By the side of this stone, which was a simple slab at the head of a grave, stood a rich monument, decorated with an urn and ornamented with the chisel.
Oliver and Elizabeth approached the graves with a light tread, unheard by the old hunter, whose sunburnt face was working, and whose eyes twinkled as if something impeded their vision.
After some little time Natty raised himself slowly from the ground, and said aloud:
“Well, well—I’m bold to say it’s all right!
There’s something that I suppose is reading; but I can’t make anything of it; though the pipe and the tomahawk, and the moccasins, be pretty well—pretty well, for a man that, I dares to say, never seed ‘ither of the things.
Ah’s me! there they lie, side by side, happy enough! Who will there be to put me in the ‘arth when my time comes?”
“When that unfortunate hour arrives, Natty, friends shall not be wanting to perform the last offices for you,” said Oliver, a little touched at the hunter’s soliloquy.
The old man turned, without manifesting surprise, for he had got the Indian habits in this particular, and, running his hand under the bottom of his nose, seemed to wipe away his sorrow with the action.
“You’ve come out to see the graves, children, have ye?” he said; “well, well, they’re wholesome sights to young as well as old.”
“I hope they are fitted to your liking,” said Effingham, “no one has a better right than yourself to be consulted in the matter.”
“Why, seeing that I ain’t used to fine graves,” returned the old man, “it is but little matter consarning my taste.
Ye laid the Major’s head to the west, and Mohegan’s to the east, did ye, lad?”
“At your request it was done.”
“It’s so best,” said the hunter; “they thought they had to journey different ways, children: though there is One greater than all, who’ll bring the just together, at His own time, and who’ll whiten the skin of a blackamoor, and place him on a footing with princes.”
“There is but little reason to doubt that,” said Elizabeth, whose decided tones were changed to a soft, melancholy voice;
“I trust we shall all meet again, and be happy together.”
“Shall we, child, shall we?” exclaimed the hunter, with unusual fervor, “there’s comfort in that thought too.
But before I go, I should like to know what ‘tis you tell these people, that be flocking into the country like pigeons in the spring, of the old Delaware, and of the bravest white man that ever trod the hills?”
Effingham and Elizabeth were surprised at the manner of the Leather-Stocking, which was unusually impressive and solemn; but, attributing it to the scene, the young man turned to the monument, and read aloud:
“Sacred to the memory of Oliver Effingham Esquire, formally a Major in his B. Majesty’s 60th Foot; a soldier of tried valor; a subject of chivalrous loyalty; and a man of honesty. To these virtues he added the graces of a Christian.
The morning of his life was spent in honor, wealth, and power; but its evening was obscured by poverty, neglect, and disease, which were alleviated only by the tender care of his old, faithful, and upright friend and attendant Nathaniel Bumppo.
His descendants rest this stone to the virtues of the master, and to the enduring gratitude of the servant.”
The Leather-Stocking started at the sound of his own name, and a smile of joy illuminated his wrinkled features, as he said:
“And did ye say It, lad? have you then got the old man’s name cut in the stone, by the side of his master’s!
God bless ye, children! ‘twas a kind thought, and kindness goes to the heart as Life shortens.”
Elizabeth turned her back to the speakers.
Effingham made a fruitless effort before he succeeded in saying:
“It is there cut in plain marble; but it should have been written in letters of gold!”
“Show me the name, boy,” said Natty, with simple eagerness; “let me see my own name placed in such honor.
‘Tis a gin’rous gift to a man who leaves none of his name and family behind him in a country where he has tarried so long.”
Effingham guided his finger to the spot, and Natty followed the windings of the letters to the end with deep interest, when he raised himself from the tomb, and said:
“I suppose it’s all right; and it’s kindly thought, and kindly done!
But what have ye put over the red-skin?”
“You shall hear: This stone is raised to the memory of an Indian Chief of the Delaware tribe, who was known by the several names of John Mohegan Mohican———‘” “Mo-hee-can, lad, they call theirselves! ‘hecan.” “Mohican; and Chingagook—”
“‘Gach, boy; ‘gach-gook; Chingachgook, which interpreted, means Big-sarpent.
The name should be set down right, for an Indian’s name has always some meaning in it.”
“I will see it altered. ‘He was the last of his people who continued to inhabit this country; and it may be said of him that his faults were those of an Indian, and his virtues those of a man.’”
“You never said truer word, Mr. Oliver; ah’s me! if you had knowed him as I did, in his prime, in that very battle where the old gentleman, who sleeps by his side saved his life, when them thieves, the Iroquois, had him at the stake, you’d have said all that, and more too.
I cut the thongs with this very hand, and gave him my own tomahawk and knife, seeing that the rifle was always my fav’rite weapon.
He did lay about him like a man!
I met him as I was coming home from the trail, with eleven Mingo scalps on his pole.
You needn’t shudder, Madam Effingham, for they was all from shaved heads and warriors.
When I look about me, at these hills, where I used to could count sometimes twenty smokes, curling over the tree-tops, from the Delaware camps, it raises mournful thoughts, to think that not a red-skin is left of them all; unless it be a drunken vagabond from the Oneidas, or them Yankee Indians, who, they say, be moving up from the seashore; and who belong to none of Gods creatures, to my seeming, being, as it were, neither fish nor flesh—neither white man nor savage.
Well, well! the time has come at last, and I must go——”
“Go!” echoed Edwards, “whither do you go?”
The Leather-Stocking; who had imbibed unconsciously, many of the Indian qualities, though he always thought of himself as of a civilized being, compared with even the Delawares, averted his face to conceal the workings of his muscles, as he stooped to lift a large pack from behind the tomb, which he placed deliberately on his shoulders.
“Go!” exclaimed Elizabeth, approaching him with a hurried step; “you should not venture so far in the woods alone, at your time of life, Natty; indeed, it Is Imprudent, He is bent, Effingham, on some distant hunting.”
“What Mrs. Effingham tells you is true, Leather-Stocking,” said Edwards; “there can be no necessity for your submitting to such hardships now.
So throw aside your pack, and confine your hunt to the mountains near us, if you will go.”
“Hardship! ‘tis a pleasure, children, and the greatest that is left me on this side the grave.”