 | CHAPTER III. Narrative of my captivity among the Sioux Indians. |  |
CHAPTER III.
MY HUSBAND'S ESCAPE—BURIAL OF THE DEAD—ARRIVAL OP THE
SURVIVORS AT DEER CREEK—AN ILL-TIMED BALL.
When the Indians fired their fatal volley into the
midst of our little company, while yet they were preparing
to entertain them with a hospitable supper, my
husband was some distance from the scene of horror;
but, startled by the unexpected report, he hurriedly
glanced around, saw the pale, terror-stricken faces of
his wife and child, and the fall of Rev. Mr. Sharp
from the wagon, while in the act of reaching for sugar
and other articles of food with which to conciliate our
savage guests. The hopelessness of the situation struck
a chill to his heart. Having laid down his gun to
assist in the preparation of the feast, the utter futility
of contending single-handed against such a host of
infuriated demons was too apparent. His only hope,
and that a slight one indeed, was that the Indians
might spare the lives of his wife and child, to obtain
a ransom. In this hope he resolved upon efforts for
the preservation of his own life, that he might afterward
and strategy, or by purchase.
He was shot at, and the barbed arrows whizzed past
him, some passing through his clothing. He saw Mr.
Wakefield fall, and knew that he was wounded, if not
killed. Mr. Larimer passed him in his flight for life
toward some neighboring timber.
Mr. Kelly then ran for some tall grass and sage
brush, where he concealed himself, favored by the fast
approaching darkness. Scarcely daring to breathe, his
mind tortured with agonizing fears for the fate of his
wife and child, he seemed to hear from them the cry
for help, and at one time resolved to rush to their
rescue, or die with them; any fate seemed better than
such torturing doubt. But, realizing at last the utter
hopelessness of an attempt at rescue, and knowing that
it was a custom of the Indians, sometimes, to spare
the lives of white women and children taken captive,
for ransom, he again resolved, if possible, to save his
own life, that he might devote all his energies, and the
remnant of fortune the savages had not despoiled him
of, to the accomplishment of the rescue of his wife
and child.
Lying in his perilous shelter, he saw darkness creep
slowly around the hills, closing on the scene of murder
and devastation, like a curtain of mercy dropped to
shut out a hideous sight. He heard the noise of
breaking and crashing boxes, and the voices of the
of his awful suspense. The Indians had again
mounted their horses, and, raising the terrible war
song, chanted its ominous notes as they took their way
across the hills, carrying his yearning thoughts with
them. Pen is powerless to portray the agony, to him,
of those fearful moments.
Still fearing to move in the darkness, he distinguished
footsteps near him, and knew by the stealthy
tread that they were those of an Indian. In breathless
silence he crouched close to the ground, fearing
each instant the descent of the tomahawk and the
gleam of the scalping-knife, when, strange to say, a
venomous reptile came to his rescue, and his enemy
fled before it. A huge rattlesnake, one of the many
with which that region is infested, raised its curved
neck close beside him, and, thrusting forth its poisonous
fangs, gave a warning rattle. The prowling
Indian took alarm at the sound; other snakes, roused
for the safety of their young in the dens around, repeated
it, and the savage, knowing it would be death
to venture further, retreated, leaving my husband in
safety where he had taken refuge; for, although he
must have lain close to the noisome reptile, he received
no hurt, and the greater horror of his human
foe rendered him almost indifferent to the dangers
of his surroundings.
Cautiously he crawled out of the weeds and grass,
eastward direction. He had to go far out in the hills
to avoid the savages, and, after traveling many miles
around, he at last reached the large train, with which
the small party I had seen pursued had previously
taken refuge.
They were already consolidating with other trains
for defense, and would not venture to join Mr. Kelly,
although he earnestly implored assistance to go out in
aid of his friends and family, if any of them should
be left alive.
The colored man, Andy, soon after joined them.
He came in running and in great excitement, and was
about to report all the company killed, when he joyfully
discovered Mr. Kelly.
Great consternation and alarm had spread with the
tidings of the massacre, and fears for personal safety
prevented any one from joining my unhappy husband
in efforts to rescue his wife and child, or succor his
missing companions.
The train did not move forward until re-enforced by
many others along the road; and even then every
precaution was taken to secure safety and prevent a
surprise. Women in many instances drove the teams,
to prevent their husbands or fathers being taken at a
disadvantage; weapons were in every man's hands, and
vigilant eyes were fixed on every bluff or gorge, anticipating
attack.
A little time and travel brought them to the first
scene of murder, where they found the dead body of
the companion of the man who so narrowly escaped
with his family. They placed the body in a wagon,
and proceeded to the dreaded spot where the slaughter
of our party had occurred.
The wagons still were standing, and feathers, flour,
the remnants of much that was but half destroyed, lay
scattered about the ground.
