PLAN FOR LITTLE MARY’S ESCAPE—TORTURES OF
UNCERTAINTY—UNSUCCESSFUL ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE.
The Indians left the scene of their cruel rapacity, traveling
northward, chanting their monotonous war song. After a ride of two
miles, through tall weeds and bushes, we left the bottom lands, and
ascended some bluffs, and soon after came to a creek, which was easily
forded, and where the Indians quenched their thirst.
The hills beyond began to be more difficult to ascend, and the gorges
seemed fearfully deep, as we looked into the black shadows unrelieved
by the feeble light of the stars.
In the darkness of our ride, I conceived a plan for the escape of
little Mary.
I whispered in her childish ear, “Mary, we are only a few miles from
our camp, and the stream we have crossed you can easily wade through.
I have dropped letters on the way, you know, to guide our friends in
the direction we have taken; they will guide you back again, and it may
be your only chance of escape from destruction. Drop gently down, and
lie on the ground for a little while, to avoid being seen; then retrace
your steps, and may God in mercy go with you. If I can, I will follow
you.”
The child, whose judgment was remarkable for her age, readily acceded
to this plan; her eye brightened and her young heart throbbed as she
thought of its success.
Watching the opportunity, I dropped her gently, carefully, and
unobserved, to the ground, and she lay there, while the Indians pursued
their way, unconscious of their loss.
To portray my feelings upon this separation would be impossible. The
agony I suffered was indescribable. I was firmly convinced that my
course was wise—that I had given her the only chance of escape within
my power; yet the terrible uncertainty of what her fate might be in the
way before her, was almost unbearable.
I continued to think of it so deeply that at last I grew desperate,
and resolved to follow her at every risk. Accordingly, watching an
opportunity, I, too, slipped to the ground under the friendly cover of
night, and the horse went on without its rider.
My plan was not successful. My flight was soon discovered, and the
Indian wheeled around and rode back in my pursuit. Crouching in the
undergrowth I might have escaped in the darkness, were it not for their
cunning. Forming in a line of forty or fifty abreast, they actually
covered the ground as they rode past me.
The horses themselves were thus led to betray me, for, being frightened
at my crouching form, they stopped and reared, thus informing them of
my hiding-place.
With great presence of mind I arose the moment I found myself
discovered, and relating my story, the invention of an instant, I
succeeded partially in allaying their anger.
I told them the child had fallen asleep and dropped from the horse;
that I had endeavored to call their attention to it, but in vain; and,
fearing I would be unable to find her if we rode further, I had jumped
down and attempted the search alone.
The Indians used great violence toward me, assuring me that if
any further attempts were made to escape, my punishment would be
accordingly.
They then promised to send a party out in search of the child when it
became light.
Poor little Mary! alone in the wilderness, a little, helpless child;
who can portray her terror!
With faith to trust, and courage to dare, that little, trembling form
through the long hours of the night kept watch.
The lonely cry of the night-bird had no fear in its melancholy scream
for the little wanderer who crouched amid the prairie grass. The baying
of the gray wolf, as he passed the lonely watcher, might startle, but
could not drive the faith from her heart.
Surely God is just, and angels will guide the faltering feet to friends
and home. Innocent of wrong, how could she but trust that the unseen
hands of spirits would guide her from the surrounding perils!
[Illustration: A Scene on the Third Night after My Capture.]