Narrative of My Captivity Among the Sioux Indians E-Book

Fanny Kelly

• Herausgeber: Andura Publishing
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

An unforgettable and thrilling classic from the legendary American author, Fanny Kelly.

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Leseprobe

Narrative of My Captivity Among the Sioux Indians

Fanny Kelly

  WITH A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF GENERAL SULLY’S INDIAN EXPEDITION IN 1864,

            BEARING UPON EVENTS OCCURRING IN MY CAPTIVITY.

                             _DEDICATION._

                                TO THE

          Officers and Soldiers of the Eleventh Ohio Cavalry,

                               FOR THEIR

                         PERSISTENT AND DARING

                     EFFORTS TO AID MY HUSBAND IN

                         EFFECTING MY RESCUE;

                              AND TO THE

           Officers and Soldiers of the Sixth Iowa Cavalry,

                             FOR KINDNESS

                       SHOWN ME AFTER MY RANSOM

                    AND RETURN TO FORT SULLY, THIS

                      NARRATIVE IS AFFECTIONATELY

                             DEDICATED BY

                                                  THE AUTHOR.

                             INTRODUCTORY.

The summer of 1864 marked a period of unusual peril to the daring

pioneers seeking homes in the far West. Following upon the horrible

massacres in Minnesota in 1862, and the subsequent chastisements

inflicted by the expeditions under Generals Sully and Sibley in

1863, whereby the Indians were driven from the then western borders

of civilization, in Iowa, Minnesota, and the white settlements of

Dakota, in the Missouri Valley, the great emigrant trails to Idaho

and Montana became the scene of fresh outrages; and, from the wild,

almost inaccessible nature of the country, pursuit and punishment were

impossible.

I was a member of a small company of emigrants, who were attacked by

an overwhelming force of hostile Sioux, which resulted in the death of

a large proportion of the party, in my own capture, and a horrible

captivity of five months’ duration.

Of my thrilling adventures and experience during this season of terror

and privation, I propose to give a plain, unvarnished narrative, hoping

the reader will be more interested in facts concerning the habits,

manners, and customs of the Indians, and their treatment of prisoners,

than in theoretical speculations and fine-wrought sentences.

Some explanation is due the public for the delay in publishing this

my narrative. From memoranda, kept during the period of my captivity,

I had completed the work for publication, when the manuscript was

purloined and published; but the work was suppressed before it could be

placed before the public. After surmounting many obstacles, I have at

last succeeded in gathering the scattered fragments; and, by the aid of

memory, impressed as I pray no mortal’s may ever be again, am enabled

to place the results before, I trust, a kind-judging, appreciative

public.

CONTENTS.

                              CHAPTER I.                            Page

  Early History—Canada to Kansas—Death of my Father—My

    Marriage—“Ho! for Idaho!”—Crossing the Platte

    River—A Storm,                                                    11

                              CHAPTER II.

  The Attack and the Capture,                                         19

                             CHAPTER III.

  My Husband’s Escape—Burial of the Dead—Arrival of the

    Survivors at Deer Creek—An ill-timed Ball,                        28

                              CHAPTER IV.

  Beginning of my Captivity,                                          37

                              CHAPTER V.

  Plan for Little Mary’s Escape—Tortures of

    Uncertainty—Unsuccessful Attempt to Escape,                       45

                              CHAPTER VI.

  Continuation of our March into the Wilderness—Suffering from

    Thirst and Weariness—Disappearance of my Fellow-prisoner—Loss

    of the old Chief’s Pipe, and its Consequences to me—A Scene of

    Terror,                                                           49

                             CHAPTER VII.

  Powder River—Another Attempt to Escape—Detection and Despair—A

    Quarrel—My Life saved by “Jumping Bear,”                          62

                             CHAPTER VIII.

  The Storm—Arrival at the Indian Village—The old Chief’s

    Wife—Some Kindness shown me—Attend a Feast,                       72

                              CHAPTER IX.

  Preparations for Battle—An Indian Village on the Move—Scalp

    Dance—A Horrible Scene of Savage Exultation—Compelled to join

    the Orgies—A Cause of Indian Hostility—Another Battle with

    the White Troops—Burial of an Indian Boy—A Hasty

    Retreat—Made to act as Surgeon of the Wounded—Mauve Terre, or

    Bad Lands,                                                        92

                              CHAPTER X.

