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diff --git a/76647-0.txt b/76647-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..257fd6d --- /dev/null +++ b/76647-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1829 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76647 *** + + + + + + THRILLING INCIDENTS + + IN THE + + INDIAN WAR OF 1862; + + BEING A + + PERSONAL NARRATIVE + + OF THE + + OUTRAGES AND HORRORS + + WITNESSED BY + + MRS. L. EASTLICK, + + IN MINNESOTA. + + + MINNEAPOLIS, MINN.: + ATLAS STEAM PRESS PRINTING COMPANY. + 1864. + + + + + PREFACE. + + +In presenting this pamphlet to the public, I have given merely a +plain, unvarnished statement of all the facts that came under my own +observation, during the dreadful massacre of the settlers of Minnesota. +Mine only was a single case among hundreds of similar instances. It is +only from explicit and minute accounts from the pen of the sufferers +themselves, that people living at this distance from the scene of +those atrocities can arrive at any just and adequate conception of +the fiendishness of the Indian character, or the extremities of pain, +terror and distress endured by the victims. It can hardly be decided +which were least unfortunate, those who met an immediate death at the +hands of the savages, or the survivors who, after enduring tortures +worse than death, from hunger, fear, fatigue, and wounds, at last +escaped barely with life. + +My object in publishing my story is two-fold: I wish to inform the +public as to the extent of the wrongs inflicted upon the innocent +Minnesotians; and I also hope and expect to realize from the proceeds +of its sale sufficient pecuniary aid to enable me to return from my +temporary home in Grant County, Wisconsin, to my desolate home in +Minnesota--to the region where I left the bodies of my husband and +three children, on the bloody sod where they fell. + + MRS. L. EASTLICK. + +PLATTEVILLE, WIS., APRIL 1, 1864. + + + + + NARRATIVE. + + +I was born in the year 1833, in Broome county, New York. When I was +about one year old, my father, Mr. Giles Day, moved from that State to +Trumbull county, Ohio. Here I remained with my parents, till I reached +the age of fifteen, when I went with my brother’s family to Seneca +county, where I became acquainted with John Eastlick. In the year 1850 +we were married, and we remained there until 1854, when we removed to +Indiana. My husband was a poor man, and seeing a little family growing +up around him, he began to feel keenly the need of a home. Thinking he +could obtain a homestead cheaper by going further west, we removed to +Illinois in the spring of 1856. But here it was entirely out of our +power to purchase, as the price of land was still higher than in the +place we had left. My husband now began to talk of going to Minnesota. +In the year 1857, our wagon was loaded once more, and we emigrated to +Minnesota, accompanied by one of our neighbors, named Thomas Ireland. + +It was our intention to go to Bear Valley, but, on account of cold +wet weather setting in, we were obliged to stop in Olmsted county. +Here we staid until 1861, when my husband thought he could better his +condition by going to Murray county,--a distance of two hundred miles. +I felt a little fear of going there, knowing that there were a great +many Indians in that and the adjoining counties; still, I was willing +to accompany my husband wherever he thought he could best provide for +his family. We started on our journey in the fall, taking nothing with +us but our clothing, bedding, cattle, &c. Mr. Ireland again moved in +company with us; his family consisted of his wife and four children. My +husband chose to settle by a small lake, called Lake Shetek, where we +arrived on the 5th of November. We found that there was already a small +settlement here: but, after our arrival there were only eleven settlers +in all. The lake was about five miles long, with a belt of timber +running along the east side of it, where all the settlers had located +themselves. + +My husband chose a beautiful spot for our home, situated about +midway between the two ends of the lake. In the spring of 1862, he +built a house and put in crops, and we began to feel quite happy and +contented in our new home. I no longer felt any fear of the Indians: +quite a number of them had lived by the lake all winter, and had been +accustomed to come to our home almost every day. Whenever any of them +came, they invariably begged for something to eat, which was never +refused them. We never turned them away, as did many of our neighbors, +and in return they appeared to be very friendly, and played with our +children, and taught them to speak the Indian language a little. In the +spring, they left the lake, and we saw no more of them for two or three +months. + +About the last of July Mr. Eastlick left home to work during harvest. +He returned on the 17th of August, and said he had met sixteen Indians, +naked, and painted red, who seemed very friendly, and talked some time +with him. He seemed very much oppressed at heart, after his return, +as if some secret anxiety weighed heavily on his mind. I have since +thought that he must have seen or heard something that convinced him +there was great danger ahead. I heard him say often to Mr. Rhodes, who +had come home with him, that it would be a good plan to build a fort. +But when I asked him if there was danger to be apprehended from the +Indians, he answered evasively, to relieve my anxieties though his own +were so great, by saying he thought there was no danger, but that it +would do no harm to build a fort. + +On Monday following, I went to the lower end of the lake to carry some +butter to Mrs. Everett, when, on my return home, I met six Indians with +their squaws and “_teepes_” or lodges. One of the Indians was “Pawn,” +with whom I was acquainted. I bowed, without speaking, as I passed him, +but he wished me to stop; more, I think, for the sake of seeing the +pony I was driving than myself. He came up, shook hands with me and +greeted me by saying “ho! ho! ho!” meaning “how do you do?” He talked +with me for some time, and said he was going to build his “teepe” at +Wright’s, and wait for some more Indians that were coming to go on a +buffalo hunt in the course of a few days. + +On the morning of August 20th, I arose and prepared breakfast as usual +for my family, which consisted of my husband, myself, Mr. Rhodes, who +boarded with us, and our five children. The children were all boys: +the oldest was aged eleven years, and the youngest, fifteen months. +My husband and Mr. Rhodes had just sat down to the breakfast table, +when my oldest boy, Merton, came to the door, saying “Charley Hatch is +coming, as fast as he can run!” Hatch was a young man who lived with +his brother-in-law, Mr. Everett, and, thinking that perhaps some one +was sick, or hurt, I ran to the door. As soon as he came near enough +to me, I saw that he was very pale and quite out of breath. “Charley, +what is the matter?” I asked. He shouted--“The Indians are upon us!” +“It cannot be possible,” said I. “It is so,” said Charley, “they have +already shot Vought!” He then went on to relate all he knew about it: +but first let me relate the manner in which the Indians commenced their +attack upon our settlement, as we afterwards found out the facts. They +entered our neighborhood at the head of the lake, and begun operations +upon the farm owned by Mr. Myers. They tore down a fence and rode into +his corn, breaking it down and destroying it. As Mrs. Myers happened +to be sick at the time, Mr. Myers had risen quite early to wait upon +her, when he discovered what the Indians were doing. He called to them +and told them if they did not leave he would whip them, and asked if he +had not always used them well. They owned that he had. He then told +them there was plenty of room for them outside of his field. One Indian +outside the fence shouted to the rest, in his own tongue, saying that +Myers was a good man. He then rode away as fast as possible, and all +the rest followed him. + +Thence they went on to the house of Mr. Hurd, who, in company with +Mr. Jones, had started on a journey to the Missouri river, about the +first of June, and, who never having been heard of afterwards, were +supposed to be murdered by the Indians. Mr. Hurd had left a German, +named Vought, to attend to things in his absence. When the Indians +approached the house Mrs. Hurd, who was out milking, hastened into the +house. The Indians followed her into the house, and with pretended +friendship, asked for some tobacco. Mr. Vought gave them some, and +they began to smoke, when Mrs. Hurd’s babe awoke, and began to cry; +Mr. Vought took the child in his arms, and walked out into the yard. +Just as he was turning to go into the house, one of the Indians stepped +to the door, raised his gun and deliberately shot him through the +breast. They then began to plunder the house, telling Mrs. Hurd that +if she made any noise they would kill her, too, but if not, they would +permit her to escape, and return to her mother. They broke open and +destroyed trunks, chests, beds, and all the other furniture of the +house, scattering the contents upon the ground. After compelling her to +see her home despoiled of all her household treasures, the savages sent +her away, showing her what direction she must take, and threatening +that if she tried to go to any of the neighbors, or make any outcry, to +warn them, they would follow and murder her. She was obliged to leave +by an unfrequented path, with two small children, the oldest of which +was three years of age, and the youngest not yet a year. After leaving +Mrs. Hurd, the Indians proceeded to the residence of Mr. Cook, who was +at the house at the time, while his wife was away in the corn-field, +keeping birds away from the corn. The Indians divided their force, a +part going to the house and the rest to the field. On coming up to Mrs. +Cook in the corn-field, they asked to see her husband’s gun, which she +had been using. She handed it over, and they kept it, refusing to give +it back, and telling her that she might go to her mother, for they were +going to kill off all the white men in the country. Those that went to +the house requested Mr. Cook to give them some water. As there was none +in the house, he was obliged to take the pail and go to the spring, to +supply their wants. But when about half way across the yard, one of the +cowardly villains shot him through the back. Mrs. Cook staid around +the premises, concealed from the Indians, till they had plundered to +their hearts content and taken their departure; then, returning to the +house and finding the corpse of her husband lying upon the ground, she +determined not to leave, without first alarming the settlement. After +going through brush and timber until her clothes were badly torn, +and wading along the edge of the lake until she was wet through, she +reached the lower part of the settlement undiscovered by the Indians. + +Having wandered somewhat from my own tale, and brought the story of +their ravages up to near the time when they appeared at our place, I +will return to Charley Hatch’s account. Charles had gone, early in the +morning, to the head of the lake, on an errand. He rode a horse as far +as Mrs. Cook’s, but here he hitched his horse and proceeded on foot to +the house of Mr. Hurd, where he found the murdered body of Vought. +He returned to Mr. Cook’s where he had left the horse, but on coming +in sight of the house, he saw several Indians around it, and heard +the report of a gun. This so frightened the horse that it broke loose +and ran away, and while the Indians were trying to catch it Charles +got away unseen. He came down the lake and warned all the neighbors, +and when he came to our house he was nearly exhausted. He asked for a +horse, to ride to the lower end of the lake, to warn the rest of the +settlers. Mr. Rhodes had two horses there, and was willing he should +do so. Charles asked us for the bridle several times, but we were all +so horror-stricken and mute with fear and apprehension that we stood +for some minutes like dumb persons. At last I seemed to awake as from +a horrible dream, and began to realize the necessity of immediate and +rapid flight. I sprang into the house and got the bridle for him, +urging him to hurry away with all speed. He started off, and bade us +follow as fast as we could to Mr. Smith’s house. + +On this, my husband caught little Johnny, our youngest, in his arms, +took his two rifles, and started, telling myself and the children to +hurry as fast as we could. I took some of my clothes, but my husband +told me to leave them. I asked him if I could not get my shoes, even, +but he said “no, we have no time to spare,” so I started, barefooted, +to follow Mr. Eastlick. Rhodes called to me, and asked if I was not +going to carry anything. So I went back, and he gave me some powder, +shot and lead. I took it in the skirt of my dress, and started as fast +as I could run; and that was but slowly, for my limbs felt very weak, +and I felt as if I should fall to the ground. My load seemed very +heavy, and the pieces of lead kept falling to the ground every few +rods. I felt so perfectly unnerved with fear that I gave up and told +John, my husband, that I could not go much further. He urged me to keep +on, and support myself by holding to his coat. This I did not do, but +told him if he would go slowly, I would try to get to Mr. Smith’s with +him. + +When we came in sight of the house my strength began to return a +little, but on coming up, we saw no appearance of any one being at +home. My husband called “Smith!” several times, and, receiving no +answer, he concluded that they were all gone on to Mr. Wright’s. We +hurried on and soon overtook them. When we came in sight of the house +we could see the same Indians that had camped there on Monday, as +before mentioned. They motioned us to hurry along, pretending to be +much frightened, and when we came near the house a squaw met us first, +and asked what was the matter. I told her that some Indians had killed +Vought, and we expected they would kill all of us, upon which she +professed great sympathy for us, and even pretended to weep. We entered +the house and found Mrs. Wright very cool and collected. She encouraged +us very much by telling us that those Indians that were there would +fight for us. Soon all the nearest neighbors gathered in. Mr. Duly +and Uncle Tommy Ireland came without their families. Mr. Ireland was +obliged to leave his wife and children behind, for the Indians had been +shooting at him but not at his family. When the Indians arrived at the +road that led to our house and Mr. Duly’s, they left off pursuing Mr. +Ireland and went to our houses in search of more plunder. + +Mr. Duly’s wife