CAMP RELEASE.
Among the attractive and cultivated women found among the prisoners was
a Miss Mattie Williams, of Painesville, Ohio, who at the time of the
outbreak was living with an uncle on the Yellow Medicine River. They
had been surprised by the Indians without a moment's warning, and of
course, in their hurry, had no time to plan for an escape; but each
sought safety as best they could and became separated. Miss Williams, in
her wanderings, was picked up by a Mr. Patwell, who was escaping with a
German girl, who also was fleeing. They were overtaken by the Indians,
Mr. Patwell was killed, the German girl so wounded that she died, and
Miss Williams herself, wounded in the shoulder, was alone with her Indian
captors, who imposed upon her all the indignities born of their hellish
desires. For forty days she suffered as no human mind can imagine, forty
anxious days and sleepless nights in a dirty, smoke-begrimed, leaky tent,
clad in Indian costume and obliged to submit to savage passion. But the
angels listened and the day of deliverance drew near. The women of this
camp were all of one mind--in accord they prayed that deliverance should
come, and that the guiding hand should be directed by a clear head. As
Moses was preserved in the bulrushes and found by Pharaoh's daughter and
educated for a purpose--to lead the children of Israel from out the land
of bondage and through the Red Sea to the wilderness and the promised
land--so, too, was Colonel Sibley raised up to frustrate the designs of
the Indians and liberate these women and children.
On the night of September 25th our heroine, wrapped in her Indian
blanket, laid herself down, not to pleasant dreams, but to blissful
waking visions of release. Nor was she alone in her night vigils; other
hearts, burdened and borne down with unutterable anguish, petitioned God
to so direct the soldiers who were on the way, that their release might
be sure. The soldiers are coming, and are these weary, anxious, fearful
days and nights to end? At the first dawning of the day, September 26th,
the Indian camp was astir and preparations made to receive distinguished
guests. And who were these guests? Colonel Sibley, the big white chief,
and his staff. Extra paint, paint of every hue, and beads, together with
eagle feathers and white flags, were conspicuous throughout this excited
Indian tepee village.
The bright gleam of muskets away in the distance, banners fluttering in
the breeze and the sound of martial music as it struck the glad expectant
ear, was an answer to all their prayers: "Deliverance had come!" Hearts
made glad because the terrible nightmare of weeks had been dissipated,
the anxious days and sleepless nights were at an end, prayers had been
answered, and it was now a time for thanksgiving. Was it ended, this
horrible dream? Yes. But with it all, strong attachments sprang up
between the captive and the captor. They would have been less than human
if it were not so. These sturdy and determined Indian women and men who
protected them had jeopardized their lives, and what greater love can we
show one for the other than that we lay down our lives?
[Illustration: CAMP RELEASE.]
The little children, from one year up to four or five, who had become
orphaned, were adopted by the Indian mother, and these mothers, who
became so under such sorrowful circumstances, and having all the maternal
instincts of her more favored white sister, cared for them as tenderly as
she did her own. The little things were there with their dirty, chubby
faces, just the same as their Indian mates, their faces were painted,
their hair braided and garnished with eagle feathers, and they really
seemed happy and contented amid their changed and strange environments.
When the time came for them to go to our camps they cried and wanted
to stay with their newly found Indian mothers, and the mothers in turn
hugged them and cried over them and hated to give them up. There is
nothing passes a mother's love, even an Indian mother's love.
It was a proud day for Colonel Sibley, and as he looked into the happy
faces of the captives and received their blessings and reverent homage,
his heart was touched and tears coursed down his cheeks. He was yet a
colonel, so far as we knew, and one of his staff officers, in addressing
him said:
"Colonel Sibley, I would rather have the glory of your achievement to-day
than the proudest victory ever won in battle."
The military camp at this point was designated Camp Release, so named
from the nature of our mission in releasing the people from their Indian
captivity. The manner in which they were rescued and the Indians captured
reflects greatly to the credit and sagacity of Colonel Sibley and his
advisers. The impetuous and indignant soldiers, after what their eyes had
beheld in the region where the whites had been murdered, were determined
to annihilate the camp, and it was almost impossible to restrain them,
especially Company A, of the Sixth Minnesota, which had suffered so
severely at Birch Coolie; but wiser counsels prevailed.
After the Indians had been secured, and the captives released, we went
among them and listened to the recital of experiences that would make the
blood of any ordinary mortal boil with indignation, and it was a miracle
that the soldiers did not take the matter in hand and then and there
forever settle the Indian question. The orders were very strict about
guarding the Indians, but on the sly many acts of cruelty were indulged
in by the soldiers that would hardly be warranted, for we should not for
a moment forget the fact that they were our prisoners and we were not
savages and should not indulge in savage propensities.
Colonel Henry Hastings Sibley at Camp Release received a notification of
his deserved promotion, and we shall hereafter speak of him as General
Sibley.
During our stay at Camp Release we were daily drilling by company and
battalion, and perfecting ourselves in all things pertaining to soldier
life. We had a splendid camping place on the broad prairie near the river
bank, but the cold nights reminded us that winter quarters would soon
be more comfortable than the open prairie, and the rations were getting
rather scarce. "Fall in for grub" ordinarily is quite as welcome to the
hungry soldier as is the gong at a fashionable hotel to the fashionable
guest. How we jumped for the haversack containing, not solid silver, but
tin cup, tin plate, knife, fork and spoon, and fell in line according to
our agility to get there, and not according to size, so as to give the
ponies an equal chance with the tall men, whose place is on the right
when in parade. Each received his ration of coffee, hard tack, pork and
beans, irrespective of size, weight or previous condition.
Commissary stores at Camp Release were getting very low and the supply
train was not yet due by several days' march, so it became necessary
to count out the crackers--five crackers to each man for a day, and no
pie or strawberries and cream for dessert. From five we were reduced to
three, and then there was nothing left but the bottom of the barrels.
There was some ear corn, but a guard was placed over that to keep it safe
for the horses and mules. Every mule was honored with a guard during his
meal hour to prevent the "boys in blue" from appropriating the precious
ear for his own use. No coffee, no meal, no hardtack, but there was a
load of potatoes remaining, and when the call to grub sounded, again we
scrambled into line to receive our ration for the day, which was--one
potato. Just after we received this potato ration the commissary train
hove in sight under strong guard with three days' rations, which were
issued to the hungry soldiers, and the indications were that the command
would soon move.