  Mourning for the Slain—Threatened with Death at the Fiery

    Stake—Saved by a Speech from Ottawa—Starving Condition of the

    Indians,                                                         106

                              CHAPTER XI.

  Meet another White Female Captive—Sad Story of Mary Boyeau—A

    Child Roasted, and its Brains Dashed out—Murder of Mrs.

    Fletcher—Five Children Slaughtered—Fate of their Mother,         112

                             CHAPTER XII.

  First Intimation of my Little Mary’s Fate—Despair and

    Delirium—A Shower of Grasshoppers—A Feast and a Fight—An

    Enraged Squaw—The Chief Wounded,                                 120

                             CHAPTER XIII.

  Arrival of “Porcupine”—A Letter from Captain Marshall—Hopes of

    Rescue—Treachery of the Messenger—Egosegalonicha—The Tables

    Turned—Another Gleam of Hope—The Indian “White

    Tipi”—Disappointed—A White Man Bound and left to Starve—A

    Burial Incident,                                                 129

                             CHAPTER XIV.

  Lost in the Indian Village—Black Bear’s White Wife—A small Tea

    Party—The White Boy-captive, Charles Sylvester—The Sun

    Dance—A Conciliating Letter from General Sibley—A Puzzle of

    Human Bones—The Indian as an Artist—I Destroy a Picture and

    am Punished with Fire-brands—A Sick Indian,                      136

                              CHAPTER XV.

  Preparing the Chi-cha-cha, or Killikinnick—Attack on Captain

    Fisk’s Emigrant Train—Fourteen Whites Killed—A big Haul of

    Whisky—A Drunken Debauch—I write a Letter to Captain Fisk

    under dictation—Poisoned Indians—The Train saved by my

    Clerical Strategy,                                               147

                             CHAPTER XVI.

  Scenes on Cannon Ball Prairie—Reflections,                         154

                             CHAPTER XVII.

  A Prairie on Fire—Scenes of Terror,                                159

                            CHAPTER XVIII.

  Last days with the Ogalalla Sioux—Massacre of a Party returning

    from Idaho—A Woman’s Scalp—A Scalp Dance—Suspicious

    Circumstance—Arrival of Blackfeet Indians—Negotiations for my

    Ransom—Treachery,                                                164

                             CHAPTER XIX.

  Indian Customs,                                                    175

                              CHAPTER XX.

  An Indian tradition—Arrival at the Blackfeet Village—An offer

    to purchase me indignantly rejected—A Yankton attempts my

    Capture,                                                         191

                             CHAPTER XXI.

  Appearance of Jumping Bear—I prevail on him to carry a Letter to

    the Fort—A War Speech—Intended Treachery—Resume our Journey

    to the Fort—Singular Meeting with a White Man—“Has Richmond

    Fallen?”—Arrival at the Fort—I am Free!                          199

                             CHAPTER XXII.

  Retrospection—A Border Trading post—Garrison Hospitality—A

    Visit from the Commandant of Fort Rice—Arrival of my

    Husband—Affecting Scene,                                         212

                            CHAPTER XXIII.

  Sad Fate of Little Mary,                                           218

                             CHAPTER XXIV.

  What occurred at Fort Laramie after my Capture—Efforts to

    Rescue—Lieutenant Brown killed—Reward offered—It is the

    Means of restoring another White Woman and Child—Her Rescuers

    hung for Former Murders—A Letter announcing my Safe Arrival at

    Fort Sully,                                                      223

                             CHAPTER XXV.

  Supper in Honor of our Re-union—Departure from Fort

    Sully—Incidents by the way—Arrival at Geneva—Mother and

    Child—A Happy Meeting,                                           228

                             CHAPTER XXVI.

  Elizabeth Blackwell—Mormon Home—A brutal Father—The Mother

    and Daughters flee to the Mountains—Death of the Mother and

    Sisters from exposure—Elizabeth saved by an Indian—A White

    Woman tortured—Rescued Children—The Boxx Family—Capture of

    Mrs. Blynn,                                                      238

                            CHAPTER XXVII.

  Move to Wyoming—False Friends—The Manuscript of my Narrative

    taken by another party and published—I go to Washington,         250

                            CHAPTER XXVIII.

