University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XII.

One day, as I was pursuing what seemed to me an
endless journey, an Indian rode up beside me, whom I
did not remember to have seen before.

At his saddle hung a bright and well-known little
shawl, and from the other side was suspended a child's
scalp of long, fair hair.

As my eyes rested on the frightful sight, I trembled
in my saddle and grasped the air for support. A
blood-red cloud seemed to come between me and the
outer world, and I realized that innocent victim's dying
agonies.

The torture was too great to be endured—a merciful
insensibility interposed between me and madness.

I dropped from the saddle as if dead, and rolled upon
the ground at the horse's feet.

When I recovered, I was clinging to a squaw, who,
with looks of astonishment and alarm, was vainly
endeavoring to extricate herself from my clutches.

With returning consciousness, I raised my eyes to
the fearful sight that had almost deprived me of reason;
it was gone.

The Indian had suspected the cause of my emotion,
and removed it out of sight.

They placed me in the saddle once more, and not
being able to control the horrible misery I felt, I protested
wildly against their touch, imploring them to
kill me, and frantically inviting the death I had before
feared and avoided.

When they camped, I had not the power or reason
to seek my own tent, but fell down in the sun, where
the chief found me lying. He had been out at the
head of a scouting party, and knew nothing of my
sufferings.

Instantly approaching me, he inquired who had misused
me. I replied, "No one. I want to see my dear
mother, my poor mother, who loves me, and pines for
her unhappy child."

I had found, by experience, that the only grief with
which this red nation had any sympathy was the sorrow
one might feel for a separation from a mother, and
even the chief seemed to recognize the propriety of
such emotion.

On this account I feigned to be grieving solely for
my dear widowed mother, and was treated with more
consideration than I had dared to expect.

Leaving me for a few moments, he returned, bringing

me some ripe wild plums, which were deliciously
cooling to my fever-parched lips.

Hunger and thirst, sorrow and fear, with unusual
fatigue and labor, had weakened me in mind and body,
so that, after trying to realize the frightful vision that
had almost deprived me of my senses, I began to
waver in my knowledge of it, and half determined
that it was a hideous phantom, like many another that
had tortured my lonely hours.

I tried to dismiss the awful dream from remembrance,
particularly as the days that followed found me
ill and delirious, and it was some time before I was
able to recall events clearly.

About this time there was another battle; and many
having already sank under the united misery of hunger
and fatigue, the camp was gloomy and hopeless in the
extreme.

The Indians discovered my skill in dressing wounds,
and I was called immediately to the relief of the
wounded brought into camp.

The fight had lasted three days, and, from the immoderate
lamentations, I supposed many had fallen,
but could form no idea of the loss.

Except when encamped for rest, the tribe pursued
their wanderings constantly; sometimes flying before
the enemy, at others endeavoring to elude them.

I kept the record of time, as it passed with the
savages, as well as I was able, and, with the exception

of a few days lost, during temporary delirium
and fever at two separate times, and which I endeavored
to supply by careful inquiry, I missed no
count of the rising or setting sun, and knew dates
almost as well as if I had been in the heart of civilization.

One very hot day, a dark cloud seemed suddenly to
pass before the sun and threaten a great storm. The
wind rose, and the cloud became still darker, until the
light of day was almost obscured.

A few drops sprinkled the earth, and, then, in a
heavy, blinding, and apparently inexhaustible shower,
fell a countless swarm of grasshoppers, covering every
thing and rendering the air almost black by their
descent.

It is impossible to convey an idea of their extent;
they seemed to rival Pharaoh's locusts in number, and
no doubt would have done damage to the food of the
savages had they not fallen victims themselves to their
keen appetites.

To catch them, large holes are dug in the ground,
which are heated by fires. Into these apertures the
insects are then driven, and, the fires having been
removed, the heated earth bakes them.

They are considered good food, and were greedily
devoured by the famishing Sioux. Although the
grasshoppers only remained two days, and went as suddenly
as they had come, the Indians seemed refreshed

by feasting on such small game, and continued to
smove forward.

Halting one day to rest beside good water, I busily
engaged myself in the chief's tipi, or lodge. I had
grown so weak that motion of any kind was exhausting
to me, and I could scarcely walk. I felt that I
must soon die of starvation and sorrow, and life had
ceased to be dear to me.

