“…On that day,
two men were lingering on the banks of a small but rapid stream, within an
hour's journey of the encampment of Webb, like those who awaited the appearance
of an absent person, or the approach of some expected event. The vast canopy of
woods spread itself to the margin of the river, overhanging the water, and
shadowing its dark current with a deeper hue. The rays of the sun were
beginning to grow less fierce, and the intense heat of the day was lessened, as
the cooler vapors of the springs and fountains rose above their leafy beds, and
rested in the atmosphere. Still that breathing silence, which marks the drowsy sultriness
of an American landscape in July, pervaded the secluded spot, interrupted only
by the low voices of the men, the occasional and lazy tap of a woodpecker, the
discordant cry of some gaudy jay, or a swelling on the ear, from the dull roar
of a distant waterfall.
These feeble and broken sounds were, however, too
familiar to the foresters to draw their attention from the more interesting
matter of their dialogue.
While one of these loiterers showed the red skin and
wild accouterments of a native of the woods, the other exhibited, through the
mask of his rude and nearly savage equipments, the brighter, though sun-burned
and long-faced complexion of one who might claim descent from a European
parentage.
The former was seated on the end of a mossy log, in a posture that
permitted him to heighten the effect of his earnest language, by the calm but
expressive gestures of an Indian engaged in debate. His body, which was nearly
naked, presented a terrific emblem of death, drawn in intermingled colors of
white and black. His closely-shaved head, on which no other hair than the
well-known and chivalrous scalping tuft was preserved, was without ornament of
any kind, with the exception of a solitary eagle's plume, that crossed his
crown, and depended over the left shoulder. A tomahawk and scalping knife, of
English manufacture, were in his girdle; while a short military rifle, of that
sort with which the policy of the whites armed their savage allies, lay
carelessly across his bare and sinewy knee. The expanded chest, full formed
limbs, and grave countenance of this warrior, would denote that he had reached
the vigor of his days, though no symptoms of decay appeared to have yet weakened
his manhood.
The frame of the
white man, judging by such parts as were not concealed by his clothes, was like
that of one who had known hardships and exertion from his earliest youth. His
person, though muscular, was rather attenuated than full; but every nerve and
muscle appeared strung and indurated by unremitted exposure and toil. He wore a
hunting shirt of forest-green, fringed with faded yellow, and a summer cap of
skins which had been shorn of their fur. He also bore a knife in a girdle of wampum,
like that which confined the scanty garments of the Indian, but no tomahawk.
His moccasins were ornamented after the gay fashion of the natives, while the
only part of his under dress which appeared below the hunting-frock was a pair
of buckskin leggings, that laced at the sides, and which were gartered above
the knees, with the sinews of a deer. A pouch and horn completed his personal accouterments,
though a rifle of great length, which the theory of the more ingenious whites
had taught them was the most dangerous of all firearms, leaned against a
neighboring sapling. The eye of the hunter, or scout, whichever he might be,
was small, quick, keen, and restless, roving while he spoke, on every side of
him, as if in quest of game, or distrusting the sudden approach of some lurking
enemy. Notwithstanding the symptoms of habitual suspicion, his countenance was
not only without guile, but at the moment at which he is introduced, it was
charged with an expression of sturdy honesty.
"Where are
the blossoms of those summers!—fallen, one by one; so all of my family
departed, each in his turn, to the land of spirits. I am on the hilltop and
must go down into the valley; and when Uncas follows in my footsteps there will
no longer be any of the blood of the Sagamores, for my boy is the last of the
Mohicans."….”
The Last of the Mohicans. James Fenimore Cooper
Checking understanding:
What are the
main topics?
How are the
protagonists described?
Who is the last
of the Mohicans?
When the author
speaks about the native he mentions a tomahawk, a scalping knife, and a short
military rifle. Why?
How do we know
the white man is strong?
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