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 cycle of novels from American life. He was one of the first to describe the life of American native Indians involved in military conflicts of European civilization, their colorful customs and mores. His most famous novel - "The Last of the Mohicans" - tells about the events of the French and Indian War, about the fearless Indians, about their selfless struggle and heroic death under the onslaught of "civilization".

James Fenimore Cooper

THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS

I'm ready to know the worst

And the terrible thing that you could bring to me,

Ready to hear the bad news.

Answer quickly - did the kingdom perish ?!

Shakespeare

Perhaps, throughout the vast stretch of frontier 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 area lying at the headwaters of the Hudson and near the neighboring lakes. This area provided such conveniences for the movement of troops that they could not be neglected.

The waters of Champlain stretched from Canada and deep into the New York colony; consequently, Lake Champlain served as the most convenient way 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 Horiken, the Holy Lake, merge with it.

The holy lake meanders between countless islets, and is crowded by low coastal mountains. In bends it stretches far to the south, where it rests on a plateau. From this point began the many miles of portage, which led the traveler to the banks of the Hudson; here navigation along the river became convenient, since the current was free from rapids.

In carrying out their military plans, the French tried to penetrate into the most remote and inaccessible gorges of the Allegheny Mountains and turned their 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 solve the issue of possession of colonies.

Here, in the most important places, towering over the surrounding roads, fortresses grew; they were seized first by one, then the other hostile 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 went deep into virgin forests. Few returned from there, exhausted by hardships and hardships, discouraged by failures.

Although this restless 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, then the screams of many, many carefree young brave men who, in the prime of life, hastened here to sink into the deep sleep of a long night of oblivion.

It was in this arena of bloody wars that the events that we will try to tell about unfolded. Our narrative dates back to the third year of the war between France and England, fighting for power over a country that was not destined to be held in their hands by either side.

The dullness of the generals abroad, and the pernicious inactivity of the councilors at court, have robbed Great Britain of that proud prestige which had been won for her by the talent and courage of her former warriors and statesmen. The British troops were defeated by a handful of French and Indians; this unexpected defeat left much of the frontier unguarded. And now, after real disasters, many imaginary, imaginary dangers have grown. In every gust of wind that wafted from the boundless forests, the frightened settlers seemed to have wild cries and the ominous howl of the Indians.

Under the influence of fear, the danger assumed unprecedented proportions; common sense could not fight the troubled imagination. Even the most daring, self-confident and energetic began to doubt the favorable outcome of the struggle. The number of cowardly and cowardly 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 be devastated by the Indian tribes - the allies of France.

Therefore, when news came to the English fortress, which towered 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 the soldier is like leaves in the forest,” terrible the message was received with cowardly resignation rather than with the stern satisfaction that a warrior should feel when he finds an enemy near him. The news of Montcalm's advance came at the height of summer; it was brought by an Indian at the hour when the day was already drawing to a close. Together with the terrible news, the messenger conveyed to the camp commander the request of 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 the inhabitant of the forests covered for two hours, a military detachment, with its wagon train, could cover between sunrise and sunset. Loyal supporters of the English crown named one of these fortifications Fort William Henry, and the other Fort Edward, after the princes of the royal family. Munro, a veteran Scot, 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 deal with the advancing forces of Montcalm.

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

However, frightened by failures, the English generals and their subordinates preferred to wait in their fortress for the approach of a formidable enemy, not risking going out to meet Montcalm in order to surpass the successful performance of the French at Fort Duquesne, give the enemy a 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 hundred and fifty hundred selected detachment should move at dawn from the fortress to Fort William Henry. This rumor was soon confirmed; learned that several detachments received orders to hastily prepare for the campaign. All doubts about Webb's intentions dissipated, and for two or three hours hurried running was heard in the camp, anxious faces flickered. The recruit anxiously scurried back and forth, fussed and with his excessive zeal only slowed down the preparations for the performance; an experienced veteran was fully armed

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

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

According to the order given the evening before, the deep sleep of the soldiers was disturbed by the deafening roar of drums, and a rolling echo carried far in the damp morning air, resoundingly resounding in every corner of the forest; day was breaking, the cloudless sky was brightening in the east, and the outlines of tall, shaggy pines stood out more distinctly and sharper in it. A minute later life began to boil in the camp; even the most negligent soldier rose to his feet to see the detachment march and, together with his comrades, to experience the excitement of this moment. The simple gathering of the acting detachment soon ended. The soldiers lined up in battle groups. Royal mercenaries flaunted on the right flank; the more modest volunteers, from among the settlers, dutifully took their places on the left.

The scouts came out. A strong convoy escorted the wagons of camping equipment, and before the first rays of the sun broke through the gray morning, the column set off. Leaving the camp, the column had a formidable, warlike appearance; this view was supposed to drown out the vague fears of many recruits who were to endure the first tests in battle. The soldiers walked past their admiring comrades with a proud and belligerent expression. But gradually the sounds of military music began to fall silent in the distance and finally died away completely. The forest closed, hiding the detachment from view. Now the wind did not carry even the loudest, piercing sounds to those who remained in the camp, the last warrior disappeared into the forest thicket.

Nevertheless, judging by what was being done in front of the largest and most comfortable of the officers' barracks, someone else was preparing to move. Several beautifully saddled horses stood in front of Webb's cabin; two of them were apparently intended for women of high rank, who were not often seen in these forests. In the saddle of the third officer's pistols flaunted. 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, quite ready to leave, were apparently only waiting for the order of the chief to jump into the saddle. Groups of idle spectators stood at a respectful distance: some of them admired the pure breed of an officer's horse, others followed the preparations for departure with dull curiosity.

However, among the spectators there was one person whose manner and bearing distinguished him from the rest. His figure was not ugly, but meanwhile it seemed utterly awkward. When this man stood, he was taller than the rest of the people, but when sitting, he seemed no larger than his fellows. His head was too large, his shoulders too narrow, his arms long, clumsy, with small, graceful hands. The thinness of his unusually long legs reached the extreme, his knees were excessively thick. The strange, even ridiculous costume of the eccentric emphasized the absurdity of his figure. The low collar of the sky-blue camisole did not at all cover his long, thin neck, the short skirts of the caftan allowed scoffers to make fun of his thin, long legs. The tight yellow nanke trousers came up to the knees, where they were cinched by large white bows, frayed and dirty. Gray stockings and boots completed the costume of the clumsy figure. On one of the crank's shoes was a spur of applied silver. From the voluminous pocket of his waistcoat, heavily soiled and adorned with blackened silver galloons, peeped out an unknown instrument, which in this military environment could be mistaken for some mysterious and incomprehensible weapon of war. A high triangular hat, like those worn by parsons thirty years ago, crowned the head of an eccentric and gave a respectable air 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 stepped boldly into the crowd of the general's servants. The strange man looked at the horses without hesitation, praised some, scolded others.

“This horse is not home-grown, it was probably ordered from abroad ... maybe even from an island lying far, far away, beyond the blue seas,” he said in a voice that struck with its harmonious softness, just as it surprised his whole figure with unusual proportions. - I will say without boasting: I can safely talk about such things. After all, I have visited both harbors: the one that is located at the mouth of the Thames and is called after the capital of old England, and the one that is simply called New Haven - New Harbor. I saw how the 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 bartered. But I have never seen such a horse. How does it say in the Bible? “He impatiently digs the earth of the valley with his hooves and rejoices in his strength; he rushes towards the soldiers. Among the sounds of the trumpets, he exclaims: “Ha, xa!” He smells the battle from afar and hears the war cry. It's ancient blood, isn't it, friend?

Having received no answer to his so unusual appeal, which was expressed with such fullness and force 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 eyes of the eccentric. He fixed his eyes with surprise on the motionless, straight and slender figure of the Indian walker, 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 that reigned around him, the features of his calm face at the same time expressed a gloomy ferocity that would certainly have attracted the attention of a more experienced observer than one who looked at him now with undisguised surprise. The Indian was armed with a tomahawk and a knife, but meanwhile he did not look like a real warrior. On the contrary, in his whole appearance there was a negligence, which, perhaps, was due to some great recent stress, from which he had not yet had time to recover. On the stern face of the native, the military coloration was blurred, and this made his dark features involuntarily look even more wild and repulsive than in the skillful patterns induced to intimidate enemies. Only his eyes, sparkling like bright stars between clouds, burned with wild malice. Only for a single moment did the fast gloomy look of the runner catch the astonished expression of the observer's eyes and immediately, partly out of cunning, partly out of disdain, turned in the other direction, somewhere far, far away into space.

Suddenly the servants began to fuss, gentle women's voices were heard, and all this announced the approach of those who were expected to move the whole cavalcade on their way. The man who had been admiring the officer's horse suddenly retreated to his own short, thin horse with a tied tail,

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which nibbled dry grass; with one elbow he leaned on the woolen blanket that served as his saddle, and began to watch the departing. At this time, a colt approached his horse 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, prepared for an exhausting journey through the forests.

Suddenly the wind threw back the 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 appeared a dazzling white face, golden hair, brilliant blue eyes. The delicate colors of the sky, still spilling over the pines, 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 bestowed on the young man who helped her into the saddle.

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

As soon as the girls got on the horses, the young man easily jumped into the saddle. All three bowed to General Webb, who had come out on the porch to see the travelers off, turned their horses, and set off at a light trot towards the north exit of the camp. Several of the lower ranks rode after them. While the riders crossed the space separating them from the main road, none of them uttered a word, only the youngest of the horsemen gave a little cry when an Indian walker unexpectedly slipped past her and fast easy tread along the military road. The eldest of the sisters did not utter a sound when the Indian walker appeared. In surprise, she released the folds of her veil and her face was revealed. Regret, admiration and horror flickered in her features. This girl's hair was the color of a raven's wing. Her untanned face showed bright colors, although there was not the slightest hint of vulgarity in it. Her features were distinguished by subtlety, nobility and striking beauty. As if regretting her forgetfulness, she smiled, a set of even teeth flashing, the whiteness of which could rival the best ivory.

Then, adjusting 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 beside her:

“Tell me, Duncan, are such ghosts often found in the local 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 walker is with our detachment and, according to the concepts of his tribe, a hero,” said the young officer. “He volunteered to lead us to the lake along a little-known path, which greatly shortens the path. Thanks to this, we will arrive at the place sooner than following our squad.

“I don’t like him,” the girl replied, and she pretended to flinch, although she was really scared. "Do you know him well, Duncan?" Because otherwise you certainly 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. They say that Magua is a native of Canada, and yet he serves our friends the Mohawks, who, as you know, belong to the six allied tribes. I was told that he came here by some strange accident that had something to do with your father. It seems that the general dealt cruelly with this Indian ... 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, alarmed in earnest. “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 speak to him, it will probably lead nowhere,” Hayward said. - He will answer me with some monosyllabic exclamation. It seems to me that Magua understands English, but pretends not to know our language. In addition, he is unlikely to want to talk to me now, when wartime requires him to sacredly observe the dignity of a warrior ... But look, our guide has stopped. Obviously, here begins the path, which we will have to turn.

