These two chapters introduce the reader to the historical and natural settings and are indicative of the extent to which this book, as a historical novel, relates its fictional characters to real history. Only here at the beginning and later at mid-novel will the action coincide in detail with actual events, though the historic war is always somewhere in the near distance. These chapters also present four of the main fictional characters and one secondary one, all of whom will merit our concern henceforth. Major Heyward is the gallant romantic hero, but unlike most sentimental romances where for each hero there is one heroine, here there are two, Alice and Cora, blonde and brunette. And it is immediately apparent that the old tradition of weak-blonde-strong-brunette contrast is at work, stereotyping the fair Alice and dark Cora. These three are rather predictable types which both simplify and stultify the writer's efforts with them. Magua's stealthy eyes and abrupt, furtive actions mark him as a potential villain, while the exaggerated presentation of the simple, single-minded Gamut paints him as the comic and perhaps pitiable adult innocent. At this point, both are something less than realistic and fully vitalized characters, but in comparison to the other three they seem to breathe real air. The stature of originality and verisimilitude that they do show is doubtless due to the fact that they are native characters. One may note, for instance, that Heyward's comment about Munro's once dealing rigidly with Magua not only lends suspense to the situation and points to the theme of revenge but also suggests some depth of motivation for the Indian.
What we call plot—the complications of a situation and the subsequent events and actions that further entangle things before they are finally resolved in some fashion—starts an early ferment in terms of danger and suspense. Four likable and somewhat innocent characters strike into the unknown forest wilderness with a doubtful guide. It is a time of urgency, and movement is swift. Cooper hardly gives the reader time to question seriously why Munro's daughters would push forward their visit at this worst of times and would feel themselves safer almost alone on a dim path in savage-infested territory than in the company of fifteen hundred trained fighting men. This represents a lack in character motivation, but Cooper knows that he must get his people into jeopardy, and he at least partly succeeds in hiding this lack under suspenseful action and a sense of urgency. But in spite of the pace, Cooper also manages a good instance of dramatic irony, a fictional presentation in which the reader is allowed to see or deduce predicaments unknown or only partly known by the characters. It is thus that the first part of the pattern of action—that of pursuit—has begun.
