It is a chill morning. Fall has its grip upon the land, and turns the trees the colours of the carrots and corn ready for the last harvest. But I have never been a farmer. My trade is the spear, soft footsteps, and sudden war cries. My brother would have told me, the duty of the warrior is to protect his people; but as of late, my people are scattered and scared. I speak and try to rally them. We fight with the British, but sometimes I wonder how these people are any better than the American enemies. I have caught the General Procter killing our prisoners, the barbarian he is. Had we not just been fighting to avoid the massacre of our people? Why then, should he make a massacre of our enemies?
The European settlers have a strange sense of honor indeed.
I am saddened by the actions of the Europeans. When they first came, they were meek and fragile. We had o give them furs and food to survive the winter. But now, they are biting the hand that fed them. I took a vow when my father died: “I will become a warrior like you, a fire spreading over the hill and valley, consuming the race of dark souls.” The Americans killed my father, seized my tribe’s land, and destroyed my home when I was young. Then they killed my brother, destroyed the town I rebuilt, an killed all of my neighbours when I was a man. If we stand alone, we are easily broken. But together, we are strong.
I believe that our land cannot be parceled up and given away by the local chief for a sum of coins. This land belongs to all Aboriginals. Our country is all of ours, and not any one person’s. It is a common property meant for all of us to share. No treaty will ever convince the entire race of Aboriginal people to sell our lives, land and culture. Had we not been intimidated into signing that treaty at Fort Finney, we may have had a chance to keep our families safe. We are all brothers underneath the Great Spirit. If the Europeans cannot see this, I can only hope that future generations of my people continue my battle, and carry forth the legacy of my people.
Enough is enough. I am still fiery and full of passion on the injustices I have suffered. But today, I am war-weary. The Americans are winning the battle of Thames. I will fight until my last breath, but I do not fear death. I will never live halfheartedly; if I am to die, I will sing my death song and die like a hero going home. As I bleed from the bullet in my chest, I am proud to have fought for my people, and I promise to them I will never give up my battle. Even a I begin the journey to cross between the worlds of the body and the spirit, I vow that my people will never be unspoken for.