Duncan was right. When the horsemen rode up to the Indian, who stood motionless, pointing to the thicket of bushes that bordered the military road, they made out a path so narrow that it could only be traveled in single file.

“We should turn onto this path,” Hayward said in a whisper. “Do not express any fear, otherwise you will bring upon yourself the very danger that you fear.

“Cora, don’t you think it’s safer to ride with the squad?” Alice, golden-haired, asked her sister. “Though it would be more tiring…”

“Alice, you do not know well the customs and habits of savages, and therefore do not understand in what cases you should be afraid,” Hayward objected. “If the enemy had already reached the portage, which is absolutely unbelievable, since our scouts would have reported this to us, he would obviously have surrounded our detachment, hoping to get more scalps. The path of the detachment is known to all, 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 like ours, and his complexion is darker than the skin of whites? Cora asked coldly.

Alice ceased to hesitate; she lashed her narraganzet with her whip, parted the branches first, and rode after the walker along a dark, narrow forest path. Hayward gazed admiringly at Cora; he did not even notice that her blond companion went deep into the thicket alone. The servants, in obedience to the order received in advance, did not follow them, but moved in pursuit of 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 of the 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 became more comfortable; the walker, noticing that the young riders now had better control of their horses, quickened his pace, and Cora and Alice had to amble the Narragansets. Hayward turned around to say something to the black-eyed Cora, but at that moment there was a distant sound of hooves pounding on the roots of the path. This made the young man stop his horse. Cora and Alice also pulled on the reins. All three wanted to know what was the matter.

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for a few moments they saw a foal, which, like a deer, rushed between the trunks of pines; it was followed by the ungainly figure we have described in the previous chapter. The lumbering stranger was advancing as fast as his skinny horse was capable of. Until now, this figure has 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 foot, but he only managed to get her hind legs to go at a light gallop, while the forelegs made some kind of indefinite, constantly changing movements, like a lame lynx. The frequent change from trot to canter 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 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. At each step of the horse, the stranger rose in the stirrups and, either straightening too much, or bending his legs excessively, suddenly grew, 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 her shaggy tail constantly indicated which side was suffering from the spur, we complete the image of the nare and its rider.

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

Do you want to see any of us? Duncan asked as the strange rider rode up and held the horse back. “I hope you didn’t bring us bad news?”

“Exactly,” replied the stranger, waving his three-cornered hat to set in motion the stifling forest air, and leaving the listeners to decide which part of the question his remark referred to. However, after refreshing his flushed face and recovering his breath, the eccentric added: - They say you are going to Fort William Henry. I am going the same way, and therefore I decided that it would be a pleasure for all of us to make this move in pleasant company.

“You seem to have arrogated to yourself the right to vote,” said Hayward. “But there are three of us, and you consulted with only one of yourselves.

- That's it. The most important thing is to know your own desires, and when this is already known, then it remains only 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 haughtily. “The main road is at least half a mile behind you.

“Exactly,” replied the strange rider, not in the least 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 was dumb and dumb and would die for my chosen profession. He chuckled slightly, as if modesty prevented him from openly admiring his wit, which was completely incomprehensible to his listeners, and then continued: “It is imprudent on the part of a man of my profession to be too casual with people whom he should teach; that's the reason why I didn't follow the squad. Besides, I think that a gentleman like you is, of course, the best person to guide travelers. This consideration made me join your society. And finally, with you it will be more fun for me to go: we can talk.

What an arbitrary and thoughtless decision! exclaimed Hayward, unsure whether to show his irritation or burst out laughing in the stranger's face. “But you talk about teachings and about 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 always draw straight lines and angles, saying they're doing math?

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

- I hope there are no accusations; I do not think about protection, because, by the grace of God, I have not committed any great sin. I completely misunderstood your allusion to lines and angles; I leave the work 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 doxology.

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

“Do you really think, Alice, that I would dare to lead those whom I love along this unfamiliar path, if I could suppose that some danger awaits us?”

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

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

Alice beckoned the stranger to her side and started her Narraganzeet at a light amble.

“I'm glad I met you, my friend. Biased relatives say that I'm not bad at duets, she said jokingly. “Then we could brighten up the trip by indulging in our favorite art.” Besides, it would be nice to hear the maestro's opinion about my voice.

“Indeed, psalmody refreshes both the spirit and the body,” answered the stranger, riding closer to Alice, “and, of course, like nothing else in the world, it calms the agitated soul. However, four voices are needed for complete harmony. You obviously have a pleasant, rich soprano voice; I, with a certain effort, can take 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.

“Do not 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 the sweet tenor than to the bass that you heard.

– How much did he practice the art of psalmody? asked Alice her ingenuous interlocutor.

Alice was inclined to laugh, but she managed to suppress a fit of amusement, and she answered:

“It seems to me that Hayward prefers secular songs. The conditions of a soldier's life are not conducive to sedate occupations.

- A harmonious voice, like all other talents, is given to a person so that he uses it for the benefit of his neighbors and does not abuse it. No one can reproach 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 poetic works, so the melodies to which they are set are superior to all secular songs. Wherever I stay, in whatever countries I travel, neither during sleep, nor during 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 in English verse 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 spectacles on his nose, opened the volume with the care and reverence required in dealing with sacred objects. Then, without further reasoning or explanation, he put some strange instrument into his mouth. There was a piercing, high-pitched sound. Following this, the psalmist took a note an octave lower with his voice and finally sang. Tender, melodious sounds rushed; not even the restless movement of the horse prevented the singing.

Oh, how gratifying it is -

Live in brotherhood and work,

Like incense

Flowing through the beard!

The psalmist always beat the time with his right hand. Lowering it, he lightly touched the pages of the book; lifting it, 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:

“There does not seem to be any danger now, but still, for the sake of simple caution, we should ride quietly. I will have to deprive you of your pleasure, Alice, and beg this gentleman to postpone singing until a more favorable time.

“Indeed, you deprive me of great pleasure,” the girl answered with a sly smile. “Indeed, I have never heard such meaningless words sung so admirably! 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 thunderous bass?” said Hayward, slightly offended by her words. - I know only one thing: that I value the safety of yours and Cora incomparably more than all the music of Handel.

The young officer fell silent and looked towards the thicket, then sideways and suspiciously looked at Magua, who was walking as calmly and imperturbably as before. Seeing this, the young man smiled, making fun of his own worries: hadn't he just mistaken the glare of light on some brilliant wild berries for the burning pupils of an Indian hiding in the foliage! Now the major rode calmly, continuing his conversation, interrupted by apprehensions flashing through his mind.

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

As soon as the companions had gone a few steps, the branches of the bushes parted cautiously and silently and a fierce face in menacing war paint looked out of them.

An evil triumph illuminated the dark features of the forest dweller, who followed the gaze of the small carefree detachment. Light and graceful riders now disappeared, then appeared among the branches; behind them came the brave major on his excellent horse, and behind them all the clumsy psalmist. Finally, his figure disappeared among the dark trunks of the dense forest.

And before here the carpet was full of colors

Cultivated and fat fields.

A dense forest stood like a wall,

And stormy rivers thundered overflow,

And the stream rushed, and the stream sang,

And the fountain beat in the shade of the branches.

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

On this day, two men were sitting on the bank of a small but very fast stream, which flowed at a distance of one hour's journey from Webb's camp. Apparently, they were waiting for the appearance of some person or the beginning of some events. The mighty wall of the forest reached the very bank of the river; branches of dense trees hung down to the water, casting a dark shadow over 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 in a light haze. The unbreakable silence that reigned in this corner of the forest was interrupted at times by the lazy tapping of a woodpecker, the sharp cry of a motley jay, or the muffled monotonous rumble of a distant waterfall carried by the wind.

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

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

Everything about this warrior—broad chest, fine physique, and proud posture—proved that he had reached his full prime, but had not yet begun to approach old age.

Judging by the figure of the white man, it could be said that from his earliest youth he was acquainted with hardships and hardships. He was muscular, thin rather than fat, and every tense nerve and steely muscle of his body showed that this man's life was incessantly at risk and passed in hard work; his clothes consisted of a green hunting shirt, bordered with yellow fringe; a summer leather hat covered his head.

There was a knife sticking out of the hunter's belt, but he didn't have a tomahawk. According to the custom of the redskins, his moccasins were decorated with colorful trim, leather trousers were laced up at the sides, and above the knees they were tied with deer sinews. A leather bag and a gunpowder horn completed his equipment; near the trunk of a nearby tree stood his very long gun. In the small eyes of this hunter or scout, liveliness, insight and intelligence shone. During the conversation, he looked around, either looking for game, or fearing some hidden attack. Despite his usual suspicion, his face seemed not only unsophisticated, but at the moment in question, it was full of impeccable honesty.

“The lore of your tribe, Chingachgook, says I am right,” he said.

The conversation was conducted in that dialect, which 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 a large river, fought with local residents and took possession of their lands. My ancestors came from the red dawn, swam across the Salt Lake and did the same as your ancestors. Let's not argue about it and waste words.

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

“Nature gave the Indian red skin, but he has a mind,” said the white man, shaking his head, as if a man for whom this call for justice was not in vain. For a moment it seemed that only a feeble proof came to his mind, but then, gathering his thoughts, he answered his opponent's objection in the best way that his meager knowledge allowed him. - I am an unlearned person and 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 keen eye of an Indian.

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

“I have no passions, I do not boast of the advantages of my birth, although my worst enemy, the makuas, will not dare to deny that I am a pure-blooded white,” the hunter replied, looking at his darkened, sinewy, bony hand with secret satisfaction. “But I readily confess that I disapprove of many, many things that my compatriots have done. One of the customs of these people is to record in books everything they have seen or done, instead of telling everything in the settlements, where every lie of a cowardly braggart will immediately be discovered, and a brave soldier can call his own comrades to witness his own truthful words. And therefore, many will not know anything about the real deeds of their fathers and will not try to surpass them. As for me, I have an innate ability in handling a gun, and this is probably passed down from generation to generation, for, as our sacred precepts say, good and bad are inherited. However, I would not like to answer for others. Every 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 a lie!” 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 moved unceasingly to the great river. Here we entered into a fight with the Alliges and fought until the earth turned red from their blood. From the banks of the great river to the Salt Lake, we did not meet anyone, only the Makuas watched us from a distance. We said that this whole region is ours. We courageously conquered this land and guarded it like strong and courageous men. We drove the Makuas into the forests full of bears, and they extracted salt for themselves only from the pits of dry salt springs. These dogs didn't catch a single fish from the Great Lake, and we threw them nothing but bones...

