 Chapter 33 of The Last of the Mohicans, a narrative of 1757 by James Fenimore Cooper. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 33. Quote, They fought like brave men, long and well. They piled that ground with Muslim slain. They conquered, but Bozaris fell, bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrade saw his smile when rang their loud hurrah, and the red field was won. They saw in death his eyelids closed, calmly, as two at night's repose, like flowers at set of sun. Unquote from Halleck. The sun found the canopy on the seceding 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 Mengui, by the destruction of a whole community. The black and murky atmosphere that floated around the spot where the Hurrans 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 practiced 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 canopy a nation of mourners. No shouts of success, no songs of triumph were heard in rejoicings for the victory. The latest straggler had returned from his foul 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 seceded by the most profound and unequivocable demonstrations of grief. The lodges were deserted, but a broad belt of earnest faces encircled a spot in their vicinity wither everything possessing life had repaired, and where all were now collected in deep and awful silence. The 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 remained of the ardent, high-sold and generous Quora. Her form was concealed in many wrappers of the same simple manufacture, and her face was shut for ever from the gaze of men. At her feet was seated the desolate Monroe. 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. Groot 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. Hayward was also nigh, supporting himself against the tree and endeavoring to keep down the sudden risings of sorrow that 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, Uncus appeared a raid in the most gorgeous ornaments that the wealth of the tribe could furnish. Rich plumes knotted before his head, wampum, gorgots, bracelets, and medals adorned his person in profusion, though his dull eye and vacant liniments too strongly contradicted the idle tale of pride they would convey. Directly in front of the corpse Chinchguch Cook 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 a thwart the dark visage of one, and the deathlike calm that for ever settled on the liniments of the other. The scout was hard by, leaning in a pensive posture on his own fatal and avenging weapon, while timonant, supported by the elders of his nation, occupied a high place at hand, once 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 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 the content to become a silent and sad spectator of the fruits of a contest, that he arrived too late to anticipate. The day was drawing to the close of its first quarter, and yet had the multitude maintained its breathing silence 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 touching offerings that were made from time to time in commemoration of the dead. The patience and forbearance of the 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 Delaware 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 Lennipede! He said in low, hollow tones, that sounded like a voice charged with some prophetic mission. The face of 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 Lennipede! The face of the Manitou is behind a cloud. As the simple and yet terrible enunciation stole on the ears of the multitude, a stillness as deep and awful seceded as if the venerated spirit they worshipped had uttered the words without the aid of human organs. And even the inanimate Uncus 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 burst of sorrow, during which the girls around the beer of Korah plucked the plants and flowers blindly from her body, as if bewildered with grief. But in the milder moments of their playing, 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 in 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 in qualifications commenced by modest delusions 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 history of the two worlds. She called him the panther of his tribe, and described him as one whose moccasin left no trail on the doos, 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 Manitou. She reminded him of the mother who bore him, and dealt 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's had shed tears above the grave of her child, and had called her blessed. Then, they who seceded, changing their tones to a milder and still more tender strain, eluded 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 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 ones, 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 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 Lennipi contained veils as pleasant, streams as pure, and flowers as sweet as the heaven of the palefaces. 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 they made 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 true 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 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 version 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 frost 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 the 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 Delaware's 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 Uncus, 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 Hayward and Monroe, they knew not the meaning of the wild sounds they heard. Chinch-Gochuk was the solitary exception to the interests 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 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 liniments which he had so long loved and which were now about to be closed for ever from his view. In this stage of obescus, a warrior much renowned for deed in arms, and more especially for services in the recent combat, a man of stern and graved demeanor advanced slowly from the crowd, and placed himself nigh the person of the dead. Why has thou lift us pride of the Wappanachki? he said, addressing himself to the dull ears of Uncus, 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 briars 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 Ottawa 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 manateau when he speaks in the clouds. The tongue of Ottawa, his weak, he added, looking about him with a melancholy gaze, and his heart is exceeding heavy. Pride of the Wappanachki, why hast thou left us? He was seceded by others in due order, until the most high and gifted men of the nation had sung or spoken their tribute of praise over the mains 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 once it proceeded, unlike matters of conjecture. It was, however, seceded 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 Chinggachkuk 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 impatient 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 Tamanund himself had ever before commanded. But they listened in vain. Their 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 Sagan were closed, and he remained silent in his seat, speaking with his riveted eye in motionless form, like some creature that had been turned from the almighty hand, with the form but without the spirit of a man. The Delaware's, who knew by these symptoms that their mind or their friend was not prepared for some mighty an effort of fortitude, relaxed their attention, and, with innate delicacy, seemed to bestow all their thoughts on the abescus of the stranger maiden. A signal was given by one of the elder chiefs, through the women who crowded that part of the circle near which the body of Cora lay. Obedient to the sign, the girls raised the beer to the elevation of their heads, and advanced with slow and regulated steps, chanting as they proceeded another welling song in praise of the deceased. Who had been a close observer of the rites he deemed so heathenish. Now bent his head over the shoulder of the unconscious father, whispering, They move with the remnants of thy child, shall we not follow, and see them interred with Christian burial? Monroe started, as if the last trumpet had sounded in his ear, bestowing one anxious and hurried glance around him. He arose and followed in the simple train, with the mean 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 Uncus, as silent, as grave, and as motionless as before. The place that 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 thanked 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 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 dressed 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 female 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 spirits 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 word, 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 clothes and 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, we trade that something was expected from the father of the deceased. When Rose 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 hands 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, 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 capabilities of his listeners. The head of Monroe 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 morning 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, return Monroe. 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 heartbroken father could avail thee now, how blessed should still 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! Hayward gladly obeyed his summons that took them for 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 post 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 Monroe again drooping on his bosom with Hayward and David following in sorrowing silence, and attended by the aid of Moncombe with his guard, all the white men, with the exception of Hawkeye, passed before the eyes of the Delaware's, and were buried in the vast forest of that region. But the tie, which through their common calamity had united the feelings of these simple dwellers of 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 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 they linked between them and civilized life, they learned in answer of their inquiries that the gray head was speedily gathered to his father's, worn 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 palefaces, where her tears had at last ceased to flow, and had been seceded by the bright smiles, which were better suited to her joyous nature. But these events were of a time latter than 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 Uncus, who the Delaware's were already enclosing in his last vestment of skins. They paused to permit the longing and lingering gaze of the sturdy woodsmen, and when it was ended the body was enveloped, never to be enclosed 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 internment, 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 hole was concealed from the instinct and protected from the ravages of the beast 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. Czengochkoch 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 laterally 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 honour? He was good. He was dutiful. He was brave. Who can deny it? The manateau had need of such a warrior, and he has called him away. As for me, the son and the father of Angus, I am a blazed pine in a clearing of the palefaces. My race has gone from the shores of the Salt Lake and the hills of the Delaware's. But who can say that the serpent of his tribe, his 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 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 near, but if ever I forget the lad who has so often fought 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. Chinchkauch cook grasped the hand that, in the warmth of feeling the scout had stretched across the fresh earth, and in an attitude of friendship those two sturdy and intrepid woodsmen bowed their together, while scalding tears, while scalding tears fell to their feet, watering the grave of Uncus, 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. Tamanund lifted his voice to disperse the multitude. It is enough, he said. Co-children of the Lannopy, the anger of Manitou, is not done. Why should Tamanund 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 suns 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. End of chapter 33. End of The Last of the Mohicans. A narrative of 1757 by James Fenimore Cooper. This reading by Gary W. Sherwin of Yukon, Pennsylvania. In January of 2008. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.