strike them as brutal or cowardly; for, alas! they knew no better.  But what shall be said of these heroes—­the outscourings of Europe—­who, under the congenial guidance of that “bell-ox” soldier Jim Baker, “wiped out them Pagan redskins”?  This meeting of the missionary with the Indians was in:  its way singular.  The priest, thinking that the loss of so many lives would teach the tribe how useless must be a war carried on against-the Americans, and how its end must inevitably be the complete destruction of the Indians, asked the chief to assemble his band to listen to his counsel and advice.  They met together in the council-tent, and then the priest began.  He told them that “their recent loss was only the beginning of their destruction, that the Long knives had countless braves, guns and rifles beyond number, fleet steeds, and huge war-canoes, and that it was useless for the poor wild man to attempt to stop their progress through the great Western solitudes.”  He asked them “why were their faces black and their hearts heavy? was it not for their relatives and friends so lately killed, and would it not be better to make peace while yet they could do it, and thus save the lives of their remaining friends?”

While thus he spoke there reigned a deep silence through the council-tent, each one looked fixedly at the ground before him; but when the address was over the chief rose quietly, and, casting around a look full of dignity, he asked, “My brother, have you done, or is there aught you would like yet to say to us?”

To this the priest made answer that he had no more to say.

“It is well,” answered the Indian; “and listen now to what I say to you; but first,” he said, turning to his men, “you, my brethren, you, my sons, who sit around me, if there should be aught in my words from which you differ, if I say one word that you would not say yourselves, stop me, and say to this black-robe I speak with a forked tongue.”  Then, turning again to the priest, he continued, “You have spoken true, your words come straight; the Long-knives are too many and too strong for us; their guns shoot farther than ours, their big guns shoot twice” (alluding to shells which exploded after they fell); “their numbers are as the buffalo were in the days of our fathers.  But what of all that? do you want us to starve on the land which is ours? to lie down as slaves to the white man, to die away one by one in misery and hunger?  It is true that the long-knives must kill us, but I say still, to my children and to my tribe, fight on, fight on, fight on! go on fighting to the very last man; and let that last man go on fighting too, for it is better to die thus, as a brave man should die, than to live a little time and then die like a coward.  So now, my brethren, I tell you, as I have told you before, keep fighting still.  When you see these men coming along the river, digging holes in the ground and looking for the little bright sand” (gold), “kill them, for they mean to kill you; fight, and if it must be, die, for you can only die once, and it is better to die than to starve.”