“I have already heard about all this and believe everything,” said the white hunter, seeing that the Indian was silent. “But everything you talk about happened long before the time when the British came.

- Then pines grew where chestnuts now rise. The first pale-faced people who came to us did not speak English. They sailed in a big pie. It happened in the days when my fathers, along 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, the air gave us birds. We had wives who brought us children. We worshiped the Great Spirit, and the Makuas were afraid of our victorious songs...

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

- My tribe is the great-grandfather of the 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 so forever. The Dutch landed on our shores. The Whites gave my forefathers fiery water; 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 thought they had finally seen the Great Spirit. Then my fathers had to leave their homeland. Step by step they were pushed back 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 trees and can never approach the graves of my forefathers.

“Graves inspire awe,” remarked the interlocutor of the Indian, touched by the noble and restrained sadness of Chingachgook, “and they often help a person in his good undertakings; it is true, as far as I am concerned, I would like my bones to be left white in the woods, or to be torn apart by wolves. But tell me, where do the representatives of your kind live, the descendants of people who came to Delaware land many springs ago?

- Tell me, where did they disappear, where did the flowers of summer days that flew away long ago disappear? They fell, crumbled. So my whole family perished: all the Mohicans, one by one, went 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 also leaves after me, then the blood of the sagamors will be exhausted: after all, my son is the last of the Mohicans!

“Uncas is here,” said a soft young voice. Who mentioned Uncas?

The white hunter hurriedly drew his knife from its sheath and involuntarily reached for his gun. Chingachgook, hearing the voice, remained calmly sitting and did not even turn his head.

The next moment a young Indian appeared; with soundless steps he slipped between the two friends and sat down on the bank of the swift stream. The Indian father did not express his surprise with a single sound. For many minutes there were no questions or answers; each seemed to be waiting for an opportune moment to break the silence without displaying the curiosity of a woman or the impatience of a child.

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

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

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

- I followed the prints of their feet, - answered the young Indian, - I found out 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 crooks are hiding in the thicket and are waiting for a convenient moment to get scalps and rob someone,” said Hawkeye. - This Frenchman Montcalm, of course, sent his spies to the camp of the British - at all costs to find out which road ours are moving on.

- Enough! said the older Indian, looking towards the setting sun. “We’ll drive them out of the bushes like deer… Hawkeye, we’ll have a bite tonight, and tomorrow we’ll show the Makuas 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, there he is, right there! Look, there is the largest deer I have seen this summer! Do you see him wandering in the bushes below?.. Listen, Uncas,' continued the scout, lowering his voice to a whisper and laughing with the soundless laughter of a man accustomed to caution, 'I'm ready to bet three scoops of gunpowder against one pound of tobacco that will fall between his eyes. , and closer to the right than to the left.

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

"He's still a boy," said Hawkeye with a chuckle, turning to the old Indian. “He thinks that by seeing a part of an animal, the hunter is unable to determine where his whole body should be.

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

“Are you sure you want to fight the Makuas, Hawkeye?”

“Those 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 a deer with an arrow, otherwise, perhaps, we will really bring down the animal for these Iroquois thieves.

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

"It's done with the dexterity of an Indian," said Hawkeye approvingly, laughing silently. - It was nice to watch! But still, the arrow is good only at close range, and it needs a knife to help it.

- Wu-u-uh! - said his interlocutor and quickly turned around, like a dog smelling game.

“I swear to God, it looks like a whole herd is coming here!” said Hawkeye, and his eyes gleamed. - If the deer come within a distance of a rifle shot, I will still put a bullet or two into them, even if the entire alliance of six tribes hears the roar of a gun! What do you hear, Chingachgook? To my ears, the forest thickets are silent.

“There is only one deer close by, and that one has been killed,” said the Indian, and leaned so low that his ear almost touched the ground. But I can hear footsteps.

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

- No. The horses of the whites are approaching, ”Chingachgook answered, proudly straightening up and returning to his previous posture. “Hawkeye, these are your brothers. Talk to them.

- Fine. I will address them in such English that the English king himself would not be ashamed to answer me, ”said the hunter in the language of which he was proud to know. “But I don’t see or hear anything: neither the steps of animals, nor the tramp of human feet. Aha! Here is the crackling of dry brushwood! Now I can hear the bushes rustling. Yes, yes, 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 before

What offense I will not avenge.

Shakespeare. "A dream in a summer night"

As soon as the hunter fell silent, the first rider of a small detachment appeared. It was his steps that caught the alert ear of the Indian.

Through the clearing ran one of those winding paths that deer tread on their way to a watering hole; it rested against the river near the place where the white hunter and his red-skinned comrades were resting. Travelers moved slowly 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 by accident raising his gun with his left hand and putting his right index finger to 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 rider who rode ahead of the others. “Since sunrise we have been riding in the shade of this forest, and weary of weariness, hunger, and difficult journey.

“You must be lost,” Hawkeye interrupted, “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 the Royal Fort William Henry?

- ABOUT! exclaimed the white hunter and burst out laughing, but quickly suppressed his incautious loud laughter, fearing to attract the attention of enemies. “You have lost your way, as a dog loses the trail 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'd better ride down the river to Fort Edward and tell what you need to Webb, who hid in this fortress, instead of breaking into the gorges and driving the impudent Frenchman into his lair for Champlain.

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

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

“So you lost your sight first, and then you got lost, because the road through the portage, at least two fathoms wide, is more spacious, perhaps, 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 him. “I think it will suffice for the present moment to tell you that we trusted our Indian guide, who promised to lead us along the nearest, though very remote, path. But it turned out that he did not know her well, and now it is completely incomprehensible where we found ourselves.

“An Indian lost in the woods?” said the hunter, shaking his head doubtfully. “Did he get 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 side of the sky the northern star will light up in the evening?” The forests are full of deer trails that run either to rivers or to salt pits - in a word, to places known to everyone. Besides, the geese have not yet flown to Canadian waters. Strange, exceedingly strange, that an Indian should go astray between Horican and the bend in the river! Isn't he a mohawk?

- Not by birth, although this tribe

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

Until now they had been sitting motionless and, apparently, dispassionately related to everything that was happening, but at that moment the Mohicans jumped up: surprise, apparently, got the better of their restraint.

– Huron? repeated the stern scout, and again, without concealing disbelief, shook his head. “They are a treacherous, thieving tribe. A Huron remains a Huron, whoever takes him in. By no means can you make anything out of him, he will always remain a coward and a vagabond. Once you have put yourself in the hands of one of these people, you can only be surprised that he has not yet made you stumble upon a whole gang.

“There is nothing to be afraid of, since Fort William Henry is only a few miles away. Besides, you forgot that our guide is now a Mohawk, that he serves in our army and has become our friend.

“But I tell you that whoever is born a Huron, a Huron will die,” Hawkeye replied confidently. - Mohawk! .. If you want to see honest people, look for them among the Mohicans or the Delawares. Yes. They fight fairly, although not all of their tribe agree to go into battle, as many have allowed the Makuas to turn themselves into weak women. But if they fight, then like real warriors.

- Enough about that! said Hayward impatiently. – I will not collect information here about a person who is well known to me and 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,” Hayward said, suppressing his displeasure and continuing the conversation in a more peaceful spirit. “If you can tell me how many miles we have to Fort Edward and agree to escort us there, you will be rewarded for our efforts.

“And who will guarantee that, having done this, I will not escort the enemy and the spy Montcalm to our fortifications?” Not everyone who speaks English is an honest and faithful person.

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

- Sixty? How not to know! There is not much you will tell me about the American supporters of the king that I myself would not know, although I am not wearing a red uniform, but a hunting coat.

“Then, then, you know the name of the major of this regiment…”

- Major? interrupted Hawkeye, and straightened up with the air of a man proud of his reputation. “Well, if there is a man 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 oldest of them, and I'm 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, it was not necessary to entrust the leadership of the graying people to a young officer. However, they say he knows his business very well and is very brave.

“Whoever he is, whatever 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 with surprise, then, taking off his hat, answered in a tone less self-confident, but still expressing doubt:

“I heard that a troop was due to leave Fort Edward this morning for the lake.

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

“Did he cheat on you and then leave you?”

“He did neither, at least not the other, since he is here.

“I wish I could see this man!” If he is a real mohawk, I will recognize him by his sly look and coloring,” said the scout.

Passing by Hayward's horse and the psalmist's horse, near which a foal was already perched to suckle milk, he moved along the bushes and soon approached the girls, who were impatiently and somewhat anxiously awaiting the end of the negotiations.

Behind Cora and Alice stood an Indian walker; leaning against a tree, he impassively met the scout's gaze fixed on him. The face of the Indian expressed such gloomy ferocity that it involuntarily inspired a feeling of fear.

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

“The Ming will always remain a Ming, and neither the Mohawks nor any other tribe will change it,” he said, returning to his original 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 away from here. But with you 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 dark, I wouldn’t have walked a mile with this runner, even if they promised me the best gun in all the colonies. There are Mohawks hiding in the thicket here, and your Mohawk knows too well where they hide for me to agree to go with him.

– Really? Hayward asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice to almost 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 forced him to follow us.

“At first glance, it is clear that this is a deceiver,” said the hunter, touching his nose with a finger as a sign of warning. “That thievish ming leaned 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 can hit him between the ankle and knee, and after that he will lose the ability to move for at least a month. You can’t get any closer: the cunning creature will suspect me and will rush into the bushes like a frightened deer.

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

- Well, there is no doubt about it: the Mohawk is always ready to cheat and deceive. As he spoke, 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 villain deceived me.

Hawkeye gave up his intention of shooting an Indian walker in the leg; he thought for a moment, then made a sign with his hand to his Mohican friends, who at once approached him. All three spoke in a low voice in Delaware. With a serious expression, they were concentrating and quietly conferring about something. Judging by the movements of the hands of the white hunter, who often pointed in the direction of a young tree rising above the bushes, he obviously spoke of

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traitor.

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

“Now go back to your companions,” Hawkeye said to the major, “and talk to the Indian. The Mohicans would grab him without even damaging the coloring.

“No,” Duncan said 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 gliding among the bushes?

- I'll get off my horse.

