THE ATTACK AND THE CAPTURE.
A train of wagons were coursing their westward way, with visions of
the future bright as our own. Sometimes a single team might be seen
traveling alone.
Our party were among the many small squads emigrating to the land of
promise.
The day on which our doomed family were scattered and killed was the
12th of July, a warm and oppressive day. The burning sun poured forth
its hottest rays upon the great Black Hills and the vast plains of
Montana, and the great emigrant road was strewed with men, women, and
children, and flocks of cattle, representing towns of adventurers.
We looked anxiously forward to the approach of evening, with a sense of
relief, after the excessive heat of the day.
Our journey had been pleasant, but toilsome, for we had been long weeks
on the road.
Slowly our wagons wound through the timber that skirted the Little Box
Elder, and, crossing the stream, we ascended the opposite bank.
We had no thought of danger or timid misgivings on the subject of
savages, for our fears had been all dispersed by constantly received
assurances of their friendliness.
At the outposts and ranches, we heard nothing but ridicule of their
pretensions to warfare, and at Fort Laramie, where information that
should have been reliable was given us, we had renewed assurances of
the safety of the road and friendliness of the Indians.
At Horseshoe Creek, which we had just left, and where there was a
telegraph station, our inquiries had elicited similar assurances as to
the quiet and peaceful state of the country through which we must pass.
Being thus persuaded that fears were groundless, we entertained none,
and, as I have mentioned before, our small company preferred to travel
alone on account of the greater progress made in that way.
The beauty of the sunset and the scenery around us filled our hearts
with joy, and Mr. Wakefield’s voice was heard in song for the last
time, as he sang, “Ho! for Idaho.” Little Mary’s low, sweet voice, too,
joined in the chorus. She was so happy in her childish glee on that
day, as she always was. She was the star and joy of our whole party.
We wended our way peacefully and cheerfully on, without a thought of
the danger that was lying like a tiger in ambush in our path.
Without a sound of preparation or a word of warning, the bluffs before
us were covered with a party of about two hundred and fifty Indians,
painted and equipped for war, who uttered the wild war-whoop and fired
a signal volley of guns and revolvers into the air.
This terrible and unexpected apparition came upon us with such
startling swiftness that we had not time to think before the main body
halted and sent out a part of their force, which circled us round at
regular intervals, but some distance from our wagons. Recovering from
the shock, our men instantly resolved on defense, and corralled the
wagons. My husband was looked upon as leader, as he was principal owner
of the train. Without regard to the insignificance of our numbers, Mr.
Kelly was ready to stand his ground; but, with all the power I could
command, I entreated him to forbear and only attempt conciliation. “If
you fire one shot,” I said, “I feel sure you will seal our fate, as
they seem to outnumber us ten to one, and will at once massacre all of
us.”
Love for the trembling little girl at my side, my husband, and friends,
made me strong to protest against any thing that would lessen our
chance for escape with our lives. Poor little Mary! from the first she
had entertained an ungovernable dread of the Indians, a repugnance
that could not be overcome, although in our intercourse with friendly
savages, I had endeavored to show how unfounded it was, and persuade
her that they were civil and harmless, but all in vain. Mr. Kelly
bought her beads and many little presents from them which she much
admired, but she would always add, “They look so cross at me and they
have knives and tomahawks, and I fear they will kill me.” Could it be
that her tender young mind had some presentiment or warning of her
horrid fate?
My husband advanced to meet the chief and demand his intentions.
The savage leader immediately came toward him, riding forward and
uttering the words, “How! how!” which are understood to mean a friendly
salutation.
His name was Ottawa, and he was a war chief of the Ogalalla band of the
Sioux nation. He struck himself on his breast, saying, “Good Indian,
me,” and pointing to those around him, he continued, “Heap good Indian,
hunt buffalo and deer.” He assured us of his utmost friendship for the
white people; then he shook hands, and his band followed his example,
crowding around our wagons, shaking us all by the hand over and over
again, until our arms ached, and grinning and nodding with every
demonstration of good will.
Our only policy seemed to be temporizing, in hope of assistance
approaching; and, to gain time, we allowed them unopposed to do
whatever they fancied. First, they said they would like to change one
of their horses for the one Mr. Kelly was riding, a favorite race
horse. Very much against his will, he acceded to their request, and
gave up to them the noble animal to which he was fondly attached.
My husband came to me with words of cheer and hope, but oh! what a
marked look of despair was upon his face, such as I had never seen
before.
The Indians asked for flour, and we gave them what they wanted of
provisions. The flour they emptied upon the ground, saving only the
sack. They talked to us partly by signs and partly in broken English,
with which some of them were quite familiar, and as we were anxious
to suit ourselves to their whims and preserve a friendly intercourse
as long as possible, we allowed them to take whatever they desired,
and offered them many presents besides. It was, as I have said
before, extremely warm weather, but they remarked that the cold made
it necessary for them to look for clothing, and begged for some from
our stock, which was granted without the slightest offered objection
on our part. I, in a careless-like manner, said they must give me
some moccasins for some articles of clothing that I had just handed
them, and very pleasantly a young Indian gave me a nice pair, richly
embroidered with different colored beads.
