The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper

Out of all the reasons to enjoy reading, The Last of the Mohicans, by James Cooper, my favorite is the simple fact that two opposing forces are joined together for one common cause. Cooper does a marvelous job at presenting the difficulties that both Native American tribes, and the European settles have with the French invaders, but also a little with each other; creating a dramatic representation of history. He writes in the third person as one who is witnessing the events of the dynamic duo, Natty Bumppo, and his Indian friend, Chingachgook, as they try to regain their land from the Maquas Indians, and the British. Though we see these two as the sole characters involved with the invasion of Fort William Henry, it is Chingachgook's son, Uncas, who is the last of his tribe, and the one who is key to obtaining their land.

In my own mind I often wonder what James Cooper thought when he wrote this story. One could say that he wanted to rally both the settlers and Indians together against the French who were invading the land at the time. But it could also be said that Cooper simply wanted to write a dramatic historical fiction book, displaying some of the recent events of the day. Either way, I think no one would argue that this book is definitely part of a favorites list in any literature circle.

This entry is taken from the second volume and third chapter of the book; taking on the perspective of Uncas, right before he comes out and surprises Natty, and Chingachgook as they engage in a discussion of ancestory.

The air was crisp, the day was warm, and it seemed the spirits were shining their faces upon me. I could feel the gentle breeze flowing through the air, as I walked across the rough ground, and looked about the forest. My father told me he had gone to be with the white man so as to prepare for the attack on the Maquas, but I found it best to tracking them myself. I didn't know the white man well, but father seemed to like him. With each step, my shoulders tightened, and my neck grew firm. There was the edge. I knew it was because the air got thick and gray, and the ground grew smoother beyond the hill. The Maquas were not far. I chipped a slash in the side edge of the tree nearby, and stepped back the way I had came. It wasn't long before I heard the stream in it's steady tone answering to the silent calls of the trees, and I felt my heart lighten. My people had lived on this land forever, but the white man came and destroyed our village. We were doubtful at their trades and misgivings. We were angry when they took over our homes. We were sad when our chief was gone. But now all who is left is me and my father. Though now the Maquas want to take over. Will not the spirits grant us this victory? My eyes found the stream, and rested upon the two black figures sitting on the side of it. I could only see the back of the white man's head, and part of father's face, as I tuned my ears to hear someone say, "where are to be found your race, which came to their kin in the Delaware country, so many summers since." I assumed this to be the white man, and listened intently to my father's response, and found my name mentioned. Now I saw them both in plane view. "Uncas is here! who wishes Uncas?" 

Image URL: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Last_of_the_Mohicans_(1992_film)