 | CHAPTER IV. Narrative of my captivity among the Sioux Indians. |  |
CHAPTER IV.
BEGINNING OF MY CAPTIVITY.
The facts related in the preceding chapter concerning
matters occurring in Mr. Kelly's experience, and
adventures after the attack upon our train, were related
to me after my restoration to freedom and my husband,
by him.
I now return to the narration of my own terrible
experiences.
I was led a short distance from the wagon, with
Mary, and told to remain quiet, and tried to submit;
but oh, what a yearning sprang up in my heart to
escape, as I hoped my husband had done! But many
watchful eyes were upon me, and enemies on every
side, and I realized that any effort then at escape
would result in failure, and probably cause the death
of all the prisoners.
Mrs. Larimer, with her boy, came to us, trembling
with fear, saying, "The men have all escaped, and left
us to the mercy of the savages."
In reply, I said, "I do hope they have. What
benefit would it be to us, to have them here, to suffer
and then all hope of rescue for us would be at an
end."
Her agitation was extreme. Her grief seemed to
have reached its climax when she saw the Indians
destroying her property, which consisted principally
of such articles as belong to the Daguerrean art. She
had indulged in high hopes of fortune from the prosecution
of this art among the mining towns of Idaho.
As she saw her chemicals, picture cases, and other
property pertaining to her calling, being destroyed,
she uttered such a wild despairing cry as brought the
chief of the band to us, who, with gleaming knife,
threatened to end all her further troubles in this world.
The moment was a critical one for her. The Indians
were flushed with an easy-won victory over a weak
party; they had "tasted blood," and it needed but
slight provocation for them to shed that even of defenseless
women and children.
My own agony could be no less than that of my
companion in misfortune. The loss of our worldy
possessions, which were not inconsiderable, consisting
of a large herd of cattle, and groceries, and goods of
particular value in the mining regions, I gave no
thought to. The possible fate of my husband; the
dark, fearful future that loomed before myself and
little Mary, for whose possible future I had more apprehension
than for my own, were thoughts that
pecuniary considerations.
But my poor companion was in great danger, and
perhaps it was a selfish thought of future loneliness in
captivity which induced me to intercede that her life
might be spared. I went to the side of the chief, and,
assuming a cheerfulness I was very far from feeling,
plead successfully for her life.
I endeavored in every way to propitiate our savage
captor, but received no evidences of kindness or relenting
that I could then understand. He did present
me, however, a wreath of gay feathers from his own
head, which I took, regarding it merely as an ornament,
when in reality, as I afterward learned, it was
a token of his favor and protection.
He then left us, to secure his own share of plunder,
but we saw that we were surrounded by a special
guard of armed men, and so gave up all struggle
against what seemed an inevitable doom, and sat down
upon the ground in despair.
I know now that night had come upon us while we
sat there, and that darkness was closing the scene of
desolation and death before their arrangements for departure
were completed.
The first intimation we had that our immediate massacre
was not intended, was a few articles of clothing
presented by a young Indian, whose name was Wechela,
who intimated that we would have need for them.
It was a pitiable sight to see the terrified looks of
our helpless children, who clung to us for the protection
we could not give. Mrs. Larimer was unconscious
of the death of any of our party. I did not
tell her what my eyes had seen, fearing that she could
not endure it, but strove to encourage and enliven her,
lest her excitement would hasten her death or excite
the anger of our captors.
We both feared that when the Indians made their
arrangements for departure we would be quickly disposed
of by the scalping knife; or even should we
escape for the time, we saw no prospect of release from
bondage. Terror of the most appalling nature for the
fate of the children possessed me, and all the horrors
of Indian captivity that we had ever heard crowded
on our minds with a new and fearful meaning—the
slow fires, the pitiless knife, the poisoned arrows, the
torture of famine, and a thousand nameless phantoms
of agony passed before our troubled souls, filling us
with fears so harrowing that the pangs of dissolution
compared to them must have been relief.
It may be thought almost impossible in such a chaos
of dread to collect the soul in prayer, but
That crieth not to God,
and the only respite we could claim from despair was
the lifting of our trembling hearts upward to the God
of mercy.