Our anxiety to conciliate them increased every moment, for the hope of
help arriving from some quarter grew stronger as they dallied, and,
alas! it was our only one.
They grew bolder and more insolent in their advances. One of them laid
hold of my husband’s gun, but, being repulsed, desisted.
The chief at last intimated that he desired us to proceed on our way,
promising that we should not be molested. We obeyed, without trusting
them, and soon the train was again in motion, the Indians insisting
on driving our herd, and growing ominously familiar. Soon my husband
called a halt. He saw that we were approaching a rocky glen, in whose
gloomy depths he anticipated a murderous attack, and from which escape
would be utterly impossible. Our enemies urged us still forward, but we
resolutely refused to stir, when they requested that we should prepare
supper, which they said they would share with us, and then go to the
hills to sleep. The men of our party concluded it best to give them a
feast. Mr. Kelly gave orders to our two colored servants to prepare at
once to make a feast for the Indians.
Andy said, “I think, if I knows any thing about it, they’s had their
supper;” as they had been eating sugar crackers from our wagons for an
hour or more.
The two colored men had been slaves among the Cherokees, and knew the
Indian character by experience. Their fear and horror of them was
unbounded, and their terror seemed pitiable to us, as they had worked
for us a long time, and were most faithful, trustworthy servants.
Each man was busy preparing the supper; Mr. Larimer and Frank were
making the fire; Mr. Wakefield was getting provisions out of the wagon;
Mr. Taylor was attending to his team; Mr. Kelly and Andy were out
some distance gathering wood; Mr. Sharp was distributing sugar among
the Indians; supper, that they asked for, was in rapid progress of
preparation, when suddenly our terrible enemies threw off their masks
and displayed their truly demoniac natures. There was a simultaneous
discharge of arms, and when the cloud of smoke cleared away, I could
see the retreating form of Mr. Larimer and the slow motion of poor Mr.
Wakefield, for he was mortally wounded.
Mr. Kelly and Andy made a miraculous escape with their lives. Mr. Sharp
was killed within a few feet of me. Mr. Taylor—I never can forget
his face as I saw him shot through the forehead with a rifle ball. He
looked at me as he fell backward to the ground a corpse. I was the last
object that met his dying gaze. Our poor faithful Frank fell at my feet
pierced by many arrows. I recall the scene with a sickening horror.
I could not see my husband anywhere, and did not know his fate, but
feared and trembled. With a glance at my surroundings, my senses seemed
gone for a time, but I could only live and endure.
I had but little time for thought, for the Indians quickly sprang into
our wagons, tearing off covers, breaking, crushing, and smashing all
hinderances to plunder, breaking open locks, trunks, and boxes, and
distributing or destroying our goods with great rapidity, using their
tomahawks to pry open boxes, which they split up in savage recklessness.
Oh, what horrible sights met my view! Pen is powerless to portray
the scenes occurring around me. They filled the air with the fearful
war-whoops and hideous shouts. I endeavored to keep my fears quiet as
possible, knowing that an indiscreet act on my part might result in
jeopardizing our lives, though I felt certain that we two helpless
women would share death by their hands; but with as much of an air of
indifference as I could command, I kept still, hoping to prolong our
lives, even if but a few moments. I was not allowed this quiet but a
moment, when two of the most savage-looking of the party rushed up into
my wagon, with tomahawks drawn in their right hands, and with their
left seized me by both hands and pulled me violently to the ground,
injuring my limbs very severely, almost breaking them, from the effects
of which I afterward suffered a great deal. I turned to my little Mary,
who, with outstretched hands, was standing in the wagon, took her in my
arms and helped her to the ground. I then turned to the chief, put my
hand upon his arm, and implored his protection for my fellow-prisoner
and our children. At first he gave me no hope, but seemed utterly
indifferent to my prayers. Partly in words and partly by signs, he
ordered me to remain quiet, placing his hand upon his revolver, that
hung in a belt at his side, as an argument to enforce obedience.
A short distance in the rear of our train a wagon was in sight. The
chief immediately dispatched a detachment of his band to capture or
to cut it off from us, and I saw them ride furiously off in pursuit
of the small party, which consisted only of one family and a man who
rode in advance of the single wagon. The horseman was almost instantly
surrounded and killed by a volley of arrows. The husband of the family
quickly turned his team around and started them at full speed, gave the
whip and lines to his wife, who held close in her arms her youngest
child. He then went to the back end of his wagon and threw out boxes,
trunks, every thing that he possessed. His wife meantime gave all
her mind and strength to urging the horses forward on their flight
from death. The Indians had by this time come very near, so that they
riddled the wagon-cover with bullets and arrows, one passing through
the sleeve of the child’s dress in its mother’s arms, but doing it no
personal injury.
The terrified man kept the Indians at bay with his revolver, and
finally they left him and rode furiously back to the scene of the
murder of our train.