sister, you have left it now. Oh! cruel Michel has made his children
motherless! The baby looks pitiful--it looks pitiful: it stretches
out its hands for its mother's breast; it longs to taste the sweet
draughts of milk. Ah! Accomba, my sister, my partner, why did cruel
Michel come and take you from my side?"

Another cry of sorrow was heard from Sarcelle, the brother of
Accomba, that same night, and on the day following. The poor fellow
was half distracted at the loss of his sister, more especially as she
seemed to have anticipated her fate, and to have prepared her friends
for it. Sarcelle's first impulse was to seize his gun and launch his
canoe, and to sally forth in pursuit of Michel; but he was a
Christian Indian, having been baptized at the little English Church
at Fort Simpson, and further instructed at the Mission School. The
conflict going on in his own mind between the desire to avenge his
sister's death, and the higher impulses which his Christian faith
suggested, were very touching. It ended in his throwing down his gun,
and bowing his head on his hands while he sobbed aloud, "My sister,
my sister, I would fight for you; I would avenge your cruel death,
but the Praying man says we must forgive as God forgives us. I throw
down my gun; I listen to the Good Spirit speaking to my heart; but
oh, it is hard, it is hard, my sister, I can see no light in this; I
feel unmanly to let _him_ go free, who shot my sister to the
heart, who made her shed tears, and did not comfort her; who made her
the mother of his children, and left them all so pitiful, with the
little one lying helpless upon the river side, and only the dogs to
guard her. I feel unmanly, unworthy of a 'Tene Jua,' but 'Niotsi N
Dethe' make it plain to me; oh, make me see how I can be a _true
man_, and yet forgive!"