was much exhausted, from running, so he left her +concealed with the children in the bushes. Old “Pawn” volunteered to +go after them, so a party consisting of “Pawn,” Mr. Duly, Mr. Ireland, +and some squaws, set out to bring in the missing women and children. +They soon met Mrs. Ireland and her children, and, a little further on, +they found Mrs. Duly and her children, accompanied by Mrs. Cook. They +all came to Mrs. Wright’s, where we were, when Mrs. Cook, with tears +rising from her eyes, told us of the sad fate of her husband. My heart +was touched with sympathy for my dear friend. I threw my arms about her +neck, and begged her not to weep, telling her that, perhaps, ere night, +I should be left a widow, with five fatherless children, and that would +be still worse, for she had no children. Mrs. Wright gave her some dry +clothes, and she was soon made comfortable. + +The men had, by this time, prepared the house as well as possible +for defending ourselves against our pursuers, by opening crevices in +numerous places, to be used as loop-holes for the rifles. They gave +us weapons, such as axes, hatchets, butcher-knives, &c., and sent us +all up stairs, where we had a good look-out from the windows. The men +told the Indians who still staid by us, that they could take their +stand in the stable, not liking to trust them in the house. They said +they would fight to the last for the white people, but that they had +no ammunition, whereupon two guns and a quantity of ammunition were +furnished them. I told my husband I had no confidence in them. He +replied that he did not know as they could do any better than to trust +them; if they proved friends, we should need their help very much, +but he said he should keep an eye on them. He then asked an Indian +who could talk a little English, if he would fight for the whites. He +replied that “he didn’t know.” Our enemies now made their appearance. +We could see them around the house of Mr. Smith, shaking some white +cloths, and making a great noise. Now and then an Indian would mount +his pony, ride out into the field, fire a gun, and then turn and ride +back as fast as he could. They performed in this manner a long time, +occasionally shooting an ox or cow, running loose in the field. The +Indians that were with us said that if we would all fire our guns it +would frighten them away. Accordingly they all went out, Mrs. Wright +with the rest. Her husband being gone at the time, down below Mankato, +she had slung the powder-horn and shot-pouch over her shoulder, and +loaded his gun. They all fired together, but the Indians, who reserved +their fire till after all the rest had fired. I went to my husband, and +begged of him not to discharge his gun again until after the Indians +had fired. I think they reserved their charges to shoot the white men, +when their weapons were all empty, but were too cowardly to do it, +when the time came to act. These volleys of musketry did not seem to +alarm the savage troop in the least. Old “Pawn” then said he would go +and meet them, and see how many there were, and what they wanted. But +before he had gone far, several Indians came towards him as fast as +they could ride. He stopped, and they called to him: he then went up +to them, and stopped there talking with them for some time. He finally +came running back, and reported that there were two hundred hostile +Indians coming, and if we would go peaceably away, they would not harm +us; but if not, they would burn down the house over our heads. Upon +this, the men held a short council: the majority of them decided that +it was best to leave the house. So we all started, across the prairie, +except Charley Hatch and Mr. Rhodes. These latter were sent with two +horses to the house of Mr. Everett, a distance of half a mile, to get +a wagon to carry the women and children, and some flour and quilts, +for we all expected to sleep on the prairie that night. Alas! some +of our group slept before night--yes, slept the sleep that knows no +waking. The two men overtook us in going the distance of half a mile, +and the women and children all got into the wagon, except Mrs. Wright, +myself, and my two oldest boys, Merton and Frank. In all, there were +thirty-four of us, including men, women and children. We traveled +over a mile in this manner, when the appalling cry was raised, that +the Indians were upon our track. The Indians, who had pretended to +be friendly at the house, had deserted us, and joined their fellow +savages in their demoniac quest of blood and plunder. All was terror +and consternation among us: our merciless foes were in sight, riding +at their utmost speed, and would soon be upon us. All now got into the +wagon that could. Mrs. Smith held the reins, while I, sitting on the +fore end of the wagon box, lashed the horses with all my strength, but, +with such a load, the poor brutes could not get along faster than a +walk. The Indians were fast gaining on us, and the men, thinking it was +only the horses they wanted, bade us leave the wagon. We accordingly +all jumped out, and ran along as fast as possible, while the men fell +in behind, to give the women and children what protection they could. +Some one asked if they should shoot at the Indians, or not: my husband +declared that he would shoot the first one that touched the horses. +When almost within gunshot, they spread themselves out, in a long line, +and approached, yelling and whooping like demons. They fired upon us, +but the first round did not touch us. They had now come up to our team; +one of them sprang from his pony, caught the horses by the bit, and +turned them around. Four of our men now fired upon them, and the one +who held the horses fell dead. + +After the first fire from the savages, two of our men ran away from +the rest, keeping the road for some distance; they were called to come +back, and one of them turned around as if he was coming back. But there +were two or three Indians pursuing them, and close on their track, so +he went on, some distance, then turned and fired upon his pursuers. +One Indian snapped three caps at him, and then turned and rode back. +The two men made their escape without a scratch; one went to Dutch +Charley’s, and warned his family; the other went to Walnut Grove, and +warned two young men there, and they all made good their escape. + +When the first Indian was shot, Mr. Duly called to us women and +children, and bade us go to a slough, not far off, which was the only +place that presented itself for concealing ourselves, and that was but +poor. We turned our course toward the slough, amid a shower of balls +and shot. One large ball entered my heel, which caused me much pain. +Mrs. Ireland’s youngest child was shot through the leg; Emma Duly +through the arm, and Willie Duly in the shoulder. We soon reached the +slough, and all concealed ourselves as best we could, by lying down +in the tall grass. This, however, only hid us from the sight, but not +from the shot and balls. For two hours, or more, we were exposed to +the random shots of our merciless foe. My husband tried several times +to shoot the savages, but his gun missed fire, and he was obliged +to work a long time before it would go off. Meanwhile, to me, every +minute seemed an hour, for I thought John could do good service with +his gun, being a good marksman and having a good rifle. Several times +our comrades called on him to shoot, saying, “There is an Indian! why +don’t you shoot him? for my gun will not reach him.” The Indians only +showed themselves one or two at a time, they would skulk behind the +hills, crawl up to the top, rise up, fire on us, and drop out of sight +instantly, thus proving themselves to be great cowards. The odds were +fearfully against us; two hundred Indians to six white men. We felt +that we were but weakly protected, and we could expect no mercy from +our inhuman enemy: we all knew that death or captivity was before +us, and I had no idea that any of our company would escape them. The +balls fell around us like hail. I lay in the grass with my little ones +gathered close around me: as it was very hot and sultry, I tried to +move a little distance from them, but could not get a foot away from +them, for they would follow me. Poor little dears! they did not know +how much they were destined to suffer, and they seemed to think if +they kept close to mother, they would be safe. I could now hear groans +about me in the grass, in various directions, and Mrs. Everett told me +she was shot in the neck; and in a few minutes more, I was struck by a +ball in the side. I told my husband I was shot. “Are you much hurt?” +he asked. “Yes, I think I shall die,” I answered, “but do not come +here, for you can do me no good; stay there, for you can do more good +with your rifle.” I knew he could not come without being discovered by +the Indians. Another ball soon struck me on the head, lodging between +the skull and the scalp, where it still remains. I could tell when a +ball struck any one, by the sound. My husband then said he thought he +would move a little, as the Indians had discovered his hiding-place. +He removed, re-loaded his gun, and was watching for a chance to shoot, +when I heard a ball strike some one. Fearing that he was the one, I +called to him, saying, “John, are you hurt?” He did not answer. I +called again, but there was no reply, save that I heard him groan +twice, very faintly. Then I knew that he was hurt, and thought I must +go to him, but Mrs. Cook begged me not to go. I told her that he was +badly hurt, and I _must_ go to him. “Do not, for God’s sake,” said Mrs. +Cook, “stay with your children; if you stir from that spot they will +all be killed; your husband is dead already, and you cannot possibly +do him any good, so stay with your children, I beg of you.” I took her +advice and staid with them, for they were all I had left in the world, +now, and I feared it could not be long before we were all to sleep in +the cold embrace of death, like my poor husband! + +The whites now made but little resistance, for the men were all +wounded, and one of them killed. Three of the Indians now came from +their skulking place, and began calling upon the women to come out. +Mr. Everett answered them as he lay wounded in the grass. One of these +three Indians was old “Pawn,” who had professed to be our friend in +the morning, but who now proved to be as bitter a foe as we had. Pawn +knew the voice of Everett, and, calling him by the name, commanded him +to come out of the slough; Mr. Everett told him he could not, for he +was wounded, and could not walk, and asked Pawn to come to him. Pawn +replied, “You lie, you can walk well enough, if you want to.” Two +of the Indians then fired into the grass, in the direction in which +they heard his voice, and a bullet struck Mr. Everett near the elbow, +shattering the bone very badly. He then told his wife to tell Pawn +that he was killed: she boldly rose upright, in sight of the savages, +and in the most melting and piteous tones, told them her husband was +dead, and they had killed him. Pawn assured her that they would not +hurt the rest of them; but that they must come out, for he wanted her +and Mrs. Wright for his squaws. Mr. Everett, thinking that perhaps they +could obtain safety by obedience, until they could make their escape, +told her perhaps the best thing she could do was to go. She then called +out, and asked me to go with her. I told her I could talk but very +little with them, and asked Mrs. Wright to go, knowing that she could +speak Indian. She agreed to go with Mrs. Everett, and confer with the +Indians. + +While Pawn was talking to Everett, Mr. Duly said he would shoot him; +but Mrs. Smith and myself begged him not to shoot, for well we knew +that if he did, the balls would shower around us again with renewed +fury. “It is too good a chance to throw away,” said he; “the Indians +will kill us all, sooner or later, and I’m bound to make one less of +them, while I have a chance!” The women then all begged him not to +shoot; and I urged as a reason that, perhaps, he might escape, and +let the world know what had been our fate. Upon this he desisted from +his purpose. After the savages had shot Mr. Everett, as I have just +related, Uncle Tommy Ireland rose up out of the grass, and plead with +them to save the women and children. Two of the Indians, who were only +three or four rods distant from him, drew up their guns, and fired with +murderous aim! He fell to the ground with a groan, shouting in anguish, +“Oh, God! I am killed!” He had received seven buck-shot, two of which +passed through his left lung, one through his left arm, and the rest +lodged in various parts of his body. When Mrs. Everett and Mrs. Wright +came back from their interview with old Pawn, they reported that he +said they would spare the women and children. We, therefore, thought +that since we were in their power so completely, we had better go with +them at once. When we all got out of the grass, I found there were not +as many killed as I had at first supposed, although many of us were +wounded. The rest all went to the place where these three Indians were +waiting for us, for they dared not go into the slough after us, but I +could not go without first seeing my husband. I went to him, and found +him fallen over upon his side, probably having died without a struggle. +One hand was lying on his face, and the other still grasped his trusty +rifle; his hat was on his head, and his dog lay by his side, watching +over his lifeless remains. I could see no blood about him. I kneeled +down beside him, and there, in the tall grass, alone with the dead, +but surrounded by cruel enemies seeking my life, and dead and dying +friends, I took my last farewell of poor John, expecting soon to follow +him. I took his cold hand in mine, leaned over and kissed his brow, and +looked, for the last time, on him who had been my companion for twelve +years, and had now laid down his life in trying to protect his wife and +little ones. I did not shed a tear, that I am aware of, when I parted +from him thus. + +I now found that I was quite lame, and could scarcely walk. Merton +carried little Johnny in his arms, and Frank and Giles, two of my other +boys, assisted me to walk, by going on each side of me, and letting me +rest my weight partially upon them, by placing both hands upon their +little shoulders. As I came out of the slough, I saw Uncle Tommy +Ireland lying not far from me. He was still alive, but the blood and +froth were oozing from the wound made through his lungs, and I did not +think he could survive, for another hour. His wife was bending over +him, receiving his last words. He bade her and the little ones a last +adieu, thinking his end was nigh. The Indians had sent Mrs. Wright to +gather up the guns. As she came back, she passed close