“Do you think that when he sees you freeing one leg from the stirrup, he will patiently stand and wait until you jump to the ground?” Anyone who enters these forests and is going 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 distaste for the task he was about to perform. However, with every minute, the awareness of the danger hanging over his companions because of their gullibility increased in him. The sun had set, and the thickened shadows gave the forest a gloomy look. The outlines of the trees blurred, and the darkness clearly reminded Duncan that the hours were approaching when the savages would commit their bloodiest deeds, deeds of vengeance or enmity. These concerns caused Hayward to part ways with Hawkeye. The scout immediately struck up a very lively and loud conversation with the singer, who had so unceremoniously joined the little company in the morning. As he passed the girls, Duncan gave them a few words of encouragement, and was pleased to note that they were cheerful despite their fatigue, and that the stop did not alarm them. Telling Cora and Alice that he needed to talk to the Indian about the way forward, Hayward spurred on his horse and pulled the reins again when the noble animal was a few yards from Magua, who was still standing near the tree.

“Well, Magua, you see for yourself,” Hayward began, trying to sound calm and friendly, “night is falling, and Fort William Henry is no closer than it was when we left General Webb’s camp at sunrise. You lost your way, and I blundered. Fortunately, we ran into a hunter - do you hear him talking to the singer? - with a hunter who knows well all the deer trails, all the paths of the dense forest and promises to lead us to a place where we will rest in safety until the next morning.

The gleaming eyes of the Indian stared into Hayward's face, and he asked in broken English:

- Is he alone?

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

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

- Is the sly fox leaving? But who do you call Sly Fox, Magua?

“Magua was given the name by his Canadian fathers,” the runner replied, and it was evident from his face that he was proud of the nickname given to him. “For the Cunning Fox, when Munro is waiting for him, the night equals the day.

“And what will the Fox say to Fortmaster William Henry when the old man asks him about his daughters?” Will he dare to explain to the chief 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 tell him to sit in a wigwam with 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, - the adamant answer of the Indian sounded.

“Enough, Magua, enough! Hayward said. - Aren't we friends? Why should we speak cruel and bitter words to each other? Munro promised to reward you when you keep your promise. I am also indebted to you. So lie down, rest your weary body, open your bag and eat. We will stay here for a short time. Let's not waste short minutes of a halt and argue like absurd women. When the riders rest, we will again move on.

“Palefaces turn themselves into submissive dogs of white women,” muttered the Indian in his own tongue. “When the women are hungry, the white warriors drop their tomahawks to grant the sloths a wish.”

- What are you talking about, fox?

- The sly Fox says: "Good."

The Indian's penetrating gaze was riveted on the major's face, but when Hayward looked at Magua, the runner quickly averted his eyes, sat down on the ground, carefully and slowly looked around, and finally took out the rest of the provisions from the bag.

- Great! Duncan said. “The food will give Sly Fox strength, sharpen his eyesight, and he will find a path in the morning. Duncan paused for a moment, hearing the crackle of a broken dry branch and the rustle of leaves in the neighboring bushes, but, quickly mastering himself, continued: “We must move before sunrise, otherwise we may meet Montcalm and he will cut off our path to the fortress.

Magua's upraised hand froze, and though his eyes never left the ground, he turned his head; his nostrils flared, and even his ears seemed to stretch out, giving him the appearance of a statue of intense attention.

Hayward watched his every move and, with mock casualness, took one foot out of the stirrup and placed his hand on the bearskin case that concealed the pistols.

Magua's eyes did not rest for a moment on any single object, although his face was motionless.

The major didn't know what to do. Meanwhile, the Fox got to his feet, but so slowly and carefully that not the slightest rustle was heard. Hayward felt that he should take action; he threw his leg over the saddle and jumped off his horse, determined to seize the traitor, relying in everything else on his strength and courage.

However, not wanting to unnecessarily frighten his companions, the major nevertheless tried to maintain outward calm and spoke to Magua in a friendly manner.

“Sly Fox doesn’t eat,” he said, calling the Indian by a name that he seemed to find especially flattering. “Is his bread grains underdone and tough?” Let me see if I can find something to his liking in my stock.

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 slip softly over his bare elbow, he flung the major's arm away, gave a piercing cry, dodged, and disappeared into the thicket. In the next second, the figure of Chingachgook appeared from behind the bushes, the coloring of which gave the Indian the appearance of a skeleton. The Mohican rushed after the runner. The cries of Uncas were heard. The forest lit up with a flash, followed by the shot of a hunter's gun.

On a night like this

Thisbe walked timidly in the dew

And, being afraid not of a lion, but of a lion's shadow,

I ran in fear...

Shakespeare. "The Merchant of Venice"

The sudden flight of the Indian guide, his wild cries

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pursuers, noise and confusion - all this together stunned Hayward; for a moment he was dumbfounded, then, remembering the need to capture the fugitive, he rushed into the bushes that bordered a small clearing and ran into the forest to help his pursuers. However, after a hundred yards, he ran into a hunter and his two friends, who were returning without catching the fugitive.

Why did you despair so soon? 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 replied. - I heard this demon rustling in dry leaves, crawling like a black snake. I saw him over there behind that pine tree and fired a bullet at him ... Wherever there! Meanwhile, I was good at aiming and I can say that I am a master in these matters. Take a look at that tree. Its leaves are red. But everyone knows that in June it blooms yellow!

“It's Fox's blood, he's wounded. And maybe even fall.

- No no! - the hunter resolutely objected. “I just hit him and he ran away. A rifle bullet that only slightly scratches is the same 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.

The union of six tribes - the Mohawks, Oneidas, Senecas, Cayugas, Onondagas and Tuscarors, related tribes that were at enmity with the tribes of the Lenapes (Mohicans and Delawares). These six tribes had different nicknames. They were often called Macuas, Mings, or Iroquois.

The Narraganzet is a very hardy horse breed.

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

Mississippi.

Solemn rite, signifying the end of the war.

Sagamore (literally: wise, mighty) - the honorary title of the elders of the tribe.

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James Fenimore Cooper

Last of the Mohicans

I'm ready to know the worst

And the terrible thing that you could bring to me,

Ready to hear the bad news.

Answer quickly - did the kingdom perish ?!

Perhaps, throughout the vast stretch of frontier 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 area lying at the headwaters of the Hudson and near the neighboring lakes. This area provided such conveniences for the movement of troops that they could not be neglected.

The waters of Champlain stretched from Canada and deep into the New York colony; consequently, Lake Champlain served as the most convenient way 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 Horiken, the Holy Lake, merge with it.

The holy lake meanders between countless islets, and is crowded by low coastal mountains. In bends it stretches far to the south, where it rests on a plateau. From this point began the many miles of portage, which led the traveler to the banks of the Hudson; here navigation along the river became convenient, since the current was free from rapids.

In carrying out their military plans, the French tried to penetrate into the most remote and inaccessible gorges of the Allegheny Mountains and turned their 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 solve the issue of possession of colonies.

Here, in the most important places, towering over the surrounding roads, fortresses grew; they were seized first by one, then the other hostile 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 went deep into virgin forests. Few returned from there, exhausted by hardships and hardships, discouraged by failures.

Although this restless 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, then the screams of many, many carefree young brave men who, in the prime of life, hastened here to sink into the deep sleep of a long night of oblivion.

It was in this arena of bloody wars that the events that we will try to tell about unfolded. Our narrative dates back to the third year of the war between France and England, fighting for power over a country that was not destined to be held in their hands by either side.

The dullness of the generals abroad, and the pernicious inactivity of the councilors at court, have robbed Great Britain of that proud prestige which had been won for her by the talent and courage of her former warriors and statesmen. The British troops were defeated by a handful of French and Indians; this unexpected defeat left much of the frontier unguarded. And now, after real disasters, many imaginary, imaginary dangers have grown. In every gust of wind that wafted from the boundless forests, the frightened settlers seemed to have wild cries and the ominous howl of the Indians.

Under the influence of fear, the danger assumed unprecedented proportions; common sense could not fight the troubled imagination. Even the most daring, self-confident and energetic began to doubt the favorable outcome of the struggle. The number of cowardly and cowardly 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 be devastated by the Indian tribes - the allies of France.

Therefore, when news came to the English fortress, which towered 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 the soldier is like leaves in the forest,” terrible the message was received with cowardly resignation rather than with the stern satisfaction that a warrior should feel when he finds an enemy near him. The news of Montcalm's advance came at the height of summer; it was brought by an Indian at the hour when the day was already drawing to a close. Together with the terrible news, the messenger conveyed to the camp commander the request of 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 the inhabitant of the forests covered for two hours, a military detachment, with its wagon train, could cover between sunrise and sunset. Loyal supporters of the English crown named one of these fortifications Fort William Henry, and the other Fort Edward, after the princes of the royal family. Munro, a veteran Scot, 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 deal with the advancing forces of Montcalm.

Chapter I

I'm ready to know the worst

And the terrible thing that you could bring to me,

Ready to hear the bad news.

Answer quickly - did the kingdom perish ?!

Perhaps, throughout the vast stretch of frontier 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 area lying at the headwaters of the Hudson and near the neighboring lakes. This area provided such conveniences for the movement of troops that they could not be neglected.

The waters of Champlain stretched from Canada and deep into the New York colony; consequently, Lake Champlain served as the most convenient way 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 Horiken, the Holy Lake, merge with it.

The holy lake meanders between countless islets, and is crowded by low coastal mountains. In bends it stretches far to the south, where it rests on a plateau. From this point began the many miles of portage, which led the traveler to the banks of the Hudson; here navigation along the river became convenient, since the current was free from rapids.

In carrying out their military plans, the French tried to penetrate into the most remote and inaccessible gorges of the Allegheny Mountains and turned their 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 solve the issue of possession of colonies.

Here, in the most important places, towering over the surrounding roads, fortresses grew; they were seized first by one, then the other hostile 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 went deep into virgin forests. Few returned from there, exhausted by hardships and hardships, discouraged by failures.

Although this restless 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, then the screams of many, many carefree young brave men who, in the prime of life, hastened here to sink into the deep sleep of a long night of oblivion.

It was in this arena of bloody wars that the events that we will try to tell about unfolded. Our narrative dates back to the third year of the war between France and England, fighting for power over a country that was not destined to be held in their hands by either side.

The dullness of the generals abroad, and the pernicious inactivity of the councilors at court, have robbed Great Britain of that proud prestige which had been won for her by the talent and courage of her former warriors and statesmen. The British troops were defeated by a handful of French and Indians; this unexpected defeat left much of the frontier unguarded. And now, after real disasters, many imaginary, imaginary dangers have grown. In every gust of wind that wafted from the boundless forests, the frightened settlers seemed to have wild cries and the ominous howl of the Indians.

Under the influence of fear, the danger assumed unprecedented proportions; common sense could not fight the troubled imagination. Even the most daring, self-confident and energetic began to doubt the favorable outcome of the struggle. The number of cowardly and cowardly 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 be devastated by the Indian tribes - the allies of France.