  General Sully’s Expedition,                                        255

  POEM TO MRS. FANNIE KELLY,                                         268

  CERTIFICATE OF INDIAN CHIEFS,                                      270

  CERTIFIED COPIES OF MY CORRESPONDENCE WITH CAPTAIN FISK,           274

  STATEMENT OF LIEUTENANT G. A. HESSELBERG,                          279

  STATEMENT OF OFFICERS AND MEMBERS OF THE SIXTH IOWA CALVARY,       282

[Illustration: THE CAMP.]

                      CAPTIVITY AMONG THE SIOUX.

                              CHAPTER I.

  EARLY HISTORY—CANADA TO KANSAS—DEATH OF MY FATHER—MY

    MARRIAGE—“HO! FOR IDAHO!”—CROSSING THE PLATTE RIVER—A STORM.

I was born in Orillia, Canada, in 1845. Our home was on the lake shore,

and there amid pleasant surroundings I passed the happy days of early

childhood.

The years 1852 to 1856 witnessed, probably, the heaviest immigration

the West has ever known in a corresponding length of time. Those who

had gone before sent back to their friends such marvelous accounts of

the fertility of the soil, the rapid development of the country, and

the ease with which fortunes were made, the “Western fever” became

almost epidemic. Whole towns in the old, Eastern States were almost

depopulated. Old substantial farmers, surrounded apparently by all the

comforts that heart could wish, sacrificed the homes wherein their

families had been reared for generations, and, with all their worldly

possessions, turned their faces toward the setting sun. And with what

high hopes! Alas! how few, comparatively, met their realization.

In 1856, my father, James Wiggins, joined a New York colony bound for

Kansas. Being favorably impressed with the country and its people, they

located the town of Geneva, and my father returned for his family.

Reaching the Missouri River on our way to our new home, my father was

attacked with cholera, and died.

In obedience to his dying instructions, my widowed mother, with her

little family, continued on the way to our new home. But, oh! with what

saddened hearts we entered into its possession. It seemed as if the

light of our life had gone out. He who had been before to prepare that

home for us, was not there to share it with us, and, far away from all

early associations, almost alone in a new and sparsely settled country,

it seemed as though hope had died.

But God is merciful. He prepares the soul for its burdens. Of a truth,

“He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.”

Our family remained in this pleasant prairie home, where I was married

to Josiah S. Kelly.

My husband’s health failing, he resolved upon a change of climate.

Accordingly, on the 17th of May, 1864, a party of six persons,

consisting of Mr. Gardner Wakefield, my husband, myself, our adopted

daughter (my sister’s child), and two colored servants, started from

Geneva, with high-wrought hopes and pleasant anticipations of a

romantic and delightful journey across the plains, and a confident

expectation of future prosperity among the golden hills of Idaho.

A few days after commencing our journey, we were joined by Mr. Sharp,

a Methodist clergyman, from Verdigris River, about thirty miles south

of Geneva; and, a few weeks later, we overtook a large train of

emigrants, among whom were a family from Allen County with whom we

were acquainted—Mr. Larimer, wife, and child, a boy eight years old.

Preferring to travel with our small train, they left the larger one and

became members of our party. The addition of one of my own sex to our

little company was cause of much rejoicing to me, and helped relieve

the dullness of our tiresome march.

The hours of noon and evening rest were spent in preparing our frugal

meals, gathering flowers with our children, picking berries, hunting

curiosities, or gazing in wrapt wonder and admiration at the beauties

of this strange, bewildering country.

Our amusements were varied. Singing, reading, writing to friends at

home, or pleasant conversation, occupied our leisure hours.

So passed the first few happy days of our emigration to the land of

sunshine and flowers.

When the sun had set, when his last rays were flecking the towering

peaks of the Rocky Mountains, gathering around the camp-fires, in our

home-like tent, we ate with a relish known only to those who, like us,

scented the pure air, and lived as nature demanded.

At night, when our camp had been arranged by Andy and Franklin, our

colored men, it was always in the same relative position, Mr. Kelly

riding a few miles ahead as evening drew near to select the camping

ground.

The atmosphere, which during the day was hot and stifling, became cool,

and was laden with the odor of prairie flowers, the night dews filling

their beautiful cups with the waters of heaven.