Mr. Kelly, with faltering steps, supported by the
strong arm of Andy, was among the first to search
the spot; his intense distress for the unknown fate of
his family urged him on, although he dreaded to think
of what the bloody spot might disclose to him.
The dead bodies of Mr. Sharp, Mr. Taylor, and our
colored servant, Franklin, were discovered lying where
they had fallen. Poor Frank had been shot by an
arrow that pierced both his legs, pinning them together,
in which condition he had been murdered by the ruthless
wretches by having his skull broken.
Both Mr. Sharp and Mr. Taylor left large families
at home to mourn their loss. Mr. Larimer came up
with an arrow wound in one of his limbs. He had
passed the night in trying to elude his savage pursuers,
and was very tired and exhausted, and very much distressed
about his wife and son, a robust little fellow of
eight or nine years.
But Mr. Wakefield was nowhere to be seen. After
of a mile distant from the scene of attack, they discovered
him still alive, but pierced by three arrows that
he had vainly endeavored to extract, succeeding only in
withdrawing the shafts, but leaving the steel points
still deeply imbedded in the flesh. Mr. Kelly took
him and cared for him with all the skill and kindness
possible. No brothers could have been more tenderly
attached to each other than they. He then procured as
comfortable a conveyance as he could for them, and
picked up a few relics from our demolished train.
Among them was a daily journal of our trip, from the
time we were married until the hour that the Indians
came upon us. This he prized, as he said, more than
he did his life.
The next thing that was necessary to do, after the
wounded were cared for, was to bury the dead, and a
wide grave was dug and the four bodies solemnly consigned,
uncoffined, to the earth. A buffalo robe was
placed above them, and then the earth was piled on
their unconscious breasts.
At that time the question of color had occasioned
much dissension, and controversy ran high as to the
propriety of allowing the colored people the privilege
of sitting beside their white brethren. Poor Franklin
had shared death with our companions, and was not
deemed unworthy to share the common grave of his
fellow victims. They lie together in the valley of
friends left them, thinking of the high hopes and
fearless energy with which they had started on their
journey, each feeling secure in the success that awaited
them, and never, for a moment, dreaming of the
grave in the wilderness that was to close over them
and their earthly hopes. They were buried on the
desolate plain, a thousand miles away from their
loved wives and children, who bemoan their sad,
untimely fate.
Mr. Kelly found part of his herd of cattle grazing
near by; Mr. Sharp's were still tied to the stake where
he had carefully secured them. The Indians had taken
our horses, but left the cattle, as they do when they are
on the war path, or unless they need meat for present
use. They shot some of them, however, and left them
to decay upon the plain. Many arrows were scattered
upon the ground, their peculiar marks showing that
their owners had all belonged to one tribe, though of
different bands. They were similar in form and finish;
the shafts were round and three feet long, grooved on
their sides, that the blood of the victim might not be
impeded in its outward flow; each had three strips of
feathers attached to its top, about seven inches in length,
and, on the other end, a steel point, fastened lightly, so
as to be easily detached in the flesh it penetrates. The
depth of the wound depends on the distance of the
aim, but they sometimes pass quite through the body,
few inches beyond the point.
The wounded being made as comfortable as circumstances
would allow, the train left the spot in the evening,
and moved forward to an encampment a mile
distant from the sad place, where the journey of our
lost companions had ended forever, whose visions of
the golden land must be a higher and brighter one than
earthly eyes can claim.
Early next day the travelers arrived at Deer Creek
Fort, where Mr. Kelly found medical aid for the
wounded, and procured a tent to shelter them, and
devoted himself to alleviating their sufferings, and,
with the assistance of the kind people of the fort, succeeded
in arranging them in tolerable comfort.
Captain Rhineheart was commanding officer at Deer
Creek, and ordered the property of the deceased to be
delivered over to him, which Mr. Kelly did.
The story of the attack and massacre had traveled
faster tharn the sufferers from its barbarity. The garrison
had learned it before the train arrived, through
some soldiers returning from Fort Laramie, where
they had been to receive money from the paymaster,
who had heard an account of the attack on the road,
and had a passing glimpse of the terrible field of
slaughter.
The evening that the large train arrived at the fort,
the officers gave a ball, and the emigrant women were
in these inappropriately timed festivities.
The mother of the child, who had so narrowly escaped
death, having lost her own wardrobe in her
efforts to escape the pursuit of the Indians, borrowed a
dress from a lady who resided at the fort, and attended
the entertainment, dancing and joining in the gayeties,
when the burial of their companion and our poor men
had just been completed, and the heavy cloud of our
calamity had so lately shrouded them in gloom. Such
are the effects of isolation from social and civil influence,
and contact with danger, and familiarity with
terror and death.
People grow reckless, and often lose the gentle sympathies
that alleviate suffering, from frequent intercourse
with it in its worst forms.
| CHAPTER III. Narrative of my captivity among the Sioux Indians. | |