MY HUSBAND’S ESCAPE—BURIAL OF THE DEAD—ARRIVAL OF THE SURVIVORS
AT DEER CREEK—AN ILL-TIMED BALL.
When the Indians fired their fatal volley into the midst of our
little company, while yet they were preparing to entertain them with
a hospitable supper, my husband was some distance from the scene of
horror; but, startled by the unexpected report, he hurriedly glanced
around, saw the pale, terror-stricken faces of his wife and child,
and the fall of Rev. Mr. Sharp from the wagon, while in the act of
reaching for sugar and other articles of food with which to conciliate
our savage guests. The hopelessness of the situation struck a chill
to his heart. Having laid down his gun to assist in the preparation
of the feast, the utter futility of contending single-handed against
such a host of infuriated demons was too apparent. His only hope, and
that a slight one indeed, was that the Indians might spare the lives of
his wife and child, to obtain a ransom. In this hope he resolved upon
efforts for the preservation of his own life, that he might afterward
put forth efforts for our rescue, either by pursuit and strategy, or
by purchase.
He was shot at, and the barbed arrows whizzed past him, some passing
through his clothing. He saw Mr. Wakefield fall, and knew that he was
wounded, if not killed. Mr. Larimer passed him in his flight for life
toward some neighboring timber.
Mr. Kelly then ran for some tall grass and sage brush, where he
concealed himself, favored by the fast approaching darkness. Scarcely
daring to breathe, his mind tortured with agonizing fears for the fate
of his wife and child, he seemed to hear from them the cry for help,
and at one time resolved to rush to their rescue, or die with them;
any fate seemed better than such torturing doubt. But, realizing at
last the utter hopelessness of an attempt at rescue, and knowing that
it was a custom of the Indians, sometimes, to spare the lives of white
women and children taken captive, for ransom, he again resolved, if
possible, to save his own life, that he might devote all his energies,
and the remnant of fortune the savages had not despoiled him of, to the
accomplishment of the rescue of his wife and child.
Lying in his perilous shelter, he saw darkness creep slowly around the
hills, closing on the scene of murder and devastation, like a curtain
of mercy dropped to shut out a hideous sight. He heard the noise of
breaking and crashing boxes, and the voices of the Indians calling
to each other; then came the culmination of his awful suspense. The
Indians had again mounted their horses, and, raising the terrible war
song, chanted its ominous notes as they took their way across the
hills, carrying his yearning thoughts with them. Pen is powerless to
portray the agony, to him, of those fearful moments.
Still fearing to move in the darkness, he distinguished footsteps
near him, and knew by the stealthy tread that they were those of
an Indian. In breathless silence he crouched close to the ground,
fearing each instant the descent of the tomahawk and the gleam of the
scalping-knife, when, strange to say, a venomous reptile came to his
rescue, and his enemy fled before it. A huge rattlesnake, one of the
many with which that region is infested, raised its curved neck close
beside him, and, thrusting forth its poisonous fangs, gave a warning
rattle. The prowling Indian took alarm at the sound; other snakes,
roused for the safety of their young in the dens around, repeated
it, and the savage, knowing it would be death to venture further,
retreated, leaving my husband in safety where he had taken refuge; for,
although he must have lain close to the noisome reptile, he received
no hurt, and the greater horror of his human foe rendered him almost
indifferent to the dangers of his surroundings.
Cautiously he crawled out of the weeds and grass, and, rising to his
feet unharmed, started swiftly in an eastward direction. He had to go
far out in the hills to avoid the savages, and, after traveling many
miles around, he at last reached the large train, with which the small
party I had seen pursued had previously taken refuge.
They were already consolidating with other trains for defense, and
would not venture to join Mr. Kelly, although he earnestly implored
assistance to go out in aid of his friends and family, if any of them
should be left alive.
The colored man, Andy, soon after joined them. He came in running and
in great excitement, and was about to report all the company killed,
when he joyfully discovered Mr. Kelly.
Great consternation and alarm had spread with the tidings of the
massacre, and fears for personal safety prevented any one from joining
my unhappy husband in efforts to rescue his wife and child, or succor
his missing companions.
The train did not move forward until re-enforced by many others along
the road; and even then every precaution was taken to secure safety and
prevent a surprise. Women in many instances drove the teams, to prevent
their husbands or fathers being taken at a disadvantage; weapons were
in every man’s hands, and vigilant eyes were fixed on every bluff or
gorge, anticipating attack.
A little time and travel brought them to the first scene of murder,
where they found the dead body of the companion of the man who so
narrowly escaped with his family. They placed the body in a wagon, and
proceeded to the dreaded spot where the slaughter of our party had
occurred.
The wagons still were standing, and feathers, flour, the remnants of
much that was but half destroyed, lay scattered about the ground.
