The Last of the Mohicans (1920 film)
LAST OF THE
A summer afternoon in the Year of Grace 1757—on a hilltop overlooking the valley of the Hudson River.
Two tragic figures, remnants of a once huge Indian tribe—Chief Great Serpent and his son, Uncas.
"The pale faces are our friends.
Go to the Fort yonder and tell them of the danger that threatens."
One of the few English outposts not yet attacked by the invading armies of France.
Even in a wilderness, gently-bred women somehow maintain the grace and dignity of life.
Cora Munro, a soldier's daughter—on a visit to Fort Edward.
Alice, her light-hearted sister—whom Cora has mothered from childhood.
Captain Randolph—more interested in women than in warfare.
Major Hayward—in love with capricious Alice.
The eternal spirit of youth, joying while it may—heedless of the gathering storm.
"Do tell us a story, General Webb."
"The Hurons are on the warpath. They have drunk the firewater of the French and have listened to lying tongues."
Her girlish fancy investing the young Chief with a halo or romance.
"Surely among his own people he is a prince."
"You!—The daughter of Colonel Munro!—Admiring a filthy savage!"
Two days' march from Fort Edward—Colonel Munro, father of the girls, stoutly resisting the French assault upon Fort William Henry.
"Three French divisions under Montcalm have crossed the lake! Men—horses—guns!"
Magua—an Indian runner in the service of the British.
"God grant my messenger has reached Fort Edward—else I may never see my daughters again!"
General Webb and his staff, summoned to hear the message of Colonel Munro.
"—A good opportunity to rejoin your father. But you need not ride all the way with the troops, as the Indian, Magua, knows a short-cut through the forest."
Bedtime—with Alice unable to sleep for excitement.
"There is nothing to fear—we shall soon be with father."
Haunted by a premonition of evil—a vague dread wich Cora's reassurance fails to banish.
"Promise me—whatever happens—you will never desert me!"
"Are you the guide?"
"Perhaps Captain Randolph will aid Major Heyward in protecting the ladies?"
"With your permission, sir, I will ride with my men—my duty lies with them."
The forest—and the parting of ways.
A secret path, which only Indian eyes can find.
"I'm David Gamut, a servant of the Lord. Permit me to ride with you to William Henry whither I am going to sing psalms for our brave soldiers."
Hours later—drenched and discouraged in a blinding rainstorm.
Storm-bound woodsmen—Uncas, his father, and their friend, Hawkeye, the scout.
"In which direction lies Fort William Henry? Our Indian guide has lost his way!"
"An Indian lost in the woods? Impossible! Were he blind, he would nose the earth—and every blade of grass would tell the way!"
"I suspect the varmint covets your scalps! Come—these woods are no longer safe!"
In a cave near Glenn's Falls—a hiding place known only to Hawkeye and the Mohicans.
The bond of a common danger—drawing together these two, so widely separated by the mystery of birth.
Simple words of a savage—yet revealing depths of thought and imagination.
"You will not be afraid?"
"Our last shot! Don't waste it!"
A deed of mercy.
"What the Great Spirit wills shall happen."
Within the cave, as minutes pass—the growing conviction that the stratagem has succeeded.
"Magua does not kill his prisoners—he tortures them."
Keen eyes have watched the failure of the ruse.
An abandoned blockhouse.
"If you would save the Yellow Hair, consent to be my squaw!"
"No, no! Rather let us die together!"
"'Tis but a short distance to Fort William Henry—we shall be there before sundown."
Arriving, after all, at the same time as the troops.
Smarting under the rebuff, Randolph determines to have it out with Cora.
Meekness, masking his injured vanity. Then a sudden burst of pride and anger—
Munro's headquarters—discussing the critical condition of the Fort.
"I know the guns on our left rampart are useless—but Montcalm doesn't know it! With God's help we yet may save the day."
"Is our condition really so bad, Sir?"
"If Montcalm's Indians really knew the truth, our scalps would hang in their wigwams before morning!"
The fear that grows in the heart of a coward.
Within the enemy's lines—the traitor.
Montcalm, Commander in Chief of the armies of France.
Under a flag of truce, Montcalm summons Munro to a conference.
"Colonel Munro, the fall of your fortress is inevitable."
"I know the guns on your left rampart are useless. You would never be able to resist my attack."
The very words which he himself had spoken concerning the condition of the Fort.
"What about the women and children?"
"They shall go unharmed."
The honor of Montcalm.
That night—to the everlasting shame of our civilization—covetous white men sold firewater to the Hurons, debauching the red men with drunken orgies.
The war dance of the flaming arrows—overture to the chant of Death.
Morning—under a leaden sky.
"I must stay until the last man leaves. Go with the rest in safety."
Magua—inciting the Huron braves to defy the authority of their chiefs.
"The day of Magua has come! Follow to my wigwam, Dark Hair!"
Wounded British soldiers—too weak to be removed—
Amid the smouldering ruins—
Magua—seeking hospitality in the camp of the peaceful Delawares—
"Here ends the trail! When the wise men of the Delawares hear our tale, they will not believe the lies of Magua."
Indian justice—the ancient tribal law of the Delawares, impartially administered by a council of three wise men.
"According to the law of the Manitou, Uncas will take the Dark Hair."
"—but Yellow Hair is Magua's lawful captive."
"Magua, the law of sanctuary protects you until sundown."
"I will go with you, Magua—in place of my sister."
"When the sun goes down I will be on your trail!"
Afar in the wilderness—a camp for the night.
Ever behind her—the leering face of Magua.
"One step nearer and I'll jump!"
Through the weary hours of the night—
Waiting, with the Indian's inexorable patience, for the outcome of her struggle against the overpowering desire to sleep.
Across the trackless waste—the cry of heart to heart.
In a beautiful sunlit valley—
And on a lonely crag—
"Woe, for the race of red men! In the morning of life I saw the sons of my forefathers happy and strong—and before nightfall I have seen the passing of the last of the Mohicans."