Page 351 - THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS

The Last of the Mohicans

attire, and bear away their scalps; but when they found this
strange and unmoved figure riveted to his post, they
paused to listen. Astonishment soon changed to
admiration, and they passed on to other and less

courageous victims, openly expressing their satisfaction at
the firmness with which the white warrior sang his death
song. Encouraged and deluded by his success, David
exerted all his powers to extend what he believed so holy
an influence. The unwonted sounds caught the ears of a
distant savage, who flew raging from group to group, like
one who, scorning to touch the vulgar herd, hunted for
some victim more worthy of his renown. It was Magua,
who uttered a yell of pleasure when he beheld his ancient
prisoners again at his mercy.
‘Come,’ he said, laying his soiled hands on the dress of
Cora, ‘the wigwam of the Huron is still open. Is it not
better than this place?’
‘Away!’ cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his revolting
aspect.
The Indian laughed tauntingly, as he held up his
reeking hand, and answered: ‘It is red, but it comes from
white veins!’
‘Monster! there is blood, oceans of blood, upon thy
soul; thy spirit has moved this scene.’

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