Mr. Kelly, with faltering steps, supported by the strong arm of Andy,
was among the first to search the spot; his intense distress for the
unknown fate of his family urged him on, although he dreaded to think
of what the bloody spot might disclose to him.
The dead bodies of Mr. Sharp, Mr. Taylor, and our colored servant,
Franklin, were discovered lying where they had fallen. Poor Frank
had been shot by an arrow that pierced both his legs, pinning them
together, in which condition he had been murdered by the ruthless
wretches by having his skull broken.
Both Mr. Sharp and Mr. Taylor left large families at home to mourn
their loss. Mr. Larimer came up with an arrow wound in one of his
limbs. He had passed the night in trying to elude his savage pursuers,
and was very tired and exhausted, and very much distressed about his
wife and son, a robust little fellow of eight or nine years.
But Mr. Wakefield was nowhere to be seen. After searching the
brushwood for some time, and a quarter of a mile distant from the
scene of attack, they discovered him still alive, but pierced by
three arrows that he had vainly endeavored to extract, succeeding
only in withdrawing the shafts, but leaving the steel points still
deeply imbedded in the flesh. Mr. Kelly took him and cared for him
with all the skill and kindness possible. No brothers could have been
more tenderly attached to each other than they. He then procured as
comfortable a conveyance as he could for them, and picked up a few
relics from our demolished train. Among them was a daily journal of our
trip, from the time we were married until the hour that the Indians
came upon us. This he prized, as he said, more than he did his life.
The next thing that was necessary to do, after the wounded were cared
for, was to bury the dead, and a wide grave was dug and the four bodies
solemnly consigned, uncoffined, to the earth. A buffalo robe was placed
above them, and then the earth was piled on their unconscious breasts.
At that time the question of color had occasioned much dissension, and
controversy ran high as to the propriety of allowing the colored people
the privilege of sitting beside their white brethren. Poor Franklin had
shared death with our companions, and was not deemed unworthy to share
the common grave of his fellow victims. They lie together in the valley
of Little Box Elder, where with saddened hearts our friends left
them, thinking of the high hopes and fearless energy with which they
had started on their journey, each feeling secure in the success that
awaited them, and never, for a moment, dreaming of the grave in the
wilderness that was to close over them and their earthly hopes. They
were buried on the desolate plain, a thousand miles away from their
loved wives and children, who bemoan their sad, untimely fate.
Mr. Kelly found part of his herd of cattle grazing near by; Mr. Sharp’s
were still tied to the stake where he had carefully secured them. The
Indians had taken our horses, but left the cattle, as they do when they
are on the war path, or unless they need meat for present use. They
shot some of them, however, and left them to decay upon the plain. Many
arrows were scattered upon the ground, their peculiar marks showing
that their owners had all belonged to one tribe, though of different
bands. They were similar in form and finish; the shafts were round and
three feet long, grooved on their sides, that the blood of the victim
might not be impeded in its outward flow; each had three strips of
feathers attached to its top, about seven inches in length, and, on the
other end, a steel point, fastened lightly, so as to be easily detached
in the flesh it penetrates. The depth of the wound depends on the
distance of the aim, but they sometimes pass quite through the body,
though usually their force is exhausted in entering a few inches beyond
the point.
The wounded being made as comfortable as circumstances would allow, the
train left the spot in the evening, and moved forward to an encampment
a mile distant from the sad place, where the journey of our lost
companions had ended forever, whose visions of the golden land must be
a higher and brighter one than earthly eyes can claim.
Early next day the travelers arrived at Deer Creek Fort, where Mr.
Kelly found medical aid for the wounded, and procured a tent to shelter
them, and devoted himself to alleviating their sufferings, and, with
the assistance of the kind people of the fort, succeeded in arranging
them in tolerable comfort.
Captain Rhineheart was commanding officer at Deer Creek, and ordered
the property of the deceased to be delivered over to him, which Mr.
Kelly did.
The story of the attack and massacre had traveled faster than the
sufferers from its barbarity. The garrison had learned it before the
train arrived, through some soldiers returning from Fort Laramie, where
they had been to receive money from the paymaster, who had heard an
account of the attack on the road, and had a passing glimpse of the
terrible field of slaughter.
The evening that the large train arrived at the fort, the officers gave
a ball, and the emigrant women were invited, from the trains camped in
the vicinity, to join in these inappropriately timed festivities.
The mother of the child, who had so narrowly escaped death, having lost
her own wardrobe in her efforts to escape the pursuit of the Indians,
borrowed a dress from a lady who resided at the fort, and attended the
entertainment, dancing and joining in the gaieties, when the burial of
their companion and our poor men had just been completed, and the heavy
cloud of our calamity had so lately shrouded them in gloom. Such are
the effects of isolation from social and civil influence, and contact
with danger, and familiarity with terror and death.
People grow reckless, and often lose the gentle sympathies that
alleviate suffering, from frequent intercourse with it in its worst
forms.