Therefore, when news came to the English fortress, which towered 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 the soldier is like leaves in the forest,” terrible the message was received with cowardly resignation rather than with the stern satisfaction that a warrior should feel when he finds an enemy near him. The news of Montcalm's advance came at the height of summer; it was brought by an Indian at the hour when the day was already drawing to a close. Together with the terrible news, the messenger conveyed to the camp commander the request of 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 the inhabitant of the forests covered for two hours, a military detachment, with its wagon train, could cover between sunrise and sunset. Loyal supporters of the English crown named one of these fortifications Fort William Henry, and the other Fort Edward, after the princes of the royal family. Munro, a veteran Scot, 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 deal with the advancing forces of Montcalm.

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

However, frightened by failures, the English generals and their subordinates preferred to wait in their fortress for the approach of a formidable enemy, not risking going out to meet Montcalm in order to surpass the successful performance of the French at Fort Duquesne, give the enemy a 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 hundred and fifty hundred selected detachment should move at dawn from the fortress to Fort William Henry. This rumor was soon confirmed; learned that several detachments received orders to hastily prepare for the campaign. All doubts about Webb's intentions dissipated, and for two or three hours hurried running was heard in the camp, anxious faces flickered. The recruit anxiously scurried back and forth, fussed and with his excessive zeal only slowed down the preparations for the performance; the experienced veteran armed himself quite calmly, unhurriedly, although his stern features and worried look clearly showed that the terrible struggle in the forests did not particularly please his heart.

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

According to the order given the evening before, the deep sleep of the soldiers was disturbed by the deafening roar of drums, and a rolling echo carried far in the damp morning air, resoundingly resounding in every corner of the forest; day was breaking, the cloudless sky was brightening in the east, and the outlines of tall, shaggy pines stood out more distinctly and sharper in it. A minute later life began to boil in the camp; even the most negligent soldier rose to his feet to see the detachment march and, together with his comrades, to experience the excitement of this moment. The simple gathering of the acting detachment soon ended. The soldiers lined up in battle groups. Royal mercenaries flaunted on the right flank; the more modest volunteers, from among the settlers, dutifully took their places on the left.

The scouts came out. A strong convoy escorted the wagons of camping equipment, and before the first rays of the sun broke through the gray morning, the column set off. Leaving the camp, the column had a formidable, warlike appearance; this view was supposed to drown out the vague fears of many recruits who were to endure the first tests in battle. The soldiers walked past their admiring comrades with a proud and belligerent expression. But gradually the sounds of military music began to fall silent in the distance and finally died away completely. The forest closed, hiding the detachment from view. Now the wind did not carry even the loudest, piercing sounds to those who remained in the camp, the last warrior disappeared into the forest thicket.

Nevertheless, judging by what was being done in front of the largest and most comfortable of the officers' barracks, someone else was preparing to move. Several beautifully saddled horses stood in front of Webb's cabin; two of them were apparently intended for women of high rank, who were not often seen in these forests. In the saddle of the third officer's pistols flaunted. 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, quite ready to leave, were apparently only waiting for the order of the chief to jump into the saddle. Groups of idle spectators stood at a respectful distance: some of them admired the pure breed of an officer's horse, others followed the preparations for departure with dull curiosity.

However, among the spectators there was one person whose manner and bearing distinguished him from the rest. His figure was not ugly, but meanwhile it seemed utterly awkward. When this man stood, he was taller than the rest of the people, but when sitting, he seemed no larger than his fellows. His head was too large, his shoulders too narrow, his arms long, clumsy, with small, graceful hands. The thinness of his unusually long legs reached the extreme, his knees were excessively thick. The strange, even ridiculous costume of the eccentric emphasized the absurdity of his figure. The low collar of the sky-blue camisole did not at all cover his long, thin neck, the short skirts of the caftan allowed scoffers to make fun of his thin, long legs. The tight yellow nanke trousers came up to the knees, where they were cinched by large white bows, frayed and dirty. Gray stockings and boots completed the costume of the clumsy figure. On one of the crank's shoes was a spur of applied silver. From the voluminous pocket of his waistcoat, heavily soiled and adorned with blackened silver galloons, peeped out an unknown instrument, which in this military environment could be mistaken for some mysterious and incomprehensible weapon of war. A high triangular hat, like those worn by parsons thirty years ago, crowned the head of an eccentric and gave a respectable air 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 stepped boldly into the crowd of the general's servants. The strange man looked at the horses without hesitation, praised some, scolded others.

“This horse is not home-grown, it was probably ordered from abroad ... maybe even from an island lying far, far away, beyond the blue seas,” he said in a voice that struck with its harmonious softness, just as it surprised his whole figure with unusual proportions. - I will say without boasting: I can safely talk about such things. After all, I have visited both harbors: the one that is located at the mouth of the Thames and is called after the capital of old England, and the one that is simply called New Haven - New Harbor. I saw how the 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 bartered. But I have never seen such a horse. How does it say in the Bible? “He impatiently digs the earth of the valley with his hooves and rejoices in his strength; he rushes towards the soldiers. Among the sounds of the trumpets, he exclaims: “Ha, xa!” He smells the battle from afar and hears the war cry. It's ancient blood, isn't it, friend?

Having received no answer to his so unusual appeal, which was expressed with such fullness and force 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 eyes of the eccentric. He fixed his eyes with surprise on the motionless, straight and slender figure of the Indian walker, 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 that reigned around him, the features of his calm face at the same time expressed a gloomy ferocity that would certainly have attracted the attention of a more experienced observer than one who looked at him now with undisguised surprise. The Indian was armed with a tomahawk and a knife, but meanwhile he did not look like a real warrior. On the contrary, in his whole appearance there was a negligence, which, perhaps, was due to some great recent stress, from which he had not yet had time to recover. On the stern face of the native, the military coloration was blurred, and this made his dark features involuntarily look even more wild and repulsive than in the skillful patterns induced to intimidate enemies. Only his eyes, sparkling like bright stars between clouds, burned with wild malice. Only for a single moment did the fast gloomy look of the runner catch the astonished expression of the observer's eyes and immediately, partly out of cunning, partly out of disdain, turned in the other direction, somewhere far, far away into space.

Suddenly the servants began to fuss, gentle women's voices were heard, and all this announced the approach of those who were expected to move the whole cavalcade on their way. The man who had been admiring the officer's horse suddenly retreated to his own short, thin horse with a tied tail, which was nibbling on the dry grass; with one elbow he leaned on the woolen blanket that served as his saddle, and began to watch the departing. At this time, a colt approached his horse 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, prepared for an exhausting journey through the forests.

Suddenly the wind threw back the 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 appeared a dazzling white face, golden hair, brilliant blue eyes. The delicate colors of the sky, still spilling over the pines, 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 bestowed on the young man who helped her into the saddle.

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

As soon as the girls got on the horses, the young man easily jumped into the saddle. All three bowed to General Webb, who had come out on the porch to see the travelers off, turned their horses, and set off at a light trot towards the north exit of the camp. Several of the lower ranks rode after them. While the riders crossed the space that separated them from the main road, none of them uttered a word, only the youngest of the riders cried out slightly, when an Indian walker unexpectedly slipped past her and moved along the military road with a quick, light tread. The eldest of the sisters did not utter a sound when the Indian walker appeared. In surprise, she released the folds of her veil and her face was revealed. Regret, admiration and horror flickered in her features. This girl's hair was the color of a raven's wing. Her untanned face showed bright colors, although there was not the slightest hint of vulgarity in it. Her features were distinguished by subtlety, nobility and striking beauty. As if regretting her forgetfulness, she smiled, a set of even teeth flashing, the whiteness of which could rival the best ivory.

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

Chapter II

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 beside her:

“Tell me, Duncan, are such ghosts often found in the local 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 walker is with our detachment and, according to the concepts of his tribe, a hero,” said the young officer. “He volunteered to lead us to the lake along a little-known path, which greatly shortens the path. Thanks to this, we will arrive at the place sooner than following our squad.

“I don’t like him,” the girl replied, and she pretended to flinch, although she was really scared. "Do you know him well, Duncan?" Because otherwise you certainly 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. They say that Magua is a native of Canada, and yet he serves our friends the Mohawks, who, as you know, belong to the six allied tribes. I was told that he came here by some strange accident that had something to do with your father. It seems that the general dealt cruelly with this Indian ... 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, alarmed in earnest. “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 speak to him, it will probably lead nowhere,” Hayward said. - He will answer me with some monosyllabic exclamation. It seems to me that Magua understands English, but pretends not to know our language. In addition, he is unlikely to want to talk to me now, when wartime requires him to sacredly observe the dignity of a warrior ... But look, our guide has stopped. Obviously, here begins the path, which we will have to turn.

Duncan was right. When the horsemen rode up to the Indian, who stood motionless, pointing to the thicket of bushes that bordered the military road, they made out a path so narrow that it could only be traveled in single file.

“We should turn onto this path,” Hayward said in a whisper. “Do not express any fear, otherwise you will bring upon yourself the very danger that you fear.

“Cora, don’t you think it’s safer to ride with the squad?” Alice, golden-haired, asked her sister. “Though it would be more tiring…”

“Alice, you do not know well the customs and habits of savages, and therefore do not understand in what cases you should be afraid,” Hayward objected. “If the enemy had already reached the portage, which is absolutely unbelievable, since our scouts would have reported this to us, he would obviously have surrounded our detachment, hoping to get more scalps. The path of the detachment is known to all, 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 like ours, and his complexion is darker than the skin of whites? Cora asked coldly.

Alice ceased to hesitate; she lashed her narraganzet with her whip, parted the branches first, and rode after the walker along a dark, narrow forest path. Hayward gazed admiringly at Cora; he did not even notice that her blond companion went deep into the thicket alone. The servants, in obedience to the order received in advance, did not follow them, but moved in pursuit of 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 of the 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 became more comfortable; the walker, noticing that the young riders now had better control of their horses, quickened his pace, and Cora and Alice had to amble the Narragansets. Hayward turned around to say something to the black-eyed Cora, but at that moment there was a distant sound of hooves pounding on the roots of the path. This made the young man stop his horse. Cora and Alice also pulled on the reins. All three wanted to know what was the matter.

In a few moments they saw a foal, which, like a deer, rushed between the trunks of pines; it was followed by the ungainly figure we have described in the previous chapter. The lumbering stranger was advancing as fast as his skinny horse was capable of. Until now, this figure has 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 foot, but he only managed to get her hind legs to go at a light gallop, while the forelegs made some kind of indefinite, constantly changing movements, like a lame lynx. The frequent change from trot to canter 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 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. At each step of the horse, the stranger rose in the stirrups and, either straightening too much, or bending his legs excessively, suddenly grew, 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 her shaggy tail constantly indicated which side was suffering from the spur, we complete the image of the nare and its rider.