Mechanically I tried to fulfill my tasks, so as to
secure the continued protection of the old squaw, who,
when not incensed by passion, was not devoid of
kindness.

My strength failed me, and I could not carry out
my wishes, and almost fell as I tried to move around.
This met with disapprobation, and, better fed than
myself, she could not sympathize with my want of
strength. She became cross, and left the lodge, threatening
me with her vengeance.

Presently an Indian woman, who pitied me, ran into
the tipi in great haste, saying that her husband had
got some deer meat, and she had cooked it for a feast,
and begged me to share it. As she spoke, she drew me
toward her tent, and, hungry and fainting, I readily
followed.

The chief saw us go, and, not disdaining a good dinner,
he followed. The old squaw came flying into the
lodge like an enraged fury, flourishing her knife, and
vowing she would kill me.

I arose immediately and fled, the squaw pursuing
me. The chief attempted to interfere, but her rage
was too great, and he struck her, at which she sprang
like an infuriated tiger upon him, stabbing him in several
places.

Her brother, who at a short distance beheld the fray,
and deeming me the cause, fired six shots, determining
to kill me. One of these shots lodged in the arm of
the chief, breaking it near the shoulder. I then ran
until I reached the outskirts of the village, where I
was captured by a party who saw me running, but
who knew not the cause.

Thinking that I was endeavoring to escape, they
dragged me in the tent, brandishing their tomahawks
and threatening vengeance.

After the lapse of half an hour some squaws came
and took me back to the lodge of the chief, who was
waiting for me, before his wounds could be dressed.
He was very weak from loss of blood.

I never saw the wife of the chief afterward.

Indian surgery is coarse and rude in its details. A
doctor of the tribe had pierced the arm of the chief
with a long knife, probing in search of the ball it
had received, and the wound thus enlarged had to be
healed.

As soon as I was able to stand, I was required to
go and wait on the disabled chief. I found his three

sisters with him, and with these I continued to live in
companionship.

One of them had been married, at the fort, to a white
man, whom she had left at Larimie when his prior
wife arrived.

She told me that they were esteemed friendly, and
had often received supplies from the fort, although at
heart they were always the enemy of the white man.

"But will they not suspect you?" asked I. "They
may discover your deceit and punish you some day."

She laughed derisively. "Our prisoners don't
escape to tell tales," she replied. "Dead people don't
talk. We claim friendship, and they can not prove
that we don't feel it. Besides, all white soldiers are
cowards."

Shudderingly I turned away from this enemy of my
race, and prepared to wait on my captor, whose superstitious
belief in the healing power of a white woman's
touch led him to desire her services.

The wounds of the chief were severe, and the suppuration
profuse. It was my task to bathe and dress
them, and prepare his food.

Hunting and fishing being now out of the question
for him, he had sent his wives to work for themselves,
keeping the sisters and myself to attend him.

War with our soldiers seemed to have decreased the
power of the chief to a great extent.

As he lay ill, he evidently meditated on some plan
of strengthening his forces, and finally concluded to
send an offer of marriage to the daughter of a war-chief
of another band.

As General Bully's destructive attack had deprived
him all ready offerings, he availed himself of my shoes,
which happened to be particularly good, and, reducing
me to moccasins, sent them as a gift to the expected
bride.

She evidently received them graciously, for she came
to his lodge almost every day to visit him, and sat
chatting at his side, to his apparent satisfaction.

The pleasure of this new matrimonial acquisition on
the part of the chief was very trying to me, on account
of my limited wardrobe, for as the betrothed continued
in favor, the chief evinced it by giving her articles of
my clothing.

An Indian woman had given me a red silk sash,
such as officers wear. The chief unceremoniously cut
it in half, leaving me one half, while the coquettish
squaw received the rest.

An Indian husband's power is absolute, even to
death.

No woman can have more than one husband, but an
Indian can have as many wives as he chooses.

The marriage of the chief was to be celebrated with
all due ceremony when his arm got well.

But his arm never recovered. Mr. Clemens, the
interpreter, tells me (in my late interview with him),
that he still remains crippled, and unable to carry out
his murderous intentions, or any of his anticipated
wicked designs.

He is now living in the forts along the Missouri
River, gladly claiming support from the Government.