The Last of the Mohicans chapter by chapter. James Fenimore Cooper The Last of the Mohicans

19.03.2022

Cooper D. F. The Last of the Mohicans, or a Narrative of 1757: A Novel / Trans. From English - M.: RIMIS, 2012. - 352 p.

Fenimore Cooper's novel The Last of the Mohicans is the second book in the Nathaniel Bumppo pentalogy. About 15 years pass between the events of the novel “St. John's Wort” and the second book. The young leader of the Delaware, the last Mohican Uncas, nicknamed Swift-footed Deer, is only 15 years old. Chingachgook has already buried the beautiful Ua-ta-Ua. During this time Chingachgook and Hawkeye participated in many bloody battles with the Iroquois. In Chapter III, as can be seen from the narrative, the two friends meet again, as if they had not seen each other for some time. Friends argue over who owns the land between the Hudson and Salt Lake. This dispute is dressed in the beautiful figurative language of the Indians. The essence of the dispute is who has more rights to the disputed land: the Mohicans, who came from the eastern steppes and defeated the local aborigines (Alligevs), or the Dutch, who sailed from overseas and drove out the Mohicans. Chingachgook argues this way: “...don’t you see the difference between an arrow with a stone point and a lead bullet with which you bring death?” Hawkeye retorts: “I am an unlearned man and I do not hide it; however, judging by what I saw while hunting deer and squirrels, it seems to me that the gun in the hands of my grandfathers was less dangerous than a bow and a good flint arrow, which was sent to the target by the keen eye of an Indian” (p. 24) Scholarly historians say that the aborigines could potentially drive away the strangers using only a bow and arrow with a “stone point”, since muskets did not have the accuracy and firing range, and the Dutch themselves were an order of magnitude smaller than the Indians, but the sound of a firearm shot caused the natives are in awe. That is, the pagan Indians mistook the weapons of strangers for the weapons of the Great Spirit, but in the hands of the enemy (Gleb Nosovsky. Echo of Moscow. March 10, 2014. Interview: Where are you, Kulikovo field? Part 2 http://echo.msk.ru/programs /beseda/1275576-echo/).
Hawkeye at the same time says that his white compatriots may misinterpret the actions of their contemporaries, deliberately lying or being mistaken: “But I willingly admit that I do not approve of many, very many actions of my compatriots. One of the customs of these people is to write down in books everything they saw or did, instead of telling everything in the settlements, where every lie of a cowardly braggart would immediately be revealed, and a brave soldier would be able to call his comrades as witnesses to his own truthful words. And therefore, many will not learn anything about the real deeds of their fathers and will not try to surpass them” (p. 24). Hawkeye rightly notes: “Every story can be viewed from two sides” (p. 25).
When Uncas appears, the friends stop arguing: “For many minutes neither questions nor answers were heard; everyone seemed to be waiting for the right moment to break the silence, without showing the curiosity characteristic only of women, or the impatience characteristic of children” (p. 27).

The main villain of the book is the Huron Magua, nicknamed the Sly Fox. This is a vindictive, treacherous, cruel Indian. The story of Magua is banal: due to his addiction to fire water, he was expelled from the Huron tribe; Having joined the Mohawk tribe, he served on the side of Colonel Munro, who was also punished for drunkenness (flogged, which for an Indian is considered a derogation of honor and dignity) (p. 100). As the guide of Major Duncan Hayward's detachment, which accompanies the Munro daughters, Cora and Alice, from Fortress Edward to Fortress William Henry, Magua plotted their abduction. David Gamut, a psalmist, a great eccentric, but who will later play a significant role in the liberation of Munro's daughters, voluntarily joins Duncan's detachment.
Hawkeye, when he meets Duncan's lost squad, does not believe that Magua could get lost: “He got lost at a time when the sun burns the tops of the trees, and the streams are full to the brim, when the moss of each birch can tell which side of the sky the northern one will light up in the evening star? The forests are full of deer paths that run down either to rivers or to salt pits - in a word, to places known to everyone” (p. 31).
Magua refuses to accompany Duncan's squad after learning that Hawkeye will be the new guide. Duncan reminds the Indian that he made a promise to Colonel Munro to protect his daughters, and uses figurative language: “What will the people of your tribe say? They will sew a woman’s dress for the Fox and order him to sit in the wigwam with the women, since he can no longer be trusted with the affairs of courageous warriors” (p. 37).
As a result, Magua flees, wounded by Hawkeye from the Deer Slayer. If Duncan had allowed Hawkeye to neutralize the Cunning Fox in time (shoot his leg), there would have been neither the kidnappings of Cora and Alice, nor the bloody massacre after the surrender of the William Henry fortress to General Montcalm, nor, most likely, the death of Uncas and Cora, but that was the end would be a story.

So that Cora and Alice can spend the night safely, Hawkeye transports Duncan's squad on a pie to a secret hideout, which is located under the Hudson River Falls in stone caves, dug by water (“Glenn”). Having landed Duncan, the girls and David, Hawkeye went for the Mohicans and provisions: “It is better to sleep without a scalp than to suffer from hunger when there is plenty” (p. 46).

David Gamut is a funny and humorous character, skillfully integrated into the narrative by Cooper. Being a subtle connoisseur of music, he forcibly inculcates his art of psalmody into those around him. To do this, he carries a tuning fork and a book of psalms in his jacket pocket. Despite the fact that he takes his work seriously, those around him look at him with irony, and the Hurons will take him for a madman, which will serve as protection for Gamut, a kind of totem. Having joined Duncan's squad and encouraged by the intercessor Alice, Gamut immediately distributes the responsibilities of the future quartet: he assigns the bass part to Duncan, Alice - the soprano part, and himself - the tenor, only for the contralto part he does not find a suitable candidate. The verses of the psalms are quite funny:
“Oh, how gratifying it is -
Live in brotherhood and labor,
It's like incense
It’s flowing down my beard!” (p. 19)
But the music itself, David’s inspired voice, do not leave anyone indifferent, even Hawkeye, who considers the singer a frivolous, frivolous person (instead of knowing how to handle a gun, the eccentric entertains himself and others with his vocal cords). So, being in the caves of the waterfall, surrounded on all sides by streams of water, David sings another solemn psalm: “The scout at first sat with his chin indifferently resting on his hand, but little by little his stern features softened. Perhaps the memories of childhood, quiet days when he had to hear the same psalms from his mother’s lips, were resurrected in the hunter’s mind. The pensive eyes of the forest dweller moistened, tears rolled down his own cheeks, although he was more accustomed to the storms of life than to manifestations of spiritual trepidation” (p. 55).
David Gamut is very reverent and jealous of music in general, of a set of noble sounds, and when the Iroquois discover the secret hideout of the detachment, he will be forced to sincerely be indignant at the offensive cacophony of the Iroquois war cry and cover his ears. At the same time, Gamut had never heard the sounds of his own snoring: when the squad in the cave fell into sleep, “from David’s direction came such sounds of snoring that, in a moment of vigil, would, of course, disturb his own hearing” (p. 63).

During a skirmish with the Hurons at Glenn Falls, Hawkeye, the Mohicans and Duncan kill several Indians. They could have held out for a long time if the pirogue, which contained reserves of gunpowder, had not been stolen by one of the Iroquois. Hawkeye and the Mohicans, following Cora's advice, hold the council and leave Duncan's detachment, swimming downstream. Cora's advice is to call a detachment of guards from Fortress Edward and defeat the Hurons. As a result, Duncan, Cora, Alice and David Gamut are captured by the Hurons. The Hurons find Hawkeye's famous gun and think that the great and terrible Long Carbine is dead, but, not finding his remains, they cannot get the truth out of Duncan. Duncan is forced to resort to the help of Magua as a translator, although he knows French. Magua translates the words of the Hurons: “They ask where the hunter is... The Long Carbine’s gun is excellent, his eyes never blink, and yet this gun... is powerless to take the life of the Sly Fox.” Duncan responds with dignity in the refined language characteristic of the Indians: “The fox is too brave to remember the wounds received in battle, or the hands that inflicted them” (p. 89).
When the Hurons learn that Hawkeye and the Mohicans have fled, the Indians show their disappointment with furious cries and funny gestures: “Some rushed to the river bank, furiously waving their arms in the air, others began to spit into the water, as if taking revenge on her for what she had treacherously deprived their undoubted rights as victors” (p. 91).

The Huron detachment was divided into two groups, one of which was led by Magua. In the traitor's detachment, in addition to four prisoners, there are six Iroquois guards. Duncan fails to pay off Magua, since the Indian asked expensive price: black-eyed Cora in exchange for the freedom of blond Alice. There is a love triangle between Duncan, Cora and Alice: Cora is in love with Duncan, and Duncan is in love with Alice. The mulatto Cora attracted both Uncas and Magua at the same time. Magua demands a sacrifice from Cora, deciding at the same time to take possession of the beautiful woman and take revenge on Colonel Munro for the insult he had caused: “In that case, having again felt the blows on his back, the Huron would know where to find a woman to whom he would transfer his suffering. Munro's beautiful daughter would carry water for him, press his bread, fry his food. The body of the gray-haired leader would sleep among the cannons, but the Sly Fox would hold his heart in his hands” (p. 104). But Cora’s refusal angers Magua and, after consulting with the Hurons, the Indians tie the captives to a tree. And so, Cora, ready to sacrifice her freedom, asks Duncan to manage it. Duncan is passionately indignant at Cora’s advice: “You are laughing at our misfortune! No, don’t talk about this terrible choice: one thought about it is worse than a thousand deaths!” These words of a loved one reassured Cora: “... a bright blush played on her cheeks, and a hot spark of a secret feeling lit up in her eyes” (p. 109).
Magua's rage from the stubbornness of the captives becomes blind: without thinking, he throws his tomahawk at the defenseless Alice. Only a miracle saves the poor girl from inevitable death: a tomahawk pierces the tree trunk above Alice's head. Duncan's nerves cannot stand it and, breaking the willow bonds, he rushes at one of the Indians. Soon Hawkeye and the Mohicans arrive to the rescue. Inspired by the courage of Uncas, who smashes the head of one of the Hurons with a tomahawk, Duncan snatches Magua’s tomahawk and throws it at the first Iroquois he comes across: “The weapon hit the Indian’s forehead, but with a blunt end and only stunned him for a moment” (p. 111).
Friends quickly cope with six Hurons. In the fight with Chingachgook, Magua pretends to be dead and thanks to this he manages to escape. Hawkeye stabs each Iroquois in the chest with a knife, and Chingachgook scalps them. Cora and Alice warmly rejoice at their liberation, and, looking at the girls, “courageous Duncan, without shame, cried” (p. 114).

Uncas, nicknamed the Swift Deer, is the main character of the book. This is a brave, cold-blooded, modest warrior of the Mohican tribe, the last warrior of the Mohican family. Like any young man, he is characterized by ardor, but Uncas has enough composure to restrain his ardor. Hawkeye criticizes this flaw in the young Mohican's character. When the hunter tells his former captives how he and the Mohicans managed to get on the trail of Magua, he speaks quite harshly about Uncas: “<...>We were not far from you after all. I must admit, it was difficult to restrain this young Mohican and force him to sit in ambush... Ah, Uncas, you behaved more like an impatient and curious woman than like a courageous and persistent warrior! But Uncas coolly “restrained his anger, partly out of respect for the rest of the audience, partly out of respect for his older white comrade” (p. 118).

After being released from captivity, Duncan's detachment, led by guide Hawkeye, continues their march to Fort William Henry. Along the way, they stop at a healing spring to have dinner, and in order to spend the night safely, Hawkeye leads the squad to an abandoned blockhouse, forgotten in a deep forest. Once upon a time, Hawkeye and Chingachgook, at the dawn of their youth, together with the Mohican tribe, repelled the attack of the Mohawk tribe, and this log structure, quickly assembled by the hunter, saved their lives. Hawkeye buried the killed Mohawks not far from the blockhouse. A small hill overgrown with grass was their grave, on which the tired travelers - Duncan and the girls - sat down and listened to the interesting story of the hunter: “I buried the dead with my own hands. They lie under the very mound on which you are located. And I must say that it is very comfortable to sit here, although this hill rises above a pile of human bones.” “Hayward and Alice and Cora instantly jumped up from the grass-covered grave” (p. 123).
Before lights out, Duncan says that he will stand watch, since in the caves of Glenn Falls he “proved himself to be a sleepyhead.” Hawkeye tells him that this is not necessary, since Chingachgook is the best sentry among them and that he should take the example of Uncas, who has already gone to bed. But Duncan remained on guard, and when, late at night, the cries of the bittern began to merge with the groan of the owl, Duncan treacherously - regarding the officer’s conscience - dozed off. After waking up, Duncan is annoyed: “If shame could cure me of drowsiness, I would never sleep a wink again” (p. 126).