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

Do you want to see any of us? Duncan asked as the strange rider rode up and held the horse back. “I hope you didn’t bring us bad news?”

“Exactly,” replied the stranger, waving his three-cornered hat to set in motion the stifling forest air, and leaving the listeners to decide which part of the question his remark referred to. However, after refreshing his flushed face and recovering his breath, the eccentric added: - They say you are going to Fort William Henry. I am going the same way, and therefore I decided that it would be a pleasure for all of us to make this move in pleasant company.

“You seem to have arrogated to yourself the right to vote,” said Hayward. “But there are three of us, and you consulted with only one of yourselves.

- That's it. The most important thing is to know your own desires, and when this is already known, then it remains only 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 haughtily. “The main road is at least half a mile behind you.

“Exactly,” replied the strange rider, not in the least 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 was dumb and dumb and would die for my chosen profession. He chuckled slightly, as if modesty prevented him from openly admiring his wit, which was completely incomprehensible to his listeners, and then continued: “It is imprudent on the part of a man of my profession to be too casual with people whom he should teach; that's the reason why I didn't follow the squad. Besides, I think that a gentleman like you is, of course, the best person to guide travelers. This consideration made me join your society. And finally, with you it will be more fun for me to go: we can talk.

What an arbitrary and thoughtless decision! exclaimed Hayward, unsure whether to show his irritation or burst out laughing in the stranger's face. “But you talk about teachings and about 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 always draw straight lines and angles, saying they're doing math?

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

- I hope there are no accusations; I do not think about protection, because, by the grace of God, I have not committed any great sin. I completely misunderstood your allusion to lines and angles; I leave the work 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 doxology.

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

“Do you really think, Alice, that I would dare to lead those whom I love along this unfamiliar path, if I could suppose that some danger awaits us?”

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

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

Alice beckoned the stranger to her side and started her Narraganzeet at a light amble.

“I'm glad I met you, my friend. Biased relatives say that I'm not bad at duets, she said jokingly. “Then we could brighten up the trip by indulging in our favorite art.” Besides, it would be nice to hear the maestro's opinion about my voice.

“Indeed, psalmody refreshes both the spirit and the body,” answered the stranger, riding closer to Alice, “and, of course, like nothing else in the world, it calms the agitated soul. However, four voices are needed for complete harmony. You obviously have a pleasant, rich soprano voice; I, with a certain effort, can take 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.

“Do not 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 the sweet tenor than to the bass that you heard.

– How much did he practice the art of psalmody? asked Alice her ingenuous interlocutor.

Alice was inclined to laugh, but she managed to suppress a fit of amusement, and she answered:

“It seems to me that Hayward prefers secular songs. The conditions of a soldier's life are not conducive to sedate occupations.

- A harmonious voice, like all other talents, is given to a person so that he uses it for the benefit of his neighbors and does not abuse it. No one can reproach me for giving my talent the wrong direction.

– Do you only do spiritual singing?

- That's it. Just as the psalms of David are superior to all other poetic works, so the melodies to which they are set are superior to all secular songs. Wherever I stay, in whatever countries I travel, neither during sleep, nor during 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 in English verse 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 spectacles on his nose, opened the volume with the care and reverence required in dealing with sacred objects. Then, without further reasoning or explanation, he put some strange instrument into his mouth. There was a piercing, high-pitched sound. Following this, the psalmist took a note an octave lower with his voice and finally sang. Tender, melodious sounds rushed; not even the restless movement of the horse prevented the singing.

Oh, how gratifying it is -
Live in brotherhood and work,
Like incense
Flowing through the beard!

The psalmist always beat the time with his right hand. Lowering it, he lightly touched the pages of the book; lifting it, 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, and Hayward, in turn, spoke to the stranger, interrupting his musical exercises:

“There does not seem to be any danger now, but still, for the sake of simple caution, we should ride quietly. I will have to deprive you of your pleasure, Alice, and beg this gentleman to postpone singing until a more favorable time.

“Indeed, you deprive me of great pleasure,” the girl answered with a sly smile. “Indeed, I have never heard such meaningless words sung so admirably! 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.

The young officer fell silent and looked towards the thicket, then sideways and suspiciously looked at Magua, who was walking as calmly and imperturbably as before. Seeing this, the young man smiled, making fun of his own worries: hadn't he just mistaken the glare of light on some brilliant wild berries for the burning pupils of an Indian hiding in the foliage! Now the major rode calmly, continuing his conversation, interrupted by apprehensions flashing through his mind.

The union of six tribes - the Mohawks, Oneidas, Senecas, Cayugas, Onondagas and Tuscarors, related tribes that were at enmity with the tribes of the Lenapes (Mohicans and Delawares). These six tribes had different nicknames. They were often called Macuas, Mings, or Iroquois.

In the wars between the British and French for the possession of American lands (1755-1763), opponents more than once used the civil strife of Indian tribes. The times were hard and cruel. Danger lurked at every turn. And it is not surprising that the girls who were traveling, accompanied by Major Duncan Hayward to the commander of the besieged fort, were worried. Alice and Cora were especially worried - that was the name of the sisters - the Magua Indian, nicknamed the Sly Fox. He volunteered to lead them along a supposedly safe forest path. Duncan calmed the girls, although he himself began to worry: are they really lost?

Fortunately, in the evening the travelers met Hawkeye - this name was already firmly entrenched in St. John's wort - and not alone, but with Chingachgook and Uncas. An Indian who got lost in the woods during the day?! Hawkeye was more alert than Duncan. He offers the major to grab the guide, but the Indian manages to sneak away. Now no one doubts the betrayal of the Indian Magua. With the help of Chingachgook and his son Uncas, Hawkeye ferries travelers to a small rocky island.

In continuation of a modest dinner, "Uncas renders Cora and Alice all the services that were in his power." Noticeably - he pays more attention to Cora than to her sister. However, the danger has not yet passed. Attracted by the loud wheezing of horses frightened by wolves, the Indians find their refuge. Skirmish, then hand-to-hand. The first onslaught of the Hurons is repelled, but the besieged have run out of ammunition. Salvation is only in flight - unbearable, alas, for girls. It is necessary to swim at night, along the rapids and cold mountain river. Cora urges Hawkeye to run with Chingachgook and get help as soon as possible. Longer than other hunters, she has to convince Uncas: the Major and the sisters are in the hands of Magua and his friends.

The kidnappers and captives stop on the hill to rest. Cunning Fox reveals to Kore the target of the kidnapping. It turns out that her father, Colonel Munro, once severely insulted him, ordering him to be whipped for drinking. And now, in revenge, he will marry his daughter. Cora angrily refuses. And then Magua decides to brutally deal with the prisoners. The sisters and the major are tied to trees, brushwood is laid out nearby for a fire. The Indian persuades Cora to agree, at least to take pity on her sister, who is very young, almost a child. But Alice, having learned about Magua's intention, prefers a painful death.

An enraged Magua throws a tomohawk. The hatchet plunges into the tree, pinning the girl's lush blond hair. The major breaks free of his bonds and rushes at one of the Indians. Duncan is almost defeated, but a shot rings out and the Indian falls. This arrived in time Hawkeye and his friends. After a short battle, the enemies are defeated. Magua, pretending to be dead and seizing the moment, runs again.

Dangerous wanderings end happily - the travelers reach the fort. Under the cover of fog, despite the French besieging the fort, they manage to get inside. The father finally saw his daughters, but the joy of the meeting was overshadowed by the fact that the defenders of the fort were forced to surrender, however, on honorable conditions for the British: the defeated retain banners, weapons and can freely retreat to their own.

At dawn, burdened with the wounded, as well as children and women, the garrison leaves the fort. Nearby, in a narrow wooded gorge, Indians attack the wagon train. Magua kidnaps Alice and Cora again.

On the third day after this tragedy, Colonel Munro, along with Major Duncan, Hawkeye, Chingachgook and Uncas, inspect the site of the massacre. From barely noticeable traces, Uncas concludes: the girls are alive - they are in captivity. Moreover, by continuing the inspection, the Mohican reveals the name of their captor - Magua! After conferring, the friends set off on an extremely dangerous journey: to the homeland of the Sly Fox, to areas inhabited mainly by the Hurons. With adventures, losing and finding traces again, the pursuers finally find themselves near the village of the Hurons.

Here they meet the psalmist David, who, having a reputation as an imbecile, voluntarily followed the girls. From David, the colonel learns about the situation of his daughters: he left Alice Magua with him, and sent Cora to the Delawares living in the neighborhood, on the lands of the Hurons. Duncan, who is in love with Alice, wants to get into the village by all means. Pretending to be a fool, changing his appearance with the help of Hawkeye and Chingachgook, he goes on reconnaissance. In the Huron camp, he pretends to be a French doctor, and he, like David, is allowed to go everywhere by the Hurons. To Duncan's dismay, the captive Uncas is brought to the village. At first, the Hurons take him for an ordinary prisoner, but Magua appears and recognizes the Swift Deer. The hated name arouses such wrath of the Hurons that, if not for the Sly Fox, the young man would have been torn to pieces on the spot. Magua convinces the tribesmen to postpone the execution until the morning. Uncas is taken to a separate hut. The father of a sick Indian woman turns to the doctor Duncan for help. He goes to the cave where the sick woman lies, accompanied by the girl's father and a tame bear. Duncan asks everyone to leave the cave. The Indians obey the demand of the "healer" and go out, leaving the bear in the cave. The bear is transforming - Hawkeye is hiding under the animal skin! With the help of a hunter, Duncan discovers Alice hidden in a cave - but then Magua appears. The sly Fox triumphs. But not for long.

The "bear" grabs the Indian and squeezes him in an iron embrace, the major ties the hands of the villain. But from the excitement experienced, Alice cannot take a single step. The girl is wrapped in Indian clothes, and Duncan - accompanied by a "bear" - takes her outside. The father of the sick self-styled "healer", referring to the power of the Evil Spirit, orders to stay and guard the exit from the cave. The trick succeeds - the fugitives safely reach the forest. At the edge of the forest, Hawkeye shows Duncan the path leading to the Delawares and returns to free Uncas. With the help of David, he deceives the warriors guarding the Swift Deer and hides with the Mohican in the forest. An enraged Magua, who is found in a cave and freed from his bonds, calls on his fellow tribesmen for revenge.

The next morning, at the head of a strong military detachment, the Sly Fox sets off for the Delawares. Having hidden the detachment in the forest, Magua enters the village. He appeals to the Delaware leaders, demanding to hand over the captives. The leaders, deceived by the eloquence of the Cunning Fox, agreed, but after the intervention of Kora, it turns out that in reality only she is the prisoner of Magua - all the others freed themselves. Colonel Munro offers a rich ransom for Cora - the Indian refuses. Uncas, who unexpectedly became the supreme leader, is forced to release Magua along with the captive. In parting, Sly Fox is warned: after enough time has passed for flight, the Delawares will set foot on the warpath.

