Instructor's note: In preceding chapters the party of Cora, Alice, Heyward, & Gamut—guided and protected by Hawkeye, Uncas, & Chingachgook—arrive at Fort William Henry, under siege by French and Iroquois forces, where the sisters are united with their father, Colonel Munro, who subsequently sends Hawkeye away on a special mission. During a lull in the action prior to peace negotiations with the French General Montcalm, Major Heyward visits Colonel Munro's quarters on a private matter.

The opening scene displays "the purest and best affection" of domesticity and sentiment, particularly family or filial love. Though best known as a novelist of the frontier or the high seas, Cooper enjoyed a sizeable readership among women and often featured domestic scenes or crises of sentiment. (Cooper's first novel was a novel of manners.)

from Chapter 16

[16.1] Major Heyward found Munro attended only by his daughters. Alice sat upon his knee, parting the gray hairs on the forehead of the old man with her delicate fingers; and whenever he affected to frown on her trifling [playfulness, chatter], appeasing his assumed anger by pressing her ruby lips fondly on his wrinkled brow. Cora was seated nigh [near] them, a calm and amused looker-on; regarding the wayward movements of her more youthful sister with that species of maternal fondness which characterized her love for Alice.

[16.2] Not only the dangers through which they had passed, but those which still impended above them, appeared to be momentarily forgotten, in the soothing indulgence of such a family meeting. It seemed as if they had profited by the short truce [b/w English and French armies], to devote an instant to the purest and best affection; the daughters forgetting their fears, and the veteran his cares, in the security of the moment. Of this scene, Duncan, who, in his eagerness to report his arrival, had entered unannounced, stood many moments an unobserved and a delighted spectator. But the quick and dancing eyes of Alice soon caught a glimpse of his figure reflected from a glass, and she sprang blushing from her father's knee, exclaiming aloud:

[16.3] "Major Heyward!”

[16.4] "What of the lad?” demanded her father; "I have sent him to crack [negotiate] a little with the Frenchman. Ha, sir, you are young, and you're nimble! Away with you, ye baggage; as if there were not troubles enough for a soldier, without having his camp filled with such prattling hussies as yourself!”

[16.5] Alice laughingly followed her sister, who instantly led the way from an apartment where she perceived their presence was no longer desirable. Munro, instead of demanding the result of the young man's mission, paced the room for a few moments, with his hands behind his back, and his head inclined toward the floor, like a man lost in thought. At length he raised his eyes, glistening with a father's fondness, and exclaimed:

[16.6] "They are a pair of excellent girls, Heyward, and such as any one may boast of.”

[16.7] "You are not now to learn my opinion of your daughters, Colonel Munro.”

[16.8] "True, lad, true,” interrupted the impatient old man; "you were about opening your mind more fully on that matter the day you got in, but I did not think it becoming in an old soldier to be talking of nuptial blessings and wedding jokes when the enemies of his king were likely to be unbidden guests at the feast. But I was wrong, Duncan, boy, I was wrong there; and I am now ready to hear what you have to say.”

[16.9] "Notwithstanding the pleasure your assurance gives me, dear sir, I have just now, a message from Montcalm—"

[16.10] "Let the Frenchman and all his host go to the devil, sir!” exclaimed the hasty veteran. "He is not yet master of William Henry, nor shall he ever be, provided Webb* proves himself the man he should. No, sir, thank Heaven we are not yet in such a strait that it can be said Munro is too much pressed to discharge the little domestic duties of his own family. [*General Webb, leader of British forces, glimpsed in chapter 1.]

[16.11] “Your mother was the only child of my bosom friend, Duncan; and I'll just give you a hearing, though all the knights of St. Louis [sainted French king] were in a body at the sally-port [gateway to fort], with the French saint at their head, crying to speak a word under favor. A pretty degree of knighthood, sir, is that which can be bought with sugar hogsheads! and then your twopenny marquisates. The thistle [symbol of Scots chivalry] is the order for dignity and antiquity; the veritable "nemo me impune lacessit" of chivalry. [“No one can harm me unpunished”: motto of the Scottish Order of the Thistle] Ye had ancestors in that degree, Duncan, and they were an ornament to the nobles of Scotland.” [Ethnically both white men are Scots, a major source of military men in North America to this day and esp. Southern whites (Duncan is from South Carolina); also Scots-Irish]

[16.12] Heyward, who perceived that his superior took a malicious pleasure in exhibiting his contempt for the message of the French general, was fain to humor a spleen [temper] that he knew would be short-lived; he therefore, replied with as much indifference as he could assume on such a subject:

[16.13] [Heyward:] "My request, as you know, sir, went so far as to presume to the honor of being your son.”

