Old Tassel cast a mournful glance over the assemblage and rose and said:
“I am an old man. My path is very steep and slippery. Now it leads me to this council where war or peace is to be decided.”
He paused and glanced furtively about. With the exception of his own personal following this ambiguous announcement was received with indignant glances. Thrown into something of a panic he hastily added——
“I believe most of the men here are for war.”
A loud chorus of affirmatives accented the truth of this statement.
With a poorly suppressed sigh Old Tassel continued—
“Is there any one here who has a talk for us?”
Up sprang one of Dragging Canoe’s leading warriors, who began:
“I have a talk for the Cherokee Nation. It is a very old talk. It is as old as the first war-wampum. So long as we raised the ax and gave blow for blow, we were respected by the whites. Since we have put down white paths we have been crowded from our own trails and thrown into the briars and on the rocks, and the white men have filled those trails. In the old days we suffered, for we had bows and arrows against guns. Today it is not so. Spain, through the Creek Nation, will supply us with many guns and much powder. Already she has given us much.
“We will not have to run from the white man’s gun or dodge his bullets to get within arrow-shot. We are men. This is our country and we will hold it. There was a time when our land reached to the Ohio and the Great Kanawha and the Catawba, and to the west as far as our young men cared to hunt. Now we do not touch the Cumberland, except on its upper waters, while the French Broad holds us back if we go toward the rising sun.