The next morning, Hawkeye and Duncan's squad reach Fort William Henry. They come to a small body of water called the "Bloody Pond" and meet a French grenadier on guard. It becomes clear that the fortress is surrounded by the camp of the French general Montcalm, and a chain of sentries is placed around the perimeter. Thick fog and Duncan's knowledge of French save his friends from being exposed. Subsequently, the scalp of the cheerful and amiable Frenchman goes to Chingachgook, and the body to Bloody Pond. Hawkeye turns the party around and leads them to the nearest mountain, which rises a thousand feet above Fort William Henry. From this height, Colonel Munro’s fort and General Montcalm’s camp are visible in full view: “If it were possible to see the hearts of people as clearly as Montcalm’s camp from this place, there would be few hypocrites left and the cunning of the Mings would lose power,” says Hawkeye (p. 136).
Thanks to the fog, Hawkeye manages to get into Fort William Henry. The words of Colonel Munro sound very touching at the sight of his living daughters: “<...>The Lord gave me back my children! Open the gate! Go ahead, my fellows! Don't pull the trigger so you don't kill my sheep!<...>"(p. 142)

General Montcalm (Louis-Joseph de Montcalm-Gozon, Marquis de Saint-Veran) during the truce negotiates with Colonel Munro and Major Hayward on an honorable surrender, promising benefits such as preservation of military honor, the king's banners, weapons and a safe march and surrender of the fortress . But the French general breaks his word, and when the allied Indians attack the British rearguard of wounded soldiers and women and commit a bloody massacre, the soldiers of the French army stand in inaction “which has never been explained and which has left an indelible stain on the brilliant reputation Montcalm" (p. 179). “...The French commander had a courageous and enterprising character; it was believed that he was an expert in all kinds of political intrigues that did not require the manifestation of high moral qualities and which so discredited European diplomacy of that time” (p. 92). After the defeat of Fort William Henry, General Montcalm leads his troops north to the impregnable fortress of Ticonderoga.
The treacherous and treacherous Huron Magua again takes Munro's daughters captive. David Gamut, to whom Duncan entrusted the protection of Cora and Alice, goes after the Huron. During the massacre, David resorts to the help of psalms, convinced that they will stop the angry pagans. David's singing and waving his free hand to the beat saves him from death.
Three days later, Hawkeye, the Mohicans, Duncan and Colonel Munro attack Magua's trail. It is impossible to understand from the narrative where Hawkeye was with the Mohicans during the “honorable” surrender of Munro’s army (Colonel Munro and Major Hayward accompanied the vanguard of the army) and why the hunter was not entrusted with guarding the girls. To go in search of Cora and Alice, Hawkeye and company come to the scene of the tragedy three days later. This delay will probably cause unfavorable consequences for the main characters in the future.
Chingachgook finds the footprint of the treacherous Huron and Uncas carefully examines the footprint: “the young Mohican bent over the footprint and, discarding the leaves scattered around the place, began to examine it with the same attention as a banker would nowadays examine a suspicious check” ( p. 185).

Hawkeye and the Mohicans, following the “evidence” of the Huron and captives (Cora’s green veil, Alice’s medallion and David’s tuning fork), conclude that Magua is leading his captives along the western shore of Lake Horikan (in our days - Lake George) to his native village. Hawkeye urges Duncan to take his time and spend the night at the ruins of Fort William Henry. Here, around the night fire, the hunter and the Mohicans will smoke a council pipe and decide how to get past Lake Horiken: by land or by water. From the side where the dead English soldiers and women lie, light sounds are heard, which the vigilant Duncan hears and speaks of his suspicions to the hunter. Uncas goes out to investigate and soon arrives with a trophy on his belt. The one killed will be a lone Oneida Indian who wandered into the scene of the massacre to get hold of the scalps of the dead. Indians, including those from the Mohican tribe, love to brag about their exploits in the circle of the tribe, since boasting is not considered something shameful for them, but in a military campaign they are quite modest. So Uncas, when he returned with the trophy, did not say a word: “Instead of a hasty, lengthy story... the young warrior was content with the knowledge that his deeds themselves would speak for him.” Duncan cannot stand it and asks Uncas what happened to the enemy, whether he fired his gun in vain, to which Uncas “pulled away the folds of his hunting shirt and calmly showed the fatal lock of hair - a symbol of victory” (p. 195). Even Hawkeye at first did not believe in Uncas’s success, since the shot of a gun was heard after the Oneida threw himself into the water: “...It is more than likely that the scoundrel will tell all sorts of tall tales about the big ambush he found himself in, following the tracks of two Mohicans and one white hunter.<...>In every nation there are honest people who will cut off an impudent person when he begins to say something unreasonable” (p. 194).
At the council, the hunter and the Mohicans smoke a pipe. Uncas, as the youngest on the council, does not interfere in the dispute until the hunter, out of politeness, asks his opinion. The debate is lively, but “...Despite this, the patience and restraint of arguing friends could be learned from the most respectable ministers at any meeting” (p. 197). The Mohicans insisted that the detachment leave by land - in the footsteps of the Huron, and Hawkeye - that the detachment leave by water, since water leaves no traces, and a killed Oneida will only attract additional trouble. As a result, the hunter managed to convince the Mohicans: “...Uncas and his father, fully convinced by the arguments of Hawkeye, abandoned the opinion they had expressed earlier, with such tolerance and simplicity that if they were representatives of a great and civilized nation, this inconsistency would lead to the collapse of their political reputation” (p. 198).

Early in the morning the detachment set sail on Lake Horiken. Soon they were discovered by a group of Iroquois who were on one of the islands. On two pirogues the Indians give chase to them. The hunter innocently advises Duncan and Munro to lie down on the bottom of the boat, since according to Indian concepts, risking your life without an open fight is the height of recklessness. But Major Hayward has a different opinion: “It would be a bad example if senior ranks resorted to subterfuge when soldiers were under fire!” (p. 206) No one is injured and, thanks to the cunning of the helmsman Chingachgook, the fugitives safely reach the bay at the northern end of the lake.
The area where they land is uninhabited, and even in Cooper's time the border between the Champlain and Hudson regions was less known to the inhabitants of New York State than "the Arabian desert or the Central Asian steppes" (p. 211). By “Central Asian steppes,” Cooper means the steppes of Tartaria (Tartaria). In the fifth book about Nathaniel Bumppo, “The Prairie,” Cooper writes that the steppes west of the Mississippi, called the Great Prairies, “are most similar to the steppes of Tartary” (Cooper Fenimore. Prairie / Trans. From English - M.: ALPHA Publishing House BOOK", 2011. - 493 p.: ill. - p. 6).
Hawkeye, the Mohicans, Duncan and Munro walk for miles over rough terrain. By nightfall they take a break and early in the morning they set off again. After a few miles, the hunter begins to worry, since, according to his assumption, Magua and the captives should have left traces behind them. Uncas, whose lively eyes spoke of the discovery, was again silent, not interfering in his father’s conversation with the hunter, and only Duncan, who noticed a change in the young Mohican, drew Chingachgook’s attention to this. It turned out that Uncas' eyes saw, ten feet to the north, before the hunter reached, traces of horses' hooves. Duncan is surprised at Uncas’s restraint, to which Hawkeye remarks: “It would be more surprising if he spoke without permission. Your young people, who gain knowledge from books and count all their experience in pages, imagine that their knowledge, like feet, will outstrip the feet of their fathers in a race. But where experience is the teacher, the student learns to value his elders, to respect their years and knowledge” (p. 212).
Soon they find the Narragansetts released, and at the edge of the forest near a beaver dam they meet David Gamut in Indian guise. From David, friends learn that Alice is captured by the Hurons, and Cora is captured by the Lake Delawares, allies of the Hurons and the French. To rescue Alice from captivity, Duncan decides to take a risky step: dress up as a jester and pose as a French doctor. Hawkeye doubts Duncan’s luck, but, with a creaky heart, he concedes to Duncan: “Maybe he liked the young man’s courage. Be that as it may, instead of objecting to Duncan's intentions, he suddenly changed his mood and began to help carry out his plan” (p. 229).
Then events happen quickly. Chingachgook and Colonel Munro hide in a clay beaver wigwam and sit there until the final battle of the Delawares with the Hurons, David and Duncan go to the Huron village, Uncas pursues the cowardly Iroquois (Wonky Reed) and is captured, and Hawkeye, having tied up the local Huron shaman, dresses up into a stuffed brown bear and appears in the cave where Magua is holding Alice. The captive Uncas behaves calmly and with dignity. Nothing can shake his indifference and contempt for the enemy, not even the hysteria of a local old woman: “...Your tribe is a woman’s tribe, and a hoe is more suitable for your hands than a gun. Your women are the mothers of deer, and if a bear, or a wild cat, or a snake were born among you, you would take flight. Huron girls will sew you a skirt, and we will find you a husband...” (p. 241)
Duncan tricks himself into the cave and, together with the hunter, frees Alice, and Magua, who arrives in time, is tied with willow twigs. Hawkeye has a new chance to deal with the cruel Huron, but under the white skin of the hunter is the honest heart and blood of a white man: he cannot kill a defenseless enemy. This will subsequently be another fatal circumstance in the death of the two main characters. When Magua comes to free the fooled Hurons, he will tell them that the “evil spirit” that has blinded their eyes is Long Carbine, who “underneath his white skin hides the heart and cunning mind of the Hurons” (p. 281).
Duncan and Alice go to the mountains to the Delawares, and Hawkeye, with the help of David Gamut, having performed a whole performance in front of the prisoner’s guards, frees Uncas: Uncas dresses in a bear “suit,” the hunter becomes a singing teacher, and David remains in the wigwam instead of the prisoner. Hawkeye and Uncas go to the businessmen.

Cunning, treacherous, cruel Magua is an impeccable diplomat. He has cunning eloquence, wins the hearts of tribal leaders with aggressive propaganda, and does not disdain flattery. So, returning to the Huron camp after the hunt and learning about the capture of Uncas, Magua talks about the exploits he accomplished, but is silent about the mistakes he made; talks with emotion about the merits of his fallen comrades: “<...>He did not lose sight of a single quality that would be capable of arousing sympathy in the Indians. One never returned from a hunt empty-handed, the other was tireless in pursuit of the enemy. This one is brave, that one is generous... ...He so skillfully characterized the dead that he managed to arouse sympathy in each of the members of the tribe” (p. 252). After the escape of Uncas, the cunning Magua at the tribal council proposes his plan, the essence of which is not an attack on the Delaware tribe, but a peaceful settlement of the dispute with the help of eloquence and “gifts” - trophies that he received after the massacre at Fort William Henry: “He began from the fact that he flattered the pride of the listeners. Having listed the numerous cases in which the Hurons showed their courage and courage, he proceeded to praise their wisdom. He said that it was wisdom that made the main difference between the beaver and other animals, between people and animals, between the Hurons and the rest of humanity.<...>...He so skillfully mixed warlike appeals with words of deceit and cunning that he pleased the inclinations of both sides, and neither side could say that it fully understood his intentions” (p. 283).

We should dwell on the loneliness of Magua. When the prodigal Huron returns to his native tribe, he spends the night in an old dilapidated dwelling: “The wife whom the Huron leader left when the people expelled him has already died. He had no children, and now he remained alone in his hut” (p. 284).

Magua comes alone to the Delawares (a detachment of his warriors is lying in the forest). From a conversation with one of the leaders, Magua understands that the Delawares do not want to return Cora. And then he resorts to gifts: “The gifts consisted mostly of cheap trinkets taken from women during the massacre at William Henry's fortress. The crafty Huron showed no less skill in distributing trinkets than in choosing them. He gave the most precious ones to two of the most important leaders, and he distributed the rest of the gifts to the younger ones with such kind and opportune compliments that none of them had any reason to be dissatisfied” (p. 289). The Delawares willingly accept the gifts, and, having softened, the main leader admits that pale-faced wanderers came to them, that they were wanderers, and not spies. It must be said that the Lake Delawares are allies of the Hurons and General Montcalm, but despite this they refused to participate in an armed campaign against the British and the defeat of Fort William Henry, in particular. The cunning Magua reminded the leader of this: “<...>The Ingiz sent their scouts. They were in my wigwams, but found no one to greet them. Then they fled to the Delawares, because, they say, the Delawares are our friends; their souls turned away from their Canadian father.” Magua’s rebuke had an effect: “The blow was delivered superbly and in a more civilized society would have given Magua a reputation as a skilled diplomat” (p. 290).
Soon three old leaders come out to them, two of whom hold the hands of the oldest Delaware, the famous leader of the Delawares, Tamenund. The eldest chief and the two old chiefs sit on a certain eminence relative to the entire tribe. All the Indians, young warriors, women and children, surround the place of the upcoming trial in a tight ring. The prisoners are brought here: Cora and Alice, Duncan and Hawkeye. Magua claims his rights not only to Cora, he asks for all captives, including the hunter. When Tamenund asks Duncan and Hawkeye which of them is the famous Long Carbine, the hunter is silent: “I did not answer to the name “Long Carbine” not out of shame and fear, because neither of these feelings is characteristic of an honest man... But I I don’t want to recognize the Mings’ right to give any nicknames to a person to whom friends have given a special name for his natural talents.<...>But I am indeed the man who received the name of Nathaniel from his family, and the flattering name of Hawkeye from the Delawares who live on their river” (p. 296).
Cooper makes a mistake when, in the novel “Deerslayer,” through the mouth of a dying Iroquois nicknamed “Wolf,” he gives the hunter the nickname “Hawkeye” instead of the contextually appropriate nickname “Long Carbine” (the novel “Deerslayer” was published last, although according to the chronology of the epic it is the first book) . And now the hunter’s words that the Delaware River Delaware gave him the nickname “Hawkeye” look untrue, which undermines the reputation of the literary hero!
Duncan wants to save the hunter and therefore tells everyone that he is Long Carbine. But the hunter does not support Duncan and a small competition takes place between them in shooting guns, in which Hawkeye wins. Tamenund gives his word to the cunning Magua and, after listening to him, gives him the captives. Cora tries to influence Tamenund's decision, but the patriarch is adamant. Then she draws his attention to another captive of the Delawares - Uncas. Tamenund is adamant here too: he sentences the young Mohican to torture by fire. But when one of the tormentors rips off Uncas's shirt, the Delawares notice on his chest a tattooed image of a turtle, the symbol of the leader of the Delawares from the Skull tribe. This is a symbol that the Lake Delaware worship with reverence. Uncas tells Tamenund that he is the son of Chingachgook, "one of the sons of the great Unamis - the Turtle." The Patriarch of the Delawares, who has already passed a hundred years, says to Uncas: “Four warriors from the family of Uncas lived and died since the friend of Tamenund led his people to war... The blood of the Turtle flowed in the veins of many leaders, but they all returned to the earth , from which they came, except Chingachgook and his son” (p. 311).
The Patriarch asks the young Mohican whether the Huron has "the rights of the conqueror" in relation to himself, Hawkeye, Duncan, Alice and Cora. Uncas replied that only Cora belonged to the Huron by right. The generous and honest Uncas, who could decide his fate and the fate of Cora, did not go against his principles. Duncan, like Cora in his time, spoke to Tamenund in defense of Cora, but was refused: “The Delaware’s words have been spoken... Men do not speak twice” (p. 314).
Saying goodbye to her friends, Cora says goodbye to Duncan, who is holding the unconscious Alice in his hands: “<...>There is no need to tell you to take care of the treasure that you will possess. You love Alice, Hayward, and your love would forgive her a thousand shortcomings! But... There is not a single flaw in her that could make the proudest of people blush.<...>And her soul is pure and snow-white.<...>"(p. 317) In the future, Duncan and Alice will have two children. The daughter will have a son, whose name will be Duncan Uncas Middleton, named after his grandfather and friend who saved his life at Glenn Falls, but this is a story from the fifth book about Nathaniel Bumpo. By then, Major Duncan Hayward will have died of old age.
A bloody battle takes place between the Delawares, led by the young leader of the Turtles, and the Hurons, led by Magua. Saving Cora from the ferocious Magua, driven into a corner, Uncas dies from his knife, and Cora from the knife of another Huron. Magua flees, but Hawkeye's bullet finally kills him.
Cora was buried according to the custom of the pale-faced people: “The place chosen for Cora’s grave turned out to be a small hill on which grew a group of young pines that cast a sad shadow on the ground” (p. 346).
Uncas was buried according to the custom of the Redskins. Tamenund says his last word: “<...>My day was too long. In the morning of my life I saw the sons of Unamis happy and strong, and now, in my declining days, I have lived to see the death of the last warrior from the wise Mohican tribe! (p. 349)

