The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757
multitude maintained its breathing stillness since its dawn.
No sound louder than a stifled sob had been heard among them, nor had even a
limb been moved throughout that long and painful period, except to perform the
simple and touching offerings that were made, from time to time, in
commemoration of the dead. The patience and forbearance of Indian fortitude
could alone support such an appearance of abstraction, as seemed now to have
turned each dark and motionless figure into stone.
At length, the sage of the Delawares stretched forth an arm, and leaning on the
shoulders of his attendants, he arose with an air as feeble as if another age
had already intervened between the man who had met his nation the preceding
day, and him who now tottered on his elevated stand.
“Men of the Lenape!” he said, in low, hollow tones, that sounded
like a voice charged with some prophetic mission: “the face of the
Manitou is behind a cloud! His eye is turned from you; His ears are shut; His
tongue gives no answer. You see him not; yet His judgments are before you. Let
your hearts be open and your spirits tell no lie. Men of the Lenape! the face
of the Manitou is behind a cloud.”
As this simple and yet terrible annunciation stole on the ears of the
multitude, a stillness as deep and awful succeeded as if the venerated spirit
they worshiped had uttered the words without the aid of human organs; and even
the inanimate Uncas appeared a being of life, compared with the humbled and
submissive throng by whom he was surrounded. As the immediate effect, however,
gradually passed away, a low murmur of voices commenced a sort of chant in
honor of the dead. The sounds were those of females, and were thrillingly soft
and wailing. The words were connected by no regular continuation, but as one
ceased another took up the eulogy, or lamentation, whichever it might be
called, and gave vent to her emotions in such language as was suggested by her
feelings and the occasion. At intervals the speaker was interrupted by general
and loud bursts of sorrow, during which the girls around the bier of Cora
plucked the plants and flowers blindly from her body, as if bewildered with
grief. But, in the milder moments of their plaint, these emblems of purity and
sweetness were cast back to their places, with every sign of tenderness and
regret. Though rendered less connected by many and general interruptions and
outbreakings, a translation of their language would have contained a regular
descant, which, in substance, might have proved to possess a train of
consecutive ideas.
A girl, selected for the task by her rank and qualifications, commenced by
modest allusions to the qualities of the deceased warrior, embellishing her
expressions with those oriental images that the Indians have probably brought
with them from the extremes of the other continent, and which form of
themselves a link to connect the ancient histories of the two worlds. She
called him the “panther of his tribe”; and described him as one
whose moccasin left no trail on the dews; whose bound was like the leap of a
young fawn; whose eye was brighter than a star in the dark night; and whose
voice, in battle, was loud as the thunder of the Manitou. She reminded him of
the mother who bore him, and dwelt forcibly on the happiness she must feel in
possessing such a son. She bade him tell her, when they met in the world of
spirits, that the Delaware girls had shed tears above the grave of her child,
and had called her blessed.
Then, they who succeeded, changing their tones to a milder and still more
tender strain, alluded, with the delicacy and sensitiveness of women, to the
stranger maiden, who had left the upper earth at a time so near his own
departure, as to render the will of the Great Spirit too manifest to be
disregarded. They admonished him to be kind to her, and to have consideration
for her ignorance of those arts which were so necessary to the comfort of a
warrior like himself. They dwelled upon her matchless beauty, and on her noble
resolution, without the taint of envy, and as angels may be thought to delight
in a superior excellence; adding, that these endowments should prove more than
equivalent for any little imperfection in her education.
After which, others again, in due succession, spoke to the maiden herself, in
the low, soft language of tenderness and love. They exhorted her to be of
cheerful mind, and to fear nothing for her future welfare. A hunter would be
her companion, who knew how to provide for her smallest wants; and a warrior
was at her side who was able to protect he against every danger. They promised
that her path should be pleasant, and her burden light. They cautioned her
against unavailing regrets for the friends of her youth, and the scenes where
her father had dwelt; assuring her that the “blessed hunting grounds of
the Lenape,” contained vales as pleasant, streams as pure; and flowers as
sweet, as the “heaven of the pale faces.” They advised her to be
attentive to the wants of her companion, and never to forget the distinction
which the Manitou had so wisely established between them. Then, in a wild burst
of their chant they sang with united voices the temper of the Mohican’s
mind. They pronounced him noble, manly and generous; all that became a warrior,
and all that a maid might love. Clothing their ideas in the most remote and
subtle images, they betrayed, that, in the short period of their intercourse,
they had discovered, with the intuitive perception of their sex, the truant
disposition of his inclinations. The Delaware girls had found no favor in his
eyes! He was of a race that had once been lords on the shores of the salt lake,
and his wishes had led him back to a people who dwelt about the graves of his
fathers. Why should not such a predilection be encouraged! That she was of a
blood purer and richer than the rest of her nation, any eye might have seen;
that she was equal to the dangers and daring of a life in the woods, her
conduct had proved; and now, they added, the “wise one of the
earth” had transplanted her to a place where she would find congenial
spirits, and might be forever happy.
