The Last of the Mohicans Page #4

JACK:

Boys. My sense of it is enough of us

will join-up to fill the county's

levy. But only if General Webb accepts

a few terms I got in mind...

HAWKEYE & UNCAS

cross through the people. A few men

drift off to their women at the

tables.

It is apparent two-thirds of the men will join. A couple of

jokes, light banter, no hostility.

AD LIBS (O.S.)

Webb? what's that, Jack...?

As they cross through they start removing their shirts and

weapons.

IAN:

You boys marchin' with us? What do

you say?

UNCAS:

We had our say, Ian.

They approach the Lacrosse field. Chingachgook stands with

Cameron in the background, watching.

LACROSSE FIELD:

Uncas joins James. Hawkeye goes on the other side. A couple

of young Mohawks and a young blonde farmer shout hallo's and

as the bodies crash into each other...

CUT TO:

EXT. BRITISH ENCAMPMENT, PARADE GROUND - DAY

SIX HUNDRED REGIMENT ON FOOT

in two rows. At each command the crack troops respond en

masse. Their hands slap the stocks of their brown bess muskets

in unison. These men are drilling in preparation for war.

We witness a state-of-the-art, 18th century, precision killing

machine.

REGIMENTAL SGT. MAJOR

(shouts)

Shoulder arms!

(slam)

Order arms! Handle cartridge!

(men bite the paper)

Prime!

(powder dropped in

pan)

Load! Draw ramrods! Ram cartridge!

Return ramrod! Make ready!

(muskets at chest

height)

Pre-sent!

(muskets shouldered)

Make ready!

(muskets returned to

chests)

Pre-sent!

(muskets returned to

shoulder)

Fire!

Like a single shot, two hundred fifty black powder muskets

fire .65 caliber lead shot at chest height in a scythe of

death.

SERGEANT MAJOR:

Prime! Load!

The Dutch roof lines of Albany are in the distance. Nearer,

a coach races past.

CUT TO:

EXT. ROAD - DAY

HORSES GALLOP:

Six horses, wide with dumb, mute strain. Foam, manes fly,

their hooves pound the yellow road into dust. Military

outriders are on the three left side horses.

CUT TO:

INT. COACH - DAY

MAJOR DUNCAN HEYWARD

Sits erectly in the brilliant scarlet coat of the First Royal

Regiment of Foot with gold braid, blue-black facing and blue-

black breeches, cavalry boots, spurs, a tricorn, white wig

and a gorget (large medallion) around his neck. He's 28-30

and tough. He is self-sure, principled reactionary. He

believes human society is static & layered into hierarchies

of class and they are absolutely impermeable. He opens a

simple gold-clasped case & contemplates its contents...

HEYWARD'S POV:
CASE

an enameled portrait of a dark-haired young woman.

HEYWARD:

as a soldier is militarily first-rate in his milieu: the

open battlefields of Europe.

Right now, however, he is about to enter the forests of North

America. He closes his clasp and glances out the window as

we enter Albany and as a facade of buildings & people pass.

CUT TO:

INT. BRITISH HQ, ASSEMBLY ROOM - DOOR - DAY

Four Grenadiers come to attention as Heyward enters mid-scene.

JACK (O.S.)

...if they are not allowed leave to

defend their families if the French

or Hurons attack the settlements, no

colonial militia is goin' to Fort

William Henry.

HEYWARD:

(low)

You, there. Help my man outside with

the baggage.

GENERAL JEROME WEBB sees Heyward and nods. Three of Webb's

Adjutants are on either side. Three remaining Grenadiers in

bearskin-covered mitred caps are at the door. Facing Webb

are a half dozen colonial representatives, including Captain

Jack Winthrop. Heyward watches Jack...

LIEUTENANT:

They will report or be pressed into

service!

LARGE COLONIAL REP

Any of the boys worth havin' can

disappear into forest... time it

takes you to blink. Where's that

leave ya, then?

Heyward, preparing to hand over dispatches, is interrupted

by the insubordinate tone.

Equally wound tightly is the Lieutenant.

LIEUTENANT:

They will be found! Arrested...

WEBB:

(cuts in)

I cannot imagine his Majesty, in his

benevolence, would ever object to

his American subjects defending their

hearth & home, their women & children,

if threatened by the "scourge" of

attack from savages, aroused to such

excess by our enemy, the ever-

perfidious French.

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