by him, upon +which he begged her to shoot him and put an end to his torment. She +told him she would be glad to help him, if it were possible, but she +could not kill a friend, even to relieve his sufferings. We came out +to where the Indians were, and found that three more had joined them, +making six in all. The prisoners seated themselves on the ground, and +we now learned how many had been wounded, while in the slough. The men +were all wounded, but kept concealed in the slough. Mrs. Smith was shot +through the hip, and could scarcely stir. Mrs. Everett was wounded +in the neck, and her clothes, on one side, were wet with blood, but +her wound had nearly ceased bleeding, and did not pain her much. Mrs. +Ireland’s next youngest child was shot through the bowels, and must +have been suffering greatly, for her face had turned spotted, and the +froth was running out of her mouth. I do not think she could have lived +long. + +The sky now became overcast with heavy clouds, and a furious +rain-storm, accompanied with thunder and lightning, was coming on. +Soon the rain descended in torrents. The Indians now hurried and +caught their ponies, and made all preparations for starting away. We +expected to be all taken along with them, as prisoners, but we were +disappointed, for, as it afterwards proved, some were taken, while +others were put to death, or left in a dying condition. Those of us +who afterwards escaped, were for a long time in such a plight that +death seemed inevitably to stare us in the face. One Indian started, +taking Mrs. Cook, as his prisoner; another took one of Mr. Ireland’s +daughters; while a third started off, leading by the hand Mrs. Duly and +myself, neither of whom made any resistance. I stopped, however, and +looked around to see if my children were coming, and to tell them to +follow me. Little Freddy, one of my boys, aged five years, arose out of +the grass, at my call, and started to come. Then, for the first time, I +observed a hideous old squaw, who had just joined the Indians: she ran +after him, and felled him to the ground, with a blow upon the head from +something she carried in her hand. Weak, wounded, and tightly held by +my captor, as I was, I could only stand and look on at the scene which +follows, while such anguish racked my soul as, I pray God, that _you_ +ye mothers who read this, may never feel. The old hag beat him for some +minutes upon the back part of the head, till I thought she had killed +him. She stepped back a few paces, when the little innocent arose, +and again started for me: but, oh! what a piteous sight for a mother +to behold! The blood was streaming from his nose, mouth and ears. The +old squaw, not yet satisfied, again knocked him down, and pounded him +awhile; then took him by the clothes, raised him as high as she could, +and, with all her force, dashed him upon the ground. She then took a +knife and stabbed him several times. I could not stop or return, for +my captor was by this time dragging me away, but my head was turned +around, and my eyes riveted upon the cruel murder of my defenceless +little ones. I heard some one call out, “Mother! mother!!” I looked, +and there stood little Frank, my next oldest child, on his knees, with +hands raised toward heaven, calling, “Mother!” while the blood was +streaming from his mouth. Oh! who could witness such a sight, and not +feel their hearts melt with pity! None but the brutal Indians could. +He had been shot in the mouth, knocking out four of his teeth--once +through the thigh, and once through the bowels. But what could I do? +Nothing, but gaze in silent horror on my children while they were +being murdered by savages. I was well aware that any interference of +mine, even were I capable of making it, would only occasion greater +cruelty. In the meantime, the Indians had been killing several women +and children, but I did not notice it at the time. I could not take my +attention from my own children, to observe what befell the rest. The +Indian now let me go, and went on without me. I fastened my eyes on the +pleading face of the little sufferer, but dared not go one step toward +him, while surrounded by our foes. Old Pawn now came along with Mrs. +Wright and her children. He brought a horse that belonged to Charley +Hatch, and ordered her to put her children on it, which she did. He +then gave her the halter strap, and sent her along, telling me to go +along with her. I looked around, as I started, and saw Mrs. Everett +running towards the slough, where her husband lay wounded, and an +Indian in pursuit of her, and just in the act of catching her, when +some one else shot her through the back. Next I saw Willie Duly fall, +shot through, a few yards in front of his mother; upon this, she turned +around and begged of old Pawn to spare her other children. One was a +girl, two years old, whom she carried in her arms; another, five years +old, she led by the hand; another, a boy, was hanging to the skirts of +her dress. I can never forget the pale, pleading face of my friend and +neighbor, Mrs. Duly. Pawn then told her, as usual, that he would not +kill them. I asked him what he intended to do with me, and if he meant +to kill me. He replied in the negative, then stopped, leaned on his +gun, and told me to hurry on. + +I had now got some distance from the spot where I left my children, +and did not know whether all of them were murdered or not. I could now +walk without difficulty, for fear had driven away all pain. Part of +the prisoners were gone out of sight, and Mrs. Duly and Mrs. Wright +were fast leaving me. So I limped along at a rapid pace, but, looking +back, I saw old Pawn standing where I had left him, loading his gun, +and I instantly feared that, in spite of all his protestations, he was +going to shoot me. I had a small slough to cross, and when about half +way through it, some one, probably Pawn, shot me again, making four +bullets which I had received, in all. The ball struck me in the small +of the back, entering at the left side of the spine, and coming out +at the right side, just above my hip--also passing through my right +arm, between my elbow and wrist. I fell to the ground upon my face, +and lay here for some minutes, wondering if my back were broken, and +expecting the Indians would ride over me, as I had fallen in the trail. +Finding that I could move with great difficulty, I crawled about a +rod from the trail, and lay down again on my face. In a few moments +more I heard the step of an Indian, and held my breath, thinking he +would pass me, supposing me dead. But I was sadly mistaken. He came up +close beside me, stood a moment watching me, then commenced beating me +on the head with the butt of a gun. He struck me a great many times, +so hard that my head bounded up from the sod, at every stroke, and +then gave me three severe blows across the right shoulder. I did not +lose all presence of mind, although the blows fell heavy and fast. I +endeavored with all my might to hold my breath, in order to make him +think I was dead, but it was impossible: I was so nearly smothered with +my face beaten into the grass, that I caught my breath several times. +He probably supposed me to be dying, and threw down his gun. I thought +he was preparing to scalp me: I expected every moment to feel his hand +in my hair, and the keen edge of the scalping-knife, cutting around my +head. But, for once, I was happily disappointed, for he went away, and +left me, thinking, no doubt, I was dead. And, in fact, I _was_ so dead +to every feeling but fear, that I believe he could have taken my scalp, +without my moving a muscle. + +I lay here for some two or three hours, not daring to stir. While I +was lying here, I heard Merton calling me, and now knew that he still +lived, and wondered how he had escaped the red-skins, but supposed he +had concealed himself in the grass. I dared not answer him, for fear he +would come to me, be discovered by the Indians, and be killed. The rain +had continued falling all of this time; my clothes were wet through, +and I was very cold and chilly. At about four o’clock p. m., on trying +to get up, I found that I was very weak, and that it required a great +deal of painful effort to raise myself to a sitting posture. As I had +been lying, my hand was under my forehead: I now found that the blood +had run down from my head and coagulated among my fingers; hence I knew +that my head had bled quite freely, or the rain would have washed it +away. Upon this, I tried to ascertain how much my head was injured by +the blows. I was insensible to pain in that quarter, but by turning +my head back and forth, I could plainly hear and feel the bones grate +together. I thought my skull must be broken, and this afterwards proved +to be true. My hair was very thick and long, measuring about three +feet, and this, I think, saved my life, by breaking the force of the +blows. Here I sat, wet and cold, not daring to move from the spot. I +had heard the cry of a child at intervals, during the afternoon, and +thought it was Johnny. I thought Merton must have taken him to the +wounded men, to stay with them. So I determined to try and go to them, +thinking we could, perhaps, keep warm better, for the rain still fell +very fast, and the night was setting in, cold and stormy. I rose upon +my feet, and found that I could walk, but with great difficulty. I +heard Willie Duly, whom I supposed dead long before this, cry out, +“Mother! mother!!” but a few steps from me, and then he called, “Mrs. +Smith! Mrs. Smith!!” Having to pass close by him, as I left the slough, +I stopped and thought I would speak to him; but, on reflecting that I +could not possibly help the poor boy, I passed him without speaking. +He never moved again from the spot where I last saw him; for when +the soldiers went there to bury the dead, they found him in the same +position, lying on his face, at the edge of the slough. I was guided +to the place where my children and neighbors were killed, by the cry +of a child, which I supposed to be Johnny’s voice: but, on reaching +the spot where it lay, it proved to be Mrs. Everett’s youngest child. +Her eldest, Lily, aged six years, was leaning over him, to shield him +from the cold storm. I called her by name: she knew my voice instantly, +and said, “Mrs. Eastlick, the Indians haven’t killed us yet?” “No, +Lily,” said I, “not quite, but there are very few of us left!” “Mrs. +Eastlick,” said she, “I wish you would take care of Charley?” I told +her it was impossible, for my Johnny was somewhere on the prairie, and +I feared he would die unless I could find him, and keep him warm. She +begged me to give her a drink of water; but it was out of my power to +give her even that, or to assist her in any way, and I told her so. +She raised her eyes, and, with a sad, thoughtful, hopeless look, asked +the question, “Is there any water in heaven?” “Lily,” I replied, “when +you get to heaven, you will never more suffer from thirst or pain.” On +hearing this, the poor little patient sufferer, only six years old, +laid herself down again, and seemed reconciled to her fate. + +I next searched around and found the bodies of Mrs. Smith and Mrs. +Ireland; they both appeared to have been dead for some hours. Their +clothes were in great disorder, and I have no doubt, judging from +appearances, that the foul fiends had ravished their persons, either +before or after death. The only service I could render their lifeless +forms, was to place them in as decent position as I could, which I did. +Mrs. Smith had a thick, heavy apron, which I thought would help to keep +me warm. I kneeled beside her, and tried to pull it off, but could not. +I then found it fastened behind her back with a button, which, from her +position, I could not loosen. I at last succeeded in running my left +arm under her waist, and thus I raised her body, unfastened the apron, +and put it over my head and shoulders, to keep off the constant rain. +About half an hour was consumed in getting it, owing to the fact that +my right arm was almost entirely useless, by reason of the bullet-hole +through it, and the bruises on my shoulder, from the butt of the gun. I +am naturally of a timid disposition, when near the dead, but this time +I felt not the least fear, although it was, by this time, quite dark, +and I was alone in the wilderness with the dead and dying. + +When in our great haste to escape into the slough, that morning, I had +torn the binding of my skirt very badly, and, since that, I had been +obliged to hold it together with my hand. I now had a double task to +perform with my left hand: first, to hold my skirt from dropping, not +wishing to lose it, because it was all the clothes I had on, excepting +a short loose sack and a chemise; and, second, I was obliged to hold +up my right hand and arm with my left, for I could not let it hang by +my side without great pain, neither was there strength enough left in +it to hold itself up. Therefore, I felt over the waist of Mrs. Smith’s +dress for some pins to fasten on my skirt with, but without success. +I then moved to the body of Mrs. Ireland, and found two pins, which I +used, so that they were of invaluable service. I also discovered the +youngest child of Mrs. Ireland, lying upon the breast that had ever +nourished it. I bent down my head and listened; the soft, low breathing +showed how sweetly she slept, upon that cold, cold bosom. I left her, +as I did the rest, being unable to carry anything, and she being +unable to walk, and under two years of age. I looked around, and, in +the darkness, found another lifeless form, stretched upon the ground, +a few steps from me. My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, +so that I could see, indistinctly. I found that it was my poor little +boy, Giles, shot through the breast by the Indians. He appeared to +have died without a struggle; I seemed to see a smile wreath his cold +lips and a dimple on his cheeks, and I fancied the angel spirit was +watching me as I bent over that little house of clay. I could not wish +him back, for he had gone to the land where suffering is unknown. I +now left him as I found him, and proceeded to where my attention was +attracted by the heavy breathing of some one. I found it was a child, +and, stooping down, I examined it by feeling, as well as I could. +Alas! to my unspeakable grief and horror, I found it was my own little +Freddy! What tongue can tell the anguish that I felt, to reflect on +the cruel treatment I had seen him receive, and that he had been left +to suffer for hours. I thought, “O! that I had found him dead!” He lay +upon his face with his clothes torn nearly off; he was quite warm, and +breathed very hard, with a dreadful rattling in his throat. I knew that +he was then dying, and could not live long. I wished to lie down and +die beside