[16.14] [Munro:] "Ay, boy, you found words to make yourself very plainly comprehended. But, let me ask ye, sir, have you been as intelligible to the girl?” [That is, did Heyward first speak of marriage to one of Munro's daughters, or is Duncan raising the subject first with Munro?]

[16.15] "On my honor, no,” exclaimed Duncan, warmly; "there would have been an abuse of a confided trust, had I taken advantage of my situation for such a purpose.”

[16.16] [Munro:] "Your notions are those of a gentleman, Major Heyward, and well enough in their place. But Cora Munro is a maiden too discreet, and of a mind too elevated and improved, to need the guardianship even of a father.”

[16.17] [Duncan:] "Cora!”

[16.18] [Munro:] "Ay—Cora! we are talking of your pretensions to Miss Munro, are we not, sir?”

[16.19] "I—I—I was not conscious of having mentioned her name,” said Duncan, stammering.

[16.20] "And to marry whom, then, did you wish my consent, Major Heyward?” demanded the old soldier, erecting himself in the dignity of offended feeling.

[16.21] "You have another, and not less lovely child.”

[16.22] "Alice!” exclaimed the father, in an astonishment equal to that with which Duncan had just repeated the name of her sister. [Colonel Munro might assume a suitor would express interest in his first or eldest daughter; also Cora appears more mature than Alice in terms of marriage and childbearing]

[16.23] "Such was the direction of my wishes, sir.”

[16.24] The young man awaited in silence the result of the extraordinary effect produced by a communication, which, as it now appeared, was so unexpected. For several minutes Munro paced the chamber with long and rapid strides, his rigid features working convulsively, and every faculty seemingly absorbed in the musings of his own mind. At length, he paused directly in front of Heyward, and riveting his eyes upon those of the other, he said, with a lip that quivered violently:

[16.25] "Duncan Heyward, I have loved you for the sake of him whose blood* is in your veins ; I have loved you for your own good qualities; and I have loved you, because I thought you would contribute to the happiness of my child. But all this love would turn to hatred, were I assured that what I so much apprehend [fear] is true.” [*in 16.11 Munro mentioned Duncan’s grandfather as a close friend, but now he raises issue of “blood” or genealogy]

[16.26] "God forbid that any act or thought of mine should lead to such a change!” exclaimed the young man, whose eye never quailed under the penetrating look it encountered. Without adverting to the impossibility of the other's comprehending those feelings which were hid in his own bosom, Munro suffered himself to be appeased by the unaltered countenance he met, and with a voice sensibly softened, he continued:

[16.27] "You would be my son, Duncan, and you're ignorant of the history of the man you wish to call your father. Sit ye down, young man, and I will open to you the wounds of a seared [scorched] heart, in as few words as may be suitable.”

[16.28] By this time, the message of [French General] Montcalm was as much forgotten by him who bore it [Duncan] as by the man for whose ears it was intended.*  Each drew a chair, and while the veteran communed a few moments with his own thoughts, apparently in sadness, the youth suppressed his impatience in a look and attitude of respectful attention. At length, the former spoke:   *[Romantic literature refocuses from the public or historic to the private or personal.]

[16.29] [Munro:] "You'll know, already, Major Heyward, that my family was both ancient and honorable,” commenced the Scotsman; "though it might not altogether be endowed with that amount of wealth that should correspond with its degree. I was, maybe, such an one as yourself when I plighted my faith to Alice Graham, the only child of a neighboring laird [landowner] of some estate.

