CHAPTER XXXIII.

“They fought, like brave men, long and well,

They piled that ground with Moslem slain,

They conquered—but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw

His smile when rang their loud hurrah,

And the red field was won;

Then saw in death his eyelids close

Calmly, as to a night’s repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.”

—Halleck.

The sun found the Lenape, on the succeeding day, a nation of mourners. The

sounds of the battle were over, and they had fed fat their ancient grudge, and

had avenged their recent quarrel with the Mengwe, by the destruction of a whole

community. The black and murky atmosphere that floated around the spot where

the Hurons had encamped, sufficiently announced of itself, the fate of that

wandering tribe; while hundreds of ravens, that struggled above the summits of

the mountains, or swept, in noisy flocks, across the wide ranges of the woods,

furnished a frightful direction to the scene of the combat. In short, any eye

at all practised in the signs of a frontier warfare might easily have traced

all those unerring evidences of the ruthless results which attend an Indian

vengeance.

Still, the sun rose on the Lenape a nation of mourners. No shouts of success,

no songs of triumph, were heard, in rejoicings for their victory. The latest

straggler had returned from his fell employment, only to strip himself of the

terrific emblems of his bloody calling, and to join in the lamentations of his

countrymen, as a stricken people. Pride and exultation were supplanted by

humility, and the fiercest of human passions was already succeeded by the most

profound and unequivocal demonstrations of grief.

The lodges were deserted; but a broad belt of earnest faces encircled a spot in

their vicinity, whither everything possessing life had repaired, and where all

were now collected, in deep and awful silence. Though beings of every rank and

age, of both sexes, and of all pursuits, had united to form this breathing wall

of bodies, they were influenced by a single emotion. Each eye was riveted on

the center of that ring, which contained the objects of so much and of so

common an interest.

Six Delaware girls, with their long, dark, flowing tresses falling loosely

across their bosoms, stood apart, and only gave proof of their existence as

they occasionally strewed sweet-scented herbs and forest flowers on a litter of

fragrant plants that, under a pall of Indian robes, supported all that now

remained of the ardent, high-souled, and generous Cora. Her form was concealed

in many wrappers of the same simple manufacture, and her face was shut forever

from the gaze of men. At her feet was seated the desolate Munro. His aged head

was bowed nearly to the earth, in compelled submission to the stroke of

Providence; but a hidden anguish struggled about his furrowed brow, that was

only partially concealed by the careless locks of gray that had fallen,

neglected, on his temples. Gamut stood at his side, his meek head bared to the

rays of the sun, while his eyes, wandering and concerned, seemed to be equally

divided between that little volume, which contained so many quaint but holy

maxims, and the being in whose behalf his soul yearned to administer

consolation. Heyward was also nigh, supporting himself against a tree, and

endeavoring to keep down those sudden risings of sorrow that it required his

utmost manhood to subdue.

But sad and melancholy as this group may easily be imagined, it was far less

touching than another, that occupied the opposite space of the same area.

Seated, as in life, with his form and limbs arranged in grave and decent

composure, Uncas appeared, arrayed in the most gorgeous ornaments that the

wealth of the tribe could furnish. Rich plumes nodded above his head; wampum,

gorgets, bracelets, and medals, adorned his person in profusion; though his

dull eye and vacant lineaments too strongly contradicted the idle tale of pride

they would convey.

Directly in front of the corpse Chingachgook was placed, without arms, paint or

adornment of any sort, except the bright blue blazonry of his race, that was

indelibly impressed on his naked bosom. During the long period that the tribe

had thus been collected, the Mohican warrior had kept a steady, anxious look on

the cold and senseless countenance of his son. So riveted and intense had been

that gaze, and so changeless his attitude, that a stranger might not have told

the living from the dead, but for the occasional gleamings of a troubled

spirit, that shot athwart the dark visage of one, and the deathlike calm that

had forever settled on the lineaments of the other. The scout was hard by,

leaning in a pensive posture on his own fatal and avenging weapon; while

Tamenund, supported by the elders of his nation, occupied a high place at hand,

whence he might look down on the mute and sorrowful assemblage of his people.

Just within the inner edge of the circle stood a soldier, in the military

attire of a strange nation; and without it was his warhorse, in the center of a

collection of mounted domestics, seemingly in readiness to undertake some

distant journey. The vestments of the stranger announced him to be one who held

a responsible situation near the person of the captain of the Canadas; and who,

as it would now seem, finding his errand of peace frustrated by the fierce

impetuosity of his allies, was content to become a silent and sad spectator of

the fruits of a contest that he had arrived too late to anticipate.

The day was drawing to the close of its first quarter, and yet had the

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

and regulated steps, chanting, as they proceeded, another wailing song in

praise of the deceased. Gamut, who had been a close observer of rites he deemed

so heathenish, now bent his head over the shoulder of the unconscious father,

whispering:

“They move with the remains of thy child; shall we not follow, and see

them interred with Christian burial?”

