University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

In the summer of 1844 a large party of half-breeds and
Indians from Red river,—English subjects,—trespassed
upon the hunting grounds of the Sioux. There were several
hundred hunters, and many carts drawn by oxen for
the purpose of carrying away the buffalo they had killed.
One of this party had left his companions, and was riding
alone at some distance from them. A Dahcotah knew that
his nation would suffer from the destruction of their game
—fresh in his memory, too, were the sufferings of the past
winter. What wonder then that the arrow which was intended
for the buffalo, should find its way to the heart of
the trespasser!

This act enraged the half-breeds; they could not find
the Sioux who committed it—but a few days after they fell
in with a party of others, who were also hunting, and killed
seven of them. The rest escaped, and carried the news of
the death of their braves to their village. One of the killed
was a relative of Sullen Face. The sad news spread rapidly
through the village, and nothing was heard but lamentation.
The women cut long gashes on their arms, and as
the blood flowed from the wound they would cry, Where is
my husband? my son? my brother?

Soon the cry of revenge is heard above that of lamentation.
“It is not possible,” said Sullen Face, “that we can
allow these English to starve us, and take the lives of our
warriors. They have taken from us the food that would

nourish our wives and children; and more, they have killed
seven of our bravest men! we will have revenge—we will
watch for them, and bring home their scalps, that our women
may dance round them!”

A war party was soon formed, and Sullen Face, at the
head of more than fifty warriors, stationed himself in the
vicinity of the road by which the half-breeds from Red
river drive their cattle to Fort Snelling.

Some days after, there was an unusual excitement in the
Sioux village on Swan lake, about twenty miles northwest of
Traverse des Sioux. A number of Indians were gazing at
an object not very distant, and in order to discover what it
was, the chief of the village, Sleepy Eyes, had sent one of
his young men out, while the rest continued to regard it
with looks of curiosity and awe.

They observed that as the Sioux approached it, he slackened
his pace, when suddenly he gave a loud cry and ran
towards the village.

He soon reached them, and pale with terror, exclaimed,
“It is a spirit, it is white as the snow that covers our
prairies in the winter. It looked at me and spoke not.”
For a short time, his fears infected the others, but after a
while several determined to go and bring a more satisfactory
report to their chief. They returned with the body, as it
seemed only, of a white man; worn to a skeleton, with his
feet cut and bleeding, unable to speak from exhaustion;
nothing but the beating of his heart told that he lived.

The Indian women dressed his feet, and gave him food,
wiped the blood from his limbs, and, after a consultation,
they agreed to send word to the missionaries at Traverse

des Sioux, that there was a white man sick and suffering
with them.

The missionaries came immediately; took the man to
their home, and with kind nursing he was soon able to
account for the miserable situation in which he had been
found.

“We left the state of Missouri,” said the man, whose
name was Bennett, “for the purpose of carrying cattle to
Fort Snelling. My companions' names were Watson and
Turner. We did not know the road, but supposed a map
would guide us, with what information we could get on the
way. We lost our way, however, and were eagerly looking
for some person who could set us right. Early one morning
some Sioux came up with us, and seemed inclined to
join our party. One of them left hastily as if sent on a
message; after a while a number of warriors, accompanied
by the Indian who had left the first party, came towards
us. Their leader had a dark countenance, and seemed to
have great influence over them. We tried to make them
understand that we had lost our way; we showed them
the map, but they did not comprehend us.

“After angrily addressing his men for a few moments, the
leader shot Watson through the shoulder, and another sent
an arrow through his body and killed him. They then
struck Watson's brother and wounded him.

“In the mean time the other Indians had been killing our
cattle; and some of the animals having run away, they
made Watson, who was sadly bruised with the blows he
had received from them, mount a horse and go with them
to hunt the rest of the cattle. We never heard of him
again. The Indians say he disappeared from among the

bushes, and they could not find him; but the probability is
that they killed him. Some seemed to wish to kill Turner
and myself—but after a while they told us to go, giving us
our horses and a little food. We determined to retrace our
steps. It was the best thing we could do; but our horses
gave out, and we were obliged to leave them and proceed
on foot.

“We were soon out of provisions, and having no means
of killing game, our hearts began to fail us. Turner was
unwell, and on arriving at a branch of Crow river, about
one hundred miles northwest of Fort Snelling, he found
himself unable to swim. I tried to carry him across on my
back, but could not do it; he was drowned, and I barely
succeeded in reaching the shore. After resting, I proceeded
on my journey. When I came in sight of the Indian village,
much as I needed food and rest, I dreaded to show
myself, for fear of meeting Watson's fate. I was spared the
necessity of deciding. I fainted and fell to the ground.
They found me, and proved kinder than I anticipated.

“Why they should have molested us I know not. There
is something in it that I do not understand.”

But it is easily explained. Sullen Face supposed them to
belong to the party that had killed his friends, and through
this error he had shed innocent blood.