When brought into the presence of General Jessup, he expected
nothing short of death. The General told him of his crimes, upbraided
him with bad faith to his great father, General Jackson, and drawing
his sword, told him he deserved to die.
The chief, seeing the sword lifted, snatched the turban from his head,
and fiercely and defiantly looking the General in the face, as the
wind waved about his brow and head the long locks white as snow, said
firmly and aloud: "Strike, and let me sleep here with my father and my
children! Strike, I am the last of my race! The Great Spirit gave me
seven sons--three of them died at Emucfaw, two at Talladega, and two
at Aletosee. General Jackson killed them all, and you call him my
great father! When did a father wash his hands in his children's
blood? When did a father rob his children of their homes? When did a
father drive his children in anger into the wilderness, where they
will find an enemy who claim it as the gift of the Great Spirit, and
who will fight to retain it? Strike, and let me die--no time, no place
like this! The mother of my sons, their sisters, perished for food,
when I with my sons was fighting for our homes.
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