[16.30] [Munro continues:] “But the connection was disagreeable to her father, on more accounts than my poverty. I did, therefore, what an honest man should—restored the maiden her troth [freed her from their engagement], and departed the country in the [military] service of my king. I had seen many regions, and had shed much blood in different lands, before duty called me to the islands of the West Indies [Caribbean].

[16.31] [Munro continues:] There it was my lot to form a connection with one who in time became my wife, and the mother of Cora. She was the daughter of a gentleman of those isles, by a lady whose misfortune it was, if you will,” said the old man, proudly, "to be descended, remotely, from that unfortunate class who are so basely enslaved to administer to the wants of a luxurious people. [Cora is part African] Ay, sir, that is a curse, entailed on Scotland by her unnatural union with a foreign and trading people*.  But could I find a man among them who would dare to reflect on my child, he should feel the weight of a father's anger! Ha! Major Heyward, you are yourself born at the south, where these unfortunate beings are considered of a race inferior to your own.” [*perhaps embarrassed, Munro shifts the blame to the English]

[16.32] "'Tis most unfortunately true, sir,” said Duncan, unable any longer to prevent his eyes from sinking to the floor in embarrassment.

[16.33] "And you cast it on my child as a reproach! You scorn to mingle the blood of the Heywards with one so degraded—lovely and virtuous though she be?” fiercely demanded the jealous parent.

[16.34] "Heaven protect me from a prejudice so unworthy of my reason!” returned Duncan, at the same time conscious of such a feeling, and that as deeply rooted as if it had been engrafted in his nature. "The sweetness, the beauty, the witchery of your younger daughter, Colonel Munro, might explain my motives without imputing to me this injustice.”

[16.35] "Ye are right, sir,” returned the old man, again changing his tones to those of gentleness, or rather softness; "the girl is the image of what her mother was at her years, and before she had become acquainted with grief. When death deprived me of my wife I returned to Scotland, enriched by the marriage*; and, would you think it, Duncan! the suffering angel [Alice Graham, his first love] had remained in the heartless state of celibacy twenty long years, and that for the sake of a man who could forget her! She did more, sir; she overlooked my want of faith, and, all difficulties being now removed, she took me for her husband.” [In many English novels of the late 1700s-early 1800s, the Caribbean colonies appear as a source of wealth supporting the domestic operations of British society; compare Rochester & Bertha in Jane Eyre]

[16.36] "And became the mother of Alice?” exclaimed Duncan, with an eagerness that might have proved dangerous at a moment when the thoughts of Munro were less occupied that at present. [Duncan is relieved that Alice is “a woman without a cross”]

[16.37] "She did, indeed,” said the old man, "and dearly did she pay for the blessing she bestowed. But she is a saint in heaven, sir; and it ill becomes one whose foot rests on the grave to mourn a lot so blessed. I had her but a single year, though; a short term of happiness for one who had seen her youth fade in hopeless pining.”

[16.38] There was something so commanding in the distress of the old man, that Heyward did not dare to venture a syllable of consolation. Munro sat utterly unconscious of the other's presence, his features exposed and working with the anguish of his regrets, while heavy tears fell from his eyes, and rolled unheeded from his cheeks to the floor. At length he moved, and as if suddenly recovering his recollection; when he arose, and taking a single turn across the room, he approached his companion with an air of military grandeur, and demanded:

[16.39] "Have you not, Major Heyward, some communication that I should hear from the marquis de Montcalm?”

[The rest of Chapter 16 describes negotiations with French General Montcalm. Munro agrees to surrender Fort William Henry to the superior forces of the French and their Indian allies. The English forces may honorably relinquish the fort by marching out with their weapons unloaded.]

from Chapter 17 

[Chapter 17 opens with French General Montcalm (also a historic figure) meeting by night with Magua, a leader among Indians opposing the English. Magua dislikes letting the English keep their weapons, as these would normally be among the spoils or loot claimed after a victory. This discontent sets up a massacre as the English leave Fort William Henry.