The solemnity of night pervaded every thing. The warblings of the

feathered tribe had ceased. The antelope and deer rested on the hills;

no sound of laughing, noisy children, as in a settled country; no

tramping of busy feet, or hurrying to and fro. All is silent. Nature,

like man, has put aside the labors of the day, and is enjoying rest and

peace.

Yonder, as a tiny spark, as a distant star, might be seen from the road

a little camp-fire in the darkness spread over the earth.

Every eye in our little company is closed, every hand still, as we lay

in our snugly-covered wagons, awaiting the dawn of another day.

And the Eye that never sleeps watched over us in our lonely camp, and

cared for the slumbering travelers.

Mr. Wakefield, with whom we became acquainted after he came to settle

at Geneva, proved a most agreeable companion. Affable and courteous,

unselfish, and a gentleman, we remember him with profound respect.

A fine bridge crosses the Kansas River. A half-hour’s ride through the

dense heavy timber, over a jet-black soil of incalculable richness,

brought us to this bridge, which we crossed.

We then beheld the lovely valley of the prairies, intersecting the deep

green of graceful slopes, where waves tall prairie grass, among which

the wild flowers grow.

Over hundreds of acres these blossoms are scattered, yellow, purple,

white, and blue, making the earth look like a rich carpet of variegated

colors; those blooming in spring are of tender, modest hue, in later

summer and early autumn clothed in gorgeous splendor. Solomon’s gold

and purple could not outrival them.

Nature seemingly reveled in beauty, for beauty’s sake alone, for none

but the simple children of the forest to view her in state.

Slowly the myriad years come and go upon her solitary places. Tender

spring-time and glorious summer drop down their gifts from overflowing

coffers, while the steps of bounding deer or the notes of singing birds

break upon the lonely air.

The sky is of wonderful clearness and transparency. Narrow belts and

fringes of forest mark the way of winding streams.

In the distance rise conical mounds, wrapped in the soft veil of dim

and dreamy haze.

Upon the beaten road are emigrants wending their way, their household

goods packed in long covered wagons, drawn by oxen, mules, or horses;

speculators working their way to some new town with women and children;

and we meet with half-breed girls, with heavy eye-lashes and sun-burnt

cheeks, jogging along on horseback.

I was surprised to see so many women among the emigrants, and to see

how easily they adapted themselves to the hardships experienced in a

journey across the plains.

As a rule, the emigrants travel without tents, sleeping in and under

wagons, without removing their clothing.

Cooking among emigrants to the far West is a very primitive operation,

a frying-pan and perhaps a Dutch oven comprising the major part of the

kitchen furniture.

The scarcity of timber is a source of great inconvenience and

discomfort, “buffalo chips” being the substitute. At some of the

stations, where opportunity offered, Mr. Kelly bought wood by the

pound, as I had not yet been long enough inured to plains privations to

relish food cooked over a fire made with “chips” of that kind.

We crossed the Platte River by binding four wagon boxes together, then

loaded the boat with goods, and were rowed across by about twenty men.

We were several days in crossing. Our cattle and horses swam across.

The air had been heavy and oppressively hot; now the sky began to

darken suddenly, and just as we reached the opposite shore, a gleam of

lightning, like a forked tongue of flame, shot out of the black clouds,

blinding us by its flash, and followed by a frightful crash of thunder.

Another gleam and another crash followed, and the dense blackness

lowered threateningly over us, almost shutting out the heights beyond,

and seeming to encircle us like prisoners in the valley that lay at our

feet.

The vivid flashes lighting the darkness for an instant only made its

gloom more fearful, and the heavy rolling of the thunder seemed almost

to rend the heavens above it.

All at once it burst upon our unprotected heads in rain. But such rain!

Not the gentle droppings of an afternoon shower, nor a commonplace

storm, but a sweeping avalanche of water, drenching us completely at

the first dash, and continuing to pour, seeming to threaten the earth

on which we stood, and tempt the old Platte to rise and claim it as its

own.

Our wagon covers had been removed in the fording, and we had no time to

put up tents for our protection until its fury was exhausted. And so

we were forced to brave the elements, with part of our company on the

other side of the swollen river, and a wild scene, we could scarcely

discern through the pelting rain, surrounding us.