This is another immortal novel by Cooper, which has long become an adventure classic; it is one of the author’s most famous and best novels. For adventure lovers there is a lot here: the whistling of arrows and tomahawks, fierce and noble Indians, scalps of enemies and of course love. Old acquaintances from the novel "St. John's Wort", Chingachgook the Great Serpent and Hawkeye, find themselves on the warpath, and Chingachgook's son Uncas, who is the last of the Mohican tribe, helps them. I read this book thirty years ago, but I still remember the plot well and remember it with special warmth.

Rating: 10

Fenimore Cooper's novel The Last of the Mohicans is a recognized classic of adventure literature. The plot has long been well known to everyone: the war between England and France for colonies in the New World and the adventures of Nathaniel Bumpo (Hawkeye), Chingachgook the Great Serpent and his son Uncas (the last of the Mohicans), superimposed on the historical outline, trying to save the two daughters of the commandant of the British fort. But the main thing here is not this, but the emotions that reading the book evokes - this is a hopeless longing for times past. After all, the events of the novel symbolize the end of an entire era, an era when man lived in peace with nature. It is being replaced by a technological era, where there is no longer a place for Indians, and not only for them. It’s difficult to judge whether it’s good or bad, but the past cannot be returned.

I still remember the devastation that reading this novel caused. Not every book can evoke such feelings in a person’s soul.

Rating: 10

I’ll say right away that I’m making allowances for the translation, but I evaluate the novel as if it were written in Russian. I read Chistyakova-Ware’s translation.

I love classics and rarely swear at anything, but here it was the second option that came out. I expected to read something solid and powerful, something that would bring tears to my eyes, but no. I won’t list the good things; I’ve already had a lot of praise.

I have a few complaints:

1. There are a lot of pianos in the novel - either the thoughtful “good” Indians forget gunpowder in the boat, then the Hurons (ALL) leave their guns somewhere far away and the whole crowd manages to give in to three “good” Indians, then after the surrender of the fortress the British essentially leave their daughters some without any guards at all (ALARM!) - probably so that the action of the plot continues and the need to save someone arises again, then in one place the Hurons, fearing pursuit, do not even allow a bush to be broken, and in another place they allow you to throw away several pieces of colored clothing (ALARM ), medallion (ALARM) and David’s musical instrument (ALARM!!!) - okay, at least they didn’t let me write on the ground with a stick “We are all being led along this path. David".

Special mention should be made of the antics in the Huron camp. There the Hurons were unable to distinguish a man expressed as a bear from a real bear. This could have been the end of the comedy. But no. In the cave, the scout suggested that Duncan wash off his coloring only in order to enter the girl, and then paint Duncan anew. This is all in the Huron camp, when at any moment the enemy could enter and discover all this stupid bacchanalia...

2. The translation came out very dry; there were almost no colorful descriptions of nature that I expected to find. Instead, the callous, monotonous language made it difficult to enjoy the story and made you frown on every second page.

3. The feelings of the main characters, especially Duncan, were lacking. For me, he remained just a sterile character.

4. I don’t understand why, in moments of action and danger, talk in three-line sentences. Okay, the Indians - you can’t understand them with their unshakable calm, but why do the British talk like that? It would seem that he shouted, abruptly threw it away and did the job - grab the gun and shoot! But no, here it’s thickly smeared with pathos - they don’t smear it like that in chivalric novels written three centuries ago.

And characters in any situation love to retell everything that happened to them before. And they do this not briefly, but on a grand scale. In the same cave, when Alice was rescued, first to the scout, and then to Alice herself, Duncan told everything he could. Alice even cried. Again - this is all essentially in the Huron camp. Instead of quickly running, taking the girl away and trying to save Uncas, the characters are doing God knows what.

In general, I was very dissatisfied with the logic...

Rating: 6

Before us is probably the best of James Fenimore Cooper's novels from the Leather Stocking pentalogy.

The events of the book are based on real events.

The commander of the French troops, Marquis de Montcalm-Gozon Louis Joseph, captured the Anglo-American Fort William Henry at the southern tip of Lake George in 1757 and allowed allied Indian tribes to massacre the British who had surrendered to his mercy. about 158 people died then, and about fifty were captured by Indians allied with France,

Spoiler (plot reveal) (click on it to see)

according to Fenimore Cooper - the Hurons, led by the Sly Fox Magua, once insulted by Colonel Munro, Commandant William Henry

The British fort, founded as a springboard for attacks on the French positions at Fort St. Frederick, occupies a strategic position on the border between New York and New France, was razed to the ground and abandoned. The French fought to the death with Britain at the hands of the Indians for the Indian territories of the Ohio River until the last Mohican. As a result, France lost New France and Louisiana west of the Mississippi, and Britain received not only colonial French lands, but also Spanish Florida.

Rating: 9

Fenimore Cooper is my absolute favorite writer, because he writes mainly in the historical genre, namely, about the colonial period of North America and talks about free people, about valiant people, about people with great zeal and willpower. These people are not afraid of death and are ready to make any sacrifice not for themselves, but for the good of their neighbor, they can live in harmony with nature and themselves for years, they cannot help but help those in need and are ready to give everything for this. We will of course talk about the Indians, people who live for large quantity battles who want to die in battle, they don't even need glory. They are a free people, Native Americans, living for unity with nature. Cooper, with his books, pays tribute to this people, not entirely a single people, since there are several tribes. But the review will focus on the novel “The Last of the Mohicans.” This book struck me with its believability and naturalism, characters, and general surroundings. Bravo Cooper! You have created a wonderful work that can leave an indelible mark on the mind of the person reading this book. I admit, at the end I sat with my mouth open and was in shock, I was so imbued with the characters that tears flowed from my eyes, they are in my heart forever and will never leave. The book is structured in such a way that you will not be bored reading it, it is filled with events that will shock the reader and will leave you indifferent only to emotionless scum. I still remember the images of these heroes and personify myself with them, I admire the Indians in general, real people made of steel, capable of not moving a single nerve if they are tortured with a hot iron or before their eyes there are mountains of corpses, people created to kill and for the sake of battles and to take scalps, but capable of high feelings, love and compassion, and basically doing as their heart tells them. The book remained in my heart and will not leave it for a long time. Everyone should read it, definitely.

Rating: 9

* * *

Preface

James Cooper (Fenimore is the maiden name of the writer's mother, taken by him as a pseudonym in his mature years of creativity) was born in 1789 in the taiga state of New York, abundant with fish and game, on the very border with Canada, when the United States had just gained independence. The eleventh child of a healthy Protestant family that prospered thanks to the business and political acumen of the family's head, Judge Cooper, James and his siblings grew up on the shores of Lake Otsego, next to the vast farmland that settlers had laboriously reclaimed from the forest. The life of the family flowed between a proper Christian household in the British style, in which respect for elders and a gentlemanly, chivalrous attitude towards women reigned, and the vast wild taiga, in which lived predators and those whom the settlers feared even more - the Indians.

Years have passed. James left the wilderness, became a law student, dreaming of a political career, then enlisted in the navy and sailed on warships for two years, then married his beloved girl, Susan Delancey, who belonged to one of the best families then New York (city). And then misfortunes fell on his family, previously cheerful and prosperous. James's beloved sister and confidante Hannah was the first to die, falling from a horse, then his father died in the prime of life, and then his four older brothers died one after another. The burden of caring for the family's farmland, ships and factories fell on James's shoulders, along with the need to take care of the well-being of the families of his late brothers - Cooper had more than twenty nephews and nieces. Unfortunately, having more than endowed Cooper the father with business talents, fate and nature were not generous in this regard to James. Economic failures, fires, unpaid loans, litigation with neighbors, who quickly realized that young Cooper was not at all as enterprising as the old one, almost completely ruined the family in just a couple of years. But with the help of his father-in-law and his wife’s relatives, James managed to improve the situation, and a little later, when the children of the eldest brother became adults, he was relieved to transfer the remaining family property to their management.

In 1815, the Coopers moved to Mamaroneck (now a suburb of New York), to their father-in-law's house on Long Island, where James began his political activities, and in 1818 they built their own house in Scarsdale (another New York suburb). In 1816 he became one of the founders of the American Bible Society. It is a non-profit, secular, interfaith organization that still publishes and distributes the Bible throughout the world.

Now it is the largest such organization in the world, one of the main assets of which is the world's largest (second only to the Vatican) collection of Bibles of all times and peoples.

In 1818, the mother of Susan, Cooper's wife, died. She was very sad and found solace only in reading English novels, which from time to time were delivered to New York by sea. She was especially fond of the works of Walter Scott and Jane Austen. But often she had to read novels by worse writers, or even empty ephemera. Looking at the suffering of the woman he loved, Cooper decided to write a novel himself that would console her. Susan didn't believe for a minute that James would have the patience for this. However, the loving husband rose to the occasion. In November 1820, when James Cooper was already over thirty, the New York publishing house of Andrew Thompson Goodrich anonymously published his novel “Precaution.” It was a family saga that quite successfully imitated English writers of the time. My wife liked the novel. The publication did not bring Cooper any money, but this work helped him discover a new productive field for which his natural inclinations could be useful - excellent qualities of a storyteller, an analytical mind and the need for creativity.

James Cooper began writing as an adult with established views. Here is what he wrote in 1822 in the journal Literary and Scientific Repositories and Critical Review: “Good prose, however paradoxical it may seem, appeals to our natural love of truth, not to the love of facts, real names and dates, but to the highest truth, which is the nature and main principle of the human mind. An interesting novel is addressed primarily to our moral principles, sense of justice and other principles and feelings that Providence has endowed us with, and addresses the human heart, which is the same for all people. Writers should avoid such topics as politics, religion, or social problems, and concentrate on the local moral and social characteristics that distinguish us Americans from other inhabitants of the earth."

In his works, Cooper clearly and relentlessly follows these principles. He does not take on the functions of a political fighter, especially since by that time he had lost his political illusions. As a consistent humanist and representative of the romantic movement in literature, he takes a small private story and, by telling it, shows us the “moral and social characteristics” of all of America during that period.

The innate sense of justice that James Cooper, as a true gentleman, was generously endowed with, the natural humanism and Christian conscience of this man made him a witness and narrator of one of the most terrible stories of human civilization.

There has long been a debate in the United States about whether the destruction of the American Indians by white European settlers constituted genocide. During colonization, for various reasons, according to various sources, from 15 to 100 million indigenous inhabitants of the continent died. The settlers poisoned the rivers along which entire tribes lived, burned down forests, exterminated bison - the main source of food for many tribes, and sometimes even fed Indian children to dogs. When the Indians tried to resist, they were declared cruel savages.

Americans, who are accustomed to considering themselves infallible, still find it difficult to admit that the well-being of their current civilization is built on the blood and bones of millions of legitimate inhabitants of the continent that they like, so time after time, when considering this issue in Congress or the Senate, they decide: there was no genocide .

Let’s leave this to their conscience and turn to the best, according to critics, James Fenimore Cooper’s novel “The Last of the Mohicans,” the very name of which paints a tragic picture of the disappearance of an entire people.

The main character of the novel is Natty Bumppo, his other names are Hawkeye, Long Carbine or Leather Stocking. Natty is a hunter and trapper, a native of the lower classes of society, and in fact a hermit philosopher. He does not understand and does not accept the “advance of progress” and moves away from it deeper and deeper into the bowels of the continent. Like a true romantic hero, he draws his strength from nature, it is she who gives him clarity of mind and moral confidence. This character, much loved by readers, runs through all of Cooper's novels about wild life.

