping posture till Hayward saw that he had watered the trace of his daughter's passage with a scalding tear. Willing to divert a distress which threatened each moment to break through the restrain of appearances, by giving the veteran something to do, the young man said to the scout, "As we now possess these infallible signs, let us commence our march. A moment at such a time will appear an age to the captors." "It is not the swift, the sleeping deer that gives the longest chase," returned Hawkeye. With out moving his eye from the different marks that had come under his view. We know that the rampaging Huron has passed and the dark hair and the singer. But where is she of the yellow locks and blue eyes? The little and far from being as bold as her sister? She is fair to the view and pleasant in discourse. Has she no friend that none care for her? God forbid she should ever want hundreds. Are we not now in their pursuit? For one, I will never cease the search till she be found. In that case we may have to journey by different paths. For here she has not passed, light and little, as her footsteps would be. Hayward drew back. All his ardour to proceed seeming to vanish on the instant. Without attending to this sudden change in the other's humor, the scout after musing a moment continued. There is no woman in this wilderness, could leave such a print as that but the dark hair or her sister. We know that the first has been here. But where are the signs of the other? Let us push deeper on the trail and if nothing offers, we must go back to the plain and strike another scent. Move on, Enchus, and keep your eyes on the dried leaves. I will watch the bushes, while your father shall run with a low nose to the ground. Move on, friends. The sun is getting behind the hills. Is there nothing that I can do? Demanded the anxious Hayward. You repeated the scout, who with his red friends was already advancing in the order he had prescribed. Yes, you can keep in our rear and be careful not to cross the trail. Before they had preceded many rods, the Indians stopped and appeared to gaze at some signs on the earth with more than their usual keenness. Both father and son spoke quick and loud, now looking at the object of their mutual admiration and now regarding each other with the most unequivocal pleasure. "They have found the little foot!" exclaimed the scout, moving forward without attending further to his own portion of the duty. "What have we here? An ambush has been planted in the spot. No, by the truest rifle of the frontiers. Here have been them one-sided horses again. Now the whole secret is out, and all is plain as the north star at midnight. Yes, here they have mounted. There the beast have been bound to a sapling in waiting, and Yonder runs the broad path away to the north, in full sweep for the candidates. But still there are no signs of Alice, of the younger Miss Noreau!" said Duncan, unless the shining bauble of Unca's has just lifted from the ground should prove one. Pass it this way, lad, that we may look at it. Hayward instantly knew it for a trinket that Alice was fond of wearing, and which he recollected with a tenacious memory of a lover to have seen on the fatal morning of the massacre, wrinkling from the fair neck of his mistress. He seized the highly prized jewel, and as he proclaimed the fact, it vanished from the eyes of the wandering scout, who in vain looked for it on the ground, long after it was warmly pressed against the beating heart of Duncan. "Shit-aw!" said the disappointed Hawkeye, ceasing to rake the leaves with the breach of his rifle. 'Tis a sign of age when the sight begins to weaken. Such a glittering giggle, and not to be seen. Well, well, I can squint along a clouded barrel yet, and that is enough to settle all disputes between me and the Mingos. I should like to find the thing, too, if it were only to carry it to the right owner, and that would be bringing the two ends of what I call a long trail together. For by this time the broad St. Lawrence, or perhaps the Great Lakes themselves, are between us. 'So much the more reason why we should not delay our march,' returned Hayward. 'Let us proceed.' Young blood and hot blood, they say, are much the same thing. We are not about to start on a squirrel hunt, or to drive a deer into the hurricane, but to outlife for days and nights and to stretch across a wilderness, where the feet of men seldom go, and where no bookish knowledge would carry you through harmless. And Indian never starts on such an exhibition without smoking over his councilfire, and, though a man of white blood, I honour their customs in this particular, seeing that they are deliberate and wise. We will therefore go back and light our fire tonight in the ruins of the old fort, and in the morning we shall be fresh and ready to undertake our work like men, and not like babbling women or eager boys. Hayward saw by the manner of the scalp that altercation would be useless, when Roe had again sunk into that sort of apathy which had beset him since his late overwhelming misfortunes, and from which he was apparently to be roused only by some new and powerful excitement. Making a merit of necessity, the young man took the veteran by the arm, and followed in the footsteps of Indians in the scalp, who had already begun to retrace the path, which conducted them to the plain. End of chapter 18. Hey there, it is Ryan Seacrest with you. You want to make this summer unforgettable? Join me at Chumbak Casino. It's this summer's hottest online destination. They are rolling out the red carpet with an amazing welcome offer just for you. So don't wait. Dive in now and play hundreds of social casino games for free. Your chance to redeem real prizes is just a spin away. Care to join me? Sponsored by Chumbak Casino, no purchase necessary, VGW Group, forward we're prohibited by law, 18-plus terms and conditions apply. Hey there, it's Solomon from Solgood Media. A lot of our listeners have asked how to get ad-free access to our podcast. You asked and we answered. We're offering an exclusive one month free trial to our ad-free streaming platform, packed with over 500 audiobooks, meditation sounds, and engaging podcasts. No strings attached, just pure listening pleasure. Sign up today at solgoodmedia.com and dive into a world of stories and sounds that inspire and relax. Don't miss out on this limited time offer. It's your gateway to unlimited audio enjoyment. That's solgoodmedia.com. S-O-L-G-O-O-D-M-E-D-I-A.com. Check it out, we hope to see you over there.