They claim this mother of ours, the Earth, for their own use, and fence their neighbors away from her, and deface her with their buildings and their refuse.
When the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe.
I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed… The old men are all dead… My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.