my sweet boy, but an after reflection seemed to say, “No, +you must not do it; you still have something for which to live, for +are not Merton and little Johnny somewhere on the vast prairie, and, +at this moment, hungry, wet, cold, and in danger of wolves?” Knowing +this, could I lie down in the rain and die, without, at least, trying, +with all my remaining strength, to find them, and give them what poor +comfort I could? Oh! no; and I accordingly left the little sufferer, +praying that God would soon release him from pain. + +I had gone but a short distance when my attention was arrested by a +loud, laborious breathing, in an opposite direction, and I found that +it proceeded from Mrs. Everett, who had been shot through the lungs. +The noise she made in breathing struck a complete horror over me; it +was a rattling, gurgling sound, that made my very flesh crawl. I did +not, dared not touch her. I was, all at once, overcome with such a +dread or terror, or something of the kind, that I feared her. I called +her by name several times, as I stood over her, but she answered not; +she was beyond speaking. I hurried along, for I could not bear to +witness the suffering of my friend and neighbor. I wandered around on +the prairie, calling “Merton,” at intervals, but receiving no answer. +Sometimes I fancied I could hear John crying: I would then hurry in the +direction it seemed to come from, and call him again and again: then I +would seem to hear him another way, and turn my course thither. Often, +when forced by fatigue, I rested my bruised and weary frame on the wet +ground. + +As I was going along I saw a light about two feet in length, and one +and a half in breadth; it was a pale red light, and seemed to float +along just above the grass, at the distance of about forty rods from +me. It went entirely around me, some three or four times, or, perhaps +more, for I did not count. It first appeared on the right hand side, +going around before me: it soon moved very swiftly. I thought at first +it might be an Indian, but soon saw that no Indian, or even horse, +could move with such rapidity. What it was, or what was the meaning of +it, I do not know, but it was very mysterious. + +Morning dawn found me still wandering over the prairie, in search of +my children, for I was confident that they still lived, unless they +had perished from cold or hunger. I looked around, and strained my +eyes in the vain hope of seeing some known object by which to learn +where I was: but no, I was lost upon the trackless prairie. My fear +of savages was too great to allow me to travel by day-light, so I hid +myself all day in a bunch of tall weeds. The rain continued to fall +till about 9 a. m., when it ceased, and, soon after, the sun cheered +me with his warm rays. About ten o’clock, I heard the report of guns, +not far distant, and heard the cries of children again. This proved to +me that I was not far from the place where my husband and friends and +children were murdered. I heard the agonizing cries of the children, +during most of the day. They cried constantly, and sometimes would +scream and shriek, as if in great pain. This led me to the conviction +that the fiends were torturing them. I believed my own surviving boys +to be among them, with poor Lily and Charles, and I expected they would +all at last be killed, when the Indians were tired with their hellish +sports: for I believe that it was rare sport to them, to torture such +little innocents. But about four o’clock, I heard the report of three +guns in succession: the wail of the infants instantly ceased. “Alas!” I +cried out in despair, “what have I to live for now? My husband and five +darling children are all murdered: my home is plundered and desolate; +and I myself am left upon the prairie, alone among enemies, with many +a wound, and scarcely able to walk!” This was, indeed, a sad picture; +but how true it is that while there is a spark of life, there still is +hope, in the heart. Poor human nature soon found for me another excuse +for not giving up, and for trying to prolong my miserable existence. I +wished to live long enough to tell to some white persons, and, through +them to the world, the story of our sad fate. I then began to look +around, to ascertain in what direction to go, to reach the house of +“Dutch Charley,” a German living sixteen miles from Lake Shetak. I +could just barely see, in the horizon, some timber, which I thought +must be close to Buffalo Lake, and on the road to “Dutch Charley’s,” +and I determined, that, as soon as it was dark, I would try to reach +it. I had now passed two days without anything to eat or drink: I felt +no hunger, but was almost ready to perish with thirst, as it seemed. + +As soon as it was dark, I started on my weary journey toward the +timber. I walked some hours, and then laid me down to rest, on the +damp ground. The dew on the grass was very heavy; I thought I could +scoop up some of it with my hand, and obtain relief, but it was in vain +that I tried it. I then took up the bottom of my skirt, and sucked +the moisture from it, until I had partially quenched my thirst. I +thought it the sweetest water I ever drank. I now curled myself up on +the ground for a nap, trying to get myself warm, by drawing the apron +over my head and face, and breathing on my benumbed hands. I shook +from head to foot. I was chilled through, and my teeth chattered. I +heard something approach me, which I supposed, from the step, &c., was +a wolf. I heard him snuffling around my head awhile, and then running +away. I did not even look up, for I felt not the least fear of anything +but Indians. Soon sleep and weariness overcame me, and I slept for some +time. When I awoke, I felt quite refreshed, and started once more on +my toilsome journey. But, by this time, my feet had become very sore; +the flesh was worn almost to the bone, on the top of my toes, by the +coarse prairie grass. Indeed, it was quite a hardship for me to walk, +at all, but the sweet hope that I should soon reach “Dutch Charley’s,” +buoyed up my sinking spirit. If I could only reach that place, I should +be well cared for, and assisted to some friendly settlement, whence I +could inform distant friends of my misfortunes. I traveled on in the +darkness, through sloughs, and high tangled grass, and soon found a +slough that was filled with water. Here I satisfied my burning thirst, +but it was very difficult getting through it: the grass was as tall as +my shoulders, and twisted and matted so that I had to part it before +me, to get along. Most of the way, the water was as much as two and a +half feet deep. I got so fatigued in wading this wide slough that I was +almost obliged to sit down in it, and rest myself. As soon as I set +my foot on dry land again, I lay down and rested a long time, before +starting again. + +It was now early twilight, and I could see timber at a short distance. +I was so weak that I reeled badly, as I walked, but the sight of +the woods revived my strength somewhat, and I dragged myself along, +thinking that about five of the sixteen miles of the route to “Dutch +Charley’s,” were accomplished, and vainly hoping that before night I +might travel the remaining eleven miles. As I neared the timber, I +heard the crowing of fowls in several directions. It was now broad +day, and I discovered that this was not Buffalo Lake, but Lake Shetak! +I cannot describe my grief and despair, at finding myself back there, +after wandering two long nights, with feet bleeding and torn by briers +and rough weeds, and with nothing to eat for three nights and two +days. My fear of Indians caused me to creep into the first bunch of +weeds, for shelter, and I covered my head and face with the apron, to +keep off the musquitoes, which stung me beyond all endurance. I began +to feel sick, and a weak, faint feeling would come over me at times, +which I attributed to extreme hunger. I thought that if I got away +from that place, I must get something to eat, or die soon of weakness +and starvation. There was a house not far off, which I knew to have +belonged to my old friend and neighbor, Thomas Ireland, and if I could +get to it, I might, perhaps, find something eatable. After wavering for +a long time, in a state of uncertainty, between the fear of starvation +and the fear of the Indians, I chose to risk the danger of being +discovered by them, knowing that to remain without food longer, was +death. At about ten o’clock I started for the house. I had to cross a +small slough, the opposite side of which was a high bank, covered thick +with brush. With great pain attending every step, I crossed the slough, +gained the other side, and essayed to climb the bank; I parted the +brush, in order to get through with the least possible pain, but the +brush would catch between my toes at every step, causing me to groan +aloud. God only knows what I suffered. Entirely discouraged, I lay down +in the midst of the brush to _die_! I reflected that all that had kept +me alive, hitherto, was my great desire and determination to live; +hence, that all I now needed to do, was to lie down, determined to +die, and death would soon relieve my sufferings. But I was mistaken: I +found that I could not die, unless it was God’s will, and in His time. +I lay here until noon; then arose and started once more for the house. +By pulling myself up by the bushes, I at last reached the top, and +found myself within a short distance of a corn field. Though in such +an exhausted state that I could scarcely walk, I dragged myself to the +field. I plucked the first ear I could reach, sat down, and, after many +efforts, pulled off the green husks. I then ate two rows of the milky +kernels of green corn, but they made me very sick at the stomach. But, +after lying down for some time, I arose, feeling a great deal better, +and stronger, and soon reached the house. + +Here I found the head and bones of a young bullock the Indians had +butchered: several dead pigs, old clothes, dishes, Indian blankets, +&c., scattered all about the yard. The ground was covered with +feathers which they had emptied from the beds. I entered the house +and found in one corner, a dead dog; I found a crock containing some +buttermilk, so sour and covered with mould that I found it impossible +to use it for food. But I took a cup to the spring, drank some water, +and crawled into some plum-bushes, where I remained until night. When +it got sufficiently dark, I went back to the house, where I caught and +killed a chicken, tore off the skin, and with my teeth tore the flesh +off the bones. This I rendered eatable by dipping it in some brine that +was left in a pork barrel; wrapped it in paper, and put it in a tin +pail that I found. This must be my provision for next day, for well I +knew that I must have food of some kind, even if raw. I also pulled +three ears of corn, and deposited them with the meat. This little store +of provision, I thought, would be enough to keep up my strength until +I could reach “Dutch Charley’s.” This I imagined would be a haven of +rest, where kind hands would care for me, and nurse me up. I put on an +old ragged coat, to keep me warm, bound up my raw and painful feet, in +old cloths, and started anew on my journey. + +I knew the direction to the road to be due east from this place, and +the distance about two miles. This night I kept the right course by +the north star, but did not travel far, for I could go but a short +distance, before I was obliged to lie down and rest. Just at day-break, +I reached the road, making the distance of two miles in the whole +night! This I thought was slow traveling, but I was quite encouraged, +now that I had found the road, and was sure of going right. I lay +down and slept until after sunrise: then, after eating some green +corn, I started again. Often did fatigue force me to sit down and +rest, and each time, after resting, I could scarcely put my foot to +the ground. My heel, which had been shot through, was very sore, and +badly swelled; but, discouraging as this was, I still pressed onward, +till I reached Buffalo Lake, at about 11 o’clock, a. m. Here I found +that I must cross the outlet of the lake, upon a pole that some one +had laid across, long ago. But when I trusted my weight upon it over +the middle of the stream, it broke, and I fell into the water. After +repeated efforts I got out and passed on, but was obliged to stop and +repair damages caused by the accident. I took off and wrung out some of +my clothes, such as my skirt and the rags on my feet; then hung them +in the sunshine to dry. I also laid the meat in the sun to dry, for +it was so soft and slippery that I could not eat it. After this I lay +down in the bushes that grew around the lake, and slept very soundly, +for some time. I arose, at length, put on my skirt, coat, and apron, as +usual, dressed my feet again, sat on a log and ate some corn and forced +down some meat. Just as I finished my lonely meal, a flock of ducks +flew off the lake, and soon a crane followed them. This was proof that +something had disturbed them, and, fearing that Indians were close at +hand, I hid behind a tree, and watched the road in the direction I had +just come. Presently the head of a horse was seen to rise over the hill +near by. “Indians, without doubt,” thought I, and shrank down among the +bushes, and watched to see a dozen or more of the hated savages file +along before me. But, oh! what a revulsion of feeling, from fear to +joy! It proved to be the mail-carrier from Sioux Falls to New Ulm. I +crept out of the brush, and addressed him. He stopped his horse, and, +staring me in the utmost astonishment, asked, in the Indian tongue, if +I were a squaw. I answered yes, not understanding him, and told him the +Indians had killed all the white people at the lake. “Why,” said he, +“you look too white to be a squaw.” “I am no squaw,” replied I, “I am +Mrs. Eastlick; you have seen me several times at Mrs. Everett’s house; +but I am very badly wounded.” While talking with him, the first tears +I had yet shed, since the beginning of my troubles, began to pour like +rain over my cheeks. While I was alone, without an earthly friend to +listen to my grief, I bore up stoically; but now the warmth of human +sympathy unlocked the frozen current of my tears, and I tried with +joy, at once more beholding the face of a white man. He then inquired +about the extent of my wounds, and asked to see them; so I turned up my +sleeve, and showed him my wounded arm, and the place where my head was +broken. He then helped me up on his sulky, and walked along, leading +the horse. At about four o’clock we came in sight of “Dutch Charley’s,” +when we drove the horse away from the road into a ravine, helped me to +the ground, telling me to conceal myself in the grass, and he would go +to the house and see