Here is what the American poet Richard Dana writes about Nutty in his private letter to Cooper: “Nutty’s uneducated mind, his simple solitary life, his simplicity combined with delicacy inspired me with admiration coupled with regret and concern. His image begins on such a high note that I was afraid whether this note would be able to be sustained to the end. One of my friends said: “I wish I could go into the woods with Natty!”

The novel “The Last of the Mohicans” is about human relationships: love, friendship, envy, enmity, betrayal. The story of the friendship between the white hunter Natty Bumppo and Chingachgook, an Indian from the extinct Mohican tribe, is an immortal creation of world literature. It is told against the backdrop of the story of the Seven Years' War between the British and the French for possession of those parts of North America located on the border of what is now the United States and what is now French Canada.

There has been much controversy regarding the images of the Indians Chingachgook and his son Uncas. During his political activities, Cooper often met with Indians. Among his acquaintances was Ongpatonga, the chief of the Omaha tribe, famous for his eloquence. Cooper accompanied him on a trip to Washington to speak to the government. Cooper also knew young Petalesjaro from the Pawnee tribe. “This young man could have been a hero of any civilized nation,” Cooper said about him. Researchers believe that it was these people who became the prototypes of Chingachgook and Uncas.

Cooper's contemporary critics reproached him for idealizing Indians. V. Parrington, a famous American cultural critic, wrote: “Twilight is a powerful wizard, and Cooper succumbed to the magic of twilight lighting, which surrounded the past well known to him with a soft halo.” To this Cooper replied that his description was not devoid of romance and poetry, as befits a novel, but he did not deviate one iota from the truth of life.

And we agree with the author, we see that, despite the desire to make the plot exciting and dynamic, Cooper the realist takes precedence over Cooper the romantic. The coming death of the American Indian civilization is the reality in which his characters live, act and die.

The author tells in an extremely delicate and chaste manner about the love of the daughter of an English colonel and the son of an Indian chief. Cooper paints this story with spare but unusually poetic strokes. Some researchers saw deep symbolism in the love and death of Uncas and Cora. Cora, partly African, and Uncas, a red-skinned man, have no future in America; they are victims of disgusting phenomena of American life that are unacceptable to Cooper - slavery and the extermination of Indians.

Perhaps this is precisely the main idea of the novel, the author of which looked with deep pessimism at what was happening in his native country.

In the early twenties of the 19th century, the American publicist Margaret Fuller wrote: “We use the language of England and with this flow of speech we absorb the influence of its ideas, alien to us and destructive to us.” And the London New Monthly wrote: “To talk about American literature is to talk about something that does not exist.”

James Fenimore Cooper was one of those who changed this state of affairs. At the end of Cooper's life, the famous literary historian Francis Parkman wrote: "Of all American writers Cooper is the most original and the most typically national... His books are a true mirror of that rough Atlantic nature which seems strange and new to the European eye. The sea and the forest are the scenes of the most remarkable achievements of his fellow citizens. They live and act on the pages of his books with all the energy and truthfulness of true life.”

Akulina Parfenova

The Last of the Mohicans, or the Narrative of 1757

Chapter I

I'm open news

And prepared with my heart.

Tell it like it is, even if it becomes bitter:

Is the kingdom lost?

W. Shakespeare1
Poetic epigraphs translated by E. Petrushevsky.

Perhaps, along the entire vast stretch of the border that separated the possessions of the French from the territory of the English colonies of North America, there will not be more eloquent monuments to the cruel and ferocious wars of 1755–1763 1
…cruel and ferocious wars of 1755–1763... - During these years, England and France fought colonial wars with each other in North America, the Caribbean, India and Africa, which was the basis for calling this period the First World War. The British fought the war for the northeastern part of what is now the United States and the southeastern part of what is now Canada, also called the Seven Years' War or the French and Indian War, against the French royal troops and the Indian tribes allied with them. In fact, the war ended in 1760 with the capture of Montreal by the British and the end of the French presence in North America. The entire territory of Canada then came under British rule. The Treaty of Paris brought a legal end to this war in 1763.

Than in the area lying at the sources of the Hudson and near the lakes adjacent to them.

This area provided such convenience for the movement of troops that they could not be neglected.

Champlain waters 2
Champlain waters... – Champlain is a freshwater lake, about 200 kilometers long, located in the states of New York, Vermont (USA) and the province of Quebec (Canada). It is famous for the legendary monster Champa that supposedly lives in it.

Stretched from Canada and went deep into the colony of New York; as a result, Lake Champlain served as the most convenient route of communication, along which the French could sail up to half the distance separating them from the enemy.

Near the southern edge of Lake Champlain, the crystal-clear waters of Lake Horiken, the Holy Lake, merge with it.

The Holy Lake meanders between countless islets and is surrounded by low coastal mountains. It stretches in curves far to the south, where it abuts the plateau. From this point began a multi-mile portage 3
…multi-mile portage... – Volok – a pass in the upper reaches of rivers of various basins, comes from the word “volochit” (drag). Vessels were dragged through the portages by dry means - portages.

Which led the traveler to the banks of the Hudson; here sailing along the river became convenient, since the current was free of rapids.

Carrying out their warlike plans, the French tried to penetrate the most remote and inaccessible gorges of the Allegheny Mountains 4
...the inaccessible gorges of the Allegheny Mountains... – The Allegans are mountains in the Appalachian system, the eastern part of the plateau of the same name. Located in the current states of Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania (USA).

And we noticed the natural advantages of the area we just described. Indeed, it soon turned into a bloody arena of numerous battles, with which the warring parties hoped to resolve the issue regarding the possession of the colonies.

Here, at the most important points, towering above the surrounding routes, fortresses grew; they were taken over by one or the other warring side; they were either torn down or rebuilt again, depending on whose banner was flying over the fortress.

While peaceful farmers tried to stay away from dangerous mountain gorges, hiding in ancient settlements, numerous military forces delved into virgin forests. Few returned from there, exhausted by hardships and hardships, discouraged by failures.

Although this troubled region did not know peaceful crafts, its forests were often enlivened by the presence of man.

Under the canopy of branches and in the valleys the sounds of marches were heard, and the echo in the mountains repeated the laughter and cries of many, many carefree young braves who, in the prime of their strength, hastened here to plunge into the deep sleep of the long night of oblivion.

It was in this arena of bloody wars that the events that we will try to tell about unfolded. Our story dates back to the third year of the war between France and England, who were fighting for power over a country that neither side was destined to keep in their hands. 5
…over a country that neither side was destined to keep in its hands... - The lands for which the war described in the novel was fought ultimately became neither the property of England nor the property of France. This territory became the property of the United States of America, a state that gained complete independence from England in 1776, during the life of Natty Bumppo, the main character of the novel.

The stupidity of the military leaders abroad and the disastrous inactivity of the advisers at court deprived Great Britain of that proud prestige which had been won by the talent and courage of her former soldiers and statesmen. The English forces were defeated by a handful of French and Indians; this unexpected defeat left most of the border unguarded. And after real disasters, many imaginary, imaginary dangers arose. In every gust of wind coming from the endless forests, the frightened settlers imagined wild screams and the ominous howl of the Indians.

Under the influence of fear, the danger assumed unprecedented proportions; common sense could not fight the alarmed imagination. Even the most courageous, self-confident, and energetic began to doubt the favorable outcome of the struggle. The number of cowardly and cowardly people increased incredibly; It seemed to them that in the near future all the American possessions of England would become the property of the French or would be devastated by Indian tribes - allies of France.

That is why, when the English fortress, towering in the southern part of the plateau between the Hudson and the lakes, received news of the appearance of the Marquis of Montcalm near Champlain 6
…about the appearance of the Marquis of Montcalm near Champlain... - Louis-Joseph de Montcalm-Gozon, Marquis de Saint-Veran (February 28, 1712, Nîmes, France - September 14, 1759, Quebec), was a French military leader who commanded French troops in North America during the Seven Years' War. In 1756 he was appointed commander of French troops in North America. During the first years of the French and Indian War, he carried out a number of successful military operations against British troops, in particular in 1756 he captured and destroyed Fort Oswego on the banks of the Ontario River, refusing the British an honorable surrender due to the lack of courage shown by the British soldiers. In 1757, he won a major military victory by capturing Fort William Henry at the southern tip of Lake George. In 1758, he completely defeated the British forces, which were five times superior to him, in the battle for Fort Carillon, showing high professionalism and outstanding leadership qualities. At the end of the war he led the defense of Quebec. On September 13, 1759, he was mortally wounded in the unsuccessful Battle of the Plain of Abraham, which ensured the military victory of the British in the war for the North American colonies. To the doctors’ disappointing forecasts he calmly replied: “So much the better. I am happy that I will not see Quebec capitulate." He died on September 14, 1759 in a field hospital on the banks of the St. Charles River near Quebec.

And idle chatterers added that this general was moving with a detachment “in which there are soldiers as thick as leaves in the forest,” the terrible message was received rather with cowardly resignation than with the stern satisfaction that a warrior should feel when he discovers an enemy next to him. The news of Montcalm's attack came in the height of summer; The Indian brought it at an hour when the day was already approaching evening. Along with the terrible news, the messenger conveyed to the camp commander a request from Munro, the commandant of one of the forts on the shores of the Holy Lake, to immediately send him strong reinforcements. The distance between the fort and the fortress, which a forest dweller walked within two hours, could be covered by a military detachment with its convoy between sunrise and sunset. Loyal supporters of the English crown named one of these fortifications Fort William Henry, and the other Fort Edward, named after the princes of the royal family. The veteran Scot Munro commanded Fort William Henry. It contained one of the regular regiments and a small detachment of volunteer colonists; it was a garrison too small to fight Montcalm's advancing forces.

The post of commandant in the second fortress was held by General Webb; under his command was a royal army of over five thousand people. If Webb had united all his scattered troops, he could have brought twice as many soldiers against the enemy as the enterprising Frenchman had, who ventured so far from his replenishment with an army not much larger than that of the English.

However, frightened by failures, the English generals and their subordinates preferred to wait in their fortress for the approach of a formidable enemy, without risking going out to meet Montcalm in order to surpass the successful performance of the French at Fort Duquesne 7
…successful French performance at Fort Duquesne... - The Battle of Fort Duquesne was a battle fought between allied French and Indian and British forces at Fort Duquesne in North America on September 15, 1758, during the French and Indian War. The battle was the result of unsuccessful reconnaissance by British troops under the command of General John Forbes in the vicinity of the French Fort Duquesne. It ended in victory for the French and Indian side.

Give the enemy battle and stop him.

When the first excitement caused by the terrible news subsided, in the camp, protected by trenches and located on the banks of the Hudson in the form of a chain of fortifications that covered the fort itself, there was a rumor that a selected detachment of one and a half thousand should move from the fortress to Fort William Henry at dawn. This rumor was soon confirmed; We learned that several detachments had received orders to quickly prepare for the campaign. All doubts about Webb's intentions were dispelled, and for two or three hours hurried running and anxious faces were heard in the camp. The recruit anxiously scurried back and forth, fussed and with his excessive zeal only slowed down his preparations for the performance; the experienced veteran armed himself quite calmly, unhurriedly, although his stern features and worried look clearly indicated that the terrible struggle in the forests did not particularly please his heart.

Finally the sun disappeared in a stream of radiance in the west behind the mountains, and when night enveloped this secluded place with its cloak, the noise and bustle of preparations for the campaign fell silent; the last light went out in the officers' log cabins; the thickening shadows of the trees lay on the earthen ramparts and the babbling stream, and in a few minutes the entire camp was plunged into the same silence that reigned in the neighboring dense forests.

According to the order given the previous evening, the deep sleep of the soldiers was disturbed by the deafening roar of drums, the rolling echo of which carried far in the damp morning air, echoing loudly in every corner of the forest; The day was dawning, the cloudless sky was brightening in the east, and the outlines of tall, shaggy pines appeared on it more and more clearly and sharply. A minute later, life began to boil in the camp: even the most careless soldier rose to his feet to see the performance of the detachment and, together with his comrades, to experience the excitement of that moment. The simple training of the marching detachment soon ended. The soldiers lined up in combat units. Royal mercenaries 8
Royal mercenaries... – European, in particular German, Hessian, mercenaries took part in the Seven Years’ War on the side of the British.

They showed off on the right flank; more modest volunteers, from among the settlers, obediently took places on the left.

The scouts came out. A strong convoy accompanied the carts with camping equipment; and, before the first rays of the sun pierced the gray morning, the column set off. Leaving the camp, the column had a menacing, warlike appearance; this appearance was supposed to drown out the vague fears of many recruits who had to withstand the first tests in battle. The soldiers walked past their admiring comrades with a proud and courageous expression on their faces. But gradually the sounds of military music began to fade in the distance and finally froze completely. The forest closed in, hiding the squad from view.

Now the wind did not carry even the loudest, piercing sounds to those remaining in the camp; the last warrior disappeared into the forest thicket.

However, judging by what was happening in front of the largest and most comfortable of the officers' barracks, someone else was preparing to set off. In front of Webb's house stood several beautifully saddled horses; two of them were apparently intended for women of high rank, who were not often found in these forests. The third had officer pistols in the saddle 9
…officer pistols. – British officers purchased pistols for military operations at their own expense. During the French and Indian War, pistols with a flintlock type were used. These pistols were single-shot, after each shot it was necessary to add gunpowder to the shelf. The most famous pistol maker in England at this time was William Brander.

