Justice? If that's justice than the sooner French guns blow the English out of America the better it will be for the people here!
You do not know what you're saying, girl!
Yes I do, I know exactly what what I'm saying, and if it is sedition, than I am guilty of sedition too!
My father's people say that at the birth of the sun and of his brother the moon, their mother died. So the sun gave to the earth her body, from which was to spring all life. And he drew forth from her breast the stars, and the stars he threw into the night sky to remind him of her soul. So there's the Cameron's monument. My folks' too, I guess.
You are right, Mr. Poe. We do not understand what is happening here. And it's not as I imagined it would be, thinking of it in Boston and in London...
Sorry to disappoint you.
No, on the contrary. It is more deeply stirring to my blood than any imagining could possibly have been.
The frontier moves with the sun and pushes the Red Man of these wilderness forests in front of it until one day there will be nowhere left. Then our race will be no more, or be not us.
That is my father's sadness talking.
No, it is true. The frontier place is for people like my white son and his woman and their children. And one day there will be no more frontier. And men like you will go too, like the Mohicans. And new people will come, work, struggle. Some will make their life. But once, we were here.
Maj. Duncan Heyward:
Might I inquire after the situation sir, given that I've seen the French engineering from the ridge above.
The situation is that his guns are bigger than mine and he has more of them. We keep our heads down while his troops dig 30 yards of trench a day. When those trenches are 200 yards from the fort and within range, he'll bring in his 15-inch mortars, lob explosive rounds over our walls, and pound us to dust.
Kindy inform Major Heyward that he has little to fear from this General Marquis de Montcalm in the first place; and scant need of a colonial militia in the second because the French haven't the nature for war. Their Gallic indifference combines with their Latinate voluptuousness with the result that they would rather eat and make love with their faces than fight.
Great Spirit, Maker of All Life. A warrior goes to you swift and straight as an arrow shot into the sun. Welcome him and let him take his place at the council fire of my people. He is Uncas, my son. Tell them to be patient and ask death for speed; for they are all there but one - I, Chingachgook - Last of the Mohicans.