One soon becomes heroic in an open-air life, and so we put up what

shelter we could when the abating storm gave us opportunity; and,

wringing the water out of clothes, hair, and eye-brows, we camped in

cheerful hope of a bright to-morrow, which did not disappoint us, and

our hundreds of emigrant companions scattered on the way.

Each recurring Sabbath was gratefully hailed as a season of thought and

repose; as a matter of conscience and duty we observed the day, and

took pleasure in doing so.

We had divine service performed, observing the ceremonies of prayer,

preaching, and singing, which was fully appreciated in our absence from

home and its religious privileges.

Twenty-five miles from California Crossing is a place called Ash

Hollow, where the eye is lost in space as it endeavors to penetrate its

depths. Here some years before, General Harney made his name famous by

an indiscriminate massacre of a band of hostile Indians, with their

women and children.

[Illustration: The Attack and Capture of Our Train, July 12th, 1864.]

                              CHAPTER II.

                      THE ATTACK AND THE CAPTURE.

A train of wagons were coursing their westward way, with visions of

the future bright as our own. Sometimes a single team might be seen

traveling alone.

Our party were among the many small squads emigrating to the land of

promise.

The day on which our doomed family were scattered and killed was the

12th of July, a warm and oppressive day. The burning sun poured forth

its hottest rays upon the great Black Hills and the vast plains of

Montana, and the great emigrant road was strewed with men, women, and

children, and flocks of cattle, representing towns of adventurers.

We looked anxiously forward to the approach of evening, with a sense of

relief, after the excessive heat of the day.

Our journey had been pleasant, but toilsome, for we had been long weeks

on the road.

Slowly our wagons wound through the timber that skirted the Little Box

Elder, and, crossing the stream, we ascended the opposite bank.

We had no thought of danger or timid misgivings on the subject of

savages, for our fears had been all dispersed by constantly received

assurances of their friendliness.

At the outposts and ranches, we heard nothing but ridicule of their

pretensions to warfare, and at Fort Laramie, where information that

should have been reliable was given us, we had renewed assurances of

the safety of the road and friendliness of the Indians.

At Horseshoe Creek, which we had just left, and where there was a

telegraph station, our inquiries had elicited similar assurances as to

the quiet and peaceful state of the country through which we must pass.

Being thus persuaded that fears were groundless, we entertained none,

and, as I have mentioned before, our small company preferred to travel

alone on account of the greater progress made in that way.

The beauty of the sunset and the scenery around us filled our hearts

with joy, and Mr. Wakefield’s voice was heard in song for the last

time, as he sang, “Ho! for Idaho.” Little Mary’s low, sweet voice, too,

joined in the chorus. She was so happy in her childish glee on that

day, as she always was. She was the star and joy of our whole party.

We wended our way peacefully and cheerfully on, without a thought of

the danger that was lying like a tiger in ambush in our path.

Without a sound of preparation or a word of warning, the bluffs before

us were covered with a party of about two hundred and fifty Indians,

painted and equipped for war, who uttered the wild war-whoop and fired

a signal volley of guns and revolvers into the air.

This terrible and unexpected apparition came upon us with such

startling swiftness that we had not time to think before the main body

halted and sent out a part of their force, which circled us round at

regular intervals, but some distance from our wagons. Recovering from

the shock, our men instantly resolved on defense, and corralled the

wagons. My husband was looked upon as leader, as he was principal owner

of the train. Without regard to the insignificance of our numbers, Mr.

Kelly was ready to stand his ground; but, with all the power I could

command, I entreated him to forbear and only attempt conciliation. “If

you fire one shot,” I said, “I feel sure you will seal our fate, as

they seem to outnumber us ten to one, and will at once massacre all of

us.”

Love for the trembling little girl at my side, my husband, and friends,

made me strong to protest against any thing that would lessen our

chance for escape with our lives. Poor little Mary! from the first she

had entertained an ungovernable dread of the Indians, a repugnance

that could not be overcome, although in our intercourse with friendly

savages, I had endeavored to show how unfounded it was, and persuade

her that they were civil and harmless, but all in vain. Mr. Kelly

bought her beads and many little presents from them which she much

admired, but she would always add, “They look so cross at me and they

have knives and tomahawks, and I fear they will kill me.” Could it be

that her tender young mind had some presentiment or warning of her

horrid fate?

My husband advanced to meet the chief and demand his intentions.