Soon, military operations, thanks to the able leadership of Uncas, bring a decisive victory to the Delawares. The Hurons are broken. Magua, having captured Cora, flees. Swift Deer pursues the enemy. Realizing that they cannot escape, the last of the surviving companions of the Sly Fox raises a knife over Kora. Uncas, seeing that he might not be in time, throws himself from the cliff between the girl and the Indian, but falls and loses consciousness. Huron kills Cora. Swift-footed Deer manages to defeat the killer, but Magua, seizing the moment, plunges a knife into the young man's back and takes off running. A shot sounds - Hawkeye pays off with the villain.

Orphaned people, orphaned fathers, solemn farewell. The Delawares have just lost their found leader - the last of the Mohicans (sagamore), but one leader will be replaced by another; the colonel had a younger daughter; Chingachgook lost everything. And only Hawkeye, turning to the Great Serpent, finds words of consolation: “No, sagamore, you are not alone! We may be different in skin color, but we are destined to follow the same path. I have no relatives and I can say, like you, I don’t have my own people.

retold

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

Fenimore Cooper's novel The Last of the Mohicans is the second book in the pentalogy about Nathaniel Bumpo. About 15 years pass between the events of the novel "St. John's Wort" and the second book. To the young chief of the Delaware, last Mohican Uncas, nicknamed Swift Deer, is only 15 years old. Chingachgook has already buried the beautiful Wa-ta-Wa. During this time, Chingachgook and Hawkeye engaged in many bloody skirmishes with the Iroquois. In Chapter III, as can be seen from the story, the two friends meet again, as if they had not seen each other for some time before. 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 natives (Alligevs), or the Dutch, who sailed from across the ocean and drove the Mohicans away. Chingachgook argues like this: "... 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 person and 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 the bow and a good flint arrow, which was sent to the target by the keen eye of the Indian ”(p. 24) Scholarly historians say that the natives could potentially drive out foreigners using only a bow and an arrow with a “stone point”, since the muskets did not have 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 have awe. That is, the pagan Indians took 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 /conversation/1275576-echo/).
Hawkeye at the same time says that his white compatriots may misinterpret the actions of their contemporaries, deliberately lying or mistaken: “But I readily admit that I do not approve of many, very many actions of my compatriots. One of the customs of these people is to record in books everything they have seen or done, instead of telling everything in the settlements, where every lie of a cowardly braggart is immediately discovered, and a brave soldier can call his own comrades as witnesses to his own truthful words. And therefore, many will not know anything about the real deeds of their fathers and will not try to surpass them ”(p. 24). Hawkeye rightly remarks: "Every story can be considered from two sides" (p. 25).
When Uncas appears, the friends stop arguing: “For many minutes no questions or answers were heard; everyone seemed to be waiting for a convenient moment to break the silence without showing the curiosity peculiar only to women, or the impatience inherent in 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 history of Magua is banal: because of 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 (whipped, 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 Munro's daughters, Cora and Alice, from Fortress Edward to Fortress William Henry, Magua plotted their abduction. Duncan's detachment is arbitrarily joined by David Gamut, a psalmist, a big eccentric, but who will later play a significant role in the release of the Munro daughters.
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 trails that run either to rivers or to salt pits - in a word, to places known to everyone” (p. 31).
Magua refuses to accompany Duncan's party 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 a wigwam with women, since he can no longer be trusted with the deeds of courageous warriors ”(p. 37).
As a result, Magua flees, wounded by Hawkeye from the "deer hunter". If Duncan had allowed Hawkeye to disarm the Sly Fox in time (shoot the leg), there would have been no kidnappings of Cora and Alice, nor a bloody massacre after the surrender of the fortress of William Henry to General Montcalm, nor, most likely, the death of Uncas and Cora, but that ended would be a story.

So that Cora and Alice can spend the night safely, Hawkeye ferries Duncan's party on a pirogue to a secret hideout under the Hudson River Falls in stone caves dug by water ("Glenn"). After dropping off Duncan, the girls, and David, Hawkeye set off to fetch the Mohicans and provisions: “It is better to sleep without a scalp than to suffer from hunger in abundance” (p. 46).

David Gamut is a funny and funny character, skillfully built by Cooper into the storyline. Being a subtle connoisseur of music, he forcibly implants his art of psalmody around. To do this, he carries a tuning fork and a book of psalms in the pocket of his camisole. Despite the fact that he takes his job seriously, those around him look at him with irony, and the Hurons will take him for a lunatic, 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 duties of the future quartet: he assigns the bass part to Duncan, the soprano part to Alice, the tenor part to himself, only for the contralto part he does not find a suitable candidate. The verses of the psalms are quite amusing:
"Oh, how delightful it is -
Live in brotherhood and work,
Like incense
Flowing through the beard! (p. 19)
But the music itself, David's inspirational voice does not leave anyone indifferent, even Hawkeye, who considers the singer a frivolous, frivolous person (instead of being able 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 first sat, indifferently resting his chin on his hand, but little by little his severe features softened. Perhaps the hunter's mind resurrected childhood memories, quiet days when he heard the same psalms from his mother's lips. The thoughtful eyes of the inhabitant of the forests moistened, tears rolled down his own cheeks, although he was more accustomed to worldly storms than to manifestations of spiritual trembling” (p. 55).
David Gamut is very reverent and zealous about music in general, about a set of noble sounds, and when the Iroquois discover the secret shelter of the detachment, he will be forced to sincerely resent the insulting cacophony of the Iroquois war cry and cover his ears. At the same time, Gamut had never heard the sounds of his snoring: when the detachment in the cave fell into a dream, “such sounds of snoring rushed from David’s side, which, in a moment of vigil, would, of course, outrage his own ears” (p. 63).

During a skirmish with the Hurons at the Falls, Glenn, Hawkeye, the Mohicans, and Duncan take the lives of several Indians. They could have held out for a long time if the pirogue, which contains gunpowder, had not been stolen by one of the Iroquois. Hawkeye and the Mohicans, following Cora's advice, hold a council and leave Duncan's party, swimming downstream. Cora's advice is to call in a detachment of guardsmen from Fortress Edward and defeat the Hurons. As a result, Duncan, Cora, Alice and David Gamut are captured by the Hurons. The Hurons find the famous Hawkeye gun and think that the great and terrible Long Carbine is dead, but, not finding its remains, they cannot get the truth from Duncan. Duncan is forced to resort to the help of Magua as an interpreter, 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 meanwhile this gun ... is powerless to take the life of the Sly Fox." Duncan replies 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: their undoubted rights of the victors” (p. 91).

The Huron detachment was divided into two groups, one of which is led by Magua. In the detachment of the traitor, in addition to four prisoners, there are six Iroquois guards. Duncan fails to buy off Magua, as the Indian asked for a high price: the black-eyed Cora in exchange for the freedom of the 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 Kora liked both Uncas and Magua at the same time. Magua demands a sacrifice from Cora, deciding at the same time to take possession of a beautiful woman and take revenge on Colonel Munro for the offense: “In this case, feeling the blows on his back again, 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, reap his bread, roast his food. The body of the gray-haired leader would have slept among the cannons, but the Sly Fox would have held his heart in her hands ”(p. 104). But the refusal of Cora provokes the wrath of 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 vehemently resents Cora's advice: “You laugh at our misfortune! No, don't talk about this terrible choice: the mere thought of 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 secret feeling lit up in her eyes” (p. 109).
The fury of Magua becomes blind from the stubbornness of the captives: without thinking, he throws his tomahawk at defenseless Alice. Only a miracle saves the poor girl from inevitable death: the tomahawk pierces the tree trunk above Alice's head. Duncan's nerves can't stand it and, having broken the willow fetters, he rushes at one of the Indians. Soon, Hawkeye and the Mohicans come to the rescue. Encouraged by the bravery of Uncas, who smashes the head of one of the Hurons with a tomahawk, Duncan grabs Magua's tomahawk and throws it at the first Mohawk 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 deal with six Hurons. In a fight with Chingachgook, Magua pretends to be dead and thanks to this he manages to escape. Hawkeye stabs the chest of each Mohawk with a knife, and Chingachgook scalps them. Cora and Alice ardently rejoice at their release, and, looking at the girls, "the courageous Duncan, not ashamed, wept" (p. 114).

Uncas, nicknamed Swift Deer, is the protagonist of the book. This is a brave, cold-blooded, modest warrior of the Mohican tribe, the last warrior of the Mohican clan. Like any young man, he is characterized by ardor, but Uncas has enough composure to restrain his ardor. Hawkeye criticizes this flaw in the character of the young Mohican. When the hunter tells the former captives how he and the Mohicans managed to get on the trail of Magua, he speaks rather sharply about Uncas: “<...>We were still far from you. It must be admitted that it was difficult to restrain this young Mohican and force him to lie in ambush ... Ah, Uncas, you behaved more like an impatient and curious woman than like a courageous and staunch warrior! But Uncas coolly "restrained his anger, partly out of respect for the rest of the listeners, partly out of respect for his older white comrade" (p. 118).

After being released from captivity, Duncan's detachment, led by the 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 detachment to an abandoned, forgotten in the deep forest, blockhouse. 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 soon assembled by the hunter saved their lives. Hawkeye buried the dead Mohawks near 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 hunter's interesting story: “I buried the dead with my own hands. They lie under the same hillock on which you are located. And I must say that it is very comfortable to sit here, although this hillock rises above a pile of human bones. “Heyward and Alice and Cora immediately jumped up from the grass-covered grave” (p. 123).
Before lights out, Duncan says he will be on watch, as he has "showed himself a sleepyhead" in the caves of Glenn Falls. Hawkeye tells him that this is not necessary, since Chingachgook is the best sentry among them and that he should take an example from Uncas, who has already gone to bed. But Duncan remained on watch, and when late at night the bittern's cries began to merge with the groan of an owl, Duncan treacherously - regarding the officer's conscience - dozed off. Upon awakening, Duncan is annoyed: “If shame could cure my sleepiness, I would never close my eyes again” (p. 126).

