had given. Only the white man does this.
A few--a little handful--came in their canoe to the land of the red
man, as spirits come out of the water. The red man gave them his hand.
He gave them meat, and corn, and a home, and welcomed them to come and
live with him. And the flying canoes came again and again, and many
came in them, and at last they brought their great chief, with his
long knife by his side, and his red coat, and he asked for more land.
Our chiefs and warriors met him, and sold him another portion of our
lands; and his white squaws came with him, and they made houses and
homes near our people. They made fields, and had horses and herds, and
grew faster than our people, and drove away the deer and the turkeys
deeper into the woods. And then they wanted more land, and our chiefs
and warriors sold them more land, and now again another piece, until
now we have but a little of our all. And you come again with the same
story on your forked tongues, and wish to buy the last we have of all
we had, and offer us a home away beyond the Great River, and money,
and tell us we shall there have a home forever, free from the white
man's claims, and in which we shall dwell in peace, with no one to
make us afraid.

"Our traditions tell us that our fathers fled before the powerful red
men who dwell beyond the Great River, and who robbed us of our homes
and made them their own, as you, the white men, have done. Have you
bought the home of our fathers from these red men? or have you taken
it? that you bid us take it from you, and go back, and make a new home
where the fathers of our fathers sleep in death? If you have not, will
they not hunt us away again, as you have? How shall we know you will
not come and make us sell to you, for the white man, the homes you
promise shall always be ours and a home for our children's children?

"We love the land where we were born and where we have buried our
fathers and our kindred. It is the Great Spirit which teaches us to
love the land, the wigwam, the stream, the trees where we hunted and
played from our childhood, where we have buried out of sight our
ancestors for generations. Who says it is mean to love the land, to
keep in our hearts these graves, as we keep the Great Spirit? It is
noble to love the land, where the corn grows, and which was given to
us by the Great Spirit. We will sell no more; we know we are passing
away; the leaves fall from the trees, and we fall like these; s