Moroni reached the little hillock, ascended it, and let his gaze rest on the emerald expanse of the river that writhed like a green snake between the burnished gold of its banks. Below him swarmed the hordes of the Lamanites, perturbed by a spirit of unrest, as they expectantly awaited the result of the parley.
There was a commotion in the ranks and Zerahemnah moved out from among them and advanced toward Moroni. A shaggy homely man, he seemed, yet not without a suggestion of power. A gruff leader of men, of violent temper, he had gained his position by force. When he stopped a pace from Moroni, the latter addressed him.
"Behold, Zerahemnah, we do not want to be men of blood. You know that you are in our hands, yet we do not desire to slay you." He reminded him that the Nephites had not gone to war for power, but to defend their loved ones against the yoke of bondage. He added that they had tried to destroy his religion whereas the Lord had delivered them into his hands. He finished by demanding their weapons of war and the promise that they would go their way and come not again to battle against his people.
Zerahemnah unbuckled his sword, threw down his cimeter and handed his bow to Moroni, saying, "Here are our weapons of war. We will not suffer ourselves to take an oath unto you, which we know that we shall break, and also our children. Take our arms and suffer that we may depart into the wilderness. Otherwise we will perish or conquer. We are not of your faith, we do not believe that it is God that has delivered us into your hands; it is your cunning that has preserved you from our swords."
Moroni handed him back his arms. "We will end the conflict," he said.
When Zarahemnah grasped the import of his words his face purpled with rage. Paying no heed to his weapons that clattered to the ground, he brandished his sword and rushed at Moroni. It would have pierced him had not the alert Amalickiah on Moroni's right smote it to the earth with a blow of such force that it shattered it at the hilt. Before the dazed Zerahemnah could realize what had happened, a second blow descended with such swiftness that it shaved off his scalp. With blood streaming in his face and a snarl like a wounded beast, Zerahemnah sprang back to his own cohorts that had surged forward at the vivid spectacle.
Amalickiah stooped and picked up the scalp by the tuft of hair. Fastening it on the point of his sword he stretched it toward them crying in a loud voice, "Even as this scalp of your chief has fallen to the earth, so shall you fall to the earth unless you deliver up your weapons of war and depart with a covenant of peace."
Visibly impressed, and quaking with fear, many of the Indians came forward, took the oath, stacked their weapons at the feet of Moroni, and departed in little bands into the wilderness. But Zerahemnah, hoarse with wrath, mingling with the remaining soldiers urged them on to recommence the assault.
Angered with their stubborn resistance the Nephite leader turned his legions loose. In the frightful massacre that ensued the dark warriors were swept down.
When Zerahemnah saw that they were going to be all wiped out, he cried mightily to Moroni, promising, if he spared the remainder of their lives, never to come against him again.