uccess through the medium
of the countenances of the men he addressed. They had answered his
melancholy and mourning by sympathy and sorrow; his assertions, by
gestures of confirmation; and his boasting, with the exultation of
savages. When he spoke of courage, their looks were firm and responsive;
when he alluded to their injuries, their eyes kindled with fury; when
he mentioned the taunts of the women, they dropped their heads in shame;
but when he pointed out their means of vengeance, he struck a chord
which never failed to thrill in the breast of an Indian. With the first
intimation that it was within their reach, the whole band sprang upon
their feet as one man; giving utterance to their rage in the most
frantic cries, they rushed upon their prisoners in a body with drawn
knives and uplifted tomahawks. Heyward threw himself between the sisters
and the foremost, whom he grappled with a desperate strength that for a
moment checked his violence. This unexpected resistance gave Magua time
to interpose, and with rapid enunciation and animated gesture, he drew
the attention of the band again to himself. In that language he knew so
well how to assume, he diverted his comrades from their instant purpose,
and invited them to prolong the misery of their victims. His proposal
was received with acclamations, and executed with the swiftness of
thought.

Two powerful warriors cast themselves on Heyward, while another was
occupied in securing the less active singing-master. Neither of the
captives, however, submitted without a desperate, though fruitless,
struggle. Even David hurled his assailant to the earth; nor was Heyward
secured until the victory over his companion enabled the Indians to
direct their united force to that object. He was then bound and fastened
to the body of the sapling, on whose branches Magua had acted the
pantomime of the falling Huron. When the young soldier regained his
recollection, he had the painful certainty before his eyes that a
common fate was intended for the whole party. On his right was Cora in
a durance similar to his own, pale and agitated, but with an eye whose
steady look still read the proceedings of their enemies. On his left,
the withes which bound her to a pine, performed that office for Alice
which her trembling limbs refused, and alone kept her fragile form from
sinking. Her hands were clasped before her in prayer, but instead of
looking upward toward that power which alone could resc