The rest of the horses, judging by the simplicity of the bridles and saddles and the packs tied to them, belonged to the lower ranks. Indeed, the rank and file, completely ready to leave, were obviously only waiting for the commander’s order to jump into their saddles. Groups of idle spectators stood at a respectful distance; Some of them admired the pure breed of the officer's horse, others watched with dull curiosity the preparations for departure.

However, among the spectators there was one person whose manners and posture set him apart from the rest. His figure was not ugly, but at the same time it seemed extremely awkward. When this man stood, he was taller than other people; but when sitting, he seemed no larger than his brothers. His head was too large, his shoulders too narrow, his arms long and clumsy, with small, graceful hands. The thinness of his unusually long legs reached the extreme; the knees were prohibitively thick. The strange, even absurd costume of the eccentric emphasized the awkwardness of his figure. The low collar of his sky-blue camisole did not cover his long, thin neck at all; the short skirts of his caftan allowed mockers to make fun of his thin legs. Yellow narrow nankeen trousers reached to the knees; here they were intercepted by large white bows, frayed and dirty. Gray stockings and boots completed the costume of the clumsy eccentric. On one of his shoes there was a spur made of false silver. From the voluminous pocket of the vest, heavily soiled and decorated with blackened silver braid, peeked out an unknown instrument, which, among this military environment, could be mistaken for some mysterious and incomprehensible weapon of war. A tall triangular hat, like those worn by pastors thirty years ago, crowned the head of the eccentric and gave a respectable appearance to the good-natured features of this man.

James Fenimore Cooper

The Last of the Mohicans

I'm ready to find out the worst

And the terrible thing you could bring to me,

Ready to hear the painful news.

Answer quickly - has the kingdom perished?!

Perhaps, along the entire vast stretch of the border that separated the possessions of the French from the territory of the English colonies of North America, there are no more eloquent monuments of the cruel and ferocious wars of 1755-1763 than in the region lying at the source of the Hudson and near the lakes adjacent to them. This area provided such convenience for the movement of troops that they could not be neglected.

The water surface of Champlain stretched from Canada and jutted deep into the colony of New York; as a result, Lake Champlain served as the most convenient route of communication, along which the French could sail up to half the distance separating them from the enemy.

Near the southern edge of Lake Champlain, the crystal clear waters of Horikan, the Holy Lake, merge with it.

The Holy Lake meanders between countless islets and is surrounded by low coastal mountains. It stretches in curves far to the south, where it abuts the plateau. From this point began a multi-mile portage that led the traveler to the banks of the Hudson; here sailing along the river became convenient, since the current was free of rapids.

In carrying out their warlike plans, the French tried to penetrate the most remote and inaccessible gorges of the Allegheny Mountains and drew attention to the natural advantages of the region we have just described. Indeed, it soon turned into a bloody arena of numerous battles, with which the warring parties hoped to resolve the issue of ownership of the colonies.

Here, in the most important places, towering above the surrounding routes, fortresses grew; they were taken over by one or the other warring side; they were either torn down or rebuilt again, depending on whose banner was flying over the fortress.

Although this troubled region did not know peaceful crafts, its forests were often enlivened by the presence of man.

Under the canopy of branches and in the valleys the sounds of marches were heard, and the echo in the mountains repeated the laughter and cries of many, many carefree young braves who, in the prime of life, hastened here to plunge into the deep sleep of the long night of oblivion.

The stupidity of the military leaders abroad and the disastrous inactivity of the advisers at court deprived Great Britain of that proud prestige which had been won for her by the talent and courage of her former soldiers and statesmen. The English forces were defeated by a handful of French and Indians; this unexpected defeat left most of the border unguarded. And after real disasters, many imaginary, imaginary dangers arose. In every gust of wind coming from the endless forests, the frightened settlers imagined wild screams and the ominous howl of the Indians.

That is why, when news came to the English fortress, rising in the southern part of the plateau between the Hudson and the lakes, about the appearance of the Marquis of Montcalm near Champlain, and idle chatterers added that this general was moving with a detachment “in which there are soldiers like leaves in the forest,” it was terrible the message was received rather with cowardly resignation than with the stern satisfaction that should have been felt by a warrior who discovered an enemy close to him. The news of Montcalm's attack came in the height of summer; The Indian brought it at an hour when the day was already approaching evening. Along with the terrible news, the messenger conveyed to the camp commander a request from Munro, the commandant of one of the forts on the shores of the Holy Lake, to immediately send him strong reinforcements. The distance between the fort and the fortress, which a forest dweller walked within two hours, could be covered by a military detachment with its convoy between sunrise and sunset. Loyal supporters of the English crown named one of these fortifications Fort William Henry, and the other Fort Edward, named after the princes of the royal family. The veteran Scot Munro commanded Fort William Henry. It contained one of the regular regiments and a small detachment of volunteer colonists; it was a garrison too small to fight Montcalm's advancing forces.

The Last of the Mohicans

James Cooper

James Fenimore Cooper is a master of the historical adventure novel, a classic of children's literature, who became famous thanks to a series of novels from American life. He was one of the first to describe the life of American Indians involved in military conflicts of European civilization, their colorful customs and morals. His most famous novel, “The Last of the Mohicans,” tells about the events of the French and Indian War, about fearless Indians, about their selfless struggle and heroic death under the onslaught of “civilization.”

James Fenimore Cooper

THE LAST OF THE MOHICANE

I'm ready to find out the worst

And the terrible thing you could bring to me,

Ready to hear the painful news.

Answer quickly - has the kingdom perished?!

Shakespeare

Near the southern edge of Lake Champlain, the crystal clear waters of Horikan, the Holy Lake, merge with it.

The Holy Lake meanders between countless islets and is surrounded by low coastal mountains. It stretches in curves far to the south, where it abuts the plateau. From this point began a multi-mile portage that led the traveler to the banks of the Hudson; here sailing along the river became convenient, since the current was free of rapids.

Although this troubled region did not know peaceful crafts, its forests were often enlivened by the presence of man.

Under the canopy of branches and in the valleys the sounds of marches were heard, and the echo in the mountains repeated the laughter and cries of many, many carefree young braves who, in the prime of life, hastened here to plunge into the deep sleep of the long night of oblivion.

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coolly, unhurriedly, although the stern features and worried look clearly said that the terrible struggle in the forests did not particularly please his heart.

According to the order given the previous evening, the deep sleep of the soldiers was disturbed by a deafening roar of drums, and the booming echo carried far in the damp morning air, echoing loudly in every corner of the forest; The day was dawning, the cloudless sky was brightening in the east, and the outlines of tall, shaggy pines appeared on it more and more clearly and sharply. A minute later life began to boil in the camp; even the most careless soldier rose to his feet to see the performance of the detachment and, together with his comrades, to experience the excitement of this moment. The simple training of the marching detachment soon ended. The soldiers lined up in combat units. The royal mercenaries flanked the right flank; more modest volunteers, from among the settlers, obediently took places on the left.

The scouts came out. A strong convoy escorted the wagons with their marching equipment, and before the first rays of sun pierced the gray morning, the column set off. Leaving the camp, the column had a menacing, warlike appearance; this appearance was supposed to drown out the vague fears of many recruits who had to withstand the first tests in battle. The soldiers walked past their admiring comrades with a proud and warlike expression. But gradually the sounds of military music began to fade in the distance and finally froze completely. The forest closed in, hiding the squad from view. Now the wind did not carry even the loudest, piercing sounds to those remaining in the camp, the last warrior disappeared into the thicket of the forest.

However, judging by what was happening in front of the largest and most comfortable of the officers' barracks, someone else was preparing to set off. In front of Webb's house stood several beautifully saddled horses; two of them were apparently intended for women of high rank, who were not often found in these forests. The third had officer's pistols in the saddle. The rest of the horses, judging by the simplicity of the bridles and saddles and the packs tied to them, belonged to the lower ranks. Indeed, the rank and file, completely ready to leave, were obviously only waiting for the commander’s order to jump into their saddles. Groups of idle spectators stood at a respectful distance: some of them admired the pure breed of the officer's horse, others watched with dull curiosity the preparations for departure.

However, among the spectators there was one person whose manners and posture set him apart from the rest. His figure was not ugly, but at the same time it seemed extremely awkward. When this man stood, he was taller than other people, but when sitting, he seemed no larger than his brothers. His head was too large, his shoulders too narrow, his arms long and clumsy, with small, graceful hands. The thinness of his unusually long legs reached the extreme, his knees were prohibitively thick. The strange, even absurd costume of the eccentric emphasized the absurdity of his figure. The low collar of his sky-blue camisole did not cover his long, thin neck at all; the short skirts of his caftan allowed mockers to make fun of his thin, long legs. Yellow narrow nankeen trousers reached to the knees, here they were intercepted by large white bows, frayed and dirty. Gray stockings and boots completed the costume of the awkward figure. On one of the eccentric’s shoes was a spur made of false silver. From the voluminous pocket of his vest, heavily soiled and decorated with blackened silver braid, looked out an unknown instrument, which, among this military environment, could be mistaken for some mysterious and incomprehensible weapon of war. A tall triangular hat, like those worn by pastors thirty years ago, crowned the head of the eccentric and gave a respectable appearance to the good-natured features of this man.

A group of privates kept a respectful distance from Webb's house; but the figure we have just described boldly intervened in the crowd of the general’s servants. The strange man examined the horses without embarrassment, praising some and scolding others.

“This horse is not home-grown, he was probably discharged from abroad... maybe even from an island that lies far, far away, beyond the blue seas,” he said in a voice that amazed with its euphonious softness, just as everything surprised him figure with its unusual proportions. – I will say without boasting: I can confidently talk about such things. I have visited both harbors: the one located at the mouth of the Thames and called after the capital of old England, and the one simply called New Haven - New Harbor. I saw how brigantines and barges collected animals as if for an ark, and sent them to the island of Jamaica; there these four-legged animals were sold or exchanged. But I have never seen such a horse. How does the Bible say this? “He impatiently digs the soil of the valley with his hooves and rejoices in his strength; he rushes towards the warriors. Among the sounds of trumpets, he exclaims: “Ha, ha!” He smells the battle from afar and hears the military cry.” This is ancient blood, isn't it, friend?

Having received no answer to his so unusual appeal, which was expressed with such completeness and power of a sonorous voice that it deserved some attention, he turned to the silently standing man, his involuntary listener, and a new, even more admirable object appeared before the gaze of the eccentric. He was surprised to fix his gaze on the motionless, straight and slender figure of the Indian runner, who brought gloomy news to the camp.

Although the Indian stood as if made of stone and seemed not to pay the slightest attention to the noise and animation reigning around, the features of his calm face at the same time expressed a sullen ferocity, which would certainly have attracted the attention of a more experienced observer than the one who looked at him now with undisguised surprise. The Indian was armed with a tomahawk and a knife, and yet he did not look like a real warrior. On the contrary, his entire appearance was permeated by carelessness, which perhaps stemmed from some great recent stress from which he had not yet recovered. On the stern face of the native, the military coloring blurred, and this made his dark features involuntarily look even more wild and repulsive than in the skillful patterns created to intimidate his enemies. Only his eyes, sparkling like bright stars between the clouds, burned with wild malice. Only for one moment the gaze of the walker caught the surprised expression in the eyes of the observer and immediately, partly out of cunning, partly out of disdain, turned in the other direction, somewhere far, far away in space.

Suddenly the servants began to fuss, gentle women's voices were heard, and all this announced the approach of those who were expected so that the entire cavalcade would set off. The man, admiring the officer's horse, suddenly retreated to his own short, thin horse with a tied tail,

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who was nibbling dry grass; He leaned one elbow on the woolen blanket that served as a saddle and began to watch the departing people. At this time, a foal approached his nag from the opposite side and began to feast on her milk.

A young man in an officer's uniform led two girls to the horses, who, judging by their costumes, were preparing for a tiring journey through the forests.

Suddenly the wind threw back a long green veil attached to the hat of the one who seemed to be the youngest (although they were both very young); from under the veil a dazzling white face, golden hair, and sparkling blue eyes appeared. The delicate colors of the sky, still spilling over the pine trees, were not as bright and beautiful as the blush of her cheeks; the beginning of the day was not as bright as her animated smile, which she rewarded the young man who was helping her to sit in the saddle.

The officer treated the second rider with the same attention, whose face was carefully hidden by a veil. She seemed older than sister and was a little fuller.

As soon as the girls mounted the horses, the young man easily jumped into the saddle. All three bowed to General Webb, who came out onto the porch to see off the travelers, turned their horses and moved at a light trot to the northern exit of the camp. Several lower ranks followed them. While those departing crossed the space that separated them from the main road, none of them said a word, only the youngest of the horsewomen screamed slightly when an Indian speedster suddenly slipped past her and fast easy walked along the military road. The eldest of the sisters did not utter a sound when the Indian speedster appeared. In surprise, she released the folds of the veil and her face was revealed. Regret, admiration and horror flashed across her features. This girl's hair was the color of a raven's wing. Bright colors played on her untanned face, although there was not the slightest shade of vulgarity in it. Her features were distinguished by subtlety, nobility and amazing beauty. As if regretting her forgetfulness, she smiled, flashing a row of even teeth, the whiteness of which could compete with the best ivory.

Then, straightening her veil, she lowered her head and continued on her way in silence, like a person whose thoughts were far from everything around her.

Oh-la! Oh-la! Where are you? Oh-la!

Shakespeare. "The Merchant of Venice"

While one of the two charming girls whom we have so briefly introduced to the reader was absorbed in her own thoughts, the younger, quickly recovering from her momentary fright, laughed at her fear and said to the officer who rode next to her:

– Tell me, Duncan, are such ghosts often found in these forests or was this performance organized in our honor? If so, then we should be grateful, but otherwise Cora and I will need all our courage before we meet the terrible Montcalm.