if there had been any Indians about. He returned +presently, saying there had been none there: that the family had +deserted the premises, but that there was an old man there, who came +from Lake Shetak. He helped me to mount the sulky again, and we were +soon before the door. As soon as I had got to the ground, the man made +his appearance at the door, and, wonderful to tell, it was poor “Uncle +Tommy Ireland.” I hardly knew him, for he looked more like a corpse +than a living being; his face was pale, his eyes deeply sunk, and his +voice reduced to a whisper. I hurried to greet him, rejoiced to find, +still living, my old friend and neighbor, who had witnessed the same +heart-ending sights with myself. He clasped his arm around me, kissed +me several times, and we both wept like children at the sight of each +other. + +While the mail-carrier cared for his horse, we entered the house, and +he told me that Merton had left the scene of the massacre on the same +day, carrying little Johnny, and he thought, perhaps, he had reached +that house before “Dutch Charley’s” family had left, and so gone along +with them. I was filled with hope and joy, to think that, perhaps, two +of my children were spared. He detailed to me the circumstances how +the rest of the men, who were lying there with him wounded, had made +their escape from the slough about the middle of the afternoon of the +same day, after the Indians had left. That Merton then told him that +_he_ was going to leave, too. “Oh! no,” said Uncle Tommy, “you will +starve to death on the prairie; you had better lie down with me, and +both die here together, than to wander over the prairie, and finally +starve.” “No,” bravely replied Merton, “Mother told me to carry Johnny +as long as I live, and I’m going to do it.” Uncle Tommy then, seeing +the child’s determination to go, told him he would go with him as far +as the road. Poor little Frank started to go with them, but was wounded +so badly, and so enfeebled by loss of blood, that he soon fell upon his +knees, and besought his brother, Merton, to wait for him, saying he was +_sick_ and could not keep up, Oh! how the poor boy must have felt, to +see his brother leave him alone in such agony. He had been shot through +the thigh, through the abdomen and through the mouth. I afterwards +learned that he remained two days on the prairie, and was then found by +a band of Indians, who carried him to Mrs. Smith’s house. Here they +remained and doctored him two days; there were worms in his wounds +at the time; and, finding he could neither eat nor drink, but would +probably die, they left him in this situation. But he lived, and after +staying there alone for three weeks, and living on cheese, &c., he was +taken prisoner by a half-breed, named Joe Leaboshie. God only knows +what the poor child suffered, and what he still suffers, for if still +living, he is yet a prisoner. + +Uncle Tommy only went about half a mile with Merton; being very faint +from the loss of blood, he lay down in the grass, and was unable to +turn himself over for thirty-six hours. Then, finding himself able +to walk, he arose, and went as far as “Dutch Charley’s” that day, at +which place we found him on Saturday, the next day. As he was unable +to get himself a drink, he was suffering greatly, but the sight of the +mail-carrier and myself raised his spirits to such an extent, that +he thought he could travel a little. The mail-carrier came in after +feeding his horse, brought in some hay, which he put in a corner, and +advised me to lie down upon it and rest. He found a cheese in the +chamber, which he cut and fed us upon. After resting some time, I went +to the garden, and pulled a few turnips; taking them and a part of the +cheese for food, we started once more. At first, Uncle Tommy could not +walk very well, but, after going a mile or two, he could walk as fast +as the horse. After going about eight miles, we went about half a mile +away from the road, to camp for the night; ate a part of our turnips +and cheese, and lay down on the ground to sleep. The mail-carrier gave +me a quilt, that he had with him, and this I shared with Mr. Ireland, +who had nothing but his shirt and pants. During the night, a severe +storm arose, and it rained for some time; the kind mail-carrier put his +oil-cloth blanket over us, reserving but a small portion for himself. + +As soon as day-light on Sunday morning, we started again. It was very +cold, and I should have suffered much, if the mail-carrier had not +given me his blanket to ride in, which kept me very comfortable. At +about eleven o’clock, we espied some persons ahead of us, and the +mail-carrier, thinking they might be Indians, turned from the road, +followed along a ravine, for some distance, till he thought he could +come up with them. He then cautiously crept to the top of the hill, and +looked over, upon the road. But he could see nothing of them; they were +out of sight. He returned and said he would go back to Sioux Falls, if +I would. I told him, if he thought he would be any safer to return, +to do so, by all means: but that I would rather he would leave me to +go onward, to New Ulm, which I supposed must be a place of safety. +He said he would go there with me. I urged him not to run any risks +for my sake, for we might all get killed if we went on, but he would +not leave me behind, alone. We then all started on again, with the +mail-carrier some distance in advance. As we neared the place where +we had seen the supposed Indians, he took a circuitous route, telling +me to wait until he could go to the top of a hill, and look out for +them. After looking in every direction, he motioned to me to go on, +and soon rejoined me. But when we had traveled about a mile further, +on ascending an eminence, I saw at a long distance the objects that +had alarmed us, which appeared to be a woman and two children. When we +arrived near to them, the woman looked to me like Mrs. Duly: I beckoned +to her to stop, and, on coming up, it proved to be Mrs. Hurd, with her +two children. She was unable to speak, for some time, but shook hand +with us all, and finally told me that my Merton was a short distance +ahead, just out of sight, and was carrying Johnny. I could stay to +hear no more, and, urging the horse along, I soon came up with them. +Merton stopped, gazed upon me, but spoke not a word. The mail-carrier +took Johnny, who was sleeping, in his arms, and gave him to me; I +clasped him to my breast, and, with tears of joy, I thanked God--Oh! +how fervently--for sparing my children thus far. How I longed to press +to my bosom my poor Merton, but could not, for I was unable to get off +the sulky; all I could do was to press his wasted hand, and call him +my dear brave boy. He, though only eleven years old, had carried the +child, who was fifteen months old, fifty miles, but now he could hardly +stand alone; for he felt no fear now, and had nothing to excite him +or keep up his strength. He was the poorest person I ever saw, able +to stand alone. Two weeks of hard sickness could not have altered his +looks more. And little Johnny, too, was sadly changed; his face was +entirely covered with a scab, where the musquitoes had bitten him and +he had scratched off the skin: he lay stupid in my arms, and seemed not +to notice anything; and he had pulled the hair all out of the back of +his head. They had both been two days without food. After Merton had +left Mr. Ireland, exhausted upon the prairie, he soon found the road to +“Dutch Charley’s,” and reached Buffalo Lake before dark, on the day of +the massacre, and stopped there all night. He laid his little brother +on the ground, and bent over him to protect him from the cold rain. The +wolves came around in the night, and he was obliged to halloo at them +with all his power of voice, to scare them away. Think of it, mothers, +and fancy your own cherished darlings sleeping thus! + +Thus he spent the long, cold, weary night, and at day-light, started +on his way. All day long he carried little John, resting at intervals, +until about five p. m. he overtook Mrs. Hurd, near the house of the +German. Together they proceeded to the house, where they found and +ate some cheese full of skippers, which was the first morsel they had +tasted for two days. The people of the house had left, taking with them +all their provisions, that were fit to eat. At about dark they went and +concealed themselves in the corn-field for the night. + +Mrs. Hurd, also, had had a very hard time since the beginning of her +troubles. After the Indians had driven her from her home, she wandered +on till she became bewildered, and lost her way, while the rain poured +in torrents. At night she laid her children on the ground, tried to +shield them from the storm with her body, and spent the night in +watching over them. Next day, after wandering round for a long time, +and crossing numerous sloughs, she found the road, but her eldest child +became very sick, and vomited often. Soon he became unable to walk, +and then she was obliged to carry him. But having two to carry, and +being quite weak, she was under the necessity of carrying one of them a +quarter or half mile, laying him down and returning for the other one, +so that, for every mile that her children got along, she was obliged to +walk three miles. Her oldest child cried bitterly for bread, but she +cheered him by promising that he should have some when they reached +“Dutch Charley’s.” She traveled thus till she reached the house, when +she was almost discouraged by finding them all gone. Her boy reminded +her of her promise, but she could find no bread for him. Next morning, +after returning from the corn-field, they resumed their search for +food, and at last found in an old building some spoiled ham, which they +fed to the little ones. Merton pulled some carrots in the garden, and, +after making their breakfast of carrot, ham and cheese, they started +again, taking what provision they had left. Thus they traveled, with +but little to eat and nearly destitute of clothing, and sleeping on the +ground at night. Johnny’s sole clothing was a dress, with a very low +neck: Merton had, at first, a shirt, pants, and hat, but the hat was +shot to pieces in the slough, and he had torn his pants nearly off, in +walking, so that he replaced them with an old pair which were picked up +at the German’s. + +At about noon we reached Brown’s place, which was two miles from where +I met with my children, but found the house deserted, and the family +gone. From the appearance of things, they were judged to have left +the house of their own accord, and had taken most of their goods with +them. The mail-carrier, being unable to enter the door, which was +fastened, climbed in at the window, which had been broken in, and found +some bread on the table, which he distributed among us, reserving but +a small piece for himself. After feeding his horse, he started alone +for New Ulm, leaving us around the house, and promising to send some +one after us. He said that about seven miles from there, lived a man +who owned a pair of horses, and he would send him after us. After he +was gone, being afraid to stay around the house, we went about eighty +rods from the house, into the brush that grew along the bank of the +Cottonwood river. Here we staid until near sunset, when we returned +to the house, crawled in through the broken window, and examined the +premises. The house looked as though it had just been left; it was +quite clean, and everything was placed in good order. There were one +feather bed and three straw beds in the house, some forty pounds of +pork and a crock of lard in the cellar; in short, we found enough to +make us comfortable, and, though there was nothing that would make +bread, we were still very thankful. In the garden, Mrs. Hurd and Merton +dug some potatoes, and found plenty of such vegetables as onions, +turnips, cabbage, beets, tomatoes and melons. Mrs. Hurd then cooked +some potatoes, fried some pork and onions, and we all made a hearty +meal, which was the first one I had had since Tuesday night. As soon as +dark, we all gladly went to bed, and found clothes enough to keep us +quite comfortable. I slept but little, however, for I felt not so safe +here as on the prairie, and fear of the red-skins kept sleep from my +eyes. + +Here we remained at Mr. Brown’s house, from Sunday p. m. till Wednesday +night, when the mail-carrier returned. He reported that all the +settlers on the Cottonwood river were driven away by the Indians, or +killed; that he had gone in sight of New Ulm, on foot, leaving his +horse some miles behind; that he could see the ruins of a great many +burnt houses there, and people, of some kind, walking about the street, +but could not determine whether they were Indians or whites; that as he +was traveling along, on foot, he suddenly came upon six Indians, two of +whom shot at him and pursued him; that he ran and concealed himself in +a slough, till his pursuers were weary of hunting for him, and gave up +the search. He came back and reached Brown’s on Tuesday night, but, +on listening for us, he heard nothing, so he concluded that we were +either killed by the Indians, or had gone away, and, perhaps, the house +contained Indians, so he went to the corn-field and staid there for the +rest of the night, and part of the next day, till he ventured to come +to the house. After hearing this tale, we all knew we were not safe a +moment in the house. But now I was no longer able to walk; my wounded +foot had become much inflamed and swollen. So our kind protector put me +upon his horse and took Johnny and myself to a thicket, about a fourth +of a mile from the house. He also brought the feather bed and placed +it for me to lie upon, among some wild plum bushes. Having done all he +could to render us comfortable, he shook hands and bade me farewell, +saying that he never expected to see me again. He started to return to +Sioux Falls, to send some soldiers to rescue us, and, if he had good +luck in getting through, he thought the soldiers could reach us in one +week from that day. When he left me I wept like a child, for he had +been so very kind to me, he seemed like a brother, and, now that he +was gone, I felt that the last of my hopes was gone with him. I knew I +could not get away without help, and I feared lest the Indians should +come along and find us: if they did our lives would not be worth a +farthing. After cooking a pail of potatoes, some meat and parched corn, +Mrs. Hurd came to me; Uncle Tommy and Merton also came, bringing some +bed clothes to cover us with. But the night proved so sultry, that we +could not bear to cover our faces, and the mosquitoes seemed to draw +the last drop of blood from our veins. I slept but very little, during +this long and tedious night. The prospect was