Then, with another transition in voice and subject, allusions were made to the
virgin who wept in the adjacent lodge. They compared her to flakes of snow; as
pure, as white, as brilliant, and as liable to melt in the fierce heats of
summer, or congeal in the frosts of winter. They doubted not that she was
lovely in the eyes of the young chief, whose skin and whose sorrow seemed so
like her own; but though far from expressing such a preference, it was evident
they deemed her less excellent than the maid they mourned. Still they denied
her no need her rare charms might properly claim. Her ringlets were compared to
the exuberant tendrils of the vine, her eye to the blue vault of heavens, and
the most spotless cloud, with its glowing flush of the sun, was admitted to be
less attractive than her bloom.
During these and similar songs nothing was audible but the murmurs of the
music; relieved, as it was, or rather rendered terrible, by those occasional
bursts of grief which might be called its choruses. The Delawares themselves
listened like charmed men; and it was very apparent, by the variations of their
speaking countenances, how deep and true was their sympathy. Even David was not
reluctant to lend his ears to the tones of voices so sweet; and long ere the
chant was ended, his gaze announced that his soul was enthralled.
The scout, to whom alone, of all the white men, the words were intelligible,
suffered himself to be a little aroused from his meditative posture, and bent
his face aside, to catch their meaning, as the girls proceeded. But when they
spoke of the future prospects of Cora and Uncas, he shook his head, like one
who knew the error of their simple creed, and resuming his reclining attitude,
he maintained it until the ceremony, if that might be called a ceremony, in
which feeling was so deeply imbued, was finished. Happily for the self-command
of both Heyward and Munro, they knew not the meaning of the wild sounds they
heard.
Chingachgook was a solitary exception to the interest manifested by the native
part of the audience. His look never changed throughout the whole of the scene,
nor did a muscle move in his rigid countenance, even at the wildest or the most
pathetic parts of the lamentation. The cold and senseless remains of his son
was all to him, and every other sense but that of sight seemed frozen, in order
that his eyes might take their final gaze at those lineaments he had so long
loved, and which were now about to be closed forever from his view.
In this stage of the obsequies, a warrior much renowned for deed in arms, and
more especially for services in the recent combat, a man of stern and grave
demeanor, advanced slowly from the crowd, and placed himself nigh the person of
the dead.
“Why hast thou left us, pride of the Wapanachki?” he said,
addressing himself to the dull ears of Uncas, as if the empty clay retained the
faculties of the animated man; “thy time has been like that of the sun
when in the trees; thy glory brighter than his light at noonday. Thou art gone,
youthful warrior, but a hundred Wyandots are clearing the briers from thy path
to the world of the spirits. Who that saw thee in battle would believe that
thou couldst die? Who before thee has ever shown Uttawa the way into the fight?
Thy feet were like the wings of eagles; thine arm heavier than falling branches
from the pine; and thy voice like the Manitou when He speaks in the clouds. The
tongue of Uttawa is weak,” he added, looking about him with a melancholy
gaze, “and his heart exceeding heavy. Pride of the Wapanachki, why hast
thou left us?”
He was succeeded by others, in due order, until most of the high and gifted men
of the nation had sung or spoken their tribute of praise over the manes of the
deceased chief. When each had ended, another deep and breathing silence reigned
in all the place.
Then a low, deep sound was heard, like the suppressed accompaniment of distant
music, rising just high enough on the air to be audible, and yet so
indistinctly, as to leave its character, and the place whence it proceeded,
alike matters of conjecture. It was, however, succeeded by another and another
strain, each in a higher key, until they grew on the ear, first in long drawn
and often repeated interjections, and finally in words. The lips of
Chingachgook had so far parted, as to announce that it was the monody of the
father. Though not an eye was turned toward him nor the smallest sign of
impatience exhibited, it was apparent, by the manner in which the multitude
elevated their heads to listen, that they drank in the sounds with an
intenseness of attention, that none but Tamenund himself had ever before
commanded. But they listened in vain. The strains rose just so loud as to
become intelligible, and then grew fainter and more trembling, until they
finally sank on the ear, as if borne away by a passing breath of wind. The lips
of the Sagamore closed, and he remained silent in his seat, looking with his
riveted eye and motionless form, like some creature that had been turned from
the Almighty hand with the form but without the spirit of a man. The Delawares
who knew by these symptoms that the mind of their friend was not prepared for
so mighty an effort of fortitude, relaxed in their attention; and, with an
innate delicacy, seemed to bestow all their thoughts on the obsequies of the
stranger maiden.
A signal was given, by one of the elder chiefs, to the women who crowded that
part of the circle near which the body of Cora lay. Obedient to the sign, the
girls raised the bier to the elevation of their heads, and advanced with slow