University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

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 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 bleak
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 fatal 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
every thing possessing life had repaired, and
where all were now collected, in a 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 centre
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 proofs 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, highsouled, and generous Cora. Her form
was concealed in many wrappers of the same simple
manufacture, and her face was shut for ever from the
gaze of human eyes. 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 there was a hidden anguish that

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, with 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 their consolation. Heyward was also
nigh, supporting himself against a tree, and endeavouring
to keep down those sudden risings of sorrow,
that it required his utmost manhood to subdue.

But sad and melancholy as this groupe 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 been thus
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 death-like
calm that had for ever 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 war-horse, in the centre 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 the appearance of early 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

sweetness of the maiden. 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
some rigid being carved in 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 hollow tones,
that sounded like a voice charged with some prophetic
mission; “the face of the Manitto 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 Manitto 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 worshipped
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 now surrounded.
As the immediate effect, however, gradually
passed away, a low murmur of voices commenced
a sort of chant in honour 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, which ever 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 the 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 Manitto.
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 peculiar 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 dwelt 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 imperfections 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 her
against every danger. They promised that her path
should be pleasant, and her burthen light. They
cautioned her against unavailing regrets for the
friends of her youth, and the scenes where her
fathers 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 Manitto
had so wisely established between them. Then, in a
wild burst of their chant, they sung, 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 favour 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 for ever 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 meed, her
rare charms might properly claim. Her ringlets
were compared to the exuberant tendrils of the vine,
her eye to the blue vault of the 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 chorusses.
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 eager and attentive
gaze announced that his soul was entirely 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
dark and rigid countenance, even at the wildest,
or 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 for ever from his
view.

In this stage of the funeral obsequies, a warrior,
much renowned for his deeds in arms, and more
especially for his services in the recent combat, a
man of stern and grave demeanour, 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 though the empty clay still 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 noon-day. Thou art gone, youthful
warrior, but a hundred Wyandots are clearing the
briars from thy path to the world of spirits. Who that
saw thee in battle, would believe that thou couldst
die! Who before thee hast 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 Manitto, 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 chieftain. 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 which was now about to be uttered.
Though not an eye was turned towards 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 drunk 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 sunk 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 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 soft, low, and
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 though the last trumpet had
sounded its blast 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 burthen 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 burthen, 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 favour, 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 labours 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 farther
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 a pale-face has no need of food or raiment—their

gifts being according to the heaven of
their colour. 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 was
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 as though
they 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 all 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 colour!”

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 of 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 sunken upon his chest,
and he was again fast relapsing into his brooding
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 towards a groupe of
young Indians, who approached with a light, but

closely covered litter, and then pointed upward, impressively,
towards 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 entirely 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 dropping 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 Hawk-eye, passed from before the eyes
of the Delawares, and were soon buried in the vast
forests of that region.

But the tic 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 of their
weariness, or to animate their youthful and brave
with a desire for vengeance against their natural
enemies. Neither were the secondary actors in
all these momentous incidents immediately forgotten.
Through the medium of the scout, who served for
years afterwards, 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
happy and joyous nature.

But these were events of a time later than that
which concerns our tale. Deserted by all of his colour,
Hawk-eye returned to the spot where his own
sympathies led him, with a force that no ideal bond of
union could bestow. He was just in time to catch a
parting look of the features of Uncas, whom the Delawares
were already enclosing in his last vestments 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 general 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 heard, 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 honour! He was
good. He was dutiful. He was brave. Who can
deny it? The Manitto 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 Hawk-eye, 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 colours 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 colour or our gifts, forget me. The boy has left
us for a time, but, Sagamore, you are not alone!”

Chingachgook grasped the hands that, in the warmth
of his feeling, the scout had stretched across the fresh
earth, and in that 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 Manitto 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 Unâmis 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!”