"Since you loved my brother," rejoined the chief, "and it had pleased you had I been he, then call me Kumshakah, for what I have done I have done in his name and with his heart, and the time is close at hand when it will matter but little by what name I am known." The Indian said this with a melancholy smile. Then, with the light of the setting sun now thrown about him broad and strong, he thus proceeded with his answer: "Then may you tell your people that Kumshakah is dust, and truly. For though we part as friends to-day, to-morrow we meet as foes; and my heart is telling me that the might of the Shemanols shall prevail, that the blood-red banner of the English Manakee shall be laid in the dust, and that the ambushed army of the red man shall be broken and scattered. Then farewell to Kumshakah! When the battle is ended, search for him on the bloody war-plain, and you shall find him where he lies among the slain. If, then, you would know more of the fallen warrior, ask the sun that shines who Kumshakah is, and he shall answer: 'A shadow on the ground;' ask the winds that blow, and they shall answer: 'An echo in the woods;' ask the rains that fall, and they shall answer: 'The dust that feeds the oak and the willow.' If you would know who Kumshakah was, ask his people, who weep that he is fallen, and they shall answer: 'One who loved us, and for our sake laid down his life;' ask his foes, who rejoice that he is fallen, and they shall answer: 'One who hated us, and warred against us to the death.' And should the children of the days hereafter rise and ask their sires who Kumshakah was, then shall the tongue of tradition make answer: 'One who lived and died, endeavored and failed.' If such, then, be his story, why should more than this be known of Kumshakah? Let him sleep. Wahcoudah's will be done.
Then, with the weird light of prophecy in his eye, imparting to its wonted brightness a mystical dimness, the Indian chief thus ended:
"White man, listen! Up from the opening east, where the birds of morning are singing, the rising sun is leading your people over the earth to riches, to power, and to glory Down into the closing west, where the birds of evening are silent, the setting sun is leading my people--whither, who shall say? But to become extinct, and be numbered with the things forgotten. But who shall say that the same Great Spirit who dwells in the rising sun, bidding his white children go forth and toil upon the earth, dwells not also in the setting sun, bidding his red children come and rest in the happy hunting-grounds? It is even so, and it is well. Let Wahcoudah rule. Rule, great Wahcoudah!"