The savage leader immediately came toward him, riding forward and

uttering the words, “How! how!” which are understood to mean a friendly

salutation.

His name was Ottawa, and he was a war chief of the Ogalalla band of the

Sioux nation. He struck himself on his breast, saying, “Good Indian,

me,” and pointing to those around him, he continued, “Heap good Indian,

hunt buffalo and deer.” He assured us of his utmost friendship for the

white people; then he shook hands, and his band followed his example,

crowding around our wagons, shaking us all by the hand over and over

again, until our arms ached, and grinning and nodding with every

demonstration of good will.

Our only policy seemed to be temporizing, in hope of assistance

approaching; and, to gain time, we allowed them unopposed to do

whatever they fancied. First, they said they would like to change one

of their horses for the one Mr. Kelly was riding, a favorite race

horse. Very much against his will, he acceded to their request, and

gave up to them the noble animal to which he was fondly attached.

My husband came to me with words of cheer and hope, but oh! what a

marked look of despair was upon his face, such as I had never seen

before.

The Indians asked for flour, and we gave them what they wanted of

provisions. The flour they emptied upon the ground, saving only the

sack. They talked to us partly by signs and partly in broken English,

with which some of them were quite familiar, and as we were anxious

to suit ourselves to their whims and preserve a friendly intercourse

as long as possible, we allowed them to take whatever they desired,

and offered them many presents besides. It was, as I have said

before, extremely warm weather, but they remarked that the cold made

it necessary for them to look for clothing, and begged for some from

our stock, which was granted without the slightest offered objection

on our part. I, in a careless-like manner, said they must give me

some moccasins for some articles of clothing that I had just handed

them, and very pleasantly a young Indian gave me a nice pair, richly

embroidered with different colored beads.

Our anxiety to conciliate them increased every moment, for the hope of

help arriving from some quarter grew stronger as they dallied, and,

alas! it was our only one.

They grew bolder and more insolent in their advances. One of them laid

hold of my husband’s gun, but, being repulsed, desisted.

The chief at last intimated that he desired us to proceed on our way,

promising that we should not be molested. We obeyed, without trusting

them, and soon the train was again in motion, the Indians insisting

on driving our herd, and growing ominously familiar. Soon my husband

called a halt. He saw that we were approaching a rocky glen, in whose

gloomy depths he anticipated a murderous attack, and from which escape

would be utterly impossible. Our enemies urged us still forward, but we

resolutely refused to stir, when they requested that we should prepare

supper, which they said they would share with us, and then go to the

hills to sleep. The men of our party concluded it best to give them a

feast. Mr. Kelly gave orders to our two colored servants to prepare at

once to make a feast for the Indians.

Andy said, “I think, if I knows any thing about it, they’s had their

supper;” as they had been eating sugar crackers from our wagons for an

hour or more.

The two colored men had been slaves among the Cherokees, and knew the

Indian character by experience. Their fear and horror of them was

unbounded, and their terror seemed pitiable to us, as they had worked

for us a long time, and were most faithful, trustworthy servants.

Each man was busy preparing the supper; Mr. Larimer and Frank were

making the fire; Mr. Wakefield was getting provisions out of the wagon;

Mr. Taylor was attending to his team; Mr. Kelly and Andy were out

some distance gathering wood; Mr. Sharp was distributing sugar among

the Indians; supper, that they asked for, was in rapid progress of

preparation, when suddenly our terrible enemies threw off their masks

and displayed their truly demoniac natures. There was a simultaneous

discharge of arms, and when the cloud of smoke cleared away, I could

see the retreating form of Mr. Larimer and the slow motion of poor Mr.

Wakefield, for he was mortally wounded.

Mr. Kelly and Andy made a miraculous escape with their lives. Mr. Sharp

was killed within a few feet of me. Mr. Taylor—I never can forget

his face as I saw him shot through the forehead with a rifle ball. He

looked at me as he fell backward to the ground a corpse. I was the last

object that met his dying gaze. Our poor faithful Frank fell at my feet

pierced by many arrows. I recall the scene with a sickening horror.

I could not see my husband anywhere, and did not know his fate, but

feared and trembled. With a glance at my surroundings, my senses seemed

gone for a time, but I could only live and endure.

