"Ye frighten not men with such swelling words," he cried out.

"Show yourselves as bold to-morrow, O ye who darken the moon.

Be bold, fight, and be merry, before the crows pick your bones till they are whiter than your faces.

Farewell; perhaps we may meet in the fight; fly not to the Stars, but wait for me, I pray, white men." With this shaft of sarcasm he retired, and almost immediately the sun sank.
That night was a busy one, for weary as we were, so far as was possible by the moonlight all preparations for the morrow's fight were continued, and messengers were constantly coming and going from the place where we sat in council.

At last, about an hour after midnight, everything that could be done was done, and the camp, save for the occasional challenge of a sentry, sank into silence.