[As in Mary Rowlandson’s Captivity Narrative, note how the enemy Indians are depicted in terms similar to current depictions of terrorists: uncivilized, hot-headed, willing to attack women and children]

[17.1]  . . . By this time the signal for departure [from the fort] had been given, and the head of the English column was in motion. The sisters started at the sound, and glancing their eyes around, they saw the white uniforms of the French grenadiers [soldiers], who had already taken possession of the gates of the fort. At that moment an enormous cloud seemed to pass suddenly above their heads, and, looking upward, they discovered that they stood beneath the wide folds of the standard [flag] of France.

[17.2] "Let us go,” said Cora; "this is no longer a fit place for the children of an English officer.” [family + national honor]

[17.3] Alice clung to the arm of her sister, and together they left the parade, accompanied by the moving throng that surrounded them. [individuals among masses]

[17.4] As they passed the gates, the French officers, who had learned their rank [officers = gentlemen], bowed often and low, forbearing, however, to intrude those attentions which they saw, with peculiar tact, might not be agreeable. As every vehicle and each beast of burden was occupied by the sick and wounded, Cora had decided to endure the fatigues of a foot march, rather than interfere with their comforts. Indeed, many a maimed and feeble soldier was compelled to drag his exhausted limbs in the rear of the columns, for the want of the necessary means of conveyance in that wilderness. The whole, however, was in motion; the weak and wounded, groaning and in suffering; their comrades silent and sullen; and the women and children in terror, they knew not of what. [again historical fiction or the historic romance refocuses from public/historic to personal/family]

[17.5] As the confused and timid throng left the protecting mounds of the fort, and issued on the open plain, the whole scene was at once presented to their eyes. At a little distance on the right, and somewhat in the rear, the French army stood to their arms, Montcalm having collected his parties, so soon as his guards had possession of the works. They were attentive but silent observers of the proceedings of the vanquished, failing in none of the stipulated military honors, and offering no taunt or insult, in their success, to their less fortunate foes. Living masses of the English, to the amount, in the whole, of near three thousand, were moving slowly across the plain, toward the common center, and gradually approached each other, as they converged to the point of their march, a vista [opening, prospect] cut through the lofty trees, where the road to the Hudson entered the forest. Along the sweeping borders of the woods hung a dark cloud of savages, eyeing the passage of their enemies, and hovering at a distance, like vultures who were only kept from swooping on their prey by the presence and restraint of a superior army. A few [French-allied Indians] had straggled among the conquered columns, where they stalked in sullen discontent; attentive, though, as yet, passive observers of the moving multitude.

[17.6] The advance [army contingent at front of column], with Heyward at its head, had already reached the defile [meeting point for path of departure], and was slowly disappearing [into forest], when the attention of Cora was drawn to a collection of stragglers by the sounds of contention. A truant provincial [colonist trailing behind] was paying the forfeit of his disobedience, by being plundered [by the Indians] of those very effects which had caused him to desert his place in the ranks. The man was of powerful frame, and too avaricious [greedy] to part with his goods without a struggle. Individuals from either party interfered; the one side to prevent and the other to aid in the robbery. Voices grew loud and angry, and a hundred savages appeared, as it were, by magic, where a dozen only had been seen a minute before. It was then that Cora saw the form of Magua gliding among his countrymen, and speaking with his fatal and artful eloquence. The mass of women and children stopped, and hovered together like alarmed and fluttering birds. But the cupidity [rapacity] of the Indian [plural reference to Indians plundering greedy white man] was soon gratified, and the different bodies again moved slowly onward.

[17.7] The savages now fell back, and seemed content to let their enemies advance without further molestation. But, as the female crowd approached them, the gaudy colors of a shawl attracted the eyes of a wild and untutored Huron. He advanced to seize it without the least hesitation. The woman, more in terror than through love of the ornament, wrapped her child in the coveted article, and folded both more closely to her bosom. Cora was in the act of speaking, with an intent to advise the woman to abandon the trifle, when the savage relinquished his hold of the shawl, and tore the screaming infant from her arms. Abandoning everything to the greedy grasp of those around her, the mother darted, with distraction in her mien [bearing, composure], to reclaim her child. The Indian smiled grimly, and extended one hand, in sign of a willingness to exchange, while, with the other, he flourished the babe over his head, holding it by the feet as if to enhance the value of the ransom.

