Our people could not talk with these white-faced men, but they used signs which all people understand.

Hear me, my chiefs! I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.

I did not want my people killed. I did not want bloodshed.

The earth is the mother of all people, and all people should have equal rights upon it.

It takes few words to tell the truth.

We gave up some of our country to the white men, thinking that then we could have peace. We were mistaken. The white man would not let us alone.

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.