discouraging beyond +measure, and I feared that the mail-carrier would never reach his +destination. But I afterwards learned that when he reached Sioux Falls, +the settlers there had all been murdered by the savages, as also all of +the soldiers but two, who escaped: finally, however, he reached Fort +Clark in safety. + +Next morning, Thursday, we arose and made our breakfast of cold +potatoes, and meat. We dared not speak aloud from fear that Indians +might be near. It was some trouble to keep the little ones quiet, +sometimes, but usually they were very still. Johnny now got so that he +began to walk a little again, but when I first overtook him, he was +unable to stand alone. About ten o’clock, Mr. Ireland said he could +not stand it any longer, and would go to the house. He was much better +now than he had been, before: but, one night, while we were staying at +the house, Mrs. Hurd and myself thought he was dying, from the wounds +through his lungs. He set out for the house, but had gone but a little +way, when we heard the barking of dogs. This seemed to us proof that +Indians, with their dogs, were upon us, and we expected to hear the +report of a gun that should be the first fired at poor Uncle Tommy. No +one can imagine what we then suffered with fear. Presently the dogs +came crackling through the bushes, and stopped, when in sight of us, +looking intently at us. I feared they would bark, and bring Indians +about us, but they did not. They turned back and were gone some time. +Next time, they came close to us, lay down about a rod from us, and +finally went away again. They were large, coal-black dogs, and did not +look cross, but quite the reverse. I told Mrs. Hurd that if they came +to us again, I would try to make friends with them, and, perhaps, they +would not betray us. Sometime after noon, they came the third time; the +largest one came close to me and looked very wistful. Not daring to +speak, I merely snapped my fingers at him, on which he came up, showing +all a dog’s signs of joy, and licking my face and hands. Glad to see a +friendly disposition shown us, by even a dog, I caressed him and gave +him some meat. Presently the crackling of the brush was again heard. +Looking up, in dismay, we caught sight of an object, that looked like +an Indian, a blanket over his head. A terrible fright seized us all: my +heart beat so loud that I thought he must hear it; but he soon appeared +from behind some bushes, and proved to be no one but Mr. Ireland. His +coming cheered us now, as much as it had, just before, frightened us. +He said the dogs probably had belonged to Mr. Brown, for they seemed at +home at the house. He tried his best to persuade us to go there, but we +steadily refused. He had eaten some potatoes, corn, &c., and brought us +some of the parched corn: he soon returned to the house, to stay there +alone. + +I spent this night, like the preceding one, without sleep; and Mrs. +Hurd, also, spent a most miserable night, for she was sick, and vomited +a great many times. In the morning she was much better. Uncle Tommy +came out early from the house, and begged us again to go there with +him. I had about concluded to go, and run the risk of being killed by +the Indians, for, if we staid there, we should, of a certainty, be +tortured by the mosquitoes, and, perhaps, die after all. Mrs. Hurd, +also, concluded to accompany him. I managed to get out of the brush +alone, but could go no farther without help. The others all having a +load to carry, left me behind, on the ground. Merton came back, after +he had borne Johnny to the house, and helped me a little. I placed my +hand upon his shoulder, and, using him thus, as a staff, I got on a +short distance; but was, at last, obliged to get down on my hands and +knees, and thus crawl to the house, where I at once threw myself upon a +bed. After resting awhile, I thought, perhaps, I might be able to sit +up, to dress my wounded foot, but I was too faint and weak to succeed, +until afternoon, when I dressed my wounds. The one upon my arm was +beginning to heal fast, but my heel was badly swollen, and in a very +bad condition. I did not walk again for several weeks. During the rest +of the time that we staid here, the days wore slowly away: we remained +in silence, most of the time, and, even the little ones, were seldom +allowed to laugh or play. I began to think I should never live to get +away, though the others were now able to walk some miles. Mrs. Hurd +was very anxious to start for New Ulm, and thought every day, that my +foot would next morning be well enough to start: but each successive +morning brought the same disappointment. Finally I advised Mrs. Hurd +and Mr. Ireland to go, and wait no longer for me: that if they remained +we might all be murdered, and, if they left, it might be the means +of saving _their own_ lives, at least. But they refused to leave me, +helpless, which was very generous in them. Still I thought it not +right, to risk their lives, for the sake of keeping me company. So Mr. +Ireland finally proposed that, if we would all stay at the house, he +would go to New Ulm, and, if he could find men enough there, he would +have them come after us. We promised him to stay at the house, and +await the coming of help, if he felt able to walk to New Ulm. “Then,” +he exclaimed, “I _will_ go, and have you all rescued, or die in the +attempt!” He began at once to prepare for the journey. + +On Monday morning of the ninth day, that we had staid at Mr. Brown’s, +very early, Mrs. Hurd cooked two young chickens, and Uncle Tommy, +taking them for his provisions, started for New Ulm, telling us to be +of good cheer, for, if he had no bad luck, he would reach the town +sometime that night, and by Tuesday night, we might look for some one +after us. I could not keep from shedding tears, as he left us, for +now I seemed more lonely than ever, and I hardly dared to hope that +he would succeed in bringing us succor. I still thought that it would +ultimately be my lot to be murdered by the savages, and my constant +prayer was, that God would give me strength to die like a Christian. +I determined that if they came and murdered me, they should not have +their ears delighted by a single groan, or cry. Having found some +newspapers in an old trunk, I tried to read, thinking it would relieve +the tedium of the hours, and divert my sad heart. But the first story +I found, was something horrible about Indians! I threw the paper from +me, for my mind was already filled with such dreadful scenes, as none +of the writers of fiction have described. All the afternoon of Tuesday +we looked long and eagerly for some one to come to our relief, until +after dark, when I retired and slept for some hours. At about midnight +we were awakened by the barking of the dogs and I asked Mrs. Hurd +what they could be barking at. “It may be the cattle,” replied she, +“but they act as if afraid of something.” She arose and went to the +window, but could see nothing. The dogs now barked more savagely than +ever, running out a short distance, then back against the door. This +frightened us very much, as we thought it must be Indians, or the dogs +would not act so. But, thought I, whether it be enemies or friends I +must arise and dress, if I have strength, though it may be the last +time. So I began putting on my clothes, still asking Mrs. Hurd if she +saw anything, when, just as I was about dressed, she exclaimed, “My +God! Cook, is that you?” Then I knew that it was some one whom she +knew. I knew their voices when I heard them speak. It proved to be a +young man named Cook, who lived at Lake Shetak, and some time before +the outbreak had gone to Crystal Lake, to work in harvest: and my +neighbor, Mr. Wright, who was also gone at the time. They came into +the house, pressed our hands warmly, with tears running down their +faces, while Mrs. Hurd and I wept aloud for joy! Immediately after +them, a number of soldiers entered, and when Mr. Wright took out some +matches, and lit a lamp, the sight that met their eyes caused the eyes +of all the brave boys to grow dim with tears. Some of them, tired and +worn out, had lain down on the floor to rest, but their leader, Lieut. +Roberts, told them that was no place to rest; that they must get up and +stand guard. They remained but a few minutes in the house, when he went +out and stood guard with the rest of them. + +We now learned that Uncle Tommy had succeeded in getting to New Ulm, +about noon, on Tuesday, and at once made known our condition to Capt. +Dane. Thereupon the Captain ordered fourteen men under Lieut. Roberts, +as commander, to prepare to start as soon as possible to our relief. It +was almost sunset before they were ready to start, when, lo! Mr. Wright +and Mr. Cook came into town, and, learning the facts, volunteered to +attend them as guides. They reached our place at midnight, and, fearful +that the sight of them all would frighten us, the guides came on alone +to rouse us. They had brought some crackers and tea for us; they went +out and caught, killed and cooked some chickens for the soldiers, +refusing all assistance from Mrs. Hurd; and, having prepared a good +meal, of chickens, potatoes and tea, a part of the soldiers came in and +ate, while the rest stood guard. After the first half of the soldiers +were fed, the other portion were also relieved and furnished a good +warm supper. I drank a cup of tea, but could eat scarcely any. + +At length morning began to dawn, and we were soon ready to start. They +placed the feather bed in a light two horse wagon, which they had +brought, also, some quilts and a buffalo robe. I was then helped in, +with Mrs. Hurd and our children. The Lieutenant ordered the men to +mount their horses, and eight to ride in advance of the wagon while the +rest were to act as rear guard. All being now ready, we started, and I +gladly bid adieu to the lonely house in which I had suffered so much. I +saw one of the soldiers dismount, and go to the corn-crib, but thought +no more of it. But, after proceeding some three miles, a soldier rode +ahead, and told the Lieut. there was a man left behind, upon which he +ordered back three men in search of him. When about five miles from Mr. +Brown’s, Lieut. Roberts rode back to our wagon, and told the driver to +turn out of the road, pointing a little distance ahead of us. Thinking +it a bad place in the road, I looked in the direction he pointed, and +beheld the body of an old grey-haired man, lying in the road. I was +forced to turn my eyes from the sickening spectacle. This was the body +of Mr. Brown, whose family were all murdered here. We soon crossed a +little run, where stood their wagon, the goods thrown out, books and +clothing scattered on the ground, as, also, were two feather beds, +which the soldiers carried away with them. Near the wagon we found the +body of Mrs. Brown: her head was split open, and a few feet from her +lay a tomahawk. In this place the soldiers found, in all, the bodies +of four men and two women. We made all haste to pass by and leave this +horrid scene of death, but its memory will never leave us. Soon after, +the three soldiers overtook us, having seen nothing of their missing +comrade. But it was thought that he had gone back upon the north side +of the Cottonwood river: they had gone up the river by that route, +but, thinking it safer to return by the south side, they had done so. +But, as this intention was not announced until after leaving Brown’s, +the man who was left, named Gilfillan, being entirely ignorant of the +change of route, had started back by the same road he came. It was just +growing light a little, in the east, when we started, and, it was too +dark for him to see which way we returned. On the next day, a company +of soldiers went out from New Ulm in search of him, as I afterwards +learned. They found him on the south side of the Cottonwood, about six +miles from town. He had been shot through the breast, and, afterwards, +his head severed from his body. The savages had beaten it to pieces +until there was not a piece of the skull left as large as a man’s hand. +From the appearance of the grass, he had fought bravely for his life, +for it was wallowed down for rods around; at least, so the soldiers +reported. They buried him where they found him, and left the place with +sad hearts. + +When about ten miles on our way, we found two wagons standing in the +road; the white covers were torn off, and dresses and other clothes +hanging on the bows. Some of these the soldiers put into the wagon +for our use. Not far from the wagons, in the grass, lay the body of +a man with his scalp torn off. Every house that we passed showed +unmistakable signs of having been plundered by the redskins. As we +passed one farm, about forty head of cattle, far off in the field, +were attracted by the noise: they started for us, seeming to feel +the need of a master, and ran at full speed, bellowing like mad, up +to the fence; then followed along in the field, until they came to a +cross-fence, where they were obliged to halt. We reached New Ulm a +little after noon, and drove to Capt. Dane’s head-quarters, which was +a large hotel. The porch was filled with soldiers who came out to see +us. A man named Robertson helped me out of the wagon, and asked me if I +could walk, to which I replied, that perhaps I could, if he would give +me some assistance. He then, seeing that it gave me great pain to touch +my sore foot to the floor, took me up in his arms, carried me into the +house and up two flights of stairs, to a room where he laid me upon +a bed. Here I saw Uncle Tommy, who was delighted to see us. We were +attended by a young man named Hillsgrove, and two ladies, who dressed +my wounds, brought us wine to drink, and took the best possible care of +us. The ladies lived some thirty miles from that place, and soon left +for their home. I learned that the Indians had attacked the place some +three different times, had burned some fifteen or twenty houses, and +killed quite a number of men, but that, after much hard fighting, the +whites had succeeded in driving them away. The women and children had +left the town. The soldiers here were very kind to us: Lieut. Roberts +gave Mrs. Hurd and myself each a dollar. I was as proud of this as a +little child, and wondered what I should purchase with it. I could +think of a great many things that I needed, but could not decide what +I needed most, so I put it away, feeling very grateful to the donor. +Capt. Dane gave us some clothes that he found. Mr. Wright found a piece +of calico, which he brought to us, and divided between Mrs. Hurd and +myself, and which was sufficient for a dress for each of us. + +On the morning of the fifth of September, a party of us, consisting of +Mrs. Hurd, and myself, with our children, Mr. Ireland and Mr. Wright, +started