[17.8] "Here—here—there—all—any—everything!” exclaimed the breathless woman, tearing the lighter articles of dress from her person with ill-directed and trembling fingers; "take all, but give me my babe!”

[17.9] The savage spurned the worthless rags, and perceiving that the shawl had already become a prize to another, his bantering but sullen smile changing to a gleam of ferocity, he dashed the head of the infant against a rock, and cast its quivering remains to her very feet. For an instant the mother stood, like a statue of despair, looking wildly down at the unseemly object, which had so lately nestled in her bosom and smiled in her face; and then she raised her eyes and countenance toward heaven, as if calling on God to curse the perpetrator of the foul deed. She was spared the sin of such a prayer for, maddened at his disappointment, and excited at the sight of blood, the Huron mercifully drove his tomahawk into her own brain. The mother sank under the blow, and fell, grasping at her child, in death, with the same engrossing love that had caused her to cherish it when living.

[17.13] In such a scene none had leisure to note the fleeting moments. It might have been ten minutes (it seemed an age) that the sisters had stood riveted to one spot, horror-stricken and nearly helpless. When the first blow was struck, their screaming companions had pressed upon them in a body, rendering flight impossible; and now that fear or death had scattered most, if not all, from around them, they saw no avenue open, but such as conducted to the tomahawks of their foes. On every side arose shrieks, groans, exhortations and curses. At this moment, Alice caught a glimpse of the vast form of her father, moving rapidly across the plain, in the direction of the French army. He was, in truth, proceeding to Montcalm, fearless of every danger, to claim the tardy escort for which he had before conditioned. Fifty glittering axes and barbed spears were offered unheeded at his life, but the savages respected his rank and calmness, even in their fury. The dangerous weapons were brushed aside by the still nervous [active] arm of the veteran, or fell of themselves, after menacing an act that it would seem no one had courage to perform. Fortunately, the vindictive Magua was searching for his victim in the very band the veteran had just quitted. [Magua seeks direct revenge on Munro]

[17.14] "Father—father—we are here!” shrieked Alice, as he passed, at no great distance, without appearing to heed them. "Come to us, father, or we die!”

[17.15] The cry was repeated, and in terms and tones that might have melted a heart of stone, but it was unanswered. Once, indeed, the old man appeared to catch the sound, for he paused and listened; but Alice had dropped senseless on the earth, and Cora had sunk at her side, hovering in untiring tenderness over her lifeless form. Munro shook his head in disappointment, and proceeded, bent on the high duty of his station.

[17.16] "Lady,” said Gamut [the psalmist David], who, helpless and useless as he was, had not yet dreamed of deserting his trust, "it is the jubilee of the devils*, and this is not a meet place for Christians to tarry in. Let us up and fly.” [*the evangelical David Gamut interprets the Indians in the gothic background of hell]

[17.17] "Go,” said Cora, still gazing at her unconscious sister; "save thyself. To me thou canst not be of further use.”

[17.18] David comprehended the unyielding character of her resolution, by the simple but expressive gesture that accompanied her words. He gazed for a moment at the dusky forms that were acting their hellish rites on every side of him, and his tall person grew more erect while his chest heaved, and every feature swelled, and seemed to speak with the power of the feelings by which he was governed.

[17.19] "If the Jewish boy* might tame the great spirit of Saul by the sound of his harp, and the words of sacred song, it may not be amiss,” he said, "to try the potency [power] of music here.” [*David of the Old Testament, original singer of Psalms]

[17.20] Then raising his voice to its highest tone, he poured out a strain [melody] so powerful as to be heard even amid the din of that bloody field. More than one savage rushed toward them, thinking to rifle [rob] the unprotected sisters of their attire, and bear away their scalps; but when they found this strange and unmoved figure riveted to his post, they [marauding Indians] paused to listen. Astonishment soon changed to admiration, and they passed on to other and less courageous victims, openly expressing their satisfaction at the firmness with which the white warrior sang his death song [a ritual of Indian captives under torment]. Encouraged and deluded by his success, David exerted all his powers to extend what he believed so holy an influence. The unwonted [unexpected] sounds caught the ears of a distant savage, who flew raging from group to group, like one who, scorning to touch the vulgar herd, hunted for some victim more worthy of his renown. It was Magua, who uttered a yell of pleasure when he beheld his ancient prisoners again at his mercy.