I had but little time for thought, for the Indians quickly sprang into

our wagons, tearing off covers, breaking, crushing, and smashing all

hinderances to plunder, breaking open locks, trunks, and boxes, and

distributing or destroying our goods with great rapidity, using their

tomahawks to pry open boxes, which they split up in savage recklessness.

Oh, what horrible sights met my view! Pen is powerless to portray

the scenes occurring around me. They filled the air with the fearful

war-whoops and hideous shouts. I endeavored to keep my fears quiet as

possible, knowing that an indiscreet act on my part might result in

jeopardizing our lives, though I felt certain that we two helpless

women would share death by their hands; but with as much of an air of

indifference as I could command, I kept still, hoping to prolong our

lives, even if but a few moments. I was not allowed this quiet but a

moment, when two of the most savage-looking of the party rushed up into

my wagon, with tomahawks drawn in their right hands, and with their

left seized me by both hands and pulled me violently to the ground,

injuring my limbs very severely, almost breaking them, from the effects

of which I afterward suffered a great deal. I turned to my little Mary,

who, with outstretched hands, was standing in the wagon, took her in my

arms and helped her to the ground. I then turned to the chief, put my

hand upon his arm, and implored his protection for my fellow-prisoner

and our children. At first he gave me no hope, but seemed utterly

indifferent to my prayers. Partly in words and partly by signs, he

ordered me to remain quiet, placing his hand upon his revolver, that

hung in a belt at his side, as an argument to enforce obedience.

A short distance in the rear of our train a wagon was in sight. The

chief immediately dispatched a detachment of his band to capture or

to cut it off from us, and I saw them ride furiously off in pursuit

of the small party, which consisted only of one family and a man who

rode in advance of the single wagon. The horseman was almost instantly

surrounded and killed by a volley of arrows. The husband of the family

quickly turned his team around and started them at full speed, gave the

whip and lines to his wife, who held close in her arms her youngest

child. He then went to the back end of his wagon and threw out boxes,

trunks, every thing that he possessed. His wife meantime gave all

her mind and strength to urging the horses forward on their flight

from death. The Indians had by this time come very near, so that they

riddled the wagon-cover with bullets and arrows, one passing through

the sleeve of the child’s dress in its mother’s arms, but doing it no

personal injury.

The terrified man kept the Indians at bay with his revolver, and

finally they left him and rode furiously back to the scene of the

murder of our train.

                             CHAPTER III.

  MY HUSBAND’S ESCAPE—BURIAL OF THE DEAD—ARRIVAL OF THE SURVIVORS

    AT DEER CREEK—AN ILL-TIMED BALL.

When the Indians fired their fatal volley into the midst of our

little company, while yet they were preparing to entertain them with

a hospitable supper, my husband was some distance from the scene of

horror; but, startled by the unexpected report, he hurriedly glanced

around, saw the pale, terror-stricken faces of his wife and child,

and the fall of Rev. Mr. Sharp from the wagon, while in the act of

reaching for sugar and other articles of food with which to conciliate

our savage guests. The hopelessness of the situation struck a chill

to his heart. Having laid down his gun to assist in the preparation

of the feast, the utter futility of contending single-handed against

such a host of infuriated demons was too apparent. His only hope, and

that a slight one indeed, was that the Indians might spare the lives of

his wife and child, to obtain a ransom. In this hope he resolved upon

efforts for the preservation of his own life, that he might afterward

put forth efforts for our rescue, either by pursuit and strategy, or

by purchase.

He was shot at, and the barbed arrows whizzed past him, some passing

through his clothing. He saw Mr. Wakefield fall, and knew that he was

wounded, if not killed. Mr. Larimer passed him in his flight for life

toward some neighboring timber.

Mr. Kelly then ran for some tall grass and sage brush, where he

concealed himself, favored by the fast approaching darkness. Scarcely

daring to breathe, his mind tortured with agonizing fears for the fate

of his wife and child, he seemed to hear from them the cry for help,

and at one time resolved to rush to their rescue, or die with them;

any fate seemed better than such torturing doubt. But, realizing at

last the utter hopelessness of an attempt at rescue, and knowing that

it was a custom of the Indians, sometimes, to spare the lives of white

women and children taken captive, for ransom, he again resolved, if

possible, to save his own life, that he might devote all his energies,

and the remnant of fortune the savages had not despoiled him of, to the

accomplishment of the rescue of his wife and child.