Munro started, as if the last trumpet had sounded in his ear, and bestowing one

anxious and hurried glance around him, he arose and followed in the simple

train, with the mien of a soldier, but bearing the full burden of a

parent’s suffering. His friends pressed around him with a sorrow that was

too strong to be termed sympathy—even the young Frenchman joining in the

procession, with the air of a man who was sensibly touched at the early and

melancholy fate of one so lovely. But when the last and humblest female of the

tribe had joined in the wild and yet ordered array, the men of the Lenape

contracted their circle, and formed again around the person of Uncas, as

silent, as grave, and as motionless as before.

The place which had been chosen for the grave of Cora was a little knoll, where

a cluster of young and healthful pines had taken root, forming of themselves a

melancholy and appropriate shade over the spot. On reaching it the girls

deposited their burden, and continued for many minutes waiting, with

characteristic patience, and native timidity, for some evidence that they whose

feelings were most concerned were content with the arrangement. At length the

scout, who alone understood their habits, said, in their own language:

“My daughters have done well; the white men thank them.”

Satisfied with this testimony in their favor, the girls proceeded to deposit

the body in a shell, ingeniously, and not inelegantly, fabricated of the bark

of the birch; after which they lowered it into its dark and final abode. The

ceremony of covering the remains, and concealing the marks of the fresh earth,

by leaves and other natural and customary objects, was conducted with the same

simple and silent forms. But when the labors of the kind beings who had

performed these sad and friendly offices were so far completed, they hesitated,

in a way to show that they knew not how much further they might proceed. It was

in this stage of the rites that the scout again addressed them:

“My young women have done enough,” he said: “the spirit of

the pale face has no need of food or raiment, their gifts being according to

the heaven of their color. I see,” he added, glancing an eye at David,

who was preparing his book in a manner that indicated an intention to lead the

way in sacred song, “that one who better knows the Christian fashions is

about to speak.”

The females stood modestly aside, and, from having been the principal actors in

the scene, they now became the meek and attentive observers of that which

followed. During the time David occupied in pouring out the pious feelings of

his spirit in this manner, not a sign of surprise, nor a look of impatience,

escaped them. They listened like those who knew the meaning of the strange

words, and appeared as if they felt the mingled emotions of sorrow, hope, and

resignation, they were intended to convey.

Excited by the scene he had just witnessed, and perhaps influenced by his own

secret emotions, the master of song exceeded his usual efforts. His full rich

voice was not found to suffer by a comparison with the soft tones of the girls;

and his more modulated strains possessed, at least for the ears of those to

whom they were peculiarly addressed, the additional power of intelligence. He

ended the anthem, as he had commenced it, in the midst of a grave and solemn

stillness.

When, however, the closing cadence had fallen on the ears of his auditors, the

secret, timorous glances of the eyes, and the general and yet subdued movement

of the assemblage, betrayed that something was expected from the father of the

deceased. Munro seemed sensible that the time was come for him to exert what

is, perhaps, the greatest effort of which human nature is capable. He bared his

gray locks, and looked around the timid and quiet throng by which he was

encircled, with a firm and collected countenance. Then, motioning with his hand

for the scout to listen, he said:

“Say to these kind and gentle females, that a heart-broken and failing

man returns them his thanks. Tell them, that the Being we all worship, under

different names, will be mindful of their charity; and that the time shall not

be distant when we may assemble around His throne without distinction of sex,

or rank, or color.”

The scout listened to the tremulous voice in which the veteran delivered these

words, and shook his head slowly when they were ended, as one who doubted their

efficacy.

“To tell them this,” he said, “would be to tell them that the

snows come not in the winter, or that the sun shines fiercest when the trees

are stripped of their leaves.”

Then turning to the women, he made such a communication of the other’s

gratitude as he deemed most suited to the capacities of his listeners. The head

of Munro had already sunk upon his chest, and he was again fast relapsing into

melancholy, when the young Frenchman before named ventured to touch him lightly

on the elbow. As soon as he had gained the attention of the mourning old man,

he pointed toward a group of young Indians, who approached with a light but

closely covered litter, and then pointed upward toward the sun.

“I understand you, sir,” returned Munro, with a voice of forced

firmness; “I understand you. It is the will of Heaven, and I submit.

Cora, my child! if the prayers of a heart-broken father could avail thee now,

how blessed shouldst thou be! Come, gentlemen,” he added, looking about

him with an air of lofty composure, though the anguish that quivered in his

faded countenance was far too powerful to be concealed, “our duty here is

ended; let us depart.”