The next morning, Hawkeye and Duncan's party reach Fort William Henry. They come to a small body of water called "Bloody Pond" and meet a French grenadier on the watch. 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. The thick fog and Duncan's knowledge of French saves from exposing his friends. Subsequently, the scalp of a cheerful and amiable Frenchman goes to Chingachgook, and the body goes to Bloody Pond. Hawkeye turns the party around and leads them up 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 at a glance: "If one could see the hearts of the 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 sneak into Fort William Henry. The words of Colonel Munro at the sight of living daughters sound very touching: “<...>The Lord gave me back my children! Open the gate! Forward, my fellows! Don't pull the trigger so you don't kill my sheep!<...>"(p. 142)

General Montcalm (Louis-Joseph de Montcalm-Gauzon, Marquis de Saint-Veran) negotiates an honorable surrender with Colonel Munro and Major Hayward during the armistice, promising such benefits as the preservation of military honor, the king's banners, weapons and a safe march and surrender of the fortress . But the French general goes back on his word, and when the Allied Indians attack the English rearguard of wounded soldiers and women and carry out a bloody massacre, the soldiers of the French army stand in an inactivity "which has never been explained and which has left an indelible stain on a brilliant reputation Montcalm" (p. 179). “... The French commander had a courageous and enterprising character, it was believed that he was a connoisseur of all sorts of political intrigues that did not require manifestations 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 the troops north to the impregnable fortress of Ticonderoga.
The cunning and treacherous Huron Magua once again captures the daughters of Munro. David Gamut, who was entrusted by Duncan with the protection of Cora and Alice, goes after the Huron. During the massacre, David resorts to the help of the psalms, convinced that they will stop the enraged pagans. David's singing and swinging in time with his free hand 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 story where Hawkeye was with the Mohicans during the "honorable" surrender of the Munro army (Colonel Munro and Major Hayward accompanied the vanguard of the troops) and why the hunter was not entrusted with guarding the girls. To go in search of Cora and Alice, Hawkeye and company arrive at the scene of the tragedy three days later. Probably, this delay will serve as a cause of unfavorable consequences for the main characters in the future.
Chingachgook finds the footprint of the insidious Huron and Uncas carefully examines the track: “a young Mohican bent over the track and, discarding the leaves scattered around this place, began to examine it with attention similar to that with which a banker would consider a suspicious check today” ( p. 185).

Hawkeye and the Mohicans, following the "evidence" of the Huron and the captives (Kora's green veil, Alice's medallion, and David's tuning fork), conclude that Magua is leading his captives along the western shore of Lake Horiken (today 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, at the night fire, the hunter and the Mohicans will smoke the council pipe and decide how to pass 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 place of the massacre in order to get hold of the scalps of the dead. Indians, including those from the Mohican tribe, like to show off their exploits in the circle of the tribe, since boasting is not considered something shameful for them, but they are quite modest in a military campaign. So Uncas, when he returned with a 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, if he fired a gun in vain, to which Uncas "pulled away the folds of his hunting shirt and calmly showed a fatal lock of hair - a symbol of victory" (p. 195). Even Hawkeye did not believe in Uncas's success at first, since the shot of the gun rang out after the onida rushed into the water: Mohicans and one white hunter.<...>In every nation there are honest people who will cut off the impudent one when he starts saying 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 courtesy, asks his opinion as well. The dispute is lively, but "... Despite this, the most respected ministers at any meeting could learn from the patience and restraint of arguing friends" (p. 197). The Mohicans insisted that the detachment go 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, completely 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, then this inconsistency would lead to the collapse of their political reputation” (p. 198).

In the early 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. The hunter innocently advises Duncan and Munro to lie down on the bottom of the boat, since according to Indian concepts, risking one's life without an open fight is the height of recklessness. But Major Hayward is of a different opinion: "It would be a bad example if the seniors in rank resorted to evasions when the soldiers were under fire!" (p. 206) No one is injured, and thanks to the cunning of the helmsman Chingachgook, the fugitives make it safely to the bay at the northern end of the lake.
The area where they come ashore is uninhabited, and even in Cooper's time, the border between the Champlain and Hudson regions was less known to the inhabitants of the 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 Bumpo, The Prairie, Cooper writes that the steppes to the west of the Mississippi, called the Great Prairies, “most resemble the steppes of Tartaria” (Cooper Fenimore. Prairie / Transl. From English - M .: “ALFA-Publishing House- BOOK", 2011. - 493 p.: ill. - p. 6).
Many miles go Hawkeye, Mohicans, Duncan and Munro cross country. By nightfall, they make a halt and early in the morning again get on the road. After a few miles, the hunter begins to worry, because, according to his assumption, Magua and the captives must have left footprints. Uncas, whose lively eyes spoke of the find, was silent again, not interfering in the conversation between his father and 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, as far as the hunter had gone, the footprints of horses. 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 legs, will outstrip the legs of their fathers in the run. But where experience is the teacher, the student learns to value elders, to respect their years and knowledge” (p. 212).
Soon they find the Narragansets released to freedom, and at the edge of the forest near the beaver dam they meet David Gamut in an Indian guise. Friends learn from David that Alice is a prisoner of the Hurons, and Cora is a prisoner of 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 impersonate a French doctor. Hawkeye doubts Duncan's luck, but, gritting his heart, concedes to Duncan: “Perhaps he liked the youth's courage. Be that as it may, instead of objecting to Duncan's intention, he suddenly changed his mood and began to help carry out his plan ”(p. 229).
Further events are happening rapidly. Chingachgook and Colonel Munro hide in a clay beaver lodge and sit there until the final battle between the Delawares and the Hurons, David and Duncan go to the Huron village, Uncas pursues the cowardly Iroquois (Shaky Reed) and is captured, and Hawkeye, having tied the local Huron shaman, dresses into a stuffed brown bear and appears in the cave where Magua is holding Alice. The captive Uncas behaves coolly and with dignity. Nothing can shake his indifference and contempt for the enemy, even the hysteria of a local old woman: “... Your tribe is a tribe of women, and a hoe is more suitable for your hands than a gun. Your women are deer mothers, and if a bear or a wild cat or a snake were born between you, you would take to flight. The Huron girls will sew a skirt for you, and we will find you a husband...” (p. 241)
Duncan, by cunning, gets into the cave and, together with the hunter, frees Alice, and Magua, who arrives in time, is tied with wicker rods. Hawkeye has a new chance to deal with the cruel Huron, but under the hunter's white skin is the honest heart and blood of a white man: he cannot kill a defenseless enemy. This will subsequently be another fatal circumstance of the death of the two main characters. When Magua comes to free the fooled Hurons, he will tell them that the "evil spirit" that blinded their eyes is the Long Carbine, which "under the 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 played a whole performance in front of the prisoner's guards, releases Uncas: Uncas puts on a bear "suit", the hunter - as a singing teacher, and David remains in the wigwam instead of a prisoner. Hawkeye and Uncas go to businessmen.

Insidious, 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 accomplished feats, but is silent about the mistakes made; with emotion talks about the merits of the fallen comrades: “<...>Not a single quality that could excite sympathy in the Indians, he did not lose sight of. 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 gave characteristics to 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 to attack the Delaware tribe, but to peacefully resolve the dispute with the help of eloquence and "gifts" - trophies that he got after the massacre at Fort William Henry: "He began from the fact that he flattered the vanity of the listeners. After enumerating the many occasions in which the Hurons showed their bravery and courage, he proceeded to praise their wisdom. He said that it was wisdom that constituted the main difference between the beaver and other animals, between people and animals, between the Hurons and the rest of mankind.<...>... He so skillfully mixed militant appeals with words of deceit and cunning that he pleased the inclinations of both sides, and neither side could say that he fully understood his intentions ”(p. 283).

It should stop at 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 leader of the Hurons 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 lay down in the forest). From a conversation with one of the leaders, Magua realizes 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 the fortress of William Henry. The cunning Huron showed no less skill in distributing trinkets than in choosing them. He gave the most precious gifts to two of the most important leaders, he distributed the rest of the gifts to the younger ones with such gracious and appropriate compliments that none of them had reason to be dissatisfied” (p. 289). The Delaware willingly accept gifts, and, relenting, the chief leader admits that pale-faced wanderers came to them, that it was 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 from the defeat of Fort William Henry, in particular. The cunning Magua reminded the leader of this:<...>The Inghiz 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 reproach had an effect: “The blow was superbly delivered 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 are holding the hands of the oldest Delaware, the famous leader of the Delawares - Tamenund. The oldest chief and two old chiefs are seated at some elevation relative to the whole tribe. All Indians, young warriors, women and children, surround the place of the upcoming judgment in a dense ring. The prisoners are brought here: Cora with Alice, Duncan and Hawkeye. Magua declares his rights not only to Cora, he asks for all the captives, including the hunter. When Tamenund asks Duncan and Hawkeye which one of them is the famous Long Carbine, the hunter is silent: “I did not answer the name “Long Carbine” not out of shame and fear, because none of these feelings are characteristic of an honest person ... But I I do not want to recognize the right of the Mings to give any nicknames to a person whom friends have given a special name for his natural gifts.<...>But I am indeed the man who received the name of Nathaniel from the 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 "St. . And now the words of the hunter that the nickname "Hawkeye" was given to him by the river Delawares, look like a lie, which undermines the reputation of a literary hero!
Duncan wants to save the hunter and therefore tells everyone that he is Long Carabiner. But the hunter does not support Duncan and a small gun shooting competition takes place between them, in which Hawkeye wins. Tamenund gives the word to the cunning Magua and, after listening to him, gives him the captives. Kora tries to influence Tamenund's decision, but the patriarch is adamant. Then she draws his attention to another prisoner of the Delawares - Uncas. Tamenund is adamant here too: he condemns the young Mohican to torture by fire. But, when one of the tormentors rips off Uncas' shirt, the Delawares notice on his chest a tattooed image of a turtle, the symbol of the leader of the Delawares from the Turtle 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 is already a hundred years old, says to Uncas: “Four warriors from the clan of Uncas have 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 for Chingachgook and his son” (p. 311).
The patriarch asks the young Mohican if the Huron has "victor's rights" over himself, Hawkeye, Duncan, Alice, and Cora. Uncas replied that only Kora belonged to the Huron by right. The generous and honest Uncas, who could decide his fate and the fate of Kora, did not go against his principles. Duncan, like Kora in his time, spoke to Tamenund in defense of Kora, but was refused: “The words of the Delaware have been spoken ... Men do not speak twice” (p. 314).
Saying goodbye to friends, Cora admonishes Duncan, who holds Alice who has lost her senses in her arms: “<...>Needless to say, that you guard 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 white.<...>» (p. 317) Duncan and Alice will have two children in the future. The daughter will have a son, who will be called 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 be dead of old age.
Between the Delaware, led by the young leader of the Turtles, and the Hurons, led by Magua, there is a bloody battle. Saving Cora from the ferocious Magua, cornered, Uncas dies from his knife, and Cora from the knife of another Huron. Magua flees, but Hawkeye's bullet finally kills him.
Kora was buried according to the custom of pale-faced people: “The place chosen for Kora's grave turned out to be a small hill on which a group of young pine trees grew, casting a dull 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, on the slope of my days, I have lived to see the death of the last warrior from the wise tribe of the Mohicans! (p. 349)