for Mankato. Capt. Dane kindly sent some fifteen or twenty of +his soldiers as our escort part of the way. About sunset we reached +South Bend, where we thought we had better stay over night, but, on +stopping to see what accommodations could be obtained, we found the +hotels crowded to overflowing, and there was no chance for us. But +the wagon had hardly stopped, before it was surrounded by men asking +questions as to who we were, &c. On learning my name, they exclaimed, +“Is this the little hero that traveled from Lake Shetak, carrying his +little baby brother? We had heard about him, but supposed they had +starved to death upon the prairie before this.” They became quite +excited about the boy, and crowded each other hither and thither to +get a sight of him. We drove on a short distance to a grocery, where +the men of our party stopped to refresh themselves with a glass of +beer, when a man came running after us in great haste. On coming to +our wagon, he asked, “Is this the boy that ran away from the Indians, +and carried his brother?” “Yes,” said I. “Give me your hand, my brave +little man,” said he, shaking his hand warmly: “and is this the child +he carried so far?” On being told it was, he took Johnny in his arms, +and kissed him several times: then, after we had started on, he walked +half a mile beside our wagon, talking to Mrs. Hurd and myself. + +Late in the evening we reached Mankato; here they took Mr. Ireland, +Mrs. Hurd, myself, and our children, to the hospital, where supper +was soon prepared for us. I was assisted to bed, and the surgeon came +and dressed my wounds. We here received excellent care and nursing. +Dr. McMahan was the head surgeon, and was very kind to us; indeed, it +would almost cure a sick person, to see his good-natured face. In his +absence, Dr. Wickersham attended the sick and wounded, and he, too, +treated us with kindness. On the next day, which was Saturday, I was +told that some of my old neighbors were at the hospital, namely, Mr. +Everett and Charles Hatch. They had made their escape, and reached +Mankato in very sad plight. Charley had by this time nearly been +healed of his wounds, but it was thought doubtful if Mr. Everett ever +recovered. On the morning of this day, Mrs. Hurd left for St. Peter and +La Crosse; this was the last I saw of her. The ladies of Mankato showed +their generosity while I staid there, by giving me clothes for myself +and children. I often overheard some one inquiring for the boy that +carried his brother so far: soldiers and officers came there in large +numbers, thinking it quite a sight to see my Merton, and generally +gave him or myself, small sums of money, from a dime to a dollar. +When several companies of the 25th Wisconsin Regiment came through +the town, on their way to the scene of the Indian war, they remained +in town over night. Next morning, they came to the hospital to see +me and my children: they crowded my room and the halls, till at last +the surgeon, seeing that there were a great many more coming than the +house would hold, locked the door against them and refused to let them +in. Not being able to see me, then the soldiers clamored for a sight +of Johnny. Dr. Wickersham took the child down among them, where he +was caressed and passed from hand to hand, causing great amazement at +the strength and endurance of the boy that had lugged him fifty miles +without food. When they left town, they took Merton along with them +some distance, and sent him back with a present of fifteen dollars, +all in silver, which was a scarce commodity at that time, and is still +more rare now. I shall never cease to remember, with gratitude, the +benevolent soldiers of the 25th Wisconsin. The money came very timely, +for, until then, I had nothing with which to get clothing for Merton. +I had remained at the hospital six or seven weeks, and he was much in +need of clothes, for the weather was now growing colder. I was now very +tired of staying here, and determined to leave, whether they gave me a +discharge or not. My foot had healed so that I began to use it some, +but was very lame: the rest of my wounds were all healed. + +Three days before I left, the Government sent a new surgeon to take +charge of the hospital--viz: Dr. Clark, of Mankato. He at once tried to +send me into the kitchen, to work, but I had no intention of paying my +board by working in the kitchen, while he drew pay from the Government +for keeping me, and so I did not agree to the proposal. Finding he +could not drive me to work, he said that if I was going to leave at +all, I could do so at once, which I soon afterwards did. On another +occasion, a gentleman called and inquired for Dr. Clark. Mr. Ireland +told him he was in Mr. Everett’s room, and volunteered to go and call +him; went to the door, and, finding it ajar, pushed it open just in +time to see Dr. Clark in the act of tipping up a bottle of brandy to +take a dram. Clark at once got in a passion, charged Uncle Tommy with +hanging around watching him, and, swearing he would not keep a spy +about him, he discharged him, on the spot. But Mr. Ireland was unable +to get a living, for his arm, that had been shot through, was of no +use, so Dr. Wickersham, in the benevolence of his heart, took him to +the hotel and paid his board for one week. At the end of this time, Mr. +Ireland refused to stay longer, not thinking it right to take advantage +of the Dr.’s kind offer. I was not in a condition to travel, for I had +no bonnet or shawl. But Mr. Daniel Tyner bought me a bonnet, shawl, +a pair of shoes, stockings and gloves, as well as clothing for the +children, and gave them all to me. When I asked him what they cost, so +as to pay him, if I ever got able; he said that if that was my reason +for asking, he would not tell me. I shall ever remember him and the +ladies of Mankato, with gratitude. + +One day a gentleman came and asked me if I wished to leave and go to +my friends. I replied that I did. After inquiring if I had the means +to carry me to them, and finding I was nearly destitute, he offered to +give me a pass. He left, and, shortly after, sent me a pass to Otomy, +a distance of fifty miles. But this was of no account, for I wanted +a pass to go to Ohio. The next day I took a journey to St. Peter, to +see the man who gave me the pass, and try to get one that would carry +me farther; but, on arriving there, I found he had returned to St. +Paul. I then returned to Mankato, and back to South Bend, to see Judge +Flandreau. He could only give me a pass to the State line. He finally +gave me a pass to St. Paul, and told me to go to Gen. Pope, who would, +if possible, give me a pass to Ohio. I took a letter of introduction +to Gen. Pope, and on Monday morning took the stage for Shakopee, +thence went by boat to the city of St. Paul. After considerable search +and inquiry, I found Gen. Pope’s head-quarters in a very large brick +building. Here I was directed up a flight of stairs, into a long hall, +where sat a man by the door of one of the rooms. On making known my +wants, I was told that I could not see the General, but that if I had +any business with him, I could send it in by him. I told him I wished +for a pass that would carry me to Ohio, and gave him Judge Flandreau’s +letter of introduction to carry in. He was gone but a few moments, when +he returned, saying, that Pope could not give me a pass, but would do +what he could for me, by way of subscription, and advised me to go to +Gov. Ramsey. I turned away in great disappointment, but concluded to +try once more, so I went to the Capitol, in search of the Governor. One +gentleman, among the crowd who were there, offered me a chair, which I +was very glad to accept, for, by this time, I was suffering much from +weariness and lameness. I stated that I wished to see the Governor, +and learned that I would have to wait about an hour, so I sent Merton +back to the boat, to have my baggage put on shore. At last, after long +waiting, a man came and told me that I could then have an opportunity +to see the Governor. There were a great many others waiting, and I +improved the chance at once. On entering the room, Mr. Ramsey spoke +very kindly to me, and I seemed to know, by intuition and by the sight +of his open countenance, that he would do all in his power to assist +me. “What can I do for you, madam?” he asked. I replied that I wished +for a pass to leave the State. He then inquired my name, circumstances, +and where I was from. So I related something of my story. “Ah!” said +he, “are you the mother of the little boy who carried his brother +such a great distance?” He became much interested, found out all the +circumstances, and had about an hour’s conversation with me. He said +that he would give me the pass, which I wanted, and hoped Merton would +return in time so that he could see the little hero, that he had read +so much about, but that he could spend no more time with me, for there +were a number of men wishing to see him upon business. He said that no +boats would leave until next morning: then gave a gentleman directions +to go with me to a photograph artist, and have pictures taken of myself +and children, for he said he wanted them very much. We did as he +requested, and sat for three different pictures. The artist made me a +present of two dollars and requested me to leave my address, in order +that he might afterwards send me one of the pictures, when finished. +I received the photograph, in due season. The next morning the same +gentleman, whose name I have forgotten, came and paid my hotel bill, +attended us on board the steamboat, Northern Belle, paid my fare as +far as Winona, and gave me fifteen dollars, saying that Gov. Ramsey +thought the money would be better for me than a pass, as I wanted to +stop in several places, on my way: having done all he could to assist +me, he returned to the Governor. Next morning we landed at Winona; +as I was just going to step ashore, the lady passengers gave me some +money, for which I stopped to thank them, but there was no time, and I +was hurried on shore. Hardly had I left the boat, when a hotel runner +took us and our trunk to the Franklin House, where I left my children +and started out to see if I could find a team going to St. Charles, +hoping to get a ride that far on my way. I was directed to Mr. Bauder’s +hotel, where the teamsters from that direction usually staid. I went +into the bar-room and made my inquiries of the landlord, who told me +that the teams from that way were all gone, but more would arrive, +that night. He asked if I lived at St. Charles. I told him I had lived +three miles south of that place, but that the autumn before I had moved +to Lake Shetak. A gentleman, sitting there, having inquired and found +out my name, said that he had been acquainted with my husband, but had +heard that the settlers at Lake Shetak were all murdered. I told him +some particulars about the massacre, in which he took a deep interest. +“Where are you stopping?” asked Mr. Bauder. “At the Franklin House,” I +replied. “Well,” said he, “you had better get your children, and come +here to put up, and go out on the stage to-morrow.” “But,” said I, “if +I go with some teamster, it will cost me less than by stage, and I must +economise in every possible way.” “Well,” said the landlord, “you shall +come here to stay and welcome; and if the stage agent won’t give you +a ticket on the stage, I’ll pay your fare myself.” This was too good +an offer to be disregarded, so I returned to the Franklin House, and +offered to pay for my ride up from the river. The landlord asked if I +was going, and had found a team; “I have found no team,” said I, “but +I am going to the Bauder House.” “You had better stay here,” said he, +“we are running opposition to Bauder, and will do as well by you as +he will.” I then got him to state the lowest terms on which he would +keep me, considering my poverty. As a special favor, he agreed to give +us one day’s board for a dollar. “Then,” said I, “I think I will go +to Mr. Bauder’s, as he will keep us free and pay my stage-fare to St. +Charles.” This being a degree of generosity beyond his conception, +he charged me a quarter for my ride to his house, and, having paid +him, I went to Mr. Bauder’s. In the evening, Mr. Bauder brought me +twenty-five cents which he said was sent me by a blacksmith, who also +promised that when I came again to Winona he would pay my fare. I do +not know the man’s name, but I know he has a kind heart. + +Next morning Mr. Bauder handed me a small sum of money which he and +others had contributed, and the stage agent gave me a ticket to St. +Charles, so I was soon on my way. On the stage was a man named John +Stevens, an artist by profession: he had learned of my misfortune, and +asked me a great many questions. He had a panorama of the war nearly +completed, and offered, if I would stay with him until he had painted +some additional scenes of the Indian massacres, to give me the benefit +of the first exhibition at Winona. He thought it would pay me well for +staying, and said it would be about four weeks before its completion. +I concluded to stay until that time, among my old neighbors, who, when +I reached my old home, gave me a hearty welcome. While stopping near +St. Charles, I was delighted to receive a visit from one of my old +neighbors from Lake Shetak: namely, Mrs. Cook, who, I heard, had been +taken prisoner by the Indians, and afterwards, released, with a great +many other women and children. I was so glad to see her alive once +more, that I threw my arms around her, and wept for joy. She related +how she had escaped from her captors, and, though rather a long story, +it may not be uninteresting here. She was taken, with the rest of the +prisoners, to Mr. Ireland’s house, where a great many Indians were +encamped for the night. The Indian who claimed her, told her to stay +in the “teepe” or the Indians would kill her. They had a great dance +that night notwithstanding the storm. Some one of them would jump into +the ring, declare that he had that day killed a pale-face, and then +proceeded to represent in pantomime the manner in which his victim had +died. He would jump as though struck by a bullet, stagger around till +he fell, groan a few times, and lie as though he were dead, while the +rest joined in a demoniac dance with yells, whoops, and songs, around +him. Then another would spring out and boast of his exploits, acting +out the sufferings of the victims, and thus they spent the whole night, +perfectly intoxicated over their banquet of blood. Their chief had +been killed that day, so this night they chose old “Pawn” chief. Next +morning they brought Lily Everett into their camp, so chilled and wet +that she could hardly speak. Mrs. Cook and Mrs. Duly took compassion +on her, wrapped her in a shawl and set her