[17.21] "Come,” he said, laying his soiled hands on the dress of Cora, "the wigwam of the Huron is still open. Is it not better than this place?”

[17.22] "Away!” cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his revolting aspect.

[17.23] The Indian laughed tauntingly, as he held up his reeking [bloody] hand, and answered: "It is red, but it comes from white veins!” [blood = race]

[17.24] "Monster! there is blood, oceans of blood, upon thy soul; thy spirit has moved this scene.”

[17.25] "Magua is a great chief!” returned the exulting savage, "will the dark-hair go to his tribe?” [Again men focus on Cora's darkness]

[17.26] "Never! strike if thou wilt, and complete thy revenge.” He hesitated a moment, and then catching the light and senseless form of Alice in his arms, the subtle [cunning] Indian moved swiftly across the plain toward the woods.

[17.27] "Hold!” shrieked Cora, following wildly on his footsteps; "release the child! wretch! what is't you do?”

[17.28] But Magua was deaf to her voice; or, rather, he knew his power, and was determined to maintain it.

[17.29] "Stay—lady—stay,” called Gamut, after the unconscious Cora. "The holy charm is beginning to be felt, and soon shalt thou see this horrid tumult stilled.”

[17.30] Perceiving that, in his turn, he was unheeded, the faithful David followed the distracted sister, raising his voice again in sacred song, and sweeping the air to the measure, with his long arm, in diligent accompaniment. In this manner they traversed the plain, through the flying, the wounded and the dead. The fierce Huron was, at any time, sufficient for himself and the victim that he bore [Magua carries off the unconscious Alice]; though Cora would have fallen more than once under the blows of her savage enemies, but for the extraordinary being [Gamut, still singing] who stalked in her rear, and who now appeared to the astonished natives gifted with the protecting spirit of madness.

[17.31] Magua, who knew how to avoid the more pressing dangers, and also to elude pursuit, entered the woods through a low ravine, where he quickly found the Narragansetts [the sisters’ horses], which the travelers had abandoned so shortly before, awaiting his appearance, in custody of a savage as fierce and malign in his expression as himself. Laying Alice on one of the horses, he made a sign to Cora to mount the other.

[17.32] Notwithstanding the horror excited by the presence of her captor, there was a present relief in escaping from the bloody scene enacting on the plain, to which Cora could not be altogether insensible. She took her seat, and held forth her arms for her sister, with an air of entreaty and love that even the Huron could not deny. Placing Alice, then, on the same animal with Cora, he seized the bridle, and commenced his route by plunging deeper into the forest. David, perceiving that he was left alone, utterly disregarded as a subject too worthless even to destroy, threw his long limb across the saddle of the beast they had deserted, and made such progress in the pursuit as the difficulties of the path permitted.

[17.33] They soon began to ascend; but as the motion had a tendency to revive the dormant faculties of her sister, the attention of Cora was too much divided between the tenderest solicitude in her behalf, and in listening to the cries which were still too audible on the plain, to note the direction in which they journeyed. When, however, they gained the flattened surface of the mountain-top, and approached the eastern precipice, she recognized the spot to which she had once before been led under the more friendly auspices of the scout. Here Magua suffered them to dismount; and notwithstanding their own captivity, the curiosity which seems inseparable from horror, induced them to gaze at the sickening sight below. [spectacle]

[17.34] The cruel work was still unchecked. On every side the captured were flying before their relentless persecutors, while the armed columns of the Christian king [of France] stood fast in an apathy [immobility]  which has never been explained, and which has left an immovable blot on the otherwise fair escutcheon [honor] of their leader. Nor was the sword of death stayed until cupidity got the mastery of revenge. Then, indeed, the shrieks of the wounded, and the yells of their murderers grew less frequent, until, finally, the cries of horror were lost to their ear, or were drowned in the loud, long and piercing whoops of the triumphant savages.

End Chapter 17. [Thus begins Cora’s and Alice’s second captivity narrative, which the final two thirds of the novel resolve.]