“This Indian is a fast traveler with our detachment and, according to the concepts of his tribe, a hero,” said the young officer. “He volunteered to take us to the lake along a little-known path that greatly shortens the path. Thanks to this, we will arrive at the place faster than following our detachment.

“I don’t like him,” the girl answered and feigned a shudder, although she was really scared. “Do you know him well, Duncan?” Otherwise, of course, you wouldn’t trust him.

“I would rather not trust you, Alice.” I know this Indian, otherwise I would not have chosen him as a guide, especially at such a moment. Magua is said to be a native of Canada, and yet serves our friends the Mohawks, who, as you know, are one of the six allied tribes. I was told that he came here by some strange accident that had to do with your father. It seems that the general treated this Indian cruelly... However, I forgot this idle chatter. It's enough that he's our friend now.

“If he was my father’s enemy, so much the worse for us,” the girl remarked, seriously alarmed. “Major Hayward, please speak to him, I want to hear the sound of his voice.” Maybe it's stupid, but I always judge a person by his voice.

“If I talk to him, it probably won’t lead to anything,” said Hayward. - He will answer me with some monosyllabic exclamation. It seems to me that Magua understands English, but pretends that he does not know our language. In addition, he is unlikely to want to have a conversation with me now, when wartime requires him to sacredly uphold the dignity of a warrior... But look, our guide stopped. Obviously, this is where the path begins, which we will have to turn onto.

Duncan was right. When the horsemen approached the Indian, who stood motionless, pointing to the thicket of bushes bordering the military road, they saw a path so narrow that it could only be ridden in single file.

“We have to take this path,” Hayward said in a whisper. “Don’t express any fears, otherwise you will bring upon yourself the very danger you fear.”

– Cora, don’t you think it’s safer to go with the detachment? - Golden-haired Alice asked her sister. - Although it will be more tiring...

“Alice, you don’t know the customs and habits of savages well, and therefore you don’t understand in what cases you should be afraid,” objected Hayward. “If the enemy had already reached the portage, which is completely incredible, since our scouts would have reported this to us, he would obviously begin to surround our detachment, hoping to get more scalps. The path of the detachment is known to everyone, but our path is still a mystery, since we decided to go along it only an hour ago.

“Should we not believe this man just because his movements and habits are not similar to ours, and his complexion is darker than the skin of white people?” – Cora asked coldly.

Alice ceased to hesitate; She struck her Narragansett with her whip, was the first to part the branches and followed the walker along a dark, narrow forest path. Hayward looked at Cora with admiration; he did not even notice that her blond companion went deeper into the thicket alone. The servants, obeying the orders received in advance, did not follow them, but moved after the detachment. Hayward explained to the girls that this was done out of caution, on the advice of their cunning guide: the Indian wanted to reduce the number of tracks in case scouts from Canadian tribes wandered here. The thorny path was not conducive to conversation; Soon the travelers passed the wide edge of a dense forest and found themselves under the dark arches of large trees. The road has become more convenient; the walker, noticing that the young riders were now better able to control their horses, quickened his pace, and Cora and Alice had to start ambling the Narragansetts. Hayward turned around to say something to the dark-eyed Cora, but at that moment there was the distant sound of hooves clattering on the roots on the path. This forced the young man to stop his horse. Cora and Alice also pulled on the reins. All three wanted to know what was going on.

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a few moments later they saw a foal, which, like a deer, rushed between the trunks of the pine trees; after him appeared the awkward figure we described in the previous chapter. The clumsy stranger approached as fast as his skinny horse could carry him. Until now, this figure had been out of sight of travelers. If he usually attracted the curious with his tall stature, then his “grace” as a rider deserved even more attention. Every now and then he spurred his nag with one leg, but all he achieved was that its hind legs walked at a light gallop, while the front legs made some vague, constantly changing movements, similar to a lame trot. Frequent changes from trot to gallop created an optical illusion, as a result of which it seemed as if the horse was moving faster than it actually was; in any case, Hayward, an expert on horses, could not decide with what gait the poor animal was moving, driven by the spur of a persistent rider.

All movements of both the rider and the horse were unusual. With each step of the horse, the stranger rose in the stirrups and, either straightening his legs too much, or bending his legs excessively, suddenly grew tall, and then bent so that no one could positively judge his height. If we add to this that, under the influence of his spur, one side of the horse seemed to run faster than the other, and the movements of its shaggy tail constantly indicated which side was suffering from the spur, we complete the image of the nag and its rider.

The wrinkles that had appeared on Hayward’s beautiful, open, manly forehead gradually smoothed out, and he smiled slightly. Alice couldn't help but laugh. And even a grin flashed in Cora’s dark, thoughtful eyes.

– Do you want to see any of us? - Duncan asked as the strange rider rode up and stopped the horse. “I hope you haven’t brought us any bad news?”

“Exactly,” replied the stranger, waving his three-cornered hat to stir the sultry forest air, and leaving the listeners to decide to what part of the question his remark applied. However, after cooling his hot face and catching his breath, the eccentric added: “They say you are going to Fort William Henry.” I am heading there too, and therefore I decided that we would all enjoy making this journey in pleasant company.

“You seem to have arrogated to yourself the right of casting vote,” Hayward objected. - But there are three of us, you only consulted with yourself.

- That's it. The most important thing is to know your own desires, and when this is already known, then all that remains is to fulfill your intention. That's why I caught up with you.

“If you’re going to the lake, you’re on the wrong road,” Duncan said arrogantly. “The main road is at least half a mile behind you.”

“Exactly,” answered the strange horseman, not at all embarrassed by the cold reception. “I lived only a week in Edward and would not have asked which road I should take only if I had become dumb, and dumb I would have died for my chosen profession. “He chuckled slightly, as if his modesty did not allow him to openly admire his wit, which was completely incomprehensible to his listeners, and then continued: “It is imprudent for a man of my profession to behave too easily with people whom he is supposed to teach; this is the reason why I did not follow the detachment. Besides, I believe that a gentleman like you is certainly better than anyone else to guide travelers. This consideration made me join your society. And finally, it will be more fun for me to travel with you: we can talk.

– What an arbitrary and rash decision! - Heyward exclaimed, not knowing whether to give vent to his irritation or laugh in the stranger’s face. – But you are talking about teachings and the profession. Who you are? Is it not a teacher who teaches the noble science of accusation and defense? Or are you one of those people who are always drawing straight lines and angles, saying that they are doing mathematics?

The stranger looked at Hayward with obvious surprise, then, without complacency, on the contrary, with the greatest and solemn humility he answered:

– I hope there are no accusations involved; I don’t think about protection, since, by the grace of God, I have not committed any great sin. I didn’t understand your hint about lines and angles at all; I leave the task of teaching others to those who are chosen to do this holy work. I make only claims to the bright art of psalmody, to the ability to offer praise and praise.

“This is obviously Apollo’s student,” Alice exclaimed, laughing, “and I take him under my special protection!.. Come on, Hayward, stop frowning.” Imagine that my ears yearn for gentle sounds, and let this eccentric stay with us. “Besides,” she added, hastily and sidewaysly looking at Cora, who was ahead of them, and who was slowly riding after the gloomy Indian, “in case of need, we will have an extra friend and ally.”

“Do you really think, Alice, that I would have decided to lead those I love along this unfamiliar path if I could have imagined that some danger awaited us?”

- No, no, I don’t think so. But this strange man amuses me, and if there really is music in his soul, let us not rudely push him away.

She pointed imperiously with her whip towards the road. Hayward met Alice's eyes and wanted to extend this gaze, but, obeying the girl's will, he spurred his horse and after a few jumps he found himself next to Cora.

Alice beckoned the stranger to her and set off with her Narragansett at a light amble.

- I'm glad I met you, my friend. Biased relatives claim that I perform duets well,” she said jokingly. “So we could brighten up the trip by indulging in our favorite art.” In addition, it would be nice to hear the maestro’s opinion about my voice.

“Indeed, psalmody refreshes both spirit and body,” answered the stranger, driving closer to Alice, “and, of course, like nothing else in the world, it calms the worried soul.” However, for complete harmony four voices are needed. Obviously you have a pleasant, rich soprano voice; With a certain amount of effort, I can hit the highest tenor notes. But we lack contralto and bass. Of course, the officer of the royal army, who for so long did not want to accept me into his society, could sing the bass line... Judging by the tones that sounded in his conversation, he has a bass.

“Don’t judge rashly by external signs: they are deceptive,” the young girl objected, smiling. “It is true that Major Hayward sometimes speaks in low notes, but, believe me, his ordinary voice is much closer to a sweet tenor than to the bass you heard.”

– How much did he practice the art of psalmody? – Alice was asked by her simple-minded interlocutor.

Alice was inclined to laugh, but she managed to suppress the fit of merriment and answered:

– It seems to me that Hayward prefers secular songs. The conditions of a soldier's life are little conducive to sedate occupations.

– A euphonious voice, like all other talents, is given to a person so that he can use it for the benefit of his neighbors and not abuse it. No one can blame me for giving my talent the wrong direction.

-You only do

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spiritual singing?

- That's it. Just as the psalms of David are superior to all other works of poetry, so the melodies on which they are set are superior to all secular songs. Wherever I stay, no matter what countries I travel through, neither during sleep nor in moments of vigil I do not part with my favorite book, published in Boston in 1744, entitled “Psalms, hymns and sacred songs of the Old and New Testaments, translated into English verses for the instruction and comfort of true believers in public and private life, especially in New England.”

At these words, the eccentric took a book out of his pocket and, putting iron-rimmed glasses on his nose, opened the volume with the caution and reverence required by the handling of sacred objects. Then, without further reasoning or explanation, he put some strange instrument into his mouth. A piercing, high-pitched sound was heard. Following this, the psalmist took a note with his voice an octave lower and finally began to sing. Tender, melodic sounds began to flow; even the restless movement of the horse did not stop the singing.

Oh, how gratifying it is -

Live in brotherhood and labor,

It's like incense

Running down my beard!

The psalmist kept time with his right hand. Lowering it, he lightly touched the pages of the book; picking it up, he waved it with special skill. His hand did not stop moving until the last sound died away.

The silence of the forest was broken. Magua turned to Duncan and muttered a few words in broken English language, and Hayward, in turn, spoke to the stranger, interrupting his musical exercises:

- Now, apparently, no danger is foreseen, but still, for the sake of simple caution, we should drive quietly. I must, Alice, deprive you of the pleasure, and ask this gentleman to postpone the singing until a more favorable time.

“Indeed, you are depriving me of great pleasure,” the girl answered with a sly grin. “Really, I have never heard such meaningless words sung so perfectly!” I was about to ask our companion about the reasons for such a strange discrepancy, but your thunderous bass, Duncan, interrupted the thread of my thoughts.

“I don’t understand why you call my voice a thunderous bass?” – Hayward said, slightly offended by her words. “I know only one thing: that I value the safety of you and Cora incomparably more than all of Handel’s music.”

The young officer fell silent and looked towards the thicket, then looked sideways and suspiciously at Magua, who was still walking calmly and unperturbed. Seeing this, the young man smiled, laughing at his own anxieties: hadn’t he just mistook the glare of light on some shiny wild berries for the burning pupils of an Indian hiding in the foliage! Now the major rode calmly, continuing the conversation interrupted by the fears that flashed through his mind.

But Hayward made the great mistake of allowing his youthful pride to drown out the voice of caution.

The companions had barely gone a few steps when the branches of the bushes carefully and silently parted and a ferocious face in menacing war paint looked out from them.

Evil triumph illuminated the dark features of the forest dweller, who watched the small carefree detachment with his gaze. Light and graceful horsewomen either disappeared or appeared among the branches; behind them moved the brave major on his excellent horse, and behind them all the awkward psalmist. Finally, his figure disappeared among the dark trunks of the dense forest.

And before there was a colorful carpet here

Cultivated and rich fields.

The dense forest stood like a wall,

And the flood of stormy rivers thundered,

And the stream rushed and the stream sang,

And a fountain flowed in the shadow of the branches.

Let us leave the unsuspecting Heyward and his gullible companions to go deeper into the dense forest inhabited by treacherous inhabitants, and, using our copyright, we will transfer the scene of our story several miles to the west from the place where we last saw them.

On this day, two men were sitting on the bank of a small but very fast stream, flowing at a distance of one hour's journey from Webb's camp. Apparently, they were waiting for some person to appear or for some events to begin. The mighty wall of the forest reached the very bank of the river; The branches of dense trees hung down to the water, casting a dark shadow on it. The sun no longer burned with such force, the heat of the day subsided, and the cool vapors of streams and springs hung in the air like a light haze. The unshakable silence that reigned in this forest corner was interrupted from time to time by the lazy tapping of a woodpecker, the sharp cry of a spotted jay, or the dull monotonous rumble of a distant waterfall carried by the wind.

But these faint snippets of sounds were well known to the inhabitants of the forests and did not distract their attention from the conversation. The red skin color of one of the interlocutors and his clothing revealed him as an Indian warrior. The tanned face of the other, also dressed in a very simple and rough dress, was much lighter; he seemed an undoubted descendant of European settlers.

The red man sat on the edge of a mossy log and emphasized his words with calm but expressive hand movements. His almost naked body was a terrible emblem of death: it was painted with black and white paints, which gave the man the appearance of a skeleton. On the Indian's shaved head there was only one strand of hair, and the only decoration was an eagle feather, which went down to his left shoulder. From his belt could be seen a tomahawk and an English-made scalping knife. A short soldier's rifle, one of those with which the British armed their red-skinned allies, lay carelessly on his muscular knee.

