University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XXII.

At first, and some time afterward, at intervals, the
effects of my life among the savages preyed upon my
mind so as to injure its quiet harmony. I was ill at
ease among my new friends, and they told me that my
eyes wore a strangely wild expression, like those of a
person constantly in dread of some unknown alarm.

Once more free and safe among civilized people, I
looked back on the" horrible past with feelings that
defy description.

The thought of leaving this mortal tenement on the
desert plain for the wolves to devour, and the bones
to bleach under the summer sun and winter frosts, had
been painful indeed. Now, I knew that if the wearied
spirit should leave its earthly home, the body would
be cared for by kind Christian friends, and tenderly
laid beneath the grass and flowers, and my heart
rejoiced therein.

Hunger and thirst, long days of privation and

suffering, had been mine. No friendly voices cheered
me on; all was silence and despair. But now the
scene had changed, and the all-wise Being; who is cognizant
of every thought, knew the joy and gratitude of
my soul.

True, during the last few weeks of my captivity, the
Indians had done all in their power for me, all their
circumstances and condition would allow, and the
women were very kind, but "their people were not my
people," and I was detained a captive, far from home,
and friends, and civilization.

With Alexander Selkirk I could say, "Better dwell
in the midst of alarms, than reign in this horrible place."

Being young, and possessed of great cheerfulness and
elasticity of temper, I was enabled to bear trials which
seemed almost impossible for human nature to endure
and live.

Soon after my arrival at the fort, Captain Pell came
and invited me to go to a trader's store to obtain a
dress for myself. I needed it very much, having no
clothing of my own to wear.

A kind lady, Mrs. Davis, accompanied me, and the
sight that presented itself to my wondering eyes will
never be erased from memory.

By the door-steps, on the porches, and every-where,
were groups of hungry Indians of all sizes and both
sexes, claiming to be friendly.

Some of them were covered with every conceivable

kind of superficial clothing and adornment, and critically
wanting in cleanliness, a peculiar trait among the
Indians of the Northwest.

There was the papoose, half-breeds of any number,
a few absolutely nude, others wrapped slightly in bits
of calico, a piece of buckskin, or fur.

Speculators, teamsters, and interpreters, mingled with
the soldiers of the garrison—squaws, with their bright,
flashing shawls, or red cloth, receiving, in their looped-up
blanket, the various articles of border traffic, such
as sugar, rice, flour, and other things—tall warriors
bending over the same counter, purchasing tobacco,
brass nails, knives, and glass beads, all giving words
to thought, and a stranger might well wonder which
was the better prototype of tongues. The Cheyennes
supplement their words with active and expressive
gestures, while the Sioux amply use their tongues as
well as their arms and fingers.

To all, whether half-breed, Indian, or white man,
the gentlemanly trader gave kind and patient attention,
while himself and clerks seemed ready and
capable of talking Sioux, French, or English, just as
the case came to hand.

It was on the 12th of December when I reached the
fort, and like heaven the place appeared after the trials
of savage life.

The officers and men were like brothers to me; and
their tender sympathy united me to them in the

strongest bonds of friendship, which not even death
can sever.

A party and supper was made for my special benefit,
and on New Year's morning I was serenaded with cannon.
Every attention and kindness was bestowed upon
me; and to Dr. John Ball, post surgeon, I owe a debt
of gratitude which mere words can never express. He
was my attendant physician during my sojourn at the
fort, and, as my physical system had undergone very
severe changes, I needed great care. Under his skillful
treatment and patient attention I soon recovered
health and strength. I had been severely frozen on
the last days of my journey with the Indians toward
the fort.

Colonel Diamond, from Fort Rice, came to visit me
ere I left Fort Sully. He was attended by an escort
of one hundred and eighty men.

He told me of his efforts to obtain my release, and
that he, with his men, had searched the Indian village
for me, but found no warriors there, as they had
already taken me to the fort. The Indian women
had made him understand by signs that the "White
Woman" had gone with the chiefs.

He said the Indians were so enraged about giving
me up, that they killed three of his men and scalped
them, by orders from the chief, Ottawa, who was unable
to do any service himself, being a cripple. He
bade them bring him the scalps of the white men.

An Indian, who killed one of the men, fell dead in
his lodge the same day, which frightened his people
not a little; for, in their superstition, they deemed it
a visitation of the Great Spirit for a wrong done.

Colonel Diamond did not forget me, neither did he
cease in his efforts in my behalf.

During all this time no tidings had been received by
me of my husband. But one day, great commotion
was occasioned in the fort by the announcement that
the mail ambulance was on the way to the fort, and
would reach it in a few moments. An instant after, a
soldier approached me, saying: "Mrs. Kelly, I have
news for you. Your husband is in the ambulance."

No person can have even a faint idea of the uncontrollable
emotions which swept over me like an avalanche
at that important and startling news. But it
was not outwardly displayed. The heart-strings were
stirred to their utmost depths, but gave no sound.
Trembling, quivering in their strong feeling, they
told not of the deep grief and joy intermingled there.

Mechanically, I moved around, awaiting the presence
of the beloved, and was soon folded to his breast,
where he held me with a grasp as if fearful of my
being torn from him again.

Not an eye present but was suffused with tears.
Soldiers and men, the ladies who had been friends to
me, all mingled their tears and prayers. Language
fails to describe our meeting. For seven long months

we had not beheld each other, and the last time was on
the terrible field of slaughter and death.

His personal appearance, oh! how changed! His
face was very pale, and his brown hair was sprinkled
with gray. His voice was alone unchanged. He
called me by name, and it never sounded so sweet before.
His very soul seemed imbued with sadness at
our separation, and the terrible events which caused it.

My first question was concerning my little Mary;
for her fate had been veiled in mystery. He gave me
the account of her burial—a sad and heart-rending
story, sufficient to chill the lightest heart—which account
comprises the succeeding chapter.