close by the fire. But the +savages, not liking to see any one showing mercy or pity to a child, +instantly took aim at them, and fired. One ball went through the skirt +of Mrs. Duly’s dress, and another pierced the shawl worn by Mrs. Cook, +just below her shoulders, cutting a slit through the shawl, about half +a yard in length, but, fortunately, neither of them were hurt. The +Indians staid at the lake till Friday morning, when they decamped, +taking away all the cattle, and several wagons loaded with plunder. +They compelled the women to drive the oxen that drew the wagons, and +also the loose cattle, which spread out over the prairie in quite a +drove. While on their way to the house of Mr. Ireland, Mrs. Cook was +leading little Belle Duly, aged five years, when the same old squaw +who had murdered my poor Freddy came along, snatched the child away +and began to torture her. First she whipped her over the face, with +a raw-hide; then took her up by one arm and one leg, and beat the +ground with her, till the breath was nearly driven from her body; next, +tied her to a bush, stepped back a few paces, and threw knives at her, +sometimes hitting her in various parts of the body. In this brutal +manner, she caused the poor thing’s death, while the mother was forced +to behold the sight. She then told me about a band of Indians who had +found my boy, Frank. This was the first I had heard about him, and for +a long time I thought, as she did, that he had died at the house where +they left him. She was seven weeks with the Indians; the first half of +the time she had plenty to eat, but was then sold to an old chap who +was very good to her sometimes, and at other times very cruel. One day +he announced to her that he was going to another band of Indians, at +some distance, and some of the squaws told her, that where they were +going, there was hardly anything to eat. Next morning he started off, +compelling her to go with him: she made no resistance, but, after going +some five miles, she offered to carry his gun for him. He gave it to +her, probably thinking her a remarkably good squaw, and she soon, while +walking behind him, took off the percussion cap, threw it away, and +spit in the tube, to make sure that it would not go off. She then told +him she should go no farther. He seized his gun and told her to go on, +or he would shoot her, and pointed the muzzle at her breast. She boldly +told him to shoot, then, for she was determined to go no further, and +bared her breast before the muzzle, as if to receive her death-shot. +But he did not do it; he dropped the butt of his musket upon the ground +and looked at her in amazement. She was probably the bravest squaw he +had ever seen. At last he agreed to go back with her. That night she +intended to escape with a squaw, who had married a white man, and was +also a prisoner. But their plan was defeated by the sickness of the +squaw’s child. The next morning, however, the child was better, and the +Indians all went away, save the one who owned Mrs. Cook. This was a +splendid opportunity. Mrs. Cook stole away to the river, unperceived; +the squaw rode a pony the same way, pretending to be going to water +him; but let him go, at the river, and joined Mrs. Cook. They traveled +all day, crossing the Minnesota river ten times, in order to hide their +trail, if followed. They walked, they thought, about thirty miles, +when they came to “Red Iron’s” band of Indians, whom they joined. +After being in their possession three days, with a great many other +prisoners, they were all surrendered by “Red Iron” to Gen. Sibley. + +Mrs. Cook urged me hard to go back to Mankato with her, for they had +taken some three hundred and eighty Indians prisoners, and, if I knew +any of them, to appear as a witness against them. I told her that she +could go on to Rochester, where she was to stop a few days, and I +would join her there. I thought it advisable to return and see about +the claim which I had put in, like a great many others, claiming to be +reimbursed by the Government, for all my property which was taken from +me by public enemies. I had made out a list of the items, and employed +a lawyer, named Buck, to prosecute my claim, not knowing what he +intended to charge. So I concluded to return, and find how the matter +stood. On the Saturday after Mrs. Cook left, I went to Rochester, where +I staid a week, with a German family named Kolb, and went to see my +artist friend, Mr. Stevens. His panorama was not yet completed, and +would not be, for three weeks. On my telling him I could not wait that +long, he said he would exhibit what he then had of the panorama, for +my benefit. Accordingly, he had an exhibition and donated to me the +proceeds, twelve dollars, together with some more money which he had +collected for me. He was a man of great generosity. + +Then I returned to Mankato, and staid at Mr. Thayer’s. Called to see +Mr. Everett at the hospital; he was now gaining fast. I met Mr. Tyner, +who invited me to his house to dinner, and insisted on my staying +there. Next day he sent a man, with a carriage, to take me to see the +prisoners. The prison was in the midst, of Gen. Sibley’s camp. We found +the prisoners seemingly enjoying life much better than they deserved; +some sleeping, some smoking, some eating, and some playing cards. It +made my blood boil, to see them so merry, after their hellish deeds. I +felt as if I could see them butchered, one and all; and no one, who has +suffered what we settlers have, from their ferocity, can entertain any +milder feelings toward them. I returned to the house of a friend, named +Wilcox, where I staid three days. I called on Mr. Buck, at his office, +to ascertain what his charge was to be, for attending to my claim. His +reply was, that he should demand twenty-five per cent. I mentioned +the subject at the house of Mr. Wilcox, and was told that it was very +little trouble to prosecute any of these claims; that the usual charge +was ten per cent., and that Mr. Wilcox, who was an attorney, would +attend to it for that, or that I might give him what I chose. Next +day I again called on Buck, and got back the schedule of my property. +He said he was glad I had taken it, for he could hardly afford to +collect the claim for twenty-five per cent. as there would have to be +an administrator appointed, and the expense would be heavy. I told him +if he was satisfied, that I was much more so. I left the list with Mr. +Wilcox, in whom I felt I could trust, for he and his lady had proved +themselves to be my friends in time of need. Thus far, in prosecuting +my claim he has given me good satisfaction. While I had been gone from +Mankato, a party of men had been up to Lake Shetak, to bury the dead. +They found and brought back my husband’s rifles, one of which was in +good condition, and the other much broken to pieces. I went to the +person who had them in charge, and claimed them. He delivered them up, +as soon as convinced that I knew and owned them. The best one I lent to +poor Uncle Tommy, but the broken one I took with me, as a memento of +the departed, for it was my husband’s favorite weapon, and he loved it +with feelings that every true hunter will appreciate. + +I had now arranged my business satisfactorily, and, on Monday, I +started once more for my friends, at four o’clock, a. m. At about +twenty-four hours from that time, I reached Rochester very much +fatigued. I went to the house of Mr. Stevens, as soon as light, +intending to proceed to St. Charles that day, but his kind-hearted wife +urged me to stay with them and rest myself, till next day. I gladly +accepted the invitation. Mr. Stevens told me that if I would leave +Merton with him, he would afterwards bring him to me, at my sister’s +in Wisconsin. Accordingly, I left him, and, two months afterwards, he +brought him to me, in much better condition, having bought and given +him a full and very comfortable suit of clothes. Merton had become +much attached to his kind benefactor, and, on the day that Mr. Stevens +left him, to go farther east, he wept for nearly an hour. Well, I left +Rochester, and staid at St. Charles a few days. While here, I met with +another of my Lake Shetak neighbors, Mr. Myers. From him I learned the +manner in which himself and family had fled the country, which was as +follows: After the Indians had gone and left his place unharmed, in +consequence of his being a “good man,” and been gone about an hour, he +sent his oldest son, ten or eleven years of age, to the house of Mr. +Hurd, to get some bread for his sick and helpless wife. But the boy, +finding Mr. Vought dead in the yard, the house ravaged, and the family +gone, brought home only the story of what he had seen. Myers then, +thinking that Vought must have provoked a quarrel with the Indians, +went to Mr. Cook’s to tell him what had taken place, but, on finding +Cook shot through and lying on the ground, he saw the danger they were +in, ran home, and prepared for instant flight. He sent his boy to the +inlet after the oxen, and, after a long hunt, they were found, and +driven home. He took them over to Hurd’s, yoked them to a wagon, and +drove back, hearing the continual yell and the report of guns, that +came to him from the lower end of the lake. After putting in the wagon +some bedding and provisions, and placing on the bed his poor sick wife +and the children, he started, and got away unnoticed by the Indians. +But the dreadful news of the morning had thrown his wife into a +dangerous fit. After traveling a great distance upon a circuitous route +to shun the savages, they reached Mankato, but, on the same night, the +poor woman died, leaving five children to mourn her loss. + +It was now getting quite late and cold, and winter was fast +approaching; I was anxious to be once more upon my way to my friends. +On the next Monday I started, bidding good-bye to my kind neighbors. +I took the stage about a mile from St. Charles. When we came to the +village, the stage agent, whose name, I think, was Hall, demanded my +fare to Winona. I told him that a blacksmith at Winona had promised to +pay my stage-fare when next I came there, and I wished him to wait till +I got there; and, if the blacksmith did not pay it, I would. I knew I +had not money sufficient to carry me through, and hoped to economise it +so as to have no trouble when I got among total strangers. But it was +of no use; I could not go unless I paid in advance, so I gave him the +necessary amount. + +We arrived at Winona about dark; and, finding the boat had already +gone, I told the driver to take me to the Bauder House. There I staid +all night, and learned that the next boat would leave in the morning, +for La Crosse. Accordingly, next morning, I was aroused in season, and +Mr. Bauder told his son to take me to the boat in the carriage, but +first to stop and meet him at a certain building. We drove off, and Mr. +Bauder followed us, stopping in at various places of business. After +driving about for some time in this manner, he came and told me that +the boat had gone, and I would be obliged to stay until night. So I +was taken back to the hotel, wondering what the kind landlord meant by +this course; but it was soon explained. He came in, and said he had +been around town, to see how much the citizens could assist me, and +that he had succeeded in raising forty-one dollars. For this I was very +grateful; indeed, I felt comparatively rich. I can never forget what +the people of that place, and especially the active and benevolent +Mr. Bauder, have done for me, for it was through his agency, that I +received my board at his house and these welcome sums of money. He then +went to the bank and exchanged the money into national currency, for +me, then went with me on board the boat, and stated to the captain the +circumstances of my case; whereupon he carried me, free of expense. +On arriving at La Crosse, I journeyed on by railroad via Madison to +Boscobel. I staid over night at Boscobel: and, next day, took the +stage for Lancaster, but the stage agent refused payment for my ride. +He left me at that excellent hotel, the “Mansion House,” where I was +treated with the greatest kindness by all of Mrs. Hyde’s family. I am +very grateful for their goodness; and not only am I grateful to them, +but all those kind people, who have given me their sympathy and their +assistance, and thus smoothed down the rough and thorny places in my +walk of life. I have great cause to thank God, not only for sparing my +life, and that of my dear boys, but for raising up friends wherever I +have been, to help me along. + +While at the Mansion House, in Lancaster, Mr. J. C. Cover, editor of +the Grant Co. Herald, called on me, and requested me to relate to him +my story. This I did in a very poor way, which I am sure he would +excuse, if he knew how many times I had previously related it. The next +day I reached my brother’s house, where I was received with tears of +joy. + +I will now mention what I know of the surviving settlers of Lake +Shetak, as far as possible, in my limited space. Mrs. Duly and Mrs. +Wright are with their husbands, having been ransomed, after four months +captivity. Mrs. Duly’s youngest child was murdered while a prisoner, +but two of her other children are with her. Mrs. Cook is married, and +lives in Mankato. Uncle Tommy Ireland has recovered from his wounds; he +still lives in Minnesota, and his daughters likewise. Mr. Duly joined +the 1st Minnesota Mounted Rangers, and afterwards became captain of +scouts: he lives now in Mankato. Mr. Everett recovered, and went East +with his little “Lily,” who was ransomed from the Indians. Charles +Hatch returned to his friends in Wisconsin. Mr. Myers still remains +in some part of Minnesota. Mr. Smith joined the Mounted Rangers, and +served his time. Mr. Rhodes joined the same company, but, as he was +soon afterwards missing, it was supposed that he deserted, as he was +not heard from again. Mr. Bently enlisted to fight Indians, in some +company. Mrs. Hurd is living at La Crosse. + +Now, dear reader, since you have attended me till I finally reached my +destination, and joined my relatives, I will bid you good-bye, hoping +that if you are ever as unfortunate as I have been, God will give you +as many kind friends as he has given me. + + + COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW. + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: + +Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like +this_. Obvious printing errors, such as upside down, or partially +printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. Final stops missing at +the end of sentences were added. Extraneous punctuation was removed. +Obsolete spellings were not changed. Thirteen misspelled words were +corrected. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76647 *** |