Everything about this warrior - his broad chest, excellent physique and proud bearing - proved that he had reached the full prime of his strength, but had not yet begun to approach old age.

Judging by the figure of the white man, one could say that from his earliest youth he had become acquainted with hardships and hardships. He was muscular, lean rather than thick, every tense nerve and steely muscle of his body spoke of the man's life of constant risk and toil; his clothes consisted of a green hunting shirt bordered with yellow fringe; his head was covered by a summer leather hat.

The hunter had a knife in his belt, but he did not have a tomahawk. According to the custom of the Redskins, his moccasins were decorated with motley trim, his leather trousers were laced at the sides, and tied above the knees with deer sinew. A leather bag and a horn of gunpowder completed his equipment; his very long gun stood at the trunk of a nearby tree. Liveliness, insight and intelligence shone in the small eyes of this hunter or scout. During the conversation, he looked around, either looking for game, or fearing some kind of hidden attack. Despite the usual suspicion, his face seemed not only guileless, but at the moment in question, it was filled with impeccable honesty.

“The traditions of your tribe, Chingachgook, say that I am right,” he said.

The conversation was conducted in a dialect that was familiar to all the natives who occupied the area between the Hudson and the Potomac, and for the convenience of the reader we will give only a free translation,

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“Your fathers came from the land of the setting sun, crossed big river, fought with local residents and took possession of their lands. My ancestors came from the red dawn, swam across Salt Lake and they did the same as your ancestors. Let's not argue about this and waste words.

“My forefathers fought with naked red men,” the Indian answered sternly in the same language. “Tell me, Hawkeye, don’t you see the difference between an arrow with a stone tip and a lead bullet with which you bring death?”

“Nature gave the Indian red skin, but he has reason,” said the white man, shaking his head, like a man for whom this call for justice was not in vain. For a moment it seemed that only a weak proof had occurred to him, but then, collecting his thoughts, he answered his opponent's objection as best as his meager knowledge would allow him. – I am an unlearned person and I do not hide it, however, judging by what I saw while hunting deer and squirrels, it seems to me that a gun in the hands of my grandfathers was less dangerous than a bow and a good flint arrow, which was sent to the target the keen eye of the Indian.

“You heard all this from your fathers,” the red-skinned man answered coldly, waving his hand. - But what do your old people say? Do they tell the warriors that the pale-faced ones were met by redskins in war paint, with stone axes and wooden guns in their hands?

“I have no predilections, I do not boast about the advantages of my birth, although my worst enemy - Macuas - will not dare to deny that I am a purebred white,” answered the hunter, looking at his darkened, sinewy, bony hand with secret satisfaction. “But I readily admit that I do not approve of many, many actions of my compatriots. One of the customs of these people is to write down in books everything they saw or did, instead of telling everything in the settlements, where every lie of a cowardly braggart would immediately be exposed, and a brave soldier would be able to call his comrades as witnesses to his own truthful words. And therefore, many will not learn anything about the real deeds of their fathers and will not try to surpass them. As for me, I have a natural ability in handling a gun, and this is probably passed on from generation to generation, for, as our sacred commandments say, good and bad are inherited. However, I would not want to answer for others. Each story can be viewed from two sides. Tell me, Chingachgook, what do the legends of the Redskins say about the first meeting of your grandfathers with mine?

There was silence. The Indian did not say a word for a long time; Finally, full of consciousness of the importance of what he had to say, he began the story, and solemn sincerity sounded in his tone:

- Listen, Hawkeye, and your ears will not accept lies! That's what my fathers said, that's what the Mohicans did! We came from where the sun in the evening hides behind the vast plains on which herds of buffalo graze, and we moved non-stop to the great river. Here we entered into a fight with the Alligevs and fought until the earth turned red with their blood. From the banks of the great river to the Salt Lake we met no one, only the Macuas watched us from afar. We said that this entire region is ours. We courageously conquered this region and guarded it like strong and brave men. We drove the Macuas into forests full of bears, and they obtained salt for themselves only from the pits of dry salt springs. These dogs haven't caught a single fish from the Great Lake, and we threw them only bones...

“I’ve already heard about all this and believe it all,” said the white hunter, seeing that the Indian had fallen silent. “But everything you’re talking about happened long before the time when the British arrived.”

“Then pine trees grew where chestnut trees grow now.” The first palefaces who came to us did not speak English. They arrived in a big canoe. This happened in those days when my fathers, together with all the surrounding tribes, buried their tomahawk. And then...” said Chingachgook, and deep emotion was expressed only in the tone of his voice, “then, Hawkeye, we were one people.” We were happy! The Salt Lake gave us fish, the forests gave us deer, and the air gave us birds. We had wives who brought us children. We worshiped the Great Spirit, and the Macuas were afraid of our victorious songs...

– Do you know what happened to your ancestors at that time? - asked the white one. “They must have been brave, honest warriors and, sitting in councils around the fires, they gave wise instructions to their fellow tribesmen.

“My tribe is the great-grandfather of peoples, but in my veins there is not a drop of mixed blood, in them the blood of the leaders is pure, noble blood, and it will remain that way forever.” The Dutch landed on our shores. The whites gave my forefathers firewater; they began to drink it; they drank greedily, drank until it seemed to them as if the earth had merged with the sky. And they decided that they had finally seen the Great Spirit. Then my fathers had to part with their homeland. Step by step they were pushed away from their beloved shores. And now I, the leader and sagamore of the Indians, see the rays of the sun only through the foliage of the trees and can never approach the graves of my forefathers.

“Graves inspire awe,” noted the Indian’s interlocutor, touched by Chingachgook’s noble and restrained sadness, “and they often help a person in his good endeavors; True, as for me, I would like my bones to remain white in the forests or to be torn to pieces by wolves. But tell me, where do the representatives of your family live, the descendants of the people who came to the Delaware land many springs ago?

- Tell me, where did the flowers of long-flying summer days disappear, where did they disappear? They fell and crumbled. This is how my entire family perished: all the Mohicans, one after another, retreated to the land of spirits. I am standing at the top of the mountain, but soon it will be time to go down. When Uncas leaves after me, then the blood of the Sagamores will be exhausted: after all, my son is the last of the Mohicans!

“Uncas is here,” a soft young voice was heard. -Who mentioned Uncas?

The white hunter hastily took his knife out of its sheath and involuntarily reached for his gun. Chingachgook, having heard the voice, remained sitting quietly and did not even turn his head.

The next moment a young Indian appeared; with silent steps he slipped between the two friends and sat down on the bank of the fast stream. The Indian father did not express his surprise with a single sound. For many minutes neither questions nor answers were heard; each seemed to be waiting for the right moment to break the silence, without showing the curiosity characteristic only of women or the impatience characteristic of children.

The white hunter, apparently imitating the customs of the redskins, let go of the gun and also remained silent in concentration.

Finally Chingachgook slowly turned his gaze to his son's face and asked:

“Did the Macuas dare to leave traces of their moccasins in these forests?”

“I followed their footprints,” answered the young Indian, “and I learned that their number is equal to the number of fingers on mine.”

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both hands. But they are cowards and hide in ambushes.

“The swindlers are hiding in the thicket and are waiting for an opportune moment to get scalps and rob someone,” said Hawkeye. “This Frenchman Montcalm, of course, sent his spies to the English camp - at all costs to find out which road ours were moving on.

- Enough! - said the older Indian, looking towards the setting sun. - We will drive them out of the bushes like deer... Hawkeye, we will have a snack today, and tomorrow we will show the Macuas that we are real men.

- I agree. But, in order to defeat the Iroquois, first of all you need to find where these cunning rogues are hiding, and in order to eat, you need to find the beast... Yes, here it is, right there! Look, there's the biggest deer I've seen this summer! Do you see him wandering around in the bushes below?.. Listen, Uncas,” continued the scout, lowering his voice to a whisper and laughing with the silent laugh of a man accustomed to caution, “I’m ready to bet three scoops of gunpowder against one pound of tobacco that I’ll hit him between the eyes.” , and closer to the right than to the left.

- Can't be! - answered the young Indian and jumped up from his seat with youthful ardor. “After all, only the tips of his horns are visible above the bushes.”

“He’s still a boy,” said Hawkeye, grinning, turning to the old Indian. “He thinks that by seeing part of an animal, a hunter cannot determine where the whole body should be.”

He took aim and was about to show off his art, of which he was so proud, when suddenly Chingachgook struck his gun with his hand and said:

“You really want to fight the Makuas, Hawkeye?”

“These Indians know by instinct what lies in the thicket,” said the hunter, lowering his gun and turning to Chingachgook, as if admitting his mistake. - What should I do! I leave it to you, Uncas, to kill the deer with an arrow, otherwise, perhaps, we will really bring down the animal for these Iroquois thieves.

Chingachgook approved of the white man's proposal, nodding his head expressively. Uncas threw himself on the ground and began to carefully crawl towards the deer. When the young Mohican was only a few yards from the bushes, he silently placed an arrow on the bowstring. The horns moved; it seemed as if their owner sensed the proximity of danger in the air. Another second - and the bowstring rang. An arrow flashed. The wounded animal jumped out of the branches directly at its hidden enemy, threatening to strike him with its horns. Uncas deftly dodged the enraged deer and, jumping up to its side, quickly pierced its neck with a knife. The deer rushed to the river and fell, staining the water with its blood.

“The job was done with the dexterity of an Indian,” Hawkeye said approvingly, laughing silently. – It was nice to watch! But still, the arrow is only good for close range, and she needs a knife to help her.

- Uh-uh! - said his interlocutor and quickly turned around, like a dog sensing game.

“I swear to God, it looks like a whole herd is coming this way!” - Hawkeye remarked, and his eyes sparkled. “If the deer come within gunshot range, I will still fire a bullet or two at them, even if the entire union of six tribes hears the roar of the gun!” What do you hear, Chingachgook? To my ears the forest thickets are silent.

“There’s only one deer nearby, and that one is dead,” said the Indian and bent down so low that his ear almost touched the ground. “But I hear the sounds of footsteps.”

- Maybe the wolves chased this deer and are now running in its tracks?

- No. “The white horses are approaching,” answered Chingachgook, proudly straightened up and took his previous position. - Hawkeye, these are your brothers. Talk to them.

- Fine. “I will address them with such English speech that the English king himself would not be ashamed to answer me,” said the hunter in the language of which he was proud of knowing. “But I don’t see or hear anything: neither the steps of animals, nor the tramp of human feet. Yeah! Here is the crackle of dry brushwood! Now I can hear the bushes rustling. Yes, yes, the sound of footsteps! I took it for an echo of the roar of waterfalls. But here are the people. God save them from the Iroquois!

You won't leave the forest early

I will not take revenge for any insult.

Shakespeare. "A dream in a summer night"

The hunter had barely fallen silent when the first rider of a small detachment appeared. It was his steps that the wary ears of the Indian caught.

Through the clearing ran one of those winding paths that deer trample on their way to a watering hole; it rested on the river near the place where the white hunter and his red-skinned comrades were resting. Travelers slowly moved along the path; their appearance in the depths of these impenetrable forests seemed very strange. Hawkeye took a few steps towards them.

- Who goes? - asked the scout, as if accidentally raising the gun with his left hand and placing the index finger of his right hand on the trigger; at the same time, he tried to ensure that there was no threat in this movement. – Who comes here along the dangerous and wild path of animals?

“Friends of the law and the king,” answered the horseman riding ahead of the rest. “Since sunrise we have been riding in the shadow of this forest and are severely exhausted by fatigue, hunger and difficult travel.

“You are probably lost,” Hawkeye interrupted him, “and so helpless that you don’t know whether to go right or left.”

- That's it. Do you know how far it is from here to Royal Fort William Henry?

- ABOUT! - the white hunter exclaimed and burst out laughing, but quickly suppressed a careless loud laugh, fearing to attract the attention of his enemies. “You have lost your way, just as a dog loses the track of a deer when Lake Horiken lies between it and the beast.” William Henry!.. My God! If you are friends of the king and have business with the king's army, you had better go down the river to Fort Edward and tell what you want to Webb, who is hidden in this fortress, instead of forcing your way into the defiles and driving the insolent Frenchman into his den beyond Champlain.

The traveler did not answer this strange proposal, because another horseman rode out of the grove and, overtaking him, said, turning to the hunter:

– How far is it from here to Fort Edward? We left this morning from the place where you now advise us to go, and are heading to the upper reaches of the lake.

“So you lost your sight earlier, and then you got lost, because the road through the portage, at least two fathoms wide, is perhaps more spacious than the London highway, and wider than the road in front of the royal palace itself.”

“We will not dispute the merits of the military road,” Hayward objected with a smile, for, as the reader probably guessed, it was he. “I think for now it’s enough to tell you that we trusted an Indian guide who promised to take us along the nearest, although very remote, path. But it turned out that he didn’t know her well, and now it’s completely unclear where we ended up.

- An Indian lost in the forest? - said the hunter and shook his head doubtfully. “He got lost at a time when the sun burns the tops of the trees, and the streams are full to the brim, when the moss of every birch can tell in which direction of the sky the northern star will light up in the evening?” The forests are full of deer paths that run down either to rivers or to salt pits - in a word, to places known to everyone. In addition, the geese have not yet flown to Canadian waters. Strange, extremely strange, that the Indian should have lost his way between Horican and the bend of the river! Isn't he a Mohawk?

- No by birth, although this is a tribe

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took him in. It seems to me that his homeland is further north and he belongs to the Indians whom you call Hurons.

Until now they had been sitting motionless and, apparently, dispassionate about everything that was happening, but at that moment the Mohicans jumped up: surprise, apparently, got the better of their self-control.

