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diff --git a/76647-h/76647-h.htm b/76647-h/76647-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c76924 --- /dev/null +++ b/76647-h/76647-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2020 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Thrilling Incidents | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} +/* Heading Styles */ + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + clear: both; + font-weight: bold; + page-break-before: avoid;} + +h1 { /* use for book title */ + margin: 1em 5% 1em; + font-size: 180%;} +h2 { /* use for chapter headings */ + margin:2em 5% 1em; + font-size: 140%;} +h3 { + margin: 2em 5% 1em; + font-size: 110%;} + +.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} /* use with h2 for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; + margin-top: 4em;} + +/* Paragraph styles */ +p {text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em;} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.right {text-align: right; margin-right: 2em;} +.tall {line-height: 150%;} /* Adjust as necessary */ +.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em;} + +/* Font styling */ +.smcap {font-style: normal; font-variant: small-caps;} +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} +em {font-style: italic;} +.smaller {font-size: 83%;} +.xxs {font-size: 50%;} +.larger {font-size: 120%;} + +abbr { border:none; text-decoration:none; font-variant:normal; } + +/* Links */ +a:visited {text-decoration:none; color: red;} +a:link {text-decoration:none;} /* no UL of any links - useful for html accessibility */ + +/* Rules */ +hr { /*default rule across entire width */ + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;}} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + right: .25em; + text-indent: 0; + text-align: right; + font-size: 70%; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; + letter-spacing: normal; + line-height: normal; + color: #acacac; + border: .0625em solid #acacac; + background: #ffffff; + padding: .0625em .125em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76647 ***</div> + +<h1 class="tall"> +<span class="smaller">THRILLING INCIDENTS</span><br> +<span class="xxs">IN THE</span><br> +INDIAN WAR OF 1862;</h1> + +<p class="center xxs">BEING A</p> + +<p class="center">PERSONAL NARRATIVE</p> + +<p class="center xxs">OF THE</p> + +<p class="center">OUTRAGES AND HORRORS</p> + +<p class="center xxs">WITNESSED BY</p> + +<p class="center larger">MRS. L. EASTLICK,</p> + +<p class="center xxs">IN MINNESOTA.</p> + +<p class="p2 center">MINNEAPOLIS, <abbr title="Minnesota">MINN.</abbr>:<br> +<span class="allsmcap">ATLAS STEAM PRESS PRINTING COMPANY.<br> +1864.</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFACE">PREFACE. + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="right"> + MRS. L. EASTLICK. +</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Platteville, <abbr title="Wisconsin">Wis.</abbr>, April 1, 1864.</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="NARRATIVE"> + NARRATIVE. + </h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">I was</span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 “<i>teepes</i>” 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Mr. Duly’s wife was much exhausted, from running, so he left her +concealed with the children in the bushes. Old “Pawn” volunteered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> +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 <em>must</em> 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!</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 <em>you</em> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span> +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 <em>was</em> so dead to every feeling but fear, that I believe he could +have taken my scalp, without my moving a muscle.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 <em>die</em>! 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.</p> + +<p>Here I found the head and bones of a young bullock the Indians +had butchered: several dead pigs, old clothes, dishes, Indian blankets, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> +&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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 <em>he</em> 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 <em>sick</em> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> +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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 <em>their own</em> 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 <em>will</em> go, and have you all rescued, +or die in the attempt!” He began at once to prepare for the +journey. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Late in the evening we reached Mankato; here they took Mr. Ireland, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span> +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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="p2 center"> +COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW. +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3> + +<p>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.</p> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76647 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |