Our People Could Not Talk

All Men Were Made By The Great Spirit Chief. They Are All Brothers.

Our Chiefs Are Killed. . . . The Little Children Are Freezing To Death. . . . My People Have No Blankets, No Food. . . . My Heart Is Sick And Sad. . . . I Will Fight No More Forever.

I Saw Clearly That War Was Upon Us When I Learned That My Young Men Had Been Secretly Buying Ammunition.

We Live, We Die, And Like The Grass And Trees, Renew Ourselves From The Soft Earth Of The Grave. Stones Crumble And Decay, Faiths Grow Old And They Are Forgotten, But New Beliefs Are Born. The Faith Of The Villages Is Dust Now... But It Will Grow Again... Like The Trees.

All Men Were Made Brothers. The Earth Is The Mother Of All People, And All People Should Have Equal Rights Upon It. You Might As Well Expect The Rivers To Run Backward As That Any Man Who Was Born Free Should Be Content When Penned Up And Denied Liberty To Go Where He Pleases.