- Huron? – the stern scout repeated and again, without hiding his disbelief, shook his head. – This is a treacherous, thieving tribe. A Huron remains a Huron, no matter who takes him in. By any means you will not make anything out of him, he will always remain a coward and a tramp. Once you've put yourself in the hands of one of these people, you can only be surprised that he hasn't already caused you to stumble upon a whole gang.

“There is nothing to fear, since Fort William Henry is only a few miles from us.” Besides, you have forgotten that our guide is now a Mohawk, that he serves our army and has become our friend.

“And I tell you that the one who was born a Huron will die a Huron,” Hawkeye answered confidently. - Mohawk!.. If you want to see honest people, look for them among the Mohicans or Delawares. Yes. They fight honestly, although not all of their tribe agree to go into battle, since many allowed the Macuas to turn them into weak women. But if they fight, it’s like real warriors.

- Enough about this! – Hayward remarked impatiently. “I will not here collect information about a person well known to me who is completely unknown to you.” You have not yet answered my question: how far are we from the main detachment located at Fort Edward?

– It depends on which guide will lead you. And on a horse like yours, you can cover this distance between sunrise and sunset.

“I don’t want to waste words,” said Hayward, suppressing his displeasure and continuing the conversation in a more peaceful spirit. “If you tell me how many miles are left to Fort Edward and agree to take us there, you will receive a reward for your troubles.”

“And who can guarantee that, having done this, I will not lead the enemy and Montcalm’s spy into our fortifications?” Not everyone who speaks English is an honest and loyal person.

- If you really serve as a scout, then, of course, you know the sixtieth royal regiment?

- Sixtieth? How could you not know! You won’t tell me much about the king’s American supporters that I myself wouldn’t know, although I’m not wearing a red uniform, but a hunting jacket.

- Then, then, you know the name of the major of this regiment...

- Major? - Hawkeye interrupted him and straightened up with the air of a man proud of his reputation. “If there is a person in the colonies who knows Major Effingham, then he is in front of you.”

– There is more than one major in the sixtieth regiment. Effingham is the eldest of them, and I am talking about the youngest, the one who commands the garrison of Fort William Henry.

“Yes, yes, I heard that this place was taken by some young and rich gentleman from the southern provinces.” But he is too young for such a post; he should not have entrusted the leadership of the graying people to a young officer. However, they say he knows his job very well and is very brave.

“Whoever he is, no matter what they say about him, he is now talking to you, and, of course, you should not be afraid of him.”

The scout looked at Hayward in surprise, then, taking off his hat, answered in a tone less self-confident, but still expressing doubt:

“I heard that a detachment was to march from Fort Edward to the lake this morning.

- You were told the truth. But I chose the shortest road and trusted the experience of that Indian whom I have already mentioned.

– Did he deceive you and then abandon you?

“He didn’t do either one or the other—at least not the second one, since he’s here.”

- I would like to look at this man! If he is a real Mohawk, I will recognize him by his sly look and coloring,” said the scout.

Passing by Heyward's horse and the psalmist's nag, near which a foal was already perched to suckle, he moved along the bushes and soon approached the girls, who were impatiently and with some anxiety awaiting the end of the negotiations.

Behind Cora and Alice stood an Indian runner; Leaning against a tree, he dispassionately met the scout's gaze piercing him. The Indian's face expressed such gloomy ferocity that it involuntarily inspired a feeling of fear.

Satisfied with his inspection, Hawkeye walked away from the red man, stopped for a moment, admiring the beauty of the girls, and cordially responded to Alice's smile and affectionate nod, then walked up to the psalmist's horse, which was feeding its foal, looked for a minute at its rider, trying in vain to guess who he finally shook his head and returned to Duncan.

“Ming will always remain Ming, and neither the Mohawks nor any other tribe will change him,” he said, returning to his previous place. “If you were alone and agreed to sacrifice your noble horse to the wolves, I would bring you to Fort Edward in one hour, because this fortress is only an hour’s journey from here.” But here are women for whom such a transition is impossible.

- Why? True, they are tired, but they can go a few more miles.

“Unthinkable,” the scout repeated. “After it gets dark, I wouldn’t walk a mile with this walker, even if they promised me the best gun in all the colonies.” Here, in the thicket, the Iroquois are hiding, and your Mohawk knows too well where they are hiding for me to agree to set off on the journey with him.

- Really? Hayward asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice almost to a whisper. – I admit, I also had some doubts. True, I tried to hide them and pretended to be calm, but I did this only to calm my companions. That is why I did not allow the Indian to go forward, but made him follow us.

“It’s clear at first glance that he’s a deceiver,” said the hunter, touching his nose with his finger as a sign of warning. “That thieving Ming over there is leaning against the trunk of a young maple tree, there, behind the bushes, the swindler’s right leg is in line with the trunk...” Hawkeye pointedly touched his gun. “I could hit him between the ankle and the knee, and then he would be unable to move for at least a month.” I can’t get closer: the cunning creature will suspect me and rush into the bushes like a frightened deer.

- No, no, that won't do. Maybe he's not guilty of anything, and I don't want you to hurt him. Although if I were completely sure that he was a traitor...

- Well, there is no doubt about it: the Iroquois is always ready to change and deceive. - Saying this, Hawkeye raised his gun and pointed the muzzle at Magua.

“Wait,” Duncan stopped him, “don’t shoot.” Think of some other way to get rid of him, although I have reason to believe that the scoundrel has deceived me.

Hawkeye abandoned his intention to shoot the Indian runner in the leg; He thought for a moment, then made a sign with his hand to his Mohican friends, who immediately approached him. All three spoke in a low voice in the Delaware dialect. With a serious expression, they were quietly and intently conferring about something. Judging by the movements of the hands of the white hunter, who often pointed towards a young tree rising above the bushes, he was obviously talking about

Page 9 of 10

traitor.

His comrades soon realized what he expected from them, and, putting down their guns, disappeared into the thicket. One went right, the other went left. They glided through the bushes completely silently.

“Now return to your companions,” Hawkeye said, turning to the major, “and talk to the Indian.” The Mohicans will grab him without even spoiling his coloring.

“No,” Duncan answered proudly, “I want to grab him myself.”

- Well, tell me, what will you do, sitting on a horse, when your opponent turns out to be an Indian sliding among the bushes?

- I'll get off my horse.

- Do you think that, seeing how you free one leg from the stirrup, he will patiently stand and wait until you jump to the ground? Anyone who enters these forests and intends to deal with the natives must adopt the customs of the Indians if he wants good luck... So, go ahead! Talk to this villain and pretend that you consider him a true friend.

Hayward agreed to comply, feeling a strong disgust for the task he was about to perform. However, with every minute, his awareness of the danger hanging over his companions because of their gullibility grew stronger. The sun had set, and the thickening shadows gave the forest a gloomy look. The outlines of the trees became blurred, and the darkness clearly reminded Duncan that the hours were approaching in which the savages committed their bloodiest deeds - acts of revenge or enmity. These concerns caused Hayward to part ways with Hawkeye. The scout immediately struck up a very animated and loud conversation with the singer, who had so unceremoniously joined the little company that morning. Driving past the girls, Duncan gave them a few encouraging words and was pleased to note that they were cheerful, despite their fatigue, and that the stop did not alarm them. Having told Cora and Alice that he needed to speak with the Indian about the way ahead, Heyward spurred his horse and pulled the reins again when the noble animal found himself within a few yards of Magua, who was still standing near the tree.

“Now, Magua, you see for yourself,” began Heyward, trying to speak in a calm and friendly tone, “night is coming, and it’s no closer to Fort William Henry than it was when we left General Webb’s camp at sunrise.” You lost your way, and I made a mistake too. Fortunately, we came across a hunter - do you hear him talking to the singer? - with a hunter who knows well all the deer paths, all the paths of the deep forest and promises to take us to a place where we will rest in safety until the next morning.

The Indian's brilliant eyes fixed on Heyward's face, and he asked in broken English:

- Is he alone?

- One? – Duncan repeated with slight hesitation, barely forcing himself to tell a lie. - Oh, not completely alone, Magua: after all, we are with him, his companions!

“In that case, the Sly Fox leaves,” said the Indian and coolly picked up his bag from the ground. “Only the people of their tribe will remain with the pale-faced ones.”

– The Sly Fox is leaving? But who do you call the Sly Fox, Magua?

“This name was given to Magua by his Canadian fathers,” answered the walker, and it was clear from his face that he was proud of the nickname given to him. - For the Sly Fox, when Munro is waiting for him, night is equal to day.

– What will the Fox say to the commander of Fort William Henry when the old man asks him about his daughters? Will he dare to explain to the boss that his daughters were left without a guide, although Magua promised to protect them?

- True, the gray-haired chief has a loud voice and long arms, but in the depths of the forests the Fox will not hear his cry and will not feel his blows.

– What will the people of your tribe say? They will sew a woman's dress for the Fox and order him to sit in the wigwam with the women, since he can no longer be trusted with the affairs of courageous warriors.

“The cunning Fox knows the way to the Great Lakes, he will be able to find the ashes of his fathers,” came the Indian’s adamant answer.

- Enough, Magua, enough! Hayward said. “Aren’t you and I friends?” Why do we need to say cruel and bitter words to each other? Munro promised to reward you when you fulfilled your promise. I am indebted to you too. So, lie down, rest your tired body, open your bag and eat. We'll stay here for a while. Let’s not waste short moments of pause and argue like quarrelsome women. When the riders have rested, we will set off again.

“The pale-faces turn themselves into submissive dogs of white women,” muttered the Indian in his dialect. “When the women are hungry, the white warriors throw down their tomahawks to grant the sloths their wish.”

- What are you saying, Fox?

- The Sly Fox says: “Okay.”

The Indian's penetrating gaze was riveted on the major's face, but when Hayward glanced at Magua, the walker quickly averted his eyes to the side, sat down on the ground, carefully and slowly looked around and finally took out the remains of food supplies from his bag.

- Great! - said Duncan. “Food will give the Sly Fox strength, sharpen his vision, and he will find the path in the morning.” - Duncan fell silent for a moment, hearing the crack of a broken dry branch and the rustling of leaves in the neighboring bushes, but, quickly gaining control of himself, he continued: - We need to move before sunrise, otherwise we will probably meet Montcalm and he will cut off our path to the fortress.

Magua's raised hand froze, and although his eyes did not leave the ground, he turned his head; his nostrils flared, and even his ears seemed to stretch out, giving him the appearance of a statue, depicting intense attention.

Hayward watched his every movement and with feigned nonchalance removed one foot from the stirrup and placed his hand on the bearskin case that hid the pistols.

Magua's eyes did not stop for a moment on any one particular object, although his face was motionless.

The major did not know what to decide. Meanwhile, the Fox rose to his feet, but so slowly and carefully that not the slightest rustle was heard. Hayward felt he had to take action; he threw his leg over the saddle and jumped off the horse, determined to capture the traitor, relying on his own strength and courage for everything else.

However, not wanting to unnecessarily frighten his companions, the major still tried to maintain external calm and spoke friendly to Magua.

“The Sly Fox doesn’t eat,” he said, calling the Indian by a name that apparently seemed especially flattering to him. Are his grains undercooked and hard? Let me see - maybe there’s something in my stock that suits his tastes.

Magua handed the major his bag, apparently wanting to take advantage of the officer's offer. Their hands met; at the same time, the Indian did not show the slightest embarrassment, and his intense attention did not weaken for a moment. But when he felt Hayward's fingers quietly sliding along his bare elbow, he threw away the major's hand, screamed shrilly, dodged and disappeared into the thicket. The next second, the figure of Chingachgook appeared from behind the bushes, whose coloring gave the Indian the appearance of a skeleton. The Mohican rushed after the walker. The screams of Uncas were heard. The forest lit up with a flash, followed by the sound of a hunter's gun.

On a night like this

Thisbe walked timidly through the dew

And, fearing not the lion, but the lion's shadow,

She ran in horror...

Shakespeare. "The Merchant of Venice"

The sudden flight of the Indian guide, his wild screams

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the pursuers, the noise and the confusion all combined to stun Hayward; for a moment he was dumbfounded, then, remembering the need to capture the fugitive, he rushed into the bushes bordering the small clearing and ran into the forest to help his pursuers. However, a hundred yards later he encountered the hunter and his two friends, who were returning without having caught the fugitive.

- Why did you despair so quickly? – Duncan asked them. “Of course, this swindler is hiding somewhere in the thicket, and he can be caught.” As long as he's free, we're in danger.

-Can a cloud catch up with the wind? - Hawkeye answered. “I heard this demon rustling in the dry leaves, crawling like a black snake. I saw him behind that pine tree and fired a bullet at him... Where there! Meanwhile, I aimed well and I can say that I am a master in these matters. Look at that tree. Its leaves are red. But everyone knows that in June it blooms yellow!

– This is the Fox’s blood, he is wounded. And maybe it will fall again.

- No no! – the hunter resolutely objected. “I just hit him and he ran away.” A rifle bullet, which only slightly scratches, is the same as spurs: it makes you run faster, reviving the body, instead of taking life.

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Notes

Poetic epigraphs translated by R. S. Sefa.

A union of six tribes - the Mohawks, Oneidas, Senecas, Cayugas, Onondagas and Tuscaroras, related tribes that were at enmity with the Lenape tribes (Mohicans and Delawares). These six tribes went by different nicknames. They were often called Macuas, Mings, or Iroquois.

The Narragansett is a very hardy horse.

Handel Georg Friedrich (1685–1759) – German composer.

Mississippi.

A ceremonial ceremony marking the end of the war.

Sagamore (literally: wise, mighty) is an honorary title for the elders of the tribe.

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