Those hours of misery can never be forgotten. We
were oppressed by terrors we could not explain or
realize. The sudden separation from those we loved
and relied on; our own helplessness and the gloom of
uncertainty that hung over the future—surely none can
better testify to the worth of trust in God than those
whose hope on earth seemed ended; and, faint and
weak as our faith was, it saved us from utter desolation
and the blackness of despair.
From among the confused mass of material of all
kinds scattered about, the same young Indian, Wechela,
brought me a pair of shoes; also a pair of little
Mary's. He looked kindly as he laid these articles
before me, intimating by his gestures that our lives
were to be spared, and that we should have need of
them and other clothing during our long march into
captivity. He also brought me some books and letters,
all of which I thankfully received. I readily conceived
a plan to make good use of them, and secreted as many
as I could about my clothing. I said to Mrs. Larimer,
"If I can retain these papers and letters, and we are
forced to travel with the Indians into their unknown
country, I shall drop them at intervals along the way
we are taken, as a guide, and trust in God that our
friends may find and follow them to our rescue, or if
an opportunity of escape offer, we will seize it, and by
their help retrace our steps."
The property that the Indians could not carry with
of the flames showed us the forms of our captors busily
loading their horses and ours with plunder, and preparing
to depart. When their arrangements were completed,
they came to us and signified that we must
accompany them, pointing to the horses they led up
to us, and motioning for us to mount. The horse
assigned to me was one that had belonged to Mr. Larimer,
and was crippled in the back. This I endeavored
to make them understand, but failed.
This was the first reliable assurance they gave us
that our lives were not in immediate danger, and we
received it gratefully, for with the prospect of life hope
revived, and faith to believe that God had not forsaken
us, and that we might yet be united to our
friends, who never seemed dearer than when we were
about to be carried into captivity by the hostile sons
of the forest.
Many persons have since assured me that, to them,
death would have been preferable to life with such
prospects, saying that rather than have submitted to
be carried away by savages, to a dark and doubtful
doom, they would have taken their own lives. But it
is only those who have looked over the dark abyss of
death who know how the soul shrinks from meeting
the unknown future.
Experience is a grand teacher, and we were then in
her school, and learned that while hope offers the
brink of eternity, and look back for rescue.
Mrs. Larimer had climbed into her saddle, her boy
placed behind her on the same horse, and started on, accompanied
by a party of Indians. I also climbed into
my saddle, but was no sooner there than the horse fell
to the ground, and I under him, thus increasing the
bruises I had already received, and causing me great
pain. This accident detained me some time in the rear.
A dread of being separated from the only white woman
in that awful wilderness filled me with horror.
Soon they had another horse saddled for me, and
assisted me to mount him. I looked around for my
little Mary. There she stoood, a poor helpless lamb,
in the midst of blood-thirsty savages. I stretched out
my arms for her imploringly. For a moment they
hesitated; then, to my unspeakable joy, they yielded,
and gave me my child. They then started on, leading
my horse; they also gave me a rope that was fastened
around the horse's under jaw.
The air was cool, and the sky was bright with the
glitter of starlight. The water, as it fell over the
rocks in the distance, came to our eager ears with a
faint, pleasant murmur. All nature seemed peaceful
and pitiless in its calm repose, unconscious of our
desolate misery; the cry of night-birds and chirp of
insects came with painful distinctness as we turned to
leave the valley of Little Box Elder.
Straining my eyes, I sought to penetrate the shadows
of the woods where our fugitive friends might be hid.
The smoldering ruins of our property fell into ashes
and the smoke faded away; night had covered the
traces of confusion and struggle with her shrouding
mantle, and all seemed quiet and unbroken peace.
I turned for a last look, and even the smoke was
gone; the solemn trees, the rippling water, the soft
night wind and the starlight, told no tale of the desolation
and death that had gone before; and I rode on
in my helpless condition, with my child clinging to
me, without guide or support, save my trust in God.
| CHAPTER IV. Narrative of my captivity among the Sioux Indians. | |