Heyward gladly obeyed a summons that took them from a spot where, each instant,

he felt his self-control was about to desert him. While his companions were

mounting, however, he found time to press the hand of the scout, and to repeat

the terms of an engagement they had made to meet again within the posts of the

British army. Then, gladly throwing himself into the saddle, he spurred his

charger to the side of the litter, whence low and stifled sobs alone announced

the presence of Alice. In this manner, the head of Munro again drooping on his

bosom, with Heyward and David following in sorrowing silence, and attended by

the aide of Montcalm with his guard, all the white men, with the exception of

Hawkeye, passed from before the eyes of the Delawares, and were buried in the

vast forests of that region.

But the tie which, through their common calamity, had united the feelings of

these simple dwellers in the woods with the strangers who had thus transiently

visited them, was not so easily broken. Years passed away before the

traditionary tale of the white maiden, and of the young warrior of the Mohicans

ceased to beguile the long nights and tedious marches, or to animate their

youthful and brave with a desire for vengeance. Neither were the secondary

actors in these momentous incidents forgotten. Through the medium of the scout,

who served for years afterward as a link between them and civilized life, they

learned, in answer to their inquiries, that the “Gray Head” was

speedily gathered to his fathers—borne down, as was erroneously believed,

by his military misfortunes; and that the “Open Hand” had conveyed

his surviving daughter far into the settlements of the pale faces, where her

tears had at last ceased to flow, and had been succeeded by the bright smiles

which were better suited to her joyous nature.

But these were events of a time later than that which concerns our tale.

Deserted by all of his color, Hawkeye returned to the spot where his sympathies

led him, with a force that no ideal bond of union could destroy. He was just in

time to catch a parting look of the features of Uncas, whom the Delawares were

already inclosing in his last vestment of skins. They paused to permit the

longing and lingering gaze of the sturdy woodsman, and when it was ended, the

body was enveloped, never to be unclosed again. Then came a procession like the

other, and the whole nation was collected about the temporary grave of the

chief—temporary, because it was proper that, at some future day, his

bones should rest among those of his own people.

The movement, like the feeling, had been simultaneous and general. The same

grave expression of grief, the same rigid silence, and the same deference to

the principal mourner, were observed around the place of interment as have been

already described. The body was deposited in an attitude of repose, facing the

rising sun, with the implements of war and of the chase at hand, in readiness

for the final journey. An opening was left in the shell, by which it was

protected from the soil, for the spirit to communicate with its earthly

tenement, when necessary; and the whole was concealed from the instinct, and

protected from the ravages of the beasts of prey, with an ingenuity peculiar to

the natives. The manual rites then ceased and all present reverted to the more

spiritual part of the ceremonies.

Chingachgook became once more the object of the common attention. He had not

yet spoken, and something consolatory and instructive was expected from so

renowned a chief on an occasion of such interest. Conscious of the wishes of

the people, the stern and self-restrained warrior raised his face, which had

latterly been buried in his robe, and looked about him with a steady eye. His

firmly compressed and expressive lips then severed, and for the first time

during the long ceremonies his voice was distinctly audible. “Why do my

brothers mourn?” he said, regarding the dark race of dejected warriors by

whom he was environed; “why do my daughters weep? that a young man has

gone to the happy hunting-grounds; that a chief has filled his time with honor?

He was good; he was dutiful; he was brave. Who can deny it? The Manitou had

need of such a warrior, and He has called him away. As for me, the son and the

father of Uncas, I am a blazed pine, in a clearing of the pale faces. My race

has gone from the shores of the salt lake and the hills of the Delawares. But

who can say that the serpent of his tribe has forgotten his wisdom? I am

alone—”

“No, no,” cried Hawkeye, who had been gazing with a yearning look

at the rigid features of his friend, with something like his own self-command,

but whose philosophy could endure no longer; “no, Sagamore, not alone.

The gifts of our colors may be different, but God has so placed us as to

journey in the same path. I have no kin, and I may also say, like you, no

people. He was your son, and a red-skin by nature; and it may be that your

blood was nearer—but, if ever I forget the lad who has so often

fou’t at my side in war, and slept at my side in peace, may He who made

us all, whatever may be our color or our gifts, forget me! The boy has left us

for a time; but, Sagamore, you are not alone.”

[Illustration]

Chingachgook grasped the hand that, in the warmth of feeling, the scout had

stretched across the fresh earth, and in an attitude of friendship these two

sturdy and intrepid woodsmen bowed their heads together, while scalding tears

fell to their feet, watering the grave of Uncas like drops of falling rain.

In the midst of the awful stillness with which such a burst of feeling, coming

as it did, from the two most renowned warriors of that region, was received,

Tamenund lifted his voice to disperse the multitude.

“It is enough,” he said. “Go, children of the Lenape, the

anger of the Manitou is not done. Why should Tamenund stay? The pale faces are

masters of the earth, and the time of the red men has not yet come again. My

day has been too long. In the morning I saw the sons of Unamis happy and

strong; and yet, before the night has